Mr. Darcy's Great Escape (27 page)

A day before they were to leave, he decided to write to his brother again to give yet another assurance that he was safe, his wife was safe, and that they would someday come home when it was safe for them and for the rest of the family. He slipped his message in the box and turned around to see the face of his Transylvanian manservant, Andrei.

“You are a hard man to find,” Andrei said, holding up a pistol from within his heavy coat.

Brian followed his signal and left the public place, to a more secluded area, but he had already decided on his actions. “What do you want?” he said, facing him.

“Do you know how much His Grace would pay to have his daughter returned to him, much less with your head beside her?”

“Even if you care nothing for me,” Brian pleaded, “you're leading her into death. You know she can't conceive. Everyone seems to know it but the count. Have some loyalty to your princess.”

“
My
princess?” Andrei said. “You assume a lot about my loyalties, Prince Brian.”

“Then you can be bought,” Brian said. “How much?”

“I know you have half the treasury.”

“I spent it in St. Petersburg. If you are so good at following me, Andrei, then you would know that.” It was a lie, but he needed time.

“I'm not your servant,” he said. “How little you know of me. Do you even know my last name? It is Trommler.”

“Name your price, Trommler.”

“I've already said it. You have most of it, I know. You lived like a pauper in St. Petersburg.”

“St. Petersburg was a long time ago.”

“So you say. I also know you carry the money on your person, beneath your clothing.”

“You have bested me,” he said. “Please—let me—” But he reached with one hand for the satchel and the other for the gun. Yes, he would risk his life for Nady—without question. He hadn't spent a winter chopping up wood for nothing. The gun went off, and he didn't care; he grabbed it and beat Trommler on the head with the wooden handle. Trommler dropped like a sack. He was still breathing. If he would stay that way, Brian knew not. He took the gun, still hot, and ran to the flat where they were staying. “Nadezhda!”

She was standing over a pot and the last of their preserves. “Brian! You're bleeding!”

He hadn't even noticed. He was honestly too concerned for her. “We have to go. We can't wait. Andrei is here.”

“Your servant?” she said, grabbing a towel and placing it against his skull. Now that he thought about it, he did feel like something had hit him, though he knew Trommler had not. “You were grazed. You need to sit down.”

“We need to go. Board the next ship. I don't care where it goes.”

“What happened?”

He could barely breathe. He did have to sit, as much as he didn't want to, as she pressed the cloth against his head. “He had a gun—he wanted all of our money. I hit him and he fell. T-that's all I stayed for. Oh, and I took the gun.” He pulled it out. “We have to go before he wakes up.”

“Brian, you're going into shock.”

“I'd rather do it on a ship.”

She listened to him, quickly gathering their things. They abandoned the cart, which had little in it anyway, and took only what they could fit on their backs. Brian could barely walk, Nadezhda had to hold him up, and he shoved a mildly insane amount of money into the hands of the captain of a ship bound for a port in the south. The crew was male with no passengers. “Just keep it quiet,” Brian mumbled. They showed him to a spare room and brought him a mattress, which he hit rather soundly.

When he woke, they were already at sea. He felt the rocking of the boat and found it comforting.
We're moving
.

The days passed quietly. He recovered quickly and checked the ship—no Andrei. They were safe. Nadezhda didn't venture far outside the cabin, not with a male crew. They mainly stayed to themselves until their food ran out; they then shared meals with the crew, again, at extra cost.

It doesn't matter, he told himself. It's like farthings.

It wasn't worth that, when they all started getting sick. At first, he thought he was seasick, even though he normally had a strong stomach. He could hardly blame Nadezhda, who had never seen the sea, much less been on it before in her life. But then there were sores, fevers, and the boat began to veer off course because so many crew members were ill…

“Typhus,” he said as he rejoined Nadezhda in their cabin. “Bloody fucking typhus!”

Nadezhda managed a weak smile.

“I may sound as if I've gone truly insane,” he said, “and this would not be the first time I would have said something that made people think that, but there's land ahead. We could take the boat and row.”

“But—the captain—”

“If we stole it—went at night—” He slumped down against the wall. “I know it's wrong, crazy, and stupid. But if we stay here, we're going to die.”

She nodded weakly. She always agreed with him. She was never afraid. She was so perfect, so wonderful—she didn't deserve to die. He would do anything to make sure that didn't happen—not on his watch.

***

That night, in a feverish haze so bad he could hardly tell left from right, the two of them took the boat off the side and lowered themselves into the water. Everything proceeded smoothly—most of the crew was below deck, dying. Two had already been thrown overboard.

The waves were heavier than he expected. He tried to row alone. Several times, his strength failed him, and Nadezhda took his place. He lay down on the floor of the small wooden boat, listening to the waves, falling into the comforting silence beyond Nadezhda's desperate breathing. That was, until the boat crashed into a rocky coast; he heard the wood splintering and noises from afar—his cue.

Nadezhda was unconscious. He rose somehow, his pack still on his back, and lifted her into his arms, stepping out of the ruined boat and into the water that went up to his knees. Slowly he waded to shore, his night vision failing him against the torchlight. It was all a haze, and then there was shouting. He set Nadezhda down when she murmured something.

His only thought was of Nadezhda, half-collapsed at his side. He was inclined to join her, not feeling well on his feet. He was very aware, not only of the lapping water against his boots but the presence of others around him, swords drawn. He drew his pistol, though he doubted he had the strength to do more than hold it up and fire once or twice. “Stay away,” he said in Russian, even though in the poor light, these people did not look Russian. They were positively Oriental, with their strange hair in buns, their odd swords, and their eyes. They had left the mainland, he was sure—so they could not be in Cathay—“If you touch her, so help me God,” he said in Romanian.

Someone shouted at him. It was an order, but it was incomprehensible. He did not know if they recognized what he held in his hands when they came after him. He'd been in similar straits before, certainly, but not with a wife by his side, and not when he was so utterly sick and exhausted.

How the gun went off, he could not properly recall. It fired harmlessly into the air, gunpowder drifting down as he was knocked in his side by the butt of a weapon, and he collapsed. “Nadezhda…” he whispered. She was gone, and so was everything else.

Dawn Breaks

1812

The sky was getting light when England came into view, first in the form of the waning light of the lighthouses, then the lamps of Dover. Darcy eventually gave in to his wife's
subtle
suggestions, as well as his own body's, and fell asleep on a pile of blankets. In fact, almost none of them were able to make it through the night except the crew.

Elizabeth woke first, from her uncomfortable position leaning against the beam. In the early morning light she was surprised to see Brian Maddox seated on the bow, the longer of his two swords against his shoulder for convenience, staring out at the approaching skyline. His wife was curled up beside him, very much asleep. He managed to rise without waking her to bow to Elizabeth. “Mrs. Darcy.”

“Mr. Maddox. Have you been awake all night?”

“Yes.” He put his sword back in his belt, or sash, or whatever it was, and stepped further out to the edge with her, away from the sleeping crowd. “It seems I am the cause of all of your troubles again, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Not all of them,” she corrected. “But—most.”

He blinked in the light. “I would not take it back. I certainly didn't ask Danny to come rescue me. I wrote many letters telling him to do precisely otherwise, which he didn't get or didn't listen to.”

“The former.”

“And Darcy chose to accompany him?”

“Darcy was also looking for his brother. He just had the misfortune of falling into the count's trap first.”

Brian nodded. He had been changed, undoubtedly, by whatever he had experienced himself. How, it was difficult to tell. “I am sorry for the difficulties, Mrs. Darcy, but my responsibility was to my wife, and I had to see it through. That I do not regret.”

“We've heard different tales, and I'm sure you have your own, but as I understand it, your father-in-law gave you little option but to run.”

“Yes. We ran so far east to escape his agents that we wound up at the end of the world.”

“‘Here there be dragons.'”

He chuckled. “Indeed. Coincidentally, they're positively obsessed with dragon imagery. In the Orient, I mean. If I must now return to the backward Englishman stance and call it that.”

“You must have quite a story.”

Brian smiled. “You must be somewhat forgiving of me now, to be so casual about it. Yes, in fact, I do.”

“How long were you in England?”

“Only as long as it took for me to arrange this ship. The night we arrived and found the house shut up, we went to the Bingleys', and then there was that,” he shook his head. “A long story. Excuse Mr. Bingley's absence; he is nursing a concussion.”

“You didn't!”

“Certainly not! But my brother-in-law has to learn a thing or two about warehouses in Town and facing unpaid workers by himself. Fortunately, we were there in time. Between that and here, I believe, it was three days. Mugin offered to go ahead.”

“By boat?”

“I believe he swam, at least some of the way.”

Behind them someone said something incomprehensible, which Elizabeth took to be Japanese, indeed, it was Mugin standing there.

“He says he swam about halfway, but it was freezing,” Brian explained. “And then a ship happened by and picked him up.”

“Is that true?”

“Probably,” Brian said, giving a knowing look to Mugin, who shrugged dismissively and walked off without a bow to either of them. “He's temperamental, but he's saved my life more times than I can count. So no argument here.”

“Is he some type of hired warrior?”

“I guess that's one way to describe him. He wanted to get out of Japan for a while, so he rode with us, all the way to England.” He turned away. “I suppose we should start waking everyone. I can see land there.”

Land. For a brief moment, Elizabeth thought she had never heard a more beautiful word in her life.

Brian knelt beside his brother, putting a hand on his forehead. “Danny?”

Dr. Daniel Maddox opened his eyes, looked up at his brother and whispered, “My God… Y-you've… gone bald.”

Brian laughed. “It's just shaved, I assure you.” He glanced up at Elizabeth. “His fever broke.”

“So… I'm not hallucinating,” the doctor said.

“No,” his brother assured him.

“And I grew up? Got married? That… all happened?” he said, gasping. “Not just… recovering from some cataract surgery i-infection?”

“No, Danny. I really did marry a princess, and you have two children and a royal commission. Oh, and everyone thinks I've gone insane. They may be right.”

Dr. Maddox smiled but was too exhausted to say anything else. He laid his head back down on the pillow, with Caroline still asleep beside him.

***

Their arrival was greeted with little fanfare. There was no precise time on the boat arrival, but Jane abandoned her husband's side (with his encouragement) to be there to meet the carriage from Dover. The sun was barely up when they all arrived, truly a dirtied, bloodied, over-exhausted mass of people who somewhat resembled the people she loved. Darcy of course insisted on stepping out of the carriage himself, if with the aid of a cane and Elizabeth. “Hello, Mrs. Bingley.”

“Mr. Darcy,” Jane said, curtseying. “It is so good to see you.” There was so much joy in her heart, but this was not the time to express it. He needed to get into his house, where Georgiana and his children awaited him. “Brother Grégoire.” He seemed to be carrying a large box on his back.

It was Dr. Maddox who was not conscious and needed to be carried by his brother and Lord Fitzwilliam. All of the men had a few days' worth of beard on them, except Mugin, who seemed to be wearing a French officer's coat. “Mr. Mugin—”

“
Hai?
”

“Your coat. It's uhm…”

“Was cold.”

Nadezhda whispered in Japanese in his ear, and he bowed to her. “
Gomen nasai
.” He removed the coat, bowed to Jane, and kept walking.

“How is Mr. Bingley?” Elizabeth managed to whisper to her.

“Cranky, but he will be fine, I'm told. He sends his regrets—he does wish to see both of them, but he cannot be moved.”

Elizabeth hugged her. Only briefly, because her coat was soiled and there was just so much to do, but enough to acknowledge:
It is over. We are home
.

***

The children were not up when the Maddoxes arrived at their house, and Caroline checked on them both but did not wake either in their nursery. She didn't want them to see their father until he was at least cleaned up.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Dr. Maddox seemed to slowly be returning to consciousness when he was carried up to the master bedchamber. Brian immediately turned to the shocked servant and gave instructions to contact the physician who had treated his brother since he was a child. “Where does he keep his opium?” he asked Caroline.

“In his study, but no one knows the recipe.”

“He didn't write it down?”

Caroline shook her head and turned to her husband. “What is the recipe for your opium medicine?”

Dr. Maddox, his voice stilted by pain, merely said, “No.”

“Well, I don't care what he says; I'm getting him laudanum.” With that, Brian disappeared. As servants came and went, forced into a rush to open the house for the master and his wife, the door remained open, and there was a knock on the doorframe. Nadezhda Maddox stood there pensively. She was still wearing her silk robes, which Caroline had to admit had the most beautiful prints of flowers on the corners that she had ever seen, but the princess now also had her hair covered in a complex set of veils.

“
Entschuldigen Sie
,” she said in German. (Excuse me.) “So sorry, know small English.”

“I speak German,” Caroline replied, continuing in that language, “And so does my husband.”

Princess Maddox—if she was still a princess at all—curtseyed. “I am so sorry, Dr. Maddox.”

“It wasn't your fault,” Caroline said for her husband, holding his good hand.

Nadezhda cautiously stepped into the room, as if she was violating some sacred temple, even if servants were running to and fro. “My failure as a woman caused all of this. If I could only conceive—”

“Your Highness,” Caroline said, not really sure how she was supposed to address an ex-Austrian princess, “everyone has a little trouble. My sister is barren, and her husband supports her nonetheless.” Actually, her brother supported Mrs. Hurst, but that was neither here nor there.

“I drove my father mad—”

“Your father was not mad,” Dr. Maddox gasped. “Just… cruel. Not your fault.” He shifted in bed. “I think I have a spare—pair of glasses. Mine are rather filthy. In the lab, darling?”

“Of course,” Caroline said. In the hubbub of returning home, she had almost forgotten. She kissed him on his forehead, picked up the keys from the dresser, and excused herself.

Dr. Maddox immediately opened his eyes and turned them in the general direction of Nadezhda. “Has my brother been a good husband?”

“Yes,” she said. “Brian is the very best of men.”

He chuckled. “I never thought I would… hear someone say that.” He swallowed. “Thank you. I feel—much better.”

Dr. Hulbert arrived within the hour. Dr. Maddox was sitting up, with the help of many pillows. Hulbert checked his hand, listened to his chest, looked in his mouth, and looked carefully into his eyes before giving him an exam with Dr. Maddox's glasses on. Dr. Maddox passed, but he said very little over the course of it. Normally, Daniel Maddox was most prodigious about his health and would probably be babbling on about it. Hulbert frowned. “Well, the news is mainly good. The infection does not seem to be spreading, though the fever may continue for a few days. In fact, the most distressing thing aside from your weight loss is… lice.”

“Lice?” the Maddoxes said in unison.

“Your hair is infested. I'm surprised the doctor in Prussia didn't notice it.” He closed up his bag. “And you should tell the other fellow you were with to have himself checked. Now get some rest, Daniel. Mrs. Maddox?”

She gave Dr. Maddox's hand a squeeze and followed the doctor outside, where he shut the door behind them.

“I've never seen him like this,” she admitted, finally able to release her worry, if only a little.

“Is he more aware than he was when he was first rescued?”

“He wasn't even
conscious
when he was first rescued.”

Hulbert was a much older man, his hair mainly white, but still very spry. “I understand he's been through a lot in the past few months. He's malnourished and in pain. He needs rest, but he will recover. I don't think there is any permanent damage.”

She sighed with relief. “And the lice?”

“He needs to be shaved and his head dunked in whiskey. It can be bad whiskey, as long as it's strong.”

She paused. “The children are here. I don't want them to see him like this.”

“How old are they?”

“Five.”

“They'll hardly notice, though I would buy him a wig of some sort.”

“Mother?”

They turned toward Frederick Maddox, standing in the hallway, almost pulling on her dress to get her attention.

“Frederick!” she said, unable to hold back her affection as she knelt down and hugged him. “My darling. I'm home and your father is home. He's just very tired.” She kissed him on both cheeks and then on the head. “Where is your sister?”

“Sleeping.” He looked up. “Who are you?”

“Dr. Hulbert,” the old man said, bowing.

“Frederick Maddox,” the boy said in a proper little bow. “Who are you?”

“I'm your father's eye doctor. I've known him since he was—well, almost as small as you, but not quite. But he was very young.”

“Am I going to go blind like him?”

Caroline looked at her son in shock, but Dr. Hulbert didn't miss a beat. “I don't think so, Master Frederick. His condition is very rare.”

“Frederick,” Caroline said more sternly, “why don't you have Nurse dress you so you can properly see your father?”

This idea the boy took very well, and he disappeared down the hallway the way he came.

“I never told him about it,” Caroline said. “I've never said it in his presence—”

“Children are smarter than we think,” said the doctor. “Or, at least, more intuitive. I remember a young Master Daniel whose older brother and I conspired to keep his fate from him. So he read every medical book he could find in English until he figured it out. He was twelve.”

“How long do you think he has?”

Dr. Hulbert spoke very kindly. “The specialist in Scotland gave him four years. Obviously, I gave up guessing a long time ago. He told me he's determined at least to see his daughter come out.” He turned his head at the sound of someone ascending the steps. “And if it isn't—good God, man, what happened to you?”

“Dr. Hulbert,” Brian said, bowing. “In short: marriage, Russia, Japan. That will have to do for the moment. I have some medicine to shove down my brother's throat.” And with that, he bowed again quickly and disappeared into Daniel's room.

“That was short,” Dr. Hulbert said. “I cannot fault him for that.”

***

At the Darcy townhouse, Elizabeth had a real fear that Darcy would crush his sister. Georgiana was so small and so readily embraced him, unaware of how much support he needed to keep standing, and it was a lot of weight to take on. The servants fortunately rushed to help their ailing master and take the box containing the reliquary off of Grégoire's back.

Darcy's manservant, Mr. Reed, appeared almost in tears as he attended to his master, removing the torn coat they had picked up in Austria, and helped him to the stairs. Darcy responded to queries, but mainly in a “yes” or “no.” The only thing that finally made him stop was his son, standing at the top of the stairs. “Geoffrey.”