Manner of Devotion

by DJ Clawson

"Everybody likes to go their own way--to choose their own time and manner of devotion."

Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

Author's Note: My policy: Update twice a week or when a chapter reaches 5-10 comments, whichever comes first.

Pemberley Shades is printed and is being shipped to me. You have about a week left on the preorder sale.

www (dot) laughingmanpublications (dot) com / preorder.htm

Chapter 17 – The Adventures of Mugen-san

The Bingleys were welcomed the next day, and Grégoire greeted them with the same affection with which he greeted his nephew and nieces.

"How is he?" Bingley asked Darcy as the children took their turns.

"Not well," he said, and that was enough. Charles Bingley nodded as if he understood everything, and went with him into the study as their wives chatted.

To Bingley's surprise, when Dr. Maddox offered them brandy, Darcy actually accepted a glass. The doctor was his usual calm self and if he made any note of it, he gave no indication. Darcy was a quiet mess, with dark circles around his eyes. It was not unusual for Darcy to suffer in silence when he could do nothing (or did not know how to do something) for a loved one, and Bingley searched for something to say, but found nothing. It would pass, as Grégoire grew stronger.

"Bingley," Brian Maddox said as he entered, "hello. Have you seen Mugen?"

"He said he wanted to walk to London. I hope nothing has become of him, but I assume if something had, we would have heard some news of it, considering how he's so distinctive."

Brian actually looked less concerned than Bingley. "He's probably fine, then. You didn't give him any money for the road, did you?"

"Of course I did. For emergencies."

"Well, you have your answer. He is off spending it." He smiled. "He will be fine, I assure you. Though, I hope he was not any trouble while we were in Spain."

"No, none at all. He spent most of the time fishing, or at Lambton."

"You realize the next generation of Lambton bastards will be mysteriously moon-eyed," Darcy said.

"Darcy! I'm not going to dignify that with an answer," Bingley said, noticing his friend had drained his glass. "Anyway, he's good with the children.

"For a homicidal thug."

Bingley turned to Darcy, then Brian, who only replied, "I won't deny it." Dr. Maddox kept his eyes on his paper as a servant entered the room.

"The Duchess of ----shire has arrived, Dr. Maddox."

"The who?" Bingley said.

"I think her title amply described her. Doctor, we aught not to get in the way of your profession."

"She is not patient," Dr. Maddox said, putting down his paper and pushing glasses back down on his nose. "Has she given a reason?"

"No, sir, but she is talking with your wife."

Dr. Maddox excused himself, passing them all by to see to his unexpected guest.

"Have you ever met the Duchess of ----shire?" Bingley asked Darcy.

"Unfortunately," was his reply as they followed Dr. Maddox, and were met with a very loud shriek from a lady stuffed poorly into her bodice, standing in the sitting room with Mrs. Maddox.

"I know you! You're that man who's always skulking around Charlton," said the apparent Duchess.

He bowed. "I am His Highness' physician, Your Grace."

"I did not know that! You've not been very public about it," she said. She was decked out as if she were about to head to a ball here herself, complete with diamonds and an oversized hat.

"I don't announce myself, madam," he said quietly. "I see you've met my wife. Allow me to introduce my brothers, Mr. Maddox and Mr. Bingley."

"How exotic a family you have," she said, looking at Brian, who was dressed in his normal outfit, his longer sword held in his right hand. "And Mr. Darcy! Don't go hiding behind the stairs! I remember your first Season!"

For she was indeed a bit older than Darcy, maybe in her mid-fifties. He did emerge with usual emotionless expression. "Your Grace," he bowed.

"You were such a shy little boy. Your poor father had to practically drag you to all the dances and yet you danced with no one!" If she was aware of the stifled laughter from the other men or Darcy's mortification, she cared not. "If I had not been already married, I would have begged your father to insist it upon you – why, you must have been not eighteen – I heard you had married – "

"Mrs. Darcy, yes," he said, cutting her off.

It was Caroline Maddox of all people who was Darcy's savior, "It has been an honor to grace us with your presence. Are you making some sort of inquiry?"

"Oh no! I was merely directed here by my little savior! Where did he – Mister – oh, his name is so strange, I can hardly expect to remember – "

"– Mugen?" Brian offered, for the lost Japanese man did appear in the doorway. His clothing was soiled from the road but he was not. In fact, for some reason, he had a gold chain around his neck. He bowed and removed his shoes, which made him considerably shorter, shorter than the Duchess.

"This wonderful Oriental – oh, I am very thankful!" She grabbed Mugen and pulled him into her full front, which he did not particularly struggle against, but did look a bit uncomfortable. "We were coming down the road – my carriage and my maids, of course – and we were attacked by bandits. Bandits! In these years of peace! I suppose they have nothing better to do now that they're not off killing Frenchmen. One of them was even in uniform. Anyway, I was terrified, and the coachman tried to fend them off of course, but he was no match for six men, and they demanded of me all of my little treasures – even my wedding ring! To take the ring off a widow's finger – I cannot imagine the gall of these men. I would have lost all of my traveling items which I intended for the theater next week, including a great many things precious to me, but then this man, Mr. Munin came out of nowhere – the woods it must have been – and attacked them – and him with only a sword and them with good English rifles. The same rifles that defeated Napoleon! In fact he just kicked most of them, and came out from it without a nick on his body." She turned to Mugen, who had no particular reaction. "Of course I was so very grateful – and he was so very muddy from the weather we'd been having, that I offered that he return with me and we would clean him up. Unfortunately we could not mend his Japaner fabrics, but he was a most honored guest! And now he insists I return him -"

"Orewa, mascoto janai," Mugen said to Brian. (I am not a pet)

"So I've given him my husband's chain – he has no use for it and he didn't want to be buried with it, so why should it not go to my little Asiatic savior?" She grabbed Mugen again and kissed him, which he did not appreciate, and quickly slid out of her grasp, but with a mark on his lips as a battle scar. "I hope you will bring him to at least one ball while he is in the country."

"If he wishes," Brian said. "Your Grace."

"I know, I must be getting on – you all have things to do – but here is my card," she snapped her fingers and her maid handed it to Caroline, "and I insist that you come to dinner sometime now that I am in Town."

"We will try," Dr. Maddox said. "Thank you."

They said their good-byes, and the Duchess was shown out.

"You are in my debt, Mr. Darcy," Caroline said. "Or I will return the call and ask her all about your first Season. Just remember that if I ever have a favor to ask of you."

"I will remember," was all he said, and disappeared to check on his brother, and the rest of the men returned to Dr. Maddox's study.

"So," Brian said, "you came to the dashing rescue of a Duchess?"

Mugen shrugged, and opened his bag. "I fight. Not get many chances in England." He unceremoniously dumped a pile of jewelry and expensive trinkets on the desk. "How do you say – for money?"

"Interest?" Bingley said. "Goodness."

"I hope this was off the bandits," Brian said, "and not the Duchess' jewelry box when she wasn't looking."

"You take me for thief?" Mugen said. "Oh, you wait; am thief."

"I take it you enjoyed the hospitality of Her Grace?" Dr. Maddox said.

"Fat women have best food," was his reply as the others inspected his treasure.

"Some of these have inscriptions," Bingley said. "They could possibly be returned if their owners are located."

Mugen looked at him coldly.

"How much gold do you need?" Brian said. "You'll just gamble it away anyway. And there may be rewards."

"Yes, rewards! He has a point, Mugen."

Mugen picked out a particularly pretty bracelet, with jade beads. "For Nadi-sama."

"She will appreciate it," Brian said.

The rest of the spoils were divided up into things that could perhaps be traced back to their owners and things that were just random items, which Mugen put back in his bag. He didn't make it halfway out the door until Georgiana Bingley came running down the hall. "Mugen-san! Where were you?"

"Being kissed by hog," he replied.

It was a while before Bingley had a chance to speak privately with his wife. The Maddox house was sizable for Town but no country estate. "How is he?" she asked.

"Darcy or Grégoire?" he said with a sigh.

Jane took his hand encouragingly. "He tortures himself over his brother, who will mend in time. Dr. Maddox says so. He's been through the worst of it."

"The worst of it in physical," he replied. "What is he supposed to do now?"

"I don't know. What do they do in India?"

"Oh, he wouldn't –" He stopped. "Jane, I love you."

"I do hope so; we are married –" but she was interrupted by a kiss as he ran off to find that Grégoire's room was open for visitors. The children had each had their turn and then he was let to rest, but no matter what they said or did, he rose with what they now recognized was each monastic hour. His body was tuned that way and would not so easily give it up.

Bingley had seen Grégoire before, briefly, when bringing in his children. He closed the door behind him. "Hello, Grégoire."

"Mr. Bingley," Grégoire said.

"Are you too tired for a visitor? And be honest, or the doctor will have my head."

Grégoire smiled. "No. All I do is rest. Please, sit."

Bingley took a seat. "I wish you well, Grégoire. Darcy is ..."

"You can say it," Grégoire said. "I know him well enough. He is suffering."

"He is concerned."

"Everyone is concerned. I am all appreciation, but there are pains it does not relieve."

Bingley nodded. "Listen, you probably won't want to hear it because it's heathen, but while I was in India, I heard a story that apparently is very famous in the whole Orient – everyone I met had heard it, even Mugen. The versions differed a little bit, but it's – well, I wrote it down, and I don't have my notes with me, but I certainly heard it often enough – "

Grégoire nodded. "Please. I am unable to do much but listen."

"Well," Bingley said, settling himself into the chair. "I don't know the actual story – I heard many versions, as I said, but they were all basically the same. The first time, we had just docked and taken up at an inn in India, and each morning, a man with a shaved head came with a begging bowl, and of course I gave a little something, but after a few days, I had to wonder at it, so I asked Brian, and he said he was a monastic and they believed that begging was a way to salvation or something. So the next day I asked the monk what the path to salvation was, or what he thought it was, and instead he told me this story. It took a long time to tell and by the end I had almost forgotten why I'd asked it, but anyway, here it is.

"There was once a prince, a very long time ago, in India. He was part of their caste system, at the very top, and his father was a great king. His father and mother loved him very much and wished to shelter him from all of the horrors in the world, so they raised him in absolute splendor, so that he didn't even see someone old or sick until he left the palace and he could not tell what was the matter with them.

"After seeing people suffer, he decided to dedicate his life to finding a way to end human suffering. So he went into the woods, where these ascetic people lived. They sat all day in meditation, eating grass or dung or something, and starving themselves and depriving themselves of all pleasures. He did this to the point of almost death, and even though he had many disciples, he was not satisfied.

"And this is where the tale varies a bit, but apparently, he just got up and left that life when someone offered him food. One person said it was a little girl offering rice. The monk I spoke to first said he heard a woman tuning a harp and said that it had to be tuned just right, not too sharp or too flat. Either way, he had a revelation. The people who know this story and follow him – they are called Buddhists, because he was later called Buddha, but I'm skipping ahead – Anyway, he decided to devote himself to the Middle Way, which is to find the middle path so to speak, and not to live too luxuriously or too ascetically. So he went and washed himself and cleaned his hair for the first time in years and all of his ascetic disciples abandoned him, and he sat under this tree. I saw it, actually. It is very large, and it's called the Bodhi tree, and he sat under that and meditated and was tempted by the Devil many times, but each time he refused until he attained what they call Enlightenment, and that's why they call him Buddha, which means 'Awakened One.' He lived another fifty years or so, and by the end had thousands of disciples, and now his religion is all across the Orient, with perhaps millions of monks. I don't know if he really lived, but I met a man who claimed he had seen the case that contained a tooth of the Buddha, and he was very proud to have seen it. He left all kinds of teachings, some of which I wrote down, but as I said again, my notes are still a mess. And, well, that is it." He frowned, unsatisfied with his ending. He looked to Grégoire, who had not spoken through the entire telling, and had occasionally closed his eyes, but was now very much awake, if very still from exhaustion.

"Mr. Bingley," he said, "will you perhaps allow me, when I am recovered, to copy that story from your notes?"

"Yes, of course – No! Ridiculous, I'll do it myself. I have to sort them anyway. I'll have my man write it out so you can actually read it, too. Anyway, I know it's all pagan nonsense, but I don't know what else to say. It's that or the tiger story again."

"I've not heard the tiger story," Grégoire said, "but I admit I am tired now, and it is time for prayer. Thank you, Mr. Bingley. Thank you very much."

"– You're welcome," he said, shaking the hand that was offered to him. "Do you need the doctor or anything?"

"No, I just want to rest. Thank you."

Bingley rose and excused himself as Grégoire closed his eyes. As he shut the door, Bingley looked up at the anxious Darcy. "He'll be all right, you know," Bingley said. "He just has to find his own way. And no, you can't help him with that. It's the basic principle of the thing, Darcy. Come now, you've had too much to drink."

"I've had a glass! What did they do to you in India?"

"They don't drink. Or eat cattle. We would all starve there, I'm sure."

"You may have your own obsessions, and even kept your own wild animals – after all, Mr. Maddox has Mugen – but if you cast your meat from your kitchen, I will never accept an invitation to dine at Kirkland again."

"Are you serious? My mouth was watering by the time we reached Hong Kong!" he said. "Did you know some of them are vegetarians?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means they can only eat vegetables, I think."

"My G-d!" Darcy said. "That can't be very healthy, can it?"

The final member of those who gathered around the former Brother Grégoire arrived just the very next day with her husband and child in a carriage with the colors of the earldom of Kincaid. Georgiana Kincaid would have leapt weeping into Darcy's arms had she not been holding her son as he assured her that yes, her little brother was alive and getting stronger every day.

"We came as soon as we heard," Lord Kincaid said with concern.

"He will be very happy to see you," Elizabeth said.

Her prediction was not at all wrong. Nothing had cheered Grégoire to the extent of seeing his sister and holding his new nephew in his arms. As he was now healed enough to lie on his back, it was less considerable a feat, and there was a light on his face that they had not seen since his arrival, even when he saw the other children. He tickled his tummy, which little Robert took a serious liking to, and it seemed the Scots were not so inclined to bundle their children so tightly, so his limbs were free to squirm and kick. "You like that, don't you, little Robert?" Darcy and Elizabeth watched on from the doorway. "What a truly beautiful child, and so full of energy."

"He gets it from his father," Georgiana said. Lord Kincaid didn't deny it, a hand on his wife's back as she sat beside her brother.

"Can you grip my finger? Yes you can!" Grégoire laughed as he held out his finger and Robert tugged on it. "What a strong grip you have, Viscount Kincaid! What was the name of that Scots, the great king who fought the English?"

"Robert the Bruce," William Kincaid answered.

"Yes, that's the one."

"Was he not one of the very few Scottish kings who were not assassinated?" Darcy said.

"Yes," William said. "He lived a long and fruitful life, and did die in his bed ... of leprosy. Which, all things given, is I imagine a bit better than the lot of them."

"Well," Grégoire said, and crossed the baby, "that you should live a long and fruitful life – without the leprosy part."

Next Chapter ... Mary's Season