Chapter 16
Darcy strode angrily towards the Dower House.
What did his mother think she was doing, browbeating poor Thompson at the gate to let her bring in two additional carriages without his approval – and not even allowing the gatekeeper to look inside them?
Now apparently there were several men lurking outside the gate, wearing commoners’ clothing but standing like military men.
Lady Anne had gone to London barely more than a week ago, after staying at Pemberley only a few days. Did she not understand that they had good reasons for these restrictions?
Not to mention that he had set those rules, and Pemberley was his. She seemed to think he was a child whom she could overrule.
As if there were not enough problems here already!
His footsteps echoed loudly on the narrow wooden footbridge, and he took a deep breath to calm himself, struggling to keep his temper in check, a state which had been all too common since his return from France.
But he managed it, and by the time he reached the Dower House door, he could knock on it rather than simply walking in, which would have been his right, if somewhat less than polite.
The door opened to reveal Watson, the Pemberley under-butler. Mrs. Reynolds must have sent him to the Dower House to serve as Lady Anne’s butler. He clearly needed more training, though, for he stood blocking Darcy’s way, rather than stepping back as was proper. Darcy had thought better of Watson.
“Mr….Mr. Darcy,” Watson stammered, his face growing pale.
Darcy narrowed his eyes. “Pray inform Lady Anne I am here to see her.”
“Sir, her ladyship commanded me not to admit anyone,” he said nervously, then he repeated, “Sir.” As if that would undo his disobedience.
“And I am telling you to let me in.” He used his best imperious voice, the one no one at Pemberley would gainsay.
Watson stiffened, and then he bowed and shuffled backwards. Darcy walked past him without a second glance. Mrs. Reynolds would hear about this.
“I will inform Lady Anne that you are here.” Watson must have at long last remembered his duties.
“Do that. Immediately.”
Darcy headed for the sitting room, still seething, then paused at the bottom of the staircase as a loud man’s voice drifted down it.
Despite having the accent of a gentleman, he was practically shouting and the words raced together so quickly that Darcy could not make them out, only that the speaker hardly paused to breathe.
Who in heaven’s name had his mother brought here? Was she in danger?
To the devil with proper manners. He hurried up the stairs, but was interrupted on the first landing by a woman’s voice, one with a thick German accent.
Darcy froze, his mind suddenly back in France.
To the Prussian accent he had been so carefully taught, and to the people in the Vosges who sounded so much like this.
A bead of sweat began to run down his neck.
He rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to make the thoughts go away. He was home at Pemberley, safe from the French – at least until the invasion came. No one could lock him up or keep him from his family.
For now.
His body was less convinced, though, leaving him still on edge as that damned accent continued to grate at his nerves. Then it was interrupted by the loud voice, but at least that was an English one. Even if it made no sense.
His mother appeared at the top of the stairs and descended towards him slowly. Her normally perfectly coiffed hair was in disarray, and her day dress had streaks of dirt by the hem. She should have had time to refresh herself, but perhaps the argument upstairs had stopped her.
“Ah, Fitzwilliam,” she said calmly, as if there was nothing unusual in this situation. “Pray join me in the sitting room.”
“What is going on here?” he snapped. “Did you fail to understand my instructions that no one should enter Pemberley without my permission?”
Her expression barely changed as she took him by the elbow and led him down to the sitting room. “Pray lower your voice, Fitzwilliam. We are trying to calm His Majesty.”
It made no sense. Had he heard her incorrectly, or had she obtained a dog and named it so inappropriately? Was her mind addled again after all those bindings were removed? Or was he somehow back in France where everything was muddled and dangerous?
Then it sank in. Everyone knew mad King George could talk for hours without interruptions and had to be held down at times. Queen Charlotte’s German accent made her difficult to understand.
And something had terrified the under-butler.
“Why?” he breathed. “Why in God’s name did you bring them here, of all places? Are you out of your mind?”
“First, Her Majesty brought him, as she is his guardian,” Lady Anne said in that damned calm voice of hers, as if this were not an utterly impossible situation.
“My sister destroyed the king’s mind with her bindings, and only Coquelicot has a chance of fixing it.
Coquelicot cannot go to London, so Her Majesty brought him here. ”
His mind kept tying into knots. The king and queen were notorious for hating to travel, preferring to remain at home. The press mocked them for never leaving southern England. How could they have got here without a huge retinue and everyone knowing?
The king and queen, at Pemberley. When the War Office already wanted to arrest Darcy.
“How dare you do this without a word to me?” he snarled.
“Her Majesty commanded that it must be done in the utmost secrecy.”
Darcy ground his teeth. It was an impossible argument to answer. “You still should have warned me, and you know it.”
She gave a delicate cough. “Perhaps we could discuss this after Coquelicot examines His Majesty.”
The king had been mad on and off most of Darcy’s life, but certainly it was worth trying to fix it if possible.
And talking to his mother was worse than useless, so he reached out to the healer dragon.
Coquelicot, could you come to me at the Dower House?
We have another person who is ill from mislaid bindings, like my mother.
A moment of bright interest. Oh, the one she told me about? Excellent.
She had told Coquelicot, but not him? He tried to bury his seething where the dragon would not feel it.
I would be very happy if Companion Elizabeth and Companion Frederica knew that I desired their presence here.
A truth-caster might help him deal with his mother, and Elizabeth would want to know what was happening.
I will tell them.
Elizabeth swallowed hard as the door from the walled garden opened to reveal Queen Charlotte.
Royalty, right here at Pemberley! Dealing with the monarch might not be unusual for Frederica or Lady Anne, but she had never expected to have so much as a glimpse of them.
Darcy did not seem overly troubled by their presence, but the looks he kept sending Lady Anne were furious.
He bowed as the queen approached them. Lady Anne and Frederica made deep curtsies which Elizabeth did her best to imitate.
Royalty. At Pemberley.
Her Majesty held a lace handkerchief in her hand up to her reddened eyes. “He is himself again,” she said, though it was hard to comprehend between her heavy accent and the shaking in her voice. “He does not wish to be seen yet, though.”
Perfectly understandable, given the glimpse Elizabeth had caught of him going into the garden, the only space large enough to hold Coquelicot.
The king had been tied into a stained strait jacket, his hair and beard long and ungroomed, his hands deformed with arthritis.
No doubt it had been unsafe to bring a razor too close to him. Poor man!
“I am glad to hear it, Your Majesty,” said Lady Anne gravely.
“You have done us a great service.” The queen turned away and closed the garden door behind her.
“What now?” Darcy asked his mother, his voice clipped. Oh, yes, he was still displeased.
“I imagine that is up to His Majesty, if he is back in his right mind,” Lady Anne said. “It is certainly out of my hands.”
With a rush of wind, Coquelicot flew over the wall and landed beside Darcy. “Oh, that was very interesting! So many problems, the poor fellow, but I think he will be happier now. He was so surprised that I could fix his eyes.”
His eyes. The king had been blinded by his cataracts years ago. Everyone knew that.
“And his mind?” Lady Anne asked.
“Much better. It was very cruel what your traitor sister did to him, but it was easy enough to remove. He is still an old man who has been through a terrible time, though. Do you know how very many joints there are in mortal wrists and hands? It is truly amazing. That is what took the longest, fixing each of those, but it was so enjoyable.” The dragon beamed at them.
To her surprise, Frederica ran forward and put her arms as far around the dragon’s chest as she could, which was not very far at all. “You have done a very good deed, Coquelicot. He has suffered so much, and so has all his family and even England itself.”
The great ruby dragon patted her fondly. “It was entirely my pleasure. There is still an ill woman seeking my care back at the house, so I must go.” She transformed into a hawk and flew off.
Lady Anne – calm, cool, collected Lady Anne – dabbed at drops of perspiration on her forehead with a handkerchief.
“Thank heavens that is done. I feared the queen might not permit the healing,” she said.
“Her Majesty insisted on Coquelicot removing her bindings first, to be certain she would do no harm, before even allowing her to meet the king.”
Frederica frowned. “How many others did Lady Catherine put bindings on?”
“The Prince of Wales, of course. Lord Rockingham, Lord Shelburne, and Pitt the Younger, but they are no longer with us.” Lady Anne reeled off a list of Prime Ministers as if they were no one in particular. “No doubt there were others, but I am certain of those.”