A/N: Lots of you like a redeemed Caroline. I only thought of her in the last week, or at least this storyline for her. I originally had her serving a darker purpose. If you like Redeemed Caroline, I did similar in The Priority Failure, and The Fee Entail. Redemption of one sort or another shows up fairly often in my stories, but then, retribution does too.

Shall we see how Red Darcy is doing?

Wade


RED

"Monsieur Darcy, I have some bad news."

Fitzwilliam Darcy stopped his slow struggle across the room to lean against a bed and ask. "Please go on, Mmle. Babette," in serviceable French.

In the four weeks since he had woken up from his most recent bout of fever, Darcy had found that his French was adequate, and improving by the day. He spoke with Nurse Dashwood, Mmle. Babette (he could not quite bring himself to address her with too much familiarity), and the young orderly, M. Barbeau. The latter had been helping him get his strength back, and as Miss Dashwood had predicted, it took weeks until he could get himself to the privy or dress himself, and weeks more before he could walk to the end of the long room that contained his bed.

Sargent Ralston had been returned to the English once he was well enough to move, and he had never been able to explain just what he was doing so far from the lines where the French and English were fighting, mostly in Spain. It never made any sense to Darcy that the entire British army was on one side of the Pyrenees, and the sergeant's company was on the other, but he reckoned he would probably never understand the ways of the army.

He had written to Major Boucher, his contact in the French Army after his first recovery, and it had taken until his third bout with fever to finally get a reply. Unfortunately, that reply indicated the Major was unlikely to be useful to his cause, since he was dead. It listed a half‑dozen replacements who might be useful, so Darcy had dutifully written to all of them, and received replies that were not exactly auspicious, but not the end of the world either. It seemed that just finding his cousin was going to be a tedious process.

He slowly brought his focus back to his companion, who had waited a few moments, apparently accustomed to his mind wandering at times.

Babette's reply was in French, but slightly slower than she usually spoke. "We have an outbreak of Typhus in a village thirty km from here. They are bringing somewhere between one and four dozen patients."

Darcy nodded. "Allow me to help."

Babette shook her head. "You still seem confused. You are the patient, and we are the nurses."

Darcy chuckled a bit and was just ready to answer when Nurse Dashwood joined them, saying, "You have heard."

"Yes, I was just asking Nurse Babette how I can help, and she was graciously thanking me for my proposed efforts."

Babette laughed at the incongruity of the assertion, and Nurse Dashwood laughed at the idea that M. Darcy had convinced Babette of anything. "You can barely walk thirty yards without help, M. Darcy."

"There are at least a dozen beds within thirty yards, and nothing stops me from resting for ten minutes and walking another thirty."

Miss Dashwood scrunched her head. "You are believed to be somewhat important, M. Darcy. What happens if you have a relapse?"

Feeling like he had entered territory where he might be able to win the argument, Darcy replied, "I have been reading about the illness. Most believe that having the illness confers immunity, at least for a time. Studies go back at least to the sixteenth century, and the doctors know more than you might think. I am at considerably less risk than either of you are."

Babette laughed, and Miss Dashwood said, "In that, you are mistaken M. Darcy. We have both had Typhus. That is part of the reason we take care of most patients."

"All the more proof of my thesis. Neither of you have fallen sick, so I can help you."

"You do not know anything about nursing."

"I can learn, and I will dispute that I know nothing about it. I have been on the receiving end of the best nursing in France, and I did pay attention."

Babette laughed, shook her finger at him like a naughty schoolboy, and said something about flattery getting him nowhere, but too fast for him to follow.

Nurse Dashwood looked carefully at him. "All right. You are still not recovered, and I do not look forward to the chastisement if I lose you, so do not overexert yourself. You will start with simple things. Read to people, help feed them or give water, things that will not tax your strength."

"But is exercise not part of my recovery," Darcy asked quite logically?

Nurse Dashwood laughed, and turned to return to her duties, saying only. "Do not push your luck, M. Darcy. Simple things – then we shall see. I will have M. Barbeau watching, and you know you cannot get anything past him."

"It would not occur to me to try."

Thus, began what would later seem to be the longest month of his life. The epidemic got larger and larger over the following month. A dozen became two, then four then six. Darcy did as instructed and every day his strength improved, while the workload increased even more. Additional doctors, apothecaries and nurses were brought in, but still his two most familiar ladies were run ragged day and night. Every morning Darcy woke up and got right to work, and every night he collapsed into his bed exhausted.

He came to intimately know death and suffering at a level he had never come close to appreciating before, and he wondered how soldiers managed to deal with it day in and day out for a long career. It did not take him long to be able to spot those most likely to die, and he gravitated towards them as a way to shield the nurses from a little bit of the pain of it. After all, he would be gone back to his life sooner or later, but both of them would still be there – unless of course he managed to convince either or both to accept his help. Offering some comfort to the dying had some satisfaction, but since most of them died during the fever stage, they rarely were even aware of what was happening.

Mayday came and went in a blur of exhaustion, with the only notable event being the receipt of two more letters from the French Army that dashed a few more hopes of reaching his cousin.

The onslaught tapered off soon after that, and by mid-May, things had returned to almost normal. Those who had died in the plague had been buried. Those who survived were beginning the slow and steady struggle to regain their strength, just like Darcy but a few weeks behind. Those that had a home and loved ones to care for them returned, and the rest stayed until they were more recovered. Darcy helped those that remained as best he could, and the numbers finally tapered down to a trickle.

It was on the fifteenth of May that things finally changed. He had no way of knowing that his wife was meeting with his uncle and aunt in Pemberley that day (or that the meeting went badly), but he did spend a very large part of his day thinking about Mrs. Darcy and planning how he might manage to redeem himself in her eyes. He had long accepted that the fault of their poor beginning was entirely his. He could have avoided all the unpleasantness of their nuptials and parting. He could have set them up for success instead of failure; if he had been willing to ask one simple question: 'Were you complicit?'. He had not asked, but assumed, and that assumption, that lack of faith, that willingness to say vows he did not really mean; probably soured the relationship for years to come.

He sat down with a man in his fifties or sixties who had been there for a couple of weeks, but Darcy had never talked to him, and asked how he was doing.

"You are M. Darcy, is that correct?" the man asked without preamble. The rules of politeness had been mostly shaved off all interactions in the ward as a matter of practicality, so Darcy thought nothing of the abrupt beginning.

"I am – and you?"

"Major Hugo, and as the English say, at your service."

Darcy laughed, and sat down on a chair next to the major's bed. "You seem to be inclined to say on this side of the great dividing line Major."

"Seen worse, have you," the major asked in impeccable English, which no longer surprised Darcy. After the previous month, he wondered if anything would ever surprise him again.

"I have, but if you are a major, I suspect you will have me beat handily."

"Yes, I suppose so – but I have never felt much was achieved by boasting about how much suffering you have seen or experienced."

"A sensible opinion, Major."

Darcy noticed an unknown woman coming down the aisle carrying a teapot on a tray, and tried to stand to give her room, but found he was just too bone tired.

The young woman did not seem overly bothered, so she just stepped around him, and put the pot along with two cups on the bedside table. She looked at Darcy with an instructing look, and when he nodded, she smiled and just left.

"Not a lot of words, that one," the major opined while Darcy set about pouring the tea for both. He had long accustomed himself to such duties, though he could not be certain he had ever done so previously.

"I have never seen her before."

"She is new. I met her yesterday. She is to begin a career as a nurse, and quite looks forward to it. This is a training hospital, so they come through regularly," the major added.

The two men enjoyed a companionable cup of tea for a few minutes, and their enjoyment was only mildly hampered when Darcy fell asleep in the chair, since the major followed him into slumber a few minutes later.

When Darcy awoke, he saw the major smoking a cigar and reading a newspaper that had appeared somewhere. The sun was just setting so there was still plenty of light, but it was not likely to last long.

The major once again started abruptly. "I understand you are looking for someone, M. Darcy."

Seeing no need to hide his mission, which Darcy was certain every gossip on Toulouse was familiar with, Darcy replied, "Yes, sir. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"Any particular reason you are here?"

"As I said, he is my cousin. He saved my life a couple of times, so it seems the least I can do."

The major nodded, looked at the paper a few more minutes. "Those sorts of things make a bond, do they not?"

"They do," Darcy added.

The major sat a minute. "Still, your duty might have been better served by sending someone else. They might even have been more effective, but I suppose we will never know."

"No, I suppose we will not. Had I not fallen sick – well, who knows what would have happened."

The major thought another minute. "Is that all your cousin means to you?"

He looked around to ensure they were unheard. "I would ask you to be explicit, if you do not mind."

Darcy did mind, but this was the closest he had come to an ally since arriving, so thought he should take what he could get.

"He is the second son of the Earl of Matlock."

"Ah! I suppose the elder is sickly and he needs to fulfill his role of – what do you English call it – the 'spare'?"

Darcy laughed. "Nothing gets by you."

The major coughed a couple of times, but it did not dissuade him from taking a few more puffs on his cigar, although it had mostly gone out already.

Looking crossly at the offending device, the major asked, "How bad do you want to rescue your cousin, M. Darcy?"

"Very badly," Darcy replied without thought. This was no time to quibble about price.

"I may be able to help you."

"I would be in your debt if you could do so."

The major looked carefully at him. "I will collect the debt, M. Darcy."

"And I will happily pay it, major."

"Let me see what I can do. I also believe you have not been able to contact your wife in quite some time."

Darcy briefly wondered where the major got his information, but then assumed that it was just common gossip. Enough people in the hospital knew about it to make it common knowledge.

"No, I have not."

"As you are no doubt aware, there is no regular mail service. I could probably get a letter to her, but it would be slow."

"I would be eternally in your debt, sir."

The major chuckled. "I will collect that one as well, M. Darcy. Write three copies, and I will send them out. It will not be a fast process. There are always people hunting for spies, so discretion is called for. She should receive it by June though, so it should not be a big problem. My wife waited longer than that for word from me many times."

Darcy looked somewhat embarrassed. "I would not worry, but I did not leave my marriage in very good condition."

The major seemed just as embarrassed, but finally said, "I did not either, but my wife stuck by me either through love or stubbornness, which I sometimes think are the same thing. She is gone now, but the last dozen years were much better than the first dozen."

"I hope I can follow your example, major."


The next fortnight went by uneasily, with Darcy checking in with the major every day. He had gained enough strength to start dragging the major up and down the ward at first, and by the start of June, they were both walking about the courtyard in relatively good spirits when M. Barbeau came to the major with a letter.

Both men sat down on a bench as the major opened the letter. "Ah, good!"

Darcy just looked on, not felling any need to reply.

"I have found your Colonel, M. Darcy, and he appears to be healthy and being well taken care of. I believe this was not much worse than a long luxury holiday for him."

Darcy breathed a big sigh of relief. "Can you tell me where he is, and who I can negotiate with to get him out?"

The major paused for quite a while, then chuckled. "Me."

Not entirely surprised, Darcy said, "Name your price."

"What if I ask for one hundred thousand pounds, M. Darcy?"

Darcy looked at him to see if he was serious. "It would be difficult, but it could be done."

The major chuckled. "You look like a man sucking on a lemon, M. Darcy. You know about lemons, no?"

Darcy just chuckled, although he could not really tell if the major was joking or not.

The major apparently decided to take pity on him. "I jest with you, M. Darcy. I do not want anything so rich; I can assure you."

Undaunted, Darcy said, "Ask what you wish, and if I can provide it, I will."

The major sat still, staring at a few children playing in the courtyard a dozen yards away. "My price will not be so onerous, M. Darcy. I want you to take my niece away from the pain and death I feel is coming."

"How so."

The major stilled even more. "Have you heard that Napoleon has turned the Grande Armée towards Russia. He will cross the Neman River sometime this month with something near 400,000 troops."

Darcy gasped, completely unable to comprehend the size of such an undertaking. The English had had enough trouble with soldiers in the tens of thousands, and the scale and scope of the invasion was breathtaking.

He finally asked, "I take it you do not think it will be over in a month or two, major?"

The major thought for a moment. "No, it will not. I think it is a disaster. Frenchmen do not know a single thing about cold or snow, but we are about to be taught a lesson. I fear it will be costly. Everything gets hard in cold weather. Horseshoes, leather, guns, artillery – all fail when it gets very cold, and things could end very badly."

Darcy nodded. "Would you be on your way to Russia, absent your illness?"

"Probably not – too old."

Darcy nodded, not especially surprised.

The major continued, "My children are grown. My son is in that army, and I doubt I shall ever see him again. My daughter married well and lives in Paris. I may go to live wither her – eventually."

"I see," Darcy answered, though he really did not see.

The major sat thoughtfully for a bit. "I can get your cousin out with minimal risk M. Darcy, but there is some. I can use the same trick that put you here. Order him from one unit to another until the trail is lost. He is only 100 km away. I can have him here in a fortnight, if you are so inclined."

"I am, and once again, I am at your service for repayment. What would you have me do?"

"You will of course reimburse my expenses, as I will have to stand you a loan to get you back to England in one piece."

"Of course. I suppose it would not hurt you if I set up a pension for you as well, or payed back double or treble."

"That will not be necessary, but I appreciate the offer."

"Still, that is only repayment of a small debt. What else is there?"

The major looked carefully. "Take my niece to England and see that she is well set up. Help her enter society, using your own good name and standing as collateral. Or, if she desires, help her to open a shop, or get a husband – whatever she needs."

Darcy nodded. " I will happily do so. I will treat her as I would a relative. I must say, though, that you ask so little. It does not seem fair."

The major just shrugged. "You ask little yourself, M. Darcy. To be honest, the French Army has entirely lost track of your cousin, but when things get chaotic, it is equally likely he would be released or shot, but for the moment, extracting him will not be difficult – for me."

Darcy chuckled. "So, it would seem that I have to spend six months to do five minutes work."

"Things often turn out that way, young man."

Darcy sighed, content for the first time in quite a long time. He felt optimistic. All would be well. He would get Richard back. He could easily set up the major's niece in any way she wanted. It seemed unlikely it would be difficult.

He was just wondering in his mind how he would take care of the niece, when he asked, "By the way, major, who is this niece that I am to take care of?"

The major just chuckled. "Can you not guess?"

Darcy thought a moment, then realization suddenly dawned on him. He laughed. "Mmle. Babette?"

The major laughed. "Cannot get anything past you, M. Darcy –at least if I give you long enough to mull it over."

Darcy chuckled. "You are aware I have already offered that and far more to her and to Nurse Dashwood, several times, without success."

"Leave her to me."

Darcy chuckled. "I will assume that you can succeed where I fail, since I seem to be the least skilled man for dealing with the fair sex in England or France."

"That, I will give you, M. Darcy. That one, I will give you."


After that, everything seemed somewhat anticlimactic. True to the major's word, his cousin Richard arrived auspiciously on the 24th of June, the day that Napoleon began the Russian campaign. His cousin was greeted warmly and seemed none the worse for wear. Richard commented on Darcy's loss of weight and vigor but allowed that being not-dead was in his favor. Being married was also to be recommended in his opinion, while being in his wife's brown books was less auspicious.

With the major's help, the pair, along with both nurses, after a substantial row between Babette and her uncle, was on their way to the port, and on a boat for England before the first of July.

The crossing took a fortnight, and before anyone knew it, they landed in Dover in early July.

Darcy was in no mood for delay, so Richard agreed to escort both young ladies to Matlock to meet his parents, see if he was now the heir, and generally get them settled to wait for Darcy to see what was what in Pemberley. Neither lady was in any hurry to join society or decide their futures, and neither gentleman was in a hurry to press them. They had the luxury of time, fairly earned.

Darcy hired the fastest coach he could find, and set out for Pemberley at a breakneck pace, sparing no expense, changing horses often, starting early and going late, until he finally pulled up to front door of his ancestral home on the 23rd of July, exactly seven months to the day after his wedding.