The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy (12 page)

JULY WAS PLEASANTLY QUIET for Dr. Maddox. The Prince Regent was in Brighton, and for once, he was not. There were no emergencies to call him there, and Dr. Bertrand's letters indicated that their patient was still in his fine, fat form.

The summer was not particularly hot, but bad enough that most of society had departed with the season to their summer homes and coastal resorts. Daniel and Caroline had the names of a couple of places but had no time to look at any of them, and were due to be in the area for Mr. Bennet's birthday in a few weeks. Nadezhda stayed with them, and on especially hot days they went up to her house just outside London, where at least the air was breathable.

“Why is it that Aunt Maddox can shoot a gun and you can't?” Frederick asked his father, who was sitting in a lawn chair, watching Nadezhda pick off fowl with stunning accuracy.

“I never learned. I don't care much for the sport.” He didn't want to add that he also couldn't see that far. “I mend things, not kill them. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Then who's going to teach me?”

“Your Uncle Bingley, I suppose. Brian's a terrible shot.” He looked over Frederick's shoulder and called out, “Daniel! Stay where I can see you!”

Danny Maddox waved his stick around and came back up the hill. “There are toads by the water. Can I keep one?”

“That wouldn't be very nice to the toad. I don't think it would care for London.”

“It's really hot in London. Is that why your plants always die?”

He sighed. “I think so, my boy.”

In the evenings, it was cooler, and Town was strangely quiet. Frederick didn't want to be read to anymore, or that was what he said, but sometimes he would sneak into Emily's room and listen to his father reading to her.

Upon his unofficial retirement, the servants fully expected the master would spend most of his day at a club. But even though Dr. Maddox belonged to a few, he went out only to lectures and to see patients, mainly charity cases. During the day, he spent much of his time in the laboratory, where the heat and foul air had not succeeded in killing every plant he was growing. The laboratory was of endless interest to his children, mainly because they weren't allowed inside except to look. When he heard a low knock on the door one afternoon, he called out, “What is it?”

“Can I come in?”

“Not right now.” He was mashing up a raw stem of poppy, and his mouth was covered with a scarf so that he would not accidentally blow on it. “Later.”

“Mama says it's important!”

“One moment and I'll be out.”

“She said it's
really
important.”

He spilled the contents into ajar and put the jar and the rest of the root in the bottom drawer, which he locked. He opened the door. “What—?”

Brian Maddox was holding Emily in his arms. “Your child for your opium.”

“That's a tough one. Opium is very expensive these days.”

“Papa!”

“I told you your father was capable of joking,” Brian said. He set her down so that he could embrace his brother. “Hello, Danny.”

“Welcome back,” he said. “I hope you brought Bingley with you.”

“He's downstairs.”

“I hope he's in one piece.”

“One overly excited piece, yes.”

Dr. Maddox stepped into the hallway, locking the door behind him. “You look good. What kind of trouble have you been in?”

“Mostly, I was busy keeping my business partner
out
of trouble. Ask him about the tiger sometime.”

“You know that your wife is here?”

“I got an enthusiastic greeting. If you hadn't been cooped up in that study, you'd have heard it.”

Downstairs, the Maddox sitting room was in an uproar as servants carried in trunks and Caroline embraced her brother, who apparently had not gone native and was dressed like a dignified Englishman.

“Mr. Mugin,” Dr. Maddox said and bowed to his guest. “What a surprise. I never thought you'd be back on this side of the world again.”

“I need to be in place—” he said something in Japanese to Nadezhda.

“He says he needs to be somewhere where he's not wanted for any crimes,” she said. “And China was apparently
not
an option. Mugin, what did you do?”

“It's not so much that he committed a crime as that he's being hunted by a group of martial arts students because he defeated their master,” Brian said. “And then spit in his face. Which he had said he wouldn't do.”

Mugin shrugged. “I lie. And give you
plenty
of warning to run.”

“You knew Bingley couldn't run! I had to carry him halfway across—”

“Gentleman! Please!” Bingley said. “I've had to put up with this for two months.” He turned to Dr. Maddox and offered his hand. “Doctor.”

“Mr. Bingley.” Maddox took it. “You look—” Bingley was sunburned
and he had overgrown hair and the beginnings of a beard, but his eyes were bright. “You look as though you've been on a boat for a long time, but otherwise well.”

“You also, minus the boat part. I understand my family is still in Hertfordshire and the Hursts are in their country house.”

“Yes. Mr. Bennet is throwing a party in a week or so.”

“Terrific. Well, if I could trouble you, I need your medical advice. And no, we didn't pick up any Indian diseases. It's about an animal.”

“What? Did you buy one of those talking birds?”

“No,” he said, “not a bird.”

By the time Darcy was done with his final meeting with his steward and his accountant, the post had already come to the townhouse, which he viewed as a good sign. He despised staying alone in London when his family was away, but business had arisen the night before and it had carried over into the next day. He wanted to read his letters and be gone.

The brown envelope from Madrid drew his attention. He rarely corresponded with the banker in charge of receiving Grégoire's yearly income, except when actually making sure it had gone through, which it had in January. As his father had before him, Darcy managed the fund set up for Grégoire's welfare. He had altered it only by basing it in London instead of France, and lowering the amount to something more manageable for Grégoire, who only gave it to charity anyway. The rest stayed in the account to accrue further interest.

Concerned, he motioned for the servant and had him call back his departing steward. “I need your advice. It seems my brother withdrew one hundred pounds from afar and that money did not make it to the correct location.”

His steward was familiar with the situation. “Who was responsible for the transfer, and where was it going?”

“It seems a man was hired to take it to a local noblewoman, who was to distribute it to needy residents. This man has been in the bank's employ for many years and has always been trusted to see the job through.”

“And the noblewoman?”

“I don't know.” He handed the letter to his steward. “Will you have someone look into this immediately?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And give me a minute to pen a letter to my brother, if you'll be sending mail to Spain.”

“Of course, sir.”

He never was quite ready to assume that Grégoire's mail would be read unopened, even if Grégoire insisted the seal was still intact when he received it. He wrote a quick letter about some family account business being unsettled, and would he please write back, or contact the banker? He had written Grégoire only a few weeks earlier, and had little else to say, so he sent it off and told his manservant to prepare to leave for Hertfordshire. The steward was opening the front door when he faced a bowl-shaped hat.

“Darushi-san.”

“Mr. Mugin,” he said. “What a surprise. Is this to say that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Maddox have arrived?”

“Binguri-san, he go to country soon.”

“And you're to be their servant again?” he said, not sure that it would rile Mugin, but hoping that it would.

“Lazy
gaijin
, too slow,” Mugin said, bowed, and ran off back down the road, his wooden shoes clacking all the way.

Darcy had never trusted Mugin, but had no reason not to believe him now, and followed him to the Maddox townhouse, where there were many trunks in the hallway and a great commotion.The first person he encountered was not Bingley or Maddox, but a disconcerted Mrs. Maddox, her bonnet off and her normally perfectly tied hair askew. “Mrs. Maddox.” He bowed.

She stopped only to curtsy. “Mr. Darcy. Excuse me.” And then she rushed into the sitting room and shut the door behind her.

“What! He's not that bad, Caroline—”

Darcy could vaguely hear Bingley's voice from up the steps, but it was not Bingley who emerged first. It was a small animal, like a cat but not quite, covered in soap suds. It squeaked, and then without warning, climbed right up his clothing and sat down on his head.

Bingley did catch up, looking a little wet. “Hello, Darcy.”

“Bingley.”

“Sorry about—”

“Bingley, what precisely is on my head?”

“It's a monkey.”

Calmly, he said, “A monkey.”

“Yes. He won't harm you.”

Coolly, Darcy said, “Though it has been an honor to be your companion these many years, our friendship will come to an abrupt end if you do not get this animal
off my head.
”

Bingley did not need to be told twice. “Monkey!
Kinasi!
” The monkey leaped from Darcy's head to Bingley's outstretched arm, where it climbed up onto his shoulder and squawked. “I am sorry about that. It seems he doesn't much care to be bathed.”

Darcy was going to say something, but Mr. Maddox came barreling down the stairs, towel in hand. “Here you—oh, hello.” He bowed. “Mr. Darcy.You have suds in your hair.”

“I know.”

Bingley took the towel and wiped off his little monkey, which was not much bigger than his head and brown in color. “Dr. Maddox said we should bathe him. In case he had some bugs in his fur. Have you seen my sister?”

Darcy gestured to the closed double doors of the sitting room.

“You can come out now. Caroline?”

“I am not going near that thing!” she shouted from the other side of the door. “He screamed at me!”

“Well what did you expect him to do? You were screaming at him!”

“Monkey see, monkey do,” Mr. Maddox said.

“She doesn't like animals—other than dogs, that is,” Bingley said. “Louisa had a cat when we were children. It used to scratch its paws on her dresser.”

“And on my leg!” Caroline said. The monkey shook itself out on Bingley's shoulder as Dr. Maddox appeared, followed by his children.

“A monkey is not a dog.”

“Has she locked herself in there?” Dr. Maddox said.

“It's not her fault she yelled at it.”

“You could have told her you were bringing a primate in the house, Mr. Bingley.”

“I told
you
.”

“What's a primate?” Emily Maddox asked.

“It's a monkey,” her father explained.

A truce was eventually reached; Monkey (the animal's name) went back in his cage and into the wagon bound for Longbourn, and Caroline Maddox agreed to come out of her fortress.

Darcy still had to make his way to Hertfordshire and Bingley was eager to see his wife and children, so they bid their adieus, stopping for a moment outside before they would depart in their separate carriages.

“It is good to have you home,” Darcy admitted. “You didn't do anything insanely idiotic while in the Orient besides buy a monkey in the notion that your wife would accept such a thing in the house?”

“I have spent months practicing my pleading look,” Bingley said. “And as for anything else you hear I may have done, please don't believe everything you hear from Brian or Mugin.”

“I never do.”