When I returned to the house, any hopes I’d entertained of being left alone were immediately disappointed. Kitty was pacing around the front entrance, waiting for me with some impatience. Servants were running to and fro, carrying trunks and bags toward the door. “What’s all the hustle and bustle?” I asked. I set the basket down, empty of watercress, and removed my hat and pelisse.
Her glance briefly took in the activity, then settled on me. “The Ashtons are leaving. Where have you been, Mary? We received a letter from Papa. Lydia’s child has been born. Jane wishes to depart for Longbourn immediately.”
At that moment, Jane came rushing down the stairs. “Mary, did Kitty tell you the news? Lydia has been brought to bed of a girl! We must be on our way within the hour. Can you be ready?”
I wasn’t sure what the rush was, since the babe had already made her appearance, apparently without any mishaps, but I nodded my agreement. “Of course, if that is what you wish.”
“If there is a reason for you to stay, Kitty can accompany me,” she said in a low voice. “Nothing has happened to keep you here?”
From her quizzical look, I knew she’d been hoping Mr. Walsh and I had pledged our undying love to each other while gathering watercress. I put an end to her hopes. “No. Nothing. I’ll pack my things.”
“Sara has already begun, but you had best check on her.”
I started up the stairs, then turned and asked, “What did Papa’s letter say?”
“The midwife attended Lydia, with Mama and Aunt Gardiner’s help. Fortunately it was an easy birth. Off you go! I’ll tell you the rest in the chaise.”
We departed right on schedule, leaving poor Kitty to her dreams of Mr. Walsh. Although everything he’d said persuaded me he would not pursue her, she would need to discover it for herself. Apparently, she was ignorant of his visit. I felt sure she would have lashed out at me if she’d known he had been at High Tor and sought me out rather than her.
“Good-bye!” Kitty called, waving as Jane and I drove away. She looked rather pitiful, and I hoped her heart, soon to be broken, would mend quickly.
I wished I could curl up in a corner of the chaise and weep. If turning down Mr. Walsh’s offer was the right decision, why did I feel so bleak? I could tell all to Jane, but I didn’t want her to endure listening to the trials of one sister while on her way to aid another. She must have sensed my sadness, because she left me to my disordered thoughts. Only think, Henry Walsh had a child, one he had kept secret all this time! I wondered if Jane and Charles knew. I recalled at the picnic noticing his skill when handling David and his stumbling over the number of nieces and nephews he had.
If only he’d told me at the start that he had a daughter! Although I wasn’t sure if revealing the truth about his situation would have mattered. I didn’t wish to wed a man who simply needed a mother for his child. A man who kept secrets. A man who proposed as though he were arranging a business transaction. Marriage and security in exchange for raising his child. In the end, we would barely tolerate each other, like my parents. It was too appalling to contemplate.
Jane and I spent two unpleasant nights at coaching inns. At the first, the inn yard was noisy with comings and goings until the wee hours. And the second—suffice it to say the condition of the bed linens didn’t bear thinking about. Worried about vermin, we slept in our clothes with our pelisses on. When we arrived at home, only Papa stood out front to greet us, shading the sun from his eyes with one hand.
“Welcome, my dear girls. We are sadly in need of your help.”
“Is something wrong, sir?” Jane asked.
“Your aunt Gardiner left a few days ago, and without a nursemaid, things are in a sorry state. Your mother has taken to her bed, and Lydia has done nothing but complain since the child’s birth.”
“Should we go to Mama or Lydia first?” Jane asked when we’d put off our wraps.
“You’d best greet your mother, or she’ll be vexed.”
As Jane and I hurried upstairs, I thought I heard the baby crying. We looked at each other in dismay. Mama lay on her bed surrounded by pillows, her smelling salts close to hand. “Oh!” she said as we entered the room. “I thought you would never get here.”
“We came as soon as we received Papa’s letter,” Jane assured her. The baby’s cries grew louder and more insistent, and I glanced nervously at my sister.
Clutching a handkerchief, Mama swept a hand through the air. “Your father! I am most sorely displeased with him! He refused to write to you until my sister Gardiner was to take her leave.” Her arm sank down onto her pillows, as if exhausted by so much effort. “He said we must learn to get along on our own. Have you ever heard such nonsense?” She paused for a breath, then continued in a more reasonable voice. “We are all in an uproar since your aunt decamped. I do not know why she could not have stayed longer. She was not with us even a month, and had no great need to return home, I’m sure! In my state, I can hardly bear a baby in the house.”
I frowned. “Mama, Aunt Gardiner’s own children probably missed her keenly. Not to mention Mr. Gardiner.”
“Oh, what does that signify next to a new baby?” She twisted her face into a grimace, dismissing any claims the Gardiners had over their beloved wife and mother.
“How is Lydia?” Jane asked.
“How do you think? Since we received Lizzy’s letter about Wickham’s refusal to take her back, she’s in very low spirits. Cruel, heartless man!” I refrained from pointing out that Lydia bore some responsibility for her predicament.
The baby’s screams rose to an earsplitting pitch. “We’d better go to our sister,” Jane said.
“Yes, do, or that child will never stop her caterwauling.”
Lydia’s bedchamber was just down the hall. It looked as if someone had taken a pile of things and simply thrown them in the air, leaving them to land where they might. Ladies’ magazines, discarded clothing, bonnets, reticules, baby clothes, all lay strewn about. It was hard to see how matters could have gotten this much out of hand in the short time since my aunt’s departure. Jane went directly to the baby, while I, stepping around the mess on the floor, made my way to Lydia. She was propped up by a multitude of pillows, so like Mama. I eased myself onto the edge of the bed. “You have a baby daughter, Lydia. Congratulations!”
She scowled at me. “You’ve never given birth, Mary, and can’t know what a nightmare it is. It took a monstrous long time! And the baby cries constantly. What am I to do?”
Jane approached the bedside with the little bundle, a doting smile on her face. “She’s beautiful, Lydia. And Papa’s letter said your labor was not too difficult.”
“He would say that, wouldn’t he? It was no hardship on him.”
Except for taking you in and having his life completely disrupted.
With Jane’s swaying movements and clucking noises, the child was already quieting. “What have you named her?” she asked.
“Felicity.”
“Ah . . . lovely name,” Jane said.
Lydia must have found it in a magazine. Nobody we knew had ever named her child Felicity. I stood up and peeked at her. She had an abundance of almost black, curly hair and dark eyes, and stared up at me in a bewildered way. With her brows drawn together, she resembled a scholar trying to work out a philosophical problem, and I giggled. Jane held the little bundle out to me, and I accepted it, feeling awkward and ignorant of what to do. So I kept on with what Jane had been doing, walking about and cooing.
“Is she hungry? Perhaps that’s why she’s fussing,” I said. If I were to be of any help, I’d need to learn about feedings and changing nappies and bathing. And many other baby matters. For a moment, I remembered Mr. Walsh holding little David and how comfortable he seemed. I’d told him I envied his skill, and I did all the more now. A sharp pinprick of regret took me by surprise, for the way things might have been, but I could not indulge those feelings now.
“How should I know? How I long for a nursemaid, but Papa won’t pay for one. I need my rest, you know. I declare, it’s exceedingly mean of him. He says Wickham should pay, only I don’t even know how to contact him. Horrid Mr. Darcy won’t give me his direction.”
“Wickham told him he was leaving within hours, so his current direction would not have been helpful. Mr. Darcy went to a great deal of trouble to track down your husband. You should be grateful to him for his efforts on your behalf,” Jane said.
“Well, why should that signify since nothing good came about as a result? I didn’t ask for Darcy’s help. You and Lizzy did that.”
Jane cast Lydia a reproachful glance but held her tongue. I was certain Lydia would be oblivious to a rebuke, in any case.
“How long has it been since her last feeding?” Jane asked.
“A few hours.”
“It’s time then. With infants, it’s best to put them to the breast when they fuss.”
“She doesn’t suck properly,” Lydia complained.
“Why don’t I help you?” asked Jane. “Let me see how you’re going about this, and maybe I can offer some advice.”
“Mary must leave,” Lydia commanded. “I don’t want her watching me, and she doesn’t know anything about it.”
“I want to talk to Papa anyway,” I said, grateful for the chance to make my escape.
Mrs. Hill, do you know where my father is?” His library door was standing open, but he wasn’t there. The familiar odors of ink, leather-bound volumes, and aging parchment made me glad to be home, despite Lydia’s complaints and Mama’s nerves.
“Off to visit a tenant. Wouldn’t be gone too long, he said.”
I nodded my thanks and decided to walk out. Perhaps I’d meet him on his way back. I strolled in the direction of the tenants’ cottages, breathing in the scents of spring—loam, manure, fresh-cut grass—and thought over the talk I’d had with Jane earlier.
On the first few days of our journey, she had waited with all consideration for my feelings, but doubtless hoping I would raise the subject of Mr. Walsh. I did not. After we’d jounced along an hour or so this morning, and I still hadn’t said a word, she’d raised it herself. Very circumspect in her questions, Jane had shown a great deal of patience and kindness.
“Mary, may I know what happened between you and Henry Walsh?” she hesitantly asked. Weary with keeping my feelings in check, I told her the chief of it, leaving out only the story of Amelia. If they didn’t know about her, I felt strongly it was not my place to tell them.
I hadn’t even realized I was crying until Jane reached for my hand and held it tightly. Only then did I feel the wetness on my cheeks and the burning behind my eyes. Not again. I never used to weep. Crying was for silly girls like Lydia and Kitty. For someone opposed to it on principle, I’d lately been doing more than my share. Once I realized my eyes were dripping tears, I couldn’t stop the tremors that overtook me. Jane bore with me, all the while patting my hand and murmuring comforting little noises.
“Why did you refuse him? Is it as Lizzy guessed? Are you afraid?”
I avoided a direct answer. “He doesn’t love me, Jane. He thinks I have an admirable character,” I said between little gasps. I couldn’t say he only wanted me because he thought I possessed commendable mothering attributes. Oh, blast! Even though he’d deceived me, I couldn’t shake off the feeling I’d made a horrible mistake. Henry was a good man, even if he was not violently in love with me.
“There are worse reasons to marry. And I’m sure he would grow to love you. Look how you’ve changed for the better in the past few years!” She handed me a handkerchief from her reticule.
“Forgive me if I tell you I don’t agree with the idea that couples grow to love each other,” I said, my voice thick and rasping. “It seems to me more common that they grow apart.”
Jane grimaced. “Do you think he’ll offer for Kitty?”
“He said they have nothing in common, so I think not.”
“Well, that shows good sense, although Kitty will be hurt. But she’ll recover and, if I know her, will be on the hunt for another man soon enough.”
“I’ve made such a tangle of things,” I said, eventually raising my head. “Now when I see Mr. Walsh at High Tor, it will be very awkward and unpleasant. If he doesn’t offer for Kitty, though, he probably won’t be there very often.”
“I think he’ll continue to be a frequent visitor because he and Charles are so close. But don’t fret over it now, Mary. You will not be there for some time, and you’ll have plenty of other matters to occupy you at Longbourn.”
Like learning to care for a baby, I thought now, ambling along the avenue and keeping an eye out for Papa. Clearly, Lydia was no fit mother. I hoped Jane could give her—give us both—some instruction before she returned to High Tor.
“Mary!” Papa’s voice, hailing me. He walked toward me swinging a walking stick.
“I was hoping to find you,” I said. “Do you have more visits to make?”
“No, only the one. Mr. Calvert’s pasture is sorely in need of drainage. I had the unpleasant duty of informing him I couldn’t help him achieve it.”
I had a vague memory of Charles and Mr. Walsh discussing drainage systems the day we visited Linden Hall. “I think Charles knows something about this,” I said. “Perhaps he would be willing to help.”
Papa held up a restraining hand. “I cannot ask Charles or Mr. Darcy for any more help. Out of the question.”
“So it is true, then, that a nursemaid for Lydia is also out of the question?”
“You disapprove, I see. I have done a poor job of managing our income over the years, Mary. I’m determined to hold on to the money set aside for marriage settlements for you and Kitty. Apart from that, there’s simply not enough for a nurse.”
“But Papa, by all means, use my portion. I am quite sure I will never wed.”
“You may be sure of that, but I am not. Lydia is strong and healthy, and there is no reason why she cannot tend to the babe herself.”
I arched my eyebrows at him. “Except that she has absolutely no inclination to do so.”
“Even so, she’ll manage. According to Jane’s letter, you’ve come home in order to offer assistance?”
“I’ll do what I can, but I’m afraid I’m ill prepared for the job. Has Lydia heard nothing from Wickham, then? No word at all?”
“None.” He was silent a moment. “Although she has received a few letters from someone else. She refuses to say from whom, but I have a strong suspicion they are from the man she—”
“No need to explain, Papa. I take your meaning. That seems rather . . . scandalous, does it not?”
“Just so. I told her in no uncertain terms that I would confiscate any further communication from him. She laughed and said it was none of my affair. You know her too well to doubt me on that head.”
“Oh, I am sorry, sir.” Ungrateful wretch of a girl, to speak so to Papa.
“It is your mother and I who are to blame. If I hadn’t been so remiss as a parent, if I had been more severe on Lydia, we might not have come to this pass. I foolishly assumed she would turn out to be a good girl, like the rest of you. Kitty excepted, although she has improved of late.”
“We must make the best of a bad situation,” I said, and we strolled toward home, both lost in our thoughts of missed opportunities and irresponsible acts.