The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy

by Marsha Altman

  “You mean, have I told him that I have no wish to leave Longbourn until I am forced by the entail?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And what did he say to this, our Town doctor?”

  “He said he would manage.”

  Mr. Bennet nodded. “He’s a young fellow and the situation would be temporary. Apparently, he does not think fifty miles that far at all. What other nonsense bothers you?” But instead of responding, she looked away. “It cannot be Joseph. He adores the man. And if you think he is too young to realize that you may well marry Dr. Bertrand, you are underestimating your son.”

  “He may not wish it. I promised myself that Joseph’s wishes would always come first.”

  “He may not? You have not had this conversation with him?”

  “I have not. No, Papa.”

  “Goodness! What are you waiting for? Ask the poor boy already and be done with it!”

  “Papa!”

  “Mary,” he said a bit more sternly, “the best way to decipher his wishes is to ask him about them. All of these studies will do you no good if you are not capable of reaching that logical conclusion.”

  She colored at this.

  “Now ask him. Not this moment precisely, but by dinner at least. Or I will tell your mother that Dr. Bertrand is really Mr. Collins, and she will insist that you marry him immediately and save us all!”

  She protested but it worked. Four of his daughters had married without much help from him. Now, at least, he could be of assistance.

  After pacing for some time, Mary finally entered the nursery, where Joseph was finishing lunch. “Mummy!”

  “Joseph,” she said. “Come. We are going to take a walk.”

  Of course, it was not so easily done, as it was now October and he had to be bundled up properly, something Mary did herself. At last, they made it out the door and walked slowly down the path that circled the grounds. “Joseph,” she began, “what do you think of Dr. Bertrand?”

  “I like him a lot,” he said, looking up at her. “Are you going to marry him?”

  Feeling her face go red, she turned away.

  “Mother?”

  “I’m not sure,” she answered. “What do you think? You know that I will always love your father, but that does not mean he is here.” She looked down and saw his frown. She stopped in her tracks and knelt down to face him. “What is it?”

  “I like Dr. Bertrand. I think he knows a lot of things and he makes you happy and I think he likes me. And I know it’s different because my father isn’t dead, but Isabel says that after Aunt Bradley remarried, and had her own children with Uncle Bradley, it was different. As though…she forgot about them.”

  “Did George say anything like that?”

  “I haven’t asked him, but he seems lonely. His brother is a baby!”

  She chose her words carefully. “Joseph, you are my son. My wonderful child, my first child. That would never change. Even if I were to have children with Dr. Bertrand, I could not forget about you, not for a second.”

  “But Aunt—”

  “Your aunt is a different person from me,” she said. “You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Your aunt and I have our different ideas about marriage. Let’s leave it at that. Mr. Wickham died and left her penniless and with two young children. Had she had no family, her situation would have been desperate. She had to remarry if she was ever to leave Longbourn. But I have no obligation to find someone to take care of me and you. I consider Dr. Bertrand only because he might be a good man to be a father to you.You see how that is different?”

  He mulled over it, and then nodded. “But you promise you will always love me, even if you have children and they’re really special?”

  “All children are special. And I do promise.” She kissed his cheek. “To my last day, you will be my first concern. I love you.” She hugged him. “I love you more than you can imagine.” She wiped her tears away before releasing him. She loved her son, but was not given to displays of emotion. “And it will always be that way.”

  He did seem somewhat convinced. “All right. You can marry him now.”

  “Darling, I have to wait for him to ask me.”

  “Why is that?”

  She stood up and they resumed their walk back to the house. “Because that’s the way things are done.”

  “Well, if he doesn’t ask, then I’ll tell him to!”

  “Joseph Bennet, you will do no such thing!”

  “All right,” he said. Then he mumbled, “But I will if I have to.”

  Joseph did not have to. Andrew Bertrand came on time for services on Sunday, and then asked Mary to walk with him to see the changing leaves at Oakham Mount. It would have been hard to argue that a woman with a child needed a chaperone to keep her virtue intact.

  “I thought you were Catholic,” she said. “What do you think of our services?”

  “The last time I went to Mass was for my first Communion,” he said.

  “But you wouldn’t mind—”

  “No, I wouldn’t mind. Though, people do get sick on Sundays as often as any other.”

  “So when is your day of rest?”

  “When I manage it,” he said. “Like now.” He stopped in his tracks. “Are you decided?”

  “Decided?”

  “I apologize, Miss Bennet. You are at times easy to read. Until today, I could not be sure if you had formed an opinion of my character. But now, I’m fairly sure you have.”

  She said nothing.

  “Mary Bennet, will you marry me?”

  She looked up into his eyes, hers already welling up. “Yes, Andrew, I will.”

  They kissed for the first time, with the leaves blowing around them. The kiss was soft and gentle, but lingering. “What would you have done?” Mary said at the end of it.

  “What?”

  “If I had not come to a decision about your character.”

  “I would have asked anyway,” he said with a smile. “I could hardly have waited any longer.”

  “Well, my goodness,” Mr. Bennet said, not rising from his chair as Dr. Bertrand entered. “At least take off your hat first. Manners, Doctor.”

  Dr. Bertrand blushed and removed his hat and gloves.

  “Technically, you do not need my consent,” he said. “She is of age. But as her inheritance is somewhat conditional, you might want to ask for it.”

  “I am not after her inheritance,” he said. “But I would like your consent to marry Miss Bennet.”

  “The last one,” he said somberly.“The last Miss Bennet there is, and shall ever be in my lifetime.” He shook his head. “But of course, you have my consent.” They shook on it. “There is, of course, the matter of your profession as a royal physician.”

  Dr. Bertrand had prepared for this. “Dr. Maddox and I have already discussed it. Because it is Mary’s intention to live in Longbourn until your, um—”

  “Long-predicted death, yes. Go on.”

  “Yes. Well, of course, I do not propose otherwise, though I may be in Town for a few days every now and again. Or we may just hire someone new to add to the staff. Either way, it will be worked out to everyone’s satisfaction.”

  “Except perhaps the Prince’s, what with his doctors always abandoning him,” Mr. Bennet said. “But my chief concern is my daughter and grandson and your concern is now my daughter and grandson. The inheritance, however, is still conditional.You will receive fifty thousand pounds with the marriage, and the other half when I die.”

  Dr. Bertrand was dumbstruck.

  “Joseph’s father was quite generous in the settlement for ruining my daughter’s virtue and reputation,” he said. “I confess that Longbourn was a shack compared with what it is now, and I was a man who was nearing debt, but we have been living happily off the interest from the account—that and only one daughter to support. Two, when Lydia was still mourning Mr. Wickham, but she was hardly
doing that.” He studied Bertrand’s expression. “You really had no idea. No suspicions whatsoever.”

  “I knew about the trust for Joseph.”

  “Yes. And he gave that before the child was born. Mr. Mastai—that is his name, though we never utter it here—is very penitent. Perhaps because he is supposed to be celibate.Yes, Mary had possibly the largest dowry in England, but we never made it public. If she had wanted to, we would have. You’ve struck gold, Dr. Bertrand.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Bennet, that is not the real gold I struck today,” he said. “And my name is Andrew.”

  Although the engagement of Dr. Bertrand and Mary Bennet was no surprise to the Derbyshire crowd, it was an excitement nonetheless, especially in Elizabeth’s dull days with Darcy gone. Well, they were hardly dull, with one son and three daughters, but they were less full.

  “Where will we spend Christmas?” Jane asked as she sat with her sister on the terrace of Kirkland, discussing the news. “The wedding is close enough that we must stay in Hertfordshire.”

  “If Hertfordshire can hold us. And if they do not have a Town wedding,” Elizabeth said. “She writes that they have not decided. His parents may demand it. Or the very opposite, when they see the English commoners that their son is marrying into.” She was interrupted by Monkey jumping up on the serving table and grabbing a scone in his mouth. “Monkey!”

  “What’s this about English commoners?” Bingley said, as Monkey’s arrival could only mean that he was not far behind.

  “Dr. Bertrand’s parents are French nobility. Their name isn’t even Bertrand. They changed it while hiding during the Revolution. So they must not think much of us, whatever our fortune,” Elizabeth said.

  “Is that right?” Jane said, reaching for her husband’s arm as he stood by her side and Monkey climbed back up onto his shoulder, taking the scone with him. “Would they consider us commoners?”

  “To be noble, you must have more ball gowns than you could ever wear and be deep in very fashionable debt.You are neither, my dear, so I suppose we do not fit the bill and are unsuitable company for Mr. and Mrs. Bertrand,” he said. “What’s this about the wedding? Finally?”

  “I think the only one still in a state of indecision was Mary,” Elizabeth said. “The rest of us were soundly aligned long ago. What a family she had to contend with!”

  “He is a sweet man,” Jane said. “And he helped to save Grégoire’s life.”

  “Speaking of him,” Bingley said. “Any idea when they’ll be back from—where did they go, Scotland?”

  “The Isle of Man.”

  “The Isle of Man?” Bingley shrugged. Darcy had many holdings in many places and didn’t discuss them. “So—any news?”

  “The last I heard, they would stay for a few days. If they’ve written to say that they’ve departed, it has not yet reached me, sadly,” Elizabeth said.

  “Well, I suppose we’ll hear soon. Mrs. Darcy.” He bowed with as much dignity as he could with Monkey clinging to his arm, and went back inside. He and Georgie had just returned from the visit with the Maddoxes, and he had been restless ever since.

  “Your husband has lost his playmate,” Elizabeth said, and Jane did her best not to laugh about the reference to Darcy’s absence. She was not entirely successful.

  The post being what it was, Elizabeth received a letter that they were leaving the island to come home only a day before they made their reappearance.The Darcy carriage was followed by wagons of shipping boxes, and one carrying a wooden box that could almost be mistaken for a coffin. But as both brothers got out of the carriage, it could hardly be that.

  “Papa!” Because her legs were longer, it was Sarah, not Cassandra, who made it to Darcy first. Anne Darcy was now seven and did not run around like an enthusiastic toddler. Most of the time, that was. She was third, though, to greet her papa. Then the adults emerged to welcome Darcy and Grégoire.

  “Lizzy,” he said with his second daughter in his arms, and leaned over to kiss his wife on the cheek. “Georgiana. Lord Kincaid.”

  “Mr. Darcy. Mr. Grégoire,” Lord Kincaid said. “I trust the trip was a success.”

  “Yes,” Grégoire said. “We stayed only long enough to reclaim some personal items left on the site before it could be sold.”

  “Books,” Darcy said. “Lots of books.” He turned to Mr. Reed, who stood quietly at his side. “Have the last wagon brought up alongside the chapel.”

  As they entered, Darcy and Grégoire were brought up on the latest news about the engagement, which delighted Grégoire. Darcy said that it was a fine—a very fine—choice. “Where is Geoffrey?”

  “He is at Kirkland,” Elizabeth explained, and they sent someone to summon him. As they left to refresh themselves from a long journey, Darcy made a strange request—that Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Geoffrey join them in the chapel at two. They said yes, and he left to get cleaned up.

  An hour later, the specified people gathered in the tiny chapel. Elizabeth realized that everyone but she was a Darcy by blood, and Lord Kincaid had been excluded.

  “Geoffrey,” Darcy said gravely, “we decided that you’re old enough to be part of this, but you’re not to say a word of this to anyone without our permission.” He cleared his throat. “Even Miss Georgiana Bingley. Understood?”

  Geoffrey nodded.

  Darcy sighed and continued, with a look of encouragement from his brother. “Our father—Geoffrey Darcy—had an older brother. We had an uncle. His name was Gregory.”

  “Why have I never heard of him?” Georgiana asked. “When did he die?”

  “You were two,” he said, “and by then, any traces of him had already been erased from Pemberley’s records. I knew of him because I met him twice, first when I was a little boy and again when I was fifteen, just before he died. On the Isle of Man.” He continued before they could question him further. “He was mad. His death was faked when he was of age and he was removed from the records so it wouldn’t…hurt our father’s marriage prospects. By the time of your birth, Georgiana, the only ones who knew of him were our father, our mother, and me. The house where he lived remained in the ledgers until recently, when someone made an offer for it. And seeing that Father named Grégoire after his brother, whom he loved very much, I decided to…take him there.”

  “He left a journal,” Grégoire said as the audience sat quietly, attempting to absorb this terrible information. “When he was a child, he was raised to be master of Pemberley, but when he started showing signs of mental illness, a doctor was brought in who probably drove him mad with his treatments. When he turned seventeen, he asked to be disinherited. Father would inherit, and Uncle Gregory would disappear. All of Gregory’s portraits were burned. The only ones we have are some tiny ones we found on the island.”

  Georgiana was the first person to speak. “Darcy—you met him! While I was alive! Why didn’t you tell me when I came of age?”

  “Father told me never to speak of him, and I listened,” he said quietly. “I would never have spoken of him again, but this sale came up. It was the way they both wanted it. Georgiana, I’m sorry. I truly am.”

  Elizabeth raised her objection. “Why did you not tell us when—”

  “I did tell Dr. Maddox,” he interrupted. “I told him in Austria, when I lost my senses. I made him swear never to speak of it to anyone. Apparently, he kept that promise.”

  They fell into an uncomfortable silence, each with his or her own thoughts. Elizabeth looked at her husband. He looked tired, and not from traveling.

  “We decided—if everyone here agrees—that he should be written back into the family,” Grégoire said. “Or, at the very least, reburied here at Pemberley. Along with all of his books and his notes and his personal effects, we’ve brought him. What’s left of his body, that is.”

  “Did he want that?”

  “We’ll never know,” Darcy answered. “He never said, and there’s no one alive who can answer that question. Geoffrey, you are not to tell
your sisters what happened to Uncle Gregory and why he lived far away.Your mother and I will tell them when they’re old enough. And Georgiana, you should tell your husband.”

  She nodded numbly.

  “I’ll tell George,” he added. “Just him. He deserves to know the whole of it.” He didn’t need to say why. Those who knew understood perfectly.

  They filed out in silence, each with his or her own thoughts. It was time for Grégoire’s prayer. So their last wagon had been carrying a casket after all, even if it was filled only with bones.

  The next day, they had the workers from the Isle of Man pull the edge of one side of the fence around the Pemberley graveyard back far enough to dig a grave. The tombstone would come later. Grégoire put up a wooden cross with his uncle’s name on it. For the time being, it would suffice.

  “Why can’t he be buried alongside Father?” Georgiana whispered to Darcy.

  “Because he can’t be buried in consecrated ground,” he said. “He committed suicide.”

  She leaned into him, and he hugged his little sister as a local vicar said prayers over the barely covered grave. Gregory Darcy, lost for so many years, was finally buried in his home soil, near generations who had come before him and leaving space for generations who would come after him.

  CHAPTER 25

  The Last Bennet Girl

  ON DECEMBER 15, 1817, Dr. Andrew Bertrand and Mary Bennet were joined in marriage in the same church where her four sisters had all been wedded to their current husbands. As Mr. Bennet gave away his last daughter, there was nary a dry female eye in the house. Normally, children were not invited to a wedding ceremony, but an exception was made for Joseph, who looked nervous until his mother smiled at him as she walked down the aisle.

  Dr. Bertrand’s parents did attend the wedding, and made a point of speaking only French at the wedding breakfast afterward. To their horror, almost all of the people present spoke at least some French, and understood them perfectly.The newly married couple were too happy to be distracted, and no major social disasters occurred before they left for a week in Town, leaving Joseph behind (in a shower of kisses) with his family.