Left to Follow

By DJ Clawson

This story continues the series that began with "A Bit of Advice." At this point, you really should go read the others before trying to read this one. New characters abound.

Chapter 35 – The Last Monk of Saint Sebald

Cassandra Darcy was judged by both parents to be the loudest Darcy, a title formerly held by the infant Geoffrey. Nonetheless even when Elizabeth was exhausted, Darcy never tired of the sound of her coos, murmurs, or wails. "Very well, then you feed her," said a sleepy Elizabeth as he got up to tend to his hungry child in the early morning light.

"Sadly, some things remain out of my own extensive capabilities," he said, handing her to her mother. Elizabeth could not help but be relieved not just that everything was finally in order but that new life had awoken new life in Darcy's eyes. He loved all of his children, but the timing of Cassandra's arrival brought something out of him that had been asleep. The only thing missing was his sister, but her letters indicated nothing but the best. She was happy in her new home, and quite occupied giving the old castle a much-needed woman's touch. As Georgiana was still by birth a Darcy, not a single word in her letter could be doubted.

Even though Geoffrey was seven and growing quickly, the Darcys were spared the burden of hiring a governess for a time. Grégoire was a natural teacher, and his knowledge not just restricted to the Good Book, though that would do for the moment, with the children so young. Charles and Eliza were old enough to understand, and Anne and Edmund just liked to listen.

"Enough for today," he said, closing the book and shooing the children away as he saw his brother approaching. Grégoire leaned against the tree, removing his spectacles as Darcy sat down next to him.

"You work very well with children," Darcy said. "You should consider having some of your own."

"You may have this conversation with me as many times as you wish, and I will sit patiently through it, but my answer will always be the same," Grégoire said with a smile. "I have no desire to leave the Church."

"I couldn't imagine you as anything but a clergyman," Darcy said, "but in case it passed your notice, we have a system in England where clergymen can have families."

"And I believe that system is full of clergymen who became so because they were a younger son and desired a living."

"But they do get to enjoy themselves," he said. "I heard about Munich."

"About the abbey? What about – Oh." Grégoire reddened under Darcy's amused stare. "Please – it was a mistake."

Darcy slapped him on the back. "Manhood is not a mistake, little brother. It is a very wonderful thing."

"Please be silent."

"Why, you might even imagine it happening multiple times – "

"Please, please brother – "

"Quite possibly on a regular basis – "

"Darcy, please," Grégoire said, covering his face with his hands. "There is more to life than the physical experience."

"But it is part of life."

Grégoire frowned. "I made a promise - to my abbot, myself, and to G-d. I have always believed I was meant for the contemplative life." He added, "And I still believe it."

"The world doesn't agree with you," Darcy said. "Where can you go? Spain? Roman? Egypt? Why can you not consider Pemberley your home?"

"Because I am not a priest. I am a monk, Darcy. I am part of a brotherhood. What brotherhood, I do not for the moment know." He shook his head. "I cannot explain it, but I know it. It is what I stand on, as you stand with your wife and your children."

Darcy sighed. Somehow the question he had unknowingly been asking had been answered. "As long as you're running to something, not away."

His brother smiled. "That, I assure you, is true."

The summer passed peacefully for the family at large, even though the world around them was in chaos. Derbyshire was quiet, and Bingley's business was thriving under new leadership. He was back and forth between Kirkland and Town, often staying at the Maddox house outside London. Georgie begged him to come along, and he could hardly deny her anything. She became especially close to her "Aunt Nady." Everyone privately knew that Nadezhda would never have children, as Brian had taken her to nearly every doctor in England to confirm it. If her nieces and nephews adored her, so much the better. Brian and Bingley would sit in the office and work out the details of unloading their stock, while Georgie and Nadezhda would play in the grove.

"Look! Look! I can do it!"

Georgie could finally manage the handstand – for about five seconds before she went toppling over. Mugen caught her from landing flat on her back by grabbing her legs and holding her up. Fortunately she was wearing boy's breeches underneath for this exact purpose. "Very good. Nadi-sama?"

"I can't do that. Very good, Miss Bingley."

"Heh." Mugen released Georgie, who managed to flip back to standing up again. "Now, with one hand!"

"Awww! Mugen-san!" Georgie groaned.

"You must practice," he said. "At your age I was – how old are you, Jorgi-chan?"

"Seven!"

He looked to Nadezhda, who held up seven fingers. "Ah. Well, I no know what I was doing at that time, but I am sure it was hard!" He tried to stare down Georgie, who switched tactics and immediately looked up at him with her sweetest, most heart-melting expression. "You're too clever, you know that?" he said, patting her on the head.

"You're a softie is what you are," Nadezhda said. Between their accents, their English was barely understandable to the average Englishman, but Georgiana was accustomed to both of them.

"You tell anyone, and I'll kill you," Mugen said. "It goes for you too, little ookami."

"Mugen, do you really have to leave?"

"There is only one ship."

"But you can stay here! Forever! Aunt Nady's staying!"

"Nadi-sama is a gaijin. She belongs with her husband, in a gaijin country."

"Besides, I believe Uncle Brian needs my help doing ... anything," Nadezhda said. "That man needs a good woman."

"I need a good woman," Mugen said. "For a night. Maybe two, depending on how good she is."

"Mugen!"

"What? She didn't get it. Did you, Jorgi-chan?"

"Get what?" Georgie asked as she put her hair braids back together.

"See?" Mugen said with a broad smile. Nadezhda just folded her arms and shook her head.

"Daniel? Daniel!"

Daniel Maddox groaned, moving only enough to reposition his head. "What time is it?"

"Two in the afternoon," Caroline said, entering his chambers. "The servants are not aware of your return time last night. They were all asleep."

"It was – very late," he said. "Early. Light in the streets."

"The Regent had a late night, I take it?"

"His Royal Highness always has late nights. You'd only need to read the gossip columns to know that. Which you do, as I see them crumbled up on our nightstand."

Caroline sat down on the bed, pushing up against him so he would make room as she scratched his head. Ever seen his hair came back in, he adored it. He was like a cat, she said. "He had a late night with some emergency, I mean."

"Perhaps," he said, his voice still slurred from sleep. "Or perhaps he was so drunk he passed out on the Prime Minister's lap."

"What happened to patient confidentiality?"

"As the man in charge of the Courier was right there, I doubt it's confidential," he said, turning onto his back so he could see her properly. "Is there a reason you woke me? Am I late for something?"

"Do you know what today is?"

He blinked. "The 27th? No, it must be the 28th – why?"

"The 28th. Four months."

It took him a moment. "Really?"

"Yes. Really."

He smiled, pulling her in for a kiss. This close, he could see her perfectly. He didn't need to; he knew Caroline. He could see her from far away, when his eyes were closed, when she was in another room – she was his wife and he knew. "You know," he said between kisses, "technically, this could be four – and – a half – "

"I know," she said. She didn't resist being pulled down, or his hand stroking her belly. They hadn't made it to four months since Emily, when the morning illness lessened and her body truly began to change. Once her body had made it three-and-a-half, but never four. "I want to announce it."

"Right now? At least let me get dressed – "

"No, silly man - next week, when we go up for Edmund's birthday."

"Oh right. Of course," he said. "What was I thinking? I was distracted by something."

When one's husband kept strange hours, a wife had be flexible about scheduling. Caroline knew well how to catch him when she could, despite the odd hour. She had locked the door before she awoke him.

An hour later, Dr. Maddox was dressed and hazily breakfasting (or having a luncheon) in his office over the post. Today was the day the monthly medical reviews arrived from the Continent, which both kept up his language and his expertise. He eventually dropped the French article on the use of magnesium, for treating stomach disorders, in favor of a brown package at the bottom of the pile. It was addressed to him, unmarked, with the seal being the type one would buy in a general shop. There was no return. Pushing his glasses back down onto his nose, he opened it, and pulled out its only contents – a book. It had a red leather cover, and as soon as he opened the front cover, he recognized what it was.

Calmly and quietly he walked into the kitchen to locate a burning stove. Not finding one large enough to his specifications currently lit; he ordered a small fire to be built in the pit, beside the garden, in the courtyard. His wife saw the smoke and stepped outside as he put another log on the flames and watched them grow higher. "What are you doing?"

He handed her the book. Caroline opened it. "The Nibelungenlied. Lovely edition. Where did you get it?"

"In the post," he said. "My brother bought it for me – three years ago. Never sent it." His voice was as even as he could make it. "It was still in Austria. Someone asked me if I wanted it and I said yes. I was insensible at the time, but apparently he took me seriously." He held out his hand and she returned it to him. Without a moment's hesitation, he took the wonderful edition with its beautiful binding and threw it into the fire. Caroline gasped; it was completely contradictory to his entire character to do such a thing. He turned to her, not able to disguise the emotions just below the surface of his voice, desperate to emerge. "Let it burn."

Caroline Maddox did not look at the book. Instead she embraced him. He rested his head on hers, his tears wetting her bonnet. "Just let it burn."

They watched the entire book burn away, and as the flames turned it to ash, they turned away and went back inside.

"I promised you I would return to reclaim it," Grégoire said in the chair across from her bed.

"And I promised you I would return it when I was done with it," Lady Catherine said, removing the Roman cross from around her neck and placing it in his open palm.

"Thank you, Your Ladyship," he said with a bow, his hand tightening around the silver cross his brother had purchased for him at the Vatican. "How are you these days?"

"Old," she said. "And tired. But I made a promise to look after this family until it was in able hands, and I have but four months to make sure that comes to be. What are four months to a lifetime?"

He smiled. "A small sum." Anne had for months left of her miracle pregnancy, which so far had been successful. She suffered only the normal aches, pains, and illness of a pregnant woman, but she had the experienced Mrs. Collins to aid her through the worst of it and the best doctors lined up in case anything went wrong. As she approached confinement, even the normally subdued servants hummed with excitement at the idea that Rosings and the Fitzwilliam family might see an heir. Though nervous, Lord Fitzwilliam was otherwise in the best of spirits, at least in front of his wife. Mr. Collins offered to sit in vigil, but when Grégoire mentioned fasting alongside prayer, Mr. Collins lost interest in the idea and decided to put his faith in the L-rd to do what was right.

The Darcys paid call on Rosings as soon as Elizabeth (and secretly, Darcy) was well enough to do so. They listened patiently to Lady Catherine's declarations that if Anne's child was a girl, she of course must be married to their Geoffrey. If it was a boy, all the better, because he would have his pick of their three daughters (though she thought the eldest was a bit shift-eyed and no good would come of her). They nodded politely, saying almost nothing, and left the room with some amusement and no intention of taking a word of her advice.

"Son, if Anne has a girl, would you like to marry her?" Darcy proposed to Geoffrey, who was sitting on the stairs.

"What?" Geoffrey said. "I thought I was marrying Georgie."

"I hope not," Darcy said. "Or I owe Bingley five pounds."

"Darcy!" Elizabeth said, and swatted him.

Edmund Bingley turned two largely without his knowledge, though he certainly enjoyed the attention that was lavished on him by those around him. It was, in the end, as much a celebration for them as it was for him. No one needed to say it, but everyone knew it was a marker date, when the idea of Darcy and Dr. Maddox's ill-fated departure became real. Their family was whole again (and seemed to have gained a few members), their prayers answered, and life as they knew it was returning to normal, even better than normal. It was the summer of 1813, and Wellington first successfully routed Napoleon's troops.

"I hope nothing happens to that poor man," Grégoire said at the news.

"Who? Wellington?"

"He means Bonaparte," Caroline said to her husband.

"Don't let the rest of the country hear you say that," Charles suggested, lifting his glass to Grégoire.

"He was very polite," Grégoire said, "and he quite possibly saved my life. I will say nothing against him."

"You are too good for this world," Darcy said. "Dangerously so. One of these days you will get in trouble for it, and this time ... Elizabeth and Mrs. Maddox will not be there to save you." He glared at Bingley, who was chuckling beside him. "Be quite. You stayed at home and got a thrashing from your own employees. You are lucky you have an insane cousin."

"Why does everyone keep saying that in front of me?" Brian Maddox said. "I won't begin to deny it, but normally it is not wise to insult a man thoroughly more armed than you are." Brian relinquished his Japanese costume and swords only when it was absolutely necessary, and often at least the small one hidden inside his waistcoat when he did.

"Because you are wearing a skirt," Caroline said.

"Pleated trousers. A hakama is a set of pleated trousers." He turned to his wife. "Nady, you tell them how manly I am. What? Why are you laughing? Don't do this to me!" But he could not truly raise his voice against his wife, who hid her laughter with her hand, but not very successfully. "At least you could support me."

"Mr. Maddox, if you expect your wife to always be your sternest supporter when your honor is insulted in any family event, you are not well educated on the English customs of marriage," Darcy said. "I need not turn my head, and I already know Elizabeth is staring at me and deciding whether to laugh or to look enraged." Because, she was doing precisely that. "See?"

"You are quite an accomplished husband," Elizabeth said. "Already you know that I am thoroughly plotting my revenge with a story you wouldn't want told."

"What about this noodles incident I keep hearing mentioned?" Dr. Maddox said.

Bingley looked down at his drink. "No, no, that was me. Well, involved me. And everyone present swore to secrecy. Right, my darling?" He looked so very sweetly at Jane, whom he had not insulted.

"You are an accomplished husband for not upsetting me during the course of this conversation."

"I'll help him along," Brian said. "He told me last week he wants to go to India."

"India!"

"Oh G-d." Bingley slumped in his seat. "Joking! I was partially – mainly joking when I said that I might be interested in thinking about possibly considering – "

"INDIA!"

Elizabeth turned to her husband, whose well-practiced mask of indifference was set on his face. "Mrs. Darcy, I can soundly promise you I will never venture to India, Africa, or quite possibly beyond the British shore, and if by chance someone is foolish enough to visit a country filled with snakes, vermin, pagans, and disease, I will leave him to stew in his own mistakes."

"Darcy!"

"Bingley," Darcy said, moving away from the fireplace and towards Bingley. "We have been friends since the moment we meant. I have stood by your side when you made a fool of yourself and you have forced me into the social sphere in which I met my wife. However, when one must choose between a friend and a wife, one must strategically choose the wife."

Bingley sighed, but gave his friend a smile in agreement.

That was when Elizabeth piped up. "Good sir, what do you mean by strategically?"

While the adults enjoyed themselves and the younger children slept, the older children played on Kirkland's lawn. Eliza stood on the stump and was the captive princess; Geoffrey was her jailor, as her brother was the knight to rescue her, which involved a lot more chasing than actual fighting.

"I give you this," Mugen said, off to the side with Georgie Bingley. In his hands was a book, little more than sheets of paper bound with two hard pieces and loops of string poked through to tie it together. She opened it to find crude drawings of a human figure – distinct only in the position of the limbs, which changed on every page with instructions in Japanese and Nadezhda's best English handwriting under it. She recognized all of the moves in the form he had taught her. "When you understand it, come find me."

"But you are going to Japan!" she cried, holding the book close to her chest.

"So? If you asked me five, six years ago if I would be in England, do you know what I would have said?"

"No. What?"

"'What is England?'"

The joke brought a smile to her face as she hugged him, but did not relinquish her tight grip on the book.

The fall, as had been with the previous one, required two good-byes, but these were longer, and more definitive. Mugen left with the only ship that would, for certain, take him to Hong Kong, and from there he could easily get to Japan. Brian gave him money for the trip. "Try not to gamble it all in one place. Spread it out over several places."

Brian, Nadezhda, Bingley, and Georgie were there to see him go. Wearing his upside-down basket hat, he climbed up the ramp, his shoes making their 'clack-clack' noise the whole way up. They waved good-bye until the ship was out of sight, long after he could possibly still see them.

To everyone's relief, Anne delivered safely in October. Though severely weakened, she would recover, and was strong enough to hold her minute-old son in her arms and hear his first wail. They named him after Richard's deceased brother. Lady Catherine could no longer walk without chest pains, and so, one of Rosing's old rooms was quickly converted into a chapel, as it might have once been, according to Grégoire. Mr. Collins was the Anglican clerk, so he had the honor of christening Viscount Henry Lewis Fitzwilliam. After the meal, Anne was requested in her mother's room and she had the nurse bring along Lady Catherine's grandson.

"I always wanted a son," Lady Catherine said as she held the squirming infant in her arms. "I prayed so fervently. I had two, but both died within days. And then you came along, and I was so happy that at least I could produce something in this world of worth." She looked up at her daughter. "I may have smothered you with doctors, but I did it for you."

Lord Fitzwilliam entered the room, and Lady Catherine acknowledged him with a nod but continued on to her daughter. "I wanted a family for myself. But you were sick and Lewis died, and I saw that would not be possible. So I wanted a family for you. I did everything in my power to arrange for this family, and it only brought misery to everyone."

"Mama – "

"It is in the past." She smiled. "It is all in the past."

Very late that night, Grégoire was called in to Lady Catherine's room. He did not seem very surprised as he heard her confession and delivered Last Rites. In the quiet of the early morning, the last of one generation passed away, finally assured that the next was ready to take its place.

The hectic years of the end of Napoleon's reign on the Continent were not mirrored in Derbyshire, where life passed as normal. There was less tenant and worker rebellion in that particular county than most others, at least in Darcy's half because of his masterful overseeing of his lands. Bingley purchased some, but had no real interest beyond his family's needs, not with his business thriving.

To everyone's great relief, Caroline Maddox carried to term and Daniel Maddox Junior was born. He had his mother's red hair with the curling tendency of his father's, so they concluded that he was a hopeless case in that respect.

As abruptly as the horde of children had come into the world, the spell seemed to end. Kitty Townsend (nee Bennet) had three children in four years, but otherwise, there were some failures and periods where there was no conception. Jane and Elizabeth did not complain; they were tired, both having had four children (which they now had to also raise). They were content. Charlotte Collins had another child – another girl, though Mr. Collins expressed no consternation (at least not openly or to his wife, whom he was always very kind to). There were whispers about the Bennet curse resurfacing, which Mr. Bennet laughed at much as he laughed at everything else, and remained living, and therefore master of Longbourn, with his wife, daughter, and grandson at his side.

Brian and Nadezhda lived in peace. Her father passed away, apparently from an infection from a hunting accident. Count Olaf inherited the estate and informed them by letter, but they did not travel to Transylvania to pay respects to Count Vladimir's grave. Brian offered, despite his own inclinations, and Nadezhda replied that when she was ready to do that, she would. Olaf also sent them their crowns and chains, so Brian could finally wear his princely regalia in front of his brother, which amused the doctor to no end. Besides working on his business, Brian sat down to turn his letters to his brother into a travelogue, which sold fabulously well. He became the talk of the town as a famous author, but he stayed largely out of the limelight he could have been in, because Nadezhda did not want to be ogled, and her needs came first.

When the war ended, Grégoire left for Spain, now safely sovereign again. There was an old monastery in the northwest that seemed perfect for him. It was Benedictine and near the coast, so he could travel to England in a week by ship, a trip he relished only for its brevity. He returned the following summer, content in his community there but happy to visit his family and the saint, now buried in an obscure grave in the corner of a private graveyard in England. At the end of his allotted time for the visit, Grégoire kissed his nephew and all of his nieces, hugged Elizabeth, shook Darcy's hand, and began down the path that would lead him south to London.

Later that day, as he always did when he missed his brother, Darcy slipped away from the others and went into the graveyard, to that small tombstone, and sat down beside it.

"So," he asked the saint, "what now?"

Next Chapter - a significant epilogue and discussion of future materials