Mr. Darcy's Great Escape

by Marsha Altman

  “I see,” Doeff said. “Well, I assume you mean to return to Europe?”

  “Whenever the next ship leaves, we would like to go to England.”

  “You are aware that Emperor Napoleon’s blockade—”

  “That is still going on?”

  “Yes sir, it is,” Doeff said. “In fact, it is more severe than ever. But I can show you to an Englishman who can catch you up—one of the sailors. The next ship leaves for the Continent in a month. Welcome to Dejima, Your Highnesses.” They interchanged English and Japanese words when needed as Doeff led them into the bizarre hybrid city that was Dejima—Japanese buildings with European people.

  “You never said you were royalty,” Mugin said from behind him.

  “Nady is,” he explained. “I just married her.”

  Nadezhda swatted him with her fan.

  They were shown to the house of a man named Henry Moss, a first mate currently off duty. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he said after they were introduced. “You’ve gone native, I see.”

  “I suppose,” Brian said, one hand instinctively falling near his swords. “We are in need of some shelter for the next month. All of our money is in Japanese currency.”

  “That’s no problem here, obviously. In fact, if you want to do business with the locals, it’ll probably help you,” Moss said. “And rent is cheap, what with the war going on. But what you look like you really need, sir, is a whiskey.”

  Brian exhaled with delight. “Oh God, yes.”

  ***

  As much as there was the temptation for idleness, the next month was extremely busy for all of them. Mugin did not leave their side, mainly because they kept sharing their food with him, but also because he helped Brian on various missions back in Nagasaki.

  “Now I have an idea and it may either be incredibly stupid or make us a fortune. Or both,” he said to Nadezhda, and she just nodded with amusement.

  Slowly but surely, a good percentage of the fortune he had carried for so long was spent on Japanese goods. The tengai came into use again, as Brian played the ronin looking to buy for his master and Mugin played the part of his servant. Selling to their own, the Japanese salesmen had significantly lowered prices, and Brian secured a place on the ship for almost ten trunks of embroidered and raw silk, and various other items he would either want to remember the place by or for sale to the East India Museum in London.

  Their last night, they spent in town behind the closed doors of a private room of a Japanese tavern, drinking hot sake with Mugin. “What am I going to do?” he said. “I’ve been living off you forever.”

  “You will manage to live off someone else, I’m sure,” Brian said.

  “So… you’re not drunk enough for—”

  “No, Mugin!”

  Mugin pleaded, “Nadi-sama…”

  She shook her head. “Mugin, our affection for you runs as deep as a mighty river of your song poetry. That said, we’re not jumping into bed with you.”

  “Sa! No fun, either of you!”

  As they emerged into the early morning light, Mugin showed his own affection the same way he did with Miyoshi, which was by leaving in an angry huff.

  After they slept a few hours, it took the rest of the day to load the last of the trunks onto the Dutch ship that had agreed to stop in England. It was actually a Danish vessel, neutral enough to cross the complex waters of the channel. Still clothed in their kimonos, Brian and Nadezhda watched the lines being untied and the ship beginning to sail.

  “Wait!”

  “Mugin?”

  The ship had moved away from the edge of the dock, but the clunk-clunk of Mugin’s geta was unforgettable as he launched himself over the water and grabbed on to the edge of the boat, a large pack on his back. “Help me up, lazy gaijin!”

  The husband and wife exchanged glances and each grabbed an arm, hauling him over the edge and onto the floor of the deck. They heard shouting in Japanese, and looking back at the disappearing dock, they saw several local policemen waving their swords and juttes. “Get back here and pay your debts!”

  “It took you half a day to get in debt?” Brian said, and Mugin just shrugged haplessly.

  “Apologies,” he said. “Can I go to England with you for a little while? Just until they forget about me?”

  “Mugin, they’ll probably forget about you in a few hours, and this ship takes months to get there and back!”

  “So?” Like everything else, he waved it off as if it was nothing. “Even better for me.”

  Brian turned to his wife, who just smiled, and he couldn’t help but join her.

  ***

  Present

  “Mugin-san! Mugin-san!”

  Mugin looked over his shoulder as Georgiana Bingley approached. “Hai, Binguri-chan?”

  She curtseyed. “What are you doing?”

  He looked around, as if it wasn’t obvious and something was missing from the picture. He sat on a rock next to the stream behind Chatton. “You not know fishing? Stupid gaijin.”

  “Of course I know fishing,” she said. “But why are you doing it?”

  “Why not? I catch fish; eat fish. Not complicated.” He took a closer look at her. “You good, Binguri-chan?”

  “I’m good,” she said, her voice still wavering. Without lowering his fishing pole, Mugin reached out with one hand, picked her up, and set her on the rock beside him. They sat in silence for some time before she said, “I think I made my father upset.”

  “Eh?”

  “I was playing with Geoffrey and George, and I got all wet and muddy. I’ve gotten dirty before, but Mama said it’s different now. I’m a little lady, and I shouldn’t be messing about like that. She sent me up to my room, and Nurse washed my hair and put in these stupid bows that she knows that I hate,” she said, pulling one out and releasing the complicated braid attached to it. Mugin just watched. “And I shouldn’t say ‘hate.’ It’s not proper. But I do hate these stupid bows. I don’t like lying and saying I dislike them.” She was tempted to toss it in the river, but realized she would probably have to explain it later, and decided not to. “I don’t like being told what to do.”

  “Disobedient child, make parent upset,” Mugin said.

  “I’m not disobedient. They didn’t say I couldn’t play. They just decided one day that it was suddenly wrong because I’m a girl, only they didn’t put it that way. And while Mama was talking, Papa just had this expression on his face like I’ve never seen before. But he didn’t say anything.”

  “Mother yells at you?”

  “No, never. But she can be very insistent.”

  She held up the bow, a little pink ribbon. Mugin took it from her and said, “Is stupid color.”

  Georgiana laughed. “Why does everybody look at me like I’m strange?”

  “Keep secret?”

  “What?”

  “You. Keep secret of mine. Promise?”

  “I promise,” she said eagerly.

  Mugin was quiet, staring at the ribbon before handing it back to her. “You’re not strange. Englishmen think everyone should look the same, act the same, and even dress the same. Like soldiers on a battlefield. In Japan, it is similar, but it’s not really true. People are not the same. The only thing that is the same is that everyone dies.” He smiled wickedly. “If they fight me, definitely, they die.”

  Georgie stared at him before managing to mumble, “You speak English!”

  “Of course, I’ve been here seven—eight months, and another three on a ship with Brian-chan. I’m not an idiot.” His voice, though perfectly fluent, was heavily accented, and it altered some of the words, but the structure was far more sophisticated than his regular pidgin English. “Our languages are very different, though. It was still very hard.”

  “Then—why do you act like you don’t speak English
?”

  “Two reasons,” he said, picking up his pole properly again but still looking at her. “First, your language is the language of barbarians. I don’t lower myself to speak your language if I don’t have to. I am Japanese, and you are uncultured gaijin.”

  “Uncultured!”

  “Very. You all smell horrible because you don’t bathe or use enough perfume. You don’t understand warfare, death, or religion. Many of you can’t even read. You’re so stuffy about sex that I’m surprised you have any children.” He sighed. “Hmm. The last comment was not appropriate. Still, you’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

  Georgiana gaped. Here was a simple man in sandals, fishing for his dinner and calling her countrymen barbarians! But the way he said it was like he had really been thinking it all out for some time.

  “The second reason is more important,” he continued. “It’s like… card games your parents play at night. You know of them?”

  “Yes. A little.”

  “They say, ‘Play your cards close to your chest.’ Brian-chan said that to me. He meant it in cards, but I mean it in life. Everyone has secrets, Binguri-chan. You should always appear weaker in the eyes of your enemies—or people who might be your enemies someday. Let everyone underestimate you.” He patted her on her head. “You can be so easily underestimated because you are a girl. There is an advantage. You should take it.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Everyone wants you to be the same. Sometime you have to act like you are, but it doesn’t mean you have to be the same. You are a very special girl. But you must be very clever not to appear different… and upset your parents. Understand?”

  She swallowed. “I think so.”

  “You play your cards very close to your chest,” he said, putting his hand on her chest.

  “Will I always be different?”

  “I will be very upset if you are not, very disappointed.” He took the bow from her hands. “You should retie this. Here.” Copying the other side, he retied the bow as it had been. “Japanese are good with knots.”

  Come to think of it, all of his clothing was knotted. He didn’t have a belt or a buckle on him, and neither did the Maddoxes when they dressed up. “Thank you.”

  “You should go,” he said. “Your parents will worry about you.”

  “But—you’re leaving soon.”

  “Not so soon. I’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Promise?”

  He smiled. “Promise.”

  Chapter 36

  Notes from the Underground

  1771

  Despite its beauty, Mr. Geoffrey Darcy always had a certain apprehension in his heart when approaching the island. It was a glorious spring day, and the winds were not so strong that he had to hold down his wig to prevent its escape when standing on the bow as the landmass seemed to approach.

  “Mr. Darcy, sir,” the dockworker bowed to him and offered a hand for him to step off the boat and onto the dock. As usual, he was immediately directed to the head nurse.

  “Your brother is out by the rocks, Mr. Darcy. In the usual spot.”

  He smiled uncomfortably. It was good to know Gregory was still going outside on occasion. He left the house and walked up the ancient stone steps that had once led to an abbey, now in ruins covered by weeds. There his elder brother sat, playing with a ribbon in his hands. He had let his hair grow out, and was no longer wearing a wig, but otherwise was in proper attire. “Hello, Geoff.”

  “Hello, Gregory,” he said, not entirely surprised when his brother didn’t stand. He sat down next to him on the old stone bench. “I have been remiss in visiting you—”

  “—since our father died, yes.” While his expression was emotionless, he nervously fiddled with the ribbon in his hand like it was a toy. “Well, I can understand you have been intolerably busy. You need not say it.”

  “Yes. Yes, I have.” He sighed, relaxing. Now he could come to the news, which was not nearly as awkward or depressing as their previous topic. “I am engaged to be married.”

  His brother’s face lit up as he chuckled. “You work quickly, do you not? Is she to be solely for the production for an heir, or are you in love? Oh, but I can see that you are.” He smiled. “Or at least, infatuated. But you have never been one to fail in female company.”

  Geoffrey Darcy blushed, as his brother’s insinuation brought to mind any number of situations, each brought along with them a sense of embarrassment. “I am in love. I would not marry into that family under other circumstances.”

  “Oh ho, ho, this will be a good one. Yes, tell me of her awful relations.”

  “No, I will not do that injustice, though you do tempt me. Her name is Lady Anne Fitzwilliam and she is the most beautiful woman I have ever met.” He added, “And before you say it—yes, that is including my own experience, which you would deem vast.”

  “Any man would be tempted to deem it vast,” Gregory said, because Gregory could get away with it. After all, the elder brother had helped the younger brother out of any number of embarrassing and possibly scandalous situations, without their parents the wiser, in his time in society. “Does she have any other exemplary qualities?”

  “She has all of them.” Geoffrey had to give his brother a most intense stare to prove he wasn’t joking.

  “And her terrible family?”

  “Her brother has inherited the earldom. He is tolerable, but obviously would not begin to consider anyone less than a peer if not for our fortune.”

  His brother interrupted, “Your fortune. Remember, I no longer exist.”

  “Yes.” Geoffrey swallowed uncomfortably. “Anyway, she has one elder sister, Lady Catherine, who makes even less of a pretense of only tolerating me for Pemberley and Derbyshire and all that. In fact, upon our first meeting, she began a long series of suggestions as to how I may improve it.”

  “And your blushing bride just sat there?”

  “She rolled her eyes on several occasions during the speech.”

  “Ah, sisterhood. Is this Lady Catherine married?”

  “To a knight. Sir Lewis de Bourgh.”

  “Bah! I was never one to abide by those horribly pretentious French names, especially d’Arcy. You know they side with those colonists?”

  “Us or the French?”

  “Your wit never fails you, Geoffrey.” His brother smiled again, but it was sadly. “You were always a better speaker than I was, and shall always be.”

  Geoffrey Darcy paused, and then said in a much quieter voice, “How are you?”

  “Why don’t you ask my doctor?”

  “He said you refused his newest treatments.”

  “Did he tell you what they were?” his brother answered. “It seems lancing is now all the rage, as if there was a boil in my brain.” His voice was severe. “He is not to take any more blood from me, unless you order it, of course. But I will not go down without a fight. Do you know what they will do? They will tie me down to the bed and gag me. Maybe they’ll leave me that way for weeks, all because of this fever in my blood. I hide my episodes from them. I won’t let them hurt me if I can avoid it. You may think I have given up on life, but there is fight left in me!”

  “What about the pills?”

  Gregory looked exhausted from his outburst. “They made me ill. I was up late, vomiting. I was so weak I could barely get out of bed. How will that improve my mind?” He looked at his brother with haunted eyes. “How will any of this improve me? Father already legally killed me—why don’t you just leave me alone?”

  Geoffrey said nothing. He had nothing to say, nothing that would comfort either his brother or himself as he watched his elder brother break down into weeping. Gregory was right—all of the proposed cures were painful in one way or another, and none of them worked. In fact, each seemed to weaken his spirit further. Fortunately, Geoffrey
held the reins of his brother’s treatment, and for as long as he lived he would protect him.

  “No more doctoring,” Geoffrey announced, “unless you want it.”

  His brother took his face out of his hands, still wet with tears.

  “You’re my brother,” Geoffrey said. He wanted to put his arm over his shoulder, like he used to when they were children, but Gregory made it clear long ago that he did not want to be touched. “I’ll always take care of you.”

  ***

  About eight years later

  “The nurses will watch him?” Lady Anne said nervously as she watched her five-year-old son frolic on the beach, kicking up the water with his bare feet and splashing the woman put in charge of him.

  “They are nurses,” Geoffrey said to his wife. “It is what they do, or are supposed to be doing, anyway. We will watch him from the window.”

  Mrs. Darcy was increasingly nervous as they wound their way through the one-story home, sort of a sprawling affair where previous owners had just attached more and more rooms as they saw fit. The sitting rooms—and there were many of them, all unused—were filled with books. Books were in piles, in cases, stacked against the wall—all gifts that had obviously been handled, at least, and probably read. Gregory was a voracious reader, thankfully. He had little else to do with his time. He used to whittle small objects—chess pieces, animals, and boats for his bath—until they took away his knives. Somewhere in the tight, frightened mind of Gregory Darcy, former heir to Pemberley and Derbyshire, was a wealth of knowledge of literature, science, and history. Geoffrey sent him whatever he saw in shops that he was sure he had not already read.

  Gregory did emerge from his chambers to greet them in the sitting room immediately outside it, closing the door behind him. “Lady Anne,” he said with a stiff bow. He had never seen her before, but there could only be one person Geoffrey would bring. “I see you are wearing Mother’s jewels.”

  “Mr. Darcy,” she said, curtseying while unconsciously grabbing her husband’s hand.

  “They suit you,” Gregory continued. “Hello, Geoffrey.”