The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy (29 page)

“I see you've come to his rescue.”

“Rescue? Is he in trouble?”

“And I see he was clever enough to give no indication,” she said, folding her arms. “Daniel Maddox, would you like to tell your father what you did?”

“It was Fred's idea!”

“He isn't even home, so don't try it. You know very well he's playing at your Uncle Bingley's house.”

“Your punishment will be less if you do not go about assigning blame to others,” Dr. Maddox said. “Now, what did you do?”

“I painted! Just like Uncle Maddox!”

“Yes,” she said. “But
where
did you paint?”

He mumbled, “On the wall.”

“And what did you use?”

“Ink.”

Caroline looked at her husband, who was smiling. “Don't you dare laugh! It'll just make it worse.”

“I want to be a samurai like Uncle Maddox and he says—”

“That samurai paint for some reason. Yes, I know.” The doctor pulled his son down and set him on the ground. “You shouldn't listen to everything your uncle says. As we've said many times, he is a crazy person.You also should not paint on things not meant to be painted on. Now go to Nurse, and let her decide your punishment!”

“Father—”

“
Now
, Daniel!” he said a bit more sternly, and his son, who was not used to that voice from his father, ran back up the stairs. “How bad is it?” he said to his wife.

“Why he chose the hallway I'll never know, but at least it was the one upstairs, in case they cannot get the ink out of the wood,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek. “The Kincaids are here.”

“They're with Grégoire? How is he?”

“He's been sitting up for some time now.”

He nodded. “I'd best check on him.” He would bring up the visit to the king later. Instead, he headed into Grégoire's room, where he found Lord Kincaid sitting on the bed beside his wife. Grégoire sat in an armchair, holding Robert with the aid of a pillow to support his arms, so the infant was resting on his lap. “Hello, Lord Kincaid. Lady Kincaid. Grégoire.” They still hadn't decided what to call the former monk, or even asked him. “How are you feeling today?”

“Stronger,” Grégoire said with a tired smile.

“And how is little Robert today?”

William Kincaid said. “Why, my son is not little. He's robust and vigorous—”

“He's an infant, dear,” Georgiana said. “He's allowed—required, actually—to be small.”

Dr. Maddox hid a smile. “Lord and Lady Kincaid,” he said, “would you care to join us for luncheon?” He could see that Grégoire was tiring, but it would take subtlety to get the infant out of his arms and allow him to sleep.

They agreed, and Georgiana left first to set Robert down for a nap, William following in her wake.

“Such a wonderful child,” Grégoire said, as Dr. Maddox helped him stand and make it back to his bed. He still could not stand on his own, as his body continued to recover from a long illness. “So much life in him.”

“Indeed.”

Grégoire was settled comfortably on his bed. “You've done so much for me—and I know of no way to repay it. Aside from money, I suppose.”

Waving off the remark, Dr. Maddox said, “Money is as meaningless to me as it is to you in matters of family. I am satisfied enough that we could save you.”

“I heard it was very close.”

“Yes,” he said. “But you will be well. It is only a matter of time, now that the stitches are out.”

“Who would want me now, so scarred?” he joked.

Dr. Maddox said with a chortle, “Are you wishing for intimate companionship, Mr. Grégoire?” Grégoire went red, but it was a good feeling for both of them. Dr. Maddox continued, “No one has wanted to ask if you've had thoughts about your future. When you arrived, you were quite in despair about it.”

Almost two weeks had passed since his arrival at the Maddox home, and Grégoire answered, “My memories are poor of that period, but I do remember parts of it; the passage from Spain to England, not at all. Thank goodness, too, for I am inclined to be ill at sea. I remember only the abbot's voice and then talking to Father LeBlanc. There is little between that.”

“You have not answered my question.”

“No,” Grégoire said, grasping the cross on his rosary. “I do wish to return to Pemberley, but beyond that—I have much thinking to do. Or perhaps I will travel, in the spring. Not very far, or my brother will follow me with an armed guard.”

Dr. Maddox chuckled. “He would. But you realize there are questions to which there are no answers. I don't suppose I am the first one to tell you that.”

“No, but there are ideas I have never heard before. Have you read
The Confession of St. Patrick
?”

“I have not.”

“Darcy purchased a copy for me when I asked for anything in Latin. I doubt he knew exactly what he was purchasing or cared. It is here.” He pointed to, but not did reach for, the pile of books stacked up on the table beside the bed. “St. Patrick used to pray spontaneously, as often as he felt the grace of God, while he was herding sheep in captivity. He says it was sometimes as often as a hundred times a day.”

“They could not have been very long prayers, or the sheep would have all got away.”

Grégoire laughed. “I do not know much about sheep. I was always more of a gardener. More a planter of men than a shepherd of men, which I realize after having said it aloud, makes little sense.”

They shared another laugh. “You have the world before you, if reading is to be your occupation for a time,” Dr. Maddox said. “You have that to look forward to.”

“True. Now if I may have some privacy, it is time for Sext, the sixth canonical hour.”

“Would you like a watch to keep track of these things?” Dr. Maddox said, looking at his pocket watch. It was indeed 12:15.

“No,” Grégoire said. “I always know anyway.”

Dr. Maddox nodded. “After that—get some rest. Doctor's orders.” He gave him a pat on the arm and left, pondering the mystery of the former monk's internal clock.

Daniel Maddox did thoroughly enjoy his partial retirement, which allowed him to go to bed with his wife at a normal time. It was only when they were comfortably settled in bed that he said, “The Regent asked me to visit the king.”

“For an assessment?”

“He wants me to see him. The Prince worries about his own mental health, after all.” He added, “He asked me to take Frederick with me to Windsor.”

Even in the partial darkness, where he was basically blind, he could see her alarm. It was more that he could sense it, without even touching her, as she shrieked, “
He said that?
”

“His exact words were, ‘He is fond of children. Take your son. That will break the ice.' He did not bother to clarify which son, though he very well knows I have two.” He reached out and she found his hand. “I've spoken to His Majesty's staff several times. He is completely out of his mind and does not look well. As a result, he has almost no visitors.” He added, “I don't want Frederick to see that, even if it is his grandfather.”

“Why not? You bring all kinds of gruesomeness into this house. And besides, he doesn't know the connection.”

“You think the Prince is right, then? That Frederick should see him before he dies?”

“You believe that is the prince's intention?”

“Maybe. I don't know.” He tightened his hold on her hand. His were so calloused that he sometimes felt almost bad touching her soft skin, as if he would mar it “I just get nervous when he mentions Frederick, however subtly he does so.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know. I do, too. But it seems to happen anyway.” She said, “The Prince may be feeling sentimental.” Then she added, “Is he mad?”

“The Prince?”

“Yes. Like his father.”

“No. I've seen no signs of it. He is just a glutton, a drunk, an addict, and a pervert. He is not mad, however, if that is some consolation.”

She responded, “That is a great consolation.”

He could not disagree.

CHAPTER 20

TO EVERYONE'S GREAT RELIEF, Grégoire was at last released from Dr. Maddox's care. He was relocated to the Darcys' townhouse in London, where he was greeted by the staff with enthusiasm and seemed overwhelmed by the experience. Despite the circumstances, Darcy and Elizabeth delighted in having all of the Darcys under one roof for the first time since Georgiana's marriage. Mary Bennet continued her stay, as Joseph was often lonely at Longbourn and enjoyed the time with his cousins, even if the ones closest to his age were girls. Mr. and Mrs. Bradley finally paid a visit to Grégoire, bearing young Brandon and Julie, along with George and Isabella. Mercifully, the visit was short enough to keep Mary and Lydia from getting into a heated conversation in the sitting room.

On the third day, Grégoire was well enough to join them at dinner, if only briefly. On the fourth, it was not Dr. Maddox who called, but Dr. Bertrand. His attention was to his patient, and he did not seem to mind when Darcy explained that the ladies were out with Mrs. Bingley.

Dr. Bertrand sighed at the extensive scarring on Grégoire's back and the ones he had created on his forearms to save his back, but Grégoire heard it and just shook his head. “I know people with fewer scars who are unable to do such things as walk normally. I am quite blessed.”

Although Dr. Bertrand did not know how this man could bring himself to say such a thing and mean it, he offered no opposition. “As soon as you are strong enough, you can return to Pemberley, if that is your desire.”

“I admit I am eager to go home,” he said. Then his eyes lit up. “Look who it is!”

Joseph Bennet stood in the door frame, half hiding behind it as Dr. Bertrand helped Grégoire roll his tunic back down. “Uncle Grégoire, you said you would do my Latin homework.”

“I said I would
help
you. But it is time for none, the fifth canonical hour.You will have to wait a bit, Joseph.”

“What is it?” Bertrand said. “What is the text, I mean?”

“He is supposed to translate some of Virgil's poetry, I believe.”

“Very challenging. Is that true, Mr. Bennet?”

Joseph nodded.

“I can help him. Or try, at least,” Bertrand said. “And you should rest, Mr. Grégoire.”

“I know. After prayer, I will rest, if you will lift this particular burden off my shoulders, though it is not normally a burden.”

“I understand.” Bertrand turned to Joseph. “Why don't we see if I remember anything from my exams?”

It turned out he did, and he sat on the sofa in the sitting room, helping Joseph translate a particularly difficult set of poems. He was impressed not only with the boy's comprehension, but his penmanship. “Who is your tutor, Mr. Bennet?”

“Mother and Grandfather. Grandmother didn't know Latin anyway, and then she had a stroke.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Grandfather likes it. He says she's nicer now. She kisses him a lot.”

He blushed a little. “Mr. Bennet, I'm quite sure you shouldn't tell people your grandmother had a stroke. Or the other bit.”

“Well, it's really
evident.
”

“That does not mean you should say it. But that is for your mother to decide.” He looked up. “Speaking of—”

“Mummy!” Joseph jumped up and hugged his mother, who was still removing her bonnet as she entered with Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bingley. “Dr. Bertrand was helping me with my schoolwork!”