The Weaker Vessels

"Beware of entrance to a quarrel."

October 25th

The grief of the Montagues had turned the corner.

Antonio was plotting in secret with certain key allies in advance of being seated on the Council in January. Bianca was commanding the household with relish. Isabella had reduced her weeping to hand-wringing and even found the spirit to occasionally irritate her daughter with motherly advice. Benedick worried about being sent into the Guards on his next birthday, largely forgetting that his swordsmanship was so poor that they wouldn't have him even if his father was so inclined. Romeo and Mercutio carried on quietly, plotting in near-silence what counter-measures they might have to take against their uncle. The only one who was still outwardly mournful was Beatrice, and she wasn't grieving for her grandfather.

When Juliette Capulet and Fitzwilliam Darcy's engagement was announced, the family had been appropriately unhappy for a short time. Isabella and Bianca, who were mainly responsible for the failed Darcy scheme, had been angry and soothing by turns. Antonio made the obligatory speech about the superiority of his lovely daughter, all the while worrying that this match would plant the seeds for a Capulet/Fitzwilliam alliance. Benedick was relieved, believing his sister to be too silly to be married to anyone, but he played the part of the angry brother as often as he could remember to. For Beatrice, none of this was sufficient, especially when it faded away so quickly. Even the revelation that the disgusting union would be solemnized on her own seventeenth birthday could not gain her a satisfying scrap of sympathy. For all she was now the only daughter of Lord Montague, Beatrice felt incredibly unimportant.

Her feelings were not helped by the near-constant presence of a happy couple at Montague Court. As they were cousins, Beatrice thought she deserved the lion's share of attention from Paulina, who was the only lady near her age who still called regularly. Instead, Paulina's visits were dominated by Mercutio, to whom she was as good as engaged. It made her hate them both.

One late afternoon, she couldn't contain herself anymore. Beatrice was determined to complain to someone about her situation, and she knew of only one person who was in the position to take action. She marched directly up to her father's study, shoved aside the steward who regulated entry, and forced her way in with the man on her heels.

Antonio was stunned by this sudden appearance. "What is this?"

"My lord, I tried to stop-"

She turned on her heel. "I told you to leave me alone, you slug-brained boil! I can see my father whenever I want!"

Antonio put a hand up to call for silence. "My door is always open to my daughter." He smiled indulgently at her while she triumphed over the retreating servant. "How are you today, sweetheart?"

"It is the fourth worst day in the history of time, thank you for asking."

"Why don't we sit down? You can tell me all about it."

Radiating confidence, Beatrice remained on her feet and searched out her father's eye as he sat. "Father, there is a fundamental flaw in our family's philosophy."

"And what is that?"

"That a daughter, because of her sex, is less important than a son."

"Sweetheart!"

"No, no, no," she insisted. "Don't try to tell me that's not true."

"What could make you think that?"

"Because you spend more time worrying about my brother's swordsmanship than you do my honor."

"Your brother-"

"Benedick couldn't defeat a one-legged hen. Even I could do better, if you would have let me learn, you know. He has no form, no timing, and he's weak, but you waste lots of time and coin on him anyway. I've been insulted in the most outrageous fashion, and you do nothing!"

Antonio rubbed his face and groaned into his hands. He felt like he was a teenager again, being beaten into the ground by one of his brother's rampages of logic. To hear Beatrice say it, it seemed simple. Benedick fought like a girl, and there was very little hope of him improving. Beatrice... well, he couldn't say what was the truth there. He thought she was still making more out of this than she ought to be, but what did he know about marriage? He would have to talk to Bianca or even, God forbid, his mother. Until then, he had to find another way of calming his daughter. "Sweetheart, there is nothing I can even begin to plan to do until Christmastide, and it'll be too late then to... to execute a worthy plan. And believe me, when he realizes he's passed up a lovely, clever jewel for a worthless slut, he'll regret his choice."

Unimpressed, she threw herself down into the chair. "She's going to be Lady Capulet one day, isn't she?"

He almost laughed. "Oh, Bea, don't pay any mind to that idea. Her parents were a pair of inconsequential hedonists, and look at her sister - forced to marry a foundling corrupted by the Fae to save what was left of her honor. When Consort finally goes to the Devil, there won't be a crumb of support for her. Darcy will have what he deserves."

Beatrice wasn't convinced of that, though she had no great knowledge of Capulet family politics or even of Juliette herself. She simply couldn't believe the 'worthless slut' who ruined her life would be stopped by anyone or anything. "And what if you're wrong?"

He bristled at the suggestion. "I'm not. You are young, and you have not seen what it does to a man to marry into that family. Look at Lady Capulet's husband, look at Lady Regan's husband." And that is saying nothing of their sodomite brother. "Weak, worthless, useless men who are devoid of ambition and souls. It's a miserable life, and he will regret his choice, I promise you." When he noticed her posture had fallen, Antonio walked around the desk and scooped her up into an embrace. "All will be well, sweetheart. You're barely old enough to be married, so don't worry anymore." He kissed her forehead affectionately. "Now, why don't you find something to keep your mind from these unhappy things?"

"I don't know what to do," Beatrice sniffled. "My friends aren't here, and my cousins and brother are all too busy with themselves."

"Where are your aunt and grandmother?"

She frowned, knowing exactly where they would be: in the drafty, old solar where her grandmother liked to sit in the afternoon. Beatrice hated every single room at Montague Court and wished she could move back to Illyria Park, their former home. The men in the family loved to boast about the age of the Court and how, unlike Capulet Manor, it had never been destroyed by enemies; she thought it was stupid to brag that one's house was ancient and unfashionable. If a fire would force improvements to the house, Beatrice would gladly see it go to ashes. "They're embroidering in the solar."

"The last handkerchief you made for me was the best one I've ever seen," he said sincerely. "I could use another like it, and it would be a much better use of your mind than worrying. What do you say?"

Better use of my mind? "Father, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"When was the last time embroidering a handkerchief helped you solve a problem?"

Shit. "Well..." Nervously, he cleared his throat. "Well, sweetheart, I never... had the chance to learn that sort of skill. For my part, I would-"

"So that means never. You've never used embroidery to solve a problem."

"No, I can't say that I have."

"Then why do you think that's going to help me?" she asked hotly. "What the hell is embroidering going to do to help me!"

"Don't use that language, Beatrice. It's beneath you."

"So is being passed over for a Capulet!" When her father opened his mouth, she jumped down his throat. "All you ever say is that they're vicious and evil, they can't be trusted, they killed my mother and never suffered for it, but you want me to go sit nicely and embroider a handkerchief? I've been sitting nicely for months, and I'm sick of it!"

It was time to change tactics. "We're still in mourning for your grandfather."

"My grandfather is dead and gone forever. Why are we putting on a pageant for someone who will never know the difference?"

"It is a sign of respect."

She couldn't even bear to look at him. "Oh, is that so? And when Grandmother dies, will we spend another six months rotting away in this pile of rocks?"

"Not six months, no. There are degrees-"

"So you're saying that your mother isn't as important as your father? The person who endangered her life to give birth to you is the less important parent?"

"Not to me," Antonio lied, "but-"

"No, just to our entire family. Since the first Montague set foot in Verona, having a womb instead of a... a manly part," she sputtered, "has made half the people in this family less important than the others. Well, Father, nobody asked me which part I wanted! If I were a man, I'd have a sword and skills. I could have a sword and skills if I were a Capulet-"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No! Enough! Beatrice Montague, don't you ever say those words again! Don't ever even think those words again, do you understand? Never!"

"I'll say whatever I want!" She stomped on the worn tile under her feet. "I was humiliated by a low-born nobody who is marrying our enemy on my birthday and you don't care!"

"That's enough!"

"No, it's not! It's not enough until you listen to me! I'm not going to be ignored by you any more because I'm not the right sex!"

"Beatrice!"

"I hate you! I wish you were the one who died!" She stared him down, daring him to chastise or even slap her. When all she saw was cowardice, she pounded the floor with her feet one last time and then beat a path out of the room.

What Antonio couldn't bear to tell her was that she wished the same thing. What did a father know about raising a daughter? While he refilled his wine, he ruminated on the damage he had apparently done to Beatrice. Her adolescent brain was affected with wrong ideas and misconceptions, the sort that he would have chased out of Benedick by boxing his ears. It wasn't right to strike a daughter, and, if Bianca was any sort of example, ladies didn't learn their lessons that way. Some sort of loving display was required, but who knew what it ought to be? He collapsed into his chair, exhausted. "God almighty, tell me what to do."

"You aren't listening to her, Antonio."

"No-one can help it, lovely. You must have heard her."

"I did, but I also listened. It isn't about that boy, it's about you."

"But-"

"Girls that age speak a foreign language." Lovingly, she kissed the crown of his head. "You have to listen more carefully. Give it time and even she will admit she never cared about him - and for the best, because they would never have suited. But darling, if you want her to be a true lady, you have to be a true father and make her feel protected. All she has known since your father died is grief, upheaval, and loneliness. Be her father."

"But how? What will satisfy her? Do I make an example of him? Of the Capulet girl?" Either would be satisfying to him but dangerous to his long-term plans. But what were his long-term plans worth if his own daughter despised him? "Should I find her a better husband? Is she old enough to be married? God almighty, I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Lovely, what should I do?"

"Hero?"

Next Post: "We are advertised by our loving friends."