Loose Ends
Elizabeth shifted Ben to her right and he continued his suckling. She waved off Nanny as she made a move to take the infant. "He's not done yet", she said. "I wonder if this giant appetite means he will grow as big as Whip, or Snap," she added with a small giggle. Nanny looked confused, not understanding the joke.
"No matter," Elizabeth muttered. She looked at the two chairs opposite her and marveled how quickly the carpenters had managed to put together what amounted to two thrones from a royal palace. The gold leaf inlays glittered. She gave no thought to the cost of such works of the carpenter's arts. No expense could begin to repay the two brothers' success in finding and ending the life of that miserable murderer… avenging both poor Jewel and her own poor sister, Lydia.
To force her mind away from these sad thoughts on the day of Ben's christening, she forced her gaze to the small desk with its piles of documents. A surge of satisfaction welled up in her heart. She only hoped the brothers would welcome the largesse, which for them would mean a total change in their lives. She realized Ben had finally ceased his suckling and was now asleep. She handed him over to Nanny who had been waiting patiently to reclaim her charge. "I only hope he remains asleep for the christening," Elizabeth told her, "and does not reawaken impatient for his lunch." Nanny took the sleeping babe, gently, and left the room through the door to the nursery, while her mistress rearranged her clothing and awaited her expected pre-christening guests.
A sound drew her attention as the door to the outer rooms swung open. A liveried porter stepped in, bowing towards her and announcing, "The brothers Jones, Ma'am," stepping aside as she nodded her welcome to her guests.
"Come, my friends, and be seated!" she said with as much gaiety as Ben's toothless vigor allowed her to muster. The eyes of the two giants darted in every direction. Elizabeth had grown accustomed to their restless scrutiny of whatever situation they walked into. It was a sign of the alertness of their minds, she decided. It was not as though there were threats they were incapable of meeting, surely.
Bowing somewhat awkwardly, as though uncertain how deep, or how long to hold the bows, Whip and Snap stepped closer and Elizabeth gestured to the 'thrones' and smiled in satisfaction as they settled themselves into what in the end were just comfortably suitable to their size. She was relieved of the awkwardness of conversation as Darcy swept into the room, a sheaf of papers clutched in his hands. The brothers rose as one and began bowing again. Darcy merely waved and stood a moment looking them up and down.
"My tailor did you both justice, my friends," he finally pronounced. Again the bothers bowed.
"Indeed, Sir," one said, unable to resist running his huge hands over the smooth fabrics of his suit. "We feel like royalty in such luxury."
"Do you know," Darcy added, nodding. "He was so delighted at the opportunity to create what he felt was a once in a lifetime example of his art, he refused to accept payment for his work, only allowing me to reimburse the cost of the material. I understand, he also made duplicates and has dressed two very large manikins in his shop window with a sign indicating he is the exclusive tailor of the Brothers Whip and Snap Jones!" he finished with a soft chuckle.
"Now please, be seated for we have some business matters to discuss." The brothers gazed uncertainly at each other. 'Business?' they thought. 'What do we know of business?' Shrugging, they quickly resumed their seats.
Darcy cleared his throat, then began. "You know both my wife and I hold ourselves totally in your debt for our lives and the life of our little son, Bennett, who is to be christened today."
The brothers began waving their hands in demur protests, but Darcy would not let them say a word, continuing his prepared thoughts. "Long ago, perhaps a hundred fifty years or more, there was a legendary figure on the estate of Pemberley. We children were told amazing bedtime stories of his prodigious size. He was called 'The Forester', and indeed, he was in charge of the forests of the estate. He was a huge fellow. We children were told he had no need of saw, or axe, but would simply grasp a tree in his huge hands and yank it from the ground! There was no horse that could bear his huge weight and so, when not afoot, he rode a huge ox over the grounds!" The brothers grinned, appreciatively, at the legend.
"Whatever the truth was of these matters" Darcy continued, the fact is: his cottage has sat empty at the edge of Pemberley forests ever since his death, since all doors, windows, furnishings are useless to almost all of humanity… until now" he added with a grin.
He separated out a parchment from the collection in his hand. Handing it to one of the brothers, he continued, "This is a deed of life-time tenancy for the two of you along with an annual pension of a hundred pounds each. It is our wish, my wife and mine, that you will accept residency there and also accept a more peaceful life; one that no longer depends on pounding each other's faces and bodies, no matter how skillfully you succeed at minimizing the damages that are inevitable in your violent profession."
The brothers' mouths were agape as they turned the parchment in every direction, eyes wide at the gifts that had been bestowed, unlooked for, undreamt of. "No more broken bones," one murmured. "No more blood flowing from nose and mouth," the other also whispered hoarsely. Tears flowed as one said to the other, "Brother, these are good people."
Elizabeth reached out a slight hand to lay it on the arm of the nearest to her. "It is only the slightest gift of what we feel we owe to the two of you. You saved us from that monster, who was not only a threat to my husband and my family, but also was the murderer of my dear sister. Our hearts are grateful that she is now avenged, and rests in her own tomb on these estates."
Darcy rang a small silver bell and instantly the door opened and a squad of men carrying stands of sweetmeats, drinks, delicacies of all sorts which were soon surrounding the small group. Just as silently, the servants withdrew.
"Please, help yourselves, my friends," Darcy murmured and took a few pastries to overcome their apparent reluctance to eat in front of their social betters. Elizabeth added her urging to her husband's and gradually mounds of treats began disappearing into their giant guests.
"After the trial and the hanging of that evil vermin," Darcy encouraged, "we were immediately concerned with the imminent arrival of young Bennett. We still have no idea how you discovered the identity and disguise of Wickham and were able to trace him as the Crone to the courthouse. Can you elaborate in the time we have before the Christening?"
Both large men hung their heads seemingly in embarrassment. "We cannot take any credit for our success," Snap whispered. "Indeed", his brother added, "our slowness of wit cost the life on one of our valued street urchins who are an asset to our work."
Snap resumed the narrative while his brother took more treats from the trays. "We had urchins with the plaques of Wickham's likeness your Ladyship had prepared for our use. Our boys hung about the lowest of the gambling houses where one might expect to see a type such as Wickham, but… no luck."
"We had noticed the Crone at our bouts, sometimes wagering large amounts. We assumed she was acting for someone else." "Someone afraid to show his own face and thus using her as an agent," his brother added, and continued the explanation.
"Since that was only one of several possibilities, we had one of our cleverest lads follow her. He reported she lived in a small hut of board and tar paper. We told him to keep a watch on the shack to see if she had visitors. It was only after a few days that we realized he had disappeared."
His brother took up the tale. "We sent a second lad to see what had befallen him. He found his friend's body in a heap of trash. The neck was snapped and the Crone had disappeared." The brothers became more agitated as their story unfolded. "We began to realize the Crone was not acting for anyone, but herself," one continued. "But now she was gone with no trace. We became frantic as we began to realize that perhaps the Crone was actually Wickham himself."
Snap paused to down a mug of ale in a few swallows while Whip continued. "We offered rewards for information to any who might have seen the Crone. One report came of an old beggar woman who had boarded a private coach.
"Now it is most unusual for a beggar woman to go anywhere her own two feet could not take her, but no one knew where the coach had headed off to… until the coach finally returned and we were able to question the driver. It was then we learned its destination was to the very city in which his Lordship's trial was about to begin." Both men became agitated as the excitement of their tale built.
"We then began to understand the danger you both were in," Snap continued, and his voice was shaky.
"We hired a private coach. The largest we could find. Indeed it is used mostly for parades. Six huge stallions were the power we needed to fly as fast as possible to the site of the trial, for it was clear that this was the destination of the Crone."
Both men drew huge handkerchiefs from their pockets and were wiping beads of sweat that had sprung out on their brows in their excitement. "We entered just as Lord Bartholomew was freeing His Lordship, acknowledging that he was a hundred miles away at the time of the murder. The danger was that when the Crone realized your Lordship was to be set free, she might yank out a firearm from under her clothes and simply extract the revenge her hatred of you demanded." Both men settled back with deep sighs. "Fortunately, we had her in our grips before any such action could occur," said one brother. "And once in our grip," the other finished, "it would take more than the strength of many men to break free!"
Both Elizabeth and Darcy also settled back into their seats with deep sighs; only then realizing with what force the brothers' narrative had seized them. "A story worthy of a performance in the theatre," Darcy muttered. Suddenly he was all business again.
"I am certain you are both familiar with the name, 'Lord' Baltimore," he said. The brothers grinned. "He in a legend in the performance of our fisticuff arts," one said with his brother nodding vigorously. "Indeed, he was the inspiration for much of our own public performances."
"Yes," Darcy murmured. "Well, 'Lord' Baltimore has recently began a new career."
"He cannot be less than in his late seventies," Snap said, thoughtfully. "What is the nature of this new direction in his life, if one may ask?"
"I shall explain," Darcy continued, after a sip of tea. "You may understand the education of a young gentleman includes such physical training as sword play and even skills with a dagger." Both giants nodded slowly, not really certain what they were being told. The education of young gentlemen was not in their range of knowledge or interest!
"Lord' Baltimore has developed a regime, a 'program'… let us call it… for the physical training of young gentlemen… to include training in fisticuffs, and pugilistics. 'What if there is no sword or dagger at hand,' he argues. 'Must a young man be helpless at a time of danger if he has just his bare hands to defend himself?'
"Needless to say there is much controversy in such a radical change in a youth's education," Darcy said softly, "but more and more schools and private institutions are listening and considering."
He shifted slightly in his chair, leaning forward. "I recall in my own youth occasional 'bouts' with my friends and I freely admit I had no idea how to defend myself from their blows. I would have welcomed some training… particularly in my fights with Wickham and my cousin Richard. I also freely admit I came off second best to both of them… usually being more interested in winning arguments with the skill of words rather than fists," he added, grinning.
"And I should hope you retain that sensible approach to any current arguments you may be involved in," Elizabeth interjected. Both brothers chuckled.
"The point is," Darcy continued, ignoring his wife, "I have written to 'Lord' Baltimore and suggested two names as candidates to work as instructors in his 'training program' and he has responded with deep interest, both to the names I suggested, namely your own, and to my expression of interest at participating financially and with my open support for this new direction in the training of our young gentlemen."
Both brothers were sitting with their mouths dropped open in surprise. "If you are interested," Darcy continued, "I will arrange an interview with 'Lord' Baltimore in the near future to discuss matters further," he finished with a slight question in his voice. Both brothers nodded enthusiastically.
"Of course, this is entirely separate from the cottage in the woods and the pensions that you both now enjoy," Lizzie interjected. The brothers looked at each other. "These are very good people," one murmured to the other again, who nodded his agreement.
Darcy cleared his throat roughly, twice, before he was able to continue speaking. Even then Lizzie heard a catch in his voice and felt her heart leap at the emotion she sensed in him. "Nonsense," he said. "You gentlemen simply don't realize the extent to which we are in your debt. Wickham was a threat to our own lives, our families, our then unborn child. Only because you two worked out his hidden identity were we able to escape what he planned for us in his wickedness."
"And to bring him to justice for the murder of poor Jewel and my poor, silly Lydia," Lizzie added with fervor.
A gong sounded somewhere deeper in the mansion. A moment later the door opened and a liveried page announced the arrival of the arch Bishop. All seated rose as Darcy offered his wife his arm. Nanny appeared through the door to the nursery area and Elizabeth noted with relief that Bennet still slept peacefully.
'May it so continue', she breathed in silent prayer. He was now in his white and gold christening garb and Lizzie thought Nanny deserved a special gift for managing to change him without disturbing his sleep. She was not sure she could have accomplished such a feat herself! They all moved together to the great hall. The two brothers hung back slightly and Elizabeth decided it might embarrass them needlessly to push them forward on this occasion. 'Time enough in the future for them to get used to great events at Pemberley,' she told herself.
When they joined the other guests assembled before the small dais that held the gold christening bowl with its purified waters, she was amused to note that Judge Bartholomew had accepted the invitation to their family event. He carried a plate heaped high with delicacies and Elizabeth understood the reason for his wide girth. Even Richard seemed to have gotten leave from his regiment to attend. He confided to her and Darcy, "I am actually en route to report to the War Council on the situation across the waters. This blessed event is a short detour of which the less my superiors know about, the better!"
After the Christening and the still sleeping Bennet had been taken off by Nanny to his nursery, Elizabeth noticed Judge Bartholomew moving towards Darcy. She gradually maneuvered closer to within earshot so she could overhear what the rotund judge was saying to her husband.
"One reason I came here today, aside from the felicitations of the day, of course, was on the chance of running into that barrister of yours." Darcy stared blankly at him a moment. "My barrister?" he murmured.
"Yes!" the judge responded with some energy. "You can't have forgotten the fellow since you owe your life to his cleverness. Prolonging that trial as he did to give your thief takers a chance to arrive and take that murderer before he could escape. I finally understood that strategy of your legal advisers… after the hanging, of course. It was brilliantly done. Plus, I enjoyed his knowledge of the Bard. I was hoping to renew our acquaintance." When Darcy still looked as though he didn't understand, Bartholomew finished with some exasperation, "That fellow… Porticus!"
Darcy looked around helplessly, totally at a loss as to how to answer. This was not the way he and his wife had planned to approach Bartholomew to make amends and beg his forgiveness for using his courtroom to bring Wickham to justice. He caught Elizabeth's eye and she gave him a mischievous grin, then turned and darted away leaving him to fend for himself. "Perhaps he'll be along after a while," Darcy finally said, (rather lamely, he felt). "Meanwhile enjoy yourself with the delicacies, but don't forget there is a sumptuous banquet later for all our guests." "Humph," Bartholomew huffed and stalked off.
It was barely fifteen minutes later that Mr. Porticus himself made his way through the crowd towards the judge who had found a seat and was finishing the last of his plate of dainties. Spying him, Bartholomew jumped up, thrusting his plate into the hands of a startled servant who juggled it momentarily. "Porticus! My dear fellow!" Bartholomew sang out, as he hurried to grasp the outstretched hand of his equal in girth and shortness of stature. "So, glad to see you again," he continued, shaking his colleagues hand vigorously, not noticing the wince of pain in the other's eyes. "It was in hopes of renewing our acquaintance that I came today; although I must say the pasties and hors d'oeurves have made the trip worthwhile… as I'm sure you'll soon discover for yourself," he added with a chuckle.
"Good to see a fellow lover of the Bard attending this affair," Porticus rasped. Bartholomew shook his head. "Still have that bad throat, I see," he said as Darcy came hurrying up to join them. His face was almost white in anxiety, but the two fat men didn't seem to notice him. "I have the name of a specialist in London who might be able to help you with that hoarseness, my good fellow," the Judge murmured. "Gone on too long not to be looked at by a top man, you know," he added with a touch of sympathy in his voice.
"Ah," Darcy said. "You've found each other. Good," he added, his mind racing, trying to discern what mischief his wife might be up to while cursing that he did not destroy the Porticus costume while she was in confinement with Bennet. This was not the plan he and Lizzie had decided on for approaching the Judge to beg forgiveness for imposing their scheme for catching Wickham on his courtroom. He came up with an inspiration. "I had the idea that the two of you, loving the Bard as you both do, might enjoy viewing the Shakespeare collection in our library here in Pemberley," he said, and only his wife noted with amusement the desperation in his voice.
"I believe it to be one of the most complete collection of Quartos in the realm, and…" he added as an additional temptation, "we have three of Blount and Jaggard's First Folios… all in as new condition!" Anything to get the two of them out of the public's view of one of his wife's impish tricks.
"Three First Folios!" Bartholomew exclaimed in astonishment. "While I have not even been able to find even one after fifty years of searching," he added in envious tones. "Well, what do you say Porticus, my good fellow? Shall we look at the folios and pronounce on their authenticity?" Porticus nodded and rasped, "By all means, your Honor. To quote the Bard, 'Let us see if he is most ignorant of what he's most assured'!"
"Ah, excellent," Bartholomew chuckled. "'Measure for Measure'! Act two… scene three, if I'm not mistaken."
"At the risk of being found in contempt," Porticus rasped, "I have to say in this case you are mistaken, my Lord. It was scene two, not three." Bartholomew laughed as he grabbed two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing servant. Handing one to Porticus, he said, "I will drink a toast to a colleague and fellow aficionado of the Bard," he exclaimed, as Darcy steered them towards the library, nodding at the servant standing guard before the door to open it. A moment later, he ushered them through it.
Inside, he led them towards the shelves containing the Shakespeare collection. It was housed in ornate bookcases behind doors that were mostly glass, allowing the viewer to see the volumes standing there, but protecting them from airborne dust or moisture. Bartholomew peered closely at the volumes and said with a tone of awe. "Magnificent, Lord Darcy. You are to be congratulated. I have seen a First Folio at the British Museum and I believe your three here to be authentic… as much as I can judge without handling them… which I certainly will not do with a glass of champagne in my hand," he added.
"Then allow me to show one to you, my Lord," said Darcy, opening the bookcase and extracting one of the volumes. He stood before the fat Judge and turned back the cover, revealing the inner pages. Bartholomew peered closely at the text, nodding his head. "Absolutely authentic," he pronounced. Turning to Porticus, he asked "What is your opinion, my dear fellow?" Porticus waved a slim hand. "Authentic without question, my Lord," he rasped. "I have examined these volumes myself in the past and was much delighted to verify with my own eyes Lord Darcy's boast of owning three First Folios."
Reaching out a slender hand, Porticus took Bartholomew's glass of champagne, setting it down on a nearby table. "Now you may safely handle the volume yourself, my Lord." Nodding his thanks, the Judge took the volume Darcy was offering him and carefully turned the pages. "Genuine, without a question," he murmured. "A priceless treasure," he added, "and I thank you for allowing me to hold it in my hands." Darcy glanced at Porticus and raised a questioning eyebrow. Catching his meaning, the small figure gave a nod of assent. Satisfied, he told the fat man, "My wife and I wish you to have this Folio as a gift so you will forgive the liberty we took in not revealing that I was nowhere near the scene of the crime and thus forcing you to preside over a farce of a trial worthy of the Bard himself."
Bartholomew's jaw dropped. "You astonish me, my good Darcy, with your generosity. This is a gift beyond measure. If it were not for the fact that our legal business is behind us, I could not accept such a treasure, lest it be seen as a bribe." Then he added, "I must seek out your good wife and thank her also, and be certain that she agrees to surrender such a family heirloom."
Darcy said, "You do not have to look far to thank her, my Lord. She stands behind you." Frowning, Bartholomew turned and looked at Porticus… who astonished him by sweeping what he saw now was a white wig from a dark haired head. A tug with a slim hand, and a white beard and heavy mustache followed, revealing the smiling features of Lady Elizabeth Darcy. Once more the Judge's mouth fell open in astonishment. Recovering himself, he murmured, "I understand now. Not Porticus, but Portia… and I was Barbaro di Ciero, Duke of Venice, presiding over your trial, ala 'The Merchant of Venice'."
"A necessary subterfuge, your Honor," Lizzie rasped in Porticus' voice, as she removed a small pillow from the front of her costume, losing her heavy belly and reverting to her usual slim self. Then, using her own natural tones, she explained, "We had to draw the murderer from his hiding place and we judged a public trial was the best way to do it… as it turned out we were right. He could not resist viewing with his own eyes the public humiliation of his enemy. He came, and you had the chance to hang a foul murderer," she added in a placating tone. Bartholomew nodded. "I understand your strategy. And I must say, the cleverness with which you executed your plan forces me to rethink my opposition to women appearing in my courtroom as witnesses… or even as barristers… as long as they display your level of competence," he added with a chuckle.
He hefted the Volume of the First Folio in his hand. "All told," he said in a musing tone, "I think the gift you have given me compensates for any injury to my dignity that may have accrued through the misdemeanor of your behavior."
Elizabeth gave him a mischievous grin. "So, 'All's Well that Ends Well' my Lord?" she asked in Porticus' rasping voice. Lord Bartholomew bowed. "Indeed, it does, my friends. And now, if you have no objection, I will not attend your banquet, but rather I will sit here and peruse this wonderful volume and sip some more of your excellent champagne." Darcy bowed in his turn. "We must leave to preside over the banquet, my Lord, but I will make certain you are not disturbed with the exception of some servants who will bring a tray of refreshments, more champagne, and some candles for when the light begins to fade." He and Elizabeth left as the Judge settled himself into one of the most comfortable chairs and began to carefully turn pages. Elizabeth and Darcy smiled at each other and their eyes shone with a love for each other as deep as the love the old man felt for his Shakespeare folio. Silently, they left him and returned to their other guests… and a very hungry Bennet!
The End
