prefer their dais, their term for midwife, but often one is not about or trouble arises and a doctor is called for. Also, the English women will not allow an Indian dai to attend their birth, usually, so if I am around, I get summoned!”
“Is birth truly as horrible as one hears? Horses, for the most part, birth so easily with rare complications. Humans seem to suffer profoundly and frequently…” He looked at his uncle with undisguised fear. “If anything happened to Elizabeth, I…”
“She is young and healthy, William, so I am sure all will be well.” He patted his nephew's trembling knee comfortingly. “Women in childbirth seem to fall into three basic categories. There are those who pass through the entire process with ease. This seems to be a combination of an innate control and an effortless, relatively pain free labor. They are the lucky ones. The worst are the women who fight the process, scream and thrash uncontrollably no matter what we do or say. Often the labors are not actually that horrible, but their lack of control and serenity create an atmosphere of intense stress, frequently leading to a negative outcome. Most fall into the middle category. Labor is so named because it is arduous and painful. There is no escaping the fact, but there are ways to control it and smooth the procedure.”
Darcy leaned forward, listening avidly. “What ways?”
“Breathing techniques, focus, meditation, positions, and the like. However, the one essential is loving support. I cannot stress enough how vital it is for the mother to be surrounded by calming, strong, devoted presences.”
Darcy sat back with a heavy sigh, mumbling sadly, “I wish I could be there with her.”
“Why can you not? You are the one she loves the greatest. You have the premiere relationship with her so should be there if she needs you.”
Darcy was staring at his uncle with stunned amazement. “You cannot be serious? Men are not allowed in birth rooms, Uncle!”
Dr. Darcy laughed, reaching into his coat pocket for a cigar. “I know you tend to be a stickler for the rules, William, but it is not a law from the Crown after all. You are the Master of the house and if your wife needs you, I judge you will rise to the occasion.” He lit the cigar, inhaling leisurely while watching Darcy's contemplative mien. “In the meantime, let us open that book and see what wisdom is imparted. Just promise me you will not blush every time the word
It was close to noon before Lizzy was lovingly persuaded by her husband to relinquish the Festival management into the proficient hands of Mrs. Reynolds and the rest. Yesterday the thought of evacuating the house had appealed to Lizzy. Today, with workers arriving, wagons by the dozens rolling up to the side entrance, performers appearing, decorating and construction visibly transpiring, Lizzy experienced an internal sense of abandoning her duties. Only Darcy's gentle reminder that this is precisely the job of the commander, to delegate the responsibilities to his or her subordinates and trust that they will competently execute the tasks, finally swayed her. He certainly had no doubts regarding the adequacy of the Pemberley staff and his assurance in the end eased Lizzy.
Tightly packed into three open carriages with baskets, blankets, croquet and other game equipment, fishing poles, and a few miscellaneous necessities about their feet, the current inhabitants of Pemberley set off. Humor was high. Picnics always have a mysterious influence on folks, creating a carefree, childlike exuberance nearly impossible to resist. Lizzy was especially excited, as they were journeying along a thin track through the forest that led to a hidden lake and grassy knoll some three miles into Pemberley lands. She had never visited this part of the estate, as many of Darcy's planned excursions with his wife for spring having been postponed due to her accident.
The half-hour journey was delightful all by itself. Lizzy sat next to Darcy, who drove the open buggy, with Kitty and Georgiana seated in back. George Darcy commandeered the second vehicle with Anne de Bourgh and Dr. Penaflor. The last was steered by Richard with Jane, Charles, and Caroline Bingley. The narrow wagon trail was primarily utilized by the Pemberley huntsmen, so was rough, steep in places, and minimally maintained. Nonetheless, the terrain traversed was beautiful, counteracting the discomfort, at least as far as Lizzy was concerned. The vast forest looming to the east of the Manor covered miles upon miles, stretching far beyond the boundaries of Pemberley. Aside from the fringes, which formed the hidden grotto behind the Greek Temple, Lizzy had entered none of the wooded acreage.
The majority of the trees were species of oak with the random Scots pine, birch, rowan, and ash, many covered with a blanket of lichen and moss. Ground flora was thick in most places with a smattering of wildflowers, bluebells, rhododendrons, ivy, and ferns amongst the numerous shrubs. They halted at an extensive wild blackberry thicket, picking a bucket of dark berries for a later treat. The trees were dense in patches, impenetrable to the view beyond. Other stretches were sparse, allowing one to see for great distances, the grove extending for miles. The air was far cooler under the canopy of branches and leaves, smelling sweetly of fresh blooms, musky earth, and moldering wood. Twitters and warbles of varied birds were audible, mingled with the occasional scurry of small woodland creatures. At one point they stopped suddenly to allow a family of deer to cross the trail, and twice startled a fox. Darcy, the hawk-eyed hunter that he was, managed to efficiently drive and point to about two dozen game fowl and several rabbits, most of which the women did not see.
Passing by sundry divergent horse paths, the main track finally exited the edge of the wood, disappearing into a grass and clover carpeted meadow surrounding a generous sized, sandy-shored lake. Lizzy caught her breath, standing up without thinking and then grabbing her husband's arm to avoid tumbling onto the grass when he halted the carriage. Recovering instantly, she jumped out with a squeal of delight.
“William, it is so beautiful!”
Darcy previously told her the lake was named Rowan Lake, which she had rightfully assumed referred to the tree. What she had not understood was exactly why. There was a scattering of ash, birch, and oaks about the edges of the lake as the forest completely encompassed the area. Two enormous, ancient oaks dotted the meadow and provided essential shade. However, the rowan was preeminent. Furthermore, midway along the right hand shore an isthmus of pebbly sand connected to a small island roughly in the middle of the lake. The island boasted huge moss-covered boulders amid which grew a dozen rowan trees, currently bursting with white flowers and bright red berries. Beyond the isthmus, a score of tiny babbling creeks exited the rocky edges of the forest, forming a tributary that fed the lake.
The carriages were halted at the border, occupants disembarking with expressions of delight. Darcy, heart slowly returning to its regular rhythm after the near mishap of his childlike bride, felt a swell of pride. Naturally, he personally had nothing to do with the beauty around them, was simply lucky enough to be born into the Darcy family. Nonetheless, he adored sharing the wonders of their home with his wife. He lightly encircled her waist, leaning for a kiss to her temple.
“Dearest, it is breathtaking. Thank you for thinking of this spot for our picnic. Are there many more such areas in Pemberley?”
“Nothing quite like this. There are some unusual rock formations, small streams with fishing holes, terrain beautiful for its ruggedness or particular vegetation, and there are two areas with caves and caverns. One is within walking distance of this place, along that trail there,” he said as he pointed to a barely discernible path to the right.
“Can we walk there later? I have never seen a true cavern before.” Her eyes were shining; the consummate lover of nature and the outdoors inflamed at the idea of new adventures.
Darcy chuckled. “Perhaps, if you feel up to it. I am not sure the exploration of caverns is wise in your condition, my love, but we can look. I have not been to the cave in years.”
Lizzy turned to her husband with a grin. “Let me guess. You and Richard, along with Mr. Vernor and Mr. Hughes, would play daring miners or Neanderthal cave dwellers?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Alright you two, quit dillydallying! There is work before pleasure, remember? I believe that is an English truism and virtue?” Uncle George, wearing a flowing outfit of beige linen with woven geometric waves of gold, scarlet, emerald green, and purple across the entire back and hem of the tunic, sauntered past with a canvas sack slung over his back.
“He rather resembles a gaudy, very thin Father Christmas, does he not?” Lizzy asked with a laugh, Darcy
