Chapter Twenty-Five #2
He rose and walked towards her, approaching close enough that she might hold out her hands and brush the silk of his banyan. But though he paused and lowered his eyes to her hands, he continued his paces until he stood by the curtained window. “If you do not mind, Elizabeth?”
She understood him and placed the lantern into the closet, plunging the room into darkness.
She heard more than saw him shift the draperies just enough to peer outside.
A watcher from the woods would hopefully not notice anything amiss, would not know that he, too, was being watched.
The curtains fell closed once more, and she retrieved the lamp, blinking at its bright glare even after mere moments of blackness.
He moved back towards the fireplace and took his chair again.
“I saw no footprints in the snow approaching the house, although the snow is falling still.
I am pleased I came this morning, for it is thick on the ground.
I dare say there will be three feet or more by morning.
Had I not arrived today, I might be stranded at Netherfield for nigh on a week.
“Then none may approach Longbourn?” She wondered that her voice was shaking.
“Not by carriage. Perhaps a single man might get through on Norse skis or snowshoes as they do in the Americas.”
She frowned. She had not heard of such things, but her imagination supplied enough detail that she could envision the attempt.
He explained. “Snowshoes are ingenious devices, a sort of paddle that fits beneath the boot, allowing a man to walk on the surface of the snow. The imprints on the snow are quite distinctive.”
She considered this for a moment. “And did you see any such marks outside?”
He shook his head no. “The snow has been falling too heavily for any such imprints to remain. But,” he leaned forward in his chair, “I fancy I saw a flicker of light in the woods, by the path I myself have taken. It may have been a change of light on the snow, and I would not swear what I have seen, but I suspect we may be under somebody’s surveillance. ”
The shiver that ran up her spine now had nothing to do with Mr. Darcy’s house slippers.
“Who might it be?”
Her companion shifted uncomfortably. “I do not know for certain, but I am beginning to have my suspicions. I am afraid that what I have learned troubles me exceedingly, but I cannot think of another explanation.” He squeezed his eyes shut and released a long breath.
“I believe I have told you of my friend Stanton?”
“The one who rescued you from the ruffians and saw you back to health? He sounds like a fine man indeed.”
“Aye, and yet I fear we have all been sorely deceived by him.” With deliberate and pain-filled words, Mr. Darcy limned his thoughts and conclusions about the ornithologist-cum-baron.
“The codeword that we discovered—goldfinch—is exactly his name, and it is far too great of a coincidence not to be suspicious. He knew both too much and too little of the matter as well, for as much as he seemed to be in the confidence of the Home Office, he was either unaware that the machine was French and now being examined by England, or he wished me to believe otherwise. The only reason I can imagine for this is that he is not employed by England at all, and that he wants this device for his own purposes.” He hung his head low and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I am sorry,” was all she could think of to say, but he had more to impart.
“I now have to question everybody’s loyalties.
My own friend Bingley, who by some bizarre happenstance of fate had taken a house in exactly this part of England—what am I to make of this?
He has said little of his decision to take Netherfield, other than that he learned of the estate and decided, in his accustomed thoughtless manner, to take it.
And what of the footman John, whom Stanton entrusted to my employ during my convalescence?
What secrets might he have learned from me, all the while he was pretending to care for my injuries?
Do I do him an injustice by doubting him and his excellent care?
Or do I scorn him for being complicit in such betrayal?
I find I am most troubled in these matters, and I can only thank you for being the one person, other than Richard, whom I know I can depend upon entirely. ”
When she had risen to her feet and walked the few steps towards him, she could not recollect.
But seeing his distress, she knelt in front of him, and without conscious thought took his hands in her own.
How could she ignore his pain-etched face?
Such misery tore at her heart, and before she knew what she was about, she had risen to enfold him in her arms, letting his head rest heavily upon her shoulder.
She ought to be alarmed, shocked even, at her most improper behaviour and display, but her arms wound about him and held him to her, and his arms folded about her.
A distant part of her mind acknowledged the gross impropriety of her behaviour, and another part decided that yes, the banyan was indeed a very fine silk.
Most of her awareness, however, was trapped in the very present sensation of holding and being held by a man not related to her.
Just as quickly as she had reached for him, he dropped his arms. “I should not have done that,” he stammered.
“I must apologise... most unbecoming of me... most ungentlemanly...” He seemed to be abusing himself for his actions more than begging her forgiveness.
Then he collected himself. “You have every right to demand that I leave this instant, and if you ask your father to toss me out into the snow, it is no less than I deserve.”
She grabbed his hands again. “I initiated the gesture, sir. It was my doing, and you merely responded in kind. Had I indicated any displeasure with your actions, you would be aware of it. Further, I am certain you would not have continued, for I trust you implicitly. Say no more of it, except to request a renewal. If my touch brings you comfort in your distress, it is a gift I willingly offer.”
He pressed a light kiss to her forehead and pulled back far enough to fill her vision.
“I am a gentleman, and I must behave with all propriety, until such time as...” he swallowed, “as you permit my attentions. But now is not the time to discuss this, for we have dire matters afoot. After this is resolved...” he let his words trail into the ether, and the room fell silent.
What could he mean by this? Did he plan to propose again?
She bit her lips, not wishing to alarm him with her anticipation, for he had just now asserted that he would not renew his offer until this affair was concluded.
After this is resolved... the words reverberated through her mind.
He would wait until this affair was concluded.
As difficult as it might be, she must allow him to choose his own time.
He was caught in his thoughts, and she in hers, and only after a long time did she speak again.
“Do you believe Lord Stanton knows you suspect him?”
“I do not believe so,” he sighed, “for I did not realise the force of my own suspicions until the other night, after we broke the cypher. But I have not been entirely forthcoming with my news for him, and he may know and wonder about that. I also cannot say I am not being watched. I am quite uneasy about the entire affair.”
They sat in silence for a short while longer, before Elizabeth stood and brushed her hands down the front of her robe.
“Come, sir, let us return to Papa’s library.
Perhaps he has some papers or other information secreted there that might help us learn more of this matter.
It is a room seldom visited, and any such documents would be likely to lie undisturbed. ”
Their journey downstairs was as quiet as that going up, and they entered the black and silent library with only the dark lantern between them and the shadows.
Lizzy drew the curtains tight and began looking through the drawers in the large desk, whilst Mr. Darcy examined the volumes on the shelves behind her.
Neither knew what, exactly, they were seeking, but both seemed to feel the need for some action.
The topmost drawers yielded nothing of interest, likewise the stacks of paper on the table top. But the bottom drawer felt strange and heavy under her fingers, and she felt the base of it move. “Oh, what is this?” she spoke without thinking.
“Have you found something?” He was behind her, his breath warming her ear.
She could feel him at her back, so very close, that when she leaned backwards, he was there to support her.
She sighed and his hands wound around her waist, even as her head fell backwards onto his chest. She turned in his embrace to face him, and being as they were, so very close, and in such a situation, that it seemed quite natural to kiss him.
Or did he kiss her? She knew not. But his lips touched hers and her eyes fluttered closed and the world seemed to stop spinning, leaving only the two of them in the centre of creation.
He raised his head and pressed his forehead against her own and laid a soft kiss at the end of her nose. “Lizzy, I had thought to wait, I believed I was strong, that you would never want me whilst such tumultuous events were underway, but I can wait no longer. I have to ask you—”
A noise sounded from beyond the panel, which opened into the second secret stairwell.
“They are coming!” She pulled away from him and grabbed his hand.
“Quick, we must hide. Here, behind this shelf, where the wall is recessed. With the plinth in front and the lantern out, you will be unseen.” She pushed him into the deep and narrow space, and then disappeared into a similar alcove on the far side of the room by the draperies.
No sooner had she doused the lantern than the panel opened and three forms emerged from the inky depths.
One held a candle in a lamp for light, but its meagre flame only served to throw the men into deeper shadow.
“...faut pas partir.” She heard the last part of a sentence in her father’s voice. Was he telling the men they need not leave?
The response suggested this was so. “I believe we do, Cousin Benoit,” one of the men replied in French.
“Your help has been vital, your friendship more so. But I fear we are found out by those hostile to our cause. If all seems well, we will endeavour to send you a message by the usual means, but until then, you must return to being an unconcerned gentleman, ignorant of all matters outside of your estate and the cost of tobacco.”
“If you believe it best.”
“Oui, absolument! But the code machine, which we brought here at risk of our lives... You must secure it. Do you have such a place where it will remain safe, where they will not find it?”
There was a rustle of cloth. Papa must have nodded. “Oui. I can provide such a place. It will be secure.” He paused and breathed out a huff. “But the snow, Etienne... see how heavily it falls. Will you not stay one more night?”
“No, dear sir. This house is being watched and we might be found out at any time, and at risk to your family. The snow hides our steps and protects us. The place you have provided us is warm enough and safe; we will be well.”
“Very well.” Lizzy heard the worry and resignation war in her father’s voice. “But at least, let me recommend you use the other door, so you need not cross such an expanse of open lawn.”
The men agreed and after retrieving some strange objects from a sack hidden by the secret door by the window—could these be the snowshoes Mr. Darcy was talking about?
—they gave Papa a Gallic kiss on each cheek and slipped from the library into the main house where she imagined they would depart through the door Mr. Darcy had used.
Once more the library was plunged into thick silence, and Lizzy felt her heart’s every beat resonate through the space.
She counted to five, then ten, and still her father stood there in the centre of the room, a shadow draped in shadows.
Fifteen. Twenty. She heard the door from the drawing room rush open and then close once more, and at last Papa spoke.
“Darcy, you may come out now. You also, Lizzy. Enough with the children’s games.”
Elizabeth slid from her alcove and watched Mr. Darcy do the same on the other side of the room. His face was the colour of her father’s port wine.
“May I ask, sir, what you are doing with my daughter, at such a time of night as this, so very incompletely dressed?”
Mr. Darcy began to stammer out an excuse, but Lizzy interjected. “We might ask you the same, Papa. Who were those men? And what is happening up in the room above my own in the tower? We know about the machine, and what it does. Will you tell us, or must we resort to further conjecture?”