The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy

by Marsha Altman

“Then we do owe you a favor,” Brian said. “But before you say it—I am not buying you a prostitute.”

  Mugin scowled at him and turned away in a huff.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Scholars

  DANIEL MADDOX, LICENSED PHYSICIAN and surgeon, was not known to take part in the many pleasures offered to him at Carlton House. Even in the riotous atmosphere of the Prince Regent’s grand parties, now almost nightly, he did not socialize with the upper crust, keeping his professional veneer intact. This evening, having just come from his own meal in his own home, he did not sup with the guests—even though he was told repeatedly he was welcome to do so. Around midnight he did partake of a light dinner, which he took alone in the kitchen. While the upper crust of English society drank and feasted and did things that would surely make the Courier, he sat quietly with a medical journal from the Continent. He sat awaiting his usual cue. The Regent or a guest would pass out, and he would be called in to resuscitate the reveler. On one occasion, the sixth Duke of Devonshire, who would have been the richest man in England but for his gambling habit, tripped against the outer corner of the Chinesestyle pagoda, and Dr. Maddox put three stitches in his knee. The soused but nonetheless grateful duke gave him his diamondencrusted snuffbox on the spot. Not a fan of snuff and not wanting it around his sons, he had the diamonds removed and made into a necklace for his wife, the silver box paying for the expense. Caroline walked on air for a week, which was the only joy he had from the entire exchange.

  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 waitin
g 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?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, am I to be chastised by everyone in this house? Even you?”

  “What did you do?” he repeated, his voice not at all stern, but nonetheless serious.

  She sat down on the remaining space of the bed, next to his legs. “It’s not my fault that the baby cries every time I pick him up!” she huffed.

  “Did you hold him upside down again?”

  “No, George.”

  “Did you forget to support his head?”

  “No! Of course not. He just cried. There’s no reason. He always cries.”

  “He’s a newborn. What do you expect of him?”

  “Are you taking Brandon’s side?”

  He put his book down on his chest. “I cannot take a side with or against an infant. ’Tis impossible.”

  “Mama is so tired,” Isabel said, “and she’s so cranky when she’s tired. Why did she have another baby so soon after Julie?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think she had much to do with the decision.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I will explain it when you are old enough. Or Mother will. God, I hope it does not fall on my shoulders to do so.”

  “George!” She tugged at his vest. “Tell me!”

  He shook his head. “It is not for people our age. I merely read it in a book.”

  “Then I’m going to read every book in your room until—”

  “A French book.”

  Isabella stuck her tongue out at him. “No fair.”

  “I’m sure there is a time—probably before the wedding—when all good mothers sit down with their daughters and tell them all about how to have a baby.”

  “And sons? Would Mr. Bradley tell you if you didn’t already know because you read it in one of those picture books of ladies?”

  “You don’t know about those!” he said. “I paid you a sovereign never to mention them again!” “I know,” she said and giggled. “I just wanted to see you blush.”

  George picked up his book again, mainly to hide his face.

  “Fine, be like that. Will you lend me a shilling?”

  He lowered the book again. “Why would I lend you a shilling?”

  “Because there’s a new ribbon colored with Indian dye, and I want to get it and look pretty for your birthday. I know you have the money because you got money for Christmas and you haven’t spent a farthing of it. And I’m your little sister and you love me.”

  He sighed, mainly in defeat. “Why do you need so many ribbons?”

  “Why do you need so many books?”

  They were surrounded by books. He had overloaded his bookcases and, in desperation, started piling them up in neat stacks on the floor. He could expound on the virtues of learning over the importance of looking pretty, but he knew it would get him nowhere. Instead, he reached over to his dresser, opened the top drawer, unlocked the small box inside it, and handed her a shilling.

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  “The way you could really thank me would be to spend at least a few farthings of this on a gift.”

  “What, a book?” she said. “I’ll do my best.” She did always get him something he actually liked, and she would use her own spending money to do it. “I’m going out, if anyone asks.”

  “Do you need me?”

  “No, Lucy Gardiner is going to join me. I won’t be unescorted.” Coin in hand, she got up and headed for the door.

  “Be careful anyway.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You worry too much.” She left, slamming the door again. One of these days, it was going to come right off its hinges, and Mr. Bradley would have to repair it.

  There are worse things, he thought, and returned to Dante.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Infamous George Wickham


  “NO.ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

  Dr. Maddox sighed.The refusal was not unexpected. His formal letter of resignation was still in the Regent’s hands, fluttering in the wind. Somehow, he had succeeded in getting his patient to walk in the park, but the Prince of Wales was so afflicted with gout and extra weight that he had made it only to a bench not far from the house. “Your Highness, you know that I will eventually need to retire on account of my—”

  “You would be a better doctor blind than half the Royal Society of Medicine,” the Regent said.

  “You are underestimating the intelligence of my colleagues, sir.”

  The Prince put down the letter, squinting in the sunlight. “What’s this all about, then?”

  “I want to do more charity work. I want to maybe write a paper or two.” He frowned. “I want to spend more time with my family.”

  This gave the Regent pause. “I suppose your current schedule doesn’t much suit theirs.”

  “No, sir, it does not.”

  “That does not change the fact that I need your medical advice—not that I take much of it,” the Prince said and chuckled. Dr. Maddox said nothing to that. “But when something serious does happen—and you keep diligently warning me that it will—I will need you.” He handed the letter back to the doctor. “Nonetheless, the subject of one of my father’s constant lessons, when he was still capable of lecturing us, was the importance of family. And not listening to him—well, you see how that turned out for the House of Hanover.”

  Again, Dr. Maddox had no comment. He looked down at his shoes.

  “I will be here another month. Less, if I can help it; more, if Parliament can help it. You have that time to find a suitable replacement. But you will remain my chief physician and will be expected to respond—at a moment’s notice, when possible, and as quickly as you can, when not possible—if something dire occurs.You will remain at the same salary, and will be expected to keep in regular touch with the attendant physician—correspondence at least once a week—so that you are apprised of my current condition.You are still forbidden to work in the cholera wards, or any public hospital in London. I won’t have you dying on me just yet. Otherwise, you may do as you please.”