Chapter Thirty-Two #2
She could not explain the next afternoon why she took such care with her appearance.
It was no secret that women adorned themselves not for men but for other women.
Unless one’s hairstyle was gauchely out of fashion and unbecoming, or unless one’s gown hung in rags about one’s body or revealed far too much of it, it was a safe assumption that no gentleman would notice it at all.
Was her frock blue or white? Had it roses embroidered upon the bodice or the hem?
Were the sleeves long or short, or did her gloves match the dress or the pelisse?
Not one man in ten, no matter how well-intentioned, would be able to answer even one of those questions.
And a room full of soldiers, intent upon the discussion of a remarkable and very recent event in the annals of this endless war?
She doubted they would notice a thing, unless she appeared quite naked.
Still, she agonised over the perfect selection, choosing at last a pale blue gown that was neither too fine for discussions of military matters, nor too simple to express her honour at being included.
Likewise her hair was done up just so by her maid in a simple but becoming twist upon her head, with a few curled tendrils to soften the look, but no ribbons or flowers to make her seem too frivolous or silly for such an occasion.
When the carriage was ready, she allowed her father to hand her in, and they both sat in silence for the as the driver urged the two horses forward.
It was not until they had passed through the gates that marked the estate’s boundary that Lizzy dared ask, “What did Mama say? She seemed none too happy about my inclusion in this meeting but said not a word.”
Her father clucked his tongue. “She could not understand why you would be selected and not Jane, for Jane is far prettier, so she says. I cannot reveal to her, or to anybody, all that has transpired here, but at last she accepted that our French cousins might attend the dinner, and your French is better than Jane’s. That seemed to satisfy her.”
“Yes, that accords somewhat with what I told Jane. She was not disappointed, only curious, about my invitation. She asked if it was because the conversation might be in French, and I agreed. This will have to do, although I do wish there were somebody else with whom I might discuss this whole affair, if only to put my own thoughts in order.” She sighed but turned back to her father with a smile.
“Hopefully this evening’s conversation will provide some of what I desire. ”
Her Papa returned her glance with a strange expression and said no more.
Colonel Hastings himself was waiting outside the barracks when the Bennet carriage came to a stop.
Unlike the empty manor house that Colonel Forster used as his residence and offices, the Gloucestershire militia’s main buildings consisted of an old barn and stables that had been improved in the early days of the encampment and which now boasted a set of offices and meeting rooms, sleeping quarters for some of the senior officers, a large kitchen, indoor drill space for inclement weather, and a surprisingly comfortable and well-appointed set of rooms for the colonel himself.
It was into this suite that Lizzy and her father were led.
The colonel showed them into the sitting room and explained, “the dining room is through there, with the doorway to the kitchen, and my personal rooms are up the stairs where the loft used to be.” Lizzy stared at the space in some amazement.
The furnishings were simple, to be sure, and no prized paintings adorned the walls, but what was present was elegant and tasteful.
The floor was covered in a thick carpet that looked to have originated in the East, and the walls, which were white-painted plaster, boasted smaller tapestries and artefacts which must be mementos of the colonel’s adventures in lands she could scarcely imagine.
Embroidered and dyed cloths hung beside elaborate wooden masks and beaten copper plates.
The entire effect was most attractive and very masculine, and Lizzy wished she might ask about each of the artefacts that decorated the space.
Perhaps there would be time later; at the moment, there were introductions to be made.
Several of the seats in the sitting room were already occupied by a cadre of officers who had all leapt to their feet as the door swung open.
Some of these men Elizabeth had met or had seen around Meryton; others were complete strangers who had come down from London for this meeting.
As she scanned the room, Elizabeth counted eight officers in all, including Colonel Hastings She strove to recall their names and hoped she might apply the correct name to the appropriate officer!
“Please take a chair, Miss Elizabeth,” the colonel gestured to one close to the warm fire, and one young major—Major Pembroke, if she recalled correctly—in his brilliant scarlet coat moved to her side in an instant, offering his arm as he led her across the small space.
She grinned her thanks to him and watched as he blushed a red that rivalled that of his uniform.
“Cook has prepared for us a rather sumptuous dinner,” Colonel Hastings’ voice rang through the buzz of conversation, “but before we dine, I wish to recount the outcome of this remarkable affair. Furthermore, we are awaiting two further guests. I expect them momentarily. We shall take our dinner as civilised men—and women!” he added, “and shall refrain from further matters of business until after our meal.” Two more were expected then; they would then number twelve at dinner, a goodly number for an elegant repast.
Many of the men were sitting with glasses of wine or brandy at their tables and seemed happy to return to their previous conversations.
Three officers gathered at Elizabeth's side, asking if she would prefer elderberry wine, tea, or punch. Captain Albin was fair with a pink complexion and bright blue eyes in a handsome boyish face. His manners were pretty as he inquired as to her comfort and suggested adding a log to the fire, if she were cold, or perhaps moving her chair if she were too warm. At his side, Major Pembrook’s suave gestures bespoke a refined upbringing; it was not too many moments before she learned he was the younger son of a baron who moved in the first circles.
With his grey eyes and sandy hair, he was, in truth, the embodiment of an English nobleman.
The third of these young men was Captain Underhill, with deep brown eyes and a shy disposition that Lizzy could not help but like.
But none of them was the man she longed for in the depths of her heart.
Still, she smiled at their enthusiasm and laughed at their jokes and happily accepted their offers to bring her drink and cake.
“Mr. and Miss Bennet, fellow officers, please make yourselves comfortable.” Hastings called the group to order with the command of an experienced officer.
He offered the loyalty toast, the first toast of the evening, and then turned the conversation to the business at hand.
“Bennet, these men were with me in London as we engaged upon the next stage of our ploy to capture Stanton. Allow me to explain.”
So it had been Stanton to whom that article so obliquely referred.
Elizabeth sat at the edge of her chair, sipping her elderberry wine but hardly tasting it, as the colonel began his account.
“Regretfully, I must ask you never to divulge what has occurred here. For whilst we have captured this bird, there are others still in that dark sky and we would not have them learn of our ways.”
The ploy, Colonel Hastings went on to explain, had worked perfectly.
Having stolen the damaged code machine with the false discs, Stanton had nonetheless managed to repair the device enough to decypher the truncated message he had received, unaware that the message was false.
He had made contact with Hastings, as the message told him, and supplied the password, which allowed everyone to know that he was, indeed, the traitor they had thought him to be.
Believing Hastings to be a highly placed ally in his cause to betray England, Stanton had revealed a great deal of information, which allowed Hastings’ crew not only to seize Stanton, but several of his associates as well, including the three men who had attacked Mr. Darcy so many months before.
One of these had, indeed, been the officer serving in Colonel Forster’s regiment.
Whether it was coincidental that the assistant to the Prussian ambassador departed London in a great hurry the very next day went without additional comment.
“But why,” Lizzy’s voice broke the masculine rumble all about her, “did he do it? He had wealth and status, and a title even! What makes a man like that turn on his country?”
There was silence for a moment, then Colonel Hastings sighed.
“That he would not tell us, but we can make our guesses based on rumour. For some men, sadly, no amount of wealth or power is ever enough. The promise of more can lead them to do terrible things. He simply may have wished for the unimaginable wealth that selling the device to the Prussians would secure him.” He shook his head.
“We have heard rumours that he was offered a dukedom in France; why remain a mere baron when he might become a duke? His mother’s family was distantly related to the French king, and perhaps he sought to regain some of that glory.
There is also a faction even amongst our own peerage who fear for their rank.
They fear that England will follow in the path of the revolutionaries and will abolish the monarchy and nobility.
If Bonaparte succeeds and takes England, they believe their status will be more secure and especially so if they are known to support him. ”
“And Lord Stanton was one of these men? It seems difficult to believe that such should exist at all.” Lizzy fought to imagine the sort of choice that would lead a man to embrace such tyranny over the well-ordered life England had to offer.
“Still, he has been found out and stopped, and for that we must be thankful.”
“All of which is to say,” Hastings rocked back in his chair, one booted foot resting upon the opposite knee, “that the mission has been a resounding success, thanks in no small part to your willingness to house that machine, Bennet, and yours in helping to break the code, Miss Elizabeth. England owes the two of you a great debt.”
To Lizzy’s embarrassment, the officers broke into a round of applause, calling “Hear, hear!” and drinking toasts to her and her father.
The murmur of conversation resumed, and the three young officers, just a moment before sitting so smartly at attention, now resumed their fluttering around her, inquiring yet again if she was too hot or too cold or whether she wished for more wine or perhaps a cup of tea.
It was impossible not to be charmed by their doting, and she resolved to enjoy it without crossing that line between pleasantries and flirtation.
She should, she supposed, expect to become used to the attentions of young men again.
Although her exact role in this whole mysterious affair was not widely known, nor could it ever be, she prided herself on having been involved in something rather important and resolved to enjoy being the focus of such handsome young men as these.
So bemused was she with this unexpected flurry of attention that she almost failed to notice the door swing open once more, admitting yet another officer and another man.
The three young men who surrounded her blocked her view of these newcomers’ faces, but something about how the civilian man moved caused her to sit straight and strain her neck to see his face.
It was true. The officer, another colonel resplendent in white and gold and scarlet, was Richard Fitzwilliam, and the man at his side none other than the man of whom she had only now been thinking—Mr. Darcy!