Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Elizabeth continued crying on her bewildered husband's shoulder for a few moments, then gave an abrupt giggle.
"I don't know what Mary will say. She insisted on leaving, with Mr. Canfield and the children, this afternoon, because they would not stay in the house with a `harlot.' Apparently Walter had learned from either Bridget or Sophie--probably Sophie; she does not seem overly bright--that their mother had never remarried after Wickham...." She cleared her throat, not wishing to mention the incidents surrounding Wickham's death.
"Then Daniel and Bridget..."
Elizabeth nodded.
"Poor, stupid Lydia. I wish she would have stayed. I can't say I'm comfortable keeping Marcus here, for obvious reasons, but she is my sister; we could have taken care of her."
"Of course," he said slowly, deciding that since Lydia was not here, it was safe to agree. "What shall we do with the children, though? Perhaps Max has room at..."
"I will not send them to an orphanage, Will," Elizabeth said firmly. "Not when we could easily let them stay here."
"How easy is it, to provide for four children in their teens?"
"You would rather hand that responsibility over to Max?" Elizabeth stood, drying her eyes and straightening her general appearance. "Excuse me, Will dear. I must inform my nieces and nephews that their mother has abandoned them."
Jocelyn had left the drawing room soon after their return from the pond, and Marcus was missing her. He realized she needed to freshen herself up, but he wished he could watch her do it. It was a lucky thing for him that the richest eligible girl at the party (he was aware that Morgan and Annie Blakeney were actually the richest, but he was able to see they were too young for him) was also the prettiest. Hannah Darcy was very beautiful, but after a few minutes of flirting with her to make up for Jocelyn's absence, Marcus was informed by a furious Thomas Darcy that Hannah was engaged--to aforementioned Thomas Darcy.
Marcus pretended to be embarrassed, and apologized very handsomely, despite the fact that he could not resist a comment about their close relationship.
"I am so sorry, Thomas. I realize you had said before that you were happily engaged, but because of your unfortunate common last name, I had taken you for brother and sister. You are a very fortunate man, and I leave you, heartbroken."
He left Hannah blushing and Thomas fuming, and had the satisfaction of knowing there would be a lovers' quarrel very shortly.
Marcus was forced to pass Sir Christopher Blakeney on his way out the door. He did not like the man, partly because of the way his mother had giggled and winked the first time they laid eyes on each other that afternoon. Sir Christopher had not even had the good sense to be flattered by her attention, but had escaped very quickly afterwards. Marcus did not trust a man who ran away from a woman. Besides, he seemed to remember the name from somewhere before, and if he was not mistaken, it had a bad connotation to go with it. Nevertheless, he smiled politely as he passed.
"You seem to make friends quickly, Mr. Wickham," said Christopher quietly. "Particularly with the ladies."
Marcus stopped, surprised by the apparent friendliness of the question. He had assumed his feelings toward the man were reciprocated.
"Yes. My mother says I inherited that from my father."
"That is more than likely, I'd say," Christopher laughed.
"You knew my father, sir?" Marcus was vastly surprised.
"I met him once or twice, I believe." Christopher smiled again, catching Georgiana's eyes with his own from across the room. He looked back to Marcus. "How old are you, Marcus? Eighteen?"
"Nineteen."
"Nineteen. I would say, by your confidence and skill in the area, that you have been having your way with women for well on four or five years, yes?"
"Yes," Marcus smiled proudly. Something inside him wondered what had possessed Sir Christopher to question him this way, but he ignored it.
"Hm." Christopher leaned his shoulders on the wall behind him and stared at the carpet for a few moments. "Have you ever thought of marriage?"
Marcus laughed loudly.
"How could I marry at my age?"
"How indeed? I have been wondering that all day, watching you and Lady Jocelyn." Marcus's smile disappeared. "But I suppose you had forgotten about her when you spoke. You seem like a smart boy, so I don't suppose you'd presume to attempt a seduction when you are staying under the same roof as her father," he directed Marcus's gaze to where David was standing threateningly over his brother the colonel while they argued over some point of military strategy.
"I do like Jocelyn very much, Sir Christopher," said Marcus haltingly.
"Yes, she is very likable. She is also naive. I merely wanted to warn you that she might make more of your attentions than you intended."
"I assure you, what I intend will be made abundantly clear to her."
"I'm sure you will tell her everything you think she should know."
Marcus narrowed his eyes suspiciously, opened his mouth to say something, and shut it again in an angry pout. He could find nothing to quarrel with about that statement. But what Sir Christopher meant by it, he could not tell. He managed a placating smile, and walked on.
"If I were a few years older, I could call him impertinent," he muttered. The sight of a girl coming toward him cheered him slightly, but she was holding hands with Alex, so he had to temper his smile to friendliness. Emily Blakeney did not smile back.
"Do you know where Matthew is?" she asked. "I cannot find my knife, and I'm sure he has it."
"Who is Matthew?" Marcus asked. She looked at him again, more closely.
"Who are you?"
Marcus sighed and looked at Alex.
"What do you know," said Alex, "A pretty girl who does not know who Marcus Wickham is. Matthew is Emily's nephew, you see...." Marcus looked confused.
"How old is he? Perhaps you could bribe him with something; it works with my little sister."
Emily laughed.
"He is older than I am; my parents were not young when I was born, you see. I take it you don't know where he is, then?"
Realization hit Marcus.
"Oh, yes. We went skating. Yes, I know who you're talking about now."
"Your attention was distracted before," said Emily, her eyes twinkling.
"Yes." Marcus grinned and looked down in feigned embarrassment. "Tell me, Alex, is there anybody here who is worth my time? I have just escaped from Sir Christopher. Asked the most embarrassing, impertinent questions. Tried to warn me away from Lady Jocelyn, I think; I couldn't really tell..."
"Yes," said Emily, somewhat bemused. "My brother does have a way of talking above people's heads."
"Your brother?" Marcus looked at Alex, who was laughing into his fist.
"I'm sorry," Alex chortled. "I should have introduced you. This is Emily Blakeney, Marcus. My uncle Christopher's baby sister."
"I resent that title, Alex," Emily said, elbowing him good-naturedly. "And you know it." She looked back to Marcus, who seemed to be trying to form a fitting apology, and smiled graciously. "No need to apologize, Mr. Wickham. I realize you would not have spoken so had you known who I am."
"As to finding company who are not beneath you, Marcus, consider yourself in luck. This Christmas, Pemberley is filled with only the very best of people. How could they be otherwise? They are my relations." Alex lifted his nose haughtily and Emily giggled.
"Should I bow to the boy who will one day be the head of the Lancaster family?" She made a deep curtsy.
"Lancaster?"
"Oh, aye. Don't worry your head about it, Marcus; it's a very convoluted family tree. Suffice it to say, Alex is in line to be a duke one day. Bow to your cousin."
"Oh, stuff," said Alex, slightly embarrassed and miffed with Emily's labeling him a `boy.' "Stop your teasing, Emily; you know I don't want to be a duke. At least, not especially. I imagine it would have its benefits. But anyhow, what say you to all of us looking for Matthew together?"
"Your knife must be very important, Miss Blakeney, to be forming a search party," said Marcus, walking on Emily's other side.
"It is not special in itself," she confessed. "It was a gift from my father. I gave it to Matthew to hold it for me in the carriage, because with all the bouncing the carriage was making me do, I was afraid I would fall on it and kill myself." She giggled again. "That would not have been a pretty sight to greet Mrs. Darcy when she met my brother and his family at the door, would it? Much better to save myself."
They found Matthew in the schoolroom with Robin, Marissa and Natasha Preston, Jocelyn, Andrew and Sabrina Fitzwilliam, their cousin, Sarah Fitzwilliam, and Jessica Bingley. Jocelyn looked up at the newcomers and smiled.
"Marcus, Alex, Emily, come look at what Matthew has done."
"What is it?"
"It's The Daydream," said Marissa.
"Is that all?" said Emily, who heard of it every day. Matthew glanced darkly at her and went back to drawing.
"This is the new flag I designed," he said. "See, it is the Blakeney crest, interwoven with the colours of England and France. My father and I have been trying to come up with an engine that will make it go faster. We hope to have one soon. And there are plenty of scientists working on the same thing as we speak, I wager."
"Go faster?" said Marissa. "Why should it go faster?"
"To win races," said Matthew, looking up just long enough to wink at her.
"Well, it is beautiful," she said, as she didn't know enough about boats to comment on it otherwise.
"It's magnificent," said Jocelyn. "Matthew, you're a genius."
Marcus scowled at Matthew, certain now he must be competition. Matthew smiled sheepishly.
"Well, my grandfather built it. I merely glossed over it with new paint and added a few modern machines."
"Are you going to do anything with it besides racing?" asked Andrew. "Maybe you could sail it around the world."
"Well, I'm not sure if it's up to that just yet. But it will be." Matthew grinned, happy that his friends were so interested in his baby.
"What sort of crew do you have?" asked Marcus.
"Just me, my father and Gabriel, occasionally. Annie had her birthday party on it this year, but it was kept tied to the dock the whole time."
"You will probably have to hire new hands, if you are planning an expedition around the world."
"Yes," Natasha agreed ominously. "Will you really be able to do it, Matthew?"
"I don't know," Matthew shrugged, sitting back in his chair, the finished drawing before him. "I hadn't thought of it before Andrew mentioned it."
"But you must!" said Jessica. "A boat like that cannot be wasted on silly races. You must do something useful with it."
"How is sailing around the world useful?" asked Alex.
"You'll be able to see so many things. You can stop in all the interesting places, perhaps sneak a few convicts out of Australia, even."
"Why would I want to do that?" Matthew laughed.
"Because it would be fun," said Jessica.
"It would be fun to sail around the world, I'll grant you," said Matthew. "But I wouldn't want to sail for so long with a convicted felon."
"What about Gabriel?" asked Cameron snidely. Robin swiped him over the head.
"That's not the same thing, fool."
"I think you should do it, Matt," said Alex abruptly.
"Help Australian convicts escape?"
"No! Sail around the world! And I would like to volunteer to be one of your crew."
"Oh, yes!" said Marissa. "Do let us come along. After hearing so much about it, I would love to see The Daydream up close."
"But only if you're there, of course," said Natasha. Marissa stepped on her foot and glared at her. "I wouldn't feel safe without someone who really knows the ship," Natasha amended, glaring back at Marissa.
Marcus tired of hearing about this idea, and led Jocelyn outside the room.
"Wasn't that wonderful?" she asked, beaming.
"Yes; you are very beautiful when admiring your cousin."
"Flatterer." She swatted his arm playfully.
"I speak as I find."
"Matthew is wonderful, isn't he?"
"Yes," he said unenthusiastically.
"I think you'll really like him; we all do."
"Do you?"
"Well, Cameron doesn't always; but Cameron has his moments with everybody. He is very competitive."
"Which one was Cameron?"
"The little blond one."
"I think that little girl likes your Matthew."
"My Matthew?" Jocelyn looked up at him, amused. "Are you jealous, Marcus?"
"A little," he confessed.
"Well, you shouldn't be. For one thing, we just met. And for another, Matthew may be wonderful, but I never wanted to marry him."
"That is a relief," he breathed. "And I will tell you, Jocelyn, I feel as if I've known you forever."
"Opposed to less than a day?" she smiled, her natural caution overcoming her emotions.
"Absolutely," he smiled, and turned her around to face him just as a loud wail emanated from a room further down the hall.
"Was that your sister?"
"It sounded like Bridget," he grumbled. "She is always crying about something."
Jocelyn led him by the hand to see what was going on. They found Bridget, Sophie and Daniel all in various stages of hysterics. Elizabeth Darcy was in the dubious position of trying to comfort them all at once.
"What is going on?" Jocelyn asked.
"Why did Mama have to leave?!" Bridget wailed miserably.
Jocelyn heard a choked sound beside her, and turned to see Marcus obviously struggling to hold himself in check. He squeezed her hand so tightly she yelped. At the sound, he looked down at her with wild eyes, then turned on his heel and marched away. She looked pityingly at the three grieving children, then ran after Marcus.
She found him sitting on the floor in the room he now shared with Robin Preston and Matthew Blakeney, his back against the wall, his knees brought up to his chest, and his head in his hands. As she stood watching, she saw his thin body shake with silent sobs. Finally, she knelt beside him and put an arm around his shoulders comfortingly. He welcomed this gratefully, for he was truly shaken by his mother's abandonment. After he had calmed himself, however, he sat up and stared into her face for a few minutes before leaning forward ever so slowly and kissing her.
Jocelyn was startled by this development, but she let him kiss her, thinking it was only the result of a deeply hurt boy seeking comfort with the nearest person. She did not find it disgusting in the least; merely a bit awkward. If it would help him deal with his mother's neglect, how could she refuse? She had seen how torn up he was. She could not tell that by this time Marcus had convinced himself that he needed her. She could not tell that the boy who was kissing her had decided that she was to be the replacement for his mother.
As yet more visitors were announced, Jane and Charles Bingley exchanged worried looks at the name of the family. What could the Viscount and Viscountess Hastings be doing here? Even Charles had to admit that his sister had most likely not been invited to join in the family celebration, despite having married one of Darcy's distant cousins. There had been suspicions for years that the Hastings couple was mad. Victor Walker was continually accusing his wife, most good-naturedly, of trying to murder him. She, in turn, tried to prove that she had not by treating him most affectionately in public. The same false sweetness Caroline Bingley had used twenty years ago to try to snare Mr. Darcy, was now being used on her own husband.
But for all that, Elizabeth was of the opinion that the Hastings's were a truly happy couple, in their own way. She never believed the couple's professions to the opposite, no matter how sincere Victor tried to be. And even if it was true that their son, Peter, had been conceived after Caroline's first failed attempt at murder, it was obvious to her, in any case, that any differences they had, had been resolved, and it had become a game.
"What the devil is going on here?"
Jocelyn and Marcus jumped apart and looked up at the boys who had just entered. Marcus silently cursed himself for forgetting that he shared a room, then stood slowly to look into the shocked faces of Robin and Matthew. Embarrassed, Jocelyn did the same, but could not meet her cousins' eyes. She busied herself with straightening her hair.
Robin quickly regained his composure, and informed the pair that there were more guests.
"I don't know if Marcus feels up to..."
"No, no." He gave her a strained smile. "If I am to stay here indefinitely, I may as well get used to the lifestyle."
Marcus left with Robin. Jocelyn lifted her eyes to Matthew's worried face.
"What is going on, Joce?" he asked quietly. "It isn't like you to throw yourself at a boy you've barely known a day."
"I didn't throw myself at him, Matthew," she defended herself. "He just found out that his mother left him, and he needed something to cheer him up."
"Oh, that makes sense," he said sarcastically. "Every girl gives a boy a kiss when she feels sorry for him. It doesn't hurt that he's as handsome as..."
"You're not jealous, are you, Matthew?" she asked, remembering what Marcus had said earlier. Matthew looked at her as if she had sprouted another head.
"Jealous? Why should I be jealous? If I am, it is for Freddy Stanton. I had thought the two of you were as good as engaged."
"Well, we're not," she said softly.
"You might want to inform Freddy of that," Matthew said coldly. "Dash it, Joce, I never thought you were the type..."
"I'm not doing anything wrong, Matthew," she said, becoming angry. "It was just a little kiss." She blushed as she remembered that she had never done that before. Then she smiled as the thought occurred to her that it wouldn't hurt to have a little practice.
"I still say you're being terribly unfair to Freddy. He is in love with you, and whether you love him or not, you owe him more than to play with his feelings."
"I don't play with his feelings!" she protested. "If he wishes to visit me, why should I tell him not to? I have thought about this, Matthew. If I like Marcus better, should I marry Freddy to soothe his feelings? And if I decide I like Freddy better, then he need never know about Marcus. I wouldn't be surprised if Marcus's visit doesn't last more than a few days, anyway. So you see, there's nothing for you to get in a miff about."
Matthew sighed heavily.
"Well, I can see you're determined to play fast and loose with both of them."
"I am not!" Jocelyn said again. "I like Marcus, and I like Freddy. Why should I have to marry either of them? I'm only seventeen! Why does everybody think I have to decide now?"
Matthew finally relented, seeing she was on the verge of tears.
"Don't cry, Joce. I'm a little concerned, that's all. Just ... don't do anything rash, all right?"
Jocelyn pouted, then nodded reluctantly.
"I'm never rash, Matthew."
He raised his eyebrows.
"I just found you in my bedroom, kissing a boy you just met."
"You won't tell my father, will you?" she asked in a tiny voice.
"No, of course not!" He was offended.
"Thank you," she finally smiled, and realizing she actually was in a masculine bedroom, she quickly left.
After supper, many of the current inhabitants of Pemberley were gathered in the drawing room. While the ladies chatted comfortably with each other, occasionally glancing with fond eyes on their children or their husbands, and the men stood in various corners, talking of various sports or politics, the children mingled, some comfortably, others less so. Matthew watched as Marcus flitted from one adolescent female to another. More than once he caught Jocelyn staring after him disconsolately, and Matthew's opinion of Marcus lessened even more. He considered talking to his father about it, but remembered that he had promised Jocelyn he would not tell her father, and decided the spirit of the promise kept him from telling anybody.
"Matthew, can you accompany me? Lord, what a scowl!"
"What?" He started and looked up from his seat on the floor--there were not enough sofas in the drawing room--to see his sister Morgan looking down at him. "Accompany you where?"
"No, at the instrument. Jessica and I want to perform a farce, but we need music."
He looked past Morgan to see Jessica Bingley pretending not to watch them.
"I can't, Morgan, I'm busy."
"Doing what?" she sneered. "Moping?"
"I'm thinking," he replied sullenly. "Marissa plays; maybe she will do it."
Morgan screwed her mouth up thoughtfully, then nodded.
"Yes. I think Jessica would rather Marissa helped us." She scampered off again. Within a few minutes, the girls had persuaded a very embarrassed Marissa Preston to play for them, and the farce was well into rehearsal.
Jessica was a fine actress, who improvised well off of her adoring fellow actors. Matthew smiled as he watched Sabrina Fitzwilliam watch Jessica and try to imitate her. Morgan was not so fine an actress, but she did enjoy being the center of attention, and was always sure of securing a few laughs for herself. Besides Jessica, Sabrina and Morgan, Chris Darcy and Andrew Fitzwilliam also joined. Lydia's youngest, Bridget, brought their number to an even six. It soon became evident that the entire thing was a ploy to make the timid Bridget more comfortable, and he applauded Jessica silently. Marcus Wickham may have been a cad, but his siblings, particularly the younger two, were veritably starving to be accepted and loved.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Emily coming toward him, apparently in high dudgeon.
"You should not be sitting on the floor," she said, and promptly dropped down beside him.
"Why not? You are." She gave him a quelling glare, and he smiled penitently. "What's bothering you?"
"Him." She jutted her chin toward Alex, who looked equally unhappy, wedged between Sophie Wickham and Eugenie Walker (Lord and Lady Hastings's daughter), both of whom were giggling inanely. "The swine," she added. Matthew laughed.
"You're jealous, Em. Can't you see my poor cousin is as miserable as you?"
"He deserves to be miserable, if he can't even tell them to leave him alone. You did!"
"Yes, but Alex is not me." He looked at his cousin again and frowned. "Really, though. I can see your point. Those two are pathetic."
"I actually feel sorry for Sophie; her brother has been pressuring her to snag a rich husband. Eugenie, on the other hand, is insufferable. Can I tell you a secret?"
"I'm pretty sure your abilities extend that far."
"You know what I mean."
"Very well."
"Eugenie actually prefers Kit."
"You don't say."
"Yes. I think she wants a Darcy---can you believe that? She's thirteen---Chris is, of course, her favorite, but since Alex is the heir, she flies around him. Like a gnat." Emily made a face as if she had been sucking a lemon, and Matthew could not help laughing again. They looked toward Alex again just in time to see Eugenie try to flick something off his nose, and him respond by slapping at her hand impatiently, exactly the way one would slap at a flying insect. Matthew and Emily laughed, and Alex scowled at them.
"The poor thing," said Emily, apparently softening toward her errant beau. "Go help him, Matthew. He is too polite for his own good."
"He has no imagination," Matthew said cockily, glancing once more toward the farce, where Sarah Fitzwilliam was trying to convince Morgan to let her play. He stood quickly and strode with his hands in his pockets to where Alex was caught.
"Hello, Eugenie. So good to see you are sharing your prey with the other wolves."
Sophie did not understand what he was saying, but Eugenie snapped at him,
"The only praying I do is that, despite all your best efforts, you will not bring shame to our family."
"How fortunate, then, that we are only very distant cousins. But let me advise you to add something to your prayer list: a rich husband. There are certain people in this room who would tell you that is absolutely necessary to a young girl so accomplished as yourself."
"Are you offering yourself, Mr. Blakeney?" she asked slyly. Matthew sighed deeply and looked sorrowfully at her.
"I, too, have a list of things I wish to accomplish, listed in order of their importance to me. Believe me, marrying you is on there, directly after moving to Antarctica and becoming a monk."
"Oh, do stop being ridiculous. Go away, we do not want you here. Why did you come, just to torment me?"
"No, actually, I came to ask Alex if he would like to join Jessica's farce with me. I'm sure they could use our direction." He directed Alex's gaze to where Jessica and Morgan were arguing over what to do.
"I think..." said Alex.
"No, he does not," said Sophie. "We are quite comfortable here."
"What is the matter, Alexander?" asked Eugenie.
"You are sitting on my hand," he said.
"Well, for goodness sake, remove it, then!" said Matthew. Eugenie blushed and quickly stood. "Quickly, Alex; I do not think they will be on speaking terms for the rest of the visit, if we do not interfere quickly."
Alex obediently extricated himself.
Meanwhile, near the piano, Marissa was getting annoyed with the constantly changing programme Jessica and Morgan were feeding her. She looked her displeasure at Jessica and Morgan, who were squared off on the other side of the piano, and played a quiet scale.
"We have to do `Hark, The Herald Angels Sing,'" said Jessica peevishly.
"But I can't sing it! It goes too high!" said Morgan. "Let's just do `Silent Night,' if we have to sing at all."
"If you're not going to sing, may I go back to my book?" asked Marissa, who was in the middle of Frankenstein.
"No, because we'll need you to play background music."
"Like a cheap play," Josh Darcy offered from where he watched the goings-on with Brett Preston and Sylvester Callahan. Morgan glared at him.
"No, for dramatic emphasis."
Marissa struck A minor loudly with a discordant E flat to voice her displeasure.
"That was good!" said Morgan. "Can you do that when I...."
"Just get on with it," said Andrew Fitzwilliam as Marissa huffed. "At this rate, we'll be preparing until I go back to Matlock."
"Then the play would be better off," said Morgan angrily. Andrew's eyes widened in surprise and he looked at Jessica.
"I think she's angry," he commented.
"Do you?" said Morgan.
"I thought we were going to do a farce, not a real play," said Sabrina, pouting. "I'm not a good actress."
"You'll be fine," said Morgan. "And I want to do a real play."
"You don't have time," Matthew interrupted. "You would need to have a script, and time to learn your lines, and the direction, and work on your characters...."
Morgan groaned frustratedly and sputtered an indignant insult.
"We don't want to do anything fancy," said Jessica. "Only something to amuse ourselves."
Matthew grinned.
"That is nothing. Do you remember, Chris, what we did at Lord Carrington's ball last summer?"
"Yes," said Chris, perking up. Matthew walked to where Marissa was watching the goings-on dubiously.
"Will you help me, Riss?" he asked. She shrugged and glanced disgustedly at the actors.
"How can I? I don't know what you're doing."
"So much the better." He took a seat on the piano stool, on her left side. "Ready?"
"B flat," said Chris, striking a dandified pose and pretending to take snuff. Marissa played the requested chord, but Matthew simply pressed his hand down hard on the lowest keys. Marissa quickly jumped back at the terrible sound, but Matthew laid a hand on her wrist, keeping her still.
"Play along," he said. Marissa was doubtful, but stayed where she was.
"Oh, can somebody tell me where to find a wife?" Chris sang, only partially in key, and very melodramatically. Lady Sabrina clapped a hand over her mouth in a giggle while Jessica stepped forward.
"Perhaps if you tell me what sort of wife you're looking for, kind sir," she said prettily, ignoring the din Matthew and Marissa were making at the piano.
"She must be fair, but dark," he said.
"Will red do?" Jessica asked, playing with her own auburn tresses coyly.
"Red is just the thing!" he declared, conversationally, then tried to get back into key. "Good temper in plenty, with a dowry to match."
"A dowry?" said Jessica, pressing her hand to her chest in mock-surprise. "What does that matter?"
"It matters every which way, for I have none. Though my youth is not over, my debts have begun."
Jessica broke character and gave him a look.
"To pile high, you mean?" she asked, raising her eyebrow sardonically. Chris flushed and shrugged.
"Yes, of course. To pile high. To the sky."
"With a fly in your eye, we understand what you're saying," said Andrew, rolling his eyes.
"What?" said Sabrina. "What does that mean?"
"It means nothing," said Jane Darcy, smiling. "I do not lie."
"Oh. But why?"
"Oh, do not cry," said Morgan, who was anxious to keep the play going, even if it was not serious. "The matchmaker, I. A bride I'll supply." She pulled Sabrina to her and held her in place. "She has not a dowry, and her hair is not red, and a good temper is unknown to her," Andrew laughed, and Sabrina stuck her tongue out at her brother, then continued to smile sweetly at Chris. "But her intentions are good, and she's healthy to boot, and I promise, she will give you good ... food!"
"So take her hand," said Jessica, taking Sabrina's hand and placing it in Chris's, "I give you to her. For she is quite willing to marry a base fortune-hunter!"
Matthew and Marissa finished in grand style. She looked at him and smiled as happily as he had ever seen her smile. The knowledge of having done well obviously pleased her more than anything. He smiled back, then looked around the room for the other people's reactions. Most of the parents were smiling or clapping, while some remained intent in conversation. Matthew caught Jocelyn's frowning eye, then looked back to Marissa, pretending to be concerned over the hiccups she had acquired from the excessive giggling caused by the terrible play.
"Wonderful!" said Alex, clapping. "What next, I wonder?"
Chris, Jessica and Sabrina joyfully explained the epilogue, all unaware of the rising colour in Jocelyn's cheeks. It did not help that Chris and Jessica were similar in appearance to Marcus and Jocelyn. As the other children became more and more gleeful, Jocelyn became more certain that it had been Matthew's intention to embarrass Marcus. She turned to Marcus impulsively and began to complain about and apologize for her cousin at the same time. The implications had not occurred to him before, any more than it occurred to Jocelyn to think that her embarrassment was caused more by her own doubts. Nobody else had seen the similarity between the play and her friendship (she would not admit that it was anything more than friendship) with Marcus, not even that boy himself. But as she expressed her indignation, anxiously trying to justify her own actions to herself, she only succeeded in making him increasingly angry. When it became apparent that Marcus intended to speak to Matthew about it, Jocelyn suddenly realized that no good could come of confronting her cousin, and she tried to dissuade him.
"There's no need for that, really. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he didn't mean it that way."
"Of course he did," said Marcus. "You made it perfectly clear to me just now. I can't believe I didn't see it myself."
"It is to your credit," she said, smiling, "that such a thought would not even occur to you. I know you are not after my fortune."
"Well, I'm glad," he said, still miffed, "but it does ... that is, it is awkward, to know other people think it."
"Only Matthew," she said consolingly. "He's always been rather dramatic, and this business with Gabriel has only made it worse."
"That does not excuse it. I'm going to talk to him about it." He started toward where Matthew, Alex and Chris were still talking at the pianoforte. Jocelyn stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Please don't," she said. "You will only gain my father's attention, and make Matthew more determined."
"That would be bad."
"Yes, it would," she said, amused. "If Matthew is able to jump to the conclusion that you and I are going to elope, and we only knowing each other one day, my father might come to the same conclusion. That would make a very unpleasant Christmas."
"To say the least," he agreed, also smiling now. His expression changed again to a wistful frown. "I'm sorry if I startled you just now, Jocelyn. It's hard for me to always be under suspicion because I'm not as rich as everybody else at Pemberley. Even the maid, Becky, is better off than I."
Jocelyn clucked sympathetically, and patted his arm.
"I'm sure there is plenty you can do to make a living. The Darcys will take good care of you and your sisters and brother, I'm sure."
"Charity," he said scornfully, knowing few girls could resist a little dose of pride.
"Do you have any idea what you would like to do?" she tried to steer the subject away from strained finances. He only shrugged and continued to look morose. "There are any number of things you can do. You're too old to join the Navy, but I'm sure you would make a fine officer in the Army."
He smiled wanly, not wanting to contradict her, and not wanting to agree to a life in the Army. It was entirely too strict for his taste.
"You would have a uniform, and have all the girls swooning over you," she said playfully, hoping that wasn't a blush she felt on her cheeks. Marcus barked in laughter.
"They do enough of that already; I almost hate to do anything to encourage them."
Jocelyn smiled, noting that his current appearance could hardly have been attained in less than two hours, and let the subject drop.
Matthew Blakeney lay on his back with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. It had been nearly an hour since he had gone to bed, but he could not sleep.
Robin Preston and Marcus Wickham, who shared his room, had been caught up in a rather late poker game with some of the other boys and Morgan, and had not yet come to bed. Matthew thought he would be able to sleep if he knew Marcus was harmlessly in bed. Another thing that would ease his mind would be the knowledge that Jocelyn had gone to bed, but he could tell that she was still downstairs by the noise Beth Bingley, Stacy Preston and Angela Callahan were making. The normally-sensible Jocelyn usually kept the more high-strung girls quiet, and had them asleep fairly soon.
He winced as he heard his own name mentioned more than once, followed each time by an eruption of giggles.
He covered his head with his pillow and turned over just in time to hear Marcus and Robin enter the room. Robin was laughing about something, but quickly stopped when he came in.
"Is he asleep?" he whispered loudly.
"I don't know," said Marcus in his normal voice. Matthew dug his fingers into his pillow when Marcus tried to lift it, not quite having made up his mind if he would pretend to be asleep or let them know he was awake. He assumed Marcus would realize, from the resistance to his tug, that he was awake, but apparently he did not.
Marcus frowned, and reached down to shake the younger boy.
"Marcus!" Robin hissed, certain that Matthew was sleeping and Marcus would wake him. He seemed to remember Jane Darcy telling her that Matthew was irritable when awakened.
The annoying Marcus shook him again, and Matthew made up his mind. Closing his eyes, he rolled over suddenly, pretending to stretch in his sleep and "accidentally" struck Marcus in the nose.
Robin laughed heartily, albeit quietly. Marcus rubbed his offended nose and cursed, eyeing Matthew's seemingly-peaceful form suspiciously.
"Leave him alone," Robin advised, finally able to speak. "He doesn't like to be bothered when he's trying to sleep."
"He hits hard, for a sleeping person."
Matthew allowed himself a smirk.
"You think that's something," said Robin, "you should hear my brother Cameron talk in his sleep."
"Sophie talks in her sleep. What's so special about that?"
"He was writing a paper for school at the time. He fell asleep in the middle of it, and in his sleep, recited the entire thing to me."
Marcus laughed.
"It's not funny," Robin insisted. "When he was finished with that recitation, he started with the multiplication tables. He got up to nines before I threw a glass of water on him."
Marcus laughed again and looked at Matthew, a mischievous sparkle coming to his eyes.
"Don't even think about it," said Robin in a voice that indicated he would like to witness such a thing. Marcus shrugged and pretended to forget about it, until he saw Josh Darcy walk slowly by the room, as if trying to get a glimpse of what the older boys were doing in there.
"What's his name?" asked Marcus, pointing to his cousin. Robin told him, and Marcus called Josh into the room.
"Would you like to do me a favor, Josh?" Marcus asked. Josh nodded eagerly, glad to do anything for his newest hero. "Will you go down to the kitchen and bring me a glass of water? A large glass, if you please."
Matthew did not want to get wet, but it would not do to suddenly "wake up." He rolled over on his side again.
"How much money do I owe you?" Robin asked.
"Two hundred."
Matthew raised his eyebrows and tried hard not to gasp. Robin grimaced.
"My father won't like that."
"We can call it even, if you like," said Marcus.
"No," said Robin. "Fair is fair. I'll get it."
Marcus shrugged, not wishing to actually press his offer to forget Robin's debt. The only reason he had offered was because Cameron owed him more, and he had thought it would be easier to collect that debt if Robin's was erased. If the brothers were both determined to pay him, who was he to argue?
By the time Josh came back with the glass of water, the boys had changed into their nightclothes and Robin had climbed entirely into his own bed. Marcus, on the other hand, was waiting eagerly for the prop he needed for his prank, and snatched the glass out of Josh's hand without so much as a thank you. Josh admired him the more for it.
Marcus tiptoed over to the bed where Matthew had been still for several minutes. He looked over at Robin and winked, then leaned over him, positioning the glass just over Matthew's ear. Just as he was about to tip the glass, Matthew screamed and started up as if he had had a bad dream. Marcus screamed, too, when Matthew's head knocked the glass backwards into his nightshirt.
"What's the matter?" asked Robin, surprised into a sitting position.
"You're dripping," Josh hooted, pointing at the front of Marcus's shirt.
"You did that on purpose!" Marcus accused. "You were awake the whole time!"
"Look at you, you're all wet," said Matthew mildly. "Terribly sorry about that, you know." He yawned and lay down again. "Oh, by the way," he said sleepily. "Marcus, that little maid, Becky, had a message for you."
"Really?" Marcus fumed.
"Yes. She told me to tell you, `How dare you?' What she meant by that, I don't know. Do you know what she meant?"
"No."
"Marcus has all the girls dangling after him," said Robin, suddenly less cheerful.
"Girls are stupid," said Josh. Marcus laughed.
"You won't think so when you're older."
"Do you like girls?" Josh asked doubtfully. Why would anyone as wonderful as Marcus waste his time with girls?
"Go to bed, Josh," said Matthew.
"No. You're all awake. Brett snores, anyway, and he's been asleep for two hours. Have you ever kissed a girl?" Marcus said that he had. "Why?"
"Believe me, Josh, you'll understand when you're older."
"But I want to understand now." He whined and stamped his foot. "Are you engaged? The only people I've ever seen kiss are the ones who are married or engaged."
"Well, I'm not engaged. There was a girl who lived next door to me once, who was engaged."
"Did you kiss her?" Josh's eyes grew wide. Marcus laughed and wouldn't answer. "I'll bet the boy she was engaged to didn't like that," said Josh, coming to the obvious conclusion. Matthew snorted and rolled over again.
"Did the girl slap you, Marcus?" asked Robin, grinning. "Cameron tried to kiss a girl once, and she slapped him. Not on the face, either."
"Then he didn't do it right," said Marcus. "The one who should want to hit you should be the other boy, because the girl likes it."
"Do you like kissing?" Josh squeaked, appalled.
"Very much so. And you will, too."
"I know. When I'm older."
"Exactly."
"Well---how old will I be?"
"No telling," said Marcus solemnly. "It could be tomorrow."
Josh yelped and pretended to retch.
"Did you ever fight over a girl?" asked Robin.
"A few times." Marcus scowled at Matthew's back, then continued. "Now, though, if I show that I like a girl, the other men know to keep away. I get what I want, and if anybody gets in my way, I make them sorry."
Josh smiled widely, once again proud of his new idol. It didn't matter if he liked girls. If he used them to show his superiority to other boys, it was a good thing.
22 Dec. 11:45 a.m.
Marissa Preston listened impatiently to Annie Blakeney and Jessica Bingley help Lady Sabrina plan her next birthday party. It didn't make sense to her that Sabrina would already be planning her birthday, when she had just had one two weeks ago. She turned to her sister, Natasha, and asked her if she wanted to help her find Morgan and Jane. Natasha said no, and exasperated, Marissa left by herself.
Instead of heading to where she thought Morgan might be, however, she went toward the stables. She heard voices, and glad to have found Matthew, she entered the stable.
"Marissa! What are you doing here?"
"Just wandering," she replied. "What about you?"
"I was talking to Gabriel about something."
Marissa smiled politely and shifted her weight onto her other foot. It was always awkward to interrupt something, and the boys were definitely behaving as though something important had been interrupted. She tried to come up with an excuse to take herself away, but not be out of sight.
"Don't mind me. I just came to see Misty." She ducked her head and brushed past them to where her favorite horse was standing in one of the stalls.
When she was out of sight and had carefully hidden herself within hearing distance, Matthew picked up where they had been interrupted.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I saw him last night."
"Well, she won't listen to me."
"I know."
"What do you want me to do, Gabriel? I'm not my uncle. I can't lock Jocelyn in her room."
"I know."
"You're insufferable."
"I know."
Marissa sat down in the hay next to the wall and, leaning her head on it, smiled to herself. The horse whinnied at her, but she ignored it. She always enjoyed listening to these two boys. She was, of course, more familiar with Matthew's quiet, gentle tones. But Gabriel's American accent was a novelty to her, and the two of them together could not be more enchanting.
She was enjoying the sound so much, she almost didn't realize what they were saying. As it was, she could not hear the words well enough to understand it entirely. But she knew that if Matthew was upset about something, she wanted to fix it.
She stood up and approached the boys once again. Gabriel was whittling a stick while Matthew sat next to him, sulking.
Marissa read a lot of books, so she knew she should try to work her way to the subject in a roundabout manner. Unfortunately, she could not think of a way to do this, so she began bluntly.
"Why are you worried about Jocelyn?"
"Because she's behaving like an ignorant, irresponsible, feather-brained Cinderella," Matthew snorted.
"You mean because of Marcus?"
"That's it," said Gabriel, motioning to Matthew. "And he wants to be her guardian angel. I keep telling you, Matthew: girls Lady Jocelyn's age always go through a period of fawning over boys. She probably thinks she's being very rational about it. In any case, she will leave after Christmas, and so will Mr. Wickham, and they'll likely never see each other again. There's nothing to worry about."
Matthew harrumphed. Marissa wrapped her arms closely about herself and toed the ground thoughtfully.
"I don't think there's anything to worry about, either," she said. "If they were going to elope, he would have to ask her, wouldn't he?"
"Normally. Jocelyn's not the sort of girl to propose it; he would have to take the initiative," Matthew agreed.
"Well, I don't think he will. He treats her the same way he treats all the other girls. Even the maids..."
"Does he simper and smirk to Stacy? Beth? Emily?" Matthew asked. "What about Hannah Darcy?"
"Well, she's engaged..." said Marissa.
"What about the others?"
"No, not really. But he's still very friendly to them, too."
"Well, there's friendly, and there's friendly," said Gabriel. "As far as I understand it, Lady Jocelyn has the largest dowry, therefore she gets the most attention from Mr. Wickham."
"I suppose that's true," said Marissa. "Stacy was wondering. She likes him very much."
"Well, Stacy can count herself lucky," said Matthew.
"Why don't you like him?" asked Marissa. Matthew shrugged, unable to explain it.
"It's a feeling," said Gabriel.
"Well, I don't think Jocelyn would like Marcus so much, if she knew what he was doing last night," said Marissa ominously.
"Very true," said Gabriel, then looked at Marissa again. "How do you know what he was doing last night?"
"I was getting some milk with Natasha..."
"Natasha saw it, too, then?"
Marissa confirmed this, and went on to state that she had seen Marcus with Becky, the ladies's maid. They had been extremely close, and Becky had been giggling hysterically.
"I think I should tell Jocelyn," she finished, and smiled at Matthew, who grinned back and rubbed her head affectionately. They were interrupted at that moment by Sylvester and Julian Callahan, come to ask them if they'd like to go skating. As there was nothing else to do, they all decided to go.
4:00 p.m.
"Woman, how dare you influence my son against me!" Victor Walker bellowed before he entered the parlor, where his wife, Caroline, was sitting with Elizabeth Darcy and Georgiana Blakeney.
"What do you mean?" Caroline asked mildly.
"The children just came in from skating, and I asked Peter if he wanted to join me in billiards, and he said no."
"What does that have to do with your wife, Lord Hastings?" asked Elizabeth, amused.
"Everything is her fault," he said matter-of-factly while Caroline rolled her eyes.
"Peter doesn't like billiards. Maybe you should ask him to play backgammon, instead."
"But I don't like backgammon." He sat next to Caroline and pulled her close so that she was tucked neatly into his side--he was a large man, and next to him Caroline looked like a may pole. "What are you doing?" he asked, trying to look over her head at what her hands were holding.
"It's just another one of those maxims you're so fond of, darling."
"Ah...needlepoint?" he said, raising an eyebrow warily. She nodded. "Well, then, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to stand by the fire. Wouldn't want to risk your needle accidentally falling under my ribs." He quickly extricated himself and did as he said, leaving a disappointed Caroline on the sofa.
She sighed and set her work aside as several of the children burst into the room, all talking at once. While Caroline held her aching head in her hands, Georgiana and Elizabeth stared open- mouthed at their babbling children, as each tried to tell them their version of the afternoon's skating party.
"And Sabrina kept falling, because her skates were broken, but Kit helped her fix them, and everybody was happy. Then Emily taught Alex to waltz on the ice--it was really funny, because whenever he lost his balance, they both fell. But don't worry, Aunt Elizabeth--they had so many coats on, they couldn't really touch each other. And look what I found on our way back!"
"Aren't they beautiful?" Annie piped in while Morgan took a breath. Georgiana looked at the skates Morgan was holding and frowned.
"They look a lot like Matthew's skates."
"Oh, but they can't be. Matthew and Gabriel came back an hour ago. Matthew said Papa wanted to talk to him about something today."
Just then, Christopher walked in, looking miffed.
"Georgiana, where is Matthew?"
"I don't know. I thought he was with you."
"He was supposed to meet me in his room an hour ago. It is very upsetting to me, to have to make an appointment to be able to have a five-minute chat with my son."
"Don't worry; we will spend next Christmas quietly with Josée and Anthony. Maybe Matthew is in the stable, with Gabriel?"
After this idea was proven wrong, certain people began to grow uneasy. When they tried to find Gabriel to discover where Matthew was hiding, he was found missing, also. Some people suggested that they might have gotten lost, but Christopher did not think it likely: Matthew knew Pemberley as well as he knew his own estate. Something was most definitely wrong.
It took awhile to make a complete search of the house while at the same time trying not to alarm anybody, but after this was done, and Georgiana had begun to panic, it was finally decided that a search party would have to be formed, and quickly.
Darcy stopped walking and turned around to face the other gentlemen. They had been searching for more than an hour, and though they had started with nervous jokes, they were all now grimly silent.
"What is it, Darce?" asked Lord Hastings. "Did you hear something?"
Darcy shook his head.
"I was thinking, perhaps it would be better if we split up."
"Maybe the boys went to Lambton to visit a girl, or something," James suggested.
"Walk five miles through the snow?" Sir John said witheringly. James shrugged.
"Maybe they ran away."
"Matthew wouldn't do that," Christopher snapped and stalked on angrily. "Whatever we do, we shouldn't stop walking."
"Agreed," said Max, following him. "Darcy, do you think we should question your tenants? Would he be visiting any of them?"
"I still think it has to do with a girl," James grumbled. Christopher muttered something derogatory under his breath, but didn't look at him. "Well, think about it, Blakeney. He's nearly sixteen, you make him go to an all boys boarding school. What do you think he's going to do on holiday? Study? Not likely."
"If he had a romantic interest in anybody, I would know about it. His sisters, or one of his cousins, would know of it.
James rolled his eyes.
"Why do fathers always think they know everything about their children? I hope I'm not that naive."
"You could never be naive about anything, James: you know you know everything."
"What about that barn over there?" said Max, pointing. Darcy looked and shook his head.
"It's too dangerous--there was a fire this autumn, and the entire interior was burned away."
"Then why hasn't it been rebuilt?"
"That was to be done this spring."
"Would Matthew or Gabriel know that it was dangerous?" asked Hastings.
"I didn't," said Christopher, heading towards the barn. Darcy, Max, Hastings and Sir John followed him. James, the only one carrying a gun, made sure it was ready to be fired before following the other men.
Unfortunately, the door was locked. James aimed his gun at it, but before he could fire, Christopher stopped him, saying,
"Stop. I'll do that. You might miss, and a bullet is a terrible thing to waste."
"I'm six inches away!"
"Exactly my point." He took the gun away from him and blasted the lock away. The door swung open. The men looked around the interior, and saw nothing. Then Sir John looked up and his mouth dropped open.
"Well, we found one," he said. Christopher followed his gaze.
"Matthew!" he shouted, stepping forward. Matthew looked down from where he was perched, high above them, lying on his stomach on a beam. His face was flushed from cold and exertion and his hands were tied together around the beam.
"Thank God you're here," he said. "I would have eventually gotten down, but I would've still been stuck in this barn."
"How did you get up there?" Darcy asked, dumbfounded. Max pointed to where the beam was attached to the floor--apparently it had once been a support for the ceiling, but had broken in two during the fire, and now leaned halfway to the other side of the dilapidated barn.
"I would say he climbed the wall. Matthew, were you going to jump down from that height?"
"Yes," Matthew answered, gritting his teeth and scooting forward another inch. "What else to do? Have to keep moving," he scooted forward again, "or I'll freeze to death." He moved again, this time causing the beam to wobble. The six men, who had been frozen in their spots, now moved forward as one.
"Stay still, Matt," said Christopher. "We'll get you down."
"Please do," he whispered, for the first time revealing what a terrible state he was in. Max and Sir John began searching for a ladder.
"I think one of us should climb up after him," said James staunchly.
"For what? To get stuck along with him?" said Darcy. "Or maybe our weight combined with his would bring the whole beam down."
"Blakeney or Max could do it; they're light enough."
"Don't fall asleep, Matthew," said Christopher. His hands clenched and unclenched, restless for something to do. "Who did this? Where is Gabriel?"
Matthew moaned and turned his face away.
"He's dead."
"What?"
Startled by his father's exclamation, Matthew lost his balance. He gave a scream, and his body jerked once upon landing, suspended in air, then was still. Christopher went pale and started forward, but Darcy kept him back, saying as calmly as was possible,
"Give me your gun."
"Let me go!"
"We have to get him down, and it's the only way I can think of. Now give me the gun, man!"
"I'm the better shot, I'll do it," said Christopher stubbornly.
"I won't let you point a gun at your own son. Give it to me!" He grabbed it out of his hand, loaded it as quickly as his own trembling hands would allow, and shot the rope that bound Matthew's wrists. The boy fell into Lord Hastings's waiting arms. The viscount collapsed to his knees and laid Matthew's unconscious and frozen body gently on the ground as the other five men gathered around.
Marissa Preston huddled behind the curtain on the window seat, observing the other children as they discussed the recent disappearance of their cousin and friend, and tried not to assume the worst. She had always been told that she shouldn't wander off by herself when she was outside, but she had thought a boy as old as Matthew wouldn't have to worry about such things.
All of the younger generation were feeling the tension. Most were worried, but some were only annoyed. Jessica Bingley tried to distract the younger children by telling them stories, but the lively imaginations of Josh and Rose Darcy took over the audience, and the stories they told, of kidnappings, magical incantations and such, frightened everybody so thoroughly that even Jessica was affected. She ran straightway to her room to write her feelings down for future ideas.
Marcus led Jocelyn away from the others, concerned that her anxiety was greater than was called for. She looked at him angrily.
"Give me one good reason not to worry."
"Do you think he can't take care of himself?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She snorted and turned away from him, folding her arms in her displeasure. He turned her around to face him. "I'm sorry that you're worried, Jocelyn. If there was something I could do about it, I would, but right now the only thing you can do is not worry. What does it do, except excite the little ones?"
She pouted, then looked up at him and smiled shyly.
"You're right. We have to be strong for the children."
"Yes," he said hesitantly. That was not what he had meant, but he did not want to disagree with her. She took him by the hand and led him to where Morgan Blakeney was standing between her sister, who was crying, and Jeremy Darcy, Kitty's second son. Her fists were clenched as she glared at the boy, who glared right back.
"You take that back!" she shouted.
"No! I was only guessing, anyway, but I could be right! Unless you can tell me he's doing something else!"
"Matthew wouldn't run away with Carrie Falks," Annie sobbed. "She's mean! And she's .... loose!"
"Who is the father of her baby, anyway?" asked Peter Walker idly. Morgan whirled around and punched him in the nose. He fell backwards onto his rear and yelled at her. "What did you do that for?"
"I'll thrash anyone who says anything else about my brother!" Morgan screamed. Her glare found Marcus, and her eyes narrowed. "What about you? Do you know where he is?"
"No," said Marcus, startled. Marissa, surprised by this turn of events, peeked out from behind the curtain to try to discern if he was telling the truth. Unfortunately, his back was to her. Jocelyn quickly interfered in what was developing into a one-sided riot, and with the help of Chris Darcy and Marcus, successfully distracted the children for a few minutes.
Disappointed at not having her suspicions either confirmed or denied, Marissa went back to staring out the window. Soon, she thought she saw someone--or something--coming towards the house. She soon recognized them as her father and uncles. Uncle James and Uncle Christopher ran forward and banged on the door, which brought several servants and Aunt Michelle running. As soon as Marissa realized what was going on, she ran out of the room and downstairs.
The adults were crowding around Matthew, and Marissa could not see through all their legs. She heard Aunt Georgiana begin to cry, and Uncle William told Uncle Christopher to take her away so they could get Matthew to the kitchen. Why would he need to go to the kitchen? She followed the crowd of legs to the kitchen door, which was shut in her face as soon as all the adults had crowded in there.
Marissa blinked and cautiously opened the door. She knew Matthew was safe, but she had to see him to feel it in her heart. What she did see, though, was enough to freeze her in her tracks. Her papa was hastily bringing blankets to cover Matthew's shivering form, while at the same time Uncle James Darcy worked to remove his icy, bloody clothes. Aunt Michelle was busily adding wood to the fire and poor Mrs. Quenby blubbered uselessly next to her stove.
As for Matthew, her favourite cousin, her wonderful hero, he was quite unconscious, except for the occasional whimper. When Uncle Max pulled him to a sitting position to remove his shirt, his hands hung limply at his sides. Marissa had to look away. She did not want to leave; she wanted to know what would happen to him. But she could not watch, either.
"Fitz, look at this," said James quietly. Marissa turned her eyes to her Uncle William's face and was dismayed to see his lips mouth a soft curse.
"Whoever did this must have been terribly angry. Let's get him dressed again before his father comes down."
"You're not going to keep this from Blakeney, are you, Darce?" asked Hastings, eyeing the boy sympathetically. "He should know. It is his son."
"I will tell him he was beaten. But he shouldn't see it. You don't know him as I do; he could get violent if he sees exactly how the boy was treated."
"I would, too, if it was Ian or Jeremy," said James, then added quietly, "Or Honor."
The other men nodded in agreement.
"All the same....it would not be a good thing. We don't know who did this, and when we find out, justice will have to be dispensed, not revenge."
Marissa could not help herself. She began to cry. Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps and a loud, boyish voice called her name.
"Riss! Here you are! Natasha was looking for you. What are you doing....here?" Josh stopped when he came to the kitchen door and saw what was inside. He was not as squeamish as his cousin, and he took the whole sight in, his jaw dropping lower each second. "I say, what happened to Matthew?"
"Marissa! Joshua!" said Darcy, coming out of the kitchen and quickly closing the door behind him. "What are you two doing down here?"
They were sent away expeditiously, both shaken to the core. Neither of them said anything as they climbed the stairs, but as Marissa went to her room to wait out her grief there, and hopefully find something comforting to think about, Josh rejoined the other children and soon they knew all the horrible details.
Josh sat on the stairs, carefully keeping himself out of the way of the many people who were bustling past him. A gloom had settled over the house in the last hour. Something evil had come to Pemberley, and he hated it. This was his home: evil had no business here.
He looked up suddenly when his father entered the room with a strange man. This newcomer was short, somewhat round, and bald on top. In short, there was nothing about him that Josh found particularly impressive, until he discovered that he was a policeman.
"Why did you bring a policeman, Father?" he asked, tugging on Darcy's coat. Darcy only walked on until he came to the door behind which the hysterical Georgiana and her husband had disappeared. He knocked and the door was opened by Christopher's valet.
"I need to speak with Sir Christopher," he said, and the valet stepped aside. Georgiana was still crying, though she seemed to be more in control of herself now. Christopher was looking on helplessly and when he noticed Darcy, he jumped up quickly.
"Is he awake? Will he be all right?"
Darcy bit his lip and took his brother-in-law out into the hall.
"I have brought a policeman. I think he should speak with Matthew, and find out what happened."
"But is he awake?" Christopher urged. Darcy shook his head slowly. "Then he cannot see the policeman. Send him away."
"You have to understand. When something like this happens, it is proper for the law to step in. The offenders must be caught, and the sooner..."
"Offenders! They have done more than offend me. Darcy, whoever did that to my son was nothing more than a coward. He is a boy! How could they..." His voice caught and he continued more quietly, "How badly was he beaten?"
Darcy was surprised; he had thought he had been able to hide this part of Matthew's injuries from him.
"Not .. very." He caught the look of scorn thrown at him and quickly dropped his eyes. "I cannot tell the extent of the damages, but.... It looks bad."
"What is that supposed to tell me?" Christopher growled. "You and I have very different views on what qualifies as a bad beating. I hope you brought a surgeon with your policeman, Darcy. He shouldn't have to be awake for that."
Darcy watched as he walked off towards his son's room. He looked helplessly at the policeman, who had witnessed the little scene. The policeman shrugged.
"I will go with him. You check on your sister."
Darcy nodded gratefully and went in to try his hand at comforting Georgiana. To his relief, she had stopped crying. Unfortunately, her grief had dissolved into anger, and she was now raging about her room, brimming with ideas for brutal revenge. Alarmed, it was all Darcy could do to calm her down.
Christopher stood at the foot of the bed, watching Matthew as he slept. He flinched every time a tiny moan drifted from the swollen, chapped lips. It wasn't right that such a strong, healthy boy should suddenly be made so weak and helpless.
Matthew was Christopher's pride. He was, in his father's eyes, perfect. Tall, strong, handsome, he was sharp as a whip, and had a wondrous talent for keeping people happy, something Christopher himself had never boasted. Even his sisters adored him. Who could want to do this? What possible reason was there?
Christopher noticed his breathing was becoming labored, and went to his side. He laid a hand on his forehead; it was damp with sweat. He looked around for a hint as to what to do, but found none. In his experience, he had always been in the position of being nursed, not nursing. Feeling very helpless, he adjusted the boy's pillow, felt his forehead once again, and quickly summoned help.
Sir John Preston had sent for a surgeon, who arrived five minutes after Christopher's summons. The man seemed to be under the impression that one of the lazy rich boys had fallen and hurt himself, and was therefore quite surprised to see what he had actually been brought here for. He set his lips in a grim line and took hold of Matthew's wrist, checking his pulse.
"Cold as ice," he said. His voice carried no inflection. "No wonder, then. He's likely caught his death."
"Dr. Grady," said Sir John, noting the look on Christopher's face. "Keep any comments to yourself, if you please."
The doctor frowned over his spectacles at the two men, causing Christopher to sit down and Sir John to flee the room.
"If he doesn't live, you can be sure it won't be because I didn't do my best," he said gruffly. "Doctors are often called upon when people get themselves into scrapes and can't get themselves out."
"It escapes me how you can blame the victim in such a case as this. If you think it is hopeless, perhaps we should find another surgeon."
Dr. Grady smiled humorlessly.
"There is not another one near enough."
"Then keep your mouth closed." Christopher began pacing the length of the room. A sharp intake of breath brought him back to the bed. He was very glad to see Matthew was finally awake. On the other hand, he did not like the way his hand clenched the bedsheet.
"Do you feel pain?" asked the doctor mildly.
"Of course he does!" Christopher snapped. "What do you think, man? Look at him!"
For the first time the surgeon looked into his patient's eyes. Matthew stared back at him venomously.
"Get out," he rasped.
"Your shoulder knocked itself back into place fairly well." The doctor ignored the order. "How did you dislocate it?"
"Pardon?" Christopher was horrified.
"When I fell. I don't remember how it got back in place."
"Two ribs are cracked, as well. What have you been up to?"
"Fighting bulls in Spain," said Matthew, and doubled over in a fit of coughing.
"Ah, yes, that would be the bronchitis." Dr. Grady looked sympathetic for once as he glanced at Christopher. "He'll be laid up for a few weeks, most likely. That is, if it doesn't kill him."
"I'm not going to die," said Matthew.
"I'm sure. If he wants to go home, you may take him, but I wouldn't risk anything."
Christopher nodded and waited for the doctor to finish. After the doctor left, he sat on the bed. Matthew was still curled up on his side, with his face towards the wall. Laying a hand on his son's shoulder, Christopher said softly,
"Would you like to go home?"
Matthew shook his head slowly.
"No. I'd rather be here."
"Would you like to see your mother? She will be happy that you are all right."
"I'm not all right, am I? Gabriel's dead. If I die, too, who will find the killer and make them pay?"
"You're not going to die, Matthew," Christopher said sternly. "In any case, it's not your responsibility to find this person, whoever it was."
"But I'm the only one who was there. Nobody else knows. They have to be found."
"Then tell somebody. There's a policeman outside waiting to hear your story."
Matthew stiffened.
"I'm not going to talk to a policeman."
"I'm sure he thinks differently."
"Please," he said, rolling over onto his back to look at Christopher. "I need you to help me. They can't get away with it."
Christopher hesitated.
"I can't help you, Matt. The only thing that needs to be done is to tell the police whom they are looking for."
"But they're likely out of the country by now. It's been hours since it happened. This is the only way. I have thought about it."
"Gabriel was your friend. I understand you're angry, but this is not up to you."
"No, you don't understand! Nobody else will care. If I don't do something, who will?"
He was becoming too excited, and began coughing again. Christopher made him lie down and pulled the covers over him.
"You're feverish," he said. "You'll see reason tomorrow, I'm sure."
"Unless I take a turn for the worse, in which case it will be too late to do anything."
"Which is why I'm sending in the policeman right now, to get your story."
"I'm not saying a word until you agree to help me."
"That's nice. Good-night. Rest up."
Matthew huffed as Christopher closed the door behind himself.