Mr. Darcy's Great Escape (41 page)

“Disobedient child, make parent upset,” Mugin said.

“I'm not disobedient. They didn't say I couldn't play. They just decided one day that it was suddenly wrong because I'm a girl, only they didn't put it that way. And while Mama was talking, Papa just had this expression on his face like I've never seen before. But he didn't say anything.”

“Mother yells at you?”

“No, never. But she can be very insistent.”

She held up the bow, a little pink ribbon. Mugin took it from her and said, “Is stupid color.”

Georgiana laughed. “Why does everybody look at me like I'm strange?”

“Keep secret?”

“What?”

“You. Keep secret of mine. Promise?”

“I promise,” she said eagerly.

Mugin was quiet, staring at the ribbon before handing it back to her. “You're not strange. Englishmen think everyone should look the same, act the same, and even dress the same. Like soldiers on a battlefield. In Japan, it is similar, but it's not really true. People are not the same. The only thing that is the same is that everyone dies.” He smiled wickedly. “If they fight me, definitely, they die.”

Georgie stared at him before managing to mumble, “You speak English!”

“Of course, I've been here seven—eight months, and another three on a ship with Brian-chan. I'm not an idiot.” His voice, though perfectly fluent, was heavily accented, and it altered some of the words, but the structure was far more sophisticated than his regular pidgin English. “Our languages are very different, though. It was still very hard.”

“Then—why do you act like you don't speak English?”

“Two reasons,” he said, picking up his pole properly again but still looking at her. “First, your language is the language of barbarians. I don't lower myself to speak your language if I don't have to. I am Japanese, and you are uncultured
gaijin
.”

“Uncultured!”

“Very. You all smell horrible because you don't bathe or use enough perfume. You don't understand warfare, death, or religion. Many of you can't even read. You're so stuffy about sex that I'm surprised you have any children.” He sighed. “Hmm. The last comment was not appropriate. Still, you'll figure it out sooner or later.”

Georgiana gaped. Here was a simple man in sandals, fishing for his dinner and calling her countrymen barbarians! But the way he said it was like he had really been thinking it all out for some time.

“The second reason is more important,” he continued. “It's like… card games your parents play at night. You know of them?”

“Yes. A little.”

“They say, ‘Play your cards close to your chest.' Brian-chan said that to me. He meant it in cards, but I mean it in life. Everyone has secrets, Binguri-chan. You should always appear weaker in the eyes of your enemies—or people who might be your enemies someday. Let everyone underestimate you.” He patted her on her head. “You can be so easily underestimated because you are a girl. There is an advantage. You should take it.”

“What are you saying?”

“Everyone wants you to be the same. Sometime you have to act like you are, but it doesn't mean you have to
be
the same. You are a very special girl. But you must be very clever not to appear different… and upset your parents. Understand?”

She swallowed. “I think so.”

“You play your cards very close to your chest,” he said, putting his hand on her chest.

“Will I always be different?”

“I will be very upset if you are not, very disappointed.” He took the bow from her hands. “You should retie this. Here.” Copying the other side, he retied the bow as it had been. “Japanese are good with knots.”

Come to think of it, all of his clothing was knotted. He didn't have a belt or a buckle on him, and neither did the Maddoxes when they dressed up. “Thank you.”

“You should go,” he said. “Your parents will worry about you.”

“But—you're leaving soon.”

“Not so soon. I'll be here tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

He smiled. “Promise.”

Notes from the Underground

1771

Despite its beauty, Mr. Geoffrey Darcy always had a certain apprehension in his heart when approaching the island. It was a glorious spring day, and the winds were not so strong that he had to hold down his wig to prevent its escape when standing on the bow as the landmass seemed to approach.

“Mr. Darcy, sir,” the dockworker bowed to him and offered a hand for him to step off the boat and onto the dock. As usual, he was immediately directed to the head nurse.

“Your brother is out by the rocks, Mr. Darcy. In the usual spot.”

He smiled uncomfortably. It was good to know Gregory was still going outside on occasion. He left the house and walked up the ancient stone steps that had once led to an abbey, now in ruins covered by weeds. There his elder brother sat, playing with a ribbon in his hands. He had let his hair grow out, and was no longer wearing a wig, but otherwise was in proper attire. “Hello, Geoff.”

“Hello, Gregory,” he said, not entirely surprised when his brother didn't stand. He sat down next to him on the old stone bench. “I have been remiss in visiting you—”

“—since our father died, yes.” While his expression was emotionless, he nervously fiddled with the ribbon in his hand like it was a toy. “Well, I can understand you have been intolerably busy. You need not say it.”

“Yes. Yes, I have.” He sighed, relaxing. Now he could come to the news, which was not nearly as awkward or depressing as their previous topic. “I am engaged to be married.”

His brother's face lit up as he chuckled. “You work quickly, do you not? Is she to be solely for the production for an heir, or are you in love? Oh, but I can see that you are.” He smiled. “Or at least, infatuated. But you have never been one to fail in female company.”

Geoffrey Darcy blushed, as his brother's insinuation brought to mind any number of situations, each brought along with them a sense of embarrassment. “I am in love. I would not marry into that family under other circumstances.”

“Oh ho, ho, this will be a good one. Yes, tell me of her awful relations.”

“No, I will not do that injustice, though you do tempt me. Her name is Lady Anne Fitzwilliam and she is the most beautiful woman I have ever met.” He added, “And before you say it—yes, that is including my own experience, which you would deem vast.”

“Any man would be tempted to deem it vast,” Gregory said, because Gregory could get away with it. After all, the elder brother had helped the younger brother out of any number of embarrassing and possibly scandalous situations, without their parents the wiser, in his time in society. “Does she have any other exemplary qualities?”

“She has all of them.” Geoffrey had to give his brother a most intense stare to prove he wasn't joking.

“And her terrible family?”

“Her brother has inherited the earldom. He is tolerable, but obviously would not begin to consider anyone less than a peer if not for our fortune.”

His brother interrupted, “
Your
fortune. Remember, I no longer exist.”

“Yes.” Geoffrey swallowed uncomfortably. “Anyway, she has one elder sister, Lady Catherine, who makes even less of a pretense of only tolerating me for Pemberley and Derbyshire and
all that
. In fact, upon our first meeting, she began a long series of suggestions as to how I may improve it.”

“And your blushing bride just sat there?”

“She rolled her eyes on several occasions during the speech.”

“Ah, sisterhood. Is this Lady Catherine married?”

“To a knight. Sir Lewis de Bourgh.”

“Bah! I was never one to abide by those horribly pretentious French names, especially d'Arcy. You know they side with those colonists?”

“Us or the French?”

“Your wit never fails you, Geoffrey.” His brother smiled again, but it was sadly. “You were always a better speaker than I was, and shall always be.”

Geoffrey Darcy paused, and then said in a much quieter voice, “How are you?”

“Why don't you ask my doctor?”

“He said you refused his newest treatments.”

“Did he tell you what they were?” his brother answered. “It seems lancing is now all the rage, as if there was a boil in my brain.” His voice was severe. “He is not to take any more blood from me, unless you order it, of course. But I will not go down without a fight. Do you know what they will do? They will tie me down to the bed and gag me. Maybe they'll leave me that way for weeks, all because of this fever in my blood. I hide my episodes from them. I won't let them hurt me if I can avoid it. You may think I have given up on life, but there is fight left in me!”

“What about the pills?”

Gregory looked exhausted from his outburst. “They made me ill. I was up late, vomiting. I was so weak I could barely get out of bed. How will that improve my mind?” He looked at his brother with haunted eyes. “How will any of this improve me? Father already legally killed me—why don't you just
leave me alone
?”

Geoffrey said nothing. He had nothing to say, nothing that would comfort either his brother or himself as he watched his elder brother break down into weeping. Gregory was right—all of the proposed cures were painful in one way or another, and none of them worked. In fact, each seemed to weaken his spirit further. Fortunately, Geoffrey held the reins of his brother's treatment, and for as long as he lived he would protect him.

“No more doctoring,” Geoffrey announced, “unless
you
want it.”

His brother took his face out of his hands, still wet with tears.

“You're my brother,” Geoffrey said. He wanted to put his arm over his shoulder, like he used to when they were children, but Gregory made it clear long ago that he did not want to be touched. “I'll always take care of you.”

***

About eight years later

“The nurses will watch him?” Lady Anne said nervously as she watched her five-year-old son frolic on the beach, kicking up the water with his bare feet and splashing the woman put in charge of him.

“They
are
nurses,” Geoffrey said to his wife. “It is what they do, or are supposed to be doing, anyway. We will watch him from the window.”

Mrs. Darcy was increasingly nervous as they wound their way through the one-story home, sort of a sprawling affair where previous owners had just attached more and more rooms as they saw fit. The sitting rooms—and there were many of them, all unused—were filled with books. Books were in piles, in cases, stacked against the wall—all gifts that had obviously been handled, at least, and probably read. Gregory was a voracious reader, thankfully. He had little else to do with his time. He used to whittle small objects—chess pieces, animals, and boats for his bath—until they took away his knives. Somewhere in the tight, frightened mind of Gregory Darcy, former heir to Pemberley and Derbyshire, was a wealth of knowledge of literature, science, and history. Geoffrey sent him whatever he saw in shops that he was sure he had not already read.

Gregory did emerge from his chambers to greet them in the sitting room immediately outside it, closing the door behind him. “Lady Anne,” he said with a stiff bow. He had never seen her before, but there could only be one person Geoffrey would bring. “I see you are wearing Mother's jewels.”

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, curtseying while unconsciously grabbing her husband's hand.

“They suit you,” Gregory continued. “Hello, Geoffrey.”

“I was to present my wife,” Geoffrey said, “but I see little point now. Darling, this is my brother Gregory. Fitzwilliam is outside.”

“I saw.” He pointed to the window, and indeed, he did have an adequate view of the coastline. “I would so like to meet him.”

“He was very excited to learn he has an uncle,” Geoffrey said. “Though he had a few questions we could not answer.”

Gregory just nodded. He looked older—older than he should have been. His eyes betrayed him even when his expression was stiff. He was obviously uncomfortable in Anne's presence, and she in his. On cue, she excused herself to collect Fitzwilliam, and as soon as she was gone, Gregory sat down and leaned his head against his hand. “She is—quite beautiful.”

“Thank you. And stop ogling my wife.”

Gregory smiled. His hands were shaking. “I am sorry my presence upsets her.”

“Your presence? This is your home, and we came here. Anne came of her own free will.”

“But she has never been in the room with an insane person before.”

“Then you have forgotten what a Town ball can be like,” Geoffrey said. However, it didn't make Gregory's statement any less true. “Do you want to go outside?”

“No! No, no going outside,” his brother shouted, then slowly recovered, steadying his breathing. “If you would let me see him, bring him here.” He continued, “We have established how I am doing. How have you been?”

“Good. Very good.”

“You have a son. An heir. All is well in the house of Pemberley.”

“Yes.”

“You are lying.”

Geoffrey looked away. “How do you know me so well?”

“You are so easy for me to read. What did you do this time?”

“I'm not a child.”

“You have been known to act like one. What did you do?”

He shook his head. Gregory was still his older brother, however infirm he might be, and could still say these things. “I have another son.”

“The other's name?”

“George. After the man he thinks is his father. And his father thinks is his father. And Anne thinks is his father.”

“George?” He frowned. “Wickham? Your steward?”

Geoffrey put his head in his hands. “Please don't make it worse.”

“You have to tell her.”

“How am I supposed to do that? How would that help? It was years ago! George is four. It was a mistake.” He added, “I'm his godfather.”

“How appropriate.”

“Don't scold me!”

Gregory stood up. “Geoffrey Darcy, you may be the master of Pemberley, you may be married to the daughter of an earl, and you may be the master of all those beneath you—but I am
still
your older brother. I held you in my arms the day you were born. If
anyone
is to say
anything
to you about your conduct with our parents gone, it is me!”

For the first time in a long while, Gregory was not helpless, mad, wild, or sick. He was the older one, the bigger one, the stronger one, who towered over his cowering baby brother.

“I can't do it,” Geoffrey pleaded. “I can't tell her. She loves me, and I need her to love me, for Fitzwilliam, at the very least. He should know two parents who love each other.”

Gregory frowned, rubbing his chin. “What is right for your wife or your child? What a terrible position you've put yourself in.” He shrugged, letting his shoulders sink as he voluntarily put a hand on his brother's shoulder. “At least you didn't run away from everything.”

If either of them had further comment, it was interrupted by the return of Lady Anne and the young Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Gregory put on a smile. “Well, well. Who do we have here?”

***

1790

“Fitzwilliam, you wait outside,” Geoffrey said as he entered the sitting room and knocked on his brother's door. Books were piled up outside, having been stacked up by someone standing within the doorframe. When the door was opened from the inside, he discovered why. There was no room left in Gregory's bedchambers for any more books. Every wall was lined with cases. There were stacks of them on the floor. Besides that, the desk, and the bed, there was barely room to walk. “Gregory.”

“Geoffrey. Sit, sit!” Gregory got up from the desk, freeing the only chair for Geoffrey, who uneasily sat in it as his brother sat across from him on his bed. Geoffrey sighed. They said his brother wouldn't leave the room, but he hadn't expected… this. Gregory's whole life was now confined to that little room. He looked well—for someone who never ventured out of his only door—but there was a tiredness around his eyes that Geoffrey had never seen before. He had a beard, small but already wild, and seemed to be snipping his own hair (after many good years, he was allowed sharp objects again), the results of which did not provide for a good appearance. “It has been a while.”

“It has.”

“Much has changed.”

Geoffrey said nothing, but nodded.

“I am truly sorry for your loss,” Gregory said. “I did not know her—I did not take the time. I should have—I should have let her in. I should have been open.”

“We were only here a few hours.”

“I scared her off. It was all my fault. She was perfect—perfect!”

Geoffrey shook his head again. “That is not my purpose for coming here.”

“So now you need a purpose?” Those eyes—they said so much about him. Geoffrey watched his brother retreat from him, like he did with everyone else, or had done when he'd known other people.

“No. I didn't mean to imply such a thing,” Geoffrey said. “I've been terribly remiss in visiting you—before
and
after Anne's death. I should have been a better brother.” He looked back at the door. “I should have been a better father.” He sighed; his chest was so tight, his stomach full of nerves. Was this how his brother felt all the time? He had no way of knowing. He would never know. “I need your help with Fitzwilliam.”

“With his homework? Does he want my advice about running an estate? You've come to the wrong person, brother. You should—” But then, it was as if the idea was a light in his head, like a match had been struck. “Oh.”

“He is my only son, Gregory.” He swallowed. “My only son in wedlock. The only one who can inherit. I cannot—” Words failed him. He stood up and paced, even though there was very little room to do it in. “He must inherit Pemberley. You understand? This
must happen
.”