Free The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy by Marsha Altman Page A

placed, a spider’s web of confusion.
    â€œI know! She’s been doing that since I arrived.” Jane frowned and then dismissed the servants. “The doctor said she may have had a stroke.”
    â€œA stroke! When?”
    â€œWe don’t know. Sometime after Mary left. It hasn’t inhibited her speech or movement, so it was minor, and Papa said he did not notice it for a few days.”
    â€œCan anything be done?”
    â€œNo, but it won’t get worse, unless she has another one. Oh, Lizzy, these things are so unpredictable!” Jane leaned on her shoulder.
    â€œNow, what’s this? Unexpected guests?” said Mr. Bennet, announcing his presence in the doorway with a heavy tap of his cane.
    â€œPapa!” Elizabeth said and hugged her father. He was perhaps a little older (and shorter, it seemed) and more wrinkled, but very much alive. “I came as soon as I heard.”
    â€œThank you, my dear,” he said, taking a seat in the armchair. “I admit I did not notice anything amiss until your mother started calling me by my Christian name. The last time she did that must have been around the time that Kitty was born!” He chuckled. “Well, there’s nothing to be done about it. The doctor said it could have been much worse. She has no significant loss of memory, although she gets confused about names and dates. And you will find her nerves in good working order, perhaps the best they’ve been in years! So, my daughters, the news is not all bad.”
    â€œHas anyone told her?”
    â€œShe might suspect. But we haven’t told her. It would just embarrass her,” Jane answered. “Or so the doctor said. We may
apply for a second opinion, but there really is nothing to be done for a stroke.”
    â€œA very minor one, he said,” Mr. Bennet added, “Though if I have to hear about Netherfield being let one more time, I may have one myself!”
    â€œ Papa! ” they said together.
    He sighed. “It seems the only one who is allowed to joke around here since this happened is Mrs. Bennet herself! I know it gave us all a good scare—and still does. But, my dears, watch carefully. Mrs. Bennet!” he called.
    â€œThere you are!” she said, re-entering with the children tugging at her dress. “Where have you been?”
    â€œI’ve been looking for you, my dear. I assumed you would be in your own sitting room.”
    â€œI am sorry to disappoint you. Please forgive me, my darling husband.” She leaned over and kissed him on his head more tenderly than they had ever seen Mrs. Bennet act around Mr. Bennet.
    â€œYou are forgiven, my dear wife,” he said. “I believe you will be besieged by grandchildren if something is not found for them to eat before long.”
    â€œOf course.” She kissed him again, which he returned, and left. The children who were old enough to bow or curtsy did in passing to their mothers and grandfather.
    â€œYou see?” Mr. Bennet said with a sly grin. “It’s not all bad . If she’d lost her wits entirely, she might be wondering why her betrothed was an old man!”

CHAPTER 7
    The Protégé

    WHEN DR. ANDREW BERTRAND received the card, the instructions were confounding: 11 p.m., outside the Royal Society of Medicine house. Wear your worst clothing and bring best equipment .
    Not one to question orders, he did precisely that, putting together his oldest, most threadbare outfit aside from his field uniform (which would hardly have been appropriate). Fortunately, his parents were not around. They had left long ago for their usual tour of evening entertainment. Aging ex-nobility, they lived the life expected of them in town—that is, well beyond their means. The most fashionable pastime of the rich was the avocation of incurring debt.This meant that he was unlikely to inherit anything other than his name, so the young ex-viscount had decided to make