Chapter 8
The transition of a territory to a state is an event of significant noise and remarkably little redirection in the habits of those who inhabit it.
In the final days of April, the city of New Orleans concerned itself less with the lofty ideals of Republicanism and more with the rising height of the Mississippi.
The river, a brown and swollen creature of immense lethargy, pressed against the levees with the force of half a continent.
It was upon this earthen ridge that the society of the city gathered in the evenings, seeking whatever breeze might be coaxed from the water to mitigate the humid heaviness of the air.
Mr. Darcy found the scene both fascinating and repellent.
There was a lack of order in the American character that grated upon his sensibilities, yet he could not deny the vitality of the place.
He walked several paces behind Mr. Bennet and Miss Elizabeth, his role as an interested guest of the city providing a convenient mask for his observations.
""Is it not a grand thing, Lizzy, to be present at the birth of a state?""
Mr. Bennet spoke without turning.
"It is certainly a very loud thing, Papa. I should think the citizens would be more concerned with the water than the flag."
"The Americans believe they may legislate against the elements, my dear. If they vote with sufficient conviction, perhaps the river will agree to stay within its banks."
Mr. Darcy stepped forward to walk beside them.
"The engineering of the levee is surprisingly robust for such a young government."
"Is that the opinion of a gentleman or an engineer, "Mr. Darcy?""
Elizabeth looked at him with that arch expression he had come to expect.
"It is the opinion of a man who prefers his boots to remain dry, Miss Bennet."
"We are all of that party."
The group paused to watch a flatboat work its way against the current. It was loaded with barrels of sugar, the dark, sweet scent of the cargo drifting over the embankment. This was the true sovereign of the region. The Republic of Sugar demanded more loyalty than any president or king.
"I am told the formal transition takes place on the thirtieth," Darcy said.
"Indeed. Governor Claiborne is quite busy preparing his speech. He has invited us to witness the ceremony, though I suspect he mostly wishes for me to verify that the British are not hiding in the bushes to snatch the territory back at the last moment."
Mr. Bennet chuckled.
Mr. Darcy remained silent. The irony of the statement was not lost on him, nor was the reality of his own position.
He was precisely the man in the bushes, though his dress was better suited for a drawing room.
His mind was occupied by the report he must soon finalize for the General.
The British Admiralty required an assessment of the American defenses, the loyalty of the French-speaking population, and the feasibility of a landing.
They reached a point where the levee broadened.
A few yards away, Thomas was engaged in an earnest conversation with Cécile.
The young man's hat was in his hand, and his posture suggested a degree of agitation that Darcy found worrying.
Cécile, by contrast, stood with the stillness of a statue, her gaze fixed on the river.
"It appears your companion is much occupied, Mr. Darcy."
Elizabeth's voice was soft, intended only for his ears.
"Mr. Thomas is prone to enthusiasms."
"Is that what you call it? I should have termed it something far more permanent."
"Permanency is a dangerous luxury in our current situation."
"You speak as though we are on the precipice of a great change."
"Are we not? The territory becomes a state. The map is redrawn."
"Maps are easily changed, Miss Bennet. It is the people who are stubborn."
They watched as Thomas took a step toward Cécile. He spoke a few words that were lost to the wind, but the intent was clear. He reached out as if to take her hand, then hesitated.
"He is a good man," Darcy said.
"He is an honest man. That is often more difficult."
"Do you suggest that honesty and goodness are at odds?"
"I suggest that it is difficult to be honest when one's heart and one's duty pull in opposite directions."
Elizabeth turned her gaze back to the river.
He looked at the girl beside him, her silhouette dark against the silver reflected on the water.
She was the very image of the life he was tasked with undermining.
If he succeeded in his mission, if the British fleet sailed up this river, the peace of her evening walks would be shattered.
The Republic of Sugar would be a Republic of Blood.
"I must return to my quarters," Darcy said abruptly.
"So soon? The sun has only just begun its descent."
Mr. Bennet turned.
"I have correspondence that cannot wait, sir."
"Ah, the burden of a man of consequence. Go then, Darcy. We shall see you at dinner."
Darcy bowed and departed, signaling for Thomas to follow. The younger man joined him a moment later. They walked in silence away from the levee and back toward the city. The streets were narrow, the houses crowded together with their iron balconies leaning over the pavement.
"I have done it," Thomas said when they were out of earshot of the crowds.
"Done what?"
"I have asked her. I have asked Cécile to marry me."
Darcy stopped.
"You are a British officer on active duty in a foreign territory that is about to become a state of a nation we may soon be at war with."
"I am aware of my rank."
"And what did she say?"
"She asked me if I was prepared to stay."
"And are you?"
Thomas looked at the cobblestones.
"I told her I would follow my orders."
"Then you have not asked her to marry you; you have asked her to wait for your disappearance."
"She deserves better than a man who hides behind his commission."
"She deserves a man who knows where he belongs."
"Do you know where you belong, Darcy?"
The question was asked with a boldness that Thomas rarely displayed. Irritation flickered, followed by a hollow coldness.
"I belong to the Crown."
"Is that why you spend your evenings walking with Miss Bennet? Does the Crown require you to discuss the height of the river with a young lady from Hertfordshire?"
Darcy resumed walking.
"My reasons are my own."
The house where they were lodged loomed ahead.
Darcy went directly to his study. The room was small and smelled of old paper and the damp rot that plagued every building in the city.
He lit a single candle and sat at the desk.
Before him lay the draft of his report. It was a precise document, detailing the number of American regulars at Fort St. Philip, the lack of coordination among the local militia, and the deep-seated resentment some Creoles felt toward the American administration.
If the General read this report, he would conclude that New Orleans was a fruit ripe for the picking. A swift expedition, supported by the fleet, would meet with minimal resistance. The British could secure the mouth of the Mississippi and choke the American interior.
Darcy picked up his pen. He looked at the words he had written. He thought of the levee, of Mr. Bennet's dry wit, and of Elizabeth's arch smile. He thought of Thomas and Cécile.
He wrote a new page.
The American forces, he wrote, are far more numerous than previously estimated.
He described a dedicated militia of ten thousand men, all sharpshooters from the frontier.
He wrote of the impenetrable swamps that rendered any approach from the lake impossible.
He exaggerated the loyalty of the French population, claiming they had embraced the new statehood with a fervor that bordered on the religious.
He was sabotaging his own work. He was lying to his superiors. It was an act of treason, or perhaps an act of preservation. If the British believed the cost was too high, they would delay. They would look elsewhere. The Republic of Sugar would remain at peace.
He stayed at his desk until the candle burned low. He worked with a grim intensity, rewriting every observation until the formidable defenses of New Orleans existed only on the paper before him. He did not ask himself why he was doing it. To do so would be to admit a weakness he could not afford.
When he finally finished, his fingers were stained with ink. He folded the papers and sealed them with wax. The report was a fiction, a mirror of the mask he wore every day.
"Is the correspondence finished?"
Thomas stood in the doorway. He looked tired.
"It is."
"Shall I see that it is sent to the coast?"
"Yes. Make sure the courier is reliable."
Thomas took the packet.
"Is this the truth of our situation, Darcy?"
"It is the truth that is required."
Darcy watched him go. He was alone in the small room.
The humidity seemed to have increased, pressing in on him.
He walked to the window and looked out at the city.
Far off, he could hear the sound of a fiddle and the faint cheers of a crowd.
They were celebrating their new state. They were an unruly, disorganized, and beautiful people, and he had just given them a few more months of sunshine.
He thought of Elizabeth Bennet. He wondered if she would ever know the price of her safety, or if she would simply continue to walk the levee and mock his seriousness. He suspected the latter. It was a thought that brought him more comfort than it should have.
The following morning, the reality of the new state was evident only in the hangovers of the citizens and a few additional notices in the newspapers.
Darcy returned to his routine of observations and walks.
The tension between Thomas and Cécile remained, a quiet drama played out in glances and sighs.
"I have been thinking," Thomas said as they sat at breakfast.
"A dangerous occupation."
"I have been thinking that if there is to be no war, I might sell my commission."
You would give up your career for a woman you have known for a few months?
I would give it up for a life I truly wish to live.
Darcy looked at his tea.
"The report has been sent. We must wait for the reply."
"Do you think they will believe it?"
"They have no reason not to. I am their most trusted observer in the region."
The irony of the statement was a bitter thing.
"We are both living a lie, Darcy."
"Most people are, Thomas. Some of us are just more aware of the craftsmanship of the mask."
Darcy left the table and went to find the Bennets. They were preparing for an excursion to one of the nearby plantations. It was to be a celebration of the new statehood, hosted by one of the wealthy Creole families.
"It will be a very grand affair," Elizabeth said as they prepared to depart. "There will be music and dancing, and more food than any human being should consume in a week."
"I shall do my best to maintain my composure."
"I hope you will do nothing of the sort. It is a party, Mr. Darcy, not a court-martial."
"I have always found the two to be remarkably similar."
"You are incorrigible."
The carriage ride took them through the flat, green countryside. The fields were filled with the tall stalks of sugar cane, waving in the breeze. This was the source of the wealth, the engine of the city, and the reason so many people were willing to fight for this patch of mud.
When they arrived at the plantation, the house was a large, white building with a wide gallery and many windows. It sat among a grove of ancient oaks, their branches draped with long strands of grey moss. The effect was both beautiful and melancholy.
"Welcome to the Republic of Sugar," Mr. Bennet said as he stepped from the carriage.
"It is quite impressive," Darcy admitted.
The host, a man of advanced years and impeccable manners, greeted them with a warmth that was genuine. He spoke of the future of Louisiana with a confidence that Darcy found both admirable and unsettling. This man believed in the new state. He believed in the protection of the American government.
As the evening progressed, Darcy found himself dancing with Elizabeth. It was a spirited dance, different from the formal minuets of England. The music was lively, a blend of different traditions that mirrored the city itself.
"You are dancing quite well for a man who is at a court-martial," Elizabeth said.
"I am adapting to my surroundings."
"Is that what you are doing? I thought perhaps you were finally enjoying yourself."
"Perhaps the two are not mutually exclusive."
The dance ended, and they walked out onto the gallery to escape the heat of the room. The air was filled with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the damp earth.
"It is a beautiful place," Elizabeth said, looking out over the fields.
It is.
"I can see why people would do anything to keep it."
Darcy followed her gaze. He thought of the words he had written in his report. He thought of the ten thousand sharpshooters and the impenetrable swamps.
"Yes," he said. "I can see that very clearly."
They stood in silence for a moment, the music from the ballroom drifting out to them. It was a moment of peace, a fragile thing in a world on the brink of war.
Mr. Darcy?
"Yes, Miss Bennet?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being more than I expected."
She turned and went back into the house before he could respond. Darcy remained on the gallery, the shadows of the oaks stretching out toward him. He had sabotaged his report, he had betrayed his mission, and he had found something he had not even known he was looking for.
The Republic of Sugar had its own laws, its own secrets, and its own way of changing those who entered its borders. Darcy acknowledged the truth of it. He was no longer the man who had arrived in New Orleans. He had chosen a path, and he would have to see where it led.
The stars above the Mississippi were bright and indifferent. They had seen many empires rise and fall, and they would see many more. But for one night, in a new state in a young nation, there was a quiet that felt like victory.
The report arrived at its destination weeks later. The General read it with a furrowed brow. He looked at the maps and the descriptions of the formidable defenses. He sighed and set the papers aside.
It seems New Orleans is out of the question for now, he told his aide. We shall focus our efforts elsewhere.
And so, the city remained at peace. The sugar grew, the flag flew, and the man who had lied for it all continued to walk the levee with a lady who had changed his world.
It was not a perfect solution. There were still dangers, still secrets, and still the inevitable march toward a conflict that no one could fully prevent. But in the Republic of Sugar, time was measured in seasons and harvests, and for now, the harvest was good.