Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer

Anxious for her first visit to her newborn grandnephew, Lady Catherine had planned to arrive in fine style. She was dressed in an outlandishly expensive Lady Collette outfit, including a brand-new tricorn hat purchased specifically for Tuesdays. The hat, which had been originally tilted rakishly upon her head, was now beginning to migrate forward, listing precariously over one eyebrow. She had fortunately decided against her new wig but did succumb to a light hair-powdering and one patch. The patch was also on the move.

Becoming more aggravated with each step, she stopped at the side of a portly gentleman who had been loudly laughing, rudely gesturing with his fingers. She banged her reticule across his head. “Who are you, sir, and who are your people?!” She vigorously shoved her hat back up from over her eye.

She had never been so furious, had never been so indignant. Her hair powder flew every which way as she shrieked about how this rabble should beg the forgiveness of God for exhibiting such impertinence in the presence of their betters, then loudly expressed England was doomed if this was to be its future!

“Stand aside, I say! Stand aside and let my aunt through!” Darcy reached for her arm and pulled her into the foyer doorway.

“Darcy, who are these hooligans?! I demand to know all their names, do you hear me? Jamison, get quill and paper. I want lists made and addresses taken.” Her umbrella banged down on the hand of one of the nearby officers.

“Take your filthy hand from my nephew’s door. How dare you, sir! Are you mad?! Do you know who I am?!” The awestruck crowd began applauding, even though they had no idea as yet who she was.

“Aunt Catherine, please calm yourself. I am perfectly able to handle this!” Even as he mouthed the words, Darcy knew that he had lost all control of the situation, becoming a supporting player in the drama unfolding upon his own doorstep.

“Madam.” The clerk’s voice broke. He began again. “Madam, we are representatives of the crown and have been granted the authority by the magistrate to regain custody of Harold Augustus Penrod by name, this very day or up to twenty-four hours hence. If Lady Amanda Penrod will return the child immediately to her ladyship, any and all charges will be dropped. If not, then we unfortunately will be forced to return with the selfsame magistrate to arrest Lady Amanda Penrod for”—he turned toward the crowd for support as his voice now crackled with uncertainty—“kidnapping?”

The crowd gasped politely, for good form only now, not so vehemently as before.

When the clerk turned back, he was suddenly confronted with the depth of fury being released from Lady Catherine’s eyes. He leapt a step in fear.

“ How dare you! I shall contact Liverpool himself about this insult to our family!” The runners who had positioned themselves alongside the man grew visibly ill at ease.

Recognizing now that Lady Catherine was easily the greater power of the two, the crowd began calling out rude remarks at the clerk and his retreating men.

“Jamison!” Catherine bellowed to her ever-present butler. “Go straight to Lord Liverpool’s house and bring my cousin here to me at once!” A great cheer rang out in the street at the prospect of the popular prime minister appearing. Several of the huge Bow Street Runners turned and fled, braving a gauntlet of taunts and whistles and kicks. The clerk repeatedly bobbed and weaved to avoid Catherine’s umbrella, his white knuckles still clinging to the doorframe. She suddenly pointed a bony finger in his face.

“ Marvel not at this, for the hour is coming in which all that are in graves shall hear this voice. And they shall come forth, they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation! ’” Catherine’s arms were stretched out before her as she bellowed to the sky.

The crowd went mad. “Brava! Brava!” they screamed.

Several people lost very fine hats as they sailed through the air.

The runners began to flee the crowd in earnest for their lives. Only one person, the clerk, had remained for the entire, terrifying soliloquy of Lady Catherine. “Your ladyship,” he begged, he whined. “Please! There is no need to bother our dear prime minister, no need to get into such a fever. Nothing can be done this day, I am sure. Can’t help but think this is just some sort of misunderstanding.” After bowing nearly to the floor, the man turned and fled as if chased by the devil himself but called over his shoulder as he ran, “You still have only twenty-four hours to return the child.”

He was chased down the block by a rain of snowballs and hats.

Chapter 11