The Plight of the Darcy Brothers (21 page)

DARCY SLEPT UNCHARACTERISTICALLY LATE, SO much so that Elizabeth was actually up before him and deeply suspected he might well be sleeping off the after-effects of yet another set of the best wines they had ever tasted. He had joined her in bed very late when she was nearly asleep, kissed her, and immediately fallen asleep. So, she was reluctant to wake him.

Grégoire had apparently gone to Mass, and the fact that, despite the years of anti-clerical tyranny and destruction, Notre Dame was perhaps the most splendid cathedral in the world piqued her interest. Darcy would surely never allow her to travel about the center of Paris on her own, but Darcy wasn't awake to say so and she, therefore, didn't have to argue with him about it. She left a note on the bedside table and headed out into the fine spring sun and the cobbled streets of Paris.

It was not so terribly different from Town in many ways, aside from the language, the obvious English military presence, and some destroyed or empty buildings left over from the Revolution. But she saw no guillotines and knew enough French
by now to have her way pointed to Notre Dame. She had seen Westminster, but this was a different building entirely. It was taller, and with its two towers in front, more imposing. It was also filthier, still wounded from the Revolution and its attacks— political and literal—on the church.

People were leaving from Mass. As this was not a Sunday, the cathedral was not especially crowded, and she entered without any trouble. The hall was massive, with endless, uncountable rows of wooden seats, and various people still scattered about in silent contemplation before the massive altar and golden cross. Not immediately spotting Grégoire, she found her interest attracted to a rather large altar of candles, some lit and some not, in front of a painting of the Virgin Mary. Why did people from the Bible always tilt their head in such a way? People were burning candles for their lost, and she must have been there for some time, because she did not hear Grégoire approach until he cleared his throat. “Mrs. Darcy.”

“Grégoire,” she said. “I did not see you.”

“I was in confession.” Looking up at the altar and the image, he crossed himself.

“I suppose,” Elizabeth said in a hushed voice, “God would be terribly confused if I lit a candle at a Catholic altar.”

“God is all-knowing, and therefore, never confused,” he replied. “Did you lose someone?”

“Something.”

“It is not for lost items.”

“Someone,” she said, her voice betraying her emotion. “I've lost two children, though I was told not to think of them as that. I don't know what Darcy told you last night—”

He raised his hand. Obviously, not for a church, most of it.

“—but I miscarried, for the second time, some months ago. And though, it was not a proper baby, I still feel… as though I've lost someone.”

“Then light. God will not be confused, and He is the only one beyond us who will know.”

She took one of the longer candles, meant for this purpose, used it to light a smaller one on the racks without burning herself, and then put it back in its container.

“Come,” Grégoire said quietly. “I wish to show you something.” To her great surprise, he actually put his hand on her elbow and escorted her to a picture bearing among its images a bearded man in robes who did not seem to be Jesus and beside him, a woman. “Abraham and Sarah. Sarah did not conceive until she was just shy of her hundredth birthday. She had given up hope to the point that God sent angels from heaven to tell them she would finally conceive, and she laughed at them. Have you heard this story?”

“Briefly. I am not as versed as you are, obviously.” She had, in fact, only read the Bible in its entirety once and had found the Old Testament to be full of impossible names and bizarre laws that she could not imagine anyone following. “But I do not want to wait until I am nearly a hundred, thank you.”

“But you have already conceived, yes? My wording is correct?”

“Yes. But I am perhaps greedy and want more. Is that such a terrible sin?”

“I would not call it greed. I cannot presume to know a mother's longing,” he said. “There is also the story of the mother of Samuel, one of the old prophets, who prayed to God for a child and then delivered one of the most important people in their ancient history.”

She knew what he was trying to say and knew that, logically, his words should comfort her, but she still wanted to—needed to— cry. Before she knew it, she was leaning on his shoulder, and he was embracing her as she sobbed into his harsh wool robe. When a priest approached them, Grégoire said something in French, and the priest went away, but otherwise, the monk waited until she was spent, and slowly they made their way from the church.

“What did you say to him?”

“That you were my sister-in-law, and that he should go away,” he said. “Most… improper of me.”

Elizabeth could not help but laugh. It felt wonderful.

They returned to Darcy eating breakfast, or more accurately, lunch. “I read your note.”

“And raced right to my side, I noticed,” Elizabeth said, and kissed him on the head, at which he winced. So he was feeling the effects of the night before.

“I trusted your monastic escort,” he said. “We should perhaps be off to the seminary. It requires only a short ride.”

They had planned this out. The seminary was English, and they would not hurt whatever good opinion the seminary might still have of Mary. It was a modest building, and they applied to the office of the Headmistress, who looked a bit mystified at the trio of an English gentleman, his wife, and a French monk. “Sir and madame.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Darcy,” Darcy said. “My wife is a sister to a former student of yours, Miss Mary Bennet.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “She left a little over a month ago. Withdrawn—she said one of her sisters was ill.”

Maybe that was true on some level, but they were not here to contradict Mary. Elizabeth said merely, “She thinks she may have left something here in the dormitory, and we were traveling in the area with our guide here. May we see for ourselves? It was an important item to her.”

“I do not believe she did, but you may enter, Mrs. Darcy. But this is a girl's seminary, and you will understand that your husband and escort will have to remain in the front offices.”

“Of course,” Mr. Darcy said in his most official, proper Englishman voice, which was all very convincing. “Mrs. Darcy, we shall wait outside for you. Take as long as you like.”

There were all of the proper bows and curtseys, and Elizabeth was escorted through the dormitories to Mary's room, which was shared with another girl, from her belongings in evidence. Mary's side was empty, of course. “Not filled yet,” said the Headmistress. “Because of the war.”

“I see,” Elizabeth said, and made a cursory inspection of Mary's side of the room. “May I perhaps speak to her roommate? I do not wish to go through another woman's things.”

“Of course. I'll have Miss Talbot sent for at once.”

Elizabeth did not have to wait long before a girl Mary's age appeared. They curtseyed, and the headmistress left them alone. “I am sorry to take you from your classes,” Elizabeth said, “but this is a matter of some import.”

“Yes,” Miss Talbot said. “If I may inquire which sister—”

“Elizabeth. Commonly known as Lizzy.” For she had been introduced only as 'Mrs. Darcy.' “I am second; Mary is third. I've come to inquire after her doings here.”

“From England?” Miss Talbot said.

“Yes,” she said with severity.

“Oh. Then, I suppose, I must mention immediately that I am not unknowing in Mary's personal affairs.”

“Thank goodness I have found someone who can tell me something,” Elizabeth said, her voice now welcoming but hushed. “You know why she left so quickly.”

“Yes.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“I do not believe so. Aside from Giovanni, of course.”

“Did you know him?”

“Only of him. She met him tutoring, as she probably told you. She was quite broken up over her own indiscretion.”

Elizabeth bade her to sit down, so she was more at ease. “So she was not forced.”

“No, she said she was not, and I believe her. Of course, a great deal of the blame still falls on Giovanni. Excuse me that I do not know his full name and cannot refer to him properly, even though honestly, I have no wish to. I do know he offered her some—compensation.”

“Did Mary say how much?”

“No. You know more of your sister than I do, but Mary took it all on herself, though I can hardly imagine she was not in some way seduced. She knew him for quite a while beforehand, some months, and she spoke of him more often than she did of any of her other students, none of whom were male.”

“Was there genuine affection?”

Miss Talbot answered, “I believe so.”

“But he refused marriage.”

“He could not marry, of course. He intends be a priest and maybe a bishop. He has returned to Italy to continue his studies, I know not where, only that he has family in Rome.

Now the picture was becoming clearer. “So you believe he can be located through his family in Rome. Mary was not sure.”

“I made one inquiry myself, after she left. She was a good friend to me, and I felt it was deserved. But when I went to his family's house, they said he was back in school.” She sighed. “That is all I can tell you. I wish, for her sake, I had more to say.”

“You have been invaluable, Miss Talbot.”

“May I ask how she is? She was worried that her father would be disapproving.”

“He was—but he loves her, and they are all staying with my sister's husband in the north, where he and my husband have estates. Mr. Darcy and I are to find this Giovanni and try to reach a settlement with him so that Mary will not be destitute. She is within the bosom of her family, who are perhaps not half as harsh on her as she is on herself.”

“That is good to hear. Thank you, Mrs. Darcy. Please send my sympathies, and tell her that I hope to see her when I return to England and she can be seen.”

“I will gladly do so,” Elizabeth said, and they said their good-byes. As soon as she was gone, Elizabeth rushed out of the seminary to find her husband and brother-in-law sitting on the bench. “It seems we must be off to Rome. He is studying in a seminary near there, but he may retire to his family estate for the summer.”

This was not unexpected, but it made Darcy frown anyway. “Then we must cut our visit to this lovely city short, my dear, and make arrangements otherwise. But first, my brother needs some glasses.” In response to Grégoire's cough, Darcy said.
“Excuse me. I am apparently in need of some spectacles that may happen to fit my brother.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said.

It took another day to make all of the arrangements. They would go straight south to Marseilles and take a ship to Italy, which would hopefully be a shortcut, as it would land them only a few dozen miles from Rome at most. Darcy purchased the services of the swiftest but most comfortable carriage available to take them directly south, and Elizabeth wrote and sent letters to England with details of their exact itinerary. It was late on their second day that the Darcys retired to their own room.

“On the way back, perhaps we will have time to see things properly,” Darcy said. “If you wish. Or you may be eager to return to England.”

“How long can we expect to be in Rome?”

“If he is there and agrees to a settlement, we must send the proposal to Mr. Bennet and he must reply if he agrees or not. So, perhaps as long as a couple of months.” He frowned at his own estimation. “We will be hard-pressed to return to England in time for your sister's delivery if there is any hold-up. And there is the matter of whether we will return to Chatton to find it still standing after our son has been living there for so long.”

At the mention of Geoffrey, Elizabeth drew closer to him. Now that they had a proper bed with enough room, it felt positively odd not to be forced to her husband's side the entire night, quite literally, for lack of space, and she missed the intimacy. “I miss him.”

“As do I.” Darcy sighed. “Perhaps he will learn some independence—the good kind. And we will be returning with a new uncle for him.”