The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy (11 page)

“Because that's the going rate for surgeons, and I have no desire to interfere with their market, having been one for many years myself.”

“What did you give him to make him so peaceful?”

“A mixture of raw opium and some other ingredients to make it drinkable. With the quality of opium I tend to use, and the amount
I gave him, we barely broke even tonight.” He handed the coin to Bertrand. “You did most of the work.”

“I'll give you this back for that recipe, Dr. Maddox.”

The doctor smiled. “I don't give it out often. It is highly addictive. You must use it sparingly. But of course, only the best for the Crown.”

Ahead, they found the carriage waiting, and began the ride back to the decent part of the city.“I should be available to do the return visit next week. If not, I'll send you a note. This is why I requested a partial retirement, anyway. I wanted to do more charitable work, not pick up drunken lords.” He shook Bertrand's hand. “Good work, Dr. Bertrand. If you can stand it, you can have the job I just so lovingly described.”

“Gladly,” Dr. Bertrand replied.

“Mama!”

Jane stepped out of Longbourn's doors to greet her eldest daughter, running toward her. She barely had time to get her arms out before Georgie embraced her mother. She was twelve and growing quickly. Her expression of affection was rare and therefore all the more felt, regardless of how long she had been gone. Georgiana Bingley was not always an easy child to manage, sometimes strangely compliant and other times disobedient to the very end. No one knew quite how she would take to going out—either she would be begging for it or be dragged kicking and screaming into the social sphere. “I missed you, too, dear.”

As Georgie greeted her Aunt Darcy, Jane turned to Nadezhda Maddox, emerging from the carriage. “Your Highness.”

“Mrs. Bingley,” Nadezhda said. She was dressed in standard Romanian clothing, which was far less revealing than their gowns. “Thank you for letting me take your daughter. It would have been lonely without her.”

“I hope that she wasn't any trouble.”

“None. She is a treasure.” She curtsied to Elizabeth.“Mrs. Darcy.”

“Your Highness.”

“Would you like to stay for a few days?” Jane offered. “All the children will be here tomorrow for Edmund's birthday anyway.”

What Nadezhda did with her time when Brian was not with her, they did not know. She was not part of the London social circles. She spent time with her Maddox nephews and niece, but the month-long trip to Ireland was the longest she had spent with any of them. “I would be honored.”

The Maddoxes arrived in time for Edmund's birthday, which had somehow turned into a regular social gathering in Hertfordshire. Dr. Maddox was immediately consulted for his expertise, despite Mr. Bennet's words against it, and he spoke with Mrs. Bennet for some time before reaching the same conclusion that the original doctor had.

“She probably had a minor stroke,” he said. “She will not get worse. She will probably stay just as she is now.”

“Is there anything we can do to prevent another one?”

“I'm afraid not, Mrs. Darcy. Cerebral apoplexy is impossible to predict. Though, considering that it is likely her brain was involved, you'd best try not to upset her nerves.”

Despite their concern, nothing could prevent the former Bennet sisters from bursting into laughter at that statement. Mr. Bennet stood up, putting aside his glass, and said, “Well, I'd better be off to bed, then. Everything I say and do upsets her nerves. But wait! Every time I disappear, it also upsets her because she comes looking for me! So I guess I must sit quietly in her presence and say or do nothing. A precarious position, is it not, Dr. Maddox?”

“Indeed,” Dr. Maddox said.

Edmund Bingley celebrated his birthday without his father but surrounded by his siblings, cousins, aunt, and uncles. Georgiana Bingley had done the same in March. Bingley said that a return before late summer was highly unlikely, but he would try. Jane did her best to hide her melancholia, and the others did their best not to appear to observe it and be supportive all the same.

As the adults sat down for luncheon, Mr. Bennet announced, “I do hope my far-traveling son will return soon, selfish as it may be for me to say it, because I have decided to hold a celebration next month for all of my daughters and their families, and my brothers and sisters. In other words, an army will march on Hertfordshire. We'd best alert the authorities beforehand, so they don't become alarmed.”

“What is the occasion, Papa?” Elizabeth asked.

“I am going to attempt to do something I have never done before, and doubt very much I will ever do again. I am going to turn seventy. And do we not love to celebrate round numbers?”

This came as some surprise, as Mr. Bennet was not in the habit of mentioning his age or celebrating his birthday, and none present (aside from Mrs. Bennet, it was presumed) even knew it. Mr. Darcy gladly initiated a toast to the idea.

“Edmund!” Mrs. Bennet said. “That means our anniversary—”

“It will be almost half a century. Fifty years of me hiding in the study and you talking about ‘our girls.'” He paused. “My goodness, now I do feel old.”

Their laughter was broken only by the doorbell. Mr. Bennet nodded for a servant to answer it, and that man returned with a package. “For Mrs. Bingley,” he announced.

The paper wrapping was worn and dusty, and there were stamps all over it—but no return address. She tore it open immediately to reveal a cover letter. “It's from Mr. Bingley!” she said. After scanning it, she read it aloud:

It was hard to recall when, of late, there had been such a display of joy at the Bennet table. Jane was in tears when she removed the cover letter to reveal an entire sketchbook of drawings, the last being no doubt the scene he had described, complete with tiny figures in the corner that were crudely drawn caricatures of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Maddox, with CB and BM written under them. It was passed around with great care. It would be inked and colored in by a professional when he returned home. The buildings on the pages were something out of a fairy tale, with unimaginable shapes and spirals. There were also letters for everyone, including Nadezhda from her husband, and the luncheon was recessed so that the children could be called in.

“Just in time for your birthday,” Jane said as she handed Edmund his gift box and kissed him on the cheek. “As your father promised.”

Edmund Bingley, now seven, opened his box to reveal a small set of wooden toy soldiers. Unlike his cousins' sets, these soldiers were Indian ones, painted in bright colors and carrying bayonets. He immediately abandoned the adults to start setting them up on the drawing room table. The twins, who had their father home for their birthday, received puzzle boxes made of a strange wood, and spent hours figuring them out.

Georgiana Bingley opened her box to reveal a locket set on a chain. The locket was a tiny glass box contained in a metal case, which was molded like the temples of India. She quickly discovered the upper spire could be pushed down like a button, but it did nothing but click. She was about to set aside the box when she found a note, which she read.

“What does it say?” her mother inquired.

“It says it's magic,” Georgie said. “He said the man in the shop made it a charm, and it will work only for me, and only when saying one name.”

“Whose name?” Elizabeth said.

“Papa says I have to figure it out for myself,” Georgie said as her mother helped her get the locket around her neck and the clasp fastened in the back. It was just the right size for her. “Georgiana Bingley,” she said, and pushed down. Nothing. “Charles Bingley.” Nothing. “Fine. Charlie Bingley the Younger.” Still nothing. “Jane Bingley.” Nothing. “Jane Bennet.” People interrupted with suggestions, which varied from “Grandfather Bennet” to “King George III,” and she cycled through all of them, and the names of her siblings, and the names of her aunts and uncles. “Her Highness Princess Nadezhda.” The box remained unchanged. “Nadi-sama.” Still nothing. She leaned against her mother on the couch, clicking away with increasing annoyance.

Geoffrey Darcy, whose birthday had also been missed, received a wooden dog that looked just like his, painted to resemble it exactly. He turned his attention back to his cousin. “Does it have to be a person's name? Or is it supposed to be the name of a place?”

She looked at him and then back at the locket.“Geoffrey Darcy.” It lit up in a brief array of circling lights of all colors—red, and then orange, and then pink, and then purple and blue—until shutting off after about ten seconds. “Yay! Thank you!” She hugged her cousin, who had no idea what he had done precisely, before running off to show the rest of her family.

Geoffrey turned to his Aunt Bingley, who only said, “I have no idea, either.Your uncle has a rather strange sense of humor.”

CHAPTER 8