Chapter 24
And so their work began: explanation and discussion first, backed up by sketches when Lucy was unable to fully translate her thoughts into words.
Occasionally Dashwood would be forced to bring her fancies down to earth, Lucy reluctantly conceding that theoretical design sometimes must give way to practical experience.
At other times he would be amazed at the potential of her innovations, able to see how they might impact racing.
There was an ease of flow in the work, the chance for her to lose herself in the task at hand, as she had during racing. She had found peace in such tasks before, but never with such ease in company. There were moments she forgot there was a world beyond the two of them.
Of course, there certainly was, with the calm eye of Mrs Marbrook, knitting steadily, occasionally glancing their way, but otherwise seemingly content that her charges were behaving themselves.
Not that such supervision was strictly necessary.
They had maintained a respectable distance and had never even made contact.
Except, that is, for one instance of him leaning over her to pick up an iron brace pin just as she moved in his direction.
Lucy had stiffened abruptly as her shoulder brushed his chest. Though her outer body was still, she experienced a disorienting feeling of her insides briefly floating upwards.
She was quite sure he had felt something too, momentarily pausing as he did, but perhaps it was merely a reaction to her strange response.
As for the manual labour, Captain Dashwood was able to assemble the basic parts, the pins and braces, with an ease that impressed her.
He’d done this before, she was certain, for he was familiar with construction at a practical level.
As an army driver, she supposed a knowledge of emergency repairs would be a vital skill.
In the Battle of Rolica perhaps? She recalled it as something Torres had mentioned.
The captain was a man of untold stories, and Lucy realised she wished to know them not only for information but also for personal gratification.
It was not a feeling to which she was accustomed.
Nor was she accustomed to the deference and praise with which he treated her opinion.
She recalled their discussion at the Night Races and how remarkably easy it had been, and now it struck her once more.
She did not need to check herself for over-speaking or being too technical.
While her family tolerated her eccentricities, it seemed that Captain Dashwood not only accepted but also admired them.
That alone, in her eyes, made him a remarkable man.
Lucy was surprised when Mrs Marbrook announced it was time for lunch, for she had not estimated much of the day to have passed. In truth she had quite lost track of the hour and, once reminded, became aware of her hunger.
Having washed her hands thoroughly of various smudges, she joined her host at the lunch table.
He had changed back into a more formal shirt for the occasion, his hands equally clean, though rosy from meticulous scrubbing.
As their eyes met, Lucy couldn’t quite hold back a smirk at his look of slight awkwardness as he sat across the table from her. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely impervious.
His brow furrowed. ‘What amuses you?’ he enquired.
‘Forgive me, but you looked somewhat uncomfortable.’
‘And that is of amusement to you?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Only in its rarity. You are always at ease with your company. Be it a ball or a family dinner or on a coach. I can scarce imagine a setting where you are not a fine fit.’
‘I can assure you, there are customs of society that do not come naturally to me. I learned manners as a young man and unlearned many of them in the army. But, to use a military device, one wears the uniform that befits the battlefield. I may wear a fine dress-coat to a ball but I find it …’
She filled the pause. ‘Inflexible.’
‘That is a fine way of phrasing it. I will admit they do chafe at times. The customs, not the coats. You, however, seem well at home with them.’
Lucy considered his words in earnest. She took a bite of her sandwich, giving herself time to contemplate her reply.
‘It is …’ She struggled to articulate. ‘It is not wholly that I am a woman beholden to the rules of society, Captain Dashwood. I am born to a world where social cues and notions are of the most vital importance. And yet those notions, which come to others with so little effort, are so often unfelt by me. Should a companion not shriek or yawn, I could scarcely tell if they were afraid or bored. The jest of a smile, the jibe of an inflection – they sail past me. I navigate the seas of society by set rules as a captain navigates by his charts. Without them I am adrift.’
There was a long pause as the words settled upon them both.
It was perhaps the most wondrously insightful description of her character that had ever been spoken; more wondrous still that it had been spoken by Lucy herself.
It took her a moment before she was able to turn her attention to her companion to gauge his response.
There was in his features a stern contemplation she had not yet seen, and she feared she had crossed some unobserved barrier of decorum.
‘You impress me with your earnestness, Miss Elliot. It is a trait to which I wish I were more naturally inclined.’
‘You are not an earnest man?’ she asked, aware of her suspicions in the matter, but surprised at the admission.
‘To dissemble is, I like to think, not in my natural character. I cannot deny that I have an aptitude for it, though not a preference. You speak as if you have perceived such in me yourself.’
‘I have. Your actions have led me to wonder at the level of calculation to them. It seemed to me that your behaviour at your ball had the intention of insinuating yourself into the good graces of the district.’
‘That I cannot deny, though it is also in my nature to make connections where I find them. I should just as likely have done it were it not my specific design.’
‘But it was your specific design.’ She was again shocked by the confession, her mind following the threads of logic.
‘A gentleman new to the district might do so for reputation or to advance himself. Yet you had a deeper purpose. You became familiar with the shopkeepers and tradesmen, with the staff of your manor, even with … other circles. You cast your net wide and you would not do so without the most specific of goals.’
That was the heart of the mystery. The one that had puzzled her from the moment she had first heard of the gentleman.
When in doubt, acquire more information, she reasoned. She sipped her drink while gathering her wits.
‘Swiftly becoming familiar with the local community would be important for a man who was a target. There are rumours of a gambling debt that forced you to return home. What exactly is the story behind it?’
‘I fear you will not like the story.’
‘All the better I should hear it.’
‘True. I was, as you know, stationed in Sierra Leone. Its capital, Freetown, is home to some less-than-savoury establishments where the best cards are played. I was doing quite well until a rather devastating loss. I was convinced they were cheating, but could not prove as such. Then this rather dangerous group made an offer. There was to be a horse race a few days later, which I was to enter and to lose. I had something of a reputation as a skilled rider so I was a favourite to win. Especially among my men.’
He paused, but Lucy remained silent and attentive.
‘So I ran the race, feigning a modest ride. Until at the last stretch I put on speed. I assure you it was not pride, rather I could not bear for my men to lose their hard-earned wages. I crossed the finish line first then kept going all the way to the port. My father had pulled some strings to arrange a berth for me. I returned to home soil with nothing but the clothes on my back and was packed off here to be safe and to avoid embarrassment.’
The tale hung in the air of the dining room.
‘What do you think?’ he asked after some hesitation.
‘I think it needs work,’ she replied bluntly.
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Your father arranged a berth?’
‘Yes. Though elderly, he is not without sway.’
‘But you said the race was a few days later. How did word get to him and back again so swiftly?’
‘Well—’
‘You came home with nothing but what you were wearing, yet you showed up to the races with a coach you used in Africa. Hard to believe it was shipped back here at the request of a disgraced army officer.’ She tried in earnest to read his expression but could not decide between consternation and admiration.
‘Indeed.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I did say you wouldn’t like the story.’
‘So,’ she asked calmly, ‘why are you here, Captain Dashwood?’
He took a breath, and his expression became one of unmistakable seriousness.
‘I confess this to you with the utmost confidence, Miss Elliot. What I tell you now is known to no one in the district. Not to Jim. Not even to Mrs Marbrook, who watches us intently but whose hearing is such that she cannot make out our speech from this distance.’
Lucy glanced over her shoulder to the older woman in the far corner, who smiled but gave no indication she had heard mention of her name.
‘If you do not wish to know, I shall not tell you. But if you do, then I am placing my life in your hands. Are you certain you wish to know?’
For a reason Lucy could not discern she was reminded of a moment in the moonlight years ago: her entrance to the world of the Night Races – a choice that had changed the roads she travelled.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘I am not here to assess my father’s lands, though Elsworth Manor is indeed his, and he is suffering from old age and poor health. Nor am I an exile forced to flee a gambling scandal. That is a fiction contrived to divert the attention of those inclined to dig deeper.’
She nodded in assent.
‘I am here by express military command. The robbery of Sir Walter St Martin’s brandy was not the first in this district.
Two army couriers have vanished in the last six months, both times carrying payroll and some documentation.
I have been sent here to uncover the culprits and bring them to justice. ’
Whatever suppositions she had formed around Captain Dashwood, this revelation was well outside them.
There had been a hint of truth in her suspicion about his connection to the robbery, but it had been wholly inverted.
Rather than a culprit, it seemed he was searching for the very same answers she was.
She felt a sense of guilt at having thought him a gambler, yet as that was the impression he’d deliberately crafted, she could scarcely be too hard on herself.
She shook off such thoughts, instead focusing on the case at hand.
‘Surely a couple of thefts could be handled by local magistrates,’ she said.
‘In normal times perhaps. Since the Treaty of Schonbrunn, Napoleon has solidified power in Europe. Our blockade is holding, but the military is afraid of any weakness. Hence my being tasked with the responsibility.’
‘Have you any theories on who may be behind such acts?’ she asked.
‘As yet, I do not know. It could be someone high up engaged in treason, or someone from common stock merely seeking money. That is the reason I have endeavoured to make as many connections as possible.’
‘But why do you confess this to me now? That I disassembled your fiction seems poor motivation.’
‘On the contrary, it is a vital element. Firstly, you possess a unique insightfulness, a capacity to see the world in a different manner. You are one of the smartest people I have ever met and I would be foolish not to utilise such intellect.’
Her heart jumped at the words and she was dumbstruck, which prevented her from humbly contradicting him.
‘As my efforts,’ he continued, ‘have been of limited success, it seems reasonable to add such a perspective to mine. Secondly, through my interactions with you and your family, I have come to trust you. I am quite certain you are in no way involved in these crimes.’
‘Could not my behaviours be a deception?’
‘If that is the case then your skills are of such a talent that my operation will be doomed either way. No. I trust in your innocence. Thirdly, you have a knowledge of the district that, for all my connections, I cannot emulate. And …’ He paused momentarily.
‘That is why I have chosen to admit the truth to you.’
And fourth, she thought. She was quite sure he was about to say a fourth thing before he stopped himself, though what it might have been she could not guess. She put the thought aside and returned to the topic at hand.
‘You wish me to aid you in investigating a string of mysterious highway robberies?’ she said, realising how outlandish it sounded spoken aloud.
‘That is the sum of it.’
‘Is the construction of this coach a pretence to enlist me?’ Lucy asked, unable to hide the hurt in her voice. She could not deny that the promise of building a coach had been as appealing as the promise of riding in one, not to mention the company of Dashwood himself to be an attractive component.
‘The coach is a means to an end. My request for your help is because I cannot conceive of a better heart and mind for the task in all of England. I neither deny nor regret that my actions in the district have ulterior motives. But I should not ask these things of you if I did not believe you wholly capable of and enthusiastic for them.’
‘Over the past months,’ Lucy began, ‘there have been two mysteries that have plagued my attention. The most recent, that of the missing driver, and before that, the strange behaviour of yourself. Since it appears that one has been solved, it stands to reason that I might devote my attentions to the other.’
He nodded politely. ‘Well then, Miss Elliot. Welcome to the defence of the British Empire.’