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Death & Life - A
Vignette (1818)
London - January,
1818
Two maids in the
house of Thomas Tucker of __Street were gossiping in the kitchen
in the early evening. Normally this would not be tolerated, but
as the housekeeper was engaged in her mistress’ momentous
event – the birth of her first child – the two girls
felt free to vent their thoughts about a certain visitor to the
household.
“Why is she
here?” asked the first of the second.
“I am sure
I don’t know. She’s not family. I see no reason for
it.”
“She came bursting
in the house, pretty as you please, ordering everyone about as
if she was a Countess, instead of just a knight’s lady.”
“Oh… Mr.
Darcy would have something to say about that, I have no doubt!”
“No –
that’s what I mean! He was just as tongue-tied as the master
or Mr. Bingley; he did as he was requested, as meek as a mouse.”
“Mr. Darcy
– meek? Are you certain that the lady wasn’t Mrs. Darcy?”
“As sure as
I’m standing here! Mrs. Darcy was upstairs with…”
“Here now –
what’s this?” cried a voice from behind the two maids.
They turned to see the intruder’s personal maid approaching
them with a firm look on her face. “Would you two harpies
be talking of my mistress?”
“And if we
were; what business is it of yours?” the first responded.
Abigail did not
pause; she moved directly to the woman’s face. “I’ll
have you know I will stand for no-one speaking ill of Mrs. Buford;
man or woman!” she growled. “She is Mrs. Tucker’s
particular friend – as you would know if you had been working
here for longer than a fortnight! She has every right to be here,
as Mrs. Tucker asked for her particularly! If you two vagabonds
don’t stop chatting away and see to your work, I have a
mind to speak to the housekeeper!”
One of the maids
blanched at the threat, but the first grew incensed. “Here
– who are you to order us about? You are just as bad as
your lady! You’ll mind your own business, if you know what’s
good for you, or you’ll see the back of me hand!”
Abigail said with
a voice of ice, “Just try, missy! I’ve handled worse
than you; aye, and with less effort.”
The maid could now
see that Abigail was deadly earnest. She turned to her friend,
“Come along, then – we’ve got to put the birds
to boil.” The two retreated from Abigail’s righteous
anger.
“Humph!”
Abigail said to herself. “The two o’ them together
not the trouble of one Sascha, for all their big talk! Gossiping
biddies!” She then gathered the towels requested and turned
to return upstairs.
“Thank you,
Abby,” said Lady Caroline Buford.
“Yes, Mrs.
Buford. Would you be wanting anything else?” Abigail referred
to her lady by the name she preferred to go by; Caroline had
given up her title in the wake of the death of her husband, Colonel
Sir John Buford.
“No, that is
all,” Caroline dismissed her. She turned from the door and
returned to the figure in the bed. “Here are the towels
you requested,” she said to the midwife. “How are you,
my love?” Caroline asked the prone, sweating woman.
“I…I am
well, Caroline,” replied a pregnant Mary Tucker, well into
her sixth hour of labor.
“Eliza,”
Caroline said the other woman seated by Mary’s bedside,
“go rest yourself; I shall spell you.”
Elizabeth Darcy
thought for a moment to argue, but bowed to her own weariness
and Caroline’s wisdom. She nodded her thanks, kissed her
sister, and crossed over into Mrs. Tucker’s attached sitting
room to join Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Southerland.
“Lizzy,”
asked Jane Bingley, “how is Mary?”
“About as well
as can be expected. Caroline attends her. How are you, Catherine?”
Catherine Southerland,
once Kitty Bennet, sighed. “I am fine; only a little tired.”
Catherine was six months with child.
“You should
not have come.”
“Nonsense!
I had to be here for Mary! Jane agrees!” She and her husband
had journeyed from Derbyshire to London in the Bingley carriage.
Elizabeth eyed her
eldest sister. “Kympton was not far out of our way, Lizzy,”
Jane replied.
Lizzy’s turned
back to Catherine. “But you must think of your own child
now, Catherine.”
“I…I could
not stay away… Not after…last time…”
Lizzy took her hand.
“I know.”
“OHHHH!”
“Yes, Mrs.
Tucker,” reported the doctor, “you are progressing
well.” He turned to the midwife. “I think another hour
should be required. I shall be in the kitchen should you have
need of me.” He then took his leave of the room.
“Shhhh…Mary.
I am here…” cooed Caroline in her ear as she grasped
her hand.
“Caroline…I
am so scared!”
Caroline felt her
insides turn cold, but she hid it well. “Scared? You? You
are the bravest person I know!”
“I am?”
“Oh, yes! Who
else was brave enough to tease me into righteous action so many
years ago?”
“Tease…tease
you?”
“Have you forgotten
the feather in my Bible?”
Mary looked up at
her friend. “That? That was so impertinent of me, Caroline!
Forgive me…”
Caroline smiled.
“I shall never forgive you, Mary Tucker!” She leaned
close and whispered, “You were the saving of me, my dearest
friend.”
Mary smiled weakly.
“You have been so good to me…”
“Nonsense.
I have been many things, but ‘good’ is not one of them.”
Mary laughed. “Liar.”
She then sobered. “But…Caroline…what if I should
loose this baby? What if it should happen again? How can I bear
it? How can I live with…?”
“Enough, Mary!
Enough, my love. You know such things happen…it is no-one’s
fault. And you shall NOT loose this one, Mary. I shall not allow
it!”
“You promise?”
“Yes, I promise,”
Caroline lied.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
turned from his usual perusal of the windowpane to observe his
brothers-in-law. Charles Bingley was seated in an arm chair,
trying to give comfort to a pacing Thomas Tucker, both having
a glass of brandy too much. The Rev. Franklin Southerland, rector
of Kympton, attempted to do likewise, but he was too concerned
with his own worries over the heath of his own wife.
Darcy fought the
small ironic grin that threatened to break out across his face.
Hours ago, while the gentlemen were trying to calm down a distraught
Tucker, Caroline Buford had marched into the house like the British
Army and with a few barked commands restored order to a chaotic
household. She glared at Tucker, demanded of him to act as the
gentleman he was trying to become and breezed out of the room.
Leave it to Caroline
to use obnoxiousness to quiet a situation!
Two hours later,
as the clock crawled towards midnight, Caroline stood before
the window in Mary’s sitting room, looking out into the
darkness, hugging herself. Catherine and Jane had relieved her
only a half hour before.
Her eye caught her
reflection in the glass: a tall, dark-haired woman, dressed from
neck to toe in mourning black, a regimental pin with ribbons
of black and Dragoon Blue upon her breast. For a moment she remembered
another reflection; the horrible day the visit came from the
War Office, confirming that her beloved John had fallen in Glorious
Battle on the field of Waterloo, never to return to her. The
reflection in the mirror as she donned her mourning clothes for
the first time, realizing that she would wear black for the rest
of her life – for no man could ever replace her Johnny.
Caroline’s
thoughts returned to the present. Mary’s words had shaken
her badly. A year and a half ago, Mary’s first pregnancy
had ended in a miscarriage. The family was distraught, but carried
on as best as could be helped, trusting in their love of their
faith and the support of their families. It was only tonight
had Caroline realized how truly terrible it had been for Mary.
Caroline remembered
her own fears over her own confinement. Caroline carried the
only remainder of John Buford in this world in her womb; knowing
that should the indescribable happen, there was no second chance.
But after months of fear and hours of pain, she was rewarded
with a healthy daughter. That child, the two-year-old Barbara
Albertine Buford, now slept sweetly under the watchful eye of
her grandmother and namesake in Buford House, located in a more
fashionable part of London than Caroline now found herself.
John so wanted
a daughter.
Caroline gripped
herself more tightly. Her fears were not so much for Mary’s
child, but for Mary herself. Caroline Buford did not have many
friends. It was her own doing, she knew. The behavior she exhibited
for the majority of her life had seen to that. Yes, she had reformed,
but it was too little, too late for many. Even here, in this
house, it was not enough. The pain she has visited upon Jane
and Elizabeth in the past might be forgiven, but it was impossible
to be forgotten. As much as she might wish it otherwise, as kindly
as they would treat her, as accepted as she was into their families,
Caroline would never be the particular friend of either Jane
Bingley or Elizabeth Darcy.
She had been more
successful with Catherine, and who could not love the Bufords?
Louisa had always been close to her – but she was her sister.
Caroline knew she was closest to three very different women,
for three very different reasons: Marianne Brandon, Lady Anne
Fitzwilliam, and Mary Tucker.
Oh, God…
I do not have many friends. You have called my husband home.
Please do not take away my dear friend, too.
As tears began to
form in her eyes, a calmness, a warmth enveloped her; the same
feeling that she had first experienced in the Buford family cemetery
in Wales two years ago.
John?
I am here, Caro.
Hold me, John, for
I am fearful.
As you wish,
Caro.
Caroline stood like
a statue before the window for no little time, observed quietly
by Elizabeth, when Catherine burst into the room.
“Lizzy! Caroline!
Come quickly! It is time!”
“It…it
has begun?” asked Mr. Tucker of the doctor.
The physician paused
in his assent up the stairs. “Yes, it has, sir. Labor has
gone on a bit longer than I would have liked, but we have very
little say in these matters! Do not be concerned, my dear Mr.
Tucker; your wife is healthy and strong. She is in the best of
hands.” He smiled in a rather patronizing manner as he continued
to the second floor.
“Blast that
man!’ murmured Thomas.
“Thomas!”
cried Franklin. “Dr. Cardwell is very highly respected…”
“Franklin is
right, Thomas,” said Darcy, even though his own thoughts
were not so very different than the expectant father’s.
“Worrying will do you no good.”
“Was it any
easier for you, Darce?”
“Darcy?”
laughed a slightly inebriated Bingley. “He wore a hole through
the rug in his study at Pemberley awaiting the arrival of the
twins!”
“That was different,
Charles,” claimed Darcy. “Elizabeth was having twins,
after all. I suppose you suggest he follow your example and tie
one on!”
“You must admit
it made the time past more rapidly.”
“Yes…and
you were fortunate not to drop your daughter Susan once you held
her for the first time.”
“I have never
dropped any of my children, Darce. I am a prodigiously attentive
father, if I may say so.”
“AARRGGG!”
Caroline was supporting
Mary, holding one of her hands in her agony, as Elizabeth mopped
Mary’s brow.
“Now, Mrs.
Tucker! Now is the time!” cried Cardwell. “Push for
all you are worth!”
“AARRGGG!”
“Yes, Mary…”
chanted Elizabeth in her ear. “Push, my dear…”
“AARRGGG!”
Mary Tucker, Caroline raged inside, if you die
I shall never forgive you!
“Who…who
shall inform the gentlemen?” asked Catherine softly, as
she looked at the still form on the bed.
“I will go…”
began Elizabeth.
“No, Eliza.
I will go,” said Caroline. “She is your sister. Your
place is here.”
The house had been
quiet for what seemed an eternity. Just as Tucker rose to his
feet, unable to wait another moment, the door to the study opened
and Caroline walked in. The gentleman all looked upon the weary
woman in breathless anxiety.
“Thomas Tucker,”
she intoned, “you have a son.”
“A…a son…?
And…Mary? How is Mary?”
A small smile appeared
on Caroline’s lips. “She is well and resting. But I
think she has a desire for your company for some reason.”
“Ha, ha!”
cried Bingley. “Go to her, old man!”
Tucker’s face,
at first relieved, broke into a most foolish grin as he dashed
for the door. Caroline’s eyes followed him in joy, before
turning to the other gentlemen. She frowned as she observed her
brother’s countenance. “Charles Bingley; you are drunk.”
“Not yet, Caroline!”
he laughed, “but I think I shall be! Another drink, my friends?
A drink to our nephew?”
“Uhhh…Charles…”
began Darcy.
“Charles!”
cried Caroline. “How dare you get another drink! Without
offering me one first!”
“Do you need
a drink, Caroline?” asked Mr. Southerland as her helped
her to a chair.
“Lord, yes!
A brandy, if you please.” As Darcy did the honors, she cried,
“Two fingers, sir! I have certainly earned it!”
“I am sure
you have, Caroline,” smiled Darcy.
Everyone involved
would rest the next day, but on the day following the Bingleys,
Darcys, Southerlands and Mrs. Buford returned to the house of
Thomas Tucker of __Street. They were too late – Mr. and
Mrs. Bennet had already arrived. Mrs. Bennet loved all her grandchildren
and felt that the entire world needed to know of it. The Gardiners,
who had also come, did what they could, but…
It was not long
before Caroline, seeking peace and quiet, accepted the gentlemen’s
invitation to join them in the study.
“Well,”
said Darcy, “shall we have a drink to Master Bennet Michael
Thomas?”
“Ummm…perhaps
a small one, Darce…” requested Bingley.
Caroline did not
try to hide her smirk. “Sherry for me, Darcy. But you must
agree that ‘Bennet’ is a curious first name…”
Darcy’s eyebrow
went up.
“…why,
it is almost as bad as ‘Fitzwilliam’.”
The room exploded
in laughter; and even Darcy joined in. That sounds like something
John Buford would have said, he reflected with mirth.
The End
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