Left to Follow By DJ Clawson   This story continues the series that began with “A Bit of Advice.” At this point, you really should go read the others before trying to read this one. New characters abound.   Chapter 1 – Dearly Beloved         In early May of 1812, four families gathered in Hertfordshire. At this stage in most of their lives, getting them all together was no small task. The guest list of immediate relatives was long and filled with small children, and Longbourn could not host them all. To allow for the proper celebrations of his fourth daughter’s marriage, Mr. Bennet had to rent, ironically, Netherfield. Its current occupants were abroad and consented easily, and so for those few weeks surrounding the wedding of Kitty Bennet, it was filled with Bingleys, Darcys, and Maddoxes. Anyone who needed a breather was welcome to return to Town, no one took it, some not having seen the other since Christmas.         The Bingleys arrived first. “I never thought we would be back,” Jane said to her husband as they entered, carrying their year-old fourth child, Edmund.         “Did you despise it so?” Bingley replied. “Charles! Watch it, that isn’t yours to destroy! And if it falls on your sister –” For the Bingley twins were rambunctious six year olds, and taking full advantage of their new surroundings.         “I did not!” Jane pretended to be affronted as she turned to her eldest. “Georgiana, please make sure your siblings do not immediately destroy Netherfield or we will have some unpleasant hosts to deal with upon their return.” As her seven-year-old daughter ran off to do as she was told, Jane returned her attention to her husband. “In fact, my memories are only happy. But still, it does feel odd.”       “Life is full of surprises. Eliza! What did your mother say?” Bingley said to his second daughter, who now was apparently trying to balance a dish on her head.           The Darcys were in before the evening meal. “It is official,” an exasperated Darcy said to his brother-in-law. “I never should have taught my son to read.”         “Should I ask?”         “He found this book – I don’t know where he even found it – on the Roman Empire, and sparing no gory detail too. Would you like to know all about the great battles of Caesar? Because now I know all about them.”         Bingley smiled. “The whole way?”         “He did have to take breaks to breathe, occasionally,” said Elizabeth, as she saw to the bringing in of her infant daughter Sarah, named after Mrs. Gardiner, who was only four months old. Behind her trailed Anne, now four, and Geoffrey, now seven. “And there was that whole hour where I complained of a headache and he believed me.”         “Uncle Bingley!” the two children ran to greet him. Geoffrey bowed and then looked up and said, “Did you know Caesar married Cleopatra even though he had a wife in Rome he conquered Egypt?”         “I vaguely recall something of that nature, and I will not doubt your scholarship, young Mr. Darcy. But can this perhaps wait until your parents and sisters are settled?”         “How about it waits until forever?” Darcy said. “Or at least until I’m not in the room.” He gave his son a playful pat on the head before being escorted to his quarters.         The Maddoxes were the last of the three to arrive in Netherfield. Their relation was distant, but in her time in town, Kitty Bennet had fallen under Mrs. Maddox’s wing, and though Elizabeth initially had her doubts about the former Miss Bingley training her sister on how to court men, very encouraging letters arrived from both Kitty and Georgiana that put her fears aside. Georgiana Darcy was still unmarried, a situation that was hardly dire, but it was clear she would need some encouragement, as she was still shy and hesitant. If she did see men, she had yet to present her brother with a possibility of a match, no matter how much Elizabeth assured her that he was warming to the idea. In fact, Mrs. Maddox knew the most about Mr. Townsend, the groom, beyond Georgiana, and she was a wealth of information, because even though marital felicity had obviously softened some of her character, she still did love to gossip. The doctor, of course, hardly said anything, except that he thoroughly approved of the man.         Mr. Townsend had no claim to any titles, but like Bingley, had inherited a fortune from his father in trade, and would provide adequately for Kitty, who now insisted on being called Catherine. He stayed a respectable distance away in Meryton, but called on them every night, and when the Bennets could not fit everyone at their table, was invited to Netherfield. He was an amiable man, young but eager to be settled, lacking brothers or sisters and obviously wanting to buy an estate and build a family, and to do it with Catherine Bennet. Whether they would be a good match in the long run was impossible to determine, of course, but for the moment no one had any objections. He even seemed interested in Netherfield, if the owners would quit it, or a reasonable estate in the county, which suited Mr. Bennet very well.         The distance was long between Hertfordshire and Derbyshire, and until the birth of Joseph Bennet and Mr. Wickham’s death, Mr. Bennet had always toyed with the idea, privately, of moving the family up north. Now that Longbourn was filled again, it was out of the question. Though he repeated openly that he loved all of his grandchildren, and no one had any doubt that he did, it was obvious that he cherished little Joseph in a special way, and perhaps the greatest gift Mary had ever given him was having a child out of wedlock. And there were the Wickham children, who he said in letter form, were “doing better under Longbourn’s roof, I think,” and left it at that.         What he was well aware of, because Lydia made no secret of it, was that Darcy had set up trust funds for both Wickham children after their father’s death. George and Isabella would, upon the age of majority, have a decent inheritance. It was meant to be discreet, but since Lydia was denied all access to the funds, she made a habit of regularly mentioning it. To which, Elizabeth could only shrug her shoulders and say her husband was a mystery to her sometimes, which he very well was not.         The day before the wedding, as if there was not enough chaos in Hertfordshire, Mr. Bennet requested a special dinner at Longbourn with a very exclusive guest list. Father, mother, and five daughters sat down at the table, sans children, husbands, and relatives.         “When was the last time we were all here?” Jane asked.         “Since our weddings,” Elizabeth said, “or perhaps – the day before; I don’t recall eating much that morning. I was so nervous.” She noticed Kitty’s look. “And all for nothing, everything came out perfectly.”         “Yes, yes, and I’m still alive, despite predictions of otherwise,” Mr. Bennet said. “Who knows – I may outlive Mr. Collins! And then all of that fretting and shouting will have been for naught.”         “Naught!” Mrs. Bennet said. “Naught! Who told you to call on Mr. Bingley? Who escorted our girls to balls?”         “Papa, she has caught you,” Elizabeth smiled at her father. “Mama did show initiative in seeing us wed.”         “Ah, it must be my very old and tired brain that fails to recall something of that nature. But perhaps it was so,” he said. “Lizzy, I am sorry to inform you that while you have enjoyed your grand estate in Derbyshire, your poor Papa has been succumbing to senility. And my hearing is going also.”         “Your hearing isn’t going!” Lydia said. “You just use that excuse to ignore us!”       “What?” Mr. Bennet looked at his youngest daughter. “What was that? I’m afraid you said something and I didn’t hear it. Surely it wasn’t a comment at my expense.”          Elizabeth and Jane stifled their laughter with a harsh look from their mother. “Don’t laugh! You don’t have to put up with him!”         “One minute you pray I don’t expire and let Mr. Collins have the run of the place and the next you seem to wish me gone,” Mr. Bennet said. “Such contradictory notions are positively befuddling to my old mind. No, I promised myself to teach Joseph Italian, and I can’t very well do that from the grave, now can I? So you will just have to wait a few years, my dear.” He patted his wife on the hand.         “Mr. Bennet!”         Elizabeth turned to Jane, “So much has changed – and yet, so little.”         “On this, Lizzy, I must soundly agree.”               ********************************************         The chapel was filled with everyone even remotely connected to the Bennets, which by this time was quite a large crowd. The only person missing from the Darcy family was Grégoire Darcy, who was in a monastery in Bavaria, and was just beginning his long journey to England for his summer visit, made longer by the fact that he walked whenever he was on land, and could not be expected until later in the summer. Similarly missing was Brian Maddox, who had left to marry his Austrian princess, and by very delayed and slow-arriving letters, was apparently doing well and was happy with the arrangements. Or, that was all the doctor would say, but he was never known to lie, only to be discreet.         Joseph Bennet was the ring bearer, and the children that were permitted in the chapel were properly shushed for the entirety of the ceremony. Eventually, when the vicar seemed to get around to it, Mr. and Mrs. Townsend were united in marriage, and Mrs. Bennet had yet another daughter married. True, she still had two under her roof, Lydia just having thrown off her widow’s weeds but still retaining the title of Mrs. Wickham, but there was no doubt that she would be romancing some officer before long. She had been practically already doing it while still in jet. Mary was another matter, but Mary had (unofficially, for it belonged to her father) a fortune, and proclaimed no intentions to even consider marriage until Joseph was of the age where he could take care of himself. And so, even with two daughters technically unmarried, the Bennet family was more at peace than it had ever been. In fact, Mrs. Bennet’s behavior (besides sobbing at the ceremony) could almost be described as pleasant. The brunch was long and joyous before they saw the couple off to Town. It was later in the evening, when finally all the children were to bed, that the temporarily occupants of Netherfield were alone. Everything was all well and settled in the Bennet family, or would be now that Lydia could remarry, so talk turned to other things.         “And how is Mr. Maddox?” Elizabeth said, as they all sat in the sitting room.         “Currently? I’ve no idea,” Doctor Maddox answered. “But three months ago, he was quite well. It seems to be how long the post takes nowadays from Austria.”         “Will they ever visit? Him and ... “         “Nadezhda,” he said. “I think I pronounced that right, but at the moment, no. He is caught up with ... baronial business.”         “I think my brother-in-law is a concubine,” Mrs. Maddox said.         “He is not!” said her horrified husband. “Just because he was won in a bet ... with her father ... does not mean they are not properly married in the eyes of whatever gods they have in the wilds of Romany!”         “They are Christian,” Darcy said, but added, “I think.”         “The Russias are Christian, are they not? And they are even further east,” Bingley said, “so one could logically conclude they are.”         “But the Turks, to their south, are not,” Elizabeth said. “You don’t think – there isn’t any reason why the French would have business in his part of Austria, would they?”         “’Have business’?” It took the good doctor a second to apprehend her meaning. Women, after all, did not discuss military matters. She must have meant invade. “Napoleon would be a fool to go to Russia. It’s massive and from what I’ve heard, freezing. And Brian is practically on the border.”         It was a truth that any discussion of people abroad could only lead to the current politics, which were at the same time both unsettling and fascinating. The self-proclaimed emperor of France was now gallivanting across Europe, having already been to Italy and Africa, and as each country fell, the embargo on Britain tightened, to the point where almost everyone was feeling it. Darcy’s fortune was so caught up in local land that it was hardly affected by international politics, but only Elizabeth and the Bingleys knew that he had quietly been settling disputes with his workers, who were concerned by the taxes and their own livelihoods. Bingley had land as well, but not quite so much, and lived largely off his massive inheritance. Time and time again, Darcy urged him to sell his remaining interest in the old shipping company that his father had run, but despite his profession as an idle gentleman with no business in business, Bingley refused. Whether it was nostalgia or actual concern was not something anyone could pry from him, but since the business was the cloth and silk trade, it would likely go under if the embargo did not end soon. All anyone really knew about the specifics was that Bingley was spending an awfully large amount of time running back and forth between Derbyshire and Town.         The Maddoxes, of course, were tied to the Crown, which was in no real danger unless there was an invasion, and England hadn’t been invaded in seven centuries. When asked about the Prince Regent, Maddox merely replied, “I doubt very much His Highness would put himself in harm’s way,” which, for the extremely circumspect doctor, was a long answer about his patient.         The only remaining variable – beyond Brian Maddox, who could make himself in danger even in Town – was Grégoire in Bavaria. True, no one believed that the insane dictator of France would go so far as to start killing Bavarian civilians, especially ones who were technically French, but the pesky embargo did mean that the letters between the Darcy brothers were slowed to the point of almost months apart.         Bingley, as usual, broke the awkward and worried silence, “To relatives far away.”         Everyone was willing to toast to that.               ******************************************         “Why can’t adults ever say anything interesting?” Geoffrey Darcy said from the other side of the door.         “I know! I want to hear about war!” Georgie Bingley said in disgust. “Give me the glass.” As it was passed to her, she put the glass to her ear and against the door. “Still nothing.”         “I want to listen! I want to listen!” Charles Bingley the Third said a bit too loudly, causing both of them to scowl at him.         “You’re going to make them hear us,” Georgie whispered.         “And then we’ll get in trouble,” Geoffrey said, wrestling with his younger cousin. “So be quiet.”         “But I want to hear!”       Geoffrey and Georgie exchanged exasperated glances. They were both a year older than Charles, at an age when it made a significant difference.         “Charles,” Georgie said, “if you don’t go back to the Nursery right now, I’ll tell Papa and he’ll give you a thrashing because you’re a boy and he won’t give me one because I’m a girl.”         Charles Bingley, six years old and easily intimidated by his older sister, said only meekly. “He wouldn’t.”         “He would. Now go.”         He ran off, his bare feet making very little sound on the wood, up the stairs and into their nursery. Georgie sighed in relief.         “He wouldn’t, would he?” Geoffrey asked.         “Of course not. Maybe your papa, but not mine,” she said very confidently.         “Why do you want to know about war?”         “You do not?”       Geoffrey shrugged. “I don’t know what war is like. But my uncle is on the Continent.”         “So is mine.”         “But yours is batty.”         “At least he’s not a monk!”         “You don’t even know what that is!”       “Do to!”         “Do not!”       “Lying is a sin, you know.”         “So is staying up past your bedtimes.”         They turned away from the door, and up at the figure towering above them, wizened and leaning heavily on his walking stick, not like their fathers did when out of doors, but like he really needed it, and inside. “Grandpapa!” “Grandfather!”       “Now hush or you’re likely to give yourselves away to more than one person,” Mr. Bennet said. “But I’d think you’d best be off to bed, children. If you’ve forgotten the way, I will show you. In fact, I insist upon it.”         Admittedly, they were much better at scurrying up the stairs of Netherfield than he was, and had to wait for him at the top before proceeding down the hallway. Georgie took his available hand. “I thought you were at home.”         “And miss time with my grandchildren, who are undoubtedly going to be sneaking out to hear what their parents say behind closed doors? Never!” he laughed. “I take my amusements in this life where I can get them, Miss Bingley. You ought to learn to do the same, though, perhaps not by eavesdropping. You might get a story that’s not for your young ears.” He paused. “Oh, dear, I’ve just made it all the more enticing. Well, my daughters and sons will just have to suffer.”         “Will England go to war?” Geoffrey asked more seriously, looking up at his grandfather.         “I am not a diviner of any sorts, Master Geoffrey, so I cannot begin to tell you the future. In fact, I find it is best to let it rest and expect only that life is going to surprise you, as it – in my lifetime, certainly – has never failed to do.”                                             Chapter 2 – Lady Catherine’s Epistle         Summer was a most enjoyable time at Pemberley, in those intervening years between the master’s bachelorhood and his children being out, when he had every reason to be at home for the Season. It was also special for the Darcys because it was the time that Grégoire made the long journey from Bavaria to visit them. Georgiana came up from Town, for she had taken to her newfound brother and spent much time walking with him in the gardens.         “He seems to be doing well,” Elizabeth said as they watched from their balcony. “I think the Rule of Benedict is much more suited to him.”         “I suppose not insisting he drive himself to death is a vast improvement,” Darcy said, not looking up from his book. “Maybe we can find him monastery after monastery until we find one that teaches its novices how to be normal men.”         “Maybe your brotherly concerns are enough torture for him,” she said.               ******************************************         “And when do you intend to tell Darcy?”         “Oh! It is nothing like that, I assure you,” Georgiana said. “I’ve seen him but twice – and only by chance. And of course I can’t invite him and he can’t invite me, even if he is an earl – “         “If marriage is the intention of courtship, I confess to not understand why it must be so complicated,” Grégoire said. “How are you to see him again?”         “Well ... I have asked Doctor Maddox to invite him for dinner, because he is so discreet, and Mrs. Maddox will delight in having a secret from my brother. Oh! Is it wicked of me to say that?”         “I don’t believe so,” he said with a smile. “But you will have to eventually tell him.”         “I told you, it’s nothing! He’s just an old friend who’s never been to Town! He doesn’t know his way around.”         Grégoire just buried his smile in his cowl.         She gave him a little shove. “Promise you won’t tell!”         “I won’t.”       “Promise?”         “Promise.”               *************************************************             “Darcy,” Elizabeth said as she stepped onto the veranda, were Darcy was enjoying the afternoon breeze with his brother, who was holding Sarah with great delight. Grégoire had no scruples with showing his affection for his nieces and nephew as most men did. “You will never believe this.”         Darcy turned to Grégoire and said, “I will not bother to guess. It will take all day. Darling, what is it?”         “Aunt Catherine has finally replied to one of my letters,” she said, holding it up in evidence. “In fact, she has invited us to Kent at the start of July.”         “Did she give a reason?”         “No. She spent most of the letter berating me, my motherhood, which she is sure is deficient, and so on and so on,” she waved her hand as she passed off the letter. “And of course, the only reason we are available is because you are a terrible guardian of Georgiana and will not join her for the Season so that she can be properly married and settled. But since we are so negligent and therefore available, we must come.”         “We must,” he said with some amusement, and explained to Grégoire, “My mother’s sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She was insistent that I marry her daughter Anne and when I refused and married Elizabeth, she cut off all contact.”         “But – Anne is your cousin, is she not?” Grégoire said.         “Yes. Oh, is there some Catholic injunction against marrying cousins? Is it improper in the eyes of G-d? Because if so, we must bring that up while we’re there, if we should go at all.”         “If we are to go!” Elizabeth said. “I’ve only been writing to this woman for eight years for the sake of family harmony and you consider rejecting her offer?”         “She has thrown us a bone, but that does not mean I am a hungry dog,” he said, his tone more serious. “While she is my aunt, her behavior was abominable towards both of us during our courtship and we are likely to be subjected to yet another tirade if we go.”            “Perhaps she has changed.”         “But her letter indicates she has not, at least not enough. I have only so much tolerance for one who would insult my lovely wife, and if she so much as says one bad word in front of Geoffrey and Anne –”         Elizabeth turned to her brother-in-law for help. “Surely it is some kind of sin to pre-suppose evil?”         “Yes, but there is also the matter of marrying cousins, though the bible does not forbid it, various papal bulls –” Grégoire shook his head. “It is not my place. I do not know this woman.”         “If it is any more enticing,” Elizabeth added, “the Fitzwilliams will also be there, and you know how little we see our cousins since they moved to Brighton.”         “A regular family gathering,” Darcy said. “Now I am even more suspicious. But we cannot go – for the sake of family. My brother has come all the way from the Continent to see me – on foot – and I will not leave him to go be lectured by Aunt Catherine. Nor would I bring him along and subject him to the highly improper tirade we will all endure for it.”          To this, Elizabeth had no immediate reply. She folded her arms in frustration. Darcy rose and embraced her. “Why do you torture yourself over this?”         “Because – because I am trying to restore normal relations with your side of the family. Relations that were rented by our own marriage, and yet, created our own marriage. It was one her own infamous tirades that gave me hope that you still loved me, after all that happened with Lydia.”         “And I, the same,” he said. “Hmm, then I must admit, we do owe her a favor. But the problem still stands.”         “I am not a problem,” Grégoire said quietly.         “We did not mean to imply that you were –”         “No,” he said. “I mean, the problem is obviously solved by my accompanying you, if she would have me. I have never been to Kent, or met the Fitzwilliams. I have no objection if you would have me as family.”         “I would always have you as family,” Darcy said, “but when we joke about Aunt Catherine – or meant it seriously – we do mean it seriously. She will burn your ears off if she so chooses.”         “Do you think my visitation would cause her pain, because she is the sister to your mother?”         He had a point. Remarkably, it was in Aunt Catherine’s favor. Neither of them had considered her feelings. Likely, she would insult him anyway for any number of reasons, but here was the man who was a result of an injustice on Anne Darcy, who was betrayed by her husband and lady-maid during her confinement with Georgiana.         Darcy debated it, and finally said, “If she asks, we will delay your birth date by a few convenient months, after my mother’s death.”         “Still, I would not want to insult her – “         “Everyone always insults Aunt Catherine,” Elizabeth said, “just by breathing. We wish to spare you being her target.”         “I know of my heritage,” Grégoire said with remarkable calmness. “I have faced it and I cannot change it, nor would I wish myself non-existent. I have done my penance and while I cannot judge others who would judge me, I am not embarrassed, or will hide in shame.”         “You will perhaps think otherwise of your decision if and when you meet her,” Darcy said. “Elizabeth, we will discuss this later,” meaning, in private.         “Of course, Mr. Darcy,” she said, and curtseyed like a servant before hurrying out.         “I’m going to regret this.”         “Visiting your aunt?”             “Well, of course, but giving Elizabeth an order, even accidentally. In fact, I’d better go apologize to her right now. Excuse me.”         “You’re quite excused,” his brother said, and even had a small smile on his face as Sarah giggled in his arms.               **********************************************         He caught up with Elizabeth quite quickly, as she hadn’t made it very far into the hallway, before she spun around and kissed him, breaking his attempt at conversation. When they finally separated, she said, “We’re going.”         “Do I at least get a say? You know she will spend the entire time berating us.”         “Surely not. The woman must take time to breathe. And sip her tea.”         “And you would willingly expose Grégoire to this?”         “He is his own man, Darcy. Though, yes, the timing is severely inconvenient, but what can we do? I want to go and he apparently wants to go, so you must go with us. I’ve not seen Charlotte since we were married.”       “You’ve also not seen Mr. Collins since we were married.”         “One does not equal the other. And you would see your cousins, and Aunt Catherine would make a fool of herself if she would stoop so low to insult a monk as pious as your brother, whatever his heritage.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you are just trying to protect us all, but I would not haven written countless letters if I did not want the family restored in some fashion. And now we have perhaps the opening to do it.”             “Perhaps,” he said. “She has some scheme, Lizzy. Surely you realize this.”         “So? She, like the rest of us poor females, can only offer you advice. She can force nothing on you.”         “I would not say that there is not a woman who cannot force things on me,” he said, “but there is only one. All right, two, if Georgiana was not so compliant. And four, when the children are out. But otherwise, that is it.”         “Then we are perfectly safe in your capable hands,” she said, and kissed him again, and he found he could do nothing but comply.               **********************************************         The ride to Kent was hot and stuffy, and they rested along the way, though there was hardly any rest as Anne was climbing all over things. “Geoffrey!” Darcy said. “Watch over your sister.”         “Do I have to?”             “If it was in question I would have said it that way. Now, go.”         Geoffrey scoffed, but did manage to pull Anne down before she got too high in a tree.         They did manage to reach Kent at a decent time of day, good enough to be rested and changed for dinner. Lady Catherine, it was announced as their coats were removed, was taking a rest and not to be disturbed. Not to put up any argument, the Darcys were instead greeted by Colonel Fitzwilliam and his wife Anne. “Darcy!”         “Richard,” Darcy said, “So good to see you. Allow me to introduce my brother, Brother Grégoire of the Order of Saint Benedict.”         “Yes,” Fitzwilliam, who had been told but had never crossed paths with him before, offered his hand, “Very nice to meet you, and of course, Mrs. Darcy, and Master Geoffrey.” They had, at several Christmases, met.         Geoffrey bowed to his cousins. His sister Anne ran around him and hugged her cousin’s legs. There were greetings all around, and the children were taken to their lodgings.         “I suppose you heard, then,” Fitzwilliam said to Darcy, taking him aside.         “No,” Darcy said. “Our aunt’s letter failed to mention anything special. Somehow I felt she was leaving something out.”         “My brother Michael has caught something in India.”         “The earl? What is he doing in India?”       “What does anyone do in India? Make a fortune. One has to keep up the lifestyle of an earl, after all,” Richard said. “We don’t know the specifics. It’s very hard to get news, but – the news isn’t good.”         Darcy nodded. “I’m sorry, Richard. I truly am. Is there any way to bring him home?”         “Only by ship, and he is not well enough to travel, apparently. I would go to see him myself, but ... I might contract the same thing, and I could not leave Anne with that.”         “Understood.” Darcy frowned. “Terrible news.”         “Yes.”         “Do you wish me to meditate on this some more or may I go straight into speculation that doesn’t directly involve your brother?”         “It does, but you may do it anyway. If Michael dies ... well, you know what will happen then.”         “And Aunt Catherine cannot be happy with those arrangements. Or, to be honest, I cannot know what she is thinking. Why can’t she come out and say it, like she does everything else?”         “I imagine there will be some discussion. I myself have no inkling. Does your wife know?”         “No. I never saw a reason to tell her. I honestly never thought it would be relevant so quickly. Your brother was a healthy man.”         “Yes.”         “I am so sorry,” he said, meaning it as he put a hand on Fitzwilliam’s shoulder. “It is a terrible thing to lose a brother.”         Colonel Fitzwilliam decided not to comment on that particular statement.               *************************************************         Retired to their rooms to relax and change for dinner, Darcy was alone with Elizabeth at last, and revealed the grave news to her.         “Terrible! I am so glad Bingley has never gone to India,” she said, “though I know he’s thought of it. But still – this must sound terrible of me to even be thinking, but –”         “Yes,” Darcy shooed away the servant and sat down on the bed next to her. “It will improve Richard’s standing and inheritance immensely. But that cannot be the reason why Aunt Catherine called us here.”         “But – how can this relate to this, aside from a probable death in the family? If anything, it improves her situation as well, because Anne will inherit Rosings with the Colonel.”         “No,” he said. “He won’t. I will.”         Elizabeth stared at him.         “It deals with the specific nature of the entail of Rosings to the Fitzwilliam line,” he said. “It dates back hundreds of years, longer than the Darcys or the de Bourghs have been part of the family, and I’ve seen the document myself only because it was brought to my attention by my father. Now, my maternal grandfather, whose name I bear, had three children – Anne, Catherine, and Reginald, Richard’s father and the one who inherited the earldom.”         “Yes.” He had died less than a year after their own marriage, but at least had lived to see both his sons married.         “Of those children, the direct line of descent actually goes in order of age of the three original children – of which, my mother was the oldest, provided the male did not produce a son.”         “Which he did, two.”         “I’m getting to that. So, Rosings would of course pass to him upon his father’s death, which it did, but he let Sir Lewis de Bourgh rent it from him, so that his sister might have her old family lodgings. But until the day he died, he was the technical owner of Rosings. Which he did, four years ago, and Rosings passed to his son, who is now dying in India. But remember what I said about age of the three children. Now that the firstborn sons of the Fitzwilliam line have all been eliminated, it passes to the next person in line, the firstborn son of the firstborn daughter, Anne. So, it passes to me, and should I die, then to poor Richard, the second born and forever passed over.”         “Can you not – can you not break the entail and not receive Rosings?”         He shook his head. “An entail can only be broken with a father and son in agreement. And since my father is dead, I must wait until Geoffrey is of age to formally break the entail and forfeit the Darcy claim to Rosings. And, I imagine, numerous other holdings connected to Rosings.” Darcy frowned. “But it still makes no sense. Unless Aunt Catherine has lost what little sense she has, she realizes I have no interest in Rosings, as I have told her on numerous occasions, and clearly I will happily rent it to the Fitzwilliams for little or no money until I can break the entail in eleven years.” He lay back on the bed. “She has some other scheme here. She will make some wild request of me.”         “Perhaps we are assuming too much. First, the earl is not actually dead, despite what you all assume. He may well recover. Second, as you said, if she is not unknowing of your own intentions, she may just wish to confirm them. Or she may be unknowing of your current intentions and want to know them. You have not spoken to her for six years.”         “Perhaps,” he said. “But I think not. No matter. She would hardly drag us out here without revealing it all as dramatically as she can.”         “In that, my dear, I believe you may be right.”               **********************************************                         In their sitting room, Geoffrey and Anne were brought forward for presentation by Nurse.         “Do we not have the two most wonderful children?” Elizabeth said, tugging on the sleeve of her very tense husband. “Anne, darling, the dress looks very beautiful on you.”         “Itches,” Anne Darcy said, scratching her chest. Her pink dress did indeed have more lace than she was used to.         “I can’t breathe,” Geoffrey said, tugging on his cravat.         “Then hold your breath,” Darcy suggested, “and be very polite to your aunt.”         “You’re not polite to our aunt!”         “Son,” Darcy said, bending down on one knee to face his seven-year-old, “remember what I said about public and private talk?”         “No.”         “Hopeless.” Darcy sighed, patted his son on the head, and rose to his feet to see Grégoire emerging from his chambers, dressed in the only outfit he owned, his worn wool robes. “Hopeless lots, all of you.”         “Lots!” Anne shouted, waving her arms above her head. Anne Darcy seemed to thoroughly enjoy her power of speech, even when she lacked understanding.         “I fear Aunt Catherine will be displeased,” Darcy whispered to his wife, though it didn’t sound as if he had a lot of fear.         “Lady Catherine has been displeased with me since the moment I met her, is displeased with you and your choice in marriage, and is displeased with Georgiana’s delay in choosing a husband. I hardly expect her to act so contrary in her character as to not extend it to the rest of the family.”         He smiled, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Well,” he said to the rest of them, “shall we go and greet Lady Catherine?”                                       Chapter 3 – The Devil and the Saint         Lady Catherine de Bourgh, now of some two and seventy years, had not lost her composure with age. True, the change in her physical appearance was noticeable. She had lost what remained of the color in her hair. It was obvious (though inappropriate to mention) that she had lost weight, making her appearance all the more skeletal. If anything, it added a certain fright factor to her appearance, to be perfectly plain about it.         Rosings itself had not changed. If anything, it was decayed with time, but still mostly as it had been during Elizabeth’s visit to Kent to see her friend Charlotte eight years prior, and Elizabeth realized she was as much a stranger in it now as she had been then. The difference now was Darcy was not standing by her side as an unpleasant acquaintance intruding on her visit but as her loyal husband. This was a welcome relief when she was once again presented to the mistress of Rosings. “Lady Catherine.”         Lady Catherine barely acknowledged her as the children were brought forward. If there was anything the Darcy children did understand it was how to act in front of “proper” people, it being totally different from how they were usually permitted to behave. Geoffrey bowed politely and said, “Aunt Catherine,” not squirming or making a silly face. His sister did not manage to get the name out, but she did curtsey.         “Come here,” said Catherine, holding out a well-bejeweled hand to the little Miss Darcy. “You do not look much like my sister, or my daughter. Are those blond streaks in her hair from the sun?”         “They are, Aunt Catherine,” Darcy said.         “A young lady has little proper place outdoors, but surely you are aware of that, Fitzwilliam,” Catherine said. “I will assume that she will mature when she begins her education. Have you arranged for her tutors?”         “We have, your ladyship,” Elizabeth said. “But she is yet very young.”         “And Master Geoffrey. Have you learned your letters?”         “I have,” he said. “I can even write better than Father!”       Elizabeth had to stifle her laughter as Darcy gave her a cold stare.         “Of that I have no doubt,” said Lady Catherine. “You children will take your suppers now. Your parents and I have much to discuss.”         Never had Elizabeth seen her children so happy to leave a room. They bowed quickly and scurried out, chasing after the servant who was leading them. Their parents, however, would not have such relief. Her husband, showing no hesitancy, took the lead, “Aunt Catherine, allow me to introduce you to my brother, Brother Grégoire of the Order of Saint Benedict.”         Grégoire bowed humbly, “Your ladyship.”         “How is Bavaria, Mr. Grégoire?” she said. “You will excuse me, but we are in a civilized country now.”         “You may call me whatever you wish, your ladyship.”         “You are French, are you not? By birth?”         “Yes, your ladyship.”         “From Mon-Claire, am I correct?”         He bowed slightly again. “You are very knowledgeable, your ladyship.”         “Your mother was from Mon-Claire,” she said. “I remember her very well.”         Grégoire’s previous composure could not be described as cool, but more of his usual calm, unshakably humility. He did seem rattled by the mention of his late mother, though. “Madam?”         “Of course I did! I was attending my sister during her confinement, so it hardly went unnoticed. Though, you do favor your father in appearance.”         While it was fairly public knowledge in Derbyshire that Master Darcy had a bastard brother that he had embraced as though a legitimate one, the details were obscured as much as possible. Darcy interrupted the conversation. “Aunt Catherine, are you implying that you knew about the dismissal during my mother’s confinement with Georgiana?”         “Of course I did! What, do you think I was blind? I am only surprised that they hid it so successfully from you, Fitzwilliam. Too much time playing outside.” She glanced at their shocked expressions, but that only raised her apparent indignation. “Why are you all so surprised? Did you not think that Mr. Darcy would do everything in his power to cover up his scandalous affairs? Even if the grief of it killed my sister?”         “You knew?” Darcy said. “These twenty years, you knew I had a brother?”         “I knew about every servant girl that was dismissed! I knew about both your brothers, Fitzwilliam, but remember that you were to marry Anne, and I would not have tolerated you behaving in such a manner as your father!” She didn’t give Darcy time to respond before turning on Grégoire. “You at least had the decency to shut yourself up in a monastery.”         “Lady Catherine!”         “For once in your life, be quiet, Miss Elizabeth!” Catherine said. “I am trying to speak to an actual relation, no matter how disreputable!”         “Elizabeth Darcy is my wife and therefore your niece, Aunt Catherine,” Darcy said in a chilling voice, “and a very respectable relation, not that my brother is not. He is a man of the church!” He stepped forward. “If your only intention in this invitation, knowing full well who my brother is, was to insult all of us, then we will take our leave.”         And of course, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Darcy would make good on his threat. Only Grégoire standing in his way prevented his exit. “Please, don’t.”         “I cannot stand by while – “         “You will admit that her ladyship’s motives in disguising the circumstances of my birth were to guard you from sin,” he said. “She said it herself.”         Darcy looked at Elizabeth in wonder as to why his brother was pleading with him in Lady Catherine’s defense, but she could only shrug in reply. “She has also insulted you grievously.”         “Fitzwilliam!”         “I am not ashamed of my heritage,” Grégoire said, and turned to bow again to his host. “Lady Catherine, I am sorry that you lost your sister and that my mother brought both you and Lady Anne distress in her final days, but I cannot undo my own existence, nor do I wish to. But please accept my apologies on my mother’s behalf for your grief, as it obviously still concerns you.”         The quiet threatened to overwhelm them all. Darcy and Lady Catherine connected not only by blood but by a frustrating obstinacy, which could be volatile when used on the other. So dangerous was the air between them that neither Elizabeth nor Grégoire dared to break the silence.         “Brother Grégoire,” Lady Catherine said, setting her hands on her lap, “did you know that Rosings was an abbey before the dissolution of the monasteries?”         “I – I did have my suspicions.”         “Suspicions?”         “The façade behind you,” he said pointing to the high part of the wall. “It has been painted over and false pillars have been added, but I do believe that was once the back wall of a personal chapel, perhaps of an abbot, judging from the size of the room.”         “I am a very religious woman myself, and a patron of the church. Even when my own family has abandoned me, I have always found solace in religion, though our religion is quite different from yours.”         “Not so different, perhaps,” he said.         “I am the patron of our local vicar, who is Mrs. Darcy’s cousin and shall be joining us tonight. Perhaps you will find some common ground to converse upon.”       He said gratefully, “I would be honored.”               ********************************************             The gathering for dinner was short. Elizabeth was overjoyed when the Collins’s arrived, as she had not seen Charlotte since her marriage, but this was not the moment for renewing a friendship. The atmosphere was too formal, and so they greeted each other warmly, exchanged some information about their children (Charlotte had three as well), and promised to converse the next morn. The Fitzwilliams were also in attendance; only Georgiana, still in Town for the Season, was absent (or to use Darcy’s terminology, “excused”) from the visitation. It made for a very long table and many sudden rulings from Lady Catherine that seats should be changed to the point where everyone was quite confused and relieved when they finally settled down and she seemed satisfied.         “Mr. Bellamont,” Lady Catherine said loudly and sharply to Grégoire, more than was necessary for her voice to reach his end of the table, “it may be different in the wilds of Bavaria, but in England it is considered rude not to take the food offered you.” Very little escaped her notice and her eagle eyes did notice that Grégoire had partaken of nothing but bread.         Elizabeth wished she could comfort Darcy, who was probably seething at the other end of the table, but husband and wife did not sit together and she was at a loss.         “My apologies, your ladyship,” Grégoire said, not at all bothered by her accusation, “but your food is too refined for my poor monk’s stomach.”         Elizabeth looked down at her bowl. The soup was rich and quite spicy, and Grégoire had a very simple diet – and apparently, no shame in admitting it. He had eaten privately before dinner. He rarely had anything of substance after what she understood was Vespers.         Surprisingly, Lady Catherine did not counter, but changed the subject entirely, “Mrs. Darcy, I trust you have secured a governess for your children?”         “No, not yet, Lady Catherine.”         “Then you must immediately. I do not see why this has gone to lapse. Perhaps because your mother did not employ one, but my grandnephew cannot be as rowdy as your sisters.”         Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to seethe. “I would hardly describe my sisters as ‘rowdy,’ your ladyship. Surely a woman of your superior understanding knows that gossip and reports are often only focused on the most extreme examples of behavior and not the daily lives of respectful people. The gossip papers would then be quite boring.”          “You read such trash, Mrs. Darcy?”         “I do not,” Elizabeth said in all honesty.         “Thank goodness for that at least!” Lady Catherine said. Elizabeth looked over at her husband, and observed that his hands were shaking a little on the table as he spooned his own soup. She could only imagine the violent thoughts going through his head and wondered how long his nerves would endure. “Pemberley’s library would be tainted with such literature.”         “Pemberley’s library is quite well,” Darcy said. “In fact, my wife has made many useful suggestions for additions to it.”         “While it is admirable to take care of your own house, nephew, you must also keep your household,” Lady Catherine said, easily moving to attack apparently every Darcy at the table. “Why have you not employed a governess? Geoffrey is seven years, is he not?”         “I did not have a governess when I was seven, Aunt Catherine,” Darcy said. “My mother and father instructed me personally until I was ten.”         Even implying an insult to her sister’s behavior was something Lady Catherine would not stand for, let alone do herself. Darcy sneaked a look at Elizabeth, who smiled.         Lady Catherine retreated, and did not pester Darcy again for some time, though she did lament at length the poor state of education and how many young men she found to be uneducated (to which Elizabeth sorely resisted inquiring as to why Lady Catherine knew so many young men) and in need of proper instruction. She briefly battered Charlotte Collins with questions about how she was raising her daughters, to which Mrs. Collins had the good sense to smile and look grateful for the wisdom imparted to her so freely. Obviously, she was an expert at it, but she let her husband do the thanking.         The main courses were served, and again, Grégoire did not partake. Elizabeth suspected that even if he was so inclined to break his monastic habits, his stomach truly would be unprepared to the finely-flavored meats and poultry from Lady Catherine’s kitchen.         “Enough with this Papist nonsense,” Lady Catherine finally said. “Mr. Bellamont, I implore you to eat. It is ill-advised for a person not to have a proper diet, even for spiritual reasons.”         Mr. Collins added, “As our L-rd and Savior said, ‘Know ye not that ye are the temple of G-d, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?” He had not shown any previous animosity to Grégoire – he was obviously more interested in supporting Lady Catherine.         “Paul,” Grégoire said quietly in response.         “What?” Lady Catherine said. “Speak up, Mr. Bellamont!”       “It was Saint Paul who said it. In his letters to the Corinthians,” Grégoire said with his head bowed, but Elizabeth detected a small smile sneaking into his expression. “Forgive me. I am not a wise man, but of this, I am fairly sure.”         “Mr. Collins is a vicar of the church, Mr. Bellamont. Surely he knows of what he speaks. We read the bible regularly here, and in plain English so that even the masses can understand.”         “Your ladyship is right,” Mr. Collins said. “I am reminded of Our L-rd’s saying, ‘And this is the word which by the gospel is preached unto you.’”         Catherine nodded her head in triumph to Grégoire, who hesitated a moment before saying, “Peter.”         “What?”         “That was Saint Peter, Minister Collins, in his first letters.”         Elizabeth had to cover her mouth to hide her laughter.         “Maybe,” Darcy said, “we should check the Good Book.”         Mr. Collin’s face flushed. “That is not necessary.”         “No,” Grégoire said, almost in support of the flustered vicar across from him, “’For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with G-d.’ I do not presume to be correct.” He played with his unused utensils for a moment before adding, “Saint Paul.”         Attempting to salvage the argument, Lady Catherine interjected. “I presume that a man who has separated himself from society has time to study the Good Book to an extent that a man with any affairs does not. Tell me, does your order spend the whole day in the chapel?”         “No, your ladyship, Saint Benedict believed that work is a form of prayer.”         “And what do you do? Minister to the people? Give sermons? Bless the masses of the poor?”         “No, your ladyship,” he said, his head bowed. “I am the newest member of my order. I am in charge of cleaning the chamber pots.”         The dropping of cutlery was the only thing audible in an otherwise silent room. Grégoire, unperturbed, picked at the one roll he had been working on all night.         The dinner did not last much longer than that. Grégoire said many apologies and excused himself from after dinner entertainment, as it was time for Compline and sleep. Lady Catherine did not object to his disappearance, and instead began her instructions on what Mrs. Collins should play on the pianoforte.         “Your brother may be a monk, but he is quite the little devil,” Elizabeth whispered to Darcy when they finally met up.         “Apparently,” Darcy said, sneaking to her a smile. “Though, it is not very hard to outwit Mr. Collins. It may have been unintentional.” He added, “Though, I doubt it was. Pious servant of the L-rd indeed!”         The after dinner entertainment was relatively brief, before the women retired and Darcy took a glass of port with Fitzwilliam in what had once been Sir Lewis’ study.          “Your brother is quite a fascinating person,” Fitzwilliam said.         “Never underestimate a Darcy,” he said with a smirk.         The evening would have gone quite well, all things considered, if not for the servant entering. “Mr. Darcy, Lady de Bourgh requests your presence in the drawing room.” And he left immediately. There was no way for him to excuse himself. It was an order.         “Should I sing a funeral hymn?”         “No, I’d rather not have to bear our aunt and your singing voice in one evening,” Darcy said, finishing his port quickly before leaving the room.               ********************************************             Lady Catherine was of course waiting for him, sitting in a chair very close to the fire, even though it was high summer. Darcy bowed. “Aunt Catherine.” There seemed to be no chair for him to sit and still be facing her, but he felt more confident standing. He liked to be on his feet when he was uncomfortable.             “Fitzwilliam,” she said, resting in her easy chair. Calling him that was always the first sign of danger. He did not take the seat offered to him, choosing to stand by the fireplace instead. “It has been a long time.”         “Yes,” he said.         “The situation is obviously very different from when we last spoke; the situation of our families, of course. No doubt your cousin has told you.”         “Of his brother’s misfortune, yes, he has.” Fortunately, she seemed to be coming right to the point instead of berating Elizabeth for a while, which he had expected her to do. “Though, it is not a certainty. He may very well return, alive and well.”         “Perhaps, or perhaps not. You understand the importance of consideration and planning for the future of our family.”         “Of course.”         She turned away from him. He could not remember the last time she had done something like that, but she looked into the fire instead. “Would I have employed every gypsy fortune teller in the world, I could not have guessed that Miss Bennet would be a more suitable wife for you than my Anne.”         Not knowing quite what to say to such a dramatic admission, Darcy managed only to stutter, “Neither could I. But I believe my cousins are both very happy in their choice.”         “They are. And Anne is much healthier. I should have thought to take her to Brighton.” Was this Lady Catherine, admitting to a weakness in thought or idea? He was stupefied as she went on, “The doctors say she might even survive a pregnancy if she was capable of such.”         Darcy said nothing. He could think of nothing appropriate to say.         “But you have a son and so the Darcy line is secure, provided he survives to adulthood. And you may yet have another. Your wife is still young yet. She may have aged you, but she is doing quite well herself.”         He looked down. She had noticed, of course, the silver around his ears that had appeared during his recovery from surgery. “That was not her doing, but my own.”         “So I have been informed,” she said, looking back at him. “But now we must consider the Fitzwilliam line, which is to die off because of Richard’s choice of a bride.”         Once again, he could not find the wits for a response that would please either of them.         “Don’t look at me so stupidly, Darcy. You know of what I speak.”         “If this is a concern over Rosings,” he said, “then know that I have no desire to take possession of it and will break the entail as soon as my son is of age.”         “That does not solve the crucial problem, and is not why I called you here – as you have already guessed.”         Of course, he thought. So why don’t you just tell me?         “The task at hand is not an easy one – for either of us. Long have I considered it, but it is the only possible solution.”         “Solution, Aunt Catherine?”         “Yes.” She regained her usual demeanor in her determination. “Richard must take a mistress.”         Had he been a lesser man, Darcy was sure he would have passed out from the shock. His mouth went dry. Lady Catherine had anticipated this, because she waited for him to gather his response, “What?”         “It is, if his brother dies, the only way the Fitzwilliam line will continue. It can be done in secret, of course, so that it appears to be Anne’s – “         “But she will know! He will know!” He was having trouble staying in place. The urge to pace around, to look away – to get away from this insane woman – was ready to overcome him. “Are you intending to propose that they divorce?”         “Of course not! It would bring unimaginable shame to the family –“         “As would your suggestion! Or even, more so! A child out of wedlock for no other reason than this stupid idea of family blood lines? I may have a medieval brother, but I believe the rest of us are living in the same century! If they want children, let them adopt?”         “Like your sister Mary did? So conveniently while in France?” Lady Catherine snarled.         “Yes!” he said without thinking. “No! You are trying to throw me off! You know very well what I meant. If it is all to be covered up anyway, who cares if belongs to one of them or neither of them? If you are so concerned about outside opinion –”         “I am concerned for this family! The same family whose name you bear, Fitzwilliam, I will not let it die!”         “Then you should have had sons!” Even in his enraged state, he could tell – after a moment or so of stunned silence – that he had gone too far. He stepped back, attempting to compose himself as he bowed. “I apologize, Aunt Catherine. But – surely you have not brought this idea to either of them?”         “No,” she said. “I need your help to do it.”         The blood drained from his face. He felt it, like it was growing cold as death. “You cannot be serious.”         “I am very – “         “No.”         “Fitzwilliam, I am your aunt – “         “I know who you are, and I will never consent to such a plan,” he said calmly, his voice steady in his severity. “It goes beyond all propriety and taste, and I will have nothing to do with it; Ever.”         “You – “         “We have nothing more to say on the subject. In fact, I find myself in need of refreshment or I may well be ill. Goodnight, Aunt Catherine.” He bowed again, turned, and left, tuning out her shrieks of his name by slamming the door behind him.               ********************************************         When he returned to his quarters, Elizabeth was already in bed reading. Her head turned up to him in polite inquiry but he could not bear to speak. He gestured harshly at his manservant to leave, and removed his coat and vest, himself. The second was harder, as his hands were shaking in his rage and it was hard to manage the buttons, but he finally managed to get it off, and collapsed on the bed, his boots still on and his hands over his face. To his surprise, Elizabeth said nothing. He heard and felt movement on the bed, and she seemed to disappear, but he had not the strength to go after her before he felt her unlacing his shoes for him. His ‘thank you’ was barely a whisper, and she returned to him after finishing her task.         The rage in him would not so easily dissipate, but he was at least ready to look up at his beautiful wife, the sight of her bringing some relief. She asked nothing of him. Instead she took him into her arms, and so they lay, entwined as his breathing lined up with hers.         “Your heart is racing,” she said with some concern. “I can feel it.” Her hand was on his breast. He removed it and kissed her fingers.          “Don’t worry for me.”         “Darcy,” she said calmly, “I worry for you every second of every day. You are my husband. It is not something that can be dismissed.”         “Neither can my own feelings, sadly,” he said.         “You have lost your good opinion of your aunt forever?”         Her presence and touch must have indeed worked its magic, because he could smile, if a little bit, and most tiredly. “It fell out long ago. Now it has merely been dragged through the mud.” He rested his head on her shoulder. “I cannot say it now. You will get upset, and I am still upset, and it will be a vicious cycle. I must settle first.”         Elizabeth stroked his hair in complete and obvious understanding.   “I will tell you – in time.”         And in time, after a long while of her soothing presence, he did.                                             Chapter 4 – Quenching the Fire         The Darcys took breakfast on their own, expressing their regrets through the servants but making no particular excuse. That they did not quit Rosings altogether that very morning had already been decided the night before. They would stay, and protect the Fitzwilliams.         “She is mad,” Elizabeth said over a very uneasy breakfast in their chambers.         “She is desperate. She has always been stubborn about her opinions, but this is beyond the norm. But, she is older than we remember her.” He reached over and put his hand over hers, reaffirming that together, they would weather this.         “I did wish to call on the Collins’ today,” Elizabeth said. “And perhaps it would be most settling for us before facing Lady Catherine again.”         “I never thought I would think of Mr. Collins as a settling presence, but I agree,” he said. “At least he is predictable.”         They shared a laugh at Mr. Collin’s expense before rising for the day at last and collecting their children. Grégoire was in his monkish habit of rising at three in the morning to begin his day of prayers, so they found him walking the grounds outside, very much awake and totally unaware of what had transpired. Neither of them could bring themselves to burden him with it – at least, not yet. “Brother. Elizabeth.”         “Grégoire,” Darcy said with the best smile he could manage. “We’re to call on the Collins’. Elizabeth is old friends with Mrs. Collins and they have not spoken to each other since our wedding. Would you join us?”         “Of course.”         They called for Nurse, who brought down Geoffrey and Anne, who ran up ahead even though they didn’t know where they were going. Sarah, Elizabeth preferred to carry herself.         The Collins were waiting for them, with the two older daughters running out to greet their visitors. Elizabeth embraced her old friend, while Mr. Collins just bowed. He was always intimidated by Darcy, and was now equally intimidated by his brother, albeit for different reasons. They exchanged more docile pleasantries as all the children were introduced. The Collins family had three daughters (“The old Bennet curse” Darcy whispered to his brother, but could not further explain in their situation). A single family nurse kept watch over the older children, who played in the yard but were warned not to disturb the garden as the adults went inside.         “You don’t have to stay very long,” Elizabeth whispered to her husband before disappearing with Charlotte into her private sitting room with Sarah.         “Please, let me see to some refreshment,” Mr. Collins said, momentarily disappearing and leaving Darcy and Grégoire in the proper sitting room. A sudden agony washed over Darcy’s face, which Grégoire did not miss.         “What is it?”       “This awful room,” Darcy said. “I hoped never to visit it again.” When an explanation was obviously needed, he said, “I proposed to Elizabeth in this room. Right where you stand now, almost precisely.”          Grégoire frowned. “Then should that not bring back pleasant memories?”         “Perhaps I have never told you of our most awkward courtship,” he said. “I proposed to her in the most abominable way possible, insulting the whole of her relations and admitting that I thought the match was unsuitable but I was hopelessly in love. She then rejected me in the most abusive way possible without physical violence.”         “But you were married.”         “Yes. Almost a year later, when I had done everything in my power to convince her that I was not the ogre she thought I was.” He saw some movement in the back. “Please do not mention it in front of Mr. Collins.”              “Of course not,” Grégoire said. “But that is all in the past now.”         “Yes. Though, I am starting to feel as though visiting Kent brings about awful behavior on the part of myself and my aunt.” Unfortunately, Mr. Collins returned, and he could not clarify – for the moment.               ********************************************         The trip had exhausted little Sarah, who was placed in the crib beside Eleanor, only a few months older than she. There, she immediately went to sleep most peacefully. “Perhaps they will be great friends someday.”         “I do hope so,” Charlotte said. “I have missed you, Lizzy.”         “I have, too,” she said as they closed the nursery door and went back into the women’s sitting room, where tea was ready for them. “So much has changed.”         “I must admit most shamefully that there have been times when I thought it a misfortune that you married Mr. Darcy, and we have not seen each other as a result. But that is a fault of Lady Catherine. But – are things beginning to mend between your husband and her ladyship?”         “We thought maybe so, when she finally responded to my pleas for renewing the acquaintance,” Elizabeth said, biting her lip. “But now it seems less likely than ever that we will be seeing much of Lady Catherine.”         “Why ever so? She was not especially out of sorts at dinner. In fact, I think your new brother silenced her quite well.”         Elizabeth looked down nervously at her tea, then back up at her old friend. “Charlotte – will you take the burden of a terrible secret? Though I shan’t think it will be secret for much longer, but it is the reason we were almost inclined to leave at first light.”         “Lizzy,” Charlotte was almost scolding. “You know you can tell me anything.”         She had wanted to tell someone, as it weighed on her throughout their sleepless night. Grégoire was Darcy’s responsibility, and they had decided that they would approach Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam as soon as possible, but in great privacy and when the mood was right. Plus, they had not the least idea of how to go about it. It was such a relief to unburden herself to Charlotte, who was so sweet and unassuming, so ready to weather Lady Catherine’s wild tirades – but even she looked shocked.         “The worst of it is,” Elizabeth said, “how she could propose such an idea with no feelings for her own daughter! Is Anne yet again to be the most unfortunate creature of all of us? Surely Lady Catherine is mad?”         “Lady Catherine is older than you remember her, Lizzy,” Charlotte said, her own form now tense, “in body and mind. When I heard from my husband that Lord ____ was sick – and so soon, after the death of his father! – I knew she would probably be concerned about Rosings. And I worried about Rosings.”         Of course. Mr. Collins was dependent on his patroness or he would be in poverty. Not that he had long before he would inherit Longbourn – but he would not inherit the money to maintain it. Elizabeth chided herself for not realizing the Collins’ precarious situation sooner. How life had surprised them all! “But Rosings will go to Darcy, should Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brother pass away, and my husband could not be less interested in the place. He will lease it to the Colonel – who I suppose will have to buy out of the army – and the Fitzwilliams are one of the loveliest couples I know! You are in no danger, Charlotte. This will all pass. Darcy has already refused to go along with Lady Catherine’s plan, which would never have worked. Colonel Fitzwilliam would never subject his marriage to such a horror.”         “He is a kind man. I was sad to see less of him when he moved Anne to Brighton. But – it must be hard on them. Oh, Lizzy, for Anne to not know the joys of motherhood!”         “It is not impossible. I have cousins who took in the child of a woman who died in childbirth, and they raise him as their own son, and are very happy!”         “Perhaps. Or perhaps they will have children on their own, and all of this will come to naught.”               ********************************************         Darcy was almost relieved when the invitation came calling him to tea at Rosings. Watching Grégoire run circles around Mr. Collins was interesting enough, but it made the man no less odious. For the most part he stared out the window, drinking tea. He suspected there would be very little actual drinking of it at Rosings.         Elizabeth was willing to cut her own visit short, as they had planned to intercept the Fitzwilliams before Lady Catherine did any more damage, and they could not afford to miss this gathering. They said their good-byes and returned to Rosings, first dropping off their children in the nursery.         “Do we have a plan?”         “Yes. You can make polite conversation with my aunt, thereby getting her into a disgusted rage and thoroughly distracting her.” He smiled as his wife gave him a look.          They were early by Darcy’s pocket watch, which he was inspecting as they made it down the grand stairs, but no further. Rushing down the hallway was the figure of Colonel Fitzwilliam. Darcy turned and said amiably, “Rich – “         Which was about as far as got before his cousin punched him in the face.         Colonel Fitzwilliam was a military man, while Darcy was merely a strong man who happened to enjoy fencing (and occasionally socking people when he was drunk enough). There was no contest as Darcy hit the floor behind him, fortunately on a very thick and expensive rug. “How could you?”         “How could I what?” Darcy said as he was helped up by Elizabeth. Grégoire made a move to also go to his brother’s aid, but when Fitzwilliam looked ready to strike him as well, he backed up the stairs a bit.         “Richard!” came a cry from behind them, as Anne ran up from behind, apparently having heard the stir. “What in the world are you doing?”         “Anne,” he said more softly, still huffing from the force of it all, “my apologies. This is between Darcy and myself.”         “Colonel Fitzwilliam!” Elizabeth said as she forced Darcy to uncover his eye. It was red from the contact but did not look damaged. “My husband deserves an answer.”         “I deserve an answer!” Fitzwilliam shouted. She had never seen him like this. “How could you?”         “I can’t possibly imagine what I could have - ,” Darcy said as he got to his feet. “– done – Wait – did Aunt Catherine tell you – “         “So you do know! And you kept it from me!”          “Richard, she told me but late last night and I –”         “You agreed!” Fitzwilliam made another move in Darcy’s direction, but was held back this time by his wife.         “Richard!”         “I did not!” Darcy pleaded, his one eye blinking rapidly. “I would have quit this place altogether, but I stayed to warn you!”         “Bloody well job you did!”         “My apologies,” Grégoire said, stepping between them in a half-bow. “But what are we referring to?”         “Yes, please!” Anne pleaded at Fitzwilliam’s side, but he would not be calmed. At least he was willing to actively stop thrashing his cousin.         “He - ,” he stumbled in his speech. “Darcy, you are telling me you did not agree to this scheme against us?”         “Of course not! Did our aunt tell you that?” Darcy said. “You know she’s delusional! I agreed to no such thing. I told only Elizabeth and we planned to tell you as soon as we saw you, which, I suppose, is now. But I am too late, and I apologize.”         Fitzwilliam huffed, but seemed to calm down enough to look less aggressive, but no less agitated by what he had been told. Darcy and Elizabeth couldn’t blame him, all things considered. But it was Anne who insistently tugged at her husband’s side. “What is it?”         “Sadly, I think this is neither the time nor the – ow – place,” Darcy said as Elizabeth tried to attend to his wound again. “It is just one of your mother’s tirades, sadly.”         “Is that what they are to you, nephew?”         All turned, collectively horrified, at the entrance of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She strutted about as if nothing was amiss, not even Darcy’s red and swollen face. “Well? Why do you all stand about in such a silly manner? Darcy, I must speak with you at once!”         “I’ve no doubt,” Darcy said. “But as I have no desire to speak with you, we are in a conundrum. In fact, I cannot think of a person in this room who, knowing your designs, would wish to have any connection with you!”         But Lady Catherine was not unprepared in her always-ready indignation, tapping her cane on the ground. “Do not suppose to speak that way to me, nephew! Who else have you told? I suppose you’ve told Miss Bennet and that Papist – “         “Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth said, trying to be the calming voice, if no one else would. She skipped over the name-calling entirely. “Please, my husband has told me nothing I did not deserve to know. The person who deserves to know is your own daughter.”         “What is everyone talking about?” Anne screamed, and it was the first time either of the Darcys that knew her could ever recall her raising her voice, much less at her mother. “Mama?”         “Quiet! You are the cause of all of this! If only you could bear children – “         Fitzwilliam stood protectively in front of his terrified wife. “Aunt Catherine, you will end this nonsense – “         “You must have children, Richard! Or our family is doomed! My sister’s side is polluted by wanton behavior on the part of her husband and son. You must take a mistress – “         At which point, Anne fainted. Elizabeth, not feeling so steady herself, ran to her side and caught her, helping her to the stairs. “It is nothing, she is just in a mood – “         “I am not in a mood!” Lady Catherine shouted, her voice piercing – but unsteady. “I am speaking perfectly sensibly for our family – “         “Aunt, cease this!” Fitzwilliam shouted back. “I think everyone in this room but you are in agreement that you are alone in your conception of what makes a proper family! Your advice has never been sensible and we have only endured it because we felt an obligation to do so! But if you are to torture your daughter – my wife – with such ideas, then I will cut off our relations, and you will fend for yourself if and when my brother dies!”         “You wouldn’t –” Lady Catherine said, grasping her chest.         “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.                         Chapter 5 – The Caretaker         Besides Anne’s sobbing, 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? Her heart is failing!” He pointed. “Darcy! There is a willow tree in the back garden. I saw it this morning. Go out and peel off a piece of bark, mash it, put it in hot water, and bring it here!” 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. “Lady Catherine,” he pleaded. “Please listen to me. Take very careful breathes. 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.”         Darcy returned a few minutes later, his hands dirty from his project, with a tea glass of water and a mushy lump at the bottom.         “Give it here,” Grégoire said, and taking the cup from his brother, held it to Lady Catherine’s mouth. “Please, your ladyship, you must drink. For your life, you must drink.” Eventually she was persuaded to open her mouth and swallow the contents of the odd tea, though some of it was spit up and dribbled down her chin, which Grégoire wiped away with his sleeve. “There.” He turned back to Darcy and handed him the cup. “Get more. And mash it better this time.”         “She’s – she just – “         “She’s an old woman and she’s suffering and I don’t care what you think of her, but you will do it! Now, Darcy!” Grégoire said, then went back to ignoring him and checking Lady Catherine’s breathing. A stupefied Darcy ran back out the door.         “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 boney hand clutched Grégoire’s.         “What’s happened?” Elizabeth ventured to ask.         “Her heart is failing her,” Grégoire said, his head bowed in prayer. “It may revive, it may not. Time is crucial.”         Darcy returned with another cup, and again, Grégoire made her ladyship drink, holding her head up so she could do so, and whispering soothing words of encouragement before she finished and collapsed back on the pillow. “More,” he said to Darcy. This time, Darcy did not have to be told twice.         “I failed to mention last night that I am also the assistant in the herbarium,” Grégoire said, apparently anticipating their question. “If this won’t soothe her heart, nothing will.”               ********************************************         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 G-d,” Anne whispered, leaning into her husband. “Thank G-d.”             “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.         “With your permission, Anne,” Darcy said, “I’m going to apply for a second opinion at once; just to be safe.”         “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 G-d 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 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. Darcy dragged Mr. Collins up to Lady Catherine’s bedroom 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.”         About midday, as an exhausted family was sitting down to lunch, Dr. Maddox arrived from Town, and again everything stopped as the situation was explained to him by a chorus of voices. “May I ask who has been monitoring her condition over the last few months?”         “No one,” said Charlotte after a silence. “Though, Mr. Collins and I have been here many times, and her housekeeper I suppose, but she was discharged about a month ago.”         Dr. Maddox looked concerned at this news. “Then I would request your presence, Mrs. Collins.” Everyone rose. “Please, allow me to do my examination.” As usual, the calming, unpretentious voice of the doctor was a relief to them all as Mrs. Collins escorted him up the stairs. “Who treated her yesterday?”         “Her doctor – but first, my brother,” Darcy said. “Grégoire is sleeping now, but I can wake him.”         “Please do,” was Maddox’s last request before disappearing upstairs. It was not long before they all followed, but only the newly-woken and still tired Grégoire was permitted entrance into the bedchamber.         Elizabeth did not have to mouth her concern to her husband, who instinctively put his hand over hers as they waited. The examination was much longer than the previous doctor’s had been, with some muffled talking. Lady Catherine came in and out of consciousness, but no one wanted to strain her heart by forcing her to speak, and she said nothing of relevance. In fact, Fitzwilliam called for some food to be brought up for them as they waited in the hallway. Eventually Mr. Collins was sent out for even more privacy, and at last, Dr. Maddox emerged, still carrying that aura of authority but looking a bit shy in the face of an overeager crowd and many spying servants. “We should go somewhere more private; family only, please. Mr. Collins, you may reenter. Mrs. Collins, Lady Catherine has requested your presence.”         “She has?”         “Yes,” he said, and let her slip in as well before shutting the door behind him. Anne showed them to a study, and the two nephews, daughter, and niece-in-law of Lady Catherine stood as he straightened his glasses and said, “I have spoken with Lady Catherine and with Brother Grégoire about the events of yesterday. While I am fairly sure that the willow bark did save her life, there is still a concern for damage to her heart from the attack.”         “Her doctor made no mention of this,” Darcy said.         “It’s not something we can be sure of, but her heartbeat is slightly irregular, if you time it precisely. That, and I am concerned that she admitted to having had similar, though smaller, episodes of chest pain before.” He continued, “I am to understand that she has been living alone for some time.”         “We’ve – been in Brighton,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said guiltily, cradling his wife, “to be honest, for Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s health. If Aunt Catherine had told us – we would have come immediately.”         “Apparently she was not so inclined,” Dr. Maddox said. “Though she seems to be a bit out of her senses at the moment, the description of her I received from the Collins’ and Brother Grégoire would indicate that she is a woman who would not admit to a weakness very readily, even when necessary for her health.”         “How is she out of her senses?” Elizabeth asked.         “The general procedure after a patient has had a traumatic experience is to question them about dates and identities – things anyone would know. She was able to recall the year, her own name, and all of your names, but she was confused by some of my other questions and called Brother Grégoire ‘Fitzwilliam’ quite a few times.” He continued, “I do not believe there is any mental damage and that she is merely fatigued, but I am very concerned about her heart. If she had similar episodes, she may indeed have damage to it and it would not be unlikely for these attacks to continue, especially in her weakened state. Obviously, extra care must be taken, even when she reaches a point where she is not bedridden, not to allow any stress to her heart. She should not climb stairs and should avoid running or unnecessary traveling. And her current staff is obviously insufficient to her needs.”         “What can we do?” Fitzwilliam begged.         “Sadly, there is no way to repair a damaged heart, if that is indeed the case. However, she should be monitored – preferably by a professional and by ... well, her relatives.”         Darcy picked up on it first. “Be plain, Doctor Maddox.”         Maddox swallowed. “What I am saying is; you may wish to spend as much time with her as possible, for her sake and yours.”         At which point Anne broke out into open sobbing. Darcy approached the doctor and said more quietly, “How long?”         “Maybe a year, two at the most. It depends on her care.”         “There’s nothing you can give her?” Elizabeth said, her own voice wavering. No one seemed particularly thrilled at what he was so clearly implying.         “The willow bark recipe is actually quite old and has some foundation – as does tonic water. She should probably take both daily, and stay away from spicy foods and, as I said, excitement. Beyond that, there is very little I can offer.”         “Her doctor said almost nothing of this,” Darcy said. “Except the tonic water.”         “Then I suspect he merely did not wish to be the bearer of bad news. It is not a particularly rewarding aspect of our profession,” Dr. Maddox said, which seemed a remarkably kind assessment of the other doctor’s treatment and diagnosis. “Beyond that, there’s not much more I can say at this moment.”         “Thank you for coming, Doctor Maddox,” Darcy said. “Obviously there will have to be some changes at Rosings. This just all came about – very suddenly.”         “Yes, I imagine,” Maddox said. “I would say to apply ice to your face, but it’s beyond that point and must heal on its own.” He was referring Darcy’s significantly blackened eye. “I assume your vision is fine?”             “Yes.”         “Good.”         Darcy hesitated before asking in a half-whisper, “There’s no chance she’s lost some of her memory, is there?”       “It will likely return with the rest of her senses,” he said. “So whatever you said to her, you’d best start thinking up an apology while you have the time.” And with that, he bowed and left the family to themselves.               ********************************************         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. “Indefinitely.”         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 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 swinging 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 leggings. “Can I go to Kirkland?”   “No, we are staying here for a bit longer, I’m afraid.”   “Why?”   “Because,” Darcy said, “it must be done.”               ********************************************         As soon as Lady Catherine was recovered enough to start barking orders again – at least from her sickbed – 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 Bavaria.”         “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 an issue with me.”         Because Grégoire only saw the good in everyone, Darcy lamented. One of these days it would have regrettable consequences. Meanwhile, Elizabeth embraced her brother-in-law. “You’ve forgotten your crucifix.” The only thing Grégoire truly owned and didn’t belong to the monastery – besides his ten thousand a year – was the cross purchased in Rome.         “I gave it to Lady Catherine,” he said. “When she no longer desires it, I will return to reclaim it.”         “Is that a promise?”            Grégoire gave his brother a reassuring smile. “Yes. That is a promise.”           Chapter 6 – The Missive from Austria              “Papa! Papa!”         Emily Maddox, nearing three years of age, ran to her father and reached him before his servants did, grasping tightly to his leg. She wasn’t yet big enough to topple him, but reached just above his knees in height, but she held up her arms in a silent indication.         “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. Dr. Maddox was probably out of home far less than most men of wealth, tied as he was to Town by having the Regent as his patient.         “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 Charles,” Caroline said. “Nurse!”         The nurse quickly appeared and escorted two reluctant toddlers to their nursery, leaving the parents alone. “How was Kent?”         “Fine.”         “You can at least tell me whom you treated.”         “Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” he said. “And if you wish to know more, you could write a letter to Mrs. Darcy.”         “Because we’re the very best of friends,” his wife said.         “It was just a suggestion,” he said. “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 in 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 a few hours later, when a messenger arrived that 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 pseudo-monarch 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,” Sir Roberts said, apparently annoyed at 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 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 G-d, they’ve called you.”         “Your Royal Highness,” 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, Doctor Maddox.”         “I am referring to its contents,” 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 as 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 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.”(1) For once, he seemed serious. “He was a great man.”         “He was. Is,” he corrected himself quickly. “G-d save the king.”         “Only G-d 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 Royal Highness.”               ********************************************         The doctor arrived home in the mid afternoon, when the summer 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 greeting 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, glasses removed, crying but trying very hard not to actively sob. Having not seen him cry since his proposal, she ran around the desk and embraced him from behind. “What is it?”         The letter only partially explained itself, as it was obvious where it was from, but not what it contained. Maddox held the German version in his hand, and would not let it go.         “Darling,” she said, kissing him, not asking him for the terrible answer.         When he was recovered enough to speak, Doctor Maddox wiped his eyes and said, “Brian is to be executed – three days from over two months ago.”               ********************************************         The servants could tell well enough that the doctor was not himself. The mistress of the house took charge, ordering up tea and biscuits, and something to settle his stomach from his laboratory, and took him upstairs, where he sat on the chaise by their bed. He sat there numbly, eyes still watery, and she took the time to read the German version herself, over and over again, before joining him on his side, letting him rest his head on her shoulder. “Daniel.”         “I knew – I knew he would – Well, I thought maybe he wouldn’t foul this up somehow. But it doesn’t say – “         “– what he did. No.” The technical wording was, as best as she could tell with her rusty German and the bad translation, ‘crimes against the barony.’ “But it does not say he is dead.”         “The letter is dated months ago!”         “Three days is a long time for a judge to change his mind, or for one of your brother’s famous daring escapes. If he is truly dead, they will have the decency to post, and we will receive it shortly. But until then – “         He picked his head up to look at her skeptically, “Since when are you the romantic? Do you imagine my brother a Rob Roy?”         “I am saying if they bothered to inform you of something that would happen, then they would surely bother you with a confirmation. Frankly, I do not see why they posted at all if not for the intention of a follow-up. So until we have another letter, we have no confirmation.”         “He was so happy,” Maddox said, his voice cracking. “He sounded so happy. I think he truly loved her.”         “And he has never lied to you – well, not recently.” She stood up. “I will write and demand a specification. All you have to do is sign it.”         “But even if it passes the borders – “         “What else can we do? Nothing? When he very well may be alive?”         “You do not believe that.”         “Damnit, Daniel, I am trying to comfort you!” she said before she could control her outburst, and he looked up in surprise. She had yelled at him before, in frustration, but this was different. Not worse, but different. “Please,” she said in a softer voice, “just give it three days, or a bit more, perhaps, with our terrible post system. But give it time.”         That he did. For three miserable days, Daniel Maddox fretted and paced and would not be soothed, but was silent. So silent, it was frightening. He was by nature a quiet man, spending hours in his study or his laboratory to the point where one of the servants had to check on him to see if he was still there, but this was different. He did not attend lectures, he did not see patients, and he played only once with his children, when they were practically forced upon him. Fortunately, the one patient he could not refuse did not call on him during this time. What made it worse was that Caroline knew better than to fill the house with her own talk, which she usually did in place of her husband. They saw no one. As far as she was concerned, they were already in mourning. They might as well have been.         And then, nothing. Another three days passed. Uneasily, the doctor returned to at least a partial schedule at University lectures and his small patient list. But he was home every day in time for the mail, and it was always empty of the only letter he wanted, or did not want at all.         When Caroline could bear it no longer, she went over to her sister’s. Louisa Hurst was a gossip, but not about Brian Maddox. He was never in Town, anyway, so that made it hard for other Londoners to care much about him, except for the ones with which he may have still had some outstanding debts, and those were not in her circles.         When the month ended, they were called to Derbyshire, to celebrate Edmund Bingley’s first birthday. As Caroline read the news of this to her husband, he stood there calmly, lacking expression. He waited until she was done before saying, “I will not be going.”         “Darling, you cannot destroy yourself over this. Look at you.” She touched his face. “Look at your hair. Have you been tearing it out?”         “Maybe,” he said, “old – old childhood habit.”         “I will not let you sit in Town and make yourself sick. If you will not be the doctor, I will.”         “My apologies, Caroline. When I said I will not be going, I did not mean to imply I will be staying in Town,” he said simply. “I have applied for a leave of absence from Charlton. I am going to Austria.”         She was about to ask if he had taken leave of his senses, but that would have been a foolish question, and she despised foolish questions. The answer was that he obviously had. “You cannot.”         “While I have two legs to stand on and am not completely blind, I very well can. Napoleon will have no interest in one traveling Englishman.”         “You – you cannot!” she said more forcefully. “What do you expect to find that will make you happy?”         “Nothing to make me happy, but everything to put my mind at some ease,” he said. The calm in his voice was positively disturbing. “Either I will discover that he has indeed made a great escape, or been pardoned, and is presumably fine, or I will do my brotherly duty and see that Brian Maddox is returned to rest in his homeland, beside my parents, where he should be. Not some barren wasteland in Transylvania!”         “What if I told you I was pregnant?”         He blinked, and unfazed, said, “I would know that you are most likely lying to prevent my leaving. In fact, I can be quite positive, based on your monthly cycle that you are not with child.”             “How dare you!”         “How dare I what? Not be willing to sit idle, forever waiting to hear at the behest of a count of Romany?”         “No! How dare you not pause to recall that this is not before all of Europe was at war, and you cannot go running around without great risk to your own life! While you may be so noble that you are willing to spare it, do I remain significant at all? Does Frederick or Emily?”         This seemed to break through his emotional barrier. Of course he’d thought of it. Of course he had weighed it all and still decided, but that did not mean she would make it easy on him, or not do her best to prevent it. “I – I will not put myself through unnecessary risk. I do not know anyone who would have any issue with me.”         “Issue? How about simple bandits? Or bored soldiers? Or the count himself, who sent us this terrible news in the first place? I do not think he will be happy to see the brother of the man he sent to the chopping block.”         Suddenly, the image of Brian having his head cut off descended on them both, and neither could handle it. Caroline fell into his arms, finally letting him see her own tears. “You cannot leave me.”         “You know I have to.”         “I do love your brother,” she said. “He was always perfectly charming to me, and he did much to redeem himself. But I will never excuse him for taking you from me.”         “You are assuming the worst.”         “And you were not doing the same?” she said. “Come to Kirkland. If no one can knock you back in to your senses there, I will be more amenable to the idea of you going as far as Berlin.”         He paused. “I suppose I could make inquires from Berlin. At least learn if he is alive or dead.” He kissed her hand. “Perhaps we will reach a compromise.”         “After Kirkland.”         He sighed nervously, and then agreed, “After Kirkland.”                   (1) The Regent is probably right. Hair samples show that George III may have died of arsenic poisoning from the medicine he was given by his doctors.                           Chapter 7 – Summer at Kirkland         As the Bingleys celebrated the anniversary of the birth of their second son, they were hosts not only to their relatives but also to the anxieties everyone seemed to bring with them, however unintentionally. Lady Catherine was still bedridden and this was the first time since her illness that the Darcys ventured from Kent. The news from the Continent was bad – Napoleon was moving the largest army in history across Europe to conquer Russia. Grégoire had written from Berlin – that he was desperately needed in his monastery but he would try to stay in communication. Dr. Maddox had no intention of bringing up his own stress, but he was hardly willing (or able) to stop Caroline from alerting every adult, if only to bring them to her side. He sighed and braced himself for the inevitable.         For the moment, there was peace. Elizabeth and Jane sat outside, watching the various children who were old enough to chase each other around. “Goodness,” Jane said. “Someone in this family must stop or we’ll all be insane.”         “I beginning to respect Mama more for raising her five unruly daughters every day,” Elizabeth replied with a smile.         “Lizzy! You were not unruly!”         “I have a very painful recollection involving a broken tree branch and a sprained ankle that tells me otherwise.”         “Oh, I hardly remember that.”         “I do,” Elizabeth said. “I also remember that Papa was forced to replace our tiny tea set.”         “Did I toss a cup first or did Kitty?”         “It is hard to incriminate a most beloved sister,” was Elizabeth’s reply. “But perhaps it was not Kitty.” Jane looked at her and they both burst out laughing.             “Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said. “Must you return to Kent so quickly? I must sound very jealous when I say so.”       “We are not obligated, especially with the Fitzwilliams there,” Elizabeth said, “but we should. Darcy will not forgive himself over the whole event.”         “Has he spoken to Lady Catherine about it?”         “No one is willing to bring up the precise circumstances of her attack unless she is willing, and she has made no mention of them.” Elizabeth looked out, and watched Geoffrey and Georgie toss a ball over young Charles as he desperately tried to intercept it. “She is not her old self yet, for which we all feel grateful, and then we all feel a great guilt for feeling so. It is a vicious cycle. Who knew, by slowly dying, she could turn the tables on all of us?”         Jane put her hand over her sister’s in silent understanding.               ********************************************         “I am as though I am out of practice.”         “You are not.”         Bingley and Darcy were a good distance away from the grounds for their shooting. They had discovered shortly after Bingley purchased Kirkland that there was a nice area for spotting birds between their two houses, and would often meet there during the hunting season. Bingley was mistaken; he was not at all less of a huntsman than he had been, but Darcy was himself not doing so well, distracted as he was. He would not admit to the weakness and Bingley, if he noticed it, would say nothing. It was a long-established tradition; that was why they were good friends.         This time they had implored Dr. Maddox to come, saying that he looked like he desperately needed the fresh air (which he did), but he refused and they were not surprised. The physician had never been inclined to a sport that involved killing things, or even watching it. He did promise to take a walk. His general countenance was indeed affected by the situation with is brother, as explained to them almost immediately by his wife. Charles expressed his sympathy and Darcy silently gave his with a nod, but neither man had agreed to her plan to dissuade him from traveling to the Continent – yet.         “I see something moving, in the woods.”         “If it is a stray child, do try not to hit it.”         Bingley squinted, “Too large.”         “Dr. Maddox? Elizabeth?”         “Too small. Look, there.”         Darcy turned his eyes to the edge of the woods, where there was indeed something moving about, but was not recognizably a deer, “A wolf?”         “It wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve seen a lot of them about recently, but they’ve never ventured to the herds that anyone knows of.”         “Something to watch over, especially when people come in for the hunt,” Darcy said. “I’ll alert my huntsman.”         “Are you intending to stay long in Pemberley or return immediately to Kent?”         “That is the question,” Darcy said quietly, sitting down on a fallen log.         Bingley put his gun down and took a good look at his brother-in-law. “I am sorry for Lady Catherine,” he said. “It is all so ill-timed.”         “Yes.”         “The earl is ill, your aunt is ill, Dr. Maddox’s brother is missing, and Grégoire is in – what is the name of that town?”         “Munich,” Darcy said.         “Grégoire is in Munich –”         Darcy swallowed and said, “Grégoire is not in Munich.” He said it very stoically, but as they always did, his eyes betrayed him.         At last, they had come to the point. “Where is he?”         “I don’t know,” Darcy said. “All I have is a news report which said the monasteries in that area were all dissolved.”         “You can’t trust our papers; you know that.”         “I do. So I wrote to Berlin for a confirmation, and received it. St. Paul’s is no more.”         Bingley absorbed this information quickly, “And the monks?”         “Some of them have gone to Austria. Some have gone to Spain. Many have walked out of the convent. But there is no accounting of them.” Darcy was still stone-faced, but unconsciously played with his hands. “Before he left, Grégoire agreed to write to Berlin and have the message safely forwarded from there if something was amiss. If something went wrong, he was to return to Berlin and write me from there.” He paused. “By all calculations, he should have already been there by now.”         “Walking?”         “He promised he would not walk. The roads are not safe.”         Bingley frowned. At last he brought himself to say, “He will turn up.”         Darcy said nothing.               ********************************************         In the afternoon, they celebrated Edmund, who sat on his mother’s lap and watched the proceedings with no comprehension whatsoever. The children did manage to be herded in without too much trouble. Only Georgie complained about the ribbons in her hair itching and Frederick seemed sullen in his jealousy, but everyone else was managed well enough before being dismissed so the birthday boy could have a nap and the adults could prepare for dinner. Dinner itself was a not a terribly long affair, and the only missing relatives that were mentioned were the Bennets. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were getting a bit old to travel, and did not come up to Derbyshire for every birthday and holiday, or they would be forever in transit, and the Townsends were newlyweds.                   Shortly afterwards the men and women separated, as various children had to be put to bed. The port was served in the library; only Darcy didn’t partake. It did seem to him a bit odd to be in Bingley’s presence after a family meal without having to speak over Mr. Hurst’s drunken snoring, but the Hursts were in their summer house in the south.          “I am, if you would, in need of some advice,” Bingley said rather calmly. Finally, no grave matter to be discussed. “Financial advice.”         “Marry well and get a royal commission,” Dr. Maddox said, mainly because he liked port. “I’m sorry, but that is all I can offer.”         “Buy land,” Darcy said.         “That is not the answer to every investment question!”       “It’s not as if there’s going to be more of it,” Maddox pointed out.         “Do not get on his side!” Bingley said. “No, this is not related to land.”         “Then out with it,” Darcy said. “We could use the distraction.”         “Thank you.” Bingley took another swig of his drink. “Part of my inheritance, completely separate from my personal worth, was a few remaining shares in my father’s company in the textile trade. He sold most of it off shortly before his death, when it was worth considerably more than it is now, but he maintained a few shares – I suppose, for sentimental value. Now they are practically worthless with the embargo. In fact, I calculated that I could regain a controlling interest in the company for less than four hundred pounds.”         Darcy was skeptical. “And your purpose in doing so would be?”         “Obviously, if the company became profitable again after the war, the shares would then be worth a great deal of money,” Maddox said, and got two looks. “What? I did take economics at Cambridge.”         “The problem,” Darcy said, “is that if the company goes completely bankrupt before the end of the embargo – and we have no idea when that will be – then its assets will be liquidated and you will be out four hundred pounds. More to the point, if you become the owner of the company, you will have significant responsibilities to keep it afloat or you will be firing workers and selling warehouses – and workers do not care for losing jobs. It is the same as having tenants, only far more dangerous. You will have to employ a very competent man to run the company, and the expenses will pile up.”         “True,” Bingley said, “but nothing beyond my ability to handle.”         “If you are so sure,” Darcy said, playing with the fire.         Breaking the silence of Bingley’s enthusiasm and Darcy’s disapproval, Dr. Maddox said quietly, “Perhaps you should ask Mrs. Bingley.”         Both men stared at him.         “I don’t presume that she would look over the account ledgers,” he said, “but certainly, this venture would send you to Town more often than she accustomed to. So it would be a concern for her.”         “This is true,” Darcy said, knowing Jane would be a cool head.         Fortunately Bingley didn’t have to answer, because a servant entered and approached him, whispering in his ear. “Excuse me for a moment. My children are being put to bed.”         Maddox raised a glass to him as he bowed to his guests and left. He noted Darcy’s scowl. “Come now. We can’t all be idle gentlemen. I would go mad if I had nothing to do all day.”         “I would hardly qualify owning land and having tenants as having ‘nothing to do,’” Darcy said. “But that is neither here nor there, I suppose.”         “Yes.”         Darcy sighed, paced for a bit, and then seemed to change his composure. “Doctor,” he said, taking a seat by the fireplace, looking very uncomfortable. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother. It seems everyone is getting bad news from overseas these days.”         “It does,” Maddox said sad but still a bit put off. He’d never spoken much alone with Darcy. They liked each other well enough, but they lived apart, and most of their conversations were related to someone’s medical condition. And there was the matter that their wives were not the best of friends.         Darcy hesitated before speaking. “I assume you’re to Austria, then.”         “I think it necessary.” Maddox swallowed. “If Brian was ... alive and still in Romany, I would have heard from him by now. If he left and intended to travel to England, he would be here by now.”         “He may be in the Russias, or, with the Turks.”         “Serious possibilities, yes. I don’t intend to travel the world. If he’s off hiding somewhere, that will satisfy me for the present. But I assume I can at least affirm whether he’s dead or alive by visiting the Continent. I will try to make contact with the count from Berlin.”         “It will be very dangerous. Mrs. Maddox opposes it.”         He squirmed. “She does.”         Darcy said nothing, looking into the fire. The doctor didn’t push him, nursing his port until Darcy finally spoke, “My brother is ... also out of contact.”         “You’ve not heard from him? The post is very bad.”         “I’ve not heard from him, but I’ve heard that his monastery is dissolved and that the town surrounding it had been overrun with French troops.”         Maddox tried to hide his alarm. “When was this?”         “A few weeks ago. I confirmed it as not being total nonsense with a man I know in Normandy, as we’re still getting letters from there, but I haven’t heard from Grégoire.”         “Would he have gone back to his old monastery?”         “Dissolved a year ago; also by General Bonaparte. Grégoire told me of it this summer. It seems the general is determined to lay waste to organized religion and replace it with the new French rationalism. Which, normally, I would not be so opposed to – if I knew where my brother was right now.”         “I understand.”         “I imagine you are the only man in this house who truly does,” Darcy said. “There was a bit in the paper about a massacre. Elizabeth assures me it’s just propagandist nonsense – “         “They are trying to recruit for a war.”         “– but I can’t get it out of my head. Surely you understand?” He looked up at Maddox, who saw at once the desperation in his eyes. How he kept his anxiety quiet, the doctor had no idea. Daniel Maddox was unable to keep any strong emotion, especially worry, from showing.         “Bavaria is on the way to Austria.”         “I can’t ask that of you,” Darcy said. “My proposal is to accompany you to Berlin and then split our trails.”         “And your wife approves of this proposal?”         “Absolutely not.”         Maddox nodded. “Then at least Caroline will have some company in that.”         “So you are decided?”         “Yes. You?”         “I have to ... further discuss it with my wife,” Darcy said. “And see my aunt again in Kent.” He got up, pacing around behind his chair. “Do you know how to use a pistol?”         “What? No. Of course not.”         “Then you had better learn,” Darcy said before bowing and taking his leave.               ********************************************         “You want to WHAT?”         When Darcy said he had to “further” discuss his plans with his wife, he was being a bit liberal in his explanation. He had put off his idea as long as possible, but now that the doctor was so set on going to the Continent ... “I will probably find him in Berlin, or a trace of him.”         Elizabeth Darcy hugged her bed robe around her, as if the idea gave her chills despite the summer heat. “We saw your brother a month ago!”         “When he was here, yes. But now we have every reason to believe he is in danger.” He had told her of the news from Germany, but nothing of his plan to do something about it. He knelt on the bed, almost pleading with her.         “If someone must go to find Grégoire,” she said, “then let it be your steward. Or Dr. Maddox, who will already be in Berlin! Which he does against the insistence of his wife and family!”         “I cannot ask that of him. He has enough on his mind with a brother who has probably been dead for months,” Darcy said. “I do not want to be in his position.”             “You are not in his position. As much as I respect Mr. Maddox as a distant relation, we all know the man cannot be compared to your brother in terms of having any common sense! Grégoire can take care of himself!”         “We don’t know that!”         “We do! You just refuse to believe it!”       “Elizabeth, I have already lost one brother to my own incompetence. I cannot lose another!”         It had been louder than he intended, even though Elizabeth had been making no attempt to keep her voice down. They were in their chambers in Pemberley and they were not to be disturbed. Still, it was strange, especially with the silence that followed, as his words hung down over them like an ominously dark cloud.         Elizabeth joined him on the bed, instantly embracing him, and he did not shy away, his head slumping on her shoulder. “It was not your fault,” she whispered.         “I know.”         “But you don’t believe,” she said, separating enough to see the anguish on his face, usually so disguised. “You cannot put yourself in danger for the ghost of George Wickham.”         “This is about Grégoire,” he said. “I would not put myself in danger for Wickham, ghost or no. But I cannot bear to stand by while he is missing.”         They didn’t even discuss her coming with him. With three children, one of whom was an infant, it wasn’t an option.         “You understand,” he said gently, “why I must do this.”         She did not want to admit it. “What if he appears at our doorstep while you are in Prussia?”         “He has a post box in Berlin. I will check it every day. And I will write you if I intend to leave the city at all.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I will not put myself in unnecessary danger.”         “And your aunt?”         He smiled. “I will not put Aunt Catherine in any unnecessary danger, either.” He let her swat him. “In fact, I think I will be putting her out of danger by leaving the country.”         “You know what I meant.”         “I will visit her,” he said. “I know her time is short. But considering all that Grégoire has done for her, she may well give me her blessing.”         “And mine matters not?”         “Yours determines whether I go or stay.”         Elizabeth bit her lip. “On one condition.”         “Anything.”         “You give me a proper good-bye.”         Darcy smiled and kissed her. “Most duly granted.”                                         Chapter 8 – Departure         When Dr. Maddox opened the suitcase readied for him, he nearly screamed as his daughter popped out of her hiding spot, “Papa!”         “Emily!” he said, staggering back. “You scared me half to death.” But she continued smiling serenely at him. “I suppose it was very cute. But a suitcase is not a good place for a child.”         When he tried to lift her out, she grabbed on to the handle. “No! I want to go with you!”         “Darling,” he said, turning her around in his arms so she was facing him and not the suitcase, “you would not want to come on this trip. It’s going to be very long and boring and you certainly wouldn’t want to spend it in a smelly suitcase, would you?” He kissed her on the cheek and set her down. In coloring and hair she resembled her mother, and he often wondered if she was similar to what her mother had been when she was a child. Given Bingley’s stories, it did not seem out of the realm of possibility. “Where is your nurse, anyway? I’m quite sure we employ one.”         Her response was to lift her hands that she wanted to be picked up again. He sighed and put her on the bed, which was too high for her to climb onto herself. “Now what – oh, of course, stay there.” He hurried down the steps and into the library. He had already picked out his German dictionary, but it was still on the table. When he returned, Emily was back in the suitcase. “What did I say?”         “I was cute!”         He rolled his eyes. “You have until three to climb out of there or I will call for Nurse. One -”         “No!”         “Two.”         “Papa!”         “I’m being serious! Three –”         She reached for the book, but was not successful at taking it from his hands. “Read to me!”         “This isn’t a story book. It’s a dictionary.”         “What’s a dictionary?”         “A book of words. Now, what did I say? I said I was going to call for Nurse and I will – “         “Please! Papa!” She tugged on his vest. “Read to me!”         “I’m supposed to be packing -”         “Read to me!”         “Your mother can do it –”         “Mama reads to me all the time! I want you to do it!”         He sighed. “You’re as demanding as your mother sometimes, you know that?” Looking around to see that the coast was clear after saying that, he sifted through the pile of books on his bed stand and picked one out, sitting down next to her. She wouldn’t understand much of the story, but she had never complained about it before. “Your mother gave me this book, before we were married. It’s very special.” He cleared his throat and began to read, “’When in April the sweet showers fall, that pierce March's drought to the root and all and bathed every vein in liquor that has power to generate therein and sire the flower...’” (1)         Caroline found him briefly after Emily fell asleep. It was time for her nap anyway, so they quietly called for Nurse and their daughter was carried off.         “You’re supposed to be packing,” Caroline said, “since you insisted on doing it yourself.”         “I know, but she made a very convincing argument for a story,” he said, putting the book back on the dresser.               “And it was - ?”         “That I can’t say no to a redhead who appreciates good literature.”                   ********************************************         Darcy assured Elizabeth, “I’ll be back before you realize I’m gone.” They embraced on the docks, where the boat was waiting to take them to the Continent. He kissed her. “I promise.”         “Don’t make promises you might not keep,” she said nervously, leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder. She usually did not force Darcy into public displays such as this one, but the situation demanded an exception.         Darcy had wrapped up his business painfully quick, visiting Kent to wish Lady Catherine well. She seemed, for the moment, to be recovering (“I refuse to die and leave Rosings in the hands of Miss Elizabeth!”) but made no mention of anything else disconcerting. He finished his business with his steward, had Mrs. Reynolds close up Pemberley, and did some paperwork in Town while Dr. Maddox did the same, making sure his will was up-to-date. The doctor was granted his leave from the royal service, with pay, so Caroline would want for nothing.         “I don’t know why His Highness is so nice to me,” Maddox said to his wife with a nervous smile as his trunk was loaded onto the ship. “All I do is yell at him.”         “I’m sure you do it very politely,” she said. He had already said good-bye to the children back at their house, and came alone.         The Darcys had brought the two of their children who were old enough to walk and understand that their father was going somewhere, while Sarah was back at the townhouse. Darcy took Anne in his arms and kissed her before passing her into Elizabeth’s care. He looked down at Geoffrey, who did seem pleased with the prospect but was now too old and mature to grab his father’s leg anymore.         Looking to comfort his son, Darcy thought for a moment, then pulled off his signet ring and put it in Geoffrey’s hand, crossing his tiny fingers over it. “Take this. This was your grandfather’s, the first Geoffrey Darcy.”         Geoffrey tried it on. “It’s too big for me.”         His father took the ring and put it on Geoffrey’s thumb, which was about large enough for the pinky ring. “There you go. Now you can play with it all you want when you get nervous and think of me. You may have it until I return, because sometimes your father gets nervous too.” He patted him on the head and whispered. “Take care of your mother.”         “When are you coming back?”         “Very soon. As soon as I locate your uncle.”         He stood up, and Caroline approached him. “I will make one final attempt to talk some sense into you.”         “Dr. Maddox is going, and he has the most good-sense. So if he will not be persuaded, neither shall I.”         “He has a point,” Dr. Maddox said.         “And he’s the most stubborn man in England,” Elizabeth added, “unfortunately.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Hurry back.” She added more tearfully, “Please.”         “I will,” he said, and stepped on the boat.         “And if one of you is going to be shot at for some reason,” Caroline said, “make sure it’s Darcy.”         Elizabeth gave her a glare.         Caroline Maddox huffed. “Because he’s the doctor, obviously, he can’t operate on himself.”         “I’ll keep in mind to jump in front of him,” Darcy said, “just for that purpose.”               ********************************************         Taking the sea route and a boat to Hamburg, it was a painfully short trip for Darcy. It was so jarring for him, more than he wanted to admit, to be only at sea a few days and then suddenly be in a foreign country with a language he didn’t begin to understand and mountains higher than anything he’d ever seen in France. He’d toured the Continent after Cambridge, but did not go to Prussia. He chided himself for thinking ill of what could be a very short trip. Once he was on Prussian soil, he could write to Munich and inquire after Grégoire fairly easy. But he did not appreciate the trip. He was anxious in a way he couldn’t describe. He said little to Maddox and Maddox took this as a general incentive to leave him much alone.         They arrived in Berlin tired and mangy from their trip, beyond what a good hotel and a night’s sleep could fix. Maddox described Berlin as “more cosmopolitan” than he remembered, because the general chaos brought a mix of people. French soldiers, Prussian soldiers, refugees, gypsies, and émigrés – everyone seemed to be attempting to disappear into the city. That suited both of them just fine – Dr. Maddox’s German was relatively good and there were enough Englishmen about that they did not feel as though they were under any suspicion by the Prussians or the French.         The first morning, Darcy wrote to his wife, assuring her that they had arrived safely and had no plans to leave the area (yet). They were far enough from France that he could hire a courier to make sure it got to England, if at an extravagant price. The doctor, meanwhile, read every paper that was in a language he could understand, looking for any news from Bavaria or from southern Austria.         “It’s all about the war,” he said, rubbing his eyes with frustration. “Napoleon really is invading the Russias.”         “He’s a fool to do so.”         “How can we know? Neither of us are generals,” Dr. Maddox pointed out as they finished their coffee (which was, admittedly, exceptionally good) and went to the post office. Darcy had the spare key to Grégoire’s box. “Number 132 – number 132 – Damnit, where is – Oh. Finally.”         It was hardly empty. Its contents were recognizable as his own letters that he had sent in the last month, still sealed with wax; besides that, nothing. He closed the box without taking any of the letters. “He hasn’t been here. I will have to write to Munich.”         They quickly discovered there was a board near the market square where families were posting, looking for their loved ones in all languages. They decided to read its contents every day, but nothing looked familiar. Both trails were cold.         “Brian is a prince!” the doctor said anxiously. “Someone must know of him, or at the very least, his family.” He purchased a Romanian dictionary and stood there for hours, trying to read the notes in that language.         Other than that, their days were frustratingly idle while Darcy waited for the post and Maddox tried to locate someone who was from southern Austria while still being as discreet as possible. There were many things to do in the city while they waited, but neither of them had an interest in tourism. Sometimes they sat in coffee shops instead of the hotel just for the change of atmosphere, but every day it was the same: checking the boards, checking the papers, checking the post, then, nothing.         “My Romanian is getting better,” Dr. Maddox said. “It is very similar to Latin and Italian.”         Darcy did not attempt to answer. His black mood would not be lifted.         On the fifth day, Darcy wrote to Elizabeth again. No progress, but will continue. We are safe. That was hardly the whole of the letter – he had plenty of time to write it – but those were the key points. We would wait so long to hear news from Munich, and then contemplate going there. It was not so far away. It would not be impossible.         It was not an hour after he sent the letter that Dr. Maddox returned from lunch very enthusiastically. “I met someone in the shop. A German, but he goes back and forth to Brian’s region all the time for business.”         Darcy was relieved – at least one of them was making progress. “And he can get information? How quickly?”         “Very quickly; a week, tops, to learn at least something. His name is Herr Gauss.”         Darcy had enough sense about him to ask, “Did you tell him who you were?”         “Not precisely, no. I didn’t give him my name or my relationship to Brian.”         “Good,” Darcy said, and returned to the only English newspaper he had been able to locate, even though it was weeks old. It would pass the time.         The next day was Sunday, and they went to church. They had little idea of the denomination (some form of Protestant) and no real concept of the service, but Darcy never missed church, and it reminded him of his brother. He took dinner in the hotel room and composed a letter to Elizabeth, to be mailed the next day. He was readying the wax to seal it when there was a knock on the door.         He sighed, set aside his wax, and shouted, “Coming!” as he re-buttoned his waistcoat. He opened to door to an unfamiliar face. “Hello?”         “Ich bin schauen als Arzt Rasend machen,” the man said. “Doktor Maddox.”         “Doctor!” Darcy shouted, and Maddox emerged from the next room.         “What? Oh, hello, Herr Gauss.”         The apparent ‘Herr Gauss’ stepped into the room unbidden. Apparently in Prussia, saying one’s name was enough of an invitation. Darcy was pondering that when a very tall man in a dark coat hit him in the head with the back of his rifle, dropping him to the floor as he and another man stepped into the room and aimed his rifle at Maddox. There was shouting in German, none of which Darcy understood. Maddox, terrified, raised his hands and countered, pointing to Darcy and saying his name. Darcy tried to get to his feet, but he got no further when Herr Gauss knelt beside him and jammed a needle into his neck. “Guten Nacht, Herr Darcy.” The needle stung but he withdrew and left him alone. The argument continued in German between Maddox, now in full panic mode, and Gauss and his men.         Darcy attempted, one last time, to get to his knees. Being upright made him intensely dizzy, and he failed, toppling over on the rug as the room went dark.               ********************************************         Waking was like it was from drink – slow and hazy, except without the pounding in his head. Instead there was an infernal rocking up and down beneath him. He reached out blindly for something to grab to pull himself into a sitting position, but found nothing but a metal wall and had to use his hands. Opening his eyes, Darcy found his hands shackled together in front of him. Stupefied, he let his eyes focus on the figure across from him. Opposite him in their small metal room was Dr. Maddox, very much awake but in a similar predicament. His expression was of calm exhaustion.         They were moving Darcy was sure of it. The only light was from the barred windows, small and high up, so he had to pull himself up to them and look out. He saw nothing but unfamiliar wilderness.         “I was wondering when you would wake.”         Darcy pulled himself back from panic, settling down on the floor of what was obviously some kind of primitive prisoner transport. “Where are we?”         “I’ve no idea. But, I will take a wild guess and assume we are on the road to Austria.” There were circles under his eyes. “I apologize for getting you involved in this, Mr. Darcy. I told them you had nothing to do with my brother, but they would not listen. I offered to go quietly. They would not listen to that, either.” He had the bruises on his face to prove it. “I would try to build a compass, but we are in a cage of metal, so it would be useless.”         “How long have you been awake?”         “Not much longer than you, a few hours.”         They settled into a fatigued silence. Darcy was still overcoming the effects of the drug, and the mode of transport was not comfortable by anyone’s standards, especially since they seemed to be going at a high speed. There were only two blankets to sit upon and some supplies so they would not expire on their journey.         “So,” Darcy said, “your brother must be alive, then.”         “I do suspect so. But he is not in Austria.”         “He escaped, then?”         Maddox shrugged helplessly.         They had much time to take in their situation. The road was unceasing. The horses stopped only to be changed, and it was then that the door was opened and the bucket emptied and food and water put in, but the guard did not seem to understand a word they said, or interested in listening to them. They traveled day and night, and saw more mountains than either of them cared to see. At first the wagon that held their cage was too jarring to allow them to sleep, but after several days they both reached a point of exhaustion where their bodies overcame the distraction. Darcy carefully ticked off the days by scratching one of his metal cuffs into the wall to mark it. On what was the tenth day since they woke from a drugged slumber, the carriage finally came to a stop and two exhausted, hairy, and dirty Englishmen were pulled out, dragged along the dirt road, and dropped abruptly on the ground.         “A lua pe ei sus!”         They had no idea who had said it or what was said, but the intention became clear enough, as they were both pulled up – rather painfully – by their hair so that they were kneeling before the crowd of several men, many of them armed. The man who had called himself Herr Gauss was there, beside a heavily-bearded man in a fur-tripped overcoat and a gold chain around his neck.         “Cine eşti aceştia bărbaţi?” he said to Herr Gauss. (Who are these men?)         “A trata Maddox şi lui văr domnule Darcy, Ţară Vladimir.”         The man – obviously a baron or a count, or some kind of royalty – grabbed Dr. Maddox and lifted him up by his bangs, which elicited a scream of pain before he was dropped down again. “Patetic.” He backed away and said clearly in French, “Tellement, vous êtes Ronce respective.” (So, you are Brian’s relatives)            “Oui,” Maddox said. Darcy understood more French than he spoke and could at least listen with some understanding. “S'il vous plaît, Je cherche lui.” (Yes. Please, I am looking for him)         “Se que une coincidence. Tellement suis Moi,” said the count, “Nous devoir quote-part notre informative.” (What a coincidence. So am I. We must share our information)         “S'il vous plaît, croire myself! Nous don't savons où il est!” Maddox pleaded. “Je faisais pas égal savons il était vivant précédemment ça procès-verbal.” (Please, believe me! We don't know where he is! I didn't even know he was alive before this moment)              The count huffed, “Nous verrons.” (We shall see) He barked some orders to his guards which were probably in Romanian, and stomped off with some ceremony.         “Doctor –” was all Darcy managed to say before he was pulled off in another direction. The terrible thought that he might never see him again went through him like a cold shiver as he was brought to his feet and made to stumble around in the castle. It wasn’t like the rebuilt castles of Scotland, largely manor houses. This was an ancient place of stone and torches, and winding staircases with no windows. “Look, I don’t even speak your language, how can I –” But he was just rewarded with a smack on the back of his head and more Romanian words. Finally they brought him to a room with only two chairs, one off to the side and the other in the center. It was wooden and had metal clamps on it. They freed him from his shackles and locked him into the chair.         They then left him, taking the light with them. They left only the single candle burning down on the wooden table, the only other furniture in the room. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Darcy took in his surroundings, but there was little to take in. Four empty walls, a wooden door, and a candle. The flickering of it was hypnotic in a way, and his eyes constantly fell to the wick, watching it burn and the wax drip down.         Despite his position, he did not realize he had managed to fall asleep until icy water hit him in the face, thoroughly waking him up. He tried to wipe it from his eyes but found his arms unmovable. His predicament came back to him very quickly.         “Gutenmorgen, Herr Darcy.”             (1) Chaucer’s Introduction to the Canterbury Tales. Caroline gave Daniel the book in the missing scene at the end of “The Question of Consent.”                                   Chapter 9A - In the Abyss         “Once again, I must remind you that I don’t speak German,” Darcy said, raising his head to the inquisitor. It was Herr Gauss again.         “Vous parlez François?” (“Do you speak French?”)         “Un petit,” (“A small”) he replied, his voice hoarse from thirst. “Please, very little.”         “Evidentement vous ne le parle pas,” (“Obviously you do not speak it.”) said Gauss, who took a very careful seat on the stool that had been brought for him. “We will have to work in English, then, no?” But it sounded more like ‘Ve vill haf to vork...’ with his thick accent. “Excuse my accent. We should be acquainted properly now. I am Herr Konrad Trommler.”         “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Darcy replied out of habit. “Look, I don’t know why I’m here - perhaps you have your intelligence mixed up, or something, because I’ve not come to look for Brian Maddox, I’m looking for my brother, who is totally unrelated and not in Austria at all -”         “Have you ever heard of Dracula?”         “What?” Darcy said. “No, I have not.”         “His name means son of Dracu - His father was a member of the order of the Dragon. He lived, they say, three centuries ago in Wallachia - right next to us. His real name was Vlad the Impaler. Do you wish to know why he was called that?”         “No.”         Trommler smiled. “I think it would actually be worse to leave it to your imagination. Reconsider, Herr Darcy.”         “I will not.” The circumstances were extreme, but he would not give in to this man’s fright tactics. “I suppose you’re going to try to intimidate me by telling me the count is his descendent.”         “You are familiar with inquisition, Herr Darcy?”         “No. I am a gentleman.”         “My opinion on English gentlemen is not very good,” said Trommler, “having observed one for over a year.”         “Brian Maddox is no gentleman.”         “Then, you are aware of his habits?”       “I know him. I am related to him by marriage, yes. I have spent time with him, yes. But I’ve not seen or heard from him in years.” He could talk, if that was all they were going to do. “If you think either of us knows his whereabouts, or even if he is still alive, then you are mistaken again.”         “So der doktor said,” Trommler told him, “before he passed out.”         Darcy swallowed.         “But enough about Doktor Maddox. Your brother is German?”         “French,” he said, not easily. It was harder and harder to keep up the presentation that he was calm. “Half-brother. He was born in France. Now he lives in Bavaria.”         “Half? How many bastard children did your father have? Or perhaps your mother was a whore?”         He tried, very hard, to break free of his restraints. They were iron, so it was useless, but it was his body’s natural response. “She was not a whore!”       “Herr Darcy, it was a simple question.”         “Calling one’s mother a whore is not a simple question!” He was being provoked, and he knew it, but he didn’t care. He thrashed against his cuffs until it hurt.         “Herr Darcy, you had better calm down,” said Trommler, in an almost concerned voice. “You are only hurting yourself. See?” He stood up and indicated Darcy’s wrist, which was bleeding where iron met skin.         He did not want to admit that his inquisitor was right, but Darcy did take a moment to close his eyes and breathe. “It was my father who was unfaithful. For your records,” he said. “Are you satisfied?”         “We have a long way to go before we come to that,” Trommler said, taking his seat again. “Now, your brother, why did he come to Bavaria? To take in the sights?”         “He is a monk,” Darcy said. “His name is Grégoire. He was living in France, but his monastery was dissolved. So now he is in some town called Munich, or was. We lost contact with him.”         “And you came to look for him? You were close?”         “Yes,” he said, not particularly liking the idea of were.         “Does your mother approve of this?”         “My parents are dead,” He added, “Herr Trommler.”         “The monasteries have been dissolved by General Bonaparte. You have heard this.”         “Yes.” He was tired. He was losing whatever game they were playing. “I heard it was dissolved and I didn’t hear from him so I came to look for him. I have nothing to do with any of this nonsense with Mr. Maddox. The doctor and I were to part ways in Berlin. We were only traveling together because I don’t know German and I’ve not yet hired a translator. Neither of us has the information you want, so you can torture us all you like, but you will get nothing.” He continued, “I am a very rich man in England. My family would pay anything -”       “The treasure he stole was not just from the accounts. It was a treasure beyond rubies to His Grace,” Trommler informed him. “He stole his daughter.”         “I believe she was Mr. Maddox’s wife.”         “I was at the wedding, yes. And at the celebration afterwards, where I saw the red sheet. I knew their every movement, their every congress, their every conversation. It was my job and I took pride in it.”         “You were a spy,” Darcy said. “Did Brian even know you spoke English?”         “Of course not,” Trommler paced, temporarily blinding him with darkness and light as he stepped in front of and then away from the lantern of the guard. “I also read his lovely letters to his dear brother Danny. They had a somewhat - awkward history, did they not?”         “They did.”         “He wrote him excessively and yet left out so many things that one might have wanted a loved one to know. That the princess could not conceive. That his own life was threatened if she was not with child after their first anniversary.  That his father-in-law had no problems with putting his new son’s head on a spike to remarry his only daughter. That he was planning to make off with her and half the treasury.”         “I don’t know,” Darcy confessed. “I didn’t read his letters. All I know is what Doctor Maddox told me, which was that everything was fine. And Doctor Maddox does not lie.”         “His brother is very different, then.”         “They are like night and day.”         Trommler frowned. Another trick? “The problem with your hand is greater than I presumed.”         “What?” Darcy instinctively turned his focus to his right hand, which was curled nervously around the edge of the chair, especially so because the wrist was clamped down. Now he noticed that it seemed to be wet, because something was dripping down from the chair and onto the floor, which was too dark for him to see. Yes, he was soaked with sweat, but nothing like this.         “I pierced it five minutes ago, when I inspected your hand,” Trommler said. “While I do consider myself rather quick with the knife, you should at least be feeling some pain now. Are you dizzy, Herr Darcy? You’ve been bleeding for some time.”         Upon closer inspection - as close as he could get without moving most of his upper body - he noticed that there was a puncture wound in the middle of his scar from the gunshot, where all of the nerves had been damaged. And the dripping was not water; it was darker, and though it was hard to tell, it could only be blood. He felt queasy, and a bit dizzy, but it might have gone on for some time before he noticed it. “I - I’ve lost nerves there. It’s numb.”         “So I gathered. Mr. Maddox, also, had nerve damage though quite a bit more. He said he was stabbed by a companion.”         “He was. Lord Kincaid.”         “You knew him?”         “I was there.” He did not look at Trommler now, transfixed by the sight of his own blood dripping out, having soaked the end of the arm of the chair. How had he missed that? “It’s a long story and it has no relevance to any of this conversation. Can we please move on?”             “Is it very hard to write with it?”         “Stop it!” he shouted, but it came out weaker than he intended. “I don’t want to make small talk with you. You must be stupid to not have figured out that I don’t know anything about what Brian Maddox has done since he went missing or where he might be! There is no reason to press the point. What do you want? Do you want money? Do you want me to make up a lie under torture? Brian’s ridden to the moon for all I know! And if he were right here, I would strike him for all the trouble he’s caused! Now please tell me what I have to say for you to patch me and let me go!”         Trommler luxuriously took his time with his answer. “His Grace, the count lacks an understanding of subtlety. He will assume that unless you had been put in some peril, you would hold back. But you have nothing for me and nothing that will satisfy him. So we all have to play our little games while we wait for the bigger prize.” He rose, carrying with him a black chest, which he set on Darcy’s lap and unlocked the first cuff that held down his wrist. “There is one more thing I require of you, Herr Darcy. You have been astoundingly polite considering the thread from which your life hangs, so I will apologize for it.” And with that, he took a serrated knife and drove it into Darcy’s freed hand until he screamed. He tried to hold it back, but that did not last very long. Trommler seemed unaffected as Darcy wore his voice out, and then collapsed further into his chair. “Thank you.” And with that, he sewed up the two holes on either side of Darcy’s palm - painful enough, but nothing compared to what the dazed Darcy had just experienced.         “Wha - what was that for?” Darcy said as the door opened and the light shining in blinded him. “The count?”         “No,” Trommler said. “Doktor Maddox. He is in the next room.”               ********************************************         Darcy really wasn’t very aware of what happened next. He felt like he was floating, between exhaustion, shock, and loss of blood. This was not supposed to have happened. This was what he promised Elizabeth would not happen. They unlocked him and dragged him down, somewhere further into the castle, where there was no light but from torches. He put up no opposition as they put him in a cell and put a leg iron over one ankle, as if he had any serious means of escape once the door was locked. The cell next to him was vacant.         Hours seemed to pass, and Maddox was nowhere to be found. Darcy anxiously stood and paced his cell for as far as he could with the leg iron, which was about half the actual length. When he was hungry enough, he finally tried the black bread, and downed the water too quickly. It wasn’t water, of course, but some kind of watery alcohol, and it went straight to his head. And this was to be his only drink?         Dizzy, he sat back down on the straw, and must have nodded off when he was stirred by the creaking of the bars in the cell beside him swinging open, and a body tossed in. When the iron was attached, they left the crumpled form of Maddox alone, saying nothing to Darcy.         “Maddox?” he whispered, and when he was sure they were gone, he repeated, “Doctor?”         No response and he had fallen on his side, so all Darcy could see was the rise and fall of his chest, meaning he was at least breathing. “Maddox?” Darcy reached for his jar, and used the remains of the local drink by pushing the brim through the bars. Fortunately, the doctor had fallen so that his face was in the proper position to be hit by the flow of watery liquor.         This did wake him. Doctor Maddox groaned, and rolled onto his back, revealing his bloodied right hand that he had been holding against his chest. His glasses were nowhere to be found. He cursed in several different languages and curled over in pain.         “Maddox,” Darcy said through the bars. “What did they do?”         “My hand,” Maddox replied. “They smashed it. I can feel - it’s broken. If I don’t -,” he could not continue his sentence, distracted by pain. “I-If I don’t splint it -”         “You’re bleeding.”       “I know, I can feel it, oh G-d, yes.”         Darcy felt helpless, watching the doctor suffer while he had been left alone. “Can you see it?”         “Not well enough. I - I can see colors - a-and shapes,” Maddox said in a pain-induced stutter. “But it’s not distinct.”         “Can - can you bind your own hand, do you think?”         Unfortunately, there was no hesitancy in the doctor’s voice. “No.”         “Can I?”         For the first time, Maddox looked at him, or at least, in his general direction, through the break in the wall between them, where only bars separated them. “I - we could try.”         “What do I need?” Darcy removed his cravat. “I have cloth. And there’s a jug of some sort of - I don’t know, local drink in the corner there. I’ve already used mine.”         “A board,” Maddox said. “Something flat to tie my hand to.”         Darcy scrambled around his cell, and nearly toppled over when he ventured too far for his chain to reach the tray that his food had been brought on. He smashed it against the wall, and the wood broke so it was closer to hand size. “I’ve got one. Anything else?”         Maddox did not respond immediately. He was curled up now, trying to absorb the pain, perhaps. He pulled free what was left of his own cravat and wound it around his hand. “There’s - there’s going to be a lot of screaming.”         “Under the circumstances, fully acceptable.”         Maddox took a swig from the jug, and then poured some on his hand before scooting over to the bars between their cells. “Are you ready to do this?”         “If you are, doctor.”         It did not seem like the doctor was ready. Now that they were closer, Darcy could see his mangled hand. At least he was not bleeding very badly, indicating that they had not cut him as well; that, he was no good for.         At last, Maddox said, “I think I am.” He put his hand and the jug through the bars, with some aid from Darcy, as it seemed too specific a job for his eyes alone to manage without banging around a lot first. “You will tell my wife I love her?”         “I think she knows.”         “Promise me anyway.”         “I promise.”         Maddox swallowed. “All right, place ... place my hand against the board.”         Darcy did so. It lay there still twisted, as he awaited further instruction.         “Look at your own hand. How ... how straight it is, when you hold it out. As if - you have to make my hand the same. You understand? The bone - the bone can’t re-grow incorrectly. Can’t ... can’t be allowed. Understand?”             “Yes.”         “Despite ... what I might say ... I am indebted to you - for this.” He turned away, bracing himself against the wall. “Begin.”         That began the most intense hour of Darcy’s life, as he had to fight both, his own disgust, and Maddox’s own physical instincts to try and escape, and his constant curses to stop. When Darcy did stop, there were curses to continue. “You idle, useless, buggering son of a whore, you don’t stop for anything! Argh!” He screamed again as Darcy did his best to straighten the thumb against the board. That was hardly the worst of what he said, and in a variety of languages, but mainly in English, as the doctor pulled out a surprisingly varied vocabulary of curses and damnations. By his count, Darcy was a heretic, a demon, an incestuous rapist, a sodomite, and very well could be the anti-Christ. But he was also the doctor for the time being, and he tried to attack his operation with the same quiet seriousness that the actual doctor always would, as much as it sickened him to twist digits into a very blood-soaked place. “I ... think it’s done.”         Maddox, breathing heavily and with a mainly extinguished voice, said, “Clean it and bind it.”         Darcy did as he was commanded, and helped Maddox manage his makeshift splint back through their adjoining bars. With his hand safely returned, he mumbled something incoherent that may have been a “thanks” and then promptly keeled over on his straw.               ********************************************         On what felt like many days - or maybe one, he had no idea of knowing - Darcy woke from his slumber to see Maddox sitting up, slowly taking bread in small bites. “Doctor?”         “Darcy,” Maddox said, his voice in his long sleep, had mainly recovered, “thank you.”         “How is the hand?”         “I’ve no idea, aside from it hurting to the pits of hell.” He held it up in the general direction of Darcy’s view. “Does the skin appear green?”         “No.”         “Good.” Maddox took a long swig from his jug. They were refilled every day and given fresh bread, so the count had intentions of keeping them alive, at least minimally. “I assume they questioned you. I think I heard it but ... it’s all a bit unclear, now.”         “They did,” he added, “not very much. He was convinced I knew nothing of Brian’s whereabouts.”         “I think I convinced them that you do not speak the language and are only here of my stupidity.”         “Thank G-d for that,” Darcy said. “The former, I mean. Though, I do hate you for this. Let’s be perfectly clear about that.”       “Do you have any idea of the time?”         “None, my watch is broken.”         “But I must have been out a few days. I can feel it on my face.”         Darcy, too, had whiskers. “Probably; I tried marking the days, but I have no window.” He said, “If I may inquire -”         “It was a ruse,” Maddox said. “My brother fled the country long before the execution was ordered. They want to draw him out, and they watched his mail, so they knew my address and identity.”         “So he is alive?”         “He may well be, or not. But to their knowledge, he is.”         “Will he come for us?”         Maddox shrugged. “How would he know we are here? The count overestimates his abilities to be heard. If Brian is hiding somewhere far from here, he’s not getting the palace notices.”           “And his crime?”         “They did not tell me the story coherently. They assumed I was in league with him and therefore knew every detail. But ... what I managed to glean from them was that, despite the very happy marriage he described, the count was upset that his daughter was married a year and was still not with child. So he gave Brian an ultimatum of three months or his head would be on a spike.”         “And he ran.” Darcy admitted, “Any sensible man would.”         “The very next day. They might have not pursued, but he took Nadezhda with him.” Maddox closed his eyes. “Why did he have to pick this moment in his life to become the white knight?”         “So he loved her?”         “I never doubted that he did. And considering the situation ... and my own knowledge, if they were barren, the fault was probably hers. Not intentionally, of course.”         “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.” He 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,” 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.”         “G-d,” 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.”         Maddox laughed quietly.         “If you wouldn’t mind the inquiry -”         “In my present state, I will do anything for conversation,” Maddox said, “if as a distraction.” He still seemed to be in a great deal of pain despite the splinting of his hand. It was still, after all, broken in numerous places.         “Can you open your eyes?” For Darcy had noticed that Maddox had his eyes closed during the entire proceedings, even when he was talking.         “Oh, yes.” Maddox did so. “It’s just - the eye naturally attempts to focus, but it can’t, and gives me a terrible headache after a while. Do tell me if there’s something up close to me that is very interesting to look at.”         “I will,” Darcy said.         Dr. Maddox collapsed on the straw, unable to sit up any longer. “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.”                                                                                                               Chapter 9B         “Do you know what electrical current is?”         Maddox was shaken out of his frightened stupor to respond, “No.” He watched with confusion as the assistants removed his shoes, then his socks, and placed his feet in a tub of lukewarm water.         “Are you not a scientist? Your brother spoke highly of your inquisitive nature and academic brilliance in his letters to you,” Trommler said as they cut off the doctor’s vest and cravat, leaving only his undershirt. “I suppose you don’t read the literature from America. Prejudiced against those colonists, are you?”         “No,” he said, confused. “I just - they’re an ocean away. I’ve not been there.” Where are you going with this?         “Do you know who Benjamin Franklin was?”         “Yes,” he replied. “He was the inventor - he invented the bifocals.”         “I’m surprised you don’t have a pair.” Trommler seemed to be fiddling with something inside the strange chest.   It was probably because he was half dressed, but a chill went up the doctor’s spine as he watched. “I can see things up close.”   “Myopia.”   “Yes.”         “You see, I am somewhat of a physician myself,” Trommler said.         No, you are the precise opposite of one. It was a waste of knowledge, really. “What are you doing?”         “Benjamin Franklin made an interesting discovery.  That the power of lightening can be captured and harvested in objects of metal.”         “Really?” Despite his situation, Maddox’s curiosity was getting the better of him.         “You would be surprised, Herr Doktor. Please, you, take those metal cuffs off. We don’t want to kill him.” He kept talking in a disturbingly innocent voice as they released Daniel’s arms from their irons and tied his hands behind the chair with rope instead. “Do you know Doktor Von Soemmering?”         “I’ve ... heard of him,” Daniel stammered. “When I was in school in Paris. Wrote some articles for the Prussian medical review.”         “Then we have a real shared interest. I’ve met the man. I’ve known him for years, in fact. He has no idea what methods I use in my own practice, of course.”         “Of course,” Daniel said. He did not want to talk ‘shop’ with this man. They were not friends and never would be. The only common interest they had was his brother, and he could give them nothing on him, even if he wanted to. Surely they realized that? Why were they drawing it out? “Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but please. I don’t know where Brian is. I don’t know where the princess is. I swear to G-d, I don’t know anything. I have a wife and children - “         “This device,” Trommler interrupted, removing a box from the chest, “is called an electrochemical telegraph. It is meant to transmit signals from water decomposition. Water is an excellent carrier of this electricity.” He stood up, holding up two wires. “Remove his glasses and wet him, please.”         “No, please, I need those - “ but the assistant didn’t listen and the world became a blur as his glasses were torn off and a bucket of water dumped over his head, “ - to see.” He blinked and shook his hair out. Now he was wet, cold, terrified, and couldn’t see. Brilliant.         “Sadly, the device doesn’t work very well as it was intended, which is why it has not been put into general use by the Prussian government as a device to communicate over distances. It does, however, still generate a significant bolt of energy.”         He was burning, like a candle - no, like the wick. It wasn’t hot as much as like something running through him, something not meant to be in his body but unable to escape. His body fought against his restraints and itself. He didn’t even hear his own screams, so caught up in the intensity of it, until the buzzing died down and Trommler stepped away. Daniel’s body collapsed as much as it could as he gasped for breath. He smelled something burning - his hair. Oh G-d.         “G-d,” he said. “Please, just tell me what you want me to say!”         “Unfortunately, you do not have the information I need, Herr Doktor, and I cannot go to the count without something. So we are at a standstill.” Trommler bent down, close enough for Maddox to see him more clearly, though he wasn’t much inclined to look at him. “I’m not foolish enough to think you or your relative Herr Darcy are capable of withstanding any methods of extracting information. If you knew where Brian Maddox was, you would have told us back in Berlin.”         “Then what do you want?” Daniel said in a frantic gasp.         “I want to know everything, Herr Doktor. I want to know how he thinks. How he acts. What kind of man he was, has been, is now. How many languages he knows. How he fights; where he went to school. How much debt he left you, where he lost it. What he plays. Everything.”         “I-I’ll cooperate,” Maddox pleaded, his voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this.”         “What a loyal brother you are. And he always addressed you so affectionately.”         “I promise. Please.”         “I find this electricity is very helpful to the memory. Perhaps you will make the same observation. Shall we begin with your father’s death?”         “I don’t know why you would - “ but he was cut off by his own scream.         And so it began. He quickly learned that every ‘I don’t know’ was met with a jolt of excruciating energy flowing through him, even when he legitimately didn’t know the answer.         “Does he speak Hungarian?”         “He mentioned something about going to Hungary once, I don’t remember - “         “Does he speak the language?”         “I don’t - ARGH! Please, please stop!”         “Once more - does he speak the language?”         “Probably a little? I-I’ve never heard him speak it, I don’t speak it, I didn’t even know it was a langua - “         Sometimes his vision faded and he lost consciousness. They threw water in his face to wake him and made him drink when his throat became too dry to speak.         “What was his favorite game in London?”         “He didn’t tell me - I think it was cards.”         “Whist?”         “No, something with high stakes. I don’t know - No! I didn’t mean to say - “         Too late. He blacked out again this time. The guards seemed to change. It was hard for him to tell. He was sure time was passing, but did not know how much. It felt like forever.         “You operated on him. Did the bullet go through or did you have to pick it out?”         “It was a rapier blade.”         “And it damaged his nerves.”         “Yes. There’s a nerve - it goes from the spine all the way down to the leg. I couldn’t repair it. I didn’t even know about it until he tried to walk.”         “But he can run.”         “Yes.”         “Does it hurt him to run?”         “He says it doesn’t.”         “Do you believe him?”         “What? I don’t know, sometimes.  No! No, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - “         He had a feeling he was out for longer and longer periods of time. They were giving him some local juice, but despite his general emotional fatigue he was beginning to feel the effects of hunger. The passage of time in this windowless room was an unknown. All he knew was that he was cold, exhausted and his wrists were soar and bleeding from his various struggles against his restraints. He could only see about as far as where Trommler usually sat when he was up close, but the rest of the room was largely a blur, and even that was fading. Occasionally there were breaks - probably for his interrogator to take care of his own needs. G-d, it might be days now.         Trommler spared him no detail. “What does your wife look like? Caroline?”         “Yes.”         “Brian described her a gael. Does she have red hair?”         “Yes.”         “Is she a natural red-head?”         Maddox gathered enough strength to coldly say, “That’s none of your damn business.”         The result was expected. Was it longer? In his moment of extreme panic, he couldn’t tell. Pain obliterated all thought. Screaming hurt his throat. His feet involuntarily kicked at the metal pail. His toes were bruised and bloodied at this point.         He was given a considerable pause to recover. Dr. Maddox had grown to truly hate the smell of singled hair as he gasped for breath when the prods were removed from his chest.         “I will repeat the question,” Trommler said, so politely. “Is she a natural red-head?”         “Yes,” said Maddox, his voice a hoarse whimper.         “How old was she when you were married?”         “Thirty.”         “Was she a virgin?”         He didn’t care; he would bare the pain. “I won’t answer that.”         This time, he blacked out from the pain. It was not an unusual occurrence, but every time it was harder to come back. Sometimes he had to be nudged back with cold water thrown at his face. His body wanted to keep sleeping; his interrogator would not allow it, of course. When he woke he was already seething, fighting against his restraints.         “You should be more careful with your health, Herr Doktor,” Trommler said. “Do you know how much stress your heart can take from electric current? Because I do not. You are one of my first test subjects. Are you willing to die for a simple question?”         “I -,” he was going to say ‘don’t’ but he had learned that lesson. “Please,” he pleaded with tears in his eyes. “Please don’t make me do this.”         “Was she or wasn’t she? She was thirty, after all, or whatever you like to call it. Surely she could have had some moment of improper weakness - “         “No!” he screamed, as best he could, which wasn’t very loud. “She was - she was a maiden.” He was still tearing. “Please, are you satisfied? What does this have to do with my brother?”         “It is an interesting comparison.” And he continued the questions, most of them of a less intimate nature, but all the same, very descriptive, veering far from the subject of Brian Maddox. Trommler wanted everything - his intimate life, his children, his professional relationship with the Regent. Slowly but surely, Maddox gave it.   Once he woke to Trommler in a totally different position, taking tea in the fuzzy distance. The water beneath his feet had gone cold.         “You understand, of course, that your brother brought this on himself, and you,” Trommler said calmly, not turning to him.         He didn’t understand, but he said nothing.         “Of course Her Highness couldn’t conceive. The midwife determined that, years ago. And she warned him, too, before they married. But the fool was, how do you say, besotted. He had to have her. He had to try.  He could have run away and honestly, His Grace the count doesn’t have the ability to pursue him to England. He would have let him get away.” He paused. “Do you think Brian thought himself noble?”         Daniel didn’t like it when Trommler used Brian’s Christian name as if they were close friends. This man had spied on his brother and was a sadistic madman. He deserved to be friends with no one. “I think he was in love.”         “He certainly wrote that he was. And they were hardly ever apart, once they were married. He was quite a stallion. Honestly, he was certainly doing his best to impregnate her.”         G-d, he didn’t want to talk about this.         “Do you think it was just sexual? After all, who doesn’t dream of the virgin princess locked in a castle somewhere? Straight out of a silly Arthurian romance. He must have thought himself Lancelot. Flawed, but the perfect knight nonetheless. You like those sorts of stories, don’t you? He would mention them in his letters. He purchased a copy of the Nibelungenlied for you, but he never sent it. Too busy running away. I have it here.” He held up something, but all Daniel could see was a vague red book-shaped block. “Would you like it?”         He didn’t know the correct response. All he knew was the incorrect one would probably get him killed. He eyed the device suspiciously on the stool by his side. There was only so much he could take.         “Yes or no would suffice.”         “Yes,” he whispered. Actually, he wanted nothing from this man, except for him to go away, but he was willing to say almost anything to make it happen.         Trommler set the book aside, luxuriously taking his seat. “Your brother is dead, you know.”         In his shock, Maddox said nothing.         “The count doesn’t know it, and I don’t officially know it, but he and the princess left on a ship out of the port on Magadan in Russia over a year ago. The ship turned up as a wreck on the island of Sakhalin. The crew had been infected with typhus and most died at sea. A few survivors turned up in lifeboats, but Brian and ‘Mrs. Maddox’ were not among them. Nor were their bodies found, but I’m a realistic person.”         “Then why - why all this?” Maddox had no way to gesture, so he just nudged his shoulder. “Why?”         “Because I’m not paid to tell His Grace what he doesn’t want to hear. If his daughter his dead, he must remarry and produce an heir or his holdings will default to his brother-in-law. I’m paid to look into things and try to extract information from you, whether you have it or not. And much like you, I do the job I’m paid to do, no matter how horrible - until his money runs out.”         Maddox shook his head. “You’re - you’re a horrible man.”         “What? In comparison to you?” Trommler laughed. He actually laughed. “Like your brother, you are a master of self-delusion. Your profession means you are little more than a hired killer.”         “That’s not true!”         “But it is. How many of your surgical patients survive, Herr Doktor? What is the rate? Maybe forty-percent?”         “I-I’m told it is about half,” he mumbled. This was not comfortable territory for him, not that any of this was.         “You don’t keep count, then?”         “No,” he said. “G-d, no.”         “And that eases your conscience?” Trommler leaned over, and started fiddling with the telegram device again. “Tell me - have you ever killed a patient by accident? I believe it is called in England - ‘malpractice’ - no?”         “No.”         He knew it was coming, but bracing himself did no good. It just made his teeth clatter harder. Would they melt, eventually? He really had no idea.         “Be serious, Herr Doktor. I’ve been questioning you for some time now - I can tell quite easily when you’re lying. How many?”         “Please don’t make me,” he said, shaking his head, his singed hair shaking back and forth. “Don’t make me do this.”         “How many?”         “One. G-d, I swear, it was just one!” Maddox did not have it in him to resist the tears. The subject alone could make him cry, much less the circumstances surrounding it.         “How did you do it? Did you cut an artery?”         “No,” his voice a hoarse whisper. He hung his head. He would not let Trommler see his tears. He closed his eyes to his surroundings. “I gave him - I make pain medicine.”         “Laudanum?”         “No, but also with opium. No alcohol, different recipe. It’s more effective, but it tastes foul,” he said. “I didn’t - I couldn’t tell. He was a large man, but I didn’t take the blood loss into account, I was so tired, and he was begging me for more. And more. Five spoonfuls - and he stopped breathing. So quietly, I didn’t even notice it at first.”         “Every experiment has its risks,” Trommler said. Was he actually being sympathetic? No, not with his next question. “Did you ever kill a patient intentionally?”         Maddox shook his head.         “Answer.”         “Please, no,” he sobbed. “Don’t make me.”         Trommler gave him a shock. Just a little, but it made the point.         “Once,” Maddox said, head still low. He couldn’t meet this man’s eyes. It was just too much shame. “He begged me. He had tumors everywhere - I opened him up to excise them, but it was hopeless. Too advanced. He might have lived another few days, but in agony - and he begged me. So hard.”         “And you gave in.”         “Yes.”         “I assume it was your opium concoction?”         “Yes.”         “How many doses?”         Why did he care? What did it matter to Trommler? “Four. He was old and sick. It was only four.”         “And you were paid for this.”         Again, Maddox nodded.         “So, you killed him and were paid for it.”         “I didn’t know what else to do!” he protested with his last ounce of dignity. “I was hired to stop his suffering - he couldn’t be cured! And I couldn’t think of a better way - I didn’t want to do it. Oh G-d, I didn’t. He begged me. He offered me a fortune.”   &