Chapter 13
The inn’s small parlor buzzed with quiet conversation as Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth arrived the following day to find Darcy and Richard seated at a round table covered with charts and maps.
Late afternoon sunlight streamed through diamond-paned windows, illuminating the careful spread of documents that spoke of serious planning.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said warmly as they entered. “You look much improved.”
Darcy rose from his chair, his color better, though he still moved with the careful deliberation of someone recently recovered from illness. “Miss Bennet, Mr. Bennet. Your kindness yesterday was…” He searched for adequate words. “I am deeply grateful.”
“Anyone would have done the same, so enough with that.” Mr. Bennet indicated the table. “I confess myself curious about these maps you have spread before you like battle plans.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam gestured to the chairs across from them. “We were examining our route to Rome and discussing the clue Professor Drye provided. Perhaps you might offer your insights.”
Darcy held out the chair next to him for Elizabeth.
There was no look of repugnance or offense when she accepted.
For that, he was pleased―a small but important victory.
Once they settled themselves, he produced the parchment fragment and read aloud: “Where the eagle’s shadow falls upon the seven hills, seek the scholar who fled with flame-touched scrolls.
In the house of law, wisdom sleeps beneath marble feet. ”
Elizabeth leaned forward, studying the ancient text. “The seven hills mean the Eternal City, but the eagle’s shadow…”
Mr. Bennet mused. “There are statues throughout the city, monuments to various emperors and victories. Which one? I do not know.”
“The scholar who fled with flame-touched scrolls,” Darcy continued, tracing the words with his finger. “This could be anyone who escaped Alexandria with scrolls. An unnamed servant. A zealous student.”
“Or possibly someone of note whose name is recorded somewhere we have not yet found,” Elizabeth offered.
Richard nodded. “Hidden in the house of law. Darcy and I discussed this the night before we departed. The Forum? Though what lies beneath marble feet…” He spread his hands in a gesture of uncertainty.
“We shall have to examine the clues more closely once we reach Rome,” Mr. Bennet concluded. “I regret that I have no personal knowledge of Roman architecture to guide us. Have you been to Italy, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy shook his head. “I had planned a Grand Tour after university, but my father died when I was two and twenty, and the responsibilities of Pemberley called me home. Moreover, with Bonaparte’s forces controlling much of the continent, such travel became impossible.”
Mr. Bennet grew still. “My own father passed when I was even younger than you were. I inherited Longbourn at twenty, married soon after, and then…” His voice was wistful. “Children came. Responsibilities multiplied. The opportunity never arose.”
Did Elizabeth’s father regret the family obligations that had prevented his scholarly pursuits? If he did harbor such regrets, how might that affect his feelings toward the family that constrained him?
“The demands of estate management can be overwhelming, particularly when inherited young and without proper preparation,” Darcy said.
“Yet, like me, you were able to arrange for this expedition. I have heard of Pemberley, young man, and your property is known to be vast, certainly much more expansive than Longbourn. How were you able to leave your duties behind to take this trip?”
“I have surrounded myself with honest workers to act on my behalf. My steward has been with the family for ten years and my man of business even longer. They understand my methods and are authorized to make decisions in my absence. I have confidence in both men. This is how I was able to spend six weeks in Hertfordshire last autumn.”
Mr. Bennet absorbed the information. “A wise strategy―one I should have employed myself.”
The conversation might have continued in this uncomfortable vein, but Richard said with obvious concern.
“There is another urgent matter we must discuss. Professor Drye informed us that Lord Burton’s invitation, along with the first clue, has fallen into the possession of George Wickham. I understand you know the man.”
Elizabeth straightened in her chair. Defensive. “Mr. Wickham? Surely this should not concern us! He is an honorable gentleman who has been grievously wronged by…” Her attention flicked to Mr. Darcy. “He has suffered great injustice.”
Her defense of Wickham’s character struck Darcy like a strong kick, but he breathed through it and said nothing.
Richard, bless him, handled the delicate situation with his natural sense of right and wrong.
“Appearances can be deeply deceiving, Miss Bennet,” he said with gravity that demanded attention.
“I say this not to contradict your good opinion but to warn you that this expedition may prove more dangerous than any of us anticipated.”
“But Mr. Wickham is―” Elizabeth began.
“Is someone we shall need to watch,” Richard said gently but firmly. “I can say no more at present, but I ask that you trust my judgment in this matter even if you cannot understand my reasons.”
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken questions.
Every instinct urged Darcy to explain the truth about the scoundrel’s nature.
Unfortunately, rather than convince her of Wickham’s dishonesty, such revelations would be more likely to reinforce Elizabeth’s mistaken belief that Darcy was vindictive.
Mr. Bennet broke the tension by consulting his timepiece. “We should return to the Mary Catherine soon. Captain Morrison plans to depart with tomorrow’s tide.”
“The Meridian needs one day longer to offload her cargo.” Darcy rose from his chair. “We will meet again in Gibraltar.”
Elizabeth stood as well and smoothed her skirts as she prepared to take their leave. “I hope your passage proves more comfortable than the last, Mr. Darcy. Seasickness is a miserable affliction.”
“As do I.” Darcy took heart that her tone was more than merely polite. “I hope the Mediterranean will prove calmer than the Channel waters and the Atlantic that so thoroughly defeated me.”
“Quite,” Mr. Bennet replied.
When they gathered their belongings and prepared to part ways, Richard raised his hand in farewell. “Fair winds and smooth sailing to you both. Until Gibraltar.”
“And to you,” Mr. Bennet responded with a wave of his own. “May we all arrive safely at our next destination.”
As Elizabeth and her father made their way back toward the harbor, Darcy stared at her retreating figure through the window. He was already counting the days until he would see her again.
On the bow of the Henry Sr., George Wickham observed as the coastline of Portugal and then Spain slid past in the morning haze. The ship was making excellent time from London to Gibraltar, putting Wickham there well ahead of Darcy.
His lips curved in a cold smile as he contemplated the beauty of his strategy.
Let his nemesis do the difficult work of solving puzzles and deciphering clues.
During these days at sea, Wickham had learned patience, which was bound to serve him well.
Once he secured his fortune from this quest, he intended to return to London in style and then act to secure his future permanently.
There were too many ways to spend gold. What he needed was a continuous source of wealth and position.
Sweet Georgiana Darcy, with her thirty thousand pounds and her trusting nature, offered that lifelong security.
Wickham would complete the plan that had been rudely interrupted at Ramsgate.
His smile widened at the thought of the na?ve girl who had nearly run away with him almost a year ago.
She had been so easy to charm into believing his claims of love and his tales of ill-treatment at her brother’s instigation.
Just like Elizabeth Bennet. Wickham knew his strengths. He would seek out Miss Elizabeth and charm her into becoming his ally on this quest, using her dislike of Darcy to his advantage.
Rubbing his palms together, he reveled in his plans. Accidents could be easily arranged in foreign ports. It would be a shame if something happened to Darcy and the colonel, leaving Miss Darcy to inherit Pemberley.
Yes, poor Miss Darcy! He was the perfect man who could comfort her in her grief. And Miss Elizabeth could comfort and soothe him on the return trip home.
The next morning, Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the inn’s small parlor and found Darcy again studying their charts. Richard settled into the chair across from him, his notebook filled with observations from the morning’s intelligence gathering.
“Well?” Darcy asked, setting aside his maps. “What did you discover about the conditions ahead?”
Richard consulted his notes, organizing the information he had gathered from conversations with Portuguese fishermen, the few British naval officers he encountered, and local merchants.
“The French are more active than Colonel Sir David Buckworth at the War Office indicated. Five separate fishing captains reported encounters with French patrols between here and Gibraltar, all within the past month.”
“Hostile encounters?”
“Aggressive questioning about British shipping schedules and cargo manifests. The French are monitoring our supply lines more closely than our intelligence suggested.” Richard turned a page in his notebook.
“More concerning, there have been at least two documented attacks on British merchant vessels in the past six weeks, and both were flying flags of convenience to avoid confrontation.”
Darcy absorbed the implications. “What of piracy?”