Mr. Darcy's Great Escape (5 page)

“I would! You know Darcy will control Rosings, and he will have no cause to tolerate your constant insults towards Mrs. Darcy any longer!”

“No,” Darcy said, but in a softer voice, a little put off by Fitzwilliam's frothing rage.

Lady Catherine stepped back unevenly. “You—both of you—my nephews—I treated you like my own sons all these years—and now you will cut me off like so, while you embrace those beneath you so readily—I am the wife of a knight of the realm—I am the mistress of Rosings, and I can cast you out with just a—” But the clutch on her dress began to tighten, and without warning, she dropped to the floor with a resounding thud.

The Caretaker

Besides Anne's scream, there was silence in the room as they stood in shock.

This lasted for only a few moments before Grégoire pushed past Darcy and Fitzwilliam and raced to Lady Catherine's side, kneeling beside her and propping her up on his knee. “Lady Catherine?” He felt her chest and looked up at the others. “What are you all standing there for? Fetch some smelling salts!” He had no monastic patience for his gaping brother. “
Now
! Colonel Fitzwilliam! Get the servants to get cold compresses and a blanket!” While they stared for another second, he sighed and picked up the tiny, quivering form of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in his arms and carried her past them, into the sitting room. The servants were accustomed to making themselves absent during a family squabble, so he was lucky to find one in there. “You! Pillows for her ladyship! Make haste!”

Everyone numbly went about their tasks as Elizabeth escorted the shocked and confused Anne to her mother's side. Grégoire was kneeling next to Lady Catherine, holding her withered hand with one of his hands and the smelling salts under her nose with the other. “Lady Catherine,” he pleaded. “Please listen to me. Take very careful breaths. I will count with you—”

Fitzwilliam returned with a horde of servants, and Grégoire did not take his eyes off his charge as he gave his next orders. “Get a doctor at once or, at the very least, an apothecary.”

Grégoire took a cup of tea, held it to Lady Catherine's mouth, and said, “Please, your ladyship, you must drink.” Eventually she was persuaded to open her mouth and swallow the contents of the cup. “There.”

“Mama,” Anne said, as the servants brought up a chair for her to sit beside the couch where her mother laid, her color gone. Elizabeth stood over, one hand gently on Anne's shoulder, and could not help but note that Charlotte had been correct—Lady Catherine was older in body and perhaps in mind. Her skin was almost colorless as one bony hand clutched Grégoire's.

“What's happened?” Elizabeth ventured to ask.

“I've fainted,” Lady Catherine said, her voice weak but still defiant. “What else do you think, you witless girl?”

***

The doctor arrived as dinner hour was approaching, but no one felt like eating. Everyone was made to wait outside the room, and a dreary silence descended over them. Finally he emerged, looking quite pleased with himself, to give his opinion. “Her ladyship's heart should return to normal with bed rest and some tonic water. They sell bottled water from the pumps at Bath in a shop in the town proper—I recommend it, at least three times a day, and no other liquids. And she must rest, of course, for as long as it takes for her to regain her strength.”

“Thank God,” Anne whispered, leaning into her husband.

“If her condition changes, please do call me at once,” and with that, he excused himself. Grégoire turned to his brother with a look that Darcy understood perfectly.

“Come, Anne,” Elizabeth said softly. “I'm sure your mother would appreciate your company. And if she does not tolerate mine, then we will know she has recovered.”

With that, they disappeared into the room. Fitzwilliam collapsed on the stairs, speechless. Darcy turned to his brother. “What do you think?”

“I'm not a doctor, Darcy. I am barely an apprentice apothecary. But I think the worst is over.”

“Thank God in heaven,” Fitzwilliam said. “We almost killed her.”

Darcy did not contradict him.

“I will keep a vigil tonight for her ladyship,” Grégoire announced. “Perhaps Mr. Collins will wish to join me.”

“You've no obligation—”

“I have every obligation,” Grégoire said, “to any soul on this earth.” With that, he bowed to them and went back into the sitting room.

***

The next morning, Mrs. Charlotte Collins had just finished feeding her youngest daughter and her husband was getting ready with his gardening tools when there was a knock at the door. She turned to her husband, who scurried to the door. “Hel—Mr. Darcy!” He bowed even lower than he usually did, and Charlotte smiled to herself as Mr. Darcy entered and bowed. “Mr. Collins. Mrs. Collins.” As usual, he was quite to the point. “Lady Catherine collapsed yesterday and is quite ill. Mr. Collins, my brother has been sitting in vigil for almost a day now. I would be grateful if you would take it up in his place so that he can rest.” He did not stand on ceremony. “Mrs. Collins, my wife, I believe, could also use some support. Do you have enough staff here to care for your children, or should we send some servants?”

“We have a very competent nurse,” Charlotte said, a little shaken, “thanks to Lady Catherine.”

Never had they made such quick time to Rosings. Everyone there seemed more than a bit shaken as long as Lady Catherine was still resting and not insisting that she was fine. Darcy dragged Mr. Collins up to Lady Catherine's bedchamber almost physically, where Grégoire was kneeling before the bed. He and Anne on the other side rose at their entrance. “Mr. Collins will take your place. Please.” He pulled his brother out of the room. Grégoire could barely stand on his feet. “Now, you are going to break your fast and then go immediately to sleep.”

“She—”

“She has a nervous condition and will be fine. Though perhaps not ‘fine' in a sense we would all prefer, but physically, yes.”

***

It did not take long after the doctor left for the Fitzwilliams to come to a decision. “We will be staying at Rosings,” the colonel said. “The servants say there have been many fainting spells. We wish to monitor her.”

The Darcys also decided to lengthen their visit, at least until Lady Catherine seemed to be stabilized. She spoke little unless spoken to but seemed very much to enjoy the presence of her daughter and Mrs. Collins.

“While she may not have been willing to admit it,” Elizabeth said to her husband, “I think your aunt has grown fond of Charlotte over the years.”

Darcy said nothing, staring out the window, watching his children play on the grass.

***

The calendar was not their ally. Grégoire looked anxiously at the calendar, and Darcy put a hand on his shoulder. “I know. You must go.”

“I don't wish to leave her.”

“You've no obligation.”

Grégoire played with his rosary in his hands nervously; clearly he felt differently. Together they left the darkness of Rosings interiors for the sunlight of Kent in early summer. “I used to play out here as a child,” Darcy said. Rosings Park had a vast expanse of land, including the ruins of what had been a church of some kind with Greek-like columns. “We called this the temple. Sometimes we called it a castle. Richard and I much preferred being out of doors as my mother and father visited Aunt Catherine.” He looked up. “We used to climb that—Geoffrey!”

For his son was sitting up in a tree, resting on one of the stronger limbs. “What?”

“What if your mother saw you? Do you know how dangerous that is? Come down from there right now!” Darcy demanded, and then turned to give Grégoire a cold stare as his brother laughed. “You'd understand if you had children. Geoffrey! Now!”

“You were just saying—”

“I know what I was just saying, but you are coming down this instant!”

Geoffrey huffed but did begin his climb down, which included one swing from the branches and landing in his father's arms. “I was just having fun.”

“Why don't you play with Amelia?” Darcy suggested. Amelia Collins was a year older than Geoffrey.

“Amelia doesn't want to play with me,” Geoffrey said as his father put him down. “She says it's because I'm a
boy
.”

“In that, she is quite correct. You are, in fact, a boy,” Grégoire said with a smile.

Geoffrey stuck his tongue out at his uncle, mainly because he so easily got away with it. “Georgie plays with me, and she doesn't care. She doesn't sit around with ribbons and dolls and nonsense.”

“Georgie has known you since the day you were born,” Darcy said diplomatically. “You are the same age and know each other well, unlike Miss Collins. That, and she seems to enjoy frustrating Bingley's laundress by soiling every outfit she has with mud.”

“No one will play with me here,” Geoffrey said, tugging on his father's legs. “Can I go to Chatton?”

“No, we are staying here for a bit longer, I'm afraid.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Darcy said and found himself speechless.

“Because? Just because?” His son looked up at him.

Darcy shrugged. “With Lady Catherine, a ‘because' is all that is required.”

***

As soon as Lady Catherine was recovered enough to start barking orders again, Grégoire had to say his good-byes.

Darcy pressed a coin into his hand. “Write us when you arrive in Berlin, please. The roads are not safe. And open a box there to write to us from Austria.”

“I promise.”

“And if there is open war—you will return.”

“I am a poor monk and a Frenchman. I cannot see why anyone would have issue with me.”

Because Grégoire only sees the good in everyone
, Darcy lamented. One of these days it would have regrettable consequences.

The Missive from Austria

“Papa! Papa!”

Emily Maddox, nearing five years of age, ran to her father and reached him before his servants did, grasping tightly his leg. She wasn't yet big enough to topple him, but reached just below his waist in height, and she held up her arms in a silent indication of wanting attention.

“Let me at least get my coat off,” he said as he shrugged off his greatcoat, handing it to the servant before picking his daughter up. “There. I will assume from your welcome that you may have missed me.” He kissed her cheek. His day with the Prince Regent had been long and grueling, going well into the night, and he was just now, in the morning, returning to his home.

“No fair!” his son announced, crashing down the stairs and rushing up to him. “I want to be picked up!”

“Well, I can hardly take you both at once, so you will have to wait your turn,” he said, patting Frederick on the head.

“I'll take her,” Caroline said, emerging from the sitting room. They exchanged kisses and a child. “She's been waiting by the window all morning. In fact, Nurse has just informed me that it is time for their naps.”

“NO!” the children cried in unison.

“I'm not tired! Papa, please!”

“I don't need a nap!”

Dr. Maddox gave an amused sigh. “What did your parents do when you were their age, darling?”

“They threatened to make me watch over my brother,” Caroline said. “Nurse!”

The nurse quickly appeared and escorted two reluctant children to their nursery, leaving the parents alone. “How was the ball?”

“Fine.”

“You can at least tell me something interesting about your patient,” she said. “But I suppose you will not.”

“Would you prefer gossip or me to keep my job?” he said, grinning at his wife. “Is the post here?”

“Yes; nothing significant.” When the doctor frowned anxiously, Caroline gave him a sympathetic look. “You know how the post is. Especially since Napoleon is near the Rhine.”

“That doesn't make me feel any better about it,” he said. “If there are no callers, I am going to sleep.” He put his hand on the railing. “Oh, and Miss Darcy has been called to Rosings to attend to her aunt until further notice, and so will not be joining us for dinners.”

“You didn't tell them, did you?”

He gave her a sly smile. “Of course not.”

***

Dr. Maddox did have a caller the next day, when a messenger arrived whom he was roused for. He hurriedly put on his formal dress and wig, kissed his wife, and was off.

He was not a man to panic. Even the sight of a passed-out would-be king did not start his adrenaline pumping. The servants were dashing all about as he entered, and the squire hovering over his fallen master as Dr. Maddox calmly set his bag down, opened it, and pulled out a small bottle. “What did he have for lunch?”

“Nothing unusual,” the squire said, apparently annoyed at Dr. Maddox's nonchalance at seeing his patient on the floor, having rolled off his chaise at some point.

“What did he drink?”

“He had some wine with his bread and some whiskey before, but as I said—”

“Bring me his cup, if you would, sir,” he said, kneeling next to the Regent and holding the salts up to his nose. The heavy-breathing prince took one breath before stirring in an angry snort. He was immediately helped up by his attendants into the chair at Dr. Maddox's motion.

“What in bloody hell—” His Royal Highness, Prince George Augustus Frederick, heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead, bruised from the fall. “Oh, thank God, they've called you.”

“Your Highness,” Dr. Maddox bowed, but he was more concerned with the goblet he'd just been handed. He took one sniff and held it up indignantly. “What is this?”

“You need a new prescription for your spectacles if you don't know what
that
is, Dr. Maddox.”

“I am referring to its contents,” Dr. Maddox said. There was still some left swirling at the bottom, and he put his pinky in and touched it to his tongue. “What did I say about this?”

“I am not to be scolded like a schoolchild, Doctor!”

“My apologies,” Dr. Maddox said, without the sound of real apology in his voice, “but I am called in to ensure your good health and am therefore, in all good conscience, required to mention when you are ruining it. You know laudanum is addictive. I've told you so.”

“Till my ears have come to almost fall off, yes,” the Prince Regent said. “So I am perhaps addicted. That means it is part of my daily requirement, or I will die—correct?”

“You will not die if you stop, Your Highness,” he said. “You will feel miserable for a few days, and then it will pass. But the longer this continues, the worse the withdrawal will be. Do you want to spend weeks shaking so hard it exhausts you? Do you want to feel freezing no matter how many blankets you pile over your head?”

“Those are just physicians' horror stories.”

“So you are content to find out.” Dr. Maddox put the goblet on the tray the servant was holding. “You are the guardian of your own fate, Your Highness. I can do no more than to offer suggestions.”

“You offer them very insistently.”

Dr. Maddox was again unfazed. It was sad, really, to watch a man transform into a drunken, doped bovine, especially when the man was
his
patient and
his
responsibility. “I do, and will continue to do so, because I am apparently the only one loyal enough to you to give you an honest opinion about how you should care for yourself. To my knowledge, you've not raised an issue with it yet.” He knew he was treading on thin ice but had realized long ago that the part of the Regent's mind that wasn't addled by opium respected him—or at least liked him—for it. “Do you wish to lodge a complaint about my behavior?”

The Regent sighed. “No, no. Then I'll have to have you dismissed, and some idiot will come in and kill me with their medicine, like they're killing my father. I'm sure of it.” For once, he seemed serious. “He was a great man.”

“He was.
Is
,” Dr. Maddox corrected himself quickly. “God save the king.”

“Only God can save the king now.” He looked up at the doctor. “Do you think I am destined for the same fate?”

He gave his honest answer. “Seeing as it has struck no one else in your lineage, I do not think it likely if his illness operates like any other disease, Your Highness.”

“The only reason I put up with your lack of proper protocol when in service of a royal is because you tell me the truth,” the Regent said, “even if I don't listen to it.” He picked up yet another glass from the table beside the chaise and raised it. “Cheers, Doctor.”

Lacking a glass, Dr. Maddox bowed instead. “Cheers, Your Highness.”

***

The doctor arrived home in the mid-afternoon, when the hot sun was still high in the sky, and the house was relatively quiet, meaning the children were down for their afternoon nap or they were in the fenced garden that he could not help but think of as more of an animal cage. The only person who greeted him was the doorman, who handed him a large, sealed envelope. “From a special courier, sir. Just arrived.”

He recognized the paper type and the seal instantaneously and disappeared into his study, where he could sit, remove his ridiculous wig, and properly attend to the letter.

It was in some foreign language, the character set foreign to him, but from the seal, which had been identical to the one from his brother's letters, the doctor knew it to be Romanian. It seemed very official in its wording, or at least how it was presented on the page, and included with it was a slip of a German translation.
That
at least he could read.

It was nearly half an hour before anyone disturbed him. No one generally came into the master's study except Frederick or his wife, and it was the latter. “Daniel?” Whatever business she had, it must have been immediately put aside when she saw him bent over his desk, trying to read the fine print again. “What is it?”

“I admit my German is rusty—that or their German is rusty—but it seems I have been invited to Transylvania to visit my brother, by his father-in-law, Count Vladimir of Sibiu.”

“Why would Brian not write it in English?”

“It is in the language of an official decree—as if I am being
summoned
.” He removed his glasses. “As if I am not
summoned
by royalty all the time. But I would like to see Brian and his lovely wife, Princess Nade—Nadez—Nadezdah—Her Highness. I would love to meet Her Highness.” He squinted. “I'm sure she is a very lovely wife, but could they have not mentioned
my
lovely wife in their invitation?”

“I was thinking the very same thing. But Transylvania—I don't know where that is proper. Hungary, I believe? Or Austria? Near the Black Sea? It is such a small place.”

“England is quite a small place, without Ireland and Scotland.” He looked up at her with reassuring eyes. “We will of course have to return the favor and invite the count. He will not come, but Brian and Her Highness will.”

“And I will not have to get the hem of my dress muddy.”

“Do you have a greater fondness for your brother-in-law or the hem of your dress?”

She cupped his cheek. “You will be a very beloved
husband
if you do not make me answer that.”