A Sister's Curse Read online

  A Sister’s Curse

  Jayne Bamber

  A Sister’s Curse

  Copyright 2019 by Jayne Bamber

  Cover design by Jayne Bamber

  Cover artwork by Mary Ann Flaxman

  ***

  This book is a work of fiction. Any person or place appearing herein is fictitious or is used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. Please do not reproduce or transmit this book, in whole or in part, by any means without permission in writing from the author.

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  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Prologue

  June 1794, Derbyshire

  A respectable family of the lower gentry were travelling on the Great North Road toward Lambton, a village of little consequence to any but those happy enough to reside there. The gentleman felt entirely indifferent to the notion of travelling thither with his wife, her younger sister, and his three young daughters; he occupied himself chiefly in reading his newspaper, idly stroking the hair of his second and favorite daughter, a lively girl of three who had finally dozed off in his lap.

  His wife, seated opposite him, was equally engrossed in coddling her own favorite, a darling fair-haired angel of five, while the lady’s younger sister sat beside her, cradling the youngest of the children. Though she quite longed to be as doting an aunt as ever there was, the young lady grew restless as the babe in her arms drifted to sleep, and the gentleman’s hope of having silence at last was soon dashed; his wife and her sister resumed the tedious chatter that had been nearly constant during their three-day journey.

  Their intention was not to attend the wedding to which they had been invited, but to prevent its taking place. Their brother, the jovial bridegroom, was a fine-looking and affable young man of thirty with a promising future in trade. Moreover, his sister had come up in the world, having married into the landed gentry these six years, and she felt her brother could now likewise do better than a penniless country miss from some remote northern backwater – he ought to marry a young lady of means, perhaps with younger brothers of an age and standing to some day look toward her own three daughters.

  The lady found a ready audience in her younger sister, and with the hour of confrontation nearly upon them as they approached their destination, her wit flowed long. The gentleman could only conceal a smirk; he had resolved to wait until the very last to make his own sentiments known to his wife and her sister by pledging his full support of his brother-in-law’s choice, for six years had taught him there could be little pleasure in such a marriage beyond vexing his wife from time to time.

  Unfortunately, it was his turn to be vexed by his lady, whose increasingly animated lamentations inevitably resulted in the disruption of her daughters’ equanimity. The babe began to cry, and her aunt would insist on tending to the child herself, rather than handing her off to her mother. The babe’s cries soon roused the middle daughter, who squealed a great deal, grappling wildly at her father in disorientation.

  Still coddling her eldest, there was little else the mother would do; she scolded her sister and the babe, scolded her second child, and scolded her husband for the girl’s distress until the gentleman was obliged to stop the coach entirely and claim a seat on top beside the driver, leaving the wailing of his daughters to his wife and sister, the responsible parties for the current uproar.

  His lady wife let out a huff of indignation as he slammed the carriage door behind him, and a moment later deposited himself heavily on the seat beside the driver. He had taken the reins himself and gave the carriage a heavy, impatient jolt as he set them off toward the road leading into the village. Recovering from such a rustle about the carriage, the lady exchanged a look of shared annoyance with her sister, before chastising her second daughter again.

  There was another disturbance a moment later – they were going far too fast – and then there was a great commotion of sound outside, on the road – all hooves and shouts. The lady met her sister’s eye a moment before the carriage began to tumble. She cradled her eldest girl close, as her sister likewise held the baby, and both women had only just begun to reach out for the middle daughter when the carriage tumbled over.

  ***

  Two great ladies, sisters, were travelling south on the Great North Road – had in fact just begun their journey – one sister had come north to accompany the other down to Bath, to see a doctor of a certain speciality, as a matter of some urgency. The elder sister was always happy to be of assistance to anybody, particularly her beloved younger sister, and a great deal more keen to be away from their husbands. Her own husband had remained behind at the manor, where he would no doubt debauch himself for the duration of her absence; her younger sister’s husband, a much finer man, had ridden as far as the village to see them off.

  It was not long after he guided his horse away from them, and their carriage began to pick up speed where the road widened at the edge of the village that their journey went amiss. What followed happened too quickly for either sister to recall with any clarity just what transpired, but when it was over, the younger woman sprang from the carriage. The elder sister was well enough recovered from the collision to instantly begin scolding the driver, while the younger sister hastened to assess the condition of the carriage they had struck.

  It was in pieces. Both equipages had taken the curve at far too dangerous a speed, and only hers, the finer of the two, had survived the impact. She was immediately struck with no little dismay at just how many passengers had been within the battered carriage – all women and children, and two men riding atop, both now prostrate on the ground, their bodies twisted impossibly.

  The lady cried out to her maid, who stumbled out of the carriage wide-eyed and shaking, but uninjured. The girl was dispatched to the village for help, and ignoring the dramatic fits of her elder sister, the sisters knelt amongst the wreckage to ascertain the injuries of the two women and three small girls, ignoring the pang in her heart at the certainty that the two men were beyond help.

  The women and children were seen to – the fine lady felt some hope that they wanted only a little more assistance to be quite well. Assistance soon arrived in the form of her husband, the foremost gentleman of the area, who quickly took command of the situation. His wife, cradling one of the crying girls in her arms, watched with tears glistening in her eyes as her husband heard the final words of the man dying on the side of the road. He locked eyes with his wife, and gave her a solemn nod as the gentleman, assured that his wife and daughters would be safe, drew his last raspy breath.

  1

  George Darcy restlessly paced the halls of Pemberley; his home was in uproar. The worst of his fears had not come to pass, for when first his wife’s maid had sought him in Lambton, scarcely sensible in describing the carriage accident, he had thought only of his wife. He had found Lady Anne Darcy not only unscathed from the collision, but commanding the situation and offering her aid to those in need; she was in every way a divine creature, and he was proud of her.

  What had followed was horrible enough, and even his relief that his wife was unharmed was tainted by knowing that the family in the other carriage had been far less fortunate. His wife was alive and well, while the hysterical stranger upstairs with his wife had become a widow in the blink of an eye.

  Anne joined him in the gallery some time later, still wearing th
e gown she had soiled with dirt and blood as she had assiduously tended to the travelers long after Doctor Johnson had answered their summons. He strode toward his wife, drawing her close to him, still not past the notion that she might have been lost to him. “What news, my love?”

  “Our guests are beginning to speak sensibly now that the shock has worn off, and their injuries beginning to mend.”

  “And Catherine?”

  “Sir Lewis has taken her to her room to calm her nerves – he thinks they had better return to Rosings tomorrow – surely our trip to Bath must be postponed.” Anne sighed, and wrung her hands as she leaned into him. “Sisters, just like us… travelling to a wedding of all things. Can you imagine anything so horrible? My heart aches for them, George.”

  He nodded gravely and gave his wife a soft kiss on the forehead. “Where was the wedding to be? We must endeavor to find their family – the women and children must be looked after, and surely there must be someone who will worry when they do not reach their destination.”

  “That is the worst of it, I fear.” Anne Darcy’s voice quivered, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “They were nearly there – had my carriage departed the house but a moment later, they should have been safely on the parsonage road before I passed them by. Their brother is to marry Miss Fisher. I hope you do not object – that is, I have sent word to the parson and his daughter, as well as her betrothed – his sisters are asking for him, you see.”

  “Of course, my love. I daresay there are a great many arrangements to be made. By the bye, have you learned the names of our poor guests?”

  “Bennet. The widow and children are called Bennet, the brother and younger sister are called Gardiner.”

  ***

  Edward Gardiner strode into the foyer of Pemberley with his fiancée on his arm, and her father at their side. They were met by the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, and quickly led upstairs to meet with the Darcys in the gallery outside the guest wing.

  Mr. Fisher stepped forward to perform the introductions, but Mr. Gardiner cut him off, caring nothing for formalities at such a time. “Where are my sisters?”

  “They are upstairs, sir,” Mr. Darcy replied. “Miss Gardiner is well enough, but for a broken arm and some other bruising. Your elder sister, however – I fear there may be some complications. And your brother, Mr. Bennet, I am afraid….”

  “God, no,” Mr. Gardiner sighed. Mr. Darcy exchanged a look of tender sadness with his wife, and nodded. “I long to go to my sisters, but I suppose I had better ask what happened.”

  Mr. Darcy hesitated, and glanced again at his wife, who took Mr. Gardiner’s hand as she met his eye, before withdrawing it to wipe away a tear. Lady Anne appeared greatly affected by what she was saying, as she explained how the accident had come about. “The coachman broke his neck instantly, and I feared the same befell Mr. Bennet – they tell me now he survived the fall, but his ribs were badly broken, and had pierced his lung. I believed him already gone, and sent my maid to the village to fetch my husband, that we might assist your sisters and nieces. The oldest girl has a sprained ankle, but the younger two are quite well. I believe – I believe your sisters shielded the girls when they perceived the impact, at the cost to their own bodies. Miss Gardiner suffers only a broken arm and dreadful headache, but Mrs. Bennet is in a bad way, I fear, and Doctor Johnson fears for the child she carries.”

  Mr. Gardiner let out a heavy gasp – he had not even known Fanny was with child again. That she should have come all this way! “Good God, my poor sister. Does she suffer a great deal?”

  Mrs. Darcy glanced up at her husband, who gave a barely discernible nod. “I should like to take you to them now,” she said, and cast a glance at the Fishers.

  Mr. Fisher, an affably disposed old parson, was stony as ever Edward Gardiner had seen him. “I shall accompany you, with Edward’s consent, but Madeline will remain – I would not wish her exposed to anything… that is….”

  “I perfectly understand, Papa,” Madeline replied in a steady voice. “I am sure I shall wait for your report, and yours, my dear Edward.”

  Mr. Darcy offered Madeline Fisher a gentle smile. “Your family are all fond of reading, I understand. I shall escort you to the library, where you might wait for us all, my dear.”

  Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Fisher followed Mrs. Darcy through the guest wing, into the bedchamber that had been made available for Fanny Bennet. She appeared to be resting; the doctor left his post at her side and approached them, motioning for silence lest she awaken.

  Mr. Gardiner moved to the corner of the room. “How is she? She will wake up, yes?”

  “I have no doubt of that, sir, however….” Doctor Johnson paused and grimaced at the ground, apparently choosing his next words with care. “She has been in and out of consciousness, and though more vocal than some others I have seen after such an injury – well, Mr. Gardiner, to speak plainly, I believe you sister is under some confusion as to the circumstances of her accident.”

  “How so?”

  Mr. Johnson grumbled under his breath, and led Edward to Fanny’s bed side. He placed a cool cloth on her forehead, dabbing at her skin gently to rouse her. As Fanny’s eyes opened, she broke into a broad smile at the sight of her brother. “Well, Edward! You are looking well!”

  Mr. Gardiner smiled ruefully at his sister. “You are not, dearest. Whatever has happened?”

  “Oh, la! I had a little fall, that is all! Cousin Pru has been ever so kind,” she replied with a raspy laugh and a glance at Mrs. Darcy.

  Mr. Gardiner cast a nervous glance up at Mrs. Darcy, who hovered nearby, her brow knit with concern. The lady did rather resemble their cousin Prudence, but he began to worry. “Fanny, Pru died six years ago….”

  Fanny laughed nervously. “Whatever do you mean? She had her come-out last month, we were all there.” She paused, her attention caught by Mr. Darcy, who had come to stand nervously in the doorway. “My goodness, Brother, who is your handsome friend?”

  Mrs. Darcy looked up, her eyes twinkling with amusement that quickly gave way to alarm. “This is my husband, Mr. Darcy… ma’am?”

  Fanny tittered nervously, and cast a wild look around the room. “It is a fine house, Pru – pray, where am I? Where is Phyllis, and Mamma?”

  Mr. Gardiner looked over at Doctor Johnson, who nodded knowingly. “Young lady,” said he, “your brother has come to ascertain your injuries, after your… fall. I shall speak privately now with him – he shall be returned to you in just a moment.”

  Mrs. Darcy took a seat beside Fanny’s sickbed while her husband followed Mr. Gardiner, Mr. Fisher, and Doctor Johnson into the corridor. When they had closed the door, the doctor addressed Edward first. “You take my meaning now, sir?”

  “She did have a tumble, when she was eighteen – the only other time I think she has ever been unwell, in fact. But what is to be done to make her remember?”

  “Yes, she must be made to remember herself,” Mr. Darcy agreed. “There are a great many cares for her at present – her children, and arrangements for her husband. Tell us, doctor, is she well enough to recover?”

  The doctor drew in a deep breath, puffing his chest out and steepling his fingers in a gesture of consideration. “To be honest, it is difficult to say at present. I am rather astonished she has not spoken of being in any great pain, for her injuries are not inconsequential. In cases as these, it is possible that the part of the brain that processes pain is not responding, and given her current state I do suspect there is some damage to the brain – as to whether it will last, I must suggest that this may also depend on whether her other injuries heal sufficiently for her to survive long enough to recover her faculties.”

  Mr. Gardiner let out a small sound of surprise – guttural, jarring surprise. “You mean to say that she might not live? That she may perish without feeling the pain of her injuries, or recall ever sustaining them?”

  Mr. Fisher interjected. “Perhaps it is a small mercy. Of course we must pray for her
recovery, but if this is to be the end, would it not be better to spare her any pain, both physical and mental?”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Fisher, I cannot agree,” Mr. Darcy said, looking quite aghast. “Of course, that is all up to Mr. Gardiner, here, and the good doctor, but I cannot think it wise to allow her to remain in any state of delusion, however comfortable. Mrs. Bennet and all her family are welcome here as long as we may be of service – I promised her husband before he passed – but ought she not be made to remember? She must want a say in what befalls her husband next, not to mention the care of the children.”

  “Well said,” Mr. Gardiner agreed. “I thank you for your kindness, sir, and I fear we may yet have to trespass on your hospitality for some time, until my poor sister is quite well again – I shall not give up hope that she may yet mend. I fear for the babe – she has most ardently desired a son, and if I know my sister, she must be determined that this child will at last be the heir she has hoped for – with Thomas being gone, it is their family’s last hope….” A sob overtook him before he could say more. “Certainly she must know about Thomas. As to the girls, were it in my power – that is, I shall speak to Madeline about some possible arrangement….”

  The doctor nodded his agreement. “I think it could only be to her benefit that we make her recollect herself.” They were interrupted by a sudden shriek, and the four men rushed back into Mrs. Bennet’s sick room.

  Mrs. Darcy sat by, clasping Fanny’s hand with a look of panic as Fanny grasped at her stomach with her other hand. “Eddie, what is this? What has happened to me?”

  Good God, she has no notion of being a mother. The Darcys and Mr. Fisher shared a look of agreement before quietly retreating, and Mr. Gardiner sat down beside his sister. “Fanny, dear, I must speak to you about Thomas. You remember Thomas Bennet?”