Chapter Five
Strangers in the House
Sunlight crept through the cracks in Elizabeth’s curtains, enticing her from her slumber.
She had been late to bed after the assembly, and she feared she was equally late to rise.
She forced her eyes to the small clock on her mantel: just after nine o’clock.
It was not so dreadfully late, but neither would she have time for a lengthy ramble before breakfast. Papa kept country hours, and would not hear of disarranging his accustomed schedule, even after an assembly.
Perhaps, then, a quick stroll through the gardens, and a longer walk after breakfast should the weather oblige.
First, however, she had her own morning routine to follow.
She rose from her blankets and shivered in the cool air of her room before putting on her robe and house slippers, and then with practised caution, she slipped through the hidden door by the fireplace and up the stairs between the walls.
The floor creaked beneath her feet, but none were below to hear her, and her maid would not come to help her dress until called.
Her only concern was not to be heard by anyone who might be waiting above.
It was unnerving to know that strangers were in her house.
If Papa allowed them access, surely, they could not mean harm to her or her family, but they were strangers nonetheless, and spies at that!
Ought she to have confronted her papa about them?
No, surely not, for she considered her greatest safety relied on them not knowing of her awareness, or more so, of the secret staircase to their room.
Despite her concerns, she felt she was best off remaining silent and monitoring their clandestine activities as best she could through the chink at the top of the stairs.
And watch them she did. Since that strange night some two months past, she had made a habit of ascending the secret stairs each morning upon arising to see if the room was occupied, and if anything seemed to have been happening there.
From what little she could tell from her chink in the wooden panels, the room had been used only intermittently—perhaps three or four days after the Frenchman had departed that first time—but there was ample evidence that the space was far from abandoned.
The table was often moved to a different place in the chamber, and piles of paper thereupon grew and shrank almost daily.
There was also a strange metal object upon the table that she could not identify, but that somehow seemed so important to whatever was occurring.
The object was cylindrical with a solid base, about eight or ten inches long, and seemed to be covered with markings.
It sat in the centre of the table and was surrounded by lamps, as if it were the object of scrutiny and required ample illumination.
Now, in the half-light that filtered through poorly drawn drapery, it reflected a dull glow.
It was clearly an object designed for usefulness rather than beauty.
This unusual object was surrounded by these piles of paper, the value of which Elizabeth could not begin to estimate, and several pots of ink and a scattering of pencils.
As she peered through her secret chink in the panel, a shuffling noise sounded from the side of the room, which she could not see, and dull footsteps began to move towards the table.
The light was poor enough that she could see only the shape of a man interposing himself between her and the window, and when he settled himself into a chair and began to do something with the object, she could only stare in stunned silence.
There was nothing she might do now, other than watch the shape of the man as he manipulated the object.
Was this the same man she had heard speaking to her father?
Or was he one of the others of whom he had spoken?
His back was to her, and in the half-light of the room, she could discern nothing but the irregular movements of his arms as he worked.
He seemed, to her eyes, not to be writing, but rather doing something to the strange device itself, but all details were lost to her.
Thus, after some fifteen minutes of little more to observe, she crept back down the stone stairs to her own chamber and rang the bell to summon her maid to help her dress for the day.
***
brEAKFAST WAS AS IT always was. Papa was already ensconced in his chosen chair when she arrived, a cup of tea to one side, a plate of cold meats and breads to the other, the most recent edition of The Times obscuring his face from her view.
“Good morning, Lizzy,” his voice sounded from behind the broadsheet. How he knew without looking up from the printed pages which of his daughters had entered the room, she could not quite discern, but he was never mistaken. “I trust you slept well.”
She could do nothing but agree; she dare not mention the shuffling noises from above that had awoken her in the small hours of the morning, nor the sight of the man hunched over the apparatus in the turret room.
Sounds from the doorway interrupted anything she might have tried to say, and Papa greeted first Mary, then Jane, as they too entered the room to break their fasts.
Conversation was much as it always was, Papa not giving the slightest indication that anything was amiss or out of the ordinary in the house.
Elizabeth took her tea and plate as she always did and endeavoured to behave quite normally; if Papa noticed anything out of the ordinary, he said not a word.
As she sipped her tea, which might have been water for all that she tasted it, she mused over the strange visitor upstairs.
He must have arrived the previous night, when she and Mama and her sisters were all at the assembly.
The servants would not bother the master of the house if he requested his solitude whilst reading, as often happened, and he could easily lead a single man, or even two or three, up the far staircase to the room above hers in the old stone tower.
No one would be any the wiser. Papa had planned this unexpected visit well.
Thoughts of the assembly now brought to mind thoughts of the unpleasant gentleman she had encountered there.
Mr. Darcy might be handsome of face and figure, but not even his tendered regrets could atone for his rudeness at her expense.
The more she considered his actions, the less pleased she was with them.
For a moment last night she had considered accepting his apology, her heart moved by his obvious injuries, but the reflection of a night’s musings had returned some ice to her veins.
No matter how regretful his injuries, no matter how pitiful his pleas, he ought to have been too much of a gentleman to insult a lady thus, and to her face!
Further to her discomfort, she wondered if he had been the second man in the carriage that had interrupted her solitude yesterday.
It was impossible to be certain, for the man’s voice had been somewhat muffled by the vehicle from which he had spoken, but the voice was not so different from what she had heard that she could claim it was not he.
Was Mr. Darcy then the accomplice whose duty it was to discover the spies? To discover her Papa?
The thought left her most unsettled. For guilty of treason or no, how could she wish ill upon her beloved father?
They had always had a close relationship, she and Papa; she had been the one of her sisters who best understood his curious ways and manners, and she had been hurt to some extent by his secrecy regarding the Frenchmen.
Still, he was her father whom she adored and traitor or no, she could not think without alarm of any harm coming to him.
If Mr. Darcy was sent to uncover his secrets, she could not like the man at all.
No, she had no kind feelings at all for Mr. Darcy.
It was well after breakfast, but not yet encroaching upon that hour at which a visitor might expect an invitation to dine, that the doorbell rang.
The entire family was gathered in the sunny back parlour, Lizzy and Jane at their embroidery, Mary reading, and Kitty and Lydia working at some adornments they wished to attach to their gowns for the next dance, whenever it might occur.
Mama was upon the sofa, observing her youngest daughters and offering frequent suggestions, and Papa sat by the unlit fireplace, a book in his hand.
All looked up with some surprise when Hill entered and announced Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, come to pay a visit upon Mr. Bennet.
Lizzy was unable to stifle a sigh. She had known it would be impossible to avoid Mr. Darcy during his stay in Meryton, and most especially so if her suspicion of Mr. Bingley’s interest in Jane was correct; nonetheless, she had hoped that her next encounter with the rude man would not have followed quite so quickly upon the last. Perhaps she would be spared the encounter, for Papa would surely have the men taken to his study, where they might drink whatever men drank, and converse on whatever topics men discussed when freed of the necessity to temper their speech for mixed company.
To Lizzy’s astonishment, however, her father bade Hill usher the guests thither rather than have her conduct the visitors directly to his study.
How unlike him this was! He was not a particularly social man, preferring his own company to that of most of his peers, and almost never subjected his guests to the society of his wife and daughters.
Was there something in that room he would rather his visitors not see?
Some papers, or perhaps—her eyes flew open at the thought—somebody in there, some person at work at some secretive occupation, who ought not even to be in England? The thought was alarming.
There was little time to consider this notion, for the two visiting gentlemen entered the parlour almost at once.