Generation One: Chapter 8 - Unexpected Enemy

“Papa! Papa!” cried a little voice as I came in the door from a long day at work. There was my precious son, Henry, toddling unsteadily towards me. Charlotte stood behind him in the entrance hall, smiling as my son tottered into my outstretched arms. 

“And how are you this evening, my son?” I asked.

“Good Papa! Alfed ,” Henry could not pronounce his cousin’s name, calling Alfred Alfed instead “and me played with the blocks.”

“Alfred and I, Henry.” I corrected him gently. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yes! Mama said I played good and I should be good for my baby brother.” I looked from my young son to my wife, who had stepped closer to join us.

Her smile and gentle hand resting on her still flat stomach were all the confirmation I needed that my Henry had spoken true and I was indeed to be a father again.

I turned my attention back to Henry. “Yes you should be a good boy, son. Your mother is correct. In fact, you must be a good little boy or…”

“Or what, Papa?” This was our favorite game. 

“Or the scary hand will get you. Oh no!” I used the hand not holding Henry to be the “scary hand”. He half-screamed, half-giggled.

 I tickled him and he truly laughed, wiggling in my tight grip. When I was done playing “scary hand”, I took him back to the nursery, where he could play with Alfred all he wanted.

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I was enjoying a quiet evening at home, the whole family getting along for once.

 Charlotte, about two thirds of the way through her pregnancy, sat at the piano bench, providing us with music. 

Alfred was playing chess against Caroline, while I read the newspaper.

Our sons played at our feet.

 Then, the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds entered. I rose, and met her near the doorway. She rarely interrupted us during the evening, so something must be amiss.

“Excuse me sir, but there is a strange man requesting an audience with the Master. I tried to tell him it was too late for visitors, but he was most insistent.” She said, clearly uncomfortable disturbing us.

“Did he give you his name?” I asked.

“He said he was a Mr. Gisbourne, Mr. Darcy.” My faithful housekeeper replied. 

“Please, show him to my study. I will be with him momentarily.” I ordered. She curtsied, and left the room. I followed, and when I stood outside my study door, I paused.

I had not seen Richard Gisbourne since I had graduated from the University. We had been schoolmates, but never friends. We had been rivals, almost from the word “go”. We had competed for the top spots in the classroom and in athletics. It had had its moments of antagonism, but we had parted on good enough terms, or so I thought.

Because the expression on his face when he saw me was not the face one greets an old school friend with. It was the face one greets an enemy with.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Gisbourne?” I asked.

“I came for answers, Darcy.” He replied.

“Answers to what, pray tell?”

“Answers as to why Priscilla Davenpore is dead. Why you married another. Why you defile her memory by marrying so soon after her death.”

“Why do you care so, Richard? She has been dead almost five years now.”

“Because I loved her, and you killed her!” He practically screamed at me.

“I did not kill her! She was killed in a fire that also killed my parents!”

“A likely story,” He said contemptuously. “But why did you not save her?”

“I was not here when it happened! I was ten miles away, visiting my sister. Pray tell, short of telepathy how could I have known what was happening?”

He scowled. “That still does not explain your betrayal of her memory.”

“I waited more than a year before I married, as is proper. Would you have me never marry, to die childless and let the line end with me, failing at my duty simply because a woman I was only to wed because it was expected of me died before our marriage? If you loved her, as you claim, then why didn’t you marry her?”

“I wanted to. But she was betrothed to you before I had the chance. You always got the best that should have been mine, Darcy. Best grades, all the friends, the woman I loved. And you shall pay. You killed her. Perhaps you were too far away, but you should not have left in the first place! Mark my words, you will suffer for what you have done, you and your family.”

“You will not threaten my family in my house.” I said, holding tight to my rage. “Now get out.”

He stalked out of the room before I could call for a servant to eject him. I followed, to ensure he did not seek out my wife and child. He did not, leaving through the front door. He turned, just before he went down the stairs. “Mark it well, I will not rest until justice for Priscilla is complete.”

I did not stay to watch him leave. I could not rejoin my family. I was too angry. I found myself in the garden, watching the fountain. My wife came up behind me. I turned; she came close and gripped my larger hand with her smaller one.

“My love, what troubles you? You did not return to the parlor.” She asked, her voice a balm to my troubled soul.

“Our,” I paused to consider what to call Gisbourne, and just how much I would reveal, “guest was rather unpleasant, and I did not wish to concern you. I suspect he had been drinking.” I lied, knowing that Gisbourne had been at least mostly sober.

Charlotte stroked my cheek. “You are so thoughtful, dearest. Come, the hour is late. Put our son to bed, and then you need your rest.”

 I smiled, and then kissed her gently. “Yes, Mother.” I teased. She simply smiled at me, and left. I watched her go. I have never been so grateful in my life that we had found each other.

“Papa, has Baby come?” asked Henry as I woke him one morning. For the last month it is all he has asked about. He is thrilled at having a sibling.

“Yes, you have a sibling at last, my son.” I could finally answer him so. Charlotte had carried this child for an extra week before finally giving birth only a few hours prior. 

“Can I see Papa?” Henry is so inquisitive.  It will serve him well, I think.

 I brought him over to the cot where the newest Darcy rested, and showed my excited son his newest relation, his little sister Ellen.

“Papa, can Baby play now?”

I laughed, I admit. I hoisted my eldest in the air, amused. “Not yet, but soon enough she will be big enough to play.”

Part of me wished both my children would always be as they are now, young and innocent, playful and curious. But I know that is impossible, and I cannot wait to see how they grow.