Changeling Child - Part 8

For those who first found the story on archiveofourown and wondering what happened to it: Someone reported the story as breaking the rules around promotion, resulting in the story being taken down and me getting banned for a month. So, nothing from me on that front until next year.

Prologue

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

For several days, the militia and it’s Officers were all Kitty and Lydia could talk about, with Mama’s blessing and encouragement. Mama saw it as harmless fun in two young girls, but Mary couldn’t help but worry. Flirtation was only harmless as long as it was restrained by propriety, and restraint had never been Lydia’s strongest virtue. Left to her own devices, Kitty was more balanced, but she followed wherever Lydia led.

Jane received an invitation to Netherfield from Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, who found themselves chafing with no company but each other. Mary sympathised with their plight; as much as she loved her sisters, there was a reason she spent so much time in the Hermitage. Jane went willingly, though with some trepidation at the looming stormclouds.

Mama brushed off her daughters’ concern with delight, for Jane was indeed required to stay the night at Netherfield, and even the arrival of a note, assuring them that despite Mr Jones being summoned, she was not so very unwell, could not dim her enthusiasm. “Jane will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is all very well.”

Mary had her doubts; Jane might be one of those people who looked as though she had stepped out of a painting, even on her sickbed, but she could hardly spend time with Mr Bingley while ill and confined to a guestroom! Even if she could, a runny nose and a fever was not the way to show a person to best advantage. Lizzy was rather more anxious, convinced that Jane was downplaying the seriousness of her condition, and determined to go to Netherfield to nurse Jane back to health.

Well, if Jane could only invoke Mr Bingley’s concern from a distance while unwell, at least Lizzy would have ample opportunity to match wits with Mr Darcy.

Jane and Elizabeth stayed at Netherfield for five days complete.

Mama, accompanied by Kitty and Lydia, visited on the third day, and returned to Longbourn humming contentedly, assured that matters between Jane and Mr Bingley were progressing as she had planned, and with the intelligence that Netherfield would soon host a ball.

It had been some time since Mary had occasion to wear the dress Diarmait had gifted her last year. A ball at Netherfield would be just the setting. Jane was well on the way to recovery, and would be home soon, and Mr Darcy, according to sources, had been prevailed upon to smile at Lizzy multiple times! Kitty reported at least once instance during the visit, and Sarah the maid, who had it from her brother who was a footman at Netherfield, brought tales of several more.

Heavens above! Had Lizzy managed to find the one man in England who not only didn’t flee her tendency to argue, but actively enjoyed it? Mary was sure that stranger things had happened, but she would be hard-pressed to recite them.

The morning after Jane and Lizzy returned, Mama was given even more reason to celebrate, when Papa announced the impending visit of a single gentleman guest.

That pleasure was soured in short order by the revelation that the guest was the Heir of Longbourn, whose existence Mama decried at least once a week. He wrote from Rosings Park, in Kent, a location which distracted Mary to more pleasant thoughts than the rather long-winded letter. Still, this Mr Collins was their cousin, and being on good terms with him could only be a good thing, so Mary cast about for something nice to say when eyes turned expectantly for her opinion. “In point of composition, the letter does not seem defective. The metaphor of the olive-branch might be considered over-used, but on the whole it is well expressed.”

A little too well-expressed, for Mr Collins had required two sheets of paper for the letter, yet conveyed very little. Well, he would arrive around tea time, and Mary could try to form a better impression then.

Mr Collins was a tall, largely-built man of about five-and-twenty, who wasted very little time before complimenting Mama on her abundance of beautiful daughters, who would surely be well-disposed of in marriage very soon.

For the first time, Mary found herself grateful to be the plainest of the Bennet sisters. Mr Collins was tolerable, but tiresome, and hinted entirely too much at marriage and his ‘fair cousins’. With Jane and Lizzy on very good terms with far more eligible gentlemen than their cousin, Mary had no desire to be next in line for his consideration!

He even managed to make reading Fordyce’s Sermons, normally something Mary enjoyed, seem utterly dull and uninspired!

Mary was not unskilled at tuning out things she found un-interesting, and was thus prevailed upon to join Mr Collins and her sisters in walking to Meryton the next day. Jane and Lizzy, and Kitty and Lydia, were already paired off, after all, and someone had to bear the brunt of listening to Mr Collins talk.

Mary almost refused on principle, but she did owe Kitty some new drawing pencils, and it would be good to distract herself from wondering how Diarmait fared.

In the end, Mary had reason to be glad that she ventured out with her sisters and their tiresome would-be suitor.

She could have done without the excessively charming soon-to-be Lieutenant Wickham, or Mr Darcy's confusing reaction to seeing the man. Certainly, he was tall and well-formed, with excellent manners, but Mary could not shake the feeling of something false about him, nor the sixth sense that shrilled of danger. She was only able to relax her tensed muscles when Mr Denny and Mr Wickham departed, despite Aunt Phillips's protests.

The tribulations of the day were made worth it, however, by the sight that awaited her in the Phillips' parlor.

Aunt Phillips was the center of local gossip in Meryton, and the first to welcome any newcomer to the area for tea. Clearly, that extended to a young gentleman passing through the area on unspecified 'business'.

Diarmait had not been forced to resort to a glamour, but it still took Mary several moments to recognize him. In her defense, she was used to seeing her warrior in shining silver armor or clothing that made him look as though he had stepped out of a painting. Diarmait had always put her in mind of a mythological hero, or at least something more than human.

Seeing him in a waistcoat, cravat and tailcoat, hair bound neatly in a queue, was a sight so surreal that it was a disguise in itself. Certainly few who knew him would connect the fierce, proud warrior to the mild-looking man who appeared to have never held anything more dangerous than a pen-knife. It wasn't until his sleeve slipped back and revealed a familiar leather cuff that Mary's eyes caught up with her other senses.

Hopefully, her sisters would brush it off as Mary being blindsided by a man paying attention to her, for "Mr Cathal" wasted no time in displaying a particular liking for the quietest sister.

Diarmait rose and bowed to the six visitors, briefly distracting Lydia from her disappointment that Mr Wickham had not joined them. He lingered at Mary's side as Mr Collins was taken on a brief tour, and the group broke up for conversation and cards.

Mary turned to the pianoforte again, and Diarmait offered to turn the pages for her, politely ignoring her younger sisters' giggling. Soon, they were all but forgotten by the rest of their company, as Lizzy tried to persuade Mr Collins that he did not need to spend a full half-hour apologising to Aunt Phillips for whatever imagined slight he believed himself to have delivered.

Mary ran through the opening notes to a Scottish Lament, and Diarmait smiled. "It was that bad?"

Mary tilted her head slightly, "That would require far more time to explain than we have. How was Kent?"

He turned a page, a few notes from the end. "Tiring. Of course, politics always is, especially when you are both messenger and player, dealing with those who see only part of the picture."

People were exhausting when they weren't actively trying to be difficult. Diarmait had every right to sound worn. "That does sound difficult."

He smiled again, "Now that we have been formally introduced, I can call on you freely, and tell you the full story of Rosings Park."

Rosings? Was that not the same estate where Mr Collins had his living? Mary forced herself to shelve her curiosity, at least for now, and changed the subject. “There was a man who came with the Militia, a Mr Wickham. I can’t explain it, but he made me nervous. As if... as if he were a danger, but he seemed charming.”

Diarmait nodded gravely. "I know the name, and the fellow attached to it. Your instinct serves you well, but I have not the time to explain it in full here."

He was right, the customary half-hour had already elapsed, though Aunt Phillips was already insisting that they return for dinner the following night. Diarmait bowed over Mary's hand, and promised to see her soon, before departing to the Inn.

Resolutely, Mary feigned obliviousness to the delighted gleam in Lizzy's eyes and Jane's bright smile, and outright ignored the squeals and whispering from Kitty and Lydia. The three miles to Longbourn suddenly seemed very long indeed.

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