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.
Chapter 19 – His Royal Highness
"Dr. Maddox!"
Dr. Maddox and Dr. Bertrand turned around to see a balding, familiar man approaching them. Dr. Maddox replied, "Prime Minister Liverpool. An honor." He bowed. "I do not believe you've met my colleague, Dr. Bertrand."
"No, I've not. Dr. Bertrand."
"Sir," Bertrand said, a little overwhelmed.
"So you have a new member of your staff, eh?"
Dr. Maddox was taller than the Earl of Liverpool and current Prime Minister. He was taller than most men, and never seemed intimidated by them, especially not politicians. "Yes, Lord Liverpool."
"Very nice to meet you." The Prime Minister, one of the most powerful men in England, bowed again. "I hear the Prince of Wales will be appearing before Parliament in a few weeks."
"I do not know his schedule, Lord Liverpool."
"What about His Majesty?"
Dr. Maddox said, "I am not aware of His Majesty's schedule, but I would venture a guess that he has no plans to appear before Parliament." King George had not made a public appearance in almost a decade.
"You know what I mean. I am inquiring after his health."
"And you are very aware that I am not one of his many physicians. My concern is the Prince of Wales and no one else."
The Prime Minister nearly grabbed Dr. Maddox's arm as if to pull him aside, even though the three of them were relatively alone in the courtyard near Carlton. "I would ask your professional opinion."
"You may ask, but I may not give it, sir."
"Do you think the Prince will outlive his father?"
Dr. Bertrand turned his eyes to Dr. Maddox, who wore the same calm expression he always had while going about his profession. "I am a doctor, Lord Liverpool. Not a soothsayer."
"If you had to guess..."
"I do not care much for guessing. I try to avoid it whenever possible." He bowed. "Good day, sir."
"Good day," said the flustered Prime Minister, who quickly hurried away as they proceeded through the gates of Carlton, admitted without a second glance.
"I think you just snubbed the Prime Minister, Dr. Maddox."
He smiled. "I reprimand the Prince Regent on a regular basis, so I find him far less intimidating. Besides, he knows he has no business asking the royal physician about his patients. He's been doing it for years, and before him, Minister Perceval," he said. "If you want my job, you will have to become accustomed to such inconveniences."
"I'm not to suppose – "
Dr. Maddox stopped in the ornate hallway of Carlton House, a more serious look on his face. "Andrew, if you haven't realized that you'll have this position as soon as His Majesty dies or I lose my sight – whichever comes first – then you are not as clever as you make yourself out to be."
"I didn't want to say it outright."
"Then you're just polite. That's much better." He continued on. "Don't get involved in politics, Dr. Bertrand. It will ruin you and the already-spoiled good name of our profession."
"I've no intention of doing so."
"Good. Keep it that way."
They passed by the guards to enter the private chambers of the Prince of Wales, Regent to King George III and future king of England. That was, if he survived. At his current rate of bad habits towards his health and terrible mood swings since the death of his daughter, Charlotte, it was going to be close. He was not even out of bed yet and already drunk, moaning incoherently about his poor, gouty foot.
"Your Royal Highness," Dr. Maddox said.
"Oh thank G-d," the Prince said. "You must do something for this foot!"
"Unfortunately, that would require you to sit in a chair, Your Highness. You will have to choose between staying in bed for your foot or having it treated."
"You make everything hard for me! Why do I put up with you?"
"That decision is your prerogative, Your Highness," Dr. Maddox said unrelentingly. It did take the two doctors to get the ruler of Britain into a chair so that his foot could be placed in a tub to soak.
"My medicine! My medicine!"
"You are sitting in it, Your Highness."
"You know bloody well what I mean, Maddox! The tonic!"
He shook his head. "I told you it was just sugar water with a dye, sir. A dye which may actually be harmful. It will do nothing for your foot."
After some time and a lot of coffee, the Regent recovered more of his senses. "I need to lose weight before my appearance at Parliament," he announced. "Please don't bother me with the obvious methods. Here," he snapped his fingers and a servant brought forward a tray with a bottle on it. "From China."
Dr. Maddox smelled the tonic, which was fairly odorless, and inspected the label, showing it to Dr. Bertrand, who just shook his head in non-recognition. "It says it's bottled in Philadelphia, Your Highness. I doubt very much that it has Oriental origins. More to the point, I cannot condone it without knowing what's in it."
"It is supposed to bring about massive weight loss."
"If you don't mind, I would like to go on a little more than what is 'said.'" He held up the bottle. "There is an address for the distributor in Town. I will look him up and find out the actual ingredients, though I have little hope of it working as much as simply not consuming vast quantities of fatty foods - "
"Oh, not that again! This isn't fair – my father's a stick, you know."
"I have not seen him in years, but I will take your word for it."
The Regent paused. "You should see my father. Make ... an assessment."
"I will do anything you ask, but I remind you that I am not a psychical doctor, nor have I ever claimed to be."
"Still, you should go. To – make a sort of comparison. If I am to ascend the throne, I would like to know if I'm going to be mad while I do it." He added, "He loves children. Bring your son. That will break the ice."
Dr. Maddox momentarily lost his power of speech. Dr. Bertrand had never seen it before; it was a curious thing to watch. But he did recover, and bowed. "Yes, Your Highness."
The doctor uncharacteristically excused himself for the duration of the Regent's soak, and after that, there was a little more discussed (mainly about his diet) and they were excused.
"Doctor – "
"I'm fine," he said to Bertrand. "I am just not thrilled at the prospect of bringing my son to see a sick, blind madman." Dr. Bertrand decided to leave it at that. Or he had to, because Dr. Maddox almost immediately changed the subject as they left the house. "Are you inclined to continue coming to dinner while Miss Bennet is still in Town? Because I won't subject you to the obvious social maneuverings of my wife and cousin-in-law if you are not interested."
"Is this your way of asking me if I like her?"
"I suppose. I was always terrible at this. My courtship with Mrs. Maddox was such a disaster that I still wonder how it worked out in the end sometimes," he said, smiling again. "But that is a story for another time."
"I ... would be inclined, yes, if Miss Bennet is. I do not really know much about her."
"Young Mr. Bennet seems to like you. But that's more than the usual offering."
"He does seem an incredibly studious child."
"I wish either of my sons would study so hard. They'll take a ruler to Frederick when I send him to Eton, if I can even manage to get him there." He stepped down to where his coach was waiting. "Dinner tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
"Very good. Good day, Dr. Bertrand."
He tipped his hat. "Dr. Maddox." If he had other questions, he put them off. There was time yet.
When Dr. Maddox came home, he was first assaulted by his younger son, who raised his hands to be picked up. "Ride!"
"Between you and I we'll be knocking your head on the ceiling soon, son. Enjoy it while you can." He picked up Danny Maddox and put him over his shoulders as Caroline found him.
"I see you've come to his rescue."
"Rescue? Is he in trouble?"
"And I see he was clever enough to give no indication," she said, folding her arms. "Daniel Maddox Junior, would you like to tell your father what you did?"
"It was Fred's idea!"
"He isn't even home, so don't try it. You know very well he's playing at your Uncle Bingley's house."
"Your punishment will be less if you do not go about assigning blame to others," Dr. Maddox said. "Now, what did you do?"
"I painted! Just like Uncle Maddox!"
"Yes," she said. "But where did you paint?"
He mumbled, "...on the wall."
"And what did you use?"
"Ink."
Caroline looked at her husband, who was smiling. "Don't you dare laugh! It'll just make it worse."
"I want to be a samurai like Uncle Maddox and he says – "
" – that samurai paint for some reason. Yes, I know." The doctor pulled his son down and set him on the ground. "You shouldn't listen to everything your uncle says. As we've said many times, he is a crazy person. You also should not paint on things not meant to be painted on. Now go to Nurse, and let her decide your punishment!"
"Father – "
"Now, Daniel!" he said a bit more sternly, and his son, who was not used to that voice from his father, ran back up the stairs. "How bad was it?" he said to his wife.
"Why in the world he chose the hallway I'll never know, but at least it was the one upstairs, in case they cannot get the ink out of the wood," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. "The Kincaids are here."
"They're with Grégoire? How is he?"
"Sitting up for some time now."
He nodded. "I'd best check on him." He would bring up visiting the king later. Instead he headed into Grégoire's room, where he found Lord Kincaid sitting on the bed beside his wife while Grégoire sat in an armchair, holding Robert with the aid of a pillow to support his arms, so the infant was more just resting on his lap. "Hello. Lord Kincaid. Lady Kincaid. Grégoire." They still hadn't precisely decided on what to call him, or even asked him. "How are you feeling today?"
"Stronger," Grégoire said with a tired smile.
"And how is little Robert today?"
"Hey!" William Kincaid said. "He's not that little."
"He's an infant, dear," Georgiana said. "He is allowed to be small."
"Lord and Lady Kincaid," he said, "would you care to join us for luncheon?" He could already see Grégoire was tiring, but it would take more subtlety to get that infant out of his arms and let him sleep.
They agreed, and Georgiana left first to set Robert down for a nap, William following in her stead.
"Such a wonderful child," Grégoire said, as Dr. Maddox helped him stand and make it back to his bed. He still could not stand on his own, his body still recovering from a long illness. "So much life in him."
"Indeed."
Grégoire was settled more comfortably on his bed. "You've done so much for me – and I know of no way to repay it. Aside from the obvious way, I suppose."
He waved it off. "Money is as meaningless to me as it is to you in matters of family. I am satisfied enough that we could save you."
"I heard it was very close."
"Yes," he said. "But you will be well. It is only a matter of time, now that the stitches are out."
"Who would want me now, so scarred?"
Dr. Maddox merely replied, "Are you implying that you are wishing for companionship of the less familial kind, Mr. Grégoire?" Grégoire went red, but it was a good feeling for both of them. "No one has really wanted to ask you if you've had thoughts about your future. When you arrived, you were quite in despair about it."
Almost two weeks had now passed, and Grégoire answered, "My memories are poor of that period, but I do remember it in part; the passage from Spain to England, not at all. Thank goodness, too, for I am always ill at sea if I notice I am. I only remember the abbot's voice and then talking to Father Leblanc. There is little between that."
"You have not answered my question."
"No," Grégoire said, clutching the cross on his rosary. "I do wish to return to Pemberley, but beyond that – I have much thinking to do. Or perhaps I will travel, in the spring. Not very far, or brother will follow me with an armed guard."
Dr. Maddox chuckled. "He would. But you realize there are questions to which there are no answers. I don't suppose I am the first one to tell you that."
"No, but there are ideas I have never heard before. Have you ever read the Confession of Saint Patrick?"
"I confess, I have not."
"Darcy purchased a copy for me when I asked for anything in Latin. I doubt he knew exactly what he was purchasing or cared. It is here." He pointed, but not did reach, for the pile of books stacked up on the table beside the bed. "He used to pray spontaneously, as often as he felt the grace of G-d, while he was herding sheep in captivity. He says it was sometimes as often as a hundred times a day."
"They could not have been very long prayers, or the sheep would have all gotten away."
Grégoire laughed. "I do not know much about sheep. I was always more of a gardener. More the planter of men than the shepherd of men, which I realize after having said it aloud, makes little sense."
They shared another laugh. "You have the world before you, if reading is to be your occupation for a time," Dr. Maddox said. "You have that to look forward to."
"This is true. Now if I may have some privacy, it is time for Sexts."
"Would you like a watch to keep track of these things?" Dr. Maddox said, looking at his pocket watch. It was indeed 12:15, almost exactly.
"No," Grégoire said. "I always know anyway."
Dr. Maddox nodded. "After that – get some rest. Doctor's orders." He gave him a pat on the arm and left to ponder that mystery.
Daniel Maddox did thoroughly enjoy his partial retirement, which allowed him to retire with his wife at a normal time. It was only when they were comfortably in bed that he said, "The Regent asked me to visit the king."
"For an assessment?"
"He wants me to see him. The Prince worries about his own mental health, after all." He added, "He asked me to bring Frederick with me to Windsor."
Even in the partial darkness, where he was basically blind, he could see her alarm. It was more that he could sense it, without even touching her, as she said, "He said that?"
"His exact words were, 'He loves children. Bring your son. That will break the ice.' He did not bother to clarify which son, though he very well knows I have two." He reached out, and she found his hand. "I've spoken to His Majesty's staff several times. He is completely out of his mind and does not look well. He has almost no visitors as a result." He added, "I don't want Frederick to see that, even if it is his grandfather."
"Why not? You bring all kinds of gruesomeness into this house. And besides, he doesn't know the connection."
"You think the Prince is right, then? That he should see him before he dies?"
"You believe that is the Prince's intention?"
"Maybe. I don't know." He tightened his hold on her hand. His were so calloused, he sometimes felt almost bad touching her soft skin, as if he would mar it. "I just get nervous when he mentions Frederick, however subtly he does so."
She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I know. I do, too. But it seems to happen anyway." She said, "The Prince may be feeling sentimental." She paused, and then added, "Is he mad?"
"The Prince?"
"Yes. Like his father."
"No. I've seen no signs of it. He is just a glutton, a drunk, an addict, and a pervert. He is, however, not mad, if that is some consolation."
She responded, "That is a great consolation."
He could not disagree.
...Next chapter - The Non-Courtship