“Have you ever been there?” Nadezhda asked.
“No,” Miyoshi said.
“But you’ve been close.”
“Edo.”
That was, or so Brian recalled, the capital. “Are you from there, Miyoshi-san?”
“No.” That seemed to be the end of his answer for a long time, before he added, “I worked there.”
Both of them had enough sense to know this was not something to probe further. The rest of the day was passed mainly in silence.
Chapter 28
The Harvest Festival
1812
The Darcys returned to Pemberley as quietly as was possible, which was not very quietly, and Elizabeth discreetly tugged on her husband’s hand as he observed the crowd greeting him as if he was a distant, uncomfortable observer. He did nod and acknowledge them in every necessary way required of him, and then retired to his chambers until dinner. Though he did not express it, he was obviously most displeased that they had delayed the harvest festival until his return, which meant he had to preside over it. Decorations were thrown up as quickly as possible, and he made only a minimal appearance. Georgiana was also in a state of despair but managed to put on a smile as Elizabeth reassured her that Darcy would come around. Still, Elizabeth imagined that to have one’s future put on hold by an overprotective elder brother was clearly its own strain.
Settled at Pemberley, Darcy’s physical recovery continued, but he remained retreated from everything except the basic civilities required for social life. He saw his children but didn’t play with them; Georgiana and Grégoire were officially charged with distracting Geoffrey and Anne from their father’s infirmary. Sarah Darcy was not old enough to notice.
There was also the other matter, that of Elizabeth’s own increasing girth. Since Austria, Darcy had made no attempts to involve her in conversation about her condition. She knew that her own emotions were not as they normally were, after the strain of both what was happening with her own body and what was happening to their family, but that could not help her dismiss her fears.
There was one resident also hurt by Darcy’s infirmary, whatever it was, and it was Georgiana. Georgiana Darcy, a child no longer, was sitting on her heels impatiently but so patiently. She loved her brother, yes, but he was not her responsibility. Elizabeth doubted that in the throes of love she would have so much patience for her own father if he had not consented to her own marriage, but Georgiana sat in silence.
In their time as sisters, Elizabeth and Georgiana had treated each other as such, and the younger of the pair had blossomed, but perhaps now was the time to stop unconsciously looking down at her as a young girl.
Her mind guiltily set, Elizabeth found Georgiana in her sitting room, reading. The book was in French. “Georgiana.”
“Elizabeth.” She set it aside as if she was ashamed of it.
“What are you reading, if I may inquire?”
“Oh, it’s—I borrowed it from Mrs. Maddox. It’s a history of Scotland. They were allies for many years, the Scots and the French, against the English.” She picked it back up and caressed it. “It makes me feel nearer… somehow.”
“Your brother will give in.”
“He shouldn’t have to give in,” Georgiana said with a surprising amount of anger. “He’s my brother, and I’m in love with a man who will care for me and isn’t terribly far away from Derbyshire. Why should he resist? I am sick of his protectiveness.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Forgive me. I don’t understand him sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” Elizabeth said. “But—in regards to yourself, to all of us, may I ask you something?”
Georgiana looked up at her. “Of course.”
“Do you think Darcy is well?”
Her sister-in-law did seem to grasp the severity of her meaning, because she looked down at the book again, and then away, before answering, “I don’t know. I’m perhaps not the best person to ask.”
“You’ve known him all of your life.”
“But he’s always been distant—or he was, before he was married. You know he’s been more a father to me than a brother.” She shook her head. “I cannot judge.”
It did not settle Elizabeth. It had the opposite effect, but she made every attempt to hide it in order to continue the conversation. “Has Darcy said anything—odd—to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Off. Strange.”
Georgiana frowned. “I think he meant it in privacy.”
“You don’t have to say it, then.”
“But,” her sister-in-law considered, “he didn’t say it was private. I just don’t think he meant to be heard. That’s… fair, isn’t it?” She looked to Elizabeth for approval and was nodded on. “He said he never left Austria. He said he never will.” She paused before going on. “Forgive me, but I could not think of what to say to that.”
“I cannot imagine he was asking for a response.”
Georgiana’s voice was wavering. “You don’t think he’s well, do you? Something rattled him in Transylvania?” Before Elizabeth could respond, she said, “Should he see a doctor? Not Dr. Maddox, I suppose.”
“No,” she said. “I’ve… thought of it. But I cannot bring myself to subject him to that. Besides, even Dr. Maddox’s opinion of mind doctors is poor.” I’m not sending him to Bedlam, she thought. I’m not giving up what little of him I have left. “He needs to talk to someone.”
“Then of course it should be you!” Georgiana said. “Lizzy, you are the only person I know who can alter anything in him. Believe me when I say, if anyone is to reach him, it can only be you.”
Determined to do so, Elizabeth returned to the house, went into her study, and sat down to write the hardest letter of her life.
***
If Darcy knew anything, he said nothing. He said little at all. He did have a lot of business to conduct, having been gone for half a year between his trips to Rosings and his stay on the Continent, and often spent hours with his ledgers in his study. At the end of very late nights, as Elizabeth stayed up waiting for him, he slipped into bed clothed and with barely more than a good night. Her enforced celibacy continued. He was often up and about when she awoke.
So it continued, for two unbearable weeks, until the Maddoxes came up to visit Chatton. Darcy pleaded business to excuse himself from the call. He had not been outside Pemberley’s doors in nearly a month. Elizabeth did not fight him this time and went to call on the Bingleys—and Dr. Maddox.
The months had obviously been better to the doctor, who had returned to his old pallor for the most part. He didn’t look the best she had ever seen him, with gray hairs coming in at the roots where there had once been black, but he was a man who had returned to health and society. “Mrs. Darcy.”
“Dr. Maddox.”
He waved off the servant and closed the door before settling into a seat next to the table between them. In his hands was her letter, now a bit rumpled from use. He glanced through its several pages before putting it on the table and turning his attention to her. “Have there been any changes I should know about?”
“No.”
“Well, then,” he said. “I spoke to Sir Richard Gregory, former doctor of the mind research at Oxford and the current head of the staff in charge of His Majesty.”
“I am impressed,” she said, “and grateful.”
“We do cross paths on occasion,” he said. “He agreed to review the case with me and studied my set of notes without the patient’s identity. He is one of the few mentalists I respect as a doctor. That said, I cannot honestly say I recommend his advice.”
“So he reached a diagnosis?”
“He said he could not without examining the patient. Then again, he’s had half a dozen different diagnoses over the years for His Majesty. It isn’t quite like looking at a wound or listening to a cough, as you ca
n no doubt imagine. Eventually he said monomania, but that is really a diagnosis for someone whom the physician—and the family—wishes to be committed.”
She knew the blow was coming and had been attempting, for these weeks, to brace herself for it.
“This is why I do not care much for mind doctors,” he said grimly. “If Darcy is, to be plain, not fit to reenter society, then taking him away from it will not amend the situation; it will make it worse.”
“Do you think he is unfit?”
“I think he’s unwell.” Dr. Maddox had no hesitation saying it. He never seemed to have a problem speaking with the formality of a doctor. “He is more withdrawn than some men, but that is not a great flaw in his character by any means. In fact, I have always regarded Mr. Darcy as one of the most upstanding gentlemen I have ever met. He is not cruel, he is not malicious, and he is not abusive. He does not turn his anxieties into anger. For the most part, he has managed them. Then, of course, we had Austria.” Now he did lose some of his composure, if subtly so. “We tried to keep each other sane by talking about anything. We recited poetry. We told stories. We recited as much literature as we could remember, but there were long hours, and there was a darkness there—metaphorical and literal—that could not be escaped. Eventually you just… gave in.”
Elizabeth put her hand over her mouth. She wanted to cry. It seemed odd that she was more upset than Dr. Maddox, who was speaking of his own experiences. “But you are well.”
“I am a different case entirely. I have withstood loneliness before. Not on that scale, but I lived alone. Many years in poverty in the East End, surrounded by disease, and hunted by Brian’s less scrupulous creditors. In a way, I was more acclimated to the circumstances.” He sighed. “The chief difference between me and Darcy is the desire to return to normal life.”
“What did the king’s doctor recommend—beyond Bedlam?”
“Some pills that he gives the king, which I see no sense in, as they obviously don’t work and the king has a completely different condition, more of a disease than something the result of trauma. The one suggestion I would actually follow is a certain tea, which mixed with certain ingredients can be very calming. When mixed with others, it can help a person sleep. I will venture a guess that he is not sleeping well. That, at least, I think we can convince him of.” He continued, “Beyond that, my own recommendation—though I am no expert of the mental realm—is to talk to him. After all, he should not be excluded from his own treatment.” Before she could respond, he said, “If you would permit me, I wish to speak with him.”
“He might not take well to it.”
“Maybe not. But we have at least some common ground on which to chat,” he said grimly.
Chapter 29
Out of Austria
The next day, a terrible downpour descended on Derbyshire. It was not the gentle May showers that the children enjoyed playing in before Nurse discovered them, but the cold, harsh rain of early winter, not quite snow yet, but cold enough to be almost sleet.
Elizabeth seemed surprised when Dr. Maddox made his scheduled appearance, even though the walk from the carriage to the front door had him thoroughly soaked. “Mrs. Darcy.”
“Dr. Maddox,” she curtseyed. “I did not expect you, to be honest. I would not want you to put your health at risk.”
“I was more concerned for the carriage driver than myself. Please alert me if he takes ill, but I never miss my appointments.”
He was rushed at by the servants, who attended to his coat and hat and provided him with all the towels he needed. Beyond that, he was not interested in wasting time. “Where is he?”
“He’s not yet left the bedchamber. He is not seeing visitors. I told him Bingley was coming, and he said to say he was busy with his ledgers.”
It was half past noon. Dr. Maddox refrained from comment. “Do I have your permission to intrude on the master’s quarters?”
To his surprise, Elizabeth blushed as they climbed the grand staircase. “Mr. Darcy has always preferred the mistress’s quarters.”
Again, no comment. “So I have your permission.”
“Yes,” she said, as they headed into the private wing of the master and mistress of Pemberley’s rooms. “I dismissed all the servants except for his manservant, who is aware of the situation.” She added, “I think Darcy has his suspicions.”
“They are not unreasonable suspicions at this point,” he said as he was brought to the doors that led to her chambers. “Thank you, Mrs. Darcy.”
She was emotional as she had to leave him to his business. As a physician he was normally accustomed to this, but not so much with a relative, especially when he had little idea of what he was doing. “All will be well, Mrs. Darcy. Time heals all wounds.” The quotation was not actually true, as he had certainly never seen anyone’s leg grow back, but it seemed to comfort her enough for him to enter the room and close the door behind him.
The sounds of rain and thunder filled the room, as everything else was perfectly quiet. Darcy, sitting in an armchair that was turned to face the window, could have easily heard the shuffling on the carpet and said without turning around, “I do not recall summoning you to my private chambers.”
“As you seem to be unwilling to greet guests, I had to resort to more drastic measures,” Dr. Maddox said, slowly approaching Darcy’s end of the room. It was terribly dark, the only light from the dreary sky and a candle by the bed stand.
“Maddox,” Darcy said, his voice less harsh, but not lightened. “Doctor. Please don’t come any closer.”
“We lived together in a space half this size for months; I can hardly believe that you are so bothered by my presence.” Without Darcy’s permission, he strode up to the window, his hands behind his back. He did not eye Darcy like a specimen, but looked only briefly enough to tell that he was dressed, even if none of his clothing matched, and he hadn’t shaved in a day or two. Beside him was a tea tray on a stand.
“So, I am not to expect a straitjacket? Or are you the distraction while burlier men sneak behind me?”
“No,” Dr. Maddox said quietly. “Nothing of the sort, I assure you.”
“You have no bag, I see.”
“I have no instruments that can help you, Mr. Darcy. I am only here to write a prescription, and I can do that in any room of the house.” Again without permission, he pulled the other armchair formerly by the fireplace and placed it on the other side of the stand.
“People die from those magic pills,” Darcy said. “I am not a fool.”
“That is why I so rarely prescribe them,” Dr. Maddox said, sitting down and pouring himself a cup of tea. Darcy was apparently stupefied by his presence, lacking all of his usual healthy demeanor and assertiveness. “It’s actually just a recipe for a tonic that aids in a night’s sleep.”
“You wish to drug me?”
“I wish to recommend it. I assume you’ve not been sleeping well.”
“So I am to have no secrets from anyone?”
“It is not a secret. It is plainly written under your eyes.” He sat back, dish in hand. “I did not know of it until it was prescribed to me by my own physician. I take it every night and it works wonders for me.” He sipped the tea, and then put down the dish. “The tea is cold. Should I ring for more?”
“No!” Darcy said, alarmed. He recovered quickly, saying more passively, “No. You shall not. These are my chambers, in my house, and I will decide who rings for what. Am I not the master of Pemberley?”
Dr. Maddox said softly, “It seems more that you have made yourself a prisoner of Pemberley.”
Darcy did not respond in anger. He didn’t fret or fidget. He merely retreated into himself, gazing out the window. That, at least, was unchanged from the old Darcy. “I can leave if I want to.”
“I don’t think you can.”
Darcy considered this for a moment, gathe
ring his answer. “I know you think I’m mad. I know you’ve been watching me since our return.”
“Then apparently you knew about it before I did, for I was only informed of your suffering a few weeks ago.”
To this, Darcy had no answer. He did look eager to give one, but words seemed to fail him.
Dr. Maddox turned and looked into his eyes. Darcy’s eyes were the only part of his body not slackened. They betrayed the turmoil inside him. “Darcy, I am not here to have you sent away or to encourage your family to do so. I came here primarily to give your housekeeper instructions for a drink that will help you sleep. My secondary motive was more in line with your suspicions, but not quite so wild. Your family is concerned for you, and did contact me, and did answer my questions about your behavior.”
“So there is a conspiracy.”
“I would not use that term.”
“I would call any number of people planning behind my back to do something against me a conspiracy. You can call it what you like, Doctor. I really don’t care.”
“I’m going to ring for more tea.”
He rose, but as he did, Darcy grasped his arm very tightly. “Please don’t. Have pity on me!”
There was a sudden surge in Daniel Maddox, and he left his formal doctor mode entirely. “Have pity on you!” The shocked Darcy slumped at this wild deviation from the mood, as he faced a towering man with a loud, raw voice. “You! You, who sat in a cell while I entertained you, while I wanted to die from the pain in my hand, as my flesh rotted away from infection! You, who were not so easily discarded by the count, who was looking for someone to mindlessly take his frustrations out on!” None of this was calculated. In fact, it was the very definition of sudden. His mood had varied unexpectedly since he had returned, but he had restrained himself in company. But now he grabbed Darcy by his vest and nearly pulled him out of his chair. “Do you know what they did to me? First Trommler and then the count? Did you sit in a chair for three days without food or water while being interrogated? And yet I have to go on, like nothing happened, because I don’t own a great estate that I can hide in and turn into my own private cell! All because I’m not rich enough to ignore everyone beneath me, even my own wife!” He found himself, once he had shaken the life out of Darcy and shouted more than he had in his entire life in one breath, quite woozy. He released the petrified Darcy and stepped back, first leaning against the window and then, when his legs failed him, sliding down to the ground, with his hands over his face.
Mr. Darcy's Great Escape Page 30