Chapter Twenty-Six
A Tale is Told
The remainder of the interview was conducted in far more comfortable circumstances.
Bidding Lizzy and Mr. Darcy follow him, Papa led them down the main hallway that ran through the centre of the house and thence to his study.
Lizzy had been in this room countless times before, but never had she been led to the large leather wing-back chairs that flanked the fireplace.
Her habitual realm was the chair by Papa’s desk or the small settee by the window where she might read by the sun’s light.
Seen from this angle and in the darkness of night, the well-loved study took on an unfamiliar air.
The scent of the leather flavoured the air and combined with the lingering smell of smoke from the fireplace and a trace of brandy from the decanter on a low table by the mantel.
As Papa walked over and pulled out the stopper, the scent of the alcohol grew stronger.
She had tasted brandy once and had not enjoyed it, but the aroma was not unpleasant.
When she refused a glass, Papa poured her a small amount of Port instead, which he knew she enjoyed.
The three toasted each other, and she took a small sip from her crystal glass, peering first at the deep red-brown colour of the liquid, then at the flame that burned in the lamp, and then around the room once more.
The columns of books, stacked in their dark shelves seemed to stand sentry around them, giving the meeting an aura of clandestine conspiracy.
Which, she realised with a start, this was!
“I believe you owe me an explanation, you two.” Papa was not one for small talk when he had a purpose in mind. “And I am eager to hear it. Proceed.”
“I might say likewise,” Mr. Darcy replied, “since to my eyes you are aiding and abetting French spies in the application of their duties. But I believe you to be an honest Englishman, and I have seen how well you keep a secret. Therefore, I shall tell my tale.” He took a sip of his brandy before continuing.
“I had not related the entirety of the story before now, for fear of betraying a trust that I now believe was unwarranted.” Lizzy shivered, realising that she had been honoured with this information as few others were.
She counted herself, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and possibly Colonel Hastings as the only people in Meryton who knew the true origins of Mr. Darcy’s injuries.
She sat rapt as Mr. Darcy told Papa about the attack he had suffered and his fortuitous rescue by Raymond Fynch, now Lord Stanton.
He pointed to one of Papa’s shelves, where a richly bound copy of Fynch’s Treatise on Ornithology and Natural Sightings of Birds by Raymond Orville Fynch stood proudly at attention.
“You mean the bird man is a baron?” Papa guffawed into his brandy. “Whoever would have believed that? And moreover, whoever would have believed that a baron would lower himself to drawing birds? Ah, the youth of today!”
“Please, sir, I must defend the man, in this if in nothing else. His interest in the natural world long predates taking up the barony, for it was to go to an uncle who, sadly, died childless. He told me he always had a pencil in hand, even as a child, and enjoyed sketching the birds at his father’s estate until his sister’s drawing master noticed his skill.
He studied under Sartorius and Constable, if I recall correctly.
He is quite skilled, and ought to be lauded for his works and not derided. ”
Papa laughed through his nose. “Your loyalty does you credit, young man. And what of you, Darcy? I have caught you eyeing the paintings in the parlour with more than a detached eye.”
“I draw a bit,” was all that Mr. Darcy said, and Papa let the topic drop.
Eventually Mr. Darcy reached the place in his narrative where Lord Stanton had suggested recuperating from his injuries at Bingley’s estate in Meryton, where he hoped Mr. Darcy might be prevailed upon to discover the truth of the rumours concerning Frenchmen and an encoding device.
“I was supposed to find the machine and draw the mechanics of it to the very best of my abilities,” Darcy explained, “and forward them on to him, where he might then send them to his superiors in the Home Office.”
Papa’s greying brows rose on his forehead. “And did Lord Stanton mention who these superiors were? Or did he mention that he worked for the Home Office specifically?”
Darcy furrowed his brow. “In truth, I cannot recall. He certainly led me to believe that he was an agent of theirs, but my injuries were fresh and my thoughts still not completely clear. I may have forgotten, or he may have let me assume.”
“Well, never mind, lad. If he intended you to draw the inner workings of this machine, you must be more skilled than merely ‘drawing a bit.’ Now that you’ve found us out, what do you intend to do?”
Mr. Darcy straightened in his chair. “I might ask you that same question. Indeed, I have another for you, the answer to which might quite change all of your plans.”
Papa shot Mr. Darcy a glance over the rim of his spectacles.
He spoke not a word, but his intent was quite clear.
Mr. Darcy continued, “How much, exactly, have you learned?
I seem to have earned the confidence of two men who know something of this matter, one being Colonel Hastings and the other being my own cousin.
If they can put their faith in me, I can assure you that you can do likewise.
“And I am to believe you, sir?” There was scorn and wariness in Papa’s tones.
“I would be honoured if you would but will not hold it against you if you do not. However, I will trust you enough to let you know that we have broken the cypher of the machine.”
“What? That cannot be!” Papa leapt to his feet.
“The code is quite unbreakable, and the machine itself quite destroyed beyond use. With its manifold layers—” He stopped.
“You have caught me out, and I have revealed much of my hand. Yes, very well. Etienne has told me much about the workings of the machine, how it reveals a code, which in turn is used to decrypt messages. But without the device in working order, the code can never be found.”
“We have a working machine.” Mr. Darcy’s words seemed to strike Papa as if they were pellets.
“But that’s impossible! I was upstairs. I saw the machine only minutes ago, and neither Etienne nor Jean-Luc have been able to manage to repair it at all. There are only three of these in existence: One is in Paris, one is with the Maréchal, and the last is here, in its damaged and useless form.”
“No, Papa, you are mistaken!” Elizabeth glanced over at Mr. Darcy, who nodded his approval before she continued. “We have made another, an exact duplicate of the one here at Longbourn, with the difference being that ours works. We have found the code and decyphered the message.”
“Explain, sir.” Papa commanded his guest, and Mr. Darcy obeyed.
He spoke vaguely of his cousin’s position in the army, of his involvement in discovering the plot, and of their efforts to find the code.
He did not mention Mr. Mendel’s name, allowing Papa to believe that a military mechanic rebuilt the machine.
“This was done from your drawings? And you claim to ‘draw a bit.’ Hah!”
“Using the code word, we then uncovered the means of encryption of the message which my cousin has in his possession. He has not seen fit to tell me whence he received the missive, and I was too wise to ask, for even he has his secrets which he may not reveal.”
“Then what of the machine upstairs? It is, perhaps, a millstone rather than an asset now, for if it is found by the wrong people...”
“You will be in grave danger. Yes.” The word hung in the air.
He took a sip of his brandy and asked a question on a different subject.
“I shall assume, perhaps erroneously, that this exercise here is sanctioned by His Majesty’s government.
” Papa said nothing and stared into the middle distance with a mild expression.
Mr. Darcy let out a puff of exasperation.
“I shall assume this to be so, for nothing else explains the presence of two units of militia camped on your doorstep. One is unremarkable, but two... the excuses of the terrain and the ability to engage in joint manoeuvres are only convincing to a point. I believe the units are here to protect you... and your French associates.”
Again, Papa said nothing, but his eyes danced.
Lizzy knew from a lifetime of experience that her father was now enjoying himself, since he held the knowledge which his guest wished to learn.
That he was pleased with his opponent, she knew for certain.
She almost expected him to rise and ruffle Mr. Darcy’s hair and call him a good boy.
Just as surely, she could see that Mr. Darcy was losing his patience.
He was not pleased with being teased, and he wanted information.
She huffed in a very unladylike manner and demanded, “Papa, will you please tell us what has been going on here? We have told you our news; now we deserve to hear yours.”
Her father nodded once and took a deep breath as he gazed at the ceiling. When he returned his regard towards her and Mr. Darcy, his eyes had lost all of their mirth.
“Very well. I shall reveal some of what I know. You are both intelligent enough and wise enough, I believe, to keep your counsel amongst those who do not know. Your mother, for example...” he tightened his lips.
Lizzy nodded and saw Mr. Darcy do likewise.
Papa continued, “These Frenchmen are my cousins.
“You may not know, Lizzy, that your grandfather, my father, was French.” She squirmed in her chair. This was most unexpected! She glanced over to Mr. Darcy, who was nodding.
“My family, too,” he whispered. “The D’arcy family as they were once known.”