Do You Know the Cause?

"If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches and poor men’s cottages princes' palaces." 

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August 5th

"No! Henry, I am not sharing grandchildren with that idiot!"

"You said I ought to look for a wife!"

"Look harder!" There was nothing new under the sun after sixty-six years, but this feeling of history repeating struck Orsino particularly hard. Only a year and a half had passed since he last fought a son on choice of wife. That time, he had given in, and it had been the right choice. Anne looked after her husband, caused no trouble, and would deliver a welcome addition to the family tree in February. Anne's mother was a thorn in Orsino's side, but Lady Catherine de Bourgh held no political power. Henry's proposed father-in-law wielded a great deal of power for a man of such small character and intelligence. "I tolerate Lord Montague for the good of the realm. For the good of this family, I will not countenance an alliance with him!"

"I'm not asking to marry him! Or even her, yet!" Henry snapped. "I merely want to declare my interest. And, if she does marry me, she'll be a Nowell. What does it matter what her father thinks then? For God's sake, Anne's mother still thinks Fabian is going to inherit, and you laugh up your sleeve at her!"

"She's not a governor, Henry! She doesn't have knights or vassals or great tracts of land. She can't force Verona into chaos. Lord Montague may not be cruel, but he has whims of ambition, and he worshiped the wife who gave him his children." Orsino knew that last feeling all too well. His second wife, Maria's mother, had been the one he worshiped. "He won't let go of her easily. And do you suppose the lady would like abandoning her family?"

Henry scoffed. "Honestly, Father, I don't think she would mind very much."

"Is that so?" When his son nodded, Orsino raised a brow, as though he was actually persuaded. Misdirection was a key element in battle. "And I suppose you love this girl well enough to give up your inheritance?"

"Give it up?"

He smiled at Henry's confusion. "Yes, of course. Your brother will be sorry to be back in the fire, but if the child is a son, Fabian can always abdicate when the boy comes of age. Cecily might care to lend him a hand, too, in your absence."

The notion had hit Henry in the chest like a brick. He had long expected to attend the Académie, marry well, and rot away in a spare sub-council seat dug up by his father. To be promoted to heir was a dream come true, a rebirth into a new world. The day his father had explained the arrangement with Fabian had been one of the best of his life. He didn't want to give it up; that feeling gave him his first doubt in a long time about Lady Beatrice. "I have to become some sort of exile from my own family if I want to marry her?"

He crossed his arms and fixed Henry with a look. "What you're proposing to ask of this young lady doesn't sound so easy anymore, does it? And if you're happy to ask more of the girl than you're willing to give yourself, then you aren't fit to be her husband." He had been in that situation himself, when he had contemplated breaking his long-standing betrothal to his first wife. Orsino had been very fond of a certain lady who had responsibilities of her own. They had parted after a sharp lecture from the lady that had stayed with him since. It was to his shame that he hadn't fully accepted that lesson until decades later. "You are a better man than that, Henry."

"It's do as I say', then, 'not as I do'?" Henry spat. He hadn't been so angry with his father in his adult life.

Unfazed, Orsino replied, "You are free to make your own choices. I am merely informing you of the consequen-"

Two sets of footfalls were growing nearer; with them came a servant's meek pleading. 

"If your ladyship would be shown to a sitting room-"

"No, thank you."

"My lady, I beg your-"

The door flew open and promptly shut again, sealing the servant outside and the guest within the room.

"Lady Iden!" Orsino called out in relief. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Affairs of the realm, I'm afraid."

"Then let's not waste time." When Charlotte didn't look satisfied, he followed her gaze to Henry. "My son can hear anything you have to say." He half-expected Henry to storm off in a huff; instead, he bowed to Lady Iden and settled in for the conversation. Orsino was proud. "Now, let's have the story, Charlotte."

"Very well." She stepped right up to Orsino so she could stare at his eyes. It was a time-honored Iden tactic. "If the governors are asked, I want you to refuse to hear the Capulet matter."

"I believe it is the prerogative of the challenger to chose the venue. Why should I prevent her?" Orsino was still trying to fix his opinion of Lady Iden after five years. She had her mother's wits, but she used them to be more circumspect. What she said and what she would ultimately do were not always the same. One point was clear enough - she liked to debate.

"To cool the tempers of several noble families, to begin with. When one quarrelsome family experiences misfortune, others borrow trouble. I called at Montague Court before coming here, to try to talk some sense into Lord Montague and convince him to stand down his guards. He didn't see his behavior as an overreaction, though he admitted he had yet to be implicated at all."

Orsino rolled his eyes and smirked. "Then you were unsuccessful, Charlotte."

"Utterly." Exasperated, she sighed. "I doubt there is a candle in the house that is not assigned a protector. Would you believe I had to leave my own carriage and be taken up to the house in a litter?" The question being rhetorical, she moved on immediately. "The family is miserable, to top it all off. The only happy people I saw were Lord Arlecchino and his eldest son; they looked like the cat that got into the cream when they left Lord Montague's study."

"The boy is his nephew by marriage, isn't he?" Only for the sake of saying something did he ask. Orsino knew Antonio Montague's wife had been an Arlecchino. As he remembered it, that same lady came with a rather large property in her dowry - large enough for any family to want to reclaim it.

She nodded. "I suppose he likes having at least one nephew who isn't antagonizing him." Charlotte's shoulders dropped as the meat of the issue left her. Her presence lightened considerably, and her tone turned conversational. "He's absolutely livid at his brother's son - so much so that I couldn't get a word in at all while he ranted about his daughter's situation."

Henry, whose eyes had lost their spark, jumped into the conversation. "Lady Beatrice?"

She turned her head to the young lord. "Indeed. Lord Montague sent his son to fetch her from Lord Mercutio's home in light of the Capulets' situation; in her haste, she took a tumble on a staircase. The physician and her cousins insist she cannot be moved until her ankle heals. Lord Montague was of a mind to invade the nephew's house, and some may have somehow seen him as within his rights as a parent, but I believe I dissuaded him. I will not allow him to multiply Verona's anxiety any more than he already has."

"Excuse me, Lady Iden, Father." After a perfunctory bow toward them, Henry walked quickly out of the room. All pretensions to calm were abandoned by the thunder descending the staircase outside the study.

Staring after the noise, Orsino muttered, "Sons."

Charlotte smirked. "That's why my family prefers daughters."

"And when will you be gracing us with one?" The Iden succession was a common concern among all the noble families. Lady Iden had but one living sister whose only redeeming quality was her five year-old daughter and a steadily progressing second pregnancy. Charlotte had no illusions about her sister's suitability, but she had never taken kindly to being told what to do. A heavy suggestion was as far as even Orsino was willing to go.

"I'm working on it." Clearly unwilling to say anything more, she moved back to their original topic. "If the peace of the realm doesn't interest you, there is another compelling reason for you to refuse to hear the matter."

"Which is?"

Charlotte looked at him as if the reason was obvious. "You have no standing to investigate a capital crime. The late Lord Capulet was not a well man, but the timing is incredibly suspicious. He had the greatest authority on his wife's wishes and intentions. The dead give no testimony."

As he considered this, Orsino bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to leave an imprint. "Has an accusation been made?"

"No. Neither side may consider it wise to do so. Lady Capulet would have a hard time proving the granddaughter everyone supposed her father would support had any reason to harm him. In fact, her own motives are much stronger. Lady Juliette is now at a loss with less than three months to open the proceedings."

"Then you think it was the daughter," Orsino concluded. He couldn't say that possibility surprised him. Goneril would protect her power at all costs, and her vicious sister was capable of anything.

Shaking her head, Charlotte replied that she hadn't made up her mind. "Lady Juliette and her siblings have the Manor guarded to the teeth, perhaps to the point of paranoia. My family and I had to wait half an hour at the gate to be approved to enter, and we were escorted by a guard."

"That was my experience as well."

"And, of course, those grandchildren had all the opportunity, if not much motive. If this challenge is brought to court, I know I can get nearer to the truth - possibly nearer than I could through a criminal charge. They will all bend over backwards to please me for the succession matter. It may be enough to give an implication toward a crime within the family or a coincidence, which will calm the others."

Although the possibility wasn't a surprise, Orsino hadn't truly considered it until today. Consort had been sick a long time. Death, by whatever means, might not have been such an offense to him. "He won't rest easily if justice for him comes at the cost of justice for his wife, Charlotte. I want your word that the priority will be the actual proceedings."

"Of course," she replied easily. "The other bit would simply be a beneficial secondary result, an implication and nothing more. The matter as it is will do a great deal for setting a precedent for family law versus civil law as well as the execution of wills. It is an important case for us all."

He supposed it was, and for that reason, he chose to believe her assurance. But this talk of patricide was dark and depressing. He would go to bed early tonight and hope to sleep it off. If that didn't work, he knew what would.

---

August 6th

"Father!" Before she could be told to stay seated, Maria dashed over to embrace her father. "What a lovely surprise! I didn't expect to see you until tonight."

"A father has a right to get his best wishes in before the common lot. It's not every day my girl has a birthday."

"Thank goodness!" Though she shook her head, she smiled brightly. "I never thought I would be so old."

"Bite your tongue." He replied quickly - rather too quickly. "You're a baby yet," he added, more softly. "Talk to me when you're sixty, Maria, about being old."

She gestured toward an empty seat and took her own. "And then you'll say I'm a baby still, and to talk to you when I'm ninety."

"And if I live to see the day you're ninety, poppet, I'll agree that you're old then."

Maria let him have his lie. She would never be old in her father's eyes, no matter how many years God blessed them with. But she did wonder why the thought didn't appeal to him. Her mother had barely lived to be twenty-one, and her late step-mothers had also not reached their thirtieth birthdays. Octavia had only celebrated it just last year. "How did you leave my step-mother and brothers?

"All as usual," he said with a wave of the hand. "Fabian is searching his books for an excuse not to come to your party, Anne is expecting another visit from that mother of hers. Every night, Maria, I pray to God that He finds something else for that shrew to do, and every day I am disappointed. Even the most direct insult won't stop her from calling daily to predict her daughter is carrying my heir."

"At least you know that isn't true." Although her father did not always share his business with her, Maria knew about the plan to swap Henry and Fabian's places. Her father found it too amusing, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh too annoying, to keep his plan to herself. Maria saw an element of cruelty in the scheme, but she found it difficult to be sympathetic to that particular sister-in-law. "And at least you have Henry. He is always good company."

"Not since yesterday." Orsino took his own advice and bit his tongue when Maria's hands flew to her belly. A second pregnancy had been the end of her mother, and Maria was her mother's daughter. "He's practically in widow's weeds over that Montague girl."

Maria had heard gossip about her youngest half-brother and the Montagues. The rumors surprised her, as she knew her father was no great admirer of the new Lord Montague. Gently, she pressed her father for the truth of it, and he obliged.

Every girl her age had grown up whispering about Bianca Montague and her cautionary tale, but she and her closest friends had seen a different lesson than most: never marry a Montague. They saw something sinister in how Lady Bianca had been treated after her disgrace. She had been caged up for all to see, never allowed to make even the most meager of marriages or retire to a convent. It still seemed sinister to Maria. She wondered if Lady Bianca's niece was also suffering.

But then, what of Henry? Andrew's dear sister, Anne, had been profound in her relief that her scheme to unite her son with Beatrice Montague had not succeeded - and Maria knew this was not only because Fitzwilliam had chosen a more prominent bride for himself. Was it the family or the girl Anne was glad to escape?

"... all together too convenient to be any sort of true accident. Maybe he ought to go back to the Académie in September. He is only a term short of a double degree, which is no mean accomplishment. And a change of scene will help him, particularly if the lady is to be betrothed to her cousin."

"It may not help either of them."

Orsino raised a brow at his daughter. He looked almost worried, and the feeling was even closer. He couldn't remember the last time his daughter hadn't gotten what she wanted from him. "Maria..."

"Father, I don't mean to interfere, but you should consider this carefully. Henry is your son. If he feels he ought to do something, he will, by whatever means are necessary. Those means may be much harder to swallow than something done with your approval, particularly if..." She hesitated before pushing forward. "Consider what the lady achieved by this 'accident'. Consider this possibility of an engagement done outside of her presence. She may not be very happy at home."

He looked fully worried now.  "That girl is not my responsibility."

"No," she agreed. "She is not so fortunate as I have been. I never worried what would become of me as a result of my father's judgment. But Henry is your responsibility, and he is miserable. He cares a great deal about her, clearly. Why not mention the possibility to Lord Montague?" Maria smiled at her father. Sincerity, not flattery, was flowing out of her. "You are the most powerful man in Verona. He will want the chance to appease you, and surely you will not be obligated to do anything you don't like. Henry and his lady may not ever marry, even, but think how much good could you do for such a small effort!"

After a moment's consideration, Orsino nodded. "I'll have a word with him." He wouldn't ally himself with Antonio Montague, not for anything. If the man couldn't see that for himself, it was his own fault. And Orsino wasn't making any promises to his son, either. The privileges of lordship came with many obligations; Orsino himself knew it all too well. The lady would have to prove worthy of the trouble to come. For now, Maria was right - it would cost Orsino nothing. And it wasn't very noble to leave a lady in crisis, after all. "But next year, I expect you to go back to asking for a pony or a doll or some such thing that only costs me money. I have far less patience than gold, you know."

Maria pursed her lips to contain her mirth. "Father, you know I haven't asked you for a present in years."

"Then why am I always buying them?"

The door opened before Maria could answer. Her husband strode in, their son in his arms and his eyes trained on where he knew his wife liked to sit. "Maria, I thought you... ah." When he noticed the flow of white hair sitting across from her, Andrew's expression shifted. "I didn't realize your father would be joining us early."

Orsino laughed aloud for a reason - or, rather, an answer - that no-one else would find half so funny. Because you married the gift that never stops giving, poppet: your block-headed toad of a husband. "Us? I was here before you were, Andrew. It's Maria's birthday, and here she is alone, no-one but my next grandchild keeping her company. I expect she had to plan her own party, as well?"

"I... I, uh... I believe she merely has to express her wishes..."

He cut his son-in-law off with a hand. "As I thought. Now, hand me my grandson and go express your best wishes to your wife for her birthday. You'll surely need the rest of the afternoon to make sure the preparations for her party are in place."

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