The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy Read Free

stable roofs. Just yesterday, Señora Alvarado’s kitchen roof caved in. She was fortunate to be in the other room, or she might have been killed.”
    â€œWhy did you not inform the abbot? It is not fair for good people to be without shelter while we live in a castle.”
    Diaz looked relieved. “I am glad you see it that way, but the abbey already feeds us—we cannot ask for more. I am sorry, but we have our pride.”
    Grégoire nodded. “I see.” He put a hand gently on Diaz’s shoulder. “Trust in God, Señor. I assure you that you need not worry about the pews or acquiring the wood.”
    â€œThank you, Brother Grégoire.”
    He bowed. “I have done little to earn your thanks. But now I must return for Compline. Go with God, Señor Diaz.”
    â€œGo with God, Brother Gregory.”
    He smiled and was on his way.Already a plan was forming in his mind, distracting him from his earlier conversation with the abbot. The families on the coast were in financial distress, but if the abbey gave them the money to rebuild, their pride would be injured. (And Grégoire knew enough about pride from his brother.)
    But then there was his ten thousand pounds, most of which lay at his disposal for the year. The English pound was strong, and only a tiny fraction would cover all of their expenses in rebuilding their homes. The abbey did not know about it; Darcy had advised Grégoire to tell the abbey when he was in Bavaria and again before he had left for Spain. Grégoire had seen the wisdom in that. Besides, Benedictines, unlike his previous order, were not averse to dealing with wealth. The only matter was to contact his banker in Madrid and figure out a way to distribute the money anonymously, but by
the time he returned to the abbey, he already had some idea of how to go about that.
    Feeling considerably more settled, he sang with his brothers at Compline and was dismissed. It was eight, and in seven hours he would be woken for morning prayers and another day. He was hot and tired from the day’s work and the walk, and in the privacy of his cell, he removed his cowl and robe, and then painfully removed the vest beneath it. He cleaned away the blood—caked in some areas and wet in others—and then rubbed a lotion over his chest, where the damage from the cilicium—the hairshirt—was most severe. His back was too scarred from previous injuries to be much affected. After the soothing balm set in, he found an easy sleep. He was at peace with the world around him.

CHAPTER 2
    Bride and Prejudice

    â€œYOU SEE?” MAHMUD SAID as his servant fired the rifle, which emitted only a large sound and smoke but no bullet. “I cannot make it work. This it does, every time. I am afraid to do it myself. Nizam has burned his hands several times.”
    Mahmud Ali Khan’s English was very good, and by now Charles Bingley and Brian Maddox were used to the local accent. Bingley’s trade with the East India Company in Calcutta was purchasing dye, but he was in talks to open a cotton plant. The company promised astronomical returns on such an investment, but Mahmud said he was hesitant to introduce a new crop to his extensive lands. Somehow Mahmud had obtained a Baker rifle from the local Sepoy Battalion—Indians employed as soldiers by the British—and was utterly fascinated by it.
    â€œIt’s the cartridge,” Charles Bingley said immediately. “Let me show you—when it cools down.”
    Tea was brought for them, and the three men—the mogul lord, the fair-haired trader and the Englishman dressed in Japanese clothing—sat beneath a red umbrella. They looked out over their host’s gardens, all neatly arranged into rows of plants neither Bingley nor Brian could recognize, but which seemed more colorful than anything they had in England. Beyond them, not far north but out of their direct sight, lay the Ganges. They were