The Plight of the Darcy Brothers

by Marsha Altman

  In the woods, there was only silence. They were alone on the road and could feel a cold breeze. The coachman said something to Grégoire, who translated. “Someone is in the woods. Several people.”

  Darcy shielded his eyes from the lantern light, so as not to destroy his night vision. Yes, something was out there. Someone. In fact, he could hear movement in the woods, and he needed all of his athletic abilities to know when to dodge and force his brother to the ground with him. The bullet meant for one of them hit the side of the carriage instead, bouncing off the metal of the axle.

  They were approached while they were on the ground. Three men, maybe four—and obviously bandits—emerged from the utter darkness. Grégoire put himself in front of Darcy. “Je vous en prie, nous vous voulons aucun mal!” (“Please, we mean you no harm!”)

  The first man to come close enough that his dirty face could be seen in the light laughed and said, “Jolie calèche pour un moine.” (“Fancy carriage for a monk.”)

  “Nous sommes juste de pauvres voyageurs!” (“We are just poor travelers!”)

  “Il n'a pas l'air si pauvre,” said the man next to him, cocking his gun at Darcy, who drew his. (“He doesn't look so poor.”)

  “Tell him if he comes any closer, I'll shoot him in the head,” Darcy said, hoping his own words would convey meaning with their intensity.

  There was laughter all around the carriage, but not from the passengers.

  “Restez la!” (“Stay right there!”)

  The bandits all turned, because this voice did not come from them, and the clumping of horse hooves was clearly unexpected by both parties. What little the moonlight offered was the vague portrait of a man in a tall hat riding up on horseback. “Garde nationale! Que se passe-t-il!” (“Police! State your business!”)

  “Excusez-moi, monsieur, mais ces hommes ont tiré sur nous!” Grégoire insisted. (“Excuse me, sir, but these men have shot at us!”)

  The man on the horse responded by lowering his bayonet in the direction of the men he towered over and blowing his whistle to signal. “Gardes! A l'attaque!” (“Guards! Attack!”)

  “He's a policeman,” Grégoire whispered to Darcy. “He's called for his men, I believe.”

  Whether that was true or not, the bandits were taking no chances. They scattered into the night, and the man in the tall hat did not pursue. He whistled a few more times, but no one came. Instead, he climbed off his horse, holstered his bayonet, and shuffled towards them. He had a limp and a black beard, and was, as they saw when he came into the light of the lamp hanging off the carriage, in a guard uniform of French colors. “My God,” he said. “Just in time.” His accent was perfectly English, probably a Londoner.

  Darcy blinked, took the lantern down, and held it up as the man approached. “Hello? Who goes there?”

  “When I get this damned thing off, you'll be able to tell!” the guard said, pulling at his beard. “This gum is damned itchy. I'm sure to have a rash in the morning.”

  “Excusez-moi?” Grégoire inquired, and they heard a noise behind them. Fortunately, it was only Elizabeth finally coming out of the carriage.

  “Elizabeth!” Darcy put his gun back in his belt and embraced her. “Are you all right?”

  “Aside from feeling quite useless, yes,” she said, and curtseyed to the man in the guard uniform, who was, at the moment, pulling off his beard. “Mr. Maddox?”

  “Mrs. Darcy,” said Brian Maddox, elder brother of Daniel Maddox, his cheeks red from the glue from the fake beard. “Mr. Darcy. And Brother Grégoire, I believe. We've not been formally introduced.”

  His bow was slightly crooked, as it had been since his injuries at Pemberley nearly two years before, when he had aided a conspirator with whom he had a large debt. This former suitor of Caroline had attempted to kill her then-fiancé Dr. Maddox but missed his target and struck the doctor's brother instead. Thanks to his quick surgical reflexes, Dr. Maddox managed to save his brother, but not the nerves in his back.

  “You've…” Darcy said, stunned at both the appearance of a man he considered vaguely an enemy and the fact that this same man had clearly saved all of their lives, “… joined the French police?”

  “Don't be ridiculous.” Brian Maddox removed his giant hat and shook out his mane of black hair. “I won the outfit off an officer with an exceptionally good hand—literally, the shirt off his back. I don't always lose at gambling, you know.”

  “That doesn't quite explain why you're here, but I am grateful that you are,” Darcy said. “Thank you. Please allow me to make the formal introductions for Brother Grégoire. Brother, this is Brian Maddox, who is distantly related to me by marriage through his brother, the Dr. Maddox to whom we write in Town.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Grégoire bowed, and Maddox did the same.

  “If you must know the whole story, we'd best be on our way, in case the bandits figure out that I don't have a squadron behind me. Coachman?” Maddox nodded to him. “There's an inn not five miles up the road, but you have to turn off at a certain point. I'll show the way.” He climbed back on his horse, and Darcy realized they had no choice but to follow him.

  The inn was warm and well lit. Though the hour was late, they were all quite shaken from their experience and not ready to sleep yet, so they joined Brian Maddox, now sans military costume beyond his gun, at a table where he ordered a round. “I have some credit here. I am a courier, and I delivered something important for them once without charge. Not really because I wanted to, but that is another story. I suppose you first wish to know what I'm doing here.”

  “Yes, please,” Elizabeth said, because she knew she would say it more nicely than Darcy, who did not look willing to give up his old suspicions just yet.

  “Well, I hope you won't tell Danny I did this, because it's precisely the opposite of what he asked me to do. He knew I was in France, or in the general vicinity of it, so he asked me to stay out of your way. Now he may have been down these roads a long time ago, but traveling here is not the same under the Emperor or whatever he's calling himself these days—first it was king, I think. Anyway, I figured I owed you a favor for saving my life by not calling the constable on me in Derbyshire, so I thought I'd see that you stayed out of trouble—or at least reached Italy alive.”

  “So you impersonated a guard?” Darcy said.

  “Lucky I had the outfit, no? Fortuna and I have a love-hate relationship. I've been tailing you since you arrived, and quite well apparently, if you haven't noticed me yet. You ought to be more careful.”

  “We are indebted to you, sir,” Grégoire said with a bow of his head.

  “It's more like a debt repaid. I was going in this direction anyway, so no harm done, except to the carriage. And even that wasn't much, compared to what those men could have done.”

  “I prefer not to think of it,” Darcy said, unconsciously putting his arm around Elizabeth. “So you know our intended journey's destination?”

  “I've gotten some details from Danny in letter form, the rest from listening to you.” He was not afraid of their stares. “A man's got to keep himself entertained. But I think we are in mutual agreement to keep information to ourselves about actions of both parties.”

  “Certainly,” said Darcy. “Have you received any recent correspondence from your brother?”

  “Yes. I don't suppose you know, but he recently received a royal commission. My brother, physician to the Prince of Wales himself! I always knew he could restore the family honor. His wife seems like the type of woman who would like to be Lady Maddox, if you know what I mean.”

  Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged smiles.

  “How is he, by the way? I mean, besides what he writes. You've seen him more recently than I have. I know my sister-in-law is with child, so he must be doing something right.”

  “He seems to be doing very well,” Elizabeth said. “He was very happy with his arrangements.”

  Brian had a warm smile on his face at this. He always was very agreeabl
e, but something in his face lit up when he was speaking of his brother. “That's just brilliant. If anyone deserves to be happy, 'tis Danny. But, you can fill me in later. If you don't mind, I'd like to go with you to Marseilles and catch that boat.”

  “Going to Rome?”

  “God, no. And end up in the Tiber? There are… uh, reasons I can't go to Rome.” He shrugged it off. “You know. People that I may or may not owe money. There are so many bodies in that river that they're not going to notice another one. Oops, should I be saying this in front of a monk?”

  “Rome is a city, not a monastery,” Grégoire said. “The Holy City, but I am not immune to tales of the past.”

  “A very logical perspective,” said Darcy.

  “Aye, he might make an Englishman after all,” Brian said, and did not further explain. Apparently, he did not need to.

  Dr. Maddox had a lot on his mind. He hadn't heard from his brother in a few weeks—probably a good sign—but that was really the least of his worries. His job, truth be told, was not very taxing and provided him with endless access to the University libraries, and his primary patient was in relative health, provided he didn't pick up some venereal disease. Still, several concerns weighed on the doctor's mind.

  The Darcys had been gone two months now, and Chatton was, from Bingley's description, a madhouse of children and Bennets. Bingley, despite owning his own townhouse (occupied by the Hursts year-round, largely), was in town often to check on his sister, though he usually gave a more business-related reason. Maddox did nothing to stem the tide of brotherly affection. Louisa Hurst was barren and further from Charles in age, but apparently Charles and Caroline had once been quite close, and now she was to go through the most difficult thing asked of a woman. Elizabeth had miscarried twice, and Jane was exhausted from her three children.

  But, in fact, Caroline seemed content when she was not losing her lunch, which had not occurred after the first few months. She was mildly annoyed as she began to retire from social life before her formal confinement, drawing nearer every day, and Dr. Maddox did his best with his new free time to keep her amused.

  One morning his schedule was particularly empty, as most of his patients requested night calls and he had no lectures on his schedule. When the servant approached him about a woman at the door who would not give her name, he straightened his waistcoat and went down the stairs, opening the door again himself. “Hello—”

  It was Lilly, the prostitute. Lilly, the prostitute, very obviously with child.

  “Lilly!” Maddox said. “It is certainly a—uhm, surprise to see you here.”

  “Doctor,” she said. “So sorry fer intrudin.' Can I come in?”

  Or having her stand in broad daylight in front of my townhouse? “Of course. How did you find the place?”

  “Asked 'round.”

  “Of course. Of course.” He shooed the attending servants away, except to ask for tea. “I—uh, didn't expect to see you. At my house.”

  “Lovely place. Musta cost a fortune. Done well fer yerself, doc.”

  “It was a wedding present.”

  “Like I said. Yeh don' mind if I be sitting down on your fine—”

  “Oh! No, no, of course not,” he stammered, because he could hardly expect a woman—an expectant woman—to keep standing in his hallway. “Any seat you… uhm, like.”

  “I tried to come, yeh know, when yer wife's out shoppin.' 'Cuz that's what rich ladies do with their time.”

  “Actually, no, she's—Oh God.” The very person in question was descending the steps. She must have heard the bell, and he quickly rushed between himself and Lilly, who didn't get up. “Caroline, it's not what it looks like.”

  Whether she'd had a proper look beforehand remained a mystery, but she certainly took one now, leaning around him to do so. “Daniel, what in God's name—”

  “I'm not a 'what'!” Lilly shrieked.

  “Caroline—”

  “You are whatever I call you!” Caroline Maddox shouted back, and then turned indignantly to her husband. “Who is this woman?”

  “Her name is Miss Lilly—uhm—”

  “—Garrison,” said Lilly.

  “Miss Garrison. She's—someone who knows former patients of mine and current patients of mine.”

  “She's a whore!”

  The doctor, horrified at his own indefensible position, turned to Lilly for help, to which she only replied with a shrug, “I ain't denyin' it.”

  “And she's with child!”

  “No use denyin' that either,” Lilly said. “But, I will say, the good doc 'ere's not the father, 'case you were worried.”

  “Then what is she doing here?”

  “She—I don't know.” He spun back to Lilly. “Miss Garrison, would you care to explain your presence?”

  “'Scuse me, Mrs. Maddox.” Lilly did not get up, but she made a curtseying gesture with her head. “I thought you were out. See you've also got one in the oven. Good job, doc.”

  Maddox was sure that either his ears were going to burn off or he was going to die of a heart attack from the stress of trying to manage this. “Please—Lilly—Miss Garrison. Explain yourself… for my sake, at least.”

  “Dunno if I should say it in front of a proper lady,” she said, “but I need yer help.”

  “I must inform you that I am not, in fact, a midwife or any doctor of that sort,” he insisted.

  “Oh, I'll be fine. S'not what this is about. See, I figure yeh owe me a favor, what on account of you gettin' your big job with the prince.”

  “I hardly see how that comes into account,” he said. “I think I returned the favor by not reporting you as having stabbed several of your clients and my patients.”

  “Did give yeh some work, though. Prolly paid for her fine dress there.” She gestured towards Caroline, which, of course, set Caroline off on another huff of indignation.

  “That I cannot deny. Still, I believe we are even, and though I loathe turning away a patient, I must ask that you explain what favor you wish me to grant—and do so very quickly, before my wife is further offended, which I will not tolerate.”

  Lilly, however, was not to be intimidated, certainly not by a quivering doctor. “I need yeh to talk to yer boss fer me.”

  “The prince? I doubt he is interested in talking to you or seeing you ever again, except with head upon a—” And then realization dawned. “It isn't.”

  “'Tis.”

  “How do you even know?”

  “I know!” she replied with some fury. “I keep track a these things, doc. I may be all cockney and with a Jack in the box, but I ain't stupid.”

  No, she was not. A little crazy and completely lacking in refinement, but not stupid. She had an ace in her deck. She intended to play it and was doing so. Unfortunately, he was to be the carrier of such a terrible message. “Why don't you send him a letter?”

  “Did. No response, 'course. And I ain't proposin' that he take the kid, 'cuz I know he won't. I just need some money to tide me over, seeing as how I can't get work right now.”

  “I see,” he said, because he did see, quite clearly, Lilly's situation. “So you wish me to risk my employment—and, frankly, my life by implying something treasonous to a royal—so you can have some money?”

  “An' I know ye'll do it. 'Cuz you're all proper like, but not in the way she's proper,” she said, pointing to his wife, which was a very improper thing to do. “Yer proper, right proper, because yer a decent man, all moral and carin' 'bout people. And if yeh don't do this… I got nothin.' 'Cept a royal kid I gotta feed.”

  Caroline meant to say something, but Maddox did something he had never done before and held up a hand for her to be silent. Maybe her condition was making her out of sorts, but she actually stopped before she said anything and allowed him to speak in a calm voice to Lilly. “While I must first discuss this with my wife, as my very life is in danger if I do this, I will consider the matter and do… what is within my discretion to do.” He swallowed. “M
ay I inquire…?”

  “Three months to go, we think. Hard ta tell.”

  “Then we must settle the matter—if it can be settled—with all expediency. Is there somewhere I can contact you privately?”

  “I ain't a very private lady,” Lilly said, and apparently excusing herself, gave a half-curtsey to Maddox and Caroline without naming them. “Good 'ay.”

  “Good day, Miss Garrison,” he said, watching her leave. As he turned, his wife was giving him the most severe look she had ever given him. “What?”

  PILGRIMAGE

  AS FRANCE DISAPPEARED INTO the mist, Darcy decided he was happy to see it gone. As beneficial as their long journey had been, it had come with its share of horrors—one brother he wanted and one he did not, but both ill gotten. The fact that they were visibly moving toward their initial goal put him at ease. He stood on the bow with Elizabeth, who was fascinated by the coloration of the Mediterranean, slightly different than that of the Channel. It was a shame that they would have to move into deeper waters and not see the coastline as they passed. He wished Elizabeth to see Greece with all its ancient majesty, one of the few places on his own trip he had truly enjoyed, but that was not to be.

  The calm lasted about an hour. Then they made an interesting discovery: monks were apparently not made for the sea. Grégoire, not a man of great health in the first place, had no sea legs at all. Darcy quite literally carried him to the side of the boat to get him there in time before he lost his stomach. After the fifth time, Grégoire could no longer stand and slumped against the side of the railing.

  “Now I very much wish your brother was here,” Darcy said to Brian Maddox. “You didn't happen to peruse any of his literature—?”

  “I know something about scurvy, but he doesn't have that. We've only been on the boat for a quarter of a day.”

  They looked at each other.

  “Maybe if we kept him below…”

  “Maybe if we had let him walk, like he wanted to do,” Darcy said, watching his brother murmur in Latin as he fingered his rosary. “He would have arrived a few months late, but—Oh, there he goes again.”