Mr. Darcy's Great Escape (10 page)

“Of course.”

“So if he hadn't taken her, she would have been subjected to marriage after marriage, with the same outcome, most likely. I don't know without a midwife's word on her particular condition. But apparently Brian believed in the sanctity of his marriage more than the count and took matters into his own hands.” Dr. Maddox almost laughed. It was hard to tell what the sound was. “He sounds almost noble.”

“If the story is true, he is. It doesn't excuse his lack of contact with us, or our own stupidity for coming here.”

“Knowing Brian,” Dr. Maddox said, “he would have only written if he felt it was safe to do so. Or perhaps, the letters simply haven't reached England yet. I should have waited it out.” He shook his head. “I shouldn't have dragged you into this, Darcy.”

“While I'm inclined to agree with you, I did have my own motivations for the overall trip and would not listen to reason.”

“We both should have listened to our wives,” the doctor said. “I wrote Caroline a letter.”

“When?”

“Unfortunately, after they rather stupidly smashed my writing hand, so I doubt it's legible. I wrote what the count wanted me to write, which was that we are both fine and are helping him look for Brian or some nonsense, and would she be so kind as to send some money to aid us in the search?” He shook his head.

“So we are to be ransomed?”

“No,” he said. “Even if the money comes, the count will not let us go until Brian is found, alive or dead. But at least we have the consolation that our wives will know where we are.”

“God,” Darcy said. “I hope they don't send Bingley. He'd stumble right into this trap.”

“He's smarter than you think.”

“He's brilliant, but that doesn't mean the man has a lick of common sense.”

Dr. Maddox laughed quietly. “And if my brother does appear, do me a favor and promise to sock him for me.”

“That,” Darcy said, “I will gladly swear on, Doctor.”

The Earl of Matlock

Elizabeth Darcy had no regrets about one matter, which was her decision to stay at Pemberley instead of Chatton, Town, or Kent. She had now spent a fifth of her life there, and she soundly identified it as her home, in a way that not even Longbourn could replace. It was where she lived, where her husband lived, where she raised her children, and where someday her son would raise his. Every hallway and piece of furniture and portrait distinctly said Darcy to her. Everything reminded her of her beloved husband.

Georgiana returned with them and was a welcomed sister as much as her own sister, who visited as often as she dined at Chatton, which was almost every night. But even Georgiana seemed distracted. Mrs. Reynolds was distracted. Everyone was distracted. The only one who seemed truly content beyond missing the master of all of their lives was Geoffrey, who did not care for Rosings at all with its lack of playmates. He was not a solitary creature.
Well, that he certainly received from me
, Elizabeth thought with a smile as she watched him play with his cousins Charles and Georgie. Eliza Bingley preferred more feminine distractions than her older sister and was picking flowers.

The letters began two weeks of Darcy's departure by special courier. They were in Berlin safely, and they would begin their search as soon as he put down his pen. His familiar script seemed to reinvigorate Pemberley for a brief moment, as if his presence had returned. For that day, she was happy.

The time afforded her to get to know the Maddox children, who normally stayed in Town year-round and were now almost five. Caroline was invited to Chatton by her brother, and after some hesitation she shut up the Maddox house and came to Derbyshire. Though their history never made it easy, Elizabeth and Caroline were at least united in their underlying fear of disaster. As for the children, Emily was a delight, more like her uncle than either of her parents in her enthusiasm for everything. Frederick was much like Geoffrey had been at his age—exceedingly mischievous and defiant, but even more so. His brown hair was appropriately long and wild for his age. When comparing the children, one could not but speculate on the possibilities and limitations of doing so.

“Has Mrs. Maddox ever said who his parents were?” Elizabeth asked her sister when she thought it was appropriate, as they were sitting on the terrace, enjoying the warm days of summer.

“His mother was a patient of Dr. Maddox,” Jane said. “She died of childbed fever. The father I know nothing about, but they do seem to know who he was—or is.”

The second letter was another relief, though Darcy did express frustration at not having anything new to report. Dr. Maddox also sent his own letter to his wife, which she said had relatively the same contents. The men would write again next week.

“Next week” came and went. Elizabeth was now sick with worry, distracted and dizzy. Her mood, she admitted to herself, was not the best, and she had to try at times not to be cross with her children or burst into tears spontaneously. Odd, that Caroline seemed calmer. Well, the former Miss Bingley had always been adept at hiding her feelings. She couldn't blame her for that.

With no news after two weeks, she sent another letter to Berlin, this time by a courier, to make absolutely sure it would get there. Her hands were shaking when she wrote it, sealed it, and sent it off without saying anything to anyone.

Dearest Husband,

When you receive this message, if you have not located Grégoire, I beg you to return home immediately. I am with child.

Your Loving Wife,

Elizabeth Darcy

The very next day, she received a letter by courier. It was not the one she wanted.

***

When Darcy woke, Dr. Maddox was already awake. It really didn't seem to matter when they slept and when they didn't, without any change in the daily schedule of food in, waste out, and nothing else. They didn't even know if that was occurring in the day or evening.

Dr. Maddox was holding his hand up to inspect it. Satisfied, he set it down in its resting place on his lap. “How do I look?”

“From here? Terrible. But if we were to break free, I think we would fit in better with the natives now as hairy as we are.” Some time must have passed, because they both had significant beards.

“I hate you,” Dr. Maddox said. “I—I don't know why I feel compelled to say that.”

“Because we're sitting in prison.”

“Perhaps.”

“And we're going mad.”

“Perhaps.”

“Well… I hate you, too. God, that does feel good, even if I actually don't. Though when we get out of here and find your brother, I may very well do something drastic.”

“Not if I get to him first,” Dr. Maddox replied.

“He could probably take you.”

“Why does everyone assume that? I'm tall, you know.”

“But he's wily. It is the safe bet.”

Dr. Maddox laughed, and Darcy found himself weakly joining him, because it felt immeasurably good.

“So… know any good stories?”

“I can't do the Bard justice with just my memory.”

“Neither can I, though if we're here long enough, we may just have to do him the injustice of making the bits up that we don't remember.”

“There's always some sordid story from one of our pasts.”

“Oh, but I have no doubt that Mrs. Maddox has told you all of those,” Darcy said. “Or the ones she knows about.”

“Why does everyone think my wife a horrible gossip?”

“Because your wife is a horrible gossip.”

To his surprise, Dr. Maddox laughed again. “My God, we're both insane already and it has probably only been a week.”

“Utterly hopeless.”

“She did tell me some stories, by the way.”

“She did?”

“Apparently, Charles is a talkative drunk, and has the convenient problem of not remembering it later. Or so she says that he says. If you know what I mean.”

“Ah. So I have no secrets from Caroline Maddox.”

“None; even the thing from University.”

“What thing from University?”

Dr. Maddox looked at him slyly. Or, more accurately, he looked slyly in Darcy's general direction, “The thing that you threaten Bingley's life over when he threatens to bring it up.”

“What?” Darcy paused. “Oh. Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat. “University is a strange time in a man's life, experiments with all kinds of things.”

“I won't deny it. I did some things that if Brian had any sense in him, he would have pulled me out.”

“Really?” Darcy grasped one of the bars between them.

“No one has ever thought to inquire how I obtained that famous, obscure recipe for my opium concoction. The story is the most logical one. I was looking for a good way to consume a vast quantity of opium without having to smoke it. I never cared for smoking. Bad for the lungs, I think, like breathing in a fire. But I could never get the flavor right without ruining it. But I did try very hard and learned a great deal of wonderful things about… say, my hand.”

“Your hand?”

“According to my dorm mates, I spent nearly the course of a day staring at it and taking notes. They thought I was making some great discovery, but later it just turned out to be doodles, and something about a rainbow that I've never figured out.”

“For someone as fastidious as you are about your health, it is quite hard to imagine.”

“Why do you think I am so strict with my own patients?” Dr. Maddox said. “Because, of course, I know the pains of trying to withdrawal from your personal dragon. Specifically, over Christmas, when you're trying to hide from your brother and guardian that you've spent your last semester becoming a dope fiend.” He shook his head. “The number of doctors he called! And good ones, too. Money wasted.” He raised his jug. “You can never tell him.”

“Of course.”

“To your dying day, Darcy.”

“It may be very soon, Doctor, so you shan't worry about that.”

“True enough.” Dr. Maddox sighed. “In an Austrian prison, that, I would never have guessed.”

“I never imagined I would be married to a country girl from Hertfordshire and have two bastard brothers. Life is just full of surprises.”

***

There was some confusion about whether there should be a funeral for Michael Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock. The package that arrived from India contained only his ashes—apparently their barbaric custom in the Indies—and his signet ring. After a brief ceremony in which his ashes were placed in a hole in front of a marker that would eventually have his tombstone, the three of them—Colonel and Anne Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy—were ushered into the earl state home, where the barrister briefly read over the will. Michael was young, and his will was brief, as he clearly had not expected to die at all, much less abroad.

“I express my deepest condolences for these circumstances,” said the attorney, passing Fitzwilliam the ring. “Lord Matlock.”

“At least, in address,” Fitzwilliam said, nervously putting on the earl's ring as his wife squeezed his arm.

There was a long listing of the holdings of the Fitzwilliam family, which were considerable—Richard Fitzwilliam was now a wealthy man. He would have to retire from the army immediately for propriety's sake. Richard and Anne now could claim a great manor house and a townhouse in London alongside their modest home in Brighton, but neither was thrilled at the prospect. What they could not claim was Rosings, and that made it all much more complicated.

“Mrs. Darcy,” the attorney said, “do you wish to have Rosings shut up, or do you wish to reside there until your husband returns from the Continent?”

Fear and uncertainty welled up inside her as she said, “It is my wish that Lady Catherine remain in Rosings. Surely it can stay open for her?”

“She has no claim on it,” he said, “so her residence there must be approved by Mr. Darcy.”

“He would approve!”

“Yes,” the attorney said, “and that is perfectly understandable, but he must be here to approve and sign the papers for it.”

“How can we keep my mother in her home?” Anne said.

“Mrs. Darcy must take up residence as mistress of Rosings until legal arrangements can be made by its owner.” He was not cruel in his pronouncements; he was stating the law as they knew it to be, but it still seemed harsh.

“Then I will take up residence in Rosings,” Elizabeth said without hesitation, “for Lady Catherine's sake. And I will write to Mr. Darcy in Berlin to return home immediately.” Not that she hadn't done that several times now—and in the most urgent ways possible. It was leaning on suspicious that there had been no return to any of their letters. He could have gone to Austria to find Grégoire, yes—but wouldn't he have written that he was doing that? Or did he think it would only be a brief trip, only to be delayed while outside Berlin? And that did not explain Dr. Maddox's similar lack of communication.

“Mrs. Darcy,” the new Lord Matlock said, “it's probably the post. We'll send his steward to find him immediately. A man can achieve much more than a letter, and his steward will knock some sense into him.”

“Surely,” Anne said.

For the time, they accepted her comforts as she settled theirs by settling in Rosings to pacify Lady Catherine. Even though she had no great love for the woman, Elizabeth could not bring herself to toss Lady Catherine, who was barely able to move about her house, out of the home that she had lived in almost the entirety of her life.

In the carriage, Geoffrey and Georgiana were waiting for her. The other children were with Nurse in the other carriage. She took Geoffrey into her arms as she explained the situation to Georgiana. “Do you wish to join us at Rosings?”

“Of course,” Georgiana said. “And look on the bright side. The post to Kent from Town is much quicker than the post to Derbyshire.”

Elizabeth managed a smile.

“Do I have to go to Rosings?” Geoffrey said.

“Yes, darling. You cannot have Pemberley to yourself quite yet. I cannot imagine what destruction you would cause.”

He scoffed. “I could stay at Chatton. And I promise to be good!”

“Geoffrey,” Georgiana said, “I think your mother wishes you by her side.”

Elizabeth blushed as Geoffrey said, “Oh.” He looked up at her. “All right, Mother.”

She kissed him. “Thank you. It won't be for long—I promise.”

And that was how Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, of Pemberley, Derbyshire, Rosings, and Kent, came to be a most reluctant mistress of Rosings.

***

Settling in was not as difficult as Elizabeth imagined it would be. She carefully instructed the servants not to defer to her authority in front of Lady Catherine. The woman was well enough to know what was going on around her and to object to it, but also to know that her objections would bear no fruit. Nonetheless, Elizabeth did not want to make her a guest in her own home and tried to keep things as they were, at least in appearance.

Elizabeth had enough on her mind. She was experienced at running a grand estate and could easily tell that the place she now occupied as mistress had fallen into some disrepair during Lady Catherine's deterioration. The place was not falling apart, but it was ill-staffed, and repairs were obviously needed in various places. If it would be a suitable place for Lord and Lady Matlock, it would need some fixing up.

Adding that to her general worry about her husband, Elizabeth was vexed enough when a peculiar letter arrived. Lord William Kincaid, the younger brother of the deceased James Kincaid, had once vied for the former Miss Bingley's hand while disguising the fact that he was already married. Lord William was traveling through the country on the way back from Town upon the Season's end. He very much wished to call on Miss Darcy, having apparently heard something of Lady Catherine's illness and Elizabeth's position as mistress of Rosings. If he knew the circumstances of her husband's absence, he made no reference to that fact, but she had no idea why he would. They had no formal correspondence since the wedding of Caroline Maddox. From what she recalled of him, he was a pleasant fellow despite his unfortunate relations, but that did not explain his sudden interest at all.