Your reviews keep my dedicated to continuing on with this story.
I confess to not researching as much Scotland stuff as I should have, so for anyone in the know of unique terms etc., please tell me what I can say about it to make this part of the story more realistic.
31.
We arrived at the police station, which more or less looked liked such things always do, went inside, identified ourselves, showed identification and then were shown into a meeting room. The room was painted a pale blue and six upholstered chairs were set up around a rectangular wooden table. I noticed the table had a box of tissues on it.
We sat down at the far side of the table to wait. While we waited, Rick joked "We're in an interrogation room. They just need to change out these padded chairs for more uncomfortable ones, dim the lights and leave just a single chair on that side of the table." He gestured to where he would put it. "Now what dastardly deeds do you suppose they would want us to confess to and then cry our eyes out about?"
Rick's tone was light, disarming even, but the spectre he raised wasn't nearly so amusing to me. Instead he reminded me of what happened about two months past when I tried to report Caroline, and ending up pushed flat upon a table and handcuffed. I did not want to think about that trauma right then. It wasn't one of the worst things that had happened in my life, but it wasn't exactly a pleasant memory, either. Maybe there would come a day when I could laugh about it, but I wasn't there yet.
Rick must have seen from my expression that he had said the wrong thing, so resorted to trying other things to lighten the mood. "So what was in the email? Are you engaged yet?" He then forced a laugh at his own joke.
But that wasn't the right thing for him to say, either. I was feeling more grim by the minute.
"So, seriously, what did it say?"
"Well," I considered how to summarize what I had read thus far, "Elizabeth was replying to a letter I wrote to her and her sisters a while ago apologizing for my rude behavior. Elizabeth doesn't hate me anymore, and she revealed that she's always felt like the Ugly Duckling in comparison with her sister Jane, and she did some apologizing, and even offered to listen to me if I ever needed to talk about things . . . "
"But? What is it? All those things are good or important to know. So why do you look like your dog just died or something?"
"Well, I didn't get to finish the email, but Elizabeth called me a friend, so I think she is trying to let me know that she's not interested."
Rick frowned a little. "That was not the vibe I was getting from seeing the two of you together."
"Me, either, but I guess she thought the better of things. Not that I blame her. Who would want to date someone whose life is as messed up as mine is right now? I'm broken. I don't even know if I'd feel comfortable having any sort of physical relationship with someone right now."
I immediately backtracked, "Not that I'm looking for a physical relationship, but if I start dating someone . . . what if I can't . . . what if intimacy, even just the more minor stuff, is too awkward or it reminds me of . . . "
Rick replied "I think you are getting ahead of yourself. If, when you end up dating again, just take things slow. There's no rule or timeline for intimacy. Relationships, good relationships aren't about sex. Yes, sex, good sex, can really enhance stuff, meet a need, but it is the talking, the cuddling, the sharing of oneself, just enjoying being together that a good relationship is really about."
"When did you get so enlightened, Rick?" I asked. Then before he could reply added "and when did you become a woman?"
Rick touched his chest, fluttered his eyelids and said in his best southern accent (and by this I mean I truly terrible southern accent) "I do declare, how you do run on, fiddle dee dee."
As he meant it to, this lightened my mood a bit.
Just then, the door swung open with a squeak and a shorter, heavy-set bearded man in a button down shirt and slacks stepped into the room. He was holding a green folder. We stood up and stepped around the table to greet him.
"Ah, you're the carers?" he asked in a strong Scottish brogue.
"We're the guardians, if that's what you mean," I answered.
"Yes," Rick added. "I'm Rick Fitzwilliam, G.G.'s cousin, and this is is Bill Darcy, her brother."
"Colin McCowan, I'm a social worker. The situation with," he opened his folder and glanced down, "Georgiana Darcy is rather complicated. Won't you sit down?"
We resumed our prior seats and Mr. McCowan sat across from us.
"Well then, we had to hold a Child Protection Case Conference right away. Of course since the person whose custody she was in had no legal right to have her, that made things easier (even though she claimed they were married, we don't have any evidence of that and while sixteen-year-olds can marry here, it is not a quick process, especially for a foreign national). However, the fact that she is from the States and had no carers here made things more complex, as did her age. We didn't have an appropriate placement with a foster carer right away, but we couldn't just put her in a shelter by herself. We also worried she'd be a runaway if not placed in an appropriate facility once we found out who she was and that she'd left her school before. The police temporarily held her, but as she was the victim, she couldn't be remanded, you understand."
"Where is she now?" I asked.
Mr. McCowan avoided my eyes for a moment and then looked up "Well, you see, she was taken to a group home for girls, but it was more appropriate for children with a criminal background, yes? I don't know if she was simply unhappy there or having trouble with one of the other girls, but within hours she tried to run away and had to be restrained. Well there is no easy way to say this, but in whole process her shoulder got dislocated and she got taken to hospital."
"What?" I could not help but roar.
Mr. McCowan flinched at hearing my voice and hastened to explain "She's fine now, popped it back in, in a jiff, but while there said some statements about self-harm, stealing knives from the kitchen and slashing her jugular if she was taken back to the group home, things of that sort. I don't believe anything like that is actually available there, or she could get to it it it was, but it was enough to get her an emergency certificate. Depending, she may be looking at a short term certificate."
My worry about any long-term damage from G.G.'s shoulder injury deepened to a more horrible feeling as I tried to think through whether she'd truly want to hurt herself. At the same time, I was making a mental note to ask more questions about these certificates once the social worker finished.
"A counselor spoke to her at a place of safety and talked to her about how the hope was to place her with a foster carer soon before she was returned to her guardians. She became..." he flipped through his notes, apparently seeking a quote "hysterical, saying that you just wanted to keep her from her husband, that you were child molesters and would hurt her again.
"Do understand, while such matters need to be investigated, certainly, authorities from your country have assured us that you have no criminal backgrounds, that there are no reports against you."
My worry quickly changed to a stab of anger and a roiling in my stomach as Mr. McCowan related what she accused us of. How dare she! All Rick and I had ever tried to do was to help her.
"We love G.G." Rick exclaimed. "We'd never do anything to hurt her. She's a very troubled girl who did not take well to limits when we were trying our best to keep her away from George Wickham."
"I can't believe she's accusing us of . . . of hurting her," I added. I couldn't even say the words.
"So where is G.G. now?" Rick asked again.
"She's been taken to a specialized facility in light of the suicide threats and she's there now."
"Can we see her?" Rick asked.
"Possibly if her doctors think it ought to be attempted, but the police will want to get formal statements from you first. If you would sign a release for her school records, that would help the process, too. Also, at hospital they want to get her stabilized and assuming it's approved, any visit will have to be supervised in light of her accusations. I'm sure you understand."
Rick said "Yes," I said nothing. My mind was racing at the implications of all that the social worker had said.
"But that's not all. You see when they were first taken in, given the nature of the case, Georgiana was taken to hospital for blood testing (just to make sure she had no illicit substances) and a rape exam. She cooperated and other than having a low blood alcohol level, her tests were clean. While there was some evidence of past trauma, she was generally healthy. But one of the results was unexpected and could impact her subsequent mental health care."
"What was it?" I asked.
"Does she have an STD?" Rick guessed.
I hardly felt whatever Mr. McCowan was going to tell me could have any importance compared with everything else.
"Well . . . you see . . ." The man was obviously flustered and, as he had calmly enough told us all the other awful things, that had me worried. "That is . . .there is no easy way to say this. The HCG test came back positive, strongly positive. Georgiana is pregnant."
A/N: Sorry, not sorry, to have ended on a cliffie. I've known for most of this story that this was how things were going to end up, with Georgiana pregnant, but didn't know all the circumstances. How do you think Bill and Rick will react to this news? Do you think Georgiana already knew?