Mr. Darcy's Great Escape

by Marsha Altman

  “It was dissolved in 1809, also by General Bonaparte. Grégoire told me of it last summer. It seems the general is determined to lay waste to organized religion and replace it with the new French rationalism. Which, normally, I would not be so opposed to—if I knew where my brother was right now, and what he was doing,” Darcy said. “There was a bit in the paper about a massacre. Elizabeth assures me it’s just propagandist nonsense—”

  “They are trying to recruit for a war.”

  “—but I can’t get it out of my head. Surely you understand?” He looked up at Dr. Maddox, who saw at once the desperation in his eyes. How he kept his anxiety quiet, the doctor had no idea. Daniel Maddox was unable to keep any strong emotion, especially worry, from showing.

  “His monastery is on the way to Transylvania.”

  “I can’t ask that of you,” Darcy said. “My proposal is to accompany you to Berlin and then split our trails.”

  “And your wife approves of this proposal?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Dr. Maddox nodded. “Then at least Caroline will have some company in that, as she is annoyed that she was not invited.”

  “So you are decided?”

  “Yes. You?”

  “I have to… further discuss it with my wife,” Darcy said. “Perhaps I ought to get to that.”

  “I have known you these seven years, and you have never been a man to falter or even hesitate to do your duty,” the doctor said. “Mr. Darcy is not to be cowed by anything. Except, perhaps, his wife.”

  Darcy glared at him before storming off, leaving Dr. Maddox to finish his drink quietly, a smirk on his lips.

  ***

  “You want to what?”

  When Darcy said he had to “further” discuss his plans with his wife, he was being a bit liberal in his explanation. He had put off his idea as long as possible, but now that the doctor was so set on going to the Continent… “I will probably find him in Berlin, or a trace of him.”

  Elizabeth Darcy hugged her bed robe around her, as if the idea gave her chills despite the summer heat. “We saw your brother a few months ago!”

  “When he was here, yes. But now we have every reason to believe he is in danger.” He had told her of the news from Germany, but nothing of his plan to do something about it. He knelt on the bed, almost pleading with her.

  “If someone must go to find Grégoire,” she said, “then let it be your steward. Or Dr. Maddox, who will already be in Berlin! Which he does against the insistence of his wife and family!”

  “I cannot ask that of him.”

  “Grégoire can take care of himself!”

  “We don’t know that!”

  “We do! You just refuse to believe it!”

  “Elizabeth, I have already lost one brother to my own incompetence. I cannot lose another!”

  It had been louder than he intended, even though Elizabeth had been making no attempt to keep her own voice down. They were in their chambers in Pemberley, and they were not to be disturbed. Still, it was strange, especially with the silence that followed, as his words hung down over them like an ominously dark cloud.

  Elizabeth joined him on the bed, instantly embracing him, and he did not shy away, his head slumping on her shoulder. “It was not your fault,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  “But you don’t believe,” she said, separating enough to see the anguish on his face, usually so disguised. “You cannot put yourself in danger for the ghost of George Wickham.”

  “This is about Grégoire,” he said. “I would not put myself in danger for Wickham, ghost or no. But I cannot bear to stand by while Grégoire is missing.”

  They didn’t even discuss her coming with him. With three children, one of whom was an infant, it wasn’t an option.

  “You understand,” he said gently, “why I must do this.”

  She did not want to admit it. “What if he appears at our doorstep while you are in Prussia?”

  “He has a post box in Berlin. I will check it every day. And I will write you if I intend to leave the city at all.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I will not put myself in unnecessary danger.”

  “And your aunt?”

  He smiled. “I will not put Aunt Catherine in any unnecessary danger, either.” He let her swat him. “In fact, I think I will be putting her out of danger by leaving the country.”

  “You know what I meant.”

  “I will visit her,” he said. “But considering all that Grégoire has done for her, she may well give me her blessing.”

  “And mine matters not?”

  “Yours determines whether I go or stay.”

  Elizabeth bit her lip. “On one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  “You give me a proper good-bye.”

  Darcy smiled and kissed her. “Most duly granted.”

  Chapter 8

  Departure

  When Dr. Maddox opened the trunk readied for him, he nearly screamed as his daughter popped out of her hiding spot, “Papa!”

  “Emily!” he said, staggering back. “You scared me half to death.” But she continued smiling serenely at him. “I suppose it was very cute. But a trunk is not a good place for a child.”

  When he tried to lift her out, she grabbed onto the handle. “No! I want to go with you!”

  “Darling,” he said, turning her around in his arms so she was facing him and not the trunk, “you would not want to come on this trip. It’s going to be very long and mostly boring, and you certainly wouldn’t want to spend it in a smelly trunk, would you?” He kissed her on the cheek and set her down. In coloring and hair she resembled her mother, and he often wondered if she was similar to what her mother had been when she was a child. Given Bingley’s stories, it did not seem out of the realm of possibility. “Where is your nurse, anyway? I’m quite sure we employ one.”

  Her response was to lift her hands to show that she wanted to be picked up again. He sighed and put her on the bed. “Now what—oh, of course, stay there.” He hurried down the steps and into the library. He had already picked out his German dictionary, but it was still on the table. When he returned, Emily was back in the trunk. “What did I say?”

  “I was cute!”

  He rolled his eyes. “You have until three to climb out of there, or I will call for Nurse. One—”

  “No!”

  “Two.”

  “Papa!”

  “I’m being serious! Three—”

  She reached for the book but was not successful at taking it from his hands. “Read to me!”

  “This isn’t a storybook. It’s a dictionary.”

  “What’s a dictionary?”

  “A book of words. Now, what did I say? I said I was going to call for Nurse, and I will—”

  “Please! Papa!” She tugged on his vest. “Read to me!”

  “I’m supposed to be packing—”

  “Read to me!”

  “Your mother can do it—”

  “Mama reads to me all the time! I want you to do it!”

  He sighed. “You’re as demanding as your mother sometimes, you know that?” Looking around to see that the coast was clear after saying that, he sifted through the pile of books on his bed stand and picked one out, sitting down next to her. She wouldn’t understand much of the story, but she had never complained about it before. “Your mother gave me this book, before we were married. It’s very special.” He cleared his throat and began to read, “‘When in April the sweet showers fall, that pierce March’s drought to the root and all, and bathed every vein in liquor that has power to generate therein and sire the flower…’”

  Caroline found him briefly after Emily fell asleep. It was time for her nap anyway, so they quietly called for Nurse, and their daughter was carried off.

 
; “You’re supposed to be packing,” Caroline said, “since you insisted on doing it yourself.”

  “I know, but she made a very convincing argument for a story,” he said, putting the book back on the bed stand.

  “And it was—?”

  “That I can’t say no to a redhead who appreciates good literature.”

  ***

  Darcy assured Elizabeth, “I’ll be back before you realize I’m gone.” They embraced in front of the carriage that would take Darcy and Collins to Dover, where the boat was waiting to take them to the Continent. He kissed her. “I promise.”

  “Do not make promises you might not keep,” she said nervously, leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder. She usually did not force Darcy into public displays such as this one, but the situation demanded an exception.

  Darcy had wrapped up his business quickly, visiting Kent to wish Lady Catherine well. She seemed, for the moment, to be recovering (“I refuse to die and leave Rosings in the hands of Miss Bennet!”) but made no mention of anything else disconcerting. He finished his business with his steward, had Mrs. Reynolds close up Pemberley, and did some paperwork in Town while Dr. Maddox did the same, making sure his will was up to date. The doctor was granted his leave from the royal service, with pay, so Caroline would want for nothing.

  “I don’t know why His Highness is so nice to me,” Dr. Maddox said to his wife with a nervous smile as his trunk was loaded onto the carriage. “All I do is yell at him.”

  “I’m sure you do it very politely,” she said. He had already said good-bye to the children back at their house.

  The Darcys’ children, who were old enough to understand that their father was going somewhere, were standing with them while Sarah remained in the townhouse. Darcy took Anne in his arms and kissed her before passing her into Elizabeth’s care. He looked down at Geoffrey, who did seem pleased with the prospect but was now too old and mature to grab his father’s leg anymore.

  Looking to comfort his son, Darcy thought for a moment, then pulled off his signet ring and put it in Geoffrey’s hand, crossing his tiny fingers over it. “Take this. This was your grandfather’s, the first Geoffrey Darcy.”

  Geoffrey tried it on. “It’s too big for me.”

  His father took the ring and put it on Geoffrey’s thumb, which was about large enough for the pinky ring. “There you go. Now you can play with it all you want when you get nervous and think of me. You may have it until I return, because sometimes your father gets nervous too.” He patted him on the head and whispered. “Take care of your mother.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Very soon. As soon as I locate your uncle.”

  He stood up, and Caroline approached him. “I will make one final attempt to talk some sense into you.”

  “Dr. Maddox is going, and he has the most good sense. So if he will not be persuaded, neither shall I.”

  “He has a point,” Dr. Maddox said.

  “And he’s the most stubborn man in England,” Elizabeth added, “unfortunately.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Hurry back.”

  “I will,” he said, and stepped into the carriage.

  “And if one of you is going to be shot at for some reason,” Caroline said, “make sure it’s Darcy.”

  Elizabeth gave her a glare.

  Caroline Maddox huffed, pointing at Dr. Maddox. “Because he’s the doctor, obviously, he cannot operate on himself.”

  “I shall keep it in mind to jump in front of him,” Darcy said, “just for that purpose.”

  ***

  Taking the sea route and a boat to Hamburg was a painfully short trip for Darcy. It was so jarring for him, more than he wanted to admit, to be only at sea a few days and then suddenly be in a foreign country with a language he couldn’t begin to understand and mountains higher than anything he’d ever seen in France. He’d toured the Continent after Cambridge but had not gone to Prussia. He chided himself for thinking ill of what could be a very short trip. Once he was on Prussian soil, he could write to Munich and inquire after Grégoire fairly easy. But he did not appreciate the trip. He said little to Dr. Maddox, and Dr. Maddox took this as a general incentive to leave him much alone as Dr. Maddox awaited the arrival date of his entourage that would be escorting him to Transylvania.

  They arrived in Berlin tired and mangy from their trip, beyond what a good hotel and a night’s sleep could fix. Dr. Maddox described Berlin as “more cosmopolitan” than he remembered, because the general chaos brought a mix of people. French soldiers, Prussian soldiers, refugees, gypsies, and émigrés—everyone seemed to be attempting to disappear into the city. That suited both of them just fine—Dr. Maddox’s German was relatively good, and there were enough Englishmen about that they did not feel as though they were under any suspicion by the Prussians or the French.

  The first morning, Darcy wrote a letter to his wife, assuring her that they had arrived safely and had no plans to leave the area (yet). They were far enough from France that he could hire a courier to make sure it got to England, if at an extravagant price. Dr. Maddox read the German newspapers for him, looking for news of monasteries Grégoire might have fled to.

  “It’s all about the war,” he said, rubbing his eyes with frustration. “Napoleon really is invading the Russias.”

  “He’s a fool to do so.”

  “How can we know? Neither of us are generals,” Dr. Maddox pointed out as they finished their coffee (which was, admittedly, exceptionally good) and went to the post office. Darcy had the spare key to Grégoire’s box. “Number 132—number 132—damnit, where is—oh. Finally.”

  It was hardly empty. Its contents were recognizable as his own letters that he had sent in the last two months, still sealed with wax, and besides that, nothing. He closed the box without taking any of the letters. “He hasn’t been here. I will have to write to Munich.”

  They quickly discovered there was a board near the market square where families were posting, looking for their loved ones in all languages. They decided to read its contents every day, but nothing looked familiar.

  Other than that, their days were frustratingly idle, while Darcy waited for the post and Dr. Maddox tried to locate someone who was from southern Austria while still being as discreet as possible. There were many things to do in the city while they waited, but neither of them had an interest in tourism. Sometimes they sat in coffee shops instead of the hotel, just for the change of atmosphere, but every day it was the same: checking the boards, checking the papers, checking the post, then nothing.

  “My Romanian is getting better,” Dr. Maddox said. “It is very similar to Latin and Italian.”

  Darcy did not attempt to answer. His black mood would not be lifted.

  On the fifth day, Darcy wrote to Elizabeth again. No progress, but will continue. We are safe. That was hardly the whole of the letter—he had plenty of time to write it—but those were the key points. He would wait so long to hear news from Munich, and then contemplate going there. It was not so far away.

  It was not an hour after he sent the letter that Dr. Maddox returned from lunch very enthusiastically. “My carriage has arrived, with the man who will take me to Austria.”

  “I am happy for you,” Darcy said, sarcasm seeping into his voice.

  “But he has agreed to take you to Austria as well! There are still dozens of monasteries there that, if they do not contain Grégoire themselves, they will have some monk who knows him, surely! And you will be safe in the carriage. The count has provided soldiers!”

  “I am in your debt.” Darcy was relieved. “How quickly do we leave?”

  ***

  The coach was ready to go the following morning. Their escort, a Prussian named Herr Trommler who worked for the count, was in charge of the guards for the impressive carriage and horse team. None of the guards or the carriage driver spoke a
word of English, and they spoke very little German.

  “Peasantry, mostly,” Trommler said, his own accent rather thick but understandable. “And you vill be joining us, Herr Darcy?”

  Darcy bowed just slightly. Trommler seemed like a man of authority, not a low-level servant. “If you would be so kind, for any small distance of the way.”

  “He is as eager to see his brother as I am to see mine,” Dr. Maddox said, and Trommler barked orders in Romanian to the servants, and they departed Berlin, with two horsemen with guns accompanying them.

  “For your safety, of course,” Trommler assured them. The carriage itself was rather comfortable—not the best, but suitable for long distances. “His Grace the count wishes very much to ensure the safety of your passage to his home.”

  “And my brother?” Dr. Maddox said.

  “I am sure he thinks the same.”

  “He is well then?”

  “I can safely say of His Highness, their marriage is a happy one.” His wink betrayed a more suggestive note to his speech.

  “His Highness?” Darcy laughed. “Brian is a prince?”

  “It is not an official title outside of Transylvania,” Dr. Maddox explained, more familiar with the concept ever since Brian started signing his letters “Prince Brian of Sibiu.” “But the family is descended from royalty—or so they claim—so the count has named his daughter a princess and, by marriage, his son-in-law a prince.”

  “So I am to address Brian Maddox as His Highness?”

  “If you wish to do what’s proper,” Dr. Maddox replied. “And I am to understand Mr. Darcy of Pemberley and Derbyshire is considered among the most proper of gentlemen.”

  Darcy scowled and looked out the window.

  ***

  The progress was slow, the roads clogged with fleeing villagers and passing soldiers, and they often rode through the night. Trommler and the Romanians never seemed to sleep. Dr. Maddox was hopeful—maybe Brian wouldn’t be so pampered by palace life if this was how hardy people were out in the wilderness.

  A week down the road, Trommler was less amenable to the idea of veering off the route to stop at monasteries. “They are deep in the wilderness. This is why they have not closed them, Herr Darcy,” he said. “It is best if you come to Sibiu, and we can send messengers from there to find your brother.”