The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy (6 page)

Tonight, there was nothing. Despite having eaten and drunk too much, and been liberal with his snuff, the Regent was still on both feet well into the early morning. Dr. Maddox had finished the
French Medical Monthly
and the
Prussian Medical Review
, and had fallen back on the new edition of
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
. He was sipping tea and enjoying his reading when a servant approached. “His Royal Highness, Prince William, to see you, sir.”

“The Duke of Clarence?” he said, but before he could receive an answer, the third son of King George and the Prince Regent's brother, entered. Dr. Maddox quickly rose and bowed. “Your Highness.”

“I understand that you are my brother's chief physician.”

“I am,Your Highness.”

When he looked up, he saw the duke eyeing him skeptically. “Where was your training?”

“Cambridge, sir. And then the Academy in Paris.”

“You can
see
my brother, can you not?”

He held back a smirk. “Yes,Your Highness. I assure you that I can.”

“So you are either grossly incompetent or he refuses to take your advice. Knowing George, it is the latter.”

“I cannot discuss my patient's behavior. I can say that every man is master of his own fate.”

“Have you ever met my father, Doctor?”

“I have, sir, but only briefly.”

“His doctors control his fate entirely, though I suppose it does little good.”

“I am not his doctor, sir, and therefore cannot make an assessment.”

“You are discreet indeed,” said the duke. “I can see why he employs you—that and whatever medical skills you may have.” He stepped closer to him. “Please do me the favor of keeping my brother alive. I care not for the prospect of the throne. It seems the most tedious job in the kingdom.”

Never one to interfere with family (especially royal family) squabbles, Dr. Maddox merely nodded and said, “I will do my best, Your Highness.”

Without a word of good-bye, the duke turned and took his leave.

It was well past dawn when Dr. Maddox walked home. He did not live far, the streets were easily navigated in the morning light, and the carriages leaving Carlton House were filled with people returning to their homes in a drunken stupor, so it was more convenient to walk. There was a beggar on the corner—a boy with one leg—and he dropped a shilling in the boy's upturned cap before ascending the stairs to his townhouse. The servants were, of course, expecting his arrival.

“Is my wife by chance awake yet?” he asked as the doorman removed his overcoat. It was still early for a normal person.

“No, Dr. Maddox.”

He sighed and headed to his own room, where he threw some water on his face to clean off the London smog before climbing into his clean sheets, and into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke at about two, he was informed that his wife was entertaining friends. He had a tray brought to his study, where the post was already in, but nothing seemed important. Seeing as his wife was still engaged, he unlocked his laboratory door and checked on his poppy plants. They were lodged next to the window and beneath glass to protect them from Town air. Despite his daily watering, he could not seem to get them to stay alive for long. The delicate things withered away. He plucked a leaf from one of them, put the plant back in the case, and put the leaf under his microscope. He was still inspecting it when he heard the door open. The children and most of the servants were not allowed in the laboratory, and he always kept watch on the door when it was unlocked. “Good morning.” It was his first smile of the day.

Caroline Maddox kissed him on the cheek. “Good afternoon.”

“I know,” he said playfully, taking his seat again next to the microscope. “I think I'm going to have another crop failure this year.”

“Are these the seeds that Brian gave you?”

“Yes, and they were straight from the Orient. Nonetheless, they don't seem much good.” So far, he was still buying raw opium the traditional way—in a shadier section of East London. “I spoke with a botanist, but he didn't know much about poppy. Or wasn't willing to admit to it.” He looked up. “How are the children? I've not seen them today.”

“Emily has writing instruction, and Frederick is pretending to study with the Greek tutor.”

“Not everyone likes Greek.”

“Or any other challenging subject.”

“Well, I wasn't going to say it unprovoked,” he said. “He's a boy. If we were at Kirkland, he would be out in the woods, enjoying the weather.”

“And making trouble.”

“It is the primary occupation of boys.”

“Your sex will protect its own to the very end,” she huffed.

“I would say the same of yours, but I prefer to be polite,” he replied, which softened her countenance just a little. “I haven't heard a peep from Danny all day. Did you take away his recorder?”

“I had the excuse that you were sleeping.”

He smiled, but it was a sad sort of smile as he fumbled with one of the more harmless instruments on the table. “The Prince is set to go to Brighton at the end of the month.”

She didn't miss it. “So? You just said that Frederick was suffering from cabin fever. Brighton will clear that up. And Danny loves playing in the ocean.”

He just nodded.This would be their fourth summer trailing the Prince Regent to Brighton, all expenses paid for the entire Maddox family, for most of the summer. It had its pleasures. Nonetheless, he said, “I am thinking about resigning my post.” Before Caroline
could whip her head around with an indignant question, he continued calmly, “We have the money to do it. Even if the Prince refused to pay my retirement salary, which he is under obligation to do, we have enough put away to provide Emily with a decent inheritance. And if you wanted a manor in the country, we would only need to sell the stock in our brothers' company. I'd probably have the best patient list in the whole Royal Society of Medicine. And you know that I was offered a position at Cambridge.”

Her indignation melted. “If he even
let
you resign—”

“I think he would, if I agreed to find a suitable replacement and still occasionally checked up on him.”

Now Caroline had reason to pause. “You've considered this.”

“I prefer to consider everything I do.”

“Is your job so terrible?”

His expression probably said enough. “I enjoy my profession. What I do not enjoy is spending hours in a sitting room waiting for my patient to pass out because he did precisely the opposite of what I told him to do for his health.The last person I actually helped was the Duke of Devonshire, and only because the edges of the pagoda were sharpened to look exotic.” He frowned. “I sleep most of the day. Frederick needs more instruction, but I'm not awake to give it. Danny hates Town life and is off at Kirkland or Brian's estate whenever he can secure my approval. And as ungentlemanly as it may be...” he said, “I'd rather spend my nights sleeping in your chamber.”

“You do make a very convincing argument,” she said, kissing his hand—the one with all the fingers. What would otherwise have been a lovely moment was broken by the sound of something shattering. “
Frederick!
” his mother shouted.

There was scurrying in the hallway, and Frederick Maddox appeared at the door. “I know what you're thinking, and Danny—”

“Your brother is asleep,” Caroline said.

“Noble effort,” Dr. Maddox added.

Frederick's next plan was to run as fast as he could up the stairs. This scheme worked until Nurse found him hiding in the attic. For his punishment, he spent an hour sitting on a pillow.

After briefly stopping at Pemberley, the Darcy family headed south to London, where they would spend a month before the real heat set in. There were relatives to visit and business that had been put off for practically the entire time of Lady Georgiana's confinement. Mary and Joseph Bennet, who rarely left Hertfordshire, were visiting the Gardiners while Jane and her three younger children stayed at Longbourn with Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. They would all gather at Longbourn for Edmund's birthday. Mr. Bennet, never much of a traveler, stayed on his grounds for everything but church now, owing to his great age. Elizabeth's one regret about moving to Derbyshire was the fact that her father was denied the presence of his two favorite daughters. He wrote often, and they in turn, but that would not fill the gap. Mr. Bennet wrote that he was staying alive merely to confound Mr. Collins (who now had
four
daughters).

The Darcy children were eager to be in town and ecstatic the whole way, which was why they had their own carriage. At last, Geoffrey begged admittance to his father's carriage, and with a smile, Darcy agreed. “Why is it that our children never seem to remember how hot, smelly, and dirty town is? They'll be complaining within a week.”

“I want to see George,” his son announced. George Wickham, who was turning thirteen the following week, now lived with his sister and mother in an apartment on Gracechurch Street with Lydia's new husband and their infant son. “Do I have tutoring today?”

“Of course you do,” Darcy said without taking his eyes off his ledger.

“George doesn't have tutors. Why?”

“Because George teaches himself,” Elizabeth said, exchanging a glance with her husband. It was the most polite reason to give. Now out of Longbourn, the Wickham children's formal education was limited. “Did he ask for anything for his birthday?”

Darcy had a semi-regular correspondence with this particular nephew. “He wants a set of Homer in Greek.”

“
So
boring,” Geoffrey said, leaning back against the cushion.

“People have different tastes,” Elizabeth said, stroking her son's hair. He had his father's coloring and his mother's curls. “Uncle Bingley likes to read about foreign countries. Your father likes to read his ledgers.”

Darcy gave her a look. She smiled.

George Wickham (the Younger or the Third, depending on one's perspective) sat on his bed next to the window that overlooked the row of apartments lining Gracechurch Street. He was lying on his bed, with his feet kicked up on the dresser. Having recently outgrown the cot, he was forced to sleep with his feet sticking out until the new one arrived. Mr. Bradley had said it was on order, and would surely be there by his birthday. His mother had told him he should ask his uncle for a bed, but fortunately, her new husband thought otherwise.

He was still trying to make his way through the
Divine Comedy
—which was confusing enough even with his Latin dictionary handy—when Isabella Wickham burst through the door and slammed it behind her, without knocking, of course. George only turned his head sideways. “What did you do, Izzy?”