Mr. Darcy's Great Escape (34 page)

Bingley did understand. “He's their friend from Japan. He barely understands English. He'll be no trouble; they promise.”

Darcy nodded numbly.

Bingley got to his feet. “It is good to have you back, Darcy.”

It was only because of Bingley's smile and his tone that only spoke of his words being genuine that Darcy was able to stand and shake his hand before his friend left.

“There,” he said to Elizabeth as she rejoined him, “is a man I did not realize how much I truly missed.”

***

Despite all the things to prevent it from happening, Christmas was held at Pemberley that year. The guests were hosted at Chatton but festivities were at Pemberley. Three miles away, the Maddox clan had their challenges. In fact, just about everyone upstairs could hear the shouting.

“
Ore no katana wa hanasenai. Kenrin ga nai
,” (I'm not leaving my sword behind. I have a right not to do so!
)
Brian's voice was defiant.

“
Tadashikamo. Kare wa samurai da to omoimasu kara
.” (He's right you know, if he thinks he's a samurai.)

“
Mugin, kare o ganbaranaidekudasai. Anata mou katana to ikemasen
,” (Mugin, stop supporting him. And you're not going armed, either,) Nadezhda said. “
Oshujin ni daremo okorasenai. Koko wa Igirisu desu. Daremo anatatachi ni tatakawanarimasen!
”
(No one is upsetting our hosts! This is England. You won't be attacked!)

“
Shoshiki, Pemberley de mou semerareta…
”
(
Actually, I have been attacked at Pemberley before…)

“
Brian, Atashi o shitagatte!
” (Brian, you will do what I say!)

“
Shitaganakereba, nani
?” (Or what?) Brian decided to challenge his wife.

“
Sou dattara, Mugin no mae de hanasenai!
” (Or—something I can't say in front of Mugin!)

“
Oi. Hazukashinaide…
” (Hey, don't be embarrassed…)

“
Mugin, uruse!
” (Mugin, shut up!) the Maddox couple said together.

Outside, Daniel Maddox just scratched his hair—what little there was of it, barely enough to start curling. “Should I interrupt?”

“I did inform you of the incident with the man in the bar losing his arm, did I not?” Caroline said.

“Oh. Yes. Well, I'm sure this will sort itself out in time. Why don't we wait as far away as possible?”

They eventually emerged, proving that Brian remembered how to dress like an Englishman after all. Princess Nadezhda had procured a more modest style of dress than the English gown and still walked about with her medieval headdress. Mugin finally emerged sans sword, wearing Brian's black robes, blue pants, and sandals, which must have been some kind of Japanese formal wear. “Personal attack, I hit his head with fist,” he said warningly to Bingley.

“I will make sure our host is informed,” was all he said in response.

An enthusiastic Elizabeth and Georgiana, and a polite, somewhat mellow, Darcy greeted them. Dr. Maddox took one quick glance at Darcy's pupils and kept moving. Dinner could not help but be a celebratory affair. Elizabeth was preparing to enter her confinement, and Georgiana was engaged, a notion to which Darcy had no comment. If he had any nerves at all that evening, none of them showed. He looked remarkably calm, almost sleepy.

They retired to the sitting room after the children were sent to bed, overeager for Christmas, while the adults waited for midnight mass.

“Will Mr. Mugin be joining us?” Elizabeth asked Nadezhda.

“Do they have Christianity in Japan?” Bingley asked.

“They did, at one time,” Brian answered, turning to Mugin. “Mugin, are you religious?”

“Three,” he said.

“The trinity?” Grégoire offered.

“No. Have three religions,
gaijin
. Not need more.”

“Well, is
one
of them Christianity?” Dr. Maddox asked.

Brian translated for Mugin. When Mugin replied, Brian and Nadezhda both colored. “I'm not translating
that
.”

“Now you're not being fair,” Caroline said. “Tell us what the Oriental said.”

“I really don't think—”

“Now you're just teasing us, Mr. Maddox,” Elizabeth said, “unless it was crude.”

Brian sighed. “I explained what we meant by Christians, and he said, ‘Oh, those are the guys we crucify.'”

Mugin had a sort of gloating smile as he guzzled whatever the servant had filled his glass with.

“So… no, then, he won't be attending,” Bingley said.

“No, I don't think so.”

“This may be mildly inappropriate for the night Our Lord was born,” the doctor said, “but it
is
very ironic.”

Caroline stifled her laughter, or tried to, as she nudged her husband.

***

When the hour did come, the carriages were prepared for church, and as they stepped outside, they saw white. It was beginning to snow very lightly, in that sort of beautiful way when it comes down, in soft, slow clumps.

“Happy Christmas,” Dr. Maddox said to Darcy as the others stood admiring the sky. “When I said, ‘Take at night'—”

“Shut up; it was only two cups,” Darcy whispered back. His speech, now that he was actually talking, was a little slurred. “Three. That was it.”

“Generally you should not venture from the written prescription. It could be dangerous,” Dr. Maddox said, slapping him on the back. “But for tonight, I'll excuse it. Happy Christmas, Darcy.”

“Happy Christmas, Maddox.”

The Hunt

Darcy's first words on Christmas morning were, “We did bolt the doors?”

Elizabeth rolled over. “Yes. Why?”

“Because if I have to endure another Christmas of our children rushing in here—”

She kissed him. “One day, you will miss it.”

He smiled and rubbed her swollen stomach. “But not
very
soon.” His voice was steadier than it had been. She could still sense the anxiety he had not yet let go of, even as it dissipated. “We
did
get the children something, didn't we?”

“Yes. We did.”

“As long as there's no inquiry—”

“Geoffrey has wanted toy soldiers so he can play with Frederick. Anne is to have a play tea set, and Sarah is getting a new doll.”

“Thank you.” Banging on the door interrupted any further conversation, a very low banging on the door. “And it begins again.” But Elizabeth's laughter made it all worth it.

***

The Darcys and the Bingleys had one tradition that was inevitable—the regular jealousy of the other children, because the Bingley twins also received their birthday presents. They tried once to break it up during a different time in the day, but it hardly mattered, and so the adults just shrugged.

The most interesting presents in terms of surprise came from Brian and Nadezhda, of course, having newly returned from the very exotic Orient. The moment Charles the Third was distracted, his father immediately picked up the wooden top of a fat man that would remove and put back on the mask in his hands when the cord was pulled. “Yes, Charles, I know. It's lovely,” Jane said to her husband in the exact same voice she used with her children when he demonstrated it. He turned to Caroline, who just rolled her eyes.

Georgie had already opened her new set of colored pencils and disappeared into a corner for a bit before approaching Mugin, who remained off to the side for most of the morning.

“Mr. Mugin,” Georgie said, startling the Oriental as she approached him. So far, she was the only child who seemed to be able to do that without some apprehension. “Happy Christmas.” With that, she handed him a piece of paper with a drawing on it.

“What is-a this?” he said in obvious confusion.

Nadezhda Maddox decided to come to his aid, peering over his shoulder. “It seems to be a picture of you, Mugin-san.” For it was. Georgiana Bingley was an accomplished artist for someone her age, even though she'd drawn him squatting with pencil-thin limbs and shoes nearly triple their normal height. “A present.”

“Oh,” he said, and turned to the little red-haired girl in front of him, and bowed. “
Gomen nasai
.
Demo, kanoyoni nanimo o mottekuremasendeshita
.” (Thank you. But I don't have anything for her.)

“
Sore o suru no o nozomanai to omoimasu
,” Princess Maddox assured him. (I don't think she expects you to
.
)

“Idea!” he announced and whispered in Nadezhda's ear. Brian, now showing some interest, approached them and, upon hearing their discussion called for paper, ink, and a brush. When they were retrieved (it took some time for the servants to find a brush to Maddox's specifications), Mugin knelt beside the sitting room table, bunched up his sleeves, and tipped the brush, meant for restorative painting work, in the ink. “Name?”

“Bingley Georgiana,” Brian said.

“Binguri Jorujiana,” Mugin said, and began to draw on the paper with smooth strokes. The other children, and some of the adults, turned their heads as he formed complex and unfamiliar characters, one after another, going down to the bottom of the paper, before handing it back to her. “Here you go.”

“He's written your name,” Nadezhda explained. “In Japanese.”

Georgie took her present and squealed. “Thank you! Happy Christmas!”

Mugin bowed as Georgiana ran to show off her present. “Papa! Papa!”

Unaccustomed to such behavior from his normally reclusive daughter, Bingley handed Edmund off to Nurse before examining the paper himself. “How interesting!”

One could count the seconds before every child, cognizant of what had happened, wanted one. Mugin obliged, though the warrior did not seem quite sure what to do when surrounded by a pack of overexcited children yelling at him in a foreign language. “So sorry, name again?”

“Geoffrey Darcy.”

“Darushi Jefuri,” Mugin said, taking a second to figure out the letters for that.

“It seems your companion has brought his own set of gifts,” Darcy said to Brian. “In fact, I doubt ours are comparable. He
is
writing their names, yes?”

“My lettering is not particularly good, but I believe he is attempting to,” Brian assured him.

After the Christmas feast, some overexcited children were put to bed, and the roads were deemed too dangerous from the snow for a return to Chatton. That wasn't entirely true, but Darcy was feeling charitable, though he excused himself for most of the afternoon. Elizabeth eventually found him in the chapel with Grégoire, but did not disturb them. She waited instead until Darcy emerged. “Did you know he knew all along? Georgiana told him in May. May!” He shook his head. “Little bugger.”

“
Darcy!
”

“What? He is smaller than I am.” His hapless smirk was too endearing for her to say anything against him, and he knew it.

***

The next morning, the snow finally ceased, and Derbyshire was encased in white powder. The guests had had necessary items brought from Chatton, which was truly not that far away, and stayed the night, staying up much later than was good for them and resulting in some very late risings.

Geoffrey Darcy, who was sharing his room with Charles, was up first. He was always up first, to the annoyance of many people, but the servants were quite used to it, and most paid little attention to him except for a polite smile. He was still not entirely awake when he was surprised to find someone else up. Georgie Bingley was staring out one of the windows of the great hall, wrapped in a blanket.
It was hard to heat large spaces in winter, Father said.

“D'you know how early it is?” Geoffrey said, rubbing his eyes.

“Shut up!” Georgie commanded, not taking her eye off the window. “Do you want to see it or not?”

Geoffrey yawned and nodded. He had to wipe away the condensation on the glass to see out. White snow blanketed Pemberley, including the long stone porch. At the end of it, facing the forest, Mr. Mugin stood on one leg, the other braced against his knee like a bird, his left sandal abandoned. There he stood, arms braced together, quite still and silent for some time. Geoffrey doubted he could get into that position, much less stay in it for so long. Mugin was wearing only a scarf and his bizarre hat over his regular clothes; he must have been freezing.

“C'mon!”

“Georgie! You can't be—” But apparently she was serious, because she tossed him a blanket, wrapping her own around herself as she opened the door and stepped outside cautiously.

“Mr. Mugin-san!” she called.

“
Hai
?” he said, without moving an inch.

“Aren't you cold?”

“Ar-en you? Englishmen very weak.”

“We're not!” Geoffrey said, and decided to race out in front of her, knowing his blanket and his shoes would be soaked in moments. Georgie followed quickly, shutting the door behind them, and they ran around Mugin's side. “See?”

“Are you praying, Mr. Mugin-san?”

“
Nani
? Ah, no,” he said, lowering his hands from the prayer position. “Don know word. Thinking.”

“What were you thinking about?” Geoffrey asked.

“Nothing. Is point, Darcy-chan.”

Georgiana attempted to climb onto his unused sandal, which would put her above the snow. She quickly lost her balance but Mugin caught her before she could topple over, holding her above the snow, as he slid back into his other shoe. “Good?”

“Good,” she said, though she sounded a little rattled. Mugin did not set her down, but instead took her into his arms, even though she was seven and not many adults could do that.

“I put you down?”

“Yes, sir.”

He set her down without any trouble, beside Geoffrey, picked up his sword, which was lying in the snow, and put it back over his shoulders.

“May I ask you a question, Mr. Mugin-san?”

“Not Meester,” he said. “Mugin-san; means same.”

“Mugin-san, have you killed a lot of people with your sword?”

Geoffrey was put off with the question; Mugin was not and only shrugged. “I very bad at counting.”

“Is that why you went to prison?” Geoffrey asked. “My dad said you went to prison. That's why you have tattoos.”

“Not why. I—stole from ship, get arrested. Very stupid of me.”

“So it's okay to kill people in Japan?”

Mugin shrugged. “People fight me, I kill them or they kill me. Is fine.”

“Anyone? Not, like, women and children?”

“No!” Mugin said. “Some women, fine.”

“Do women have swords in your country?” Georgie said, tugging at his pants.

“Some. Women can be very dangerous.”

Geoffrey huffed. “We don't kill people in England, Mr. Mugin, unless they've done something really bad.”

“But you kill people in France,” Mugin countered. “Big war. No war in Japan.”

“That… is true.”

“Ha ha!” Georgie said. “Mugin outsmarted you.”

“He did not!”

“Did too!”

“Good children,” Mugin said, patting them both on their heads. “Cold. We go in.”

“Mugin-san! Look!”

Georgie pointed in the direction of the field. The forest was not far away, and because it was so white they had not noticed the quiet approach of a white wolf, sniffing curiously, some distance away from them. They were not far from the door. Geoffrey was going to run when Mugin grabbed him by the shoulder very strongly. “You stay. She go for small thing first. Wait.”

“Mr. Mugin—”

“Not move,” he commanded. “I take care, you go for door. Understand?” He looked down at them. “
Understand!
”

They both nodded.

“Good children. I distract her. Then you go.” He released Geoffrey, herding them behind him as he drew his sword.

Neither of them dared to say a word.

“You not look. Understand? Just run for door.”

They nodded again.

He cautiously stepped out farther on the terrace, approaching the wolf. “Go!” he whispered, and they ran.

The wolf did not attack Mugin, who continued to approach it, his stilt sandals keeping his feet out of the snow. Geoffrey and Georgie ran inside and closed the door behind them, but not all the way. Geoffrey wanted to run and tell someone, but Georgie grabbed him.

“But he said not to look!”

“Do you want to see it or not?”

He did. They stood by the window as Mugin shouted at the wolf and pointed to the forest. It growled in response. He jumped up and down, trying to scare it off. It circled him. There was a silent gesture back and forth, and Mugin looked over his shoulder and winked at them, only a moment before the white wolf launched herself at him. He leaned back and let the wolf bite down—on his sandal. Her teeth caught, and he rolled back into the snow and flipped her over with him. The ensuing action was obscured by the spray of powder, but Mugin stood, covered in snow, and wiped his sword across his maroon shirt to clean it before putting it back in its case. He kicked some snow over the wolf, which lay motionless, and turned back to the house, entering as if nothing had happened and there was no reason why he was covered in snow and breathing heavily.

“Mugin-san, you're bleeding!” Georgie cried out.

He looked down at his foot, the one the wolf had tried to bite off. There was a small mark there that was bleeding. “Huh. Caught me. Good opponent.” By now, some servant had passed through and was standing in horror at the spectacle of an armed Oriental facing him. “You have cloth for foot?”

***

When the Darcys were woken (which was quickly) and the panicking finished (which was not as quickly done), the children were sent off with a minor scolding for going outside in the cold, and to be watched more carefully by their nurses. Meanwhile, the adults held conference as Dr. Maddox bound Mugin's foot.

“Bath,” he said to the servant who was the least terrified about approaching him. “Now! Very hot.”

“Yes, sir; right away, sir.”

Mugin bowed to Darcy and followed the servant.

Stunned by Mugin's appearance and the news of a wolf threatening his children, Darcy struggled to maintain his composure as the master of the grounds; he turned to a curious Brian Maddox, who was the first one to speak to the Japanese man in his native tongue. “Is there some way to—pay Mr. Mugin?”

“He wants the white wolf's hide. He says she's still on the lawn.”

Darcy nodded. Glad that the job was done, he pushed it away in his mind. Aside from entertaining the children with some stories, the whole matter was set aside, and the holiday festivities continued as the Christmas decorations came down and the Twelfth Night ones were put up. In the ensuing chaos, the whole event was largely forgotten, and Darcy never bothered to inquire about the hide, or even think of it again.