The Plight of the Darcy Brothers (26 page)

When the carriage became rather useless, they emerged into the streets themselves, which were hot and buggy but not unbearable. Darcy could not seem to ignore his brother's pleas to see St. Peter's. Darcy would have excused himself from this business, but Elizabeth expressed a more pedestrian interest in the seat of the Papery, and he wished to see it with her if she was to go.

Hands together—something clearly appropriate here, and a luxury they enjoyed—the Darcys watched Grégoire ascend and kiss each step leading to the courtyard of St. Peter, with its marble statues of the church fathers and Roman architectural façade.

“You've given him a great gift, bringing him here,” Elizabeth whispered to Darcy.

“Or a favor. In which case, he would perhaps be kind enough to repay me by visiting Pemberley before returning to Mont Claire.”

“Scheming, as usual.”

“For everyone's good, of course,” he said.

They had no words, at first, to fully describe the cathedral they entered. It was massive, and although they visited
between masses, it was still rather crowded with visitors to see the wooden throne of St. Peter. And what a throne it was! It was only a wooden chair, too high in the air for anyone to sit on it now, but it had four bronze pillars surrounding it. All of the literature the Darcys had read on the wealth of the Papacy was clearly not unfounded. Grégoire bowed to the floor and was received by an attending priest, and there was some amount of groveling and blessing before Darcy could approach his brother. “We must find suitable lodgings for tonight, eventually, and your skills are needed in this. After the task is done, you can return, but I would ask this small favor of you.”

“Of course. In fact, let us go now, so that I can return for Compline. He bowed to the priest, and they hurried out of the basilica.

Between Darcy's natural abilities to assess where the wealthy situated themselves and Grégoire's translation, they were able to rent a cramped, but suitable apartment that would do for the moment. Darcy kept his brother long enough only to eat something and translate Darcy's letter of inquiry as to the location of Mr. Mastai, if he was in the city at all.

With that sent, they separated, and Grégoire rushed to Compline, his exuberance carrying him all the way there. The Darcys themselves found themselves hot and exhausted, and were happy to retire. The building was centuries old and a bit drafty, and that was its saving grace.

“Better accommodations will be found,” Darcy assured Elizabeth, though it was mainly himself that needed assuring. “When our business is done here, perhaps we will retire to one of those famous villas while we wait for an answer.”

“Do you have a plan for asking the question?”

“Oh, yes,” he said.

“Does it involve you just walking in, speaking your mind, and maybe throttling a boy younger than your brother until he agrees to a settlement?”

He smiled. “Perhaps it is not the most cunning of plans.”

“Mary is my sister, and I have some questions for Mr. Mastai myself, if you don't mind. In fact, that may aid us, for if Miss Talbot is correct, Mr. Mastai may have some affection for Mary or even love her. Misplaced in his actions, but still.”

“Useful knowledge to have in bargaining.”

“It is not all about bargaining. Emotions are involved, Darcy. You remember emotions? Ones you feel about people you haven't even met or don't even like, but are afraid to express?”

“I am not
afraid
.”

“Then you are just exceedingly shy.”

“I am not shy.”

“Now you are just being stubborn.”

“Have you ever known me to be anything else?”

Elizabeth could not reply that she had.

They set out after Grégoire returned from morning Mass. It was hot but not unbearable, and even though Elizabeth had a brimmed hat, Darcy bought her a parasol, as well as a wooden cross necklace for his brother, to which, surprisingly, the monk did not object. The seller said that His Holiness had blessed the necklace, and as much as Darcy doubted that, he said nothing.

Rome was the Holy City, but it was a modern city as well, if a bit confused in its orientation, having never been planned out properly to be the size that it was. They soon found the
residential streets quite winding and disorienting. Grégoire was invaluable, although he was horrified that Darcy was willing to put ducats in the hand of any man who seemed, through translation, to be reluctant to give directions.

They were misled and probably lied to, but eventually they found someone, a woman hanging out clothing to dry, who said she had once rented an apartment from the family, but that the family had a bigger one down the hill, and she knew little else. Perhaps the fact that this British couple was traveling with a young monk of only the most humble appearance endeared them to her enough to tell them that without outright bribery.

“
Grazie
,” Darcy said, which was basically the extent of his Italian. “I did pronounce that right?”

“Yes,” Grégoire said, in his own bizarrely accented English. “Down here, she said. All the way to the end.”

Fortunately the route was downhill. They descended until at last they reached an old apartment house with a new false Roman façade. Darcy rapped harshly on the door with his walking stick, making no pretense of ringing the bell.

A dark woman, who was obviously a maid, opened the door, and Grégoire bowed to her, keeping his eyes low. “
Scusilo. È questa il Mastai residenza?
” (“Excuse me. Is this the Mastai residence?”)

“
Sì.
” She cast a look of suspicion at the well-dressed foreigners behind the monk.

“We are looking for Giovanni Mastai,” Darcy broke in, figuring the name was enough. It seemed to be. Despite his English, her head snapped up at the name.

“Tell her it's urgent,” Darcy urged Grégoire.

“
Scusili. È un aspetto urgente.
” (“Excuse us. It is an urgent matter.”)

“
Il padrone non è domestico.
”

“She said the master isn't at home,” Grégoire translated.

“Give her this and ask if he will see us,” Elizabeth said, pulling from her pocket a rosary with red beads. “Please.”

Grégoire took the beads from her and held them up to the maid. She nearly grabbed them from his hand. “
Scusilo
,” and then she slammed the door shut.

“Very clever,” Darcy said to his wife. “I knew I brought you along for a reason.”

“Brought me along? She's
my
sister!”

He was unwilling to put up an argument, however pleasing, in the heat. Since the maid did not instantaneously reappear, they seated themselves in the little garden across the street, where a fallen imperial column made for an excellent bench and a gnarled tree created some shade. Aside from the buzzing of insects, the area was remarkably quiet, away from the bustle of the town's center. Or perhaps the Romans had the sensibility to retire in the midday heat.

Unfortunately for Darcy, he had insisted on his usual attire, though his cravat was not as complex when he tied it himself. Elizabeth had chastised him, but to no avail. Mr. Darcy was a proper English gentleman and would only be seen as one, especially on a mission of such monumental gentlemanly importance. That did not, however, mean he wasn't ruining his wool clothing with sweat.

“Dear, you're going to be ill,” Elizabeth told him.

“I suppose it's my turn,” he said. “You've both had a go at it.”

At last, the door opened, and the maid gestured for them to enter. They were ushered into a cramped but beautiful two-story apartment. It was full of artifacts, practically crammed
with them, in fact, like an unsorted collection. Every wall was lined with books. Where there weren't proper bookcases, piles of books were stacked neatly against the wall. The maid, still the only person they had seen, gestured for them to be seated on a couch in what was apparently a sitting room, if a sitting room more resembled a library, but then again, so did the hallways.

On their left was an entrance to the balcony overlooking the hills of Rome, and it provided some breeze. They were not given refreshments. In fact, they were left quite alone and wondered after a time if they were ever to be introduced to anybody, much less the right person. But then their long pilgrimage came to an abrupt end. A man—no, a very young man—entered, looking terrified with his arms folded behind his back. Around his neck was his rosary, the one Elizabeth had handed over. He was dressed simply in a seminary uniform, but without the priestly collar.

“Excuse my delay. I believe you are seeking me.” He bowed, and they did the same. His English was fluent, but highly accented with the traditional Italian leanings. “I am Giovanni Mastai.”

“IF YOU WILL EXCUSE the question,” Giovanni said, “I was not told who you were, though I can only imagine why you are here.”

“I am Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy,” Elizabeth broke in. “And this is my husband, Mr. Darcy. My maiden name is Bennet.”

“Ah,” he said. “Mary's sister.”

“So you know why we sought you,” Mr. Darcy said in a much deeper and more obviously threatening tone. “Or have some imagination on that subject. This is Brother Grégoire, who is Mary's brother-in-law.”

Grégoire bowed again.

“Then please allow me to get you some refreshments—”

But he would not have his escape. Darcy grabbed him by the collar as he tried to make his hasty exit. “While I would very much enjoy refreshments, we have not come this far to chat idly over tea, Mr. Mastai. Or is it Father Mastai now?”

“Darcy!” Elizabeth said, and would not give up her cold stare until Darcy released the boy, who gasped, once free. “We will be civil. Though, if you would, please answer the question, sir.”

“It is Mr. Mastai. I have not been ordained, though it is only a matter of time.” But surprisingly, there was confidence in his voice. Not only was he terrified, but he had a humble tone. “I was simply told Englishmen like to be very… what is the word, quiet and proper?”

“We are not in England,” Darcy replied. “And so we must be Italians and get right to the point, I suppose. You know the only proper course of action in this situation, however delayed it would now be.”

Giovanni swallowed. Elizabeth almost pitied him. “I—I am aware of your country's standards, but you must also be equally aware that I cannot do this. I have always been intended for the church, almost since I was old enough to walk—”

“That would make you quite the model of celibacy, wouldn't it?” Darcy said. “That would be expected of you.”

“My family expects many things of me. Every time I have tried to disobey them, my attempt has ended in failure. Please, Signore, try to understand my position—”

Darcy was unrelenting. “Your position is apparently quite comfortable.”

“You are surely aware,” Elizabeth said, a little gentler than Darcy, “that my sister's position is untenable, and that while I know not your local customs, her reputation is thoroughly ruined—and she may well bring down my younger sister Catherine as well.”

“'The fallen woman.' Yes, I have been told.”

“Apparently not enough to affect your course of action except to have you running in the opposite direction,” Darcy said.

“What was I to do? I—I cannot be an Englishman! My family would cast me off! And though I loved Mary, I could not
betray all of them—” he caught their expressions. “Yes, I did love her, and still do. It is not a lie, and I will not deny it for a moment. That I should have restrained my baser instincts, yes, you are in the right. That I should have insisted that she accept my offer of compensation—”

“Compensation!” Elizabeth said, finally raising her voice. “My sister is not a light-skirt, to be paid!”

“It was the only thing I could think of. Forgive me, but do you not—I do not fully comprehend—do you not occasionally marry for the exchange of monies in England? Something about dowries? The exchange of money to signify a spiritual connection?”

“Your church would certainly know all about that,” Darcy said. “No offense meant, Brother.”

“None taken,” Grégoire said, wisely deciding to stay out of the conversation entirely.