The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy

by Marsha Altman

  “Dr. Bertrand, if you have not already met him, allow me to introduce my nephew, Mr.Wickham,” Darcy said proudly. Mr. Wickham bowed and mumbled a shy greeting before exiting.

  “Is he your nephew by your wife?” Dr. Bertrand asked.

  “Yes,” Mr. Darcy said. “But there are many former Bennets. My wife has four sisters, one of whom is married to Charles Bingley, whose sister is Mrs. Maddox.”

  “So we are all connected,” Brian said. “Distantly.”

  “Four sisters? What about brothers?”

  “None. Just five daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, who live in Hertfordshire,” said Brian.

  Dr. Bertrand knew enough about English property law to see the problem there. “They are close in age?”

  “One after another. If you want the full story, you’ll have to ask Mr. Bingley, who unfortunately isn’t here tonight. Darcy won’t tell it because apparently it involves a rejected proposal.”

  Darcy replied only with a cold stare and then pointedly turned to gaze out the window as Dr. Maddox joined them. “Dinner is served. Or is about to be. Honestly, I have no idea how this house runs.”

  Andrew Bertrand liked dining with the Maddoxes. Dr. Maddox, when he was not shy or overly formal, as he was when speaking to a patient, was a cheerful man, clearly happy with his station in life. His wife was a bit haughty, and did not mind teasing her husband, but always in a friendly way. How they had ever come together, Bertrand had no idea. Mr. Maddox, despite his appearance, was an overly gregarious Englishman, far more talkative than his brother and with far more to tell. His wife, Princess Nadezhda, was quiet at first, and then quite open when not among strangers and did not hesitate to express her opinions. She seemed to endlessly exchange glances with her loving husband, and so the foursome made for good company.

  Tonight, they were joined by Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy was lively and witty, and her husband was reserved but amiable. He was suffering the strain of having had a beloved brother at death’s door. The addition to the table was Miss Bennet, who resembled her sister in some ways, but was not the same at all.

  It did not take him long to figure out the plan. However, he respected Daniel Maddox, and he trusted him not to throw him into the fire. Besides, if Andrew had stayed at home, his parents would have done the same. He had sat at many dinners with many friends of his parents and their young daughters.

  Miss Bennet neither fawned over him nor showed disgust with her relatives about the unexpected dinner guest. Her manners were mild, but she was not silent, and not afraid to speak up on any matter religious. He judged, based on her quotations, that she bordered on Evangelical—she was certainly no Methodist—or had been Evangelical at some point in her life. However, she was not obnoxious about it. From what he gathered from snippets of conversation, she had studied in a French seminary about nine years earlier. Usually, daughters of gentlemen engaged themselves in frivolous society concerns. Or they studied religion in a vague and sentimental way. But Mary seemed to be a scholar, even of traditional Catholic texts. Andrew Bertrand, a lapsed Catholic by circumstance, was impressed.

  The dinner, he thought, went well. If anyone was pushing Mary on, it was subtle, or she was reluctant to comply. She could, however, be engaged in conversation. Unfortunately, the conversation ended with dessert, as after-dinner entertainment did not interest the Darcys. Princess Nadezhda never sang or played in mixed company (she was very modest). And Mugin usually left to do whatever it was he did at night after saying several things in Japanese that Brian would refuse to translate. Dr. Bertrand had to leave anyway, to attend His Highness at Carlton, so the party was dissolved without the usual port and gossip, and he left to go to work, hoping there would be no medical disasters that evening. He already knew that his mind would be elsewhere.

  For Mary Bennet, who was staying with the Darcys, her mind was not on its usual track either. She held her tongue until she saw Joseph to bed. Then she unleashed her fury on her sister, whom she found reading in the library.

  “Do not ever subject me to that again!”

  “What?” Elizabeth said innocently.“Was the company so objectionable? I thought you liked the Maddoxes.”

  “You know very well what I mean,” Mary said, sitting down in a huff.

  “If he was really so unappealing, then yes, you have no reason to see him again, except by happenstance. However, you did not seem so inclined during the meal.”

  “I was being polite!”

  “There were many guests at the table, all near or distant relatives, with whom you could have made conversation—or none at all, if you really wished.”

  Mary fumed silently.

  “Please, if you object to Dr. Bertrand, I would be most interested in what you have to say. I would wish any distraction these days.”

  “I—I have no objections, but you know that is not the point.”

  “If you have no objections, then there is no point.”

  “I’m a mother,” she said, “with a young child.”

  “If that caused him any disquiet, he showed none. In fact, from Caroline’s account, he seemed to like Joseph.”

  “And how long do you think the story about his father will hold up?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Considering the doctor’s intelligence, I doubt it was believed in the first place. After all, if you had married an Englishman before the war and were carrying his child, why did you not take his name? Unless he objects, it is not fair to assume he opposes choices that were made years ago.”

  Mary said nothing, but her face was not the emotionless page that it normally was.

  “Mary, I may sound like Mama for a moment, but Father will not live forever, and Joseph needs a father. He might even like one. Have you ever asked him about it?”

  “He knows his father is never coming to England.”

  “Have you ever asked him if he would like a father who is around?”

  She turned to Elizabeth and said coldly, “He is a child.”

  “That does not mean he is without opinions, fleeting as they might be sometimes,” she said. “Ask him, Mary. If not because of Dr. Bertrand, just because you should know what his thoughts are. You can at least do that quite harmlessly.”

  Mary stood, effectively announcing her exit. “Perhaps you are right—about speaking to Joseph. I will sleep on it. But please—tell me next time.”

  “I would have, but you would have objected, and we would not be having this conversation,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “Good night, Mary.”

  “Good night, Lizzy.”

  Her anger largely abated and somewhat turned to confusion, Mary went to her room and lay down, but it was a long time before she found sleep.

  Elizabeth Darcy had only one thing preventing her from finding sleep—her need to talk to her husband, whether he liked it or not. He was lying awake in bed when she entered their chamber. She crawled into his ready embrace and nestled again him. “I spoke to Mary.”

  “I’m surprised that I could not hear the conversation from here.”

  She turned over, so she could face him. “She actually listened to reason about speaking to Joseph.”

  “And Dr. Bertrand?”

  “You ask this of me? You know I am a terrible judge of other people’s affections.” She giggled and kissed him. “She did not deny being interested.And he seemed to be attracted.They found mutual conversation, which for Mary is impressive.” She sighed. “She still carries the shame of her affair in France around with her. Nothing I say can change that.”

  “She is content with Joseph. Perhaps that is enough.”

  “She loves her son, as I love all my children. But that is different from the way I love you,” she said. “Does she not deserve that?”

  Darcy considered before answering. “I have learned of late that prolonged penance can do more harm than good.”

  “Indeed. And it would be a wonderful thing for there to be another doctor in the family.”

  CHAPTER 19
>
  His Royal Highness

  “DR. MADDOX!”

  Dr. Maddox and Dr. Bertrand turned around to see a balding man approaching them. Dr. Maddox replied, “My Lord. An honor, sir.” He bowed to Prime Minister Liverpool. “I do not believe you’ve met my colleague, Dr. Bertrand.”

  “No, I’ve not. Dr. Bertrand.”

  “Sir,” Bertrand said, a little overwhelmed.

  “So you have a new member of your staff, eh?”

  Dr. Maddox was taller than the Earl of Liverpool and current Prime Minister. He was taller than most men, and never seemed intimidated—especially by politicians. “Yes, Lord Liverpool.”

  “Very nice to meet you.” The Prime Minister, one of the most powerful men in England, bowed again. “I hear the Prince of Wales will be appearing before Parliament in a few weeks.”

  “I do not know his engagements, Lord Liverpool.”

  “What about His Majesty?”

  Dr. Maddox said, “I am not aware of His Majesty’s schedule, but I would venture a guess that he has no plans to appear before Parliament.” King George had not made a public appearance in almost a decade.

  “I was inquiring after his health.”

  “And you are aware that I am not one of his many physicians. My concern is the Prince of Wales and no one else.”

  The prime minister spoke in a low voice. “I would ask your professional opinion.”

  “You may ask, but I may not give it, sir.”

  “Do you think the Prince will outlive his father?”

  Dr. Bertrand looked at Dr. Maddox, who wore the same calm expression he always had while going about his profession. “I am a doctor, Lord Liverpool. Not a soothsayer.”

  “If you had to guess—”

  “I do not care much for guessing. I try to avoid it whenever possible.” He bowed. “Good day, sir.”

  “Good day,” said the flustered prime minister, who quickly hurried away. The two doctors proceeded through the gates of Carlton, where they were admitted without a second glance.

  “I think you just snubbed the prime minister, Dr. Maddox.”

  He smiled. “I reprimand the Prince Regent on a regular basis, so I find the prime minister far less intimidating. Besides, he knows he has no business asking the royal physician about his patients. He’s been doing it for years, and before him, Prime Minister Perceval inquired regularly,” he said. “If you want my job, Andrew, you will have to become accustomed to such inconveniences.”

  “I’m not to suppose—”

  Dr. Maddox stopped in the ornate hallway of Carlton House, a more serious look on his face. “If you haven’t realized that you’ll have this position as soon as His Highness dies or I lose my sight—whichever comes first—then you are not as clever as you make yourself out to be.”

  “I didn’t want to say it outright.”

  “Then you’re just polite.That’s much better.” He smiled. “Don’t get involved in politics, Dr. Bertrand. It will ruin you and the already-spoiled good name of our profession.”

  “I’ve no intention of doing so.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  They passed by the guards to enter the private chamber of the Prince of Wales, Regent to King George III and future King of England. That was, if he survived. With his current bad habits and terrible mood swings since the death of his daughter, Charlotte, it was going to be close. He was not even out of bed yet and already drunk, moaning incoherently about his poor, gouty foot.

  “Your Royal Highness,” Dr. Maddox said.

  “Oh, thank God,” the Prince said. “You must do something for this foot!”

  “Unfortunately, that would require you to sit in a chair, Your Highness.You will have to choose between staying in bed for your foot and having it treated.”

  “You make everything hard for me! Why do I put up with you?”

  “The decision is your prerogative, Your Highness,” Dr. Maddox said unrelentingly. It took the two doctors to get the ruler of Britain into a chair so that his foot could be placed in a tub to soak.

  “My medicine! My medicine!”

  “Your foot is in it,Your Highness.”

  “You know damned well what I mean, Maddox! The tonic!”

  He shook his head. “I told you it was just sugar water with a dye, sir. A dye that might actually be harmful. It will do nothing for your foot.”

  After some time and a lot of coffee, the Regent recovered more of his senses. “I need to lose weight before my appearance at Parliament,” he announced. “Please don’t bother me with the obvious methods. Here.” He snapped his fingers and a servant brought forward a tray with a bottle on it. “From China.”

  Dr. Maddox smelled the tonic, which had little odor, and inspected the label. He showed it to Dr. Bertrand, who just shook his head, not recognizing it. “It says it’s bottled in Philadelphia, Your Highness. I doubt very much that it has Oriental origins. More to the point, I cannot condone it without knowing what’s in it.”

  “It is supposed to bring about massive weight loss.”

  Dr. Maddox held up the bottle. “There is an address for the agent in Town. I will look him up and find out the actual ingredients, though I have little hope of it working as much as simply not consuming vast quantities of fatty foods—”

  “Oh, not that again! That isn’t fair—my father’s a stick, you know. And I cannot match his consumption of food.”

  “I have not seen him in years, but I will take your word for it.”

  The Regent said, “You should see my father. Make…an assessment.”

  “I will do anything you ask, but I remind you that I am not psychic.”

  “Still, you should go. To…make a sort of comparison. If I am to ascend the throne, I would like to know if I’m going to be mad while I do it.” He added, “He is fond of children. Take your son. That will break the ice.”

  Dr. Maddox momentarily lost his power of speech. Dr. Bertrand had never seen it before; it was a curious thing to watch. But he did recover, and bowed. “Yes,Your Highness.”

  The doctor uncharacteristically excused himself for the duration of the Regent’s soak. After that, there was a little more discussion, mainly about the Prince Regent’s diet, and then they left.

  “Doctor—”

  “I’m fine,” Dr. Maddox said to Bertrand. “I am just not thrilled at the prospect of taking my son to see a sick, blind madman.” Dr. Bertrand decided to leave it at that. Or he had to, because Dr. Maddox changed the subject as they left the house. “Are you inclined to continue coming to dinner while Miss Bennet is still in Town? Because I won’t subject you to the social maneuverings of my wife and cousin-in-law if you are not interested.”

  “Is this your way of asking me if I like her?”

  “I suppose. I was always terrible at this. My courtship with Mrs. Maddox was a disaster. I still wonder how, in the end, it worked out,” he said, smiling again. “But that is a story for another time.”

  “I …would be inclined, yes, if Miss Bennet is. I do not know much about her.”

  “Young Mr. Bennet seems to like you.”

  “He seems to be an incredibly studious child.”

  “I wish my sons would study so hard. They’ll take a ruler to Frederick when I send him to Eton, if I can even manage to get him there.” He stepped down to where his coach was waiting. “Dinner tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Fine. Good day, Dr. Bertrand.”

  Bertrand tipped his hat. “Dr. Maddox.” If he had other questions, he put them off. There was time yet.

  When Dr. Maddox came home, he was first assaulted by his younger son, who raised his hands to be picked up. “Ride!”

  “Between you and me, we’ll be knocking your head on the ceiling soon, my son. Enjoy it while you can.” He picked up Danny Maddox and was putting him over his shoulders as Caroline found him.

  “I see you’ve come to his rescue.”

  “Rescue? Is he in trouble?”

&nb
sp; “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?”