Chapter 12
Darcy looked up as the butler opened the door to his study. “Mr. Cattermole to see you, sir.”
It was not a surprise, since he had already approved Cattermole’s admission by the gatekeeper.
The War Office had kept him waiting for weeks after he had sent his initial letter to them, while they continued to claim to have no idea why he had helped the French assassins.
At their orders, of course. Now, finally, they had sent Cattermole here in person, all the way from London, without even the courtesy of notifying him.
The long wait had not improved Darcy’s current view of the War Office.
Cattermole had lost weight since Darcy had seen him last, and new lines were graven deep on his face. With none of the normal pleasantries, he dived right in. “How did you manage to make it back? I could hardly believe it when I received your letter.”
“Good fortune, mostly,” Darcy said with deliberate vagueness, since he could not mention Cerridwen, the dragons in France, or the Gate.
And given that the War Office had denounced him, he was not inclined to help their representative.
“I am glad you came. There is a great deal I could not put in that letter. Some port for you?”
“I would be grateful for it.” Cattermole waited while Darcy poured two glasses and gave him one. He took a rapid swallow. “I want to hear about what happened to you.”
In a clipped voice, Darcy gave him a brief report of the events at the Tuileries Palace and his encounter with Napoleon, how the emperor had taken control of his thoughts and almost convinced Darcy to obey him, and the horrifying moment during the assassination attempt when Napoleon had escaped almost certain death by transforming into a falcon – just as any dragon would do.
Then Cattermole let out a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting towards the window. Darcy did not need to see his condescending smile to realize what he was thinking, especially after Bingley’s warning. He had hoped his friend had simply not been told the truth, but Bingley was right.
“You do not believe me, do you?” Darcy’s stomach churned. After all he had been through, could the War Office be ignoring what he had learned?
Cattermole licked his lips. “I am certain you are reporting what you experienced, but surely you must agree that if Napoleon were a dragon, someone would have noticed it long ago. And you admit that he somehow interfered with your mind – and perhaps your perceptions, too. You are not the only illusion-caster in the world.”
“People have noticed,” Darcy said angrily.
“They noticed that he had preternatural knowledge of how the enemy was arrayed on the battlefield, but they did not know he could transform into a bird. They noticed he had the odd ability to change the minds of his opponents, to turn them into supporters in a single conversation, and they thought it was mere charisma. I was there, and I saw him transform – and that is why Napoleon is so desperate to capture me. Because I know his secret. And you do not even believe it!”
Cattermole brushed away his objections. “He wants to catch you to save his own reputation. People know how close you came, and you burned half his glorious palace.” He looked away again, then set his chin and turned back to Darcy.
“You know, I am certain, of the grave danger we are in. He is already preparing his invasion, and we can do nothing to stop it.”
Did the man even realize how insulting he was being? “It is bleak, without question, but Lady Amelia spoke to me about defenses her dragon could offer. Surely that will be worth something.”
He snorted. “She talks a grand story, but what can one dragon – one who refuses to fight, at that – do to stop Napoleon’s armies?
I fear it is hopeless, and all we can do is placate the bastard as best we can, in the hope that he will not take his revenge for the assassination attempt by a bloodbath of Englishmen – as he is currently threatening to do. ”
Darcy dug his fingertips into the arm of his chair.
“If you are looking for my forgiveness for having denounced me and my efforts, you are wasting your breath. You begged me to go on this mission, knowing it would likely kill me. I knew you could never recognize my efforts, but to blame me for the entire thing?”
Cattermole drained his glass. “You are right, of course. The War Office made a dishonorable choice, because we decided the safety of England was worth more than our honor – and more than your good name. I am sorry for that.”
“And even now, you asked me to give you a report.”
“I do not deny doing anything I can to help my country.”
Darcy pushed his chair back. Enough was enough. “You will have to forgive me for believing I risked rather more to help Britain than you have. I do not think we have anything further to say to each other.”
Cattermole slowly rose to his feet. “I will go, but first I must tell you one more thing. Napoleon has agreed that if we turn you over to him, he will be merciful when he invades. We desperately need that mercy.” He pulled out a folded paper from his portfolio. “This is a warrant for your arrest.”
Darcy stared at him, aghast. “You took Napoleon’s word for that? You are a much greater fool than I thought.” The French Emperor would not change his plans one jot, regardless of whether they did as he said.
“We must steal whatever bit of hope we can,” Cattermole said evenly. “And now you must come with me.” He waved the paper.
“You cannot do that. I will expose all of you. Tell the entire story, show Napoleon that the War Office was behind the whole thing.” It would be a relief to do so, to clear his name.
“How?” Cattermole asked acidly. “We were careful not to put anything in writing, apart from coded letters which are easily explained. The only people who spoke with us directly, who know for certain we were involved, are your mother and your friend, Bingley. Lady Anne has already been named as your co-conspirator, and Bingley knows he will be arrested for treason if he says a word. Anyone else you told – it is merely your word against ours, and we can discredit them as speaking out of friendship.”
It could not be true. Surely, he would have other defenders.
His uncle, the Earl of Matlock… but no. Matlock would not risk his position in the government over this.
All his French contacts who took orders from the War Office were dead.
He had burned the French identity papers the War Office had given him when he fled Paris.
Had they planned this all along? Set him up to take the blame for their actions?
Darcy tasted bile in the back of this throat as the temper he had struggled to control broke through. “No,” he said savagely. “I will not. I sacrificed myself for my country once, and in return you betrayed me. I cannot believe you have the gall to ask this of me.”
“Darcy, listen to me.” Cattermole dropped his voice to barely a whisper.
“I know you do not deserve this. That is why I came here alone. I cannot force you to come with me. It will take a week for the War Office to send a troop of men to enforce this. If you are not here when they arrive, there is nothing they can do.” His tone was almost pleading.
How dare Cattermole hold this out as if it were generosity! Fleeing would lead to him being named a traitor. Pemberley would be taken by the Crown, and little Jenny disinherited. Fury choked him. He would not go along with this. He would not.
And then he realized that he still had a choice.
“Permit me to show you why you are wrong,” he snapped. Taking Cattermole by the arm, he led him up the stairs and into the ballroom, where Coquelicot was hovering over a woman with a splinted arm.
Cattermole made a gurgling sound of disbelief and tried to pull away, but Darcy would not let him. “You have a dragon here? Damn you, Darcy!”
The great ruby dragon turned his way. Little One, how good to see you! What is the matter, that you scowl so fiercely?
His anger was too unmanageable for a sending.
“Coquelicot, this is Cattermole of the British government. He sent me to help the men trying to kill Napoleon. Now he is here to arrest me for doing that. He wants to give me back to Napoleon for punishment.” And once he had thought Cattermole an honorable man.
Coquelicot’s aura flushed through confusion, disbelief, and then settled on annoyance. “I am sorry, Cattermole of the British government, but I cannot permit you to do that. This man is mine, and I will not let you take him. He has important work to do.”
Cattermole’s mouth opened and closed twice before a word came out. “He must go, or all of England may suffer.”
“That is not my problem. Your behavior reflects badly on your British government,” she said, like a schoolteacher chastising a misbehaving child.
Then Darcy felt her presence in his head, sorting through his memories of his meeting with Cattermole.
Do not fret, Little One. I will take care of him. Her voice in his mind was soothing, but nothing would calm him. Not now, not after all he had suffered in France.
Instead he snapped, “He is threatening to send soldiers to drag me away, though I have told him that will not work.”
The scales of her chest rippled with amusement. “It most certainly will not. They will not get past the wards. Even if they managed that, would they walk through the wall of fire I would create? No, little mortal, stop wasting our time.”
“No Englishman can defy the government!” Cattermole finally managed to say.
“After what you have done to me? You will be surprised,” Darcy snarled. “And we all know this government’s days are numbered.”
Footsteps sounded behind him. It was Elizabeth, breathing fast as if she had been running, her hands bunched in her skirt. “What is wrong?”
Coquelicot must have sent for her.