Chapter 15 Lots of Company #2
“I suppose we will not. Had I not fallen sick, 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 the major was the closest he had come to an ally since arriving, so he thought he should take what he could get.
“He is the youngest son of the Earl of Matlock.”
“Ah! I suppose the elder is sickly and he needs to fulfil his role of—what do your 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, though it had mostly gone out.
Looking crossly at the offending device, the major asked, “How badly do you want to rescue your cousin, M Darcy?”
“Very badly,” Darcy replied without thought. It was no time to quibble about price.
“I may be able to assist you.”
“I would be in your debt if you could do so.”
The major looked carefully at him. “I will collect.”
“And I will happily pay.”
“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, then assumed it was common gossip. Enough people in the hospital knew about it to make it common knowledge.
“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. 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.”
“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 feeling any need to reply.
“I 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 huge 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?”
Darcy looked at him to see if he was serious. “It would take a few months, but it could be done.”
The major chuckled. “You look like a man sucking on a lemon.”
Darcy just chuckled, though 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. I need nothing so dear, 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 onerous. In fact, it will not be at all difficult for a man like you. 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 nearly four hundred thousand troops.”
Darcy gasped, unable to comprehend the size of such an undertaking. England had enough trouble with soldiers in the tens of thousands, and the scale and scope of the invasion were breath-taking.
He finally asked, “I take it you do not think it will be over in a month or two?”
“No, it will not. I think it will be a disaster. Frenchmen do not know a single thing about cold or snow, but we are about to be taught a hard lesson. Everything gets inordinately difficult 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.
“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 live with her eventually.”
“I see,” Darcy answered, though he really did not.
The major sat thoughtfully for a bit. “I can get your cousin out with minimal risk using the same trick that put you here. I will order him from one unit to another until the trail is lost. He is only one hundred 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 paid back double or treble.”
“That will not be necessary, but I appreciate the offer.”
“Still, that is only repayment of a tiny debt. What else is there?”
The major looked carefully at him. “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 surety. If she desires, help her open a shop, get a husband, whatever she needs. Take it upon yourself to see she is well established—and by that, I mean well-established by your standards.”
Darcy nodded enthusiastically. “I will happily do so. I will treat her as I would a relative and would have no qualms setting her a good dowry, introducing her, and so forth. I must say, though, that you ask so little. It does not seem fair.”
The major just shrugged. “You ask little yourself. To be honest, the army has entirely lost track of your cousin, but when things get chaotic, it is equally likely he would be released or shot. For the moment, extracting him will not be difficult, since nobody even cares.”
“It seems 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 ages. 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, who is this niece I am to take care of?”
The major just chuckled. “Can you not guess?”
Darcy thought a moment, then realisation suddenly dawned on him. He laughed. “Mlle Babette?”
The major laughed heartily. “Cannot get anything past you—at least if I give you long enough to mull it over, and plenty of hints.”
“You are aware I already offered that, and far more, to her and Nurse Dashwood, several times, emphatically, but without success.”
“Leave her to me.”
“I will assume 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 anticlimactic.
True to the major’s word, his cousin Richard arrived auspiciously on the twenty-fourth 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 vigour, but allowed that being not-dead was in his favour.
Being married was also to be recommended in his opinion, while being in his wife’s brown books—less so.
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 then on a boat for England. 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 how matters stood at Pemberley.
Neither lady was in any hurry to join society or decide her future, and neither gentleman was in a hurry to press them.
They had the luxury of time, fairly earned, and, given Mlle Babette’s beauty or Miss Dashwood’s sense and education, he would not be surprised if one of them became Richard’s countess.
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 the front door of his ancestral home on the twenty-third of July, exactly seven months to the day after his wedding.