Free Mr. Darcy's Great Escape by Marsha Altman

for feeling so. It is a vicious cycle. Who knew, by slowly dying, she could turn the tables on all of us?”
    Jane put her hand over her sister’s in silent understanding.
    ***
    â€œI am out of practice.”
    â€œYou are not.”
    Bingley and Darcy were a good distance away from the grounds for their shooting. They had discovered shortly after Bingley purchased Chatton that there was a nice area for spotting birds between their two houses, and would often meet there during the hunting season. Bingley was mistaken; he was not at all less of a huntsman than he had been, but Darcy was himself not doing so well, distracted as he was. He would not admit to the weakness, and Bingley, if he noticed it, would say nothing. It was a long-established tradition; that was why they were good friends.
    This time they had implored Dr. Maddox to come, saying that he looked like he desperately needed the fresh air (which he did), but he refused, and they were not surprised. The physician had never been inclined to a sport that involved killing things, or even watching it. He did promise to take a walk. His general countenance was indeed improved by the coming trip to see his brother, whom he sorely missed. Even Napoleon’s invasion of Russia could not dissuade him from traveling to the Continent—yet.
    â€œI see something moving, in the woods.”
    â€œIf it is a stray child, do try not to hit it.”
    Bingley squinted, “Too large.”
    â€œDr. Maddox? Elizabeth?”
    â€œToo small. Look, there.”
    Darcy turned his eyes to the edge of the woods, where there was indeed something moving about, but was not recognizably a deer. “A wolf?”
    â€œIt wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve seen a lot of them about recently, but they’ve never ventured to the herds that anyone knows of. I thought you got rid of the lot years ago.”
    â€œWe did. Or we thought we did. I remember the expedition.” During his father’s time as master of Pemberley, a local baronet had purchased a pack of what he thought were dogs, while traveling in Newfoundland, only to discover they were wolves. He did not have it in him to kill the pups as he ought have, and released them to Derbyshire’s forests, assuming they would not survive the winter. They did, and before long the deer population was mysteriously suffering. Darcy was still a young man, barely more than a boy, and thrilled at the prospect to be allowed to go on one of the expeditions to clear out the infestation. “Apparently we did not get them all, and they have recovered some of their numbers. Something to watch over, especially when people come in for the hunt,” Darcy said. “I’ll alert my huntsman.”
    â€œAre you intending to stay long in Pemberley or return immediately to Kent?”
    â€œThat is the question,” Darcy said quietly, sitting down on a fallen log.
    Bingley put his gun down and took a good look at his brother-in-law. “I am sorry for Lady Catherine,” he said. “It is all so ill-timed.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThe earl is ill, your aunt is… your aunt, to be polite about it, and Grégoire is in—what is the name of that town?”
    â€œMunich,” Darcy said. “He wrote when he returned to the Continent that he was going to Munich, to protect some relics there with his fellow monks.”
    â€œGrégoire is in Munich–”
    Darcy swallowed and said, “Grégoire is not in Munich.” He said it very stoically, but as they always did, his eyes betrayed him.
    At last, they had come to the point. “Where is he?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Darcy said. “All I have is a news report that said the monasteries in that area were all dissolved and the monks were to report to Munich, and from there were sent on their own way.”
    â€œYou can’t trust our papers; you know that.”
    â€œI do. So I wrote to Berlin for a