Karen Wasylowski - Darcy and Fitzwilliam - A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer

Another pain caused Elizabeth to double over and scream.

Amanda Fitzwilliam was making her first steps into her new life, and to liberty, the American Revolution’s motto of Don’t Tread On Me her silent mantra—very silent. It was early evening, and her mother-in-law, finally recuperated enough to enjoy the holidays, had taken Emily and Georgiana to another one of the interminable holiday house parties that the upper classes apparently thrived upon. She would be gone for three glorious days. The timing for their escape could not have been more perfect.

When Amanda was certain that the old woman had departed and that the servants had left or were distracted with celebrations for the evening, she bundled up Harry and waited for her husband’s arrival. She waited as long as she could before her nerves just snapped. Grabbing a small bag that she had prepared with a few clothes for them both, she quietly slipped down the stairs.

Without her husband to accompany her through the streets, necessity developed a new plan. She spoke with one of the maids that had befriended her, telling her to get together a bag, that they would be going away visiting for a few days for the holidays. That girl was now sitting on the back stairs, nervously waiting and chewing away at her bottom lip. “Come along, Mary. Have you packed a bag for yourself? Good. This will be great fun, you’ll see.”

Setting her bag down for a moment, Amanda picked up the sleepy Harry, reclaimed her small valise, and then began leading the way down the stairs, out the back door, and across the avenue, racing against the quickly fading daylight. “Hurry though, Mary. We must hurry. Night is falling. It is only a few blocks.”

Since the elder Lady Penrod’s instruction to Mary had been to feign friendship with the American while secretly reporting back regarding Amanda’s activities, Mary reluctantly agreed to accompany her. “I don’t know, ma’am,” she squeaked out. “Won’t ’er ladyship be that mad at me for this?”

“Nonsense, Mary, it is but for a few days at most, a little holiday just for ourselves with some friends.” Amanda craved sweets at the moment and thought that would be a certain allurement. “There will be lots of chocolate and cake.” She stopped then for a moment to resettle her child more comfortably on her hip. She hadn’t realized how much Harry had grown and how heavy he had become, but it was much quicker to carry him than to coax the tired child along.

Lord, but the boy was heavy.

It was a strange little procession that scurried through fashionable Mayfair and on toward St. James Street, attracting not a slight amount of attention from the few souls brave enough to face the frigid evening temperatures. Amanda forced herself to slow her pace, trying to avoid the curious glances of passersby, plus, she was quickly tiring with the added weight of Harry in her arms. “Only a few blocks more,” she called out loudly to reassure Mary. Darkness had already settled in among the tree boughs heavy with white sparkling powder.

A pair of gentlemen rushing past doffed their hats. A curious dog followed them for a block or more and then lost interest. Sleigh bells rang in the far distance. They heard intermittent laughter from unseen dwellings, and then a harp begin to play “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” in a home gaily lit with candles. They slowed for a moment to rest and listen as faraway voices sang, “ Good tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy… ” But too soon, the song ended, and there was silence surrounding them.

The truculent maid kept lagging behind, mumbling angrily and struggling with her nearly empty suitcase. “Mary, please keep your eyes forward. I don’t know why you are so concerned with what is behind us. Please walk faster.”

Amanda tried to remain calm. Although they were to have waited for Richard’s arrival to help spirit them from the house, he was late, and she had panicked. He would know to find her at the Darcys’ house. He had told her she would be safe there.

It was then she noticed that the Darcy’s ornate wrought iron gate was unlatched and creaking, swinging freely. Apprehension grew within her. Following her gaze up the drive to the vast portico, she found it odder still that one of the double front doors was also open, illuminated from within by a dimming fireplace at the rear of the two-story, white-marble foyer. The front lamps were cold and unlit.

She walked hesitantly forward, drawing closer and closer to the forbidding black rail that surrounded the property, her heart pounding with unknown fear, unrealized danger. The night was so very quiet, eerie and still. Try to think logically now, ’manda, even if you are a woman . Her husband’s oft quoted and lovingly meant jibe caused her to grow bolder. After pushing back the imposing gate, she made her way up the circular drive to the front, setting Harry down finally before she attempted climbing the brick stairs. She instructed Mary to wait for her at their base and to hold her son’s hand then cautiously made her way to the door, calling out a “Hello!” as she pushed the front door fully open. “Mrs. Darcy, are you here?”

She heard a woman scream.

Lizzy was struggling to rise when she heard the voice calling out to her from the entrance below. “Help me, God.” Her plea was nearer a whisper. With her legs trembling, her palms scraped and bleeding, her heart pounding, she managed to pull herself into a crouching position then lost her balance once more and screamed as she fell sideways, hitting her stomach against the chair. The pain was excruciating, whether from the fall or from within unknown. Terrified for her unborn child, she wrapped her arms around the little one and began to weep. Within moments, a presence knelt before her, and she blindly reached out to it, feeling a rush of relief when she clutched onto the warm, soft hand of another human being.

“Thank heaven you’re here.” She gasped for air then slowly opened her eyes to tiny slits. “By the way, who are you?” She was staring into the face of a stranger.

“Mrs. Darcy, please forgive me for barging into your home. The door was open downstairs, and I became alarmed when I heard your cry. Here, allow me help you.”

Elizabeth took a few more moments to catch her breath, resting back on her heels to look curiously about. Before her was a woman around her age, blonde and very attractive, dressed in an old-fashioned cloak and bonnet. Behind the woman stood a terrified-looking maid holding the hand of a frightened little child. Elizabeth inhaled deeply, a modicum of calm slowly returning. She shook her head. These histrionics will not do , she reasoned. I must get a grip on her emotions. Elizabeth gazed intently into the strange woman’s eyes.

“Forgive my present state. I am not usually so blunt when speaking or lax in my hospitality.” Suppressing all of her instincts toward hysteria, she forced herself to smile. “It appears that you have me at a slight disadvantage, however, madam, since you seem acquainted with me, although I do not recall the pleasure of meeting you before.”

“I am Amanda Fitzwilliam.”

“I am exceedingly grateful to meet you.” Lizzy’s eyelashes began to flutter furiously. “What did you say your name was?”

Amanda was too distracted to hear the question as she helped support Lizzy in her struggle to stand. They lurched first one way then the other, amidst the associated grunts and “oofs” and “oh mys.” There were one or two very polite apologies regarding unexpected toe injuries, but by and by, they achieved an upright position in relatively short time.