Chapter 4 #2
"I shall be the judge of that." She moved toward the stairwell before propriety could intervene.
It was an act that would have appalled her mother and delighted her father, and she was aware, with a sharpness that did not slow her steps, that no lady of her acquaintance would have followed a gentleman to his private rooms. But the question of what lay beneath that cloth was louder than the question of what Mrs. Bennet would say, and Elizabeth had always preferred the louder question.
She moved up the narrow stairwell.
Darcy had no choice but to lead her into the loft.
He had been careful to cover the main river chart with a heavy cloth, and the dispatch had been burned, but the room still felt like a confession.
The dividers were still on the table, the compass was open, and several smaller sketches of the shoreline were scattered among the ledgers.
Elizabeth walked to the center of the room, her gaze taking in the details that most would have missed.
"You have a very organized mind, Mr. Darcy," she said.
"I find it necessary for my work."
"Indeed." She paused before the large, covered shape on the table. "And this is the masterpiece? The grand survey of the Mississippi?"
"It is a draft," Darcy said, his pulse quickening. "Nothing more."
He went to the table to adjust the cloth, but as he did, a corner of the vellum slipped from beneath the fabric.
It was enough to reveal a section of the river near the mouth, the soundings drawn with an exactness that far exceeded the requirements of a merchant.
The notations were in a precise script, indicating the position of existing fortifications.
Elizabeth leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied the exposed section.
She did not speak for a long time. Darcy stood frozen, his hand still on the cloth, the silence in the room thick with the unspoken implications of what she was seeing.
Her mind moved quickly to the most obvious explanation.
A man of wealth, mapping the lower reaches of a river that would soon be the artery of an American state—it was plain enough.
He was a speculator. The fine coat, the false modesty about commerce, the careful study of depth and distance: all the apparatus of a gentleman who intended to buy land before the government knew its own price.
She felt a small, contemptuous satisfaction in having solved him so easily.
He was not mysterious. He was merely greedy.
"You have been occupied, Mr. Darcy," she murmured.
"I have a great deal of ground to cover."
"Ground? Or water?" She looked up at him, and for a moment, the social performance was entirely gone.
"This is not a merchant's chart. This is a work of great labor.
My father has shared surveys with me from the French engineers; even they did not show this level of detail regarding the batteries at the Balize. "
"I am interested in the safety of our shipping," Darcy said.
"Safety of shipping is a noble goal. But I wonder if the safety of the city is also on your mind." She turned toward the door, her skirts rustling against the floorboards. "I believe I can find my way home from here. The Marigny is not far, and the moon is rising."
"Miss Bennet—"
"Good evening, Mr. Darcy. I hope you find whatever it is you are looking for in the mud. Just be careful that you do not lose yourself in the process."
She was gone before he could respond, her footsteps light on the stairs.
Darcy stood alone in the map room, the exposed corner of the vellum mocking him.
He had sought to investigate her, but in a single moment of carelessness, he had given her the means to investigate him.
The suspicion that had been ordered by London was now a two-edged sword.
He sat down at the table and pulled the cloth back, revealing the full extent of his work.
The river was still there, a serpent of ink and shadow, but it no longer seemed like a strategic problem to be solved.
It was a mirror, reflecting a man who was increasingly divided against himself, trapped between the requirements of his country and the realization that the woman he was ordered to watch was the only person in this city who truly saw him.
The night deepened, and the heat remained, but the loft felt cold. Darcy picked up his pen, but for the first time since he had arrived in New Orleans, his hand was not steady. The map was incomplete, and he feared that the most important features were the ones he had yet to discover.
He would have to follow the orders. He would have to watch the Bennets and determine their allegiances.
He would have to treat her as a subject of inquiry, even as his mind kept returning to the way the candlelight had caught the intelligence in her eyes.
As the first hints of dawn greyed the sky above the levee, Darcy finally set aside his pen.
He had not slept, yet he did not feel tired.
Instead, he felt a strange sense of anticipation.
He walked to the window and threw back the shutters.
The city was waking up, the early morning mist clinging to the water.
Somewhere in the Marigny, Elizabeth was waking too, and Darcy knew that the next time they met, there would be no talk of sugar or cotton.
The map room had served its purpose, but the real work was only just beginning.