The moment he had been waiting for. The special awards were given out – “A special number this year,” the headmaster said proudly. Lady Littlefield received an award in exemplary painting. She seemed, even from a distance, like Camille – so rejuvenated by the passage of time. She went up to the small stage eagerly. The man Audley presumed to be her father stood up for her and clapped. Her mother was not obviously present, but not all parents came. Several other girls received awards for languages, and for sewing, and advanced theology. Only two were given two awards.
Georgiana Bingley received three.
She was the very picture of a pretty English lady, all in white with a touch of color from ribbons and a matching bonnet that covered most of her hair – not that there was much to cover. She even walked like her classmates, shyly approaching Headmaster Stafford as she received each certificate. Audley strained himself to take his eyes off Georgiana long enough to observe the headmaster, whose smile when handing those awards to her did not seem particularly genuine. His hands were tense, almost reluctant to give up the slips of paper. She received a double award in language arts and another in philosophy. She smiled at him, but she was too far away for Audley to accurately assess it (and she was such a good actress anyway), for him to tell the truth of it, whether her expression was attempting to rub it in or to just be done with the business. Her parents stood and clapped, her father most enthusiastically. Fire, Audley thought instinctively. The mother was obviously Air. Since his discussion with Brian Maddox, he had become rather obsessed with the subject, seeking out any book he could find about the elements, and categorizing people. It wasn’t particularly helpful in his investigations, but they hadn’t handed him an important case until he finally solved the dock strangler case without even being assigned to it. Now back in the department’s esteem, he granted himself this small vacation.
After all, he had been invited.
After the ceremony, he stood up and clapped with the rest of them, watching as Georgiana was eagerly embraced by her father and then her mother.
“It is not polite to stare, Inspector.”
Lady Littlefield had appeared beside him. He bowed to her, and she curtseyed.
“You are alone?”
“My uncle was sent to retrieve me. Not everyone wants to travel to the forest,” she said. She had a sort of air of content about her, which was probably unrelated to finishing her year at seminary with honors. “Georgiana sent me to warn you not to mention the word ‘wolf’ in front of her parents or she’ll make you suffer for it. But I would also add that it is good to see you.”
He grinned. “Good to see you, too, Lady Littlefield. Where are you off to now, if I may ask?”
“They let us off in time for the London Season, and now that I am an available heiress, I suppose it will be balls and invitations for tea and visits and all of that.”
“‘All of that?’ You seem as though you are looking forward to such a thing.”
“I’ve never been to one – properly. I’ve been engaged to Maret almost since I was out.”
“Enjoy it, my Lady.” He knew she would. It was just a feeling, but it was a strong one. They said their good-byes, and Audley wandered around a bit, helping himself to a scone from the refreshment table.
“Are you going to just stand around all day?”
He swallowed as quickly as he could and turned around. Georgiana Bingley was standing behind him. “Mention the Wolf or Uncle Brian being here and you’ll never have children,” she whispered as her parents approached.
“Good thing I wasn’t planning on it,” he whispered back, and straightened himself out. He bowed stiffly. “I do not believe we’ve been introduced. I am Inspector Robert Audley with the Parisian Office.”
“Charles Bingley,” her father smiled warmly. “And this is my wife, Mrs. Bingley.” Appropriate bows and curtseys. “You seem to already know my daughter.”
“Yes. I had a brief acquaintance with many of the students here when I was investigating a murder.”
“Murder?” Mrs. Bingley said, alarmed.
“Serious business, yes, but the man was not held in much esteem by the community, if you know what I mean. Unfortunately, the case remains unsolved.”
“Is that why you are here now?”
“No,” Audley said. “I am just passing through. The case was closed by the department for being too costly. Sad, really, that so few people see justice.” He glanced briefly at Georgiana. “Some do, though. Usually by circumstance and not my actual work.” He coughed. “But I confess – I took a certain interest when I heard your name. I am quite a fan of Mr. Maddox’s books.”
“I didn’t know the second one was available in France,” Bingley said. He seemed amused.
“It is by special order. The first one is very popular, even in these parts, I hear. Isn’t there supposed to be a third? I’d heard something about that.”
“Oh, yes, but once he’s finished editing it, I think it’ll only be a sort of pamphlet,” Bingley said. “Sorry, private joke. My partner is just a very private man. While I can’t imagine anything untoward happening during their visit with the Emperor, we still may never know the real story.”
Audley smiled at that. “A shame. Well, I won’t keep you any longer. It was a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Bingley. Mrs. Bingley. Miss Bingley.” He would like to have stalled, but he desperately wanted to read the note Georgiana had slipped into his hand when she snuck up behind him, so he bowed and turned away. It read Meet me in five minutes behind the carriage with the green colors.
Resourceful as always. Audley didn’t know how she managed it, but she was behind the cart at the appropriate time, sans parents. “Miss Bingley.”
“Inspector Audley.” She curtseyed. “I’m happy to hear you weren’t sacked. I heard you might be after the whole business.”
“If inspectors were sacked for every case they didn’t solve, we would have a serious lack of them,” he said. “I have something for you. I’d forgotten I’d taken it.” He pulled out the silver bullet. “Lady Littlefield said you carry it for good luck.”
“I used to,” she said. “Keep it.”
“Really?”
“So you have something to remember me by. That is, if you care to remember me.”
“And what will you have to remember me by, Georgiana?”
She kissed him. It was soft, but lingering, as long a moment as they could take with the inadequate cover of the carriage.
“Happy to oblige,” he said with a smile. “Good-bye, Georgiana.”
“Good-bye, Robert. Take care of yourself – I won’t always be there to do it for you.”
He still had the broken wooden cross with the kanji on one side and the warning on the other. Now that he knew she’d written it, he could not part with it. It hung on the wall of his apartment. “I’ll be more careful next time.”
She smiled, a real smile, not forced or circumstantial. It was rare and just for him. It would be a perfect image for the last time he saw her, and this was probably the last time.
Still, he hoped that it wouldn’t be.
Finis
Historical Notes
There are probably a lot of historical inaccuracies in this book. If that bothered you much I doubt you would be here. Let’s move along.
Bibliography
Artz, Frederick. France under the Bourbon Restoration, 1814-1830. New York: Russell & Russell, 1963.
Bergeron, Louis. France under Napoleon. Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, 1981.
De Saint-Amand, Imbert. The Duchess of Angoulệme and the Two Restorations. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1892.
Robiquet, Jean. Daily Life in France Under Napoleon. Trans. Violet MacDonald. New York: MacMillan Company, 1963.
Acknowledgments
In no particular order, I would like to acknowledge: Brandy, Mom and Dad, Jane Austen, G-d, Jessica Kupillas Hartung, Cherri Trotter, Brandy’s kids, Jeff Gerecke, Diana Finch, Kate McKe
an, Sourcebooks, Ulysses Press, Hillary King, Yossi Horowitz, Daniel McGee, Brandy’s husband, Amazon.com’s used book store, Brandy’s pets except for the new one who keeps bothering her while she’s trying to edit, Deb Werksman, Alex Shwarzstein, that Salvation Army on 96th that resells books, Talia Goldman, Talia Goldman’s mom, Congregation Agudath Israel (but NOT acknowledge the Agudath Israel movement, which is not related and did not contribute to my series), Rabbanite Henkin, Brandy again, Sharon Lathan, Phil Krugman, Abigail Reynolds, my brother Jason, his girlfriend Lindsey, Lindsey’s mom, everyone at Austen Authors (authors and fans), Fanfiction.net, Brandy’s car, every City College professor I had who was actually good to me, that French werewolf movie with the kung fu Native American, Regina Jeffers, Pepsi but not Coke unless it’s Israel coke and it has real sugar in it, Diet Coke but not Diet Pepsi because it’s horrible, and Brandy.
I may have left some people out.
Preview for Book 7 – Young Mr. Darcy Falls in Love
Coming Spring 2013
CHAPTER 1 – Anne’s Ball
Any man in want of a wife, and thoroughly unacquainted with her father, was seeking only one thing in July of 1825: an invitation to the Pemberley Ball. Anne Jane Darcy, the oldest of the Darcy sisters, was coming out, and not only would the affair be grand, but she was classified by many people as a beauty, and her inheritance to be astronomical. However, if they had any inkling of what her father was feeling, every young man with a mother to forward him would have stayed far away.
Aside from his family, everyone at Pemberley steered clear of the master for the entire week approaching the ball. Though he was known well to be a kind and generous master, and that whatever reserve he had could be softened by the presence of his wife or children, that particular week was a variation from the general rule. While Mr. Darcy had little interest in the specifics of the decorations and other plans, he kept a careful eye on the guest list. He was, until the day the invitations went out, marking people off the list with a brisk stroke of his pen.
“Darcy, we’re related to them,” his wife insisted.
“Distantly,” he growled.
“It shall be even more distant if you do not invite them.”
By mollifying him slowly in the way that only Elizabeth Darcy could, names went back on the list, much to the confusion of the label-maker, so that some people were actually invited.
A further comfort was the return of Geoffrey Darcy from his second year at Cambridge. The upcoming one would be his last. “How’s Father?”
“Insane,” his mother said. “Stay out of his way.”
“I plan to,” Geoffrey said with a smile. “Did you hear about George?”
“Through his sister. George is not one to boast in letters, but nonetheless we are very proud of him, if he would ever admit to it himself.” Elizabeth shook her head. “A Darcy not admitting to something? Whenever would that come to be?” she said slyly as her husband entered the room.
“What have I done now?”
“Nothing, Father,” Geoffrey said. “We were merely complimenting George on his fellowship, and chiding him for his lack of communication skills.”
“There is no reason to boast about it in a letter,” Darcy replied, and in response to their expressions, said, “Why are you laughing?”
There was much to be proud of. George Wickham, newly graduated from his baccalaureate work in Cambridge, had been awarded a fellowship, meaning he could wile away the years in the dusty libraries of University as a Fellow if he so chose. They always assumed he would seek further education, though he had not declared in what fashion he would do it, saying only that he was reluctant to go abroad and leave his sister behind. Isabella Wickham was a most eligible lady and heiress, and was forever dragging him to balls when he was in Town, and then forever complaining the next day that all he did was stand in the corner and tell her not to dance with anyone because they were all suspicious – but the Darcys suspected she would not have had it any other way.
Their mother and stepfather, Mr. and Mrs. Bradley, were consumed with their children, all three of them. Isabel nobly tolerated living at home on Gracechurch Street because she loved her little sister Julie, who was now old enough to have talks with, her brother Brandon, and her youngest sister, Maria. She divided her time between Gracechurch Street and Chesterton, where she had a standing invitation with the Maddoxes to be at leisure there, and she was great friends with Emily Maddox, who had gone out last spring.
Alternately Sir, Professor, and Dr. Daniel Maddox lived with his wife in Chesterton. He was now officially retired from the royal service, and was the official anatomist professor of Cambridge University, lecturing at Trinity or King’s College. When he was not lecturing himself, he was often seen at other lectures. If he had had any part in the granting of George’s fellowship, he said nothing. Lady Maddox concerned herself with her daughter, newly available but not quite ready for marriage, and her sons. Frederick would begin Cambridge in the fall, leaving young Danny behind at Eton. Daniel Maddox II was at first picked on for his glasses, but after a few lessons from his Uncle Brian, no one dared to come near him with an awful thought. He was excused from the ball itself, being underage and uninterested. Most of the boys were, even those of age, except maybe Frederick Maddox. The Maddoxes themselves, of course, would be in attendance, along with Brian Maddox and Princess Nadezhda.
Darcy had only regained his ground in the study when a harried servant entered. “Sir Daniel Maddox to see you, sir.”
“The doctor? Is he alone?”
“Yes, sir. We don’t know quite –”
“– There is nothing to do with me,” Dr. Maddox said, entering by himself with one hand running along the wall. “Mr. Darcy.”
“Dr. Maddox,” Darcy said, nodding for the servant to leave as he immediately rose and came to shake the doctor’s hand, and thereby, guiding him to a seat. “It is wonderful to have you back at Pemberley at last. You are truly a –” He trailed off in horror.
“– sight for sore eyes, yes,” Dr. Maddox said with a smile, setting his cane against his chest. “Yes, yes, those embarrassing turn of phrases seem to make everyone uncomfortable. But me, it seems.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“I am a fan of Pemberley’s stock of brandy, thank you.”
Darcy got the glass out and poured, handing it to the doctor, who stayed in his chair. It was hard to really read his expression, as his eyes were hidden behind black glasses.
“None for yourself?”
“I am not inclined the night my daughter is entering society.”
“Perhaps you should be. It will make the night more bearable,” Dr. Maddox said. “The night Emily was presented at court I was terrified – and proud, mind you. She was very beautiful.” It was an unspoken story that Emily had been finally let out mainly because her father’s sight was in rapid decline. “I am sure Anne will impress the crowd, as much or little as that pleases you.”
“Both, I suppose. But mainly the latter, depending on their intentions,” Darcy said, returning to his seat to take up his tea and some notes he had to finish before the evening. “You don’t mind if I write? I am very happy to have your company. We have not seen each other since –” He knew he was to say Emily’s first Season, but he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
But Dr. Maddox just smiled again. “And there we have it! I think everyone is more upset than I am.”
“To be perfectly honest, Maddox, you seem positively jovial.”
“To be blind? No,” he said. “To have the terrible weight, which has been on my shoulders since I was a boy, of the worry about going blind lifted? Yes. No, I will not see my sons or daughter marry, but many parents aren’t even present, and I shall be happy for the honor. I simply had no idea how much that fear drove all of my other thoughts. And now it’s gone. I have nothing to do but laugh at other people when they say something around me that they think offends me.” Dr. Maddox raised his g
lass before taking another a sip. “As for the other elephant in the room, Danny’s condition is considered very stable in comparison to mine. He’s worn glasses now for two years with no further degrading and no cataracts. It is the assessment of the head of optometry at the University of St. Andrews, where the medical school has a decent staff beyond their anatomist, that he may just have myopia for the rest of his life, the same way someone is farsighted for the whole of their life. In that, we have been very lucky.” He continued, “Speaking of children, Geoffrey seems to be doing well in University, in general and health-wise.”
“Yes,” Darcy said. “Be careful around him. He reads lips better than he will admit to.”
“And my hearing is much improved. So be careful around the both of us, especially if we should decide to team up.” Dr. Maddox reached over and found the table, where he set his drink down. “Between the two of us, we should be able to determine every whispered comment about how lovely your daughter looks tonight. And speaking of which, I shall take no more of your time, Mr. Darcy.” He had risen before Darcy could get to him. “I will see you in a few hours, Darcy.”
“Doctor.”
~~~
Chatton Hall was a madhouse for its own reasons. As the Darcys hosted the Kincaids, the Fitzwilliams, the Townsends, and the Bradleys that were attending, Mr. Bingley was charged with playing host to his sister, his brothers-in-law (as Mr. Hurst was just coming out of mourning for Louisa), children, and relatives.
Accustomed to having many children to get out the door, Charles Bingley (the second) was ready early, and paused in front of the mirror as his manservant ran a lint brush over the coat one last time. “I do believe I’ve gotten old,” he said to Jane as she entered. It was a hard statement to refute. His hair was graying, there were lines in his smile where there had not been previously, and there was the small matter of having two daughters of marriageable age and a son in University with another soon to enter University.
Other Tales: Stories from The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy Page 20
