Manner of Devotion
"Everybody likes to go their own way--to choose their own time and manner of devotion."
Jane Austen, Mansfield Park
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 often riotous atmosphere of the Prince Regent's grand parties, now almost nightly, he did not socialize with the upper crust and kept his professional veneer intact. He did not sup with the guests even though he was told repeatedly he was welcome to do so, having just come from his own meal in his own home. Around midnight he did partake in a light dinner, which he took on his own in the kitchen, mainly because he preferred to see what he was eating before its formal presentation. While the upper crust of English society drank and feasted and did things that would surely make the Courier, he sat quietly with a book or the latest medical review from the Continent. He sat awaiting his usual cue, when the Regent or a fellow reveler would pass out, and he would be called in to resuscitate them. On one occasion, the 6th Duke of Devonshire, quite possibly the richest man in England but for his gambling habit, took a spill in the Chinese-style pagoda and Dr. Maddox put three stitches in his knee, for which the soused duke gave him his diamond-incrusted 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 was on airs for a week, which was the only joy he had from the entire exchange.
Tonight there was nothing. Despite having overeaten, drunken 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 fell back on the new edition of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. He was sipping tea and enjoying his reading when the servant approached. "His Royal Highness, Prince William, to see you, sir."
"The Duke of Clarence?" he said, but before he could enquire further, the third son of King George and the Prince Regent's brother entered. He rose and bowed quickly. "Your Highness."
"I understand you are my brother's chief physician."
"I am, Your Highness."
When he dared to lift his eyes, he saw the duke eyeing him very skeptically. "Where was your training?"
"Cambridge, sir. And then the Academy in Paris."
"You can see my brother, can you not?"
He could not hold back his smirk. "Yes, Your Highness. I assure you that I can."
"So you are either grossly incompetent or he refuses to take any of your advice. Knowing George, it is the latter."
He bowed. "I will not comment directly on my patient's behavior, but your assumptions may be correct. Unfortunately, every man is master of his own fate."
"Have you ever met my father, Doctor?"
"I have, Your Highness, 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."
He huffed. "You are very discreet indeed. 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 care 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; he merely nodded and said, "I will do my very best, Your Highness."
Without a second glance, the duke turned and took his leave.
It was well past dawn when Dr. Maddox walked home. He did not live terribly far, the streets were already lit with the morning light, and the carriages were still piled up with people returning to their homes in drunken stupors, so it was quicker 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 they removed his overcoat. It was still early for a normal person.
"No, Doctor 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 his wife 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, and despite his daily watering; he could not seem to get them to stay alive long enough before withering away. He plucked a leaf from one of them, replaced the case, and put it 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 failed crop this year."
"Are these the seeds Brian gave you?"
"Straight from the Orient. Nonetheless, it doesn'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 still fending off 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 their primary occupation."
She huffed. "Your sex will protect its own to the very end."
"I would say the same of yours, but I prefer to be polite," he replied, which dissolved her countenance just a little. "I haven't heard a peep from Danny all day. Did you take away his recorder?"
"I had the convenient 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 Frederick is suffering cabin fever. Brighton will clear that up. And Danny loves playing in the ocean."
He just nodded. This would be their forth summer trailing the Regent to Brighton, all expenses paid, for most of the summer. It had its pleasures. Nonetheless, he paused before saying, "I am thinking about resigning from my post." Before Caroline could whip her head around with her indignant expression and her immediate question, he continued very calmly, "We have the money to do it. Even if the Prince refuses to pay my retirement salary, which he is under some obligation to do, we have enough put away to provide Emily a decent inheritance and all we need do is sell the stock in our brothers' company to afford a manor in the country, if you wanted it. I'll likely have the best patient list in the whole Society. I've already been offered a position at Cambridge."
She softened again. He had been quite interested in the professorship, but had other obvious obligations. "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 occupation so terrible?"
His expression probably said enough. "I enjoy my profession. What I do not enjoy is spending hours in a sitting room waiting 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 obviously 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 chambers."
"You do make a very convincing argument," she said, kissing his hand – the one with all the fingers. What would have otherwise been a lovely moment was broken by the sound of something shattering. "Frederick!"
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.
"Nice try," Dr. Maddox added.
Frederick's next plan was apparently to run as fast as he could up the stairs, which was better than his original plan only that it worked for a longer period of time, until Nurse found him hiding in the attic and he spent the rest of the day sitting on a pillow as a result.
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 length 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 extended age. Elizabeth's one regret about moving to Derbyshire was how her father was denied the presence of his favorite two 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 into his father's carriage, and with a knowing 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?"
"Of course you do," Darcy said, without taking his eye off his book.
"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 sat, leaning back against the cushion.
"People have different tastes," Elizabeth said, stoking her son's overgrown 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, to which she just smiled.
George Wickham (Junior or the Third, depending on one's perspective) sat on his bed next to the window that overlooked the row of lower apartments lining Gracechurch Street. He was lying on his bed, his feet kicked up on the dresser. Having recently outgrown the available cot, he was forced to sleep with his feet sticking out until the new one arrived. Mr. Bradley said it was on order, and would surely be there by his birthday. His mother 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?"
"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 huffed and 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!"
"Did you pick him up 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. G-d, 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 before –"
"– 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 giggled. "I just wanted to see you blush."
George picked up his book again, mainly to hide his face.
"Fine, be that way. Will you lend me a shilling?"
He lowered the book again. "Why would I lend you a shilling?"
"Because there's a pretty new ribbon color with Indian dyes 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 merely started piling them up in neat stacks on the floor in desperation. 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 worth of this on a gift."
"What, like a book?" she said. "I'll do my best." She did always get him something he actually liked, even if it came out of her normally-exhausted 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 and slammed 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 to himself, and returned to Dante.
...Next Chapter - The Infamous George Wickham