The Knights of Derbyshire

by Marsha Altman

  “Geoffrey said it was nonsense.”

  “Fever does loosen the tongue,” the doctor said, “but usually my patients don’t accuse me of trying to kill them.”

  “In my nephew’s defense, you do have some very sharp tools laid out on the bed stand.”

  “He has a fever, Mr. Darcy. He needs at least a preliminary bleeding.”

  Darcy sighed. “I didn’t sanction that.”

  “I had no intentions of doing so until you did. He made his own assumptions. Among other things.”

  “Other things?”

  “He told me his mother sent me to kill him. He said the nurse was drugging him so he couldn’t leave – ”

  Darcy stopped him. “It is just the fever.” He wasn’t so sure, but that was none of this doctor’s business. “No bleedings.”

  “But – ”

  “I have heard it argued, for and against, and I am soundly against it,” he said. “And George doesn’t want it. If his fever endangers his life, I will reconsider.” If the fever didn’t break, he would call for Dr. Maddox. The local doctor was good, but he was too traditional, and Darcy was too protective of his family to take any risks. “You are dismissed for the night. I will sit by him and make sure he does not worsen.”

  The doctor was intelligent enough to understand an order when it was given. He made his suggestions to Darcy and the servant and excused himself, taking his instruments with him.

  “He’s gone,” Darcy said. “He means you no harm, George. I know part of you understands that.”

  George nodded.

  “Someone will stay with you tonight. Your Aunt Darcy wants to see you.”

  “I said – I don’t know what I said. To Geoffrey.”

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know. He knows.”

  Now George was alarmed. “How does he know? What did you tell him?”

  “I didn’t – he is just very perceptive. I will tell him you are ill from your journey and he will understand.” Even though George did not look convinced, Darcy rose. “I must say goodbye to my guests. Will you see your aunt?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will return.” He added, “I promise.” Only then did Darcy take his leave, to find his wife and son waiting for him in the hallway. Clearly Elizabeth had managed to send the others away. “George is not well. I will stay with him tonight.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Will you sit with him while I make our excuses?”

  The Bingleys, of course, would understand, as they were as concerned as the rest of the family, and the evening was called short. Arranging everything, Darcy could handle. George was another story.

  *****************************************

  Elizabeth had conferred with her son in the hallway while they waited for Darcy to open the door. Apparently Geoffrey had been talking with George when the conversation took an abrupt turn to the morbid, and Geoffrey touched George’s brow and found his cousin was burning up. But that was not before George accused his mother of plotting his demise, of the doctor for being part of the conspiracy, of the parade of visitors that evening to be a distraction, of some other things he didn’t dare repeat or didn’t understand. Only a few hours before, when the Bingleys had visited him before dinner, he had at least been coherent. Obviously he had worsened while they ate.

  “You did the right thing,” Elizabeth said to her son, who did look like he needed reassuring. “He will be fine. It’s the fever talking.” She kissed him on the forehead. “If your sisters are not asleep and want to know, tell them what I just said.”

  “I will.”

  Geoffrey rushed off, and Elizabeth braced herself and entered the room. Her nephew was not a raving maniac, as she had somehow expected. He was just lying in bed with clenched fists and a pale complexion. “Aunt Darcy.”

  “Hello, George.” She went to feel his forehead, but he jerked away. “Would you like something to drink? You must be parched.”

  He just nodded.

  She quickly had the servant fetch some lemonade, with plenty of ice and sugar. “It’s very sweet.” She set it on the side-table and George took it with shaking hands and managed to drink about half of it.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice a bit less hoarse. “I’m sorry for – doing this to you. I can’t seem to do or say anything right.”

  “You’re not doing anything wrong by being ill,” she assured him. “Your body is simply exhausted from your heroic efforts in Scotland. Unfortunately, there’s too much Darcy blood in you to admit to any weakness.”

  He gave a little smirk at that. So he had not lost his senses entirely. He was, however, visibly losing what little strength he had. She took a wet towel from the servant and gently placed it on his forehead, wiping the sweat away. This time, he did not resist her. “You can rest now, George.” He closed his eyes, and seemed to doze into an uneasy sleep as Darcy reentered the room. “He’s just gone out.”

  They moved into the passageway, where they could speak and not wake him. “I sent the doctor off,” Darcy said. “He was going to bleed him, and George didn’t want it.”

  “Do you think he needs it?”

  “I don’t know. Dr. Maddox is against the practice of bleeding people,” he said. “But this is not serious enough for him – yet. Not that I wish it to ever be that serious.” He paused uneasily. “How is Geoffrey?”

  “A bit spooked.”

  He just scowled.

  “Darcy – what is it?”

  “Something – from my Uncle Gregory’s journals. I would show you, but Grégoire has them,” he said. He did not look at Elizabeth as he said it, keeping an eye on George, now motionless but for his heavy breathing. “When he was young, he said, he had a fever and started talking nonsense. They took it much too seriously and that was the beginning of a long stream of doctors who drove him mad. They made a big deal out of almost nothing. I won’t let that happen to George.”

  She took his hand. “It’s not going to happen to George.”

  “Is Geoffrey still awake?”

  “I imagine so.”

  “I’d best talk to him. Then I’ll return and sit with George.” He kissed her. “If he wakes, don’t tell George what I just said. He’ll be told when it’s through.”

  She nodded and slipped out the door. She understood his concerns, which went beyond an ordinary cold and a fever, but that Elizabeth understood him didn’t need to be said. At least, not aloud.

  *****************************************

  Pemberley was closing down for a cold winter night when Darcy located his son, saying goodnight to his eldest sister. “Papa!”

  “You’re up late,” he said to Anne, kissing her cheek.

  “Can I see George?”

  “He’s sleeping. As you should be.”

  For once, she did not put up an argument. “Good night, Papa. Good night, Geoffrey.”

  “Good night.”

  As she closed the door behind her, Darcy put a hand over his son’s shoulder and escorted him to his chambers, dismissing the servants as he went. “George is asleep.”

  “If you want me to take a shift tonight – ”

  “No. In the morning perhaps, if his fever isn’t broken,” Darcy said. “You did the right thing by coming to me when you did.” Darcy opened the secret hatch to reveal Geoffrey’s stash of liquor.

  “I can explain – ”

  “This is Pemberley, son,” he said, taking out two glasses and the wine. “I know every secret nook and cranny. Sit down.”

  Still embarrassed, Geoffrey took a seat across from his father and accepted the glass of wine.

  Darcy poured a very small amount into his own glass. “I know George said some strange things to you, and I could tell you that it was just the fever, but I would be lying. You’re not a child anymore, so I feel I cannot lie to you, even when the truth is very ugly.” He watched Geoffrey’s expressions closely as he continued, “You remember when I brought home the casket of
Uncle Gregory and explained who he was?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you remember when I came home from Austria?”

  “A little.” Geoffrey had to search his own memories. “I tried to see you, but Uncle Grégoire or Aunt Kincaid would always take me away. They said Austria made you sick.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Austria did make me sick. It rattled me, and it took me longer to recover than it would have a different man. Mentally.” He sighed. “When your Great-Uncle Gregory was young, he used to say very strange things. He recorded this in his journal. He had thoughts of which he never understood the origin – suspicious thoughts of other people. His father – your Great-Grandfather Darcy – took him to all kinds of mental doctors and they treated him, among other things, by bleeding him terribly. They never seemed to notice that it only made him worse. Eventually he became so irrational that he asked to be removed to the Isle of Man, and his wish was granted.” He looked down at his untouched wine. “My father never took me to any doctors even though I was not particularly a sociable child. He had developed his own fear of them, this one completely rational. You can ask Dr. Maddox if you like, and he will explain at length why he feels the doctors of the mind do more harm than good and have no understanding of their profession, and how some things are better left alone. Anyway, we will never know, but it may have saved me from a fate like my uncle’s.”

  He left it at that for the moment. Geoffrey was old enough to draw conclusions for himself. “...Do you think my sisters are affected?”

  “I don’t think so, but it’s too soon to tell.” It was unlikely for Anne and Cassandra, but Sarah was quiet and shy. But then, so had Georgiana Darcy been at her age. “I’ve suspected George was afflicted for some time, but there’s nothing to be done. There’s no treatment. You simply – go on.”

  “And Uncle Grégoire?”

  He blinked, as if snapped back into reality, which he had lost for a moment. “What about Uncle Grégoire?”

  “Is Uncle Grégoire – you know. Affected.”

  “What? Oh. No.” He chuckled. “He’s just a mad religious mystic. It’s a different affliction entirely.”

  “I’m going to tell him you said that.”

  “I doubt he will deny it.”

  They shared a laugh together. After a long night, it was a good thing to share.

  Chapter 5 – Unexpected Guests

  To everyone’s relief, George’s fever broke after one terrifying day. Darcy had written to Cambridge for Dr. Maddox’s opinion, but he did not expect a reply soon enough to truly matter, and he did not request for the man to come. It was simply too close to Christmas and it was an awful thing to ask. There was nothing wrong with the local doctor, except perhaps that he was eager to bleed him, but most doctors were. Darcy fended him off long enough.

  When George Wickham awoke from his stupor, the first thing he requested was a hot bath, as he had sweated through his clothes several times now. He was too weak to physically make it to the washroom himself, but when he emerged and was put back on clean sheets, he looked much recovered. He was still coughing and sneezing, and a general exhaustion kept him in bed, but he could receive visitors, and there were many to wish him well. Darcy informed him that he had also written Grégoire, but again, could not expect a reply until well after Christmas or perhaps even the new year.

  Aside from his many visitors, George was well occupied by the provisions of the library during his convalescence as the week wore on. When he was strong enough to sit up and read a book, he seemed to at least feel at home in Pemberley.

  He was halfway through a rereading of Romeo and Juliet when there was a knock on the door. “Come.”

  It was a servant. His family had arrived – all of them.

  *****************************************

  Of all the people Darcy was prepared to receive at Pemberley, Lydia Bradley was probably the lowest person on the list, especially looking disheveled with two screaming toddlers and an infant. She quickly passed off the baby to a male servant, who looked at the bundle in his hands with horror. Mr. Bradley was in a more stately form, as best as he could manage with Isabella Wickham beside him.

  Mr. Darcy was just leaving his study, and since they had sent no word ahead of their arrival and his watchmen were not sitting outside in the cold weather and snow, his greeting of his apparent guests was haphazard at best. Still, he was Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, and knew how to receive someone (no matter how unwelcome) with dignity. After all, he had entertained Miss Caroline Bingley for years. “Mr. Bradley, Mrs. Bradley. Miss Wickham. Welcome to Pemberley. Your arrival is somewhat –”

  “Where’s George?” Isabella interrupted. She did not necessarily mean to be rude – the eagerness in her voice was obviously concern. “Is he all right?”

  “He is on the mend. I believe he would be most eager to receive you.” Certainly George would want to see his sister before his mother. Darcy only needed to twitch his head and the servants came running to attend to the Bradleys and their trunks – and judging from them, they meant to stay, at least through Christmas. Mrs. Annesley, Georgiana’s former companion and present housekeeper after the death of Mrs. Reynolds, immediately appeared to organize everything and whispered to Darcy that his wife was being summoned.

  Isabella Wickham was shown upstairs, but Darcy stepped in the way of the horde that tried to follow her. “Mr. Wickham is recovering from a bad cold and fever. He can only see one visitor at a time.” That wasn’t strictly true, but he said it anyway. As young Julia Bradley tried to run up the stairs after her older sister, Mrs. Annesley was able to grab her dress and prevent her from disobeying completely.

  “Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Bradley said. “My children will not be manhandled! Control your servants!”

  Darcy glanced briefly at Mr. Bradley, who offered nothing in response to his wife’s demand. “Mrs. Bradley, I assure you, the staff is well trained to handle young children. However, when I said that Mr. Wickham cannot see additional visitors, I was serious.” Wondering where Elizabeth was and hoping she arrived before his temper went into full flare, he added, “Perhaps, if you find the staff unsuitable, you would like to see to your children yourself.”

  Fortunately Elizabeth did not tarry when called, and appeared by his side in time to embrace Julia Bradley as if she was a long-expected guest. “Hello, my darling niece! How I have longed to see you!” She turned to greet the others. “Mr. Bradley. Lydia.” Through the briefest of glances to Darcy, she showed her encouragement that the situation would be handled, and saw the relief in his own gaze. “We are a bit surprised to see you, but it is encouraging to see George so well-attended by his family. Fortunately for all of us his illness has nearly passed.”

  “Where is my son? I must see him!” Lydia said with all of her customary drama, but with none of the anger she had apparently displayed when tossing him out of his house. While the Darcys doubted George’s story, they could not help but wonder at the ensuing spectacle. “Oh! I have been so worried about him!”

  Darcy cast a look at Mr. Bradley, who was holding his son Brandon. He did stammer out a response. “Thank you for hosting him.”

  Darcy waved off his concerns. “He is our nephew. It was the least we could do. Mrs. Bradley, I assure you, your son – ”

  “Has he at least been seen by a doctor?”

  While he had his own reservations, he said, “The very best available at such short notice. He was exhausted from his travels, especially since, as you can see, the weather has been somewhat distressing as of late.”

  Pemberley in winter was still a busy house, and word had gotten out quickly. Geoffrey Darcy appeared at the top of the staircase. “Aunt Bradley. Uncle Bradley.” He very politely joined his mother and father.

  “Can we offer you some refreshments?” Mrs. Annesley said, trying to draw the guests to another room.

  “I would prefer to see my son.”

  “He is doing well,” Geoffrey said. “I just came fro
m his room. Isabel is with him right now. If you would give him a moment to collect himself - ”

  “I am his mother, Master Geoffrey! I bathed him when he was a child! He does not need to make himself up for me!”

  “Then to compose his thoughts – ”

  “ – which he might need to do,” Darcy said, unwilling to maintain the charade of civility much longer, “considering all that has come to pass.”

  “Mr. Darcy – ”

  “Mother!” George’s voice rang through the corridor, interrupting what probably would not have been a good speech for any of them. “Please.” He was holding onto the railing at the top of the stairs, somewhat out of breath. Both his sister and a servant rushed to help him down the stairs, but he shook them off, slowly ambling down to join them of his own power. George Wickham was a sight – his white shirt un-tucked from his breeches, his whiskers overgrown, and his face pale from illness, but he otherwise was on his feet and not a feverish madman. “It is – good to see you. Mr. Bradley.” He bowed weakly to his stepfather.

  “Gewrge!” screamed Brandon Bradley after freeing himself from his father’s grip as he ran to him, grabbing his legs. Geoffrey was quick to grab his cousin before he stumbled as he leaned down to say hello to the toddler.

  “Hello. I wasn’t expecting a reception – ” He looked a bit confused at the sudden appearance of his entire family. He looked even more confused when his mother came to embrace him. “What – what are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” She appeared surprised. “How could I not come to my sick child?”

  He nodded distractedly, and fell into her arms. Much the taller one of the pair, he had to rest his head on her shoulder.

  “We came as soon as we heard,” Mr. Bradley chimed in, for what it was worth.

  “We’ll take you home,” Lydia said, “after Christmas.” Apparently, she had invited her family to Pemberley. Elizabeth turned to her husband, but Darcy said nothing to approve or disapprove of the notion. He was not willing to cause a scene.