Chapter Ten
A Most Unusual Discovery
Elizabeth had never felt uneasy in the hidden stairwell before; it was a special place for her, a place where she had played and had imaginary adventures and hidden from the world with a book and a lamp to read by.
But now, knowing where they were going and unsure of what they might find, she felt her heart flutter in her chest and perspiration bedew her forehead.
She was also most aware that she was not alone.
Mr. Darcy’s presence so close behind her only made her heart beat faster, and the sensation was almost as unnerving as the adventure they were about to embark upon.
His feet were silent upon the stone steps, but she could feel the warmth of his body at her back, feel his breath upon the back of her neck.
Her hands still tingled from where he had held them, and she had to concentrate with all her might to hold the lamp steady before her to light the way.
As they approached the narrow landing at the top she whispered, “I must shutter the lamp, and I will try to see if anybody remains in the room. I do not believe there were more than three men here that night, and if you saw all three of them depart, the room ought to be empty.”
She felt him nod.
With practised fingers she closed the shutter over the flame, casting the stairwell into complete darkness, and ascended the last two steps. She put out a hand behind her to warn her companion, and her hand met his once more. He grabbed it and gave a quick squeeze before releasing her to her task.
The room was almost as black as pitch and as silent as ever she had heard it.
After several minutes of observation, she felt for the plate on the inside of the panel and pressed it, allowing the hidden door to slide open.
This panel had not been used in many a year and it gave a creak as the door moved, and Lizzy held her breath waiting to see if there was any response.
When none came, she slid the shutter on the lantern just enough to allow the first crack of light to shine through.
After the total darkness of the stairwell, it was bright enough to allow her to ensure that the room was empty of visitors other than themselves, and she opened the shutter a hair more.
Any light from the lantern would be seen through the window, and it would not do to have more than the smallest possible amount until they could draw the curtains as tight as they could manage.
“We are alone.” Darcy’s whisper was as loud as a firecracker to her heightened hearing, and she started at the sound.
Willing herself to calm down, she confirmed his observation and swung the lantern around the room.
The bed was empty, the sheets made, and the pillow plumped.
If anybody had slept here, he had tidied up well after himself.
Not a nobleman, then, but a worker, or a farmer perhaps, somebody unaccustomed to being trailed by servants to fetch and carry.
There was a small table to the side of the room, out of the line of sight of her chink in the cracked wood, which held the evidence of a meal, but with no refuse, only stacked plates and damp tumblers.
There were four sets of the rough dinnerware: four plates, four forks, four cups.
Mr. Darcy had seen three men—the fourth had to be her father.
She blinked back the tears that threatened once more and continued her surveillance.
There, on a chair near the bed, was a small and neat pile of clothing, and on a crooked crate that served as a bedside table, a stack of books.
She moved over to read the titles. They were all in French.
This should not be a shock to her, but some part of her still hoped that the entire affair had been a mistake, an illicit ongoing card game, or a refuge for some peer seeking to avoid his wife for a time.
The pile of French books allowed no such hopes to continue.
Papa was colluding with Frenchmen and was a traitor to his King.
The tears she had willed back earlier came rushing forth and nothing she could do would stop them.
She stood by the narrow bed and wept tears of anguish.
Only gradually did she become aware of Mr. Darcy’s voice, coaxing her from her misery. “Miss Elizabeth,” the sounds dissolved around her. “Miss Elizabeth? Elizabeth, answer me. Lizzy, please...”
The syllables coalesced into her name, and she dabbed at her watery eyes.
They must be red, but she had no care for her appearance.
There was no chance that Mr. Darcy would remain her friend now; he had no further need for subterfuge, and he could never associate with her in any other capacity.
He would despise her and cast aside any recollection of having known her the moment they left this chamber. She turned slowly, eyes downcast.
“Lizzy...” his voice had almost sounded excited, but it broke off as she moved to face him. “Whatever is the matter? You have no idea what I discovered! But why are you crying?”
She gestured to the books. “There is no other explanation. Papa is a traitor and will hang, and we will lose our home and everything we have ever known. I cannot imagine why I should not be crying!” The words escaped in chokes and sobs, and when she finished, she closed her eyes in grief.
The finger under her chin was a surprise. A gentle hand raised her face to look directly into his own, no matter how she tried to avert her eyes, and what she saw there was unexpected, for instead of derision in his regard, she saw joy.
“You misunderstand, Lizzy. I was misled. We are all operating under incorrect assumptions. I was told there was an English code machine that fell into French hands here in England, brought here to be repaired in secret, and sent back to Bonaparte’s armies.
But that is not so. The machine... come and see. ...”
He took her by the hand and pulled her over to the table.
The device still sat in the centre, now flooded with the light from the lantern.
It was generally cylindrical in shape, with a long row of discs at the top stacked front to back on a spindle, connected somehow to a machine with a series of buttons below.
A part of the casement of the mechanised part was missing and the inner workings damaged but not destroyed.
The discs themselves had on their rims the letters of the alphabet, each seeming to be in a different order, all random.
“Don’t you see, Lizzy?” The amazement in his voice was palpable, and it drew her attention away from her personal misery.
“I was told to look for an English machine but this one is French. It’s a code machine, made to encrypt cyphers for secret and secure messages.
But look at the discs...,” he dragged her to the table and sat her down in the chair by the apparatus. “There is no W.”
He pointed to one of the sections of the cylindrical part of the device and turned it slowly.
She tried to concentrate on his words as her eyes scanned the jumble of letters for that letter.
“None of the discs has a W, and the French alphabet has no W. In English, we use that letter all the time; if we were to leave something out, it would more likely be Q or Z, which are seldom used. But not so in French, where there is no use at all for W. Someone has found this damaged French code machine and hopes to repair it so that England can break the French cyphers!”
The enormity of this revelation slowly revealed itself to her.
A French encoding device, here in England.
.. in Meryton... inside Longbourn’s very walls!
If her father were not abetting the French, but seeking to break their code, that could mean only one thing.
Eyes wide, Lizzy stared up at him. “Then Papa is not a traitor?”
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “No, I believe not. If my suppositions are correct, the Frenchmen are emigrés, or people otherwise displeased with the Corsican. They have spirited this device here where it can be repaired without danger of interruption or discovery. By helping these renegade Frenchmen, your father is supporting the Empire.”
Her heart soared for a moment and her relief rushed through her until she thought she might float, but a second sobering realisation came to her.
“But I still do not quite understand what is happening. Papa is an intelligent man, and of excellent understanding, but he has no marked interest or skill in cyphers or codes, nor in mechanical matters. When something becomes broken, if it is not too difficult, I am the one who is called upon to attempt repairs, for Papa has no notion of these things. Then why is this machine here and not in some office in Whitehall? What possible connection can he have to the men who brought this? And why was he speaking French to them, almost like a native? Is it not possible that his involvement is still more nefarious than we wish?”
She sighed and began to rise from the chair. Something caught her eye, and she bent forward to examine a part of the machinery in the bottom section of the apparatus. Whether Mr. Darcy noticed her change in focus or not, he responded to her questions.
“I cannot say what your father’s particular relationship is to these men who brought the machine, but I can only imagine he is working on behalf of His Majesty’s government.
Were the French to have broken their own machine, they would not have sent it to their enemy’s sovereign land to have it repaired.
Likewise, the Russians and Austrians have their own experts to work on this puzzle.
I shall endeavour to do what I can to discover—”
“Hush!” Lizzy’s whisper was fraught with tension. He had heard what she had heard. Somebody was approaching from the hallway. “Quickly, back to the stairs!”