Still busy, but making the time to write a little.
Chapter 35: The Better Man
Despite Fanny's urging, I had no desire to seek out Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, be a supplicant to him for my sister and her poor notions which would do more harm than good. The course of future events was set and there was no need to rock the boat, upset the apple cart.
I thought to myself: The Darcys are newly married; they will be quite occupied (I tried my best not to imagine how they would spend their time, but I thought it would likely be quite similar to how I had spent mine when newly wed). Who am I to Lizzy anymore? I have betrayed her, her mother and her sisters in the most loathsome way. If she knew, she would never wish to speak to me again, so far better it would be to simply let our familial bonds fall away. They shall move in very different circles than us. It is unlikely that they will seek to maintain the relationship, and if there is no effort on our part, it shall simply fall away and it is likely that we shall never see them again. Her husband shall manage things well enough for her and the rest with no need of me.
Such thoughts gave me much heartache, but had a sort of logic to them, for Mr. Darcy had done well with what he had accomplished and planned so far. He had recognized the value of my niece and arranged matters to place her permanently at his side.
It had certainly been most sensible of Mr. Darcy to seek to remove Lydia and the rest from where everyone knew of her misdeeds and their guilt by association. It was something that I would have done, had I the means.
But the means I had, means given to me to benefit them, means I had retained that were entrusted to me for just such a purpose, though I had no way to return them, to reject such a task. The little voice in my head, my conscience, nagged and harried me regarding what I ought to do and what I ought to have done. It was all made clear in my mind now, far clearer than it had before.
I should have liked Mr. Darcy, even without having met him for more than a few moments, felt gratitude for all he had done which had so neatly solved all my problems. I should have liked him for his recognition of what a jewel Lizzy was, for his deciding on her (much as I had decided on my own Madeline, determining that I would marry her even before she had so much as looked my way). I could well recall his inquiring of Mary after her, with a wistfulness that portended some affection or even possible love.
But I could not imagine liking him, not at all. It was not just that he was rich, had been born into the privilege that they rest of us could never achieve (our tour of Pemberley with Mary the previous summer had shown me exactly how wealthy he was), not by any means. Normally that was enough for me to dislike a man, even if I hid it well. But what I felt for Mr. Darcy felt more akin to hate only more so. I loathed and despised him against all reason, wished to wipe any imagined smile off his lips with my fists.
But I was also sensible to the fact that such a reaction was unreasonable, when I had nothing truly untoward to accuse Mr. Darcy of, but in using his fortune to do good for me and mine. Yes, I had heard that he had refused one Lieutenant Wickham a valuable church living, but if such a gift was not fixed in his father's will, he was well within his rights. And, furthermore, Mr. Darcy's judgment proved sound, for a man such as Wickham who would steal away a woman of sixteen, use her for her body and purse, and sell her away to a nunnery, trapping her in the worst circumstances that can befall her, should never shepherd a flock of parishioners.
But then a new thought pierced my soul and I understood the source of my antipathy. My visage when reflected in the looking glass of Mr. Darcy showed a soul as crooked as Mr. Wickham, perhaps even worst! For did not the disciples of Christ share what they had with one another? Did they not ensure the feeding of the widows and orphans, not just only those of their house? But I had refused to care for my own sister and her family.
Mr. Wickham was undoubtedly a selfish and depraved man, but he was alone in this world and took what he could grasp. He was responsible for none but himself. But I shared familial ties to those beyond Madeline and the children. While the problem of the poor is larger than any can grasp, or make a significant impact upon, was it not my responsibility to at least care for my widowed sister and her half orphaned children? I had been given the means to do so, but in fear and selfishness, I had done none of it.
I had lied to my wife by concealing the true state of our finances, the loss of our ships, by every day hiding myself in my warehouses when there was very little work to be done. I had lied about finding Lydia myself, let all laud and praise me for the deed, even when I should have known better than to return her to them. I had lied about spending significantly to secure her release and thus being unable to help Fanny and the girls.
Yes, I had responsibilities to me and mine, but I had acted with maximum selfishness at every turn. I preferred to keep those around me in ignorance as I feigned the appearance of being a good man, rather than do what I could to secure their future. I considered whether Fanny would have acted similarly if our situations were reversed and concluded she would not have. No, Fanny would have shared her last crust with me.
I recalled in our childhood that any good treat she received was always divided by her among us, an orange, a handful of nuts. I recalled her buttoning her own coat upon me when I was cold, having refused my own coat before venturing outside with her, how the sleeves hid my hands, how she shivered in her dress. Even this past year, with little to give, she had offered to host us at Christmas as she usually did.
I saw clearly then what a flawed and selfish man I was and I did not like it, not at all. I felt my chest tighten as if someone was grasping my chest in a vise, as if the hand of God himself was squeezing me. The ragged, rapid breaths I forced in and out of my lungs burned at my throat and I saw specks of black around the edges of my vision and if I had been standing I would have surely fallen. My collar was too tight, my skin sweated, my heart pounded, my head ached and I felt my mind gibbering with panic, wondering if I was suffering an apoplectic fit and was to be set before my maker only to be cast out into the lake of fire.
With some extra sense that only wives have, my dear Madeline entered just then and seeing my distress ran toward me. I could see her worried look as she approached me, could see her lips move through my greying vision, but could not hear her through the roar in my ears. Then, from what she told me later, I became insensate and slid out of my chair, falling upon the floor.
I came back to myself with a sniff of smelling salts, my head cradled upon my dear wife's lap (or what was left of it), my eldest daughter holding the salts to my nose, the younger swipping at my face with a wet cloth. My head throbbed and my throat burned, but my heart beat steadily and air flowed in and out of me with its usual regularity.
"Papa, Papa are you well?" Ann cried, her eyes wide as she peered down at me.
I blinked slowly, murmured "Yes," more to reassure her than because I knew whether it was true.
"We were so worried," Grace explained. Her forehead was tensed, showing lines I had never seen before on her young, smooth face, and I had a sudden sense of where her wrinkles would form when she was old. "I thought you were going to die, like Jane's Papa."
"No indeed," I responded, understanding that whatever had gripped me and then so suddenly gone away, was a sort of warning. Determined to reassure them, I began to force myself up, though my head was still swimming.
Madeline gripped my shoulder and would not let me rise. "Not yet, stay here dear Edward and rest a bit."
Then to my daughters she commanded, "Go see to your brothers. Papa will be well."
Neither of them seemed to wish to go and I marveled at the undeserved devotion I had from them as each of them kissed my forehead like they might have done to their younger brothers. "Go now. Obey your mother."
"Yes, Papa" they said in concert and left, pulling the door closed behind them.
Madeline stroked my forehead and through my thinning hair. It was so pleasant and soothing that I wished to close my eyes and go to sleep just then.
"Was it bad news that scared you so? What did Mr. Phillips write?"
I glanced about then, feeling a tightening grip me. I feared, irrationally, that his missive might be about, open where she could read it, before recalling that I had burned it. I had been very careful to keep such truths of our reduced means from her.
"No," I replied, "Just further discussion of the wedding." As I told yet another lie, I felt self-loathing rise up in me again. Would I keep lying? Would I forget about what He had shown me?
I knew I could reject the truth I had learned about myself, go on as I had, but what kind of life would that be, lying to perpetually to them woman I loved, hiding my own perfidy? Determined not to be a coward, to act while my self realization was fresh in my mind, I murmurred, "There are several things I must tell you about. You have a selfish fool for a husband."
Madeline shook her head. "I have long known that something was wrong. I have been waiting for you to share it with me. It cannot be as bad as you think Whatever it is, dear husband, I would bear your burden."
I felt then how little I deserved her, my daughters and sons. "You are too good and kind," I responded and then started at the beginning.
A/N: How do you think Mrs. Gardiner will react, and will Edward truly tell her everything or will his pride make him hold something back?
