Chapter 19
London
“William, where is Miss Elizabeth?” Is she unwell?
” Georgiana asked her brother as he climbed into the carriage.
His brow was furrowed—pain, concern; yet, there was more, a seething anger which threatened to break free of his restraint.
Darcy still clutched the crumpled newspaper.
Without a word, he passed it to Georgiana.
His sister gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. “Oh, this is so wrong! And such lies—about her and Lydia. They are the loveliest people.”
“A cunning fabrication,” said Darcy. “Enough truth, but twisted. I do not know who could have given such information to this Mr. Williams.”
“But surely my abduction from Brighton was well-known, though it is strange that none have mentioned it, that it has not already appeared in the gossip columns. Surely, our being stolen from the Parade, with the Prince Regent in residence, would have been discussed in all the drawing rooms of Mayfair, likely elsewhere.”
“It was kept quiet,” said Darcy. “Colonel Forster had no wish to involve, as you have said, Prinny and the War Office. I wrote to him when we returned to England. He explained that he had immediately told his wife, Harriet, that she should never speak of the abduction. If asked, she should merely say that you and I had returned to London, and took the Miss Bennets to their uncle in Cheapside. That Richard had been recalled to duties in Horse Guards.”
Darcy clenched his fingers—surely they had done all that was possible to protect the reputations of Georgiana and that of Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lydia.
“Colonel Forster then rode directly to London, to inform the Earl of what had happened—that Richard and I had sailed in pursuit. Then, without taking any break, he rode to Longbourn to inform Mr. Bennet. A plan was hatched, that Miss Elizabeth and her sister had removed to the Gardiners, on the pretext that Miss Lydia suffered greatly from the hay fever at Brighton.”
“Oh, I had not realised,” said Georgiana, just now understanding how close she had come to possible ruin. “But the article, it says I was abducted—”
“We shall go directly to Matlock House in St. James’s Square. I suspect our uncle has already seen this, for he reads all the major newspapers.”
They arrived at St. James’s a half-hour later, and were immediately shown into the morning room, where Lady Matlock was sitting on a brocade settee, her lips pursed.
“That was damned quick, Darcy,” said the Earl, who was leaning against the mantel. “Just five minutes ago I sent a message to Darcy House.”
“Georgiana and I had gone to collect Miss Bennet from the Gardiners in Gracechurch Street—they had just read the Post.”
“Scurrilous work, importuning the poor woman like that,” said Lady Matlock. “Even Wellington acknowledged that Richard discovered the French army’s purpose when they camped at León.”
“My apologies, Aunt,” said Darcy. “Lord Wellington dissembled. It was Miss Elizabeth who discovered the truth, that the French intended to march on Salamanca and catch the British army between Marmont, Souham, and the armies of Bonnet and Caffarelli.”
“The deuce, you say,” exclaimed the Earl. “But Wellington wrote to me of the extraordinary service the intelligence did him; that Richard was to be congratulated for bringing it to him.”
“Lord Wellington was being circumspect, for it was agreed that otherwise the lady’s reputation would be in great danger, as we now perceive.
He should have thanked Richard, not for the intelligence, but for accompanying the person who knew what the French intended.
It was Miss Bennet who entered the camp accompanied only by a Spanish pimp, and discovered the French plan. ”
“Th-then the story in the paper is true!” Lady Matlock looked askance at Darcy.
“No! You cannot believe that!” cried Georgiana, who was standing beside Darcy, and came to sit next to her aunt. “Elizabeth is the finest person I know. Please, do not imply such a thing, that she could so demean herself.”
“Darcy, there is more to this story that you are not telling us,” said Lord Matlock. “This is no time to dissemble, not only is the reputation of the Bennet family at stake, but also Georgiana’s, and perhaps ours by association.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened, and for a moment he seemed to wrestle with the weight of confidences and consequences. The seconds passed; when he spoke, his voice was low, but clear.
“I will not allow Elizabeth’s name—or Georgiana’s—to be soiled by cowards scribbling in the shadows of Fleet Street.
But it is true that Miss Bennet showed courage beyond what most men could claim.
When Richard and I came to León, it was Elizabeth who insisted she could pass as a camp follower and learn what we could not.
I protested, as did Richard, but she refused our counsel. ”
He paused, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. “She entered the French camp and returned with knowledge that saved more than the British army.”
“But how, Darcy? How does a woman acquire such knowledge? Surely there is only one way…” Lady Matlock sat forward uncomfortably on the settee.
“Will you listen to what I have to say with an open mind? For what I speak of may seem outlandish, mummery, the very worst kind of charlatanism. I will admit, when I first encountered the lady, I thought the very worst of her, but now I am in agreement with Georgiana—Elizabeth is the finest lady that I know.”
Darcy then outlined his and Richard’s chase after Wickham along the Great North Road.
That they had found Wickham’s chaise almost overturned near Baldock; had rescued Georgiana; and taken her back to London.
That Elizabeth explained her gift—her curse as she would have it—that when people pressed against her, she acquired memories, future memories.
Not all, oftentimes incomplete, sometimes futures that never came to pass.
She had lived with this almost all her life.
Darcy’s narrative became impassioned. Wickham had guessed at her talent, but was convinced she could see where people were—far-sight—and kidnapped her to take as a prize to France, where he expected a great reward.
Georgiana and Lydia were innocent accessories to his plan—perhaps he could ransom them; perhaps to use as a lever to force Miss Bennet to his will, or that of Napoleon.
But a great storm blew the French sloop onto the north coast of Spain, Asturias where they were rescued by Spanish partisans; unfortunately, Wickham escaped.
Darcy told of the hard walk over the mountains to the hills above León.
How Georgiana and Lydia were carried by litter until they regained enough strength to walk themselves.
Then Richard’s surprise at seeing the two great French armies combined.
Their purpose unknown—perhaps to strike at Santocildes in Galicia.
The biggest danger was that they would strike Salamanca from the north, while Souham attacked from the west, and Marmont from the east. Without warning, Wellington would be pincered—humbugged, as Richard later told him.
The outcome was dire—the loss of Spain, possibly the whole of the Peninsula.
Miss Bennet went into the camp, and placed herself close to a French colonel, and discovered the plans of Bonnet and Caffarelli.
She then walked one hundred and twenty miles in just five days from León to Salamanca to warn Wellington.
Darcy’s eyes moistened, his narrative complete. “You will respect my decision: I have never asked Elizabeth what she did to get close to the colonel, and never shall.”
The Earl’s gaze softened, admiration flickering beneath his reserve. “You ask a great deal of trust, Darcy. But I see now you speak with the weight of gratitude, not mere gallantry.”
Lady Matlock folded her hands. “The girl must be protected. These are not days when courage is always its own reward, especially for a woman. What do you propose we do, Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy straightened, his resolve hardening.
“We must confront the Post and demand a retraction. And we must ensure that Miss Bennet’s service to her country is known—if not in detail, then at least as an answer to those who would slander her.
I will not allow England to forget who truly turned the tide at Salamanca. ”
Georgiana, emboldened by her brother’s words, nodded fiercely. “And I shall stand by her, as any friend—and any sister—should.”
The Earl considered this, then gave a decisive nod. “Very well. We shall move at once. The Morning Post has made formidable enemies—two Earls, both Lord Wellington and I.”
* * *
“William, have you not thought who knew I was abducted from Brighton?” said Georgiana softly, as she and Darcy returned to their house in Grosvenor Square.
“And only someone in León could have known that Elizabeth walked into the French camp—perhaps they saw her enter, or learnt her description from Colonel Dumoustier. And now that person is in Madrid—certainly an Englishman, not French, who would be hunted down by the partisans.”
Darcy gazed at his sister. She was no longer the naive young girl he had rescued from Wickham on the Great North Road. She, in turn, was intently staring at him.
Wickham. Of course, Mr. Williams, the Morning Post’s correspondent, was Wickham. Writing with spleen and malice.
“You have guessed it, brother. Certainly the man is Wickham.”
Darcy’s fingers curled. “The paper’s editor will have his direction—at the very least, a place where Wickham collects his mail and the remuneration for his articles.
I shall send a note to the Earl in the morning.
Under the threat of deportation, we should know where Wickham hides in Spain by the afternoon. ”