by Violet King
Though the afternoons held the brisk, watery sunlight that Elizabeth found ideal for walking, even during those sabbaticals, Mr. Darcy’s letter dominated her every sense. She would solve it and prove to the prig that she was not merely an ornament, but a capable and intelligent if not a proper woman.
Latin substitution ciphers were relatively simple, each word a replacement for a letter in the alphabet. Of course, it depended on the alphabet. This letter had been addressed to Mr. Darcy’s younger sister. An educated young lady of her age was likely to know French, Latin, and English at the least. Considering the letter had come from France and was written in mock Latin, English was the most likely language for the message to be written in.
Elizabeth first determined which words in the Latin “prayer” appeared most frequently, and assigned them a common letter: S, R, E, L, O, and T. Then through various iterations, tried to get a sense of what the message might be. It was complicated by a lack of punctuation or sign of spaces between words, not to mention the splotches of water on the final two pages.
Every day, after they finished their official work, Elizabeth read out each trial to her father, and they discussed the possibilities for the message’s content until Mr. Bennet dozed off. Then Elizabeth continued on her own, and, through brute force, she managed to make sense of the first half.
Piissimus dominus
Illustrator iudex
Auctor magnus
Incompraehensibilis pacificus
Optimus iudex
Omnipotens redemptor
Gloriosus immortalis
Imperator fabricator
Opifex conditor
Misericors sempiternus
Rex iudex
Sempiternus maximus
Optimus clemens
Aeternus deus
Sempiternus opifex
Fabricator magnus
Aeternus dominus
Rector clementissimus
Dominus fabricator
Redemptor optimus
Dominus clementissimus
Misericors redemptor
Redemptor dominus
Incompraehensibilis dominator
Illustrator sapientissimus
Magnus conseruator...
DELIUERTHISTOLORDCUNNINGHAMANDREMEMBERTHEBUTTERFLIES
From there it was lines and lines of gibberish, further confused by an increasing number of water-stained words on the final two pages, rendericng the last few lines illegible.
UUPBMOAKERZYFOLRACDBUKPLDABOUILALBOUAILTIBATOHUETTELIKEPOUBAMAKELEAUSSUIFRE
Elizabeth penned out a letter outlining her initial progress. It was frustrating to have to take so long with it. The codes used by their own agents were more regular, and perhaps Elizabeth had grown complacent with the ease of solving them. Worse, the second half of this cipher looked like a different code altogether. Whoever Lord Cunningham was likely had the key on hand. Elizabeth doubted it concerned Miss Darcy at all, but she had promised herself she would decipher the entire thing, and giving up halfway felt like admitting defeat.
She tried running the remaining text through various shift and substitution ciphers, but without a hint as to the method of encoding, it was a like throwing horseshoes blind. Frequency yielded little insight. Elizabeth’s eyes were burning when Jane stepped into Mr. Bennet’s study and called the pair for dinner.
“Huh?” Mr. Bennet sat up suddenly. His glasses sat askew on his nose, and he adjusted them. “What time is it?”
“Dinner, father,” Jane said. “You worked through tea. How goes Mr. Darcy’s puzzle?”
Elizabeth looked down at her scrawled notes. “Soon,” she said. “The first half is done.”
Jane smiled. “That is good news. I gave you and Papa as much time as possible, but our mother and sisters await us.”
Elizabeth stood and stretched her arms over her head as her joints cracked. Outside the window, the rosy orange of sunset kissed the horizon. Now Elizabeth was not caught up in the cipher, she realized she had become quite chilly.
“Go ahead with your sister,” Mr. Bennet said. “I will straighten up in here.”
Which was Mr. Bennet’s excuse to forestall sitting at the table and being subjected to his wife and daughters’ girlish chatter for as long as possible.
“Yes, Father,” Elizabeth said, and linking arms with her sister, they walked together from the study.
As they entered the dining room, Lydia and Kitty were both flushed with excitement, their voices high and fast as they spoke to Mrs. Bennet, who leaned forward with interest, and Mary, who sat back ramrod-straight with her hands folded on her lap.
“Madame Godiva said my future husband has hair like the sun, and that I would meet him soon.”
“She said your fate was entwined with a man with bright blond hair—” Kitty interrupted.
“Of course!” Lydia exclaimed, tapping her palm on the table. The china rattled. “That gentleman is my future husband. Why else would my fate be entwined with a strange and handsome man?”
Mrs. Bennet nodded eagerly. “I have heard from some of the ladies in the village that Madame Godiva has some Gypsy blood, and this allows her these visions.”
“She did not say. But—”
“I think you should be more cautious, sister,” Mary interrupted. “Does not the Bible warn us of becoming enamored of false idols?”
“I do not intend to worship the woman,” Lydia retorted with exasperation. “I merely state she has a gift. I told you about the buggy accident.”
Elizabeth glanced at Jane, who gave a minute shake of her head.
Lydia, seeing that her two oldest sisters had joined them, exclaimed, “Good and finally, you are here. I am famished. Where is Father?”
“Coming.”
Lydia breathed out sharply through her nose. “I wish he would hurry. We are having Cornish hens with blackberry sauce.”
“You were telling us about Madame Godiva,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“Yes! Yes! Kitty and I, as has become our custom, went to pay a visit to the soldiers in town, and that is where we met Madame Godiva. She has a gift!”
The door to the dining room opened again, and Mr. Bennet entered. He stood straight and tall, barely leaning on the ornate wooden cane in his right hand. It was an unacknowledged truth in the household that Mr. Bennet used the cane more to ensure he did not trip over any small objects in the halls rather than to steady his gait. He glared in Lydia’s general direction and said, “What is this ruckus? I thought we were having dinner.”
“Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet crossed the room and linked her arm through her husband’s free one. “It is a joy to see you up and about.”
“I am often up and about as there is nothing wrong with my legs,” Mr. Bennet responded crossly.
“Or your stomach, I suspect. Girls, say good evening to your father. I will have the first course brought in.”
Elizabeth and Jane took their seats at the table while Lydia explained again in a rush about her discovery of Madame Godiva and what the fortune teller had shared about Lydia’s future prospects.”
Mr. Bennet asked, “How much did she charge you?”
“Nothing, Father! Madame Godiva stepped out of her shop, and when her gaze met mine, I was transfixed. Her eyes are two different shades of green, one bright and the other dark. And when her eyes caught mine, a curious sensation passed over me, as though the fierceness of her gaze had tickled something in my soul.”
“I should hope you didn’t laugh too hard,” Mr. Bennet said, his lips twitching with amusement at his own joke. “A tickling of the soul can be overwhelming.”
“Papa!”
Mrs. Bennet asked, “What did this Madame Godiva tell you?”
“She said an inner revelation had compelled her to step out from her wagon, and that same impulse drew her to me. Me! She said she should like to read my palm, and I told her I had no extra coin, but she insisted. She said for one with her gifts, the compulsion to right a wrong sometimes took over h
er limbs and she had no choice but to do as her gift demanded.”
Now Elizabeth was intrigued. “Which wrong did she need to correct?”
“I could only imagine it was that horrible Mr. Darcy and how abysmally he treated me when he called on us. I hope Mr. Bingley is of a better temperament! Papa says he is a gentleman, but there are different types of gentlemen.”
Elizabeth nodded.
Lydia sighed, and then resting her fork on her plate, continued. “But Madame Godiva led me into her wagon, and it was the most remarkable place, with bright red and gold curtains and a sweet incense that made me almost feel lightheaded.”
“You went with her on your own?” Mr. Bennet asked.
“What harm could she do? I had no money, and she was alone. Just one small, old woman and her wagon with all of her worldly possessions.”
“One small woman who you saw, and who knew how many other compatriots!” Mr. Bennet interjected. “I do not approve of you and Kitty going so far on your own. Not if you refuse to exercise such basic caution as to not throw yourself willy-nilly into a stranger’s wagon.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet! Your fatherly regard and care for your daughters is without bound,” Mrs. Bennet said in a vain attempt to soothe her husband’s ire. “But two young ladies cannot be forced to spend all of their time indoors, constrained to the bounds of our estate.”
“I should think it would be easier on your nerves to know with confidence that all of your daughters are safe,” Mr. Bennet said dryly.
“Oh! And now you remind me of my nerves. Mr. Bennet, will nothing satisfy you beyond my accompanying Lydia and Kitty on their next excursion into town?” Before Mr. Bennet could respond, Mrs. Bennet continued, “Of course, nothing would satisfy you. I must accompany my daughters and witness this woman’s gifts for myself. Tomorrow. The assembly is in a fortnight, and we will have much in small essentials to acquire in any case. Mary will also join us.”
Mary’s head shot up. “Mother! I do not wish to consort with false idols.”
“Oh, calm yourself, Mary. She is a fortune teller, not a Biblical plague. We will stop at the music shop after she has told you something useful about your future and you can look over the sheet music.”
“Yes, Mother,” Mary pressed her lips together and stabbed her half-eaten meat with her fork.
“And Lizzie and Jane as well.”
Elizabeth looked up from her plate. She was not to be so easily persuaded by sheet music and platitudes. “I am satisfied with my existing gowns and bonnets for the Saturday assembly.”
“Satisfied! Well, that is hardly enough. All five of you, unmarried, and you will present only a satisfying appearance to Mr. Bingley. Should we play our hand correctly, he will certainly choose one of you as his wife.”
“If Mr. Bingley has hair like the sun,” Lydia said, “perhaps he is the man my fate is entwined with.”
“A man with hair like the sun is neither specific nor unique,” Mr. Bennet said. “How is it you are so convinced of this woman’s gifts?”
“Because of the cart. She said an unexpected calamity would slow our journey from town, but that all would work out by the evening. And our cart… the wheel was caught in the mud as we left town. I feared it was a broken axle, as did the driver, but a young officer—”
“And a handsome one,” Kitty interjected.
“His hair was brown,” Lydia said dismissively. “He helped extricate our cart, and we were able from that point to return home. So you understand, this was a sign of Madame Godiva’s power. She can see the future, and I believe I will soon meet the man I will marry.”
Mr. Bennet said, “So long as you are properly supervised and expect only your allowance to spend on her services, I suppose it’s no more of a frippery than another bonnet or dress.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet clutched her hands to her chest. “We must use all methods at our disposal before a woman of lesser quality than our daughters snatches this fine, available young gentleman away from us.”
“And if this Mr. Bingley is of a similar character to Mr. Darcy?”
“Impossible,” Lydia said, placing her knife in the joint of the hen’s wing and cutting viciously. “That stiff and insufferable man is one of a kind.”
Elizabeth was inclined to agree.
6
In Mr. Bingley’s small but cozy library, Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley occupied armchairs at a polite remove. They were technically chaperoned, though Miss. Caroline’s maid sat on the other side of the room with a book in her lap. She stared intently at the pages, even venturing to flip one every couple of minutes.
Mr. Darcy wished he had some way to eject her, as the library was where he went for peace and quiet, but he was a guest in her brother’s house and he could not ask her to leave without being rude.
Even at home, Miss Bingley dressed for company. Her morning dress was French silk trimmed with velvet, the color a rich blue. Though she was in the country, on most mornings she received callers through luncheon. Mr. Darcy hoped she would soon be called away again, not that he could, as the Bingley’s guest, ask her to leave him in peace while he worked through his correspondence.
Two letters today. One from the Bennet household, and the second from Percy Bragg, an acquaintance from his time at Eton. Mr. Bragg was always chasing the next invention or scheme, and once again, he was likely seeking Mr. Darcy’s financing. Not that Mr. Darcy had ever agreed to take part in any of Bragg’s endeavors before.
Mr. Darcy opened E. Bennet’s letter and began to read. Lord Cunningham? Butterflies? Perhaps Mr. Bennet wasn’t as excellent a decipherer as reputed.
“You seem awfully serious,” Miss Bingley said, fingering her embroidery. “No troubles at Pemberley I hope?”
Mr. Darcy shook his head. He had explained nothing about Georgiana’s letter to Miss Bingley. She was a gossip, and he did not wish his personal business to become fodder of bowers and receiving rooms.
“And your business?”
“All is well.” Mr. Darcy folded the letter closed and stood. His thoughts were whirring about so, he could not stay seated. Who was Lord Cunningham? Had Georgiana a suitor? If she did, she would have spoken of it to Reggie before she broached the subject with Darcy, especially after Wickham. With a channel and a part of the continent between them, Georgiana and Reginald were closer than she and Fitzwilliam.
It hurt. Mr. Darcy hated being resentful of a dead man, but he could not deny the truth to himself. When they were children, he would rather have been exploring the countryside or playing games with his younger siblings, but duty compelled. The summer with the butterflies, Georgiana had attempted to tell him over dinner, her face flushed with excitement about the secret she and Georgie had discovered. But their father had disapproved of excitement at the table, and Darcy felt obligated to support him in dampening Georgiana’s enthusiasm.
Though Darcy was only two years his brother Reginald’s elder, Reggie had often referred to him as grandfather Fitz. “Grandfather Fitz, his tongue like a switch.”
Mr. Darcy swallowed. Wickham had taken up that mantra, and while Reggie’s admonition had been more in humor, Wickham’s was cruel. If only Darcy had seen it at the time.
“Is it about the letter you are having deciphered? May I see it?”
Darcy stopped. “Did your brother tell you of this?” Bingley was a good friend, but he trusted too easily. Especially his sister, who had tended to his scrapes as a child and broken hearts as an adult.
“Charles said something of a deciphering,” Miss Bingley stood and crossed the space between them. They were standing face to face, uncomfortably close. He smelled lavender. He put his hands, still holding E. Bennet’s letter, behind his back as she said, “For your sister. You took it to Mr. Bennet, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Who knows if this deciphering is even accurate? It may as well be a ruse.”
“To what purpose?”
“It is well known in Meryton that
the Bennet family has five unwed daughters of marriageable age, and their estate is entailed. They have reason to capture your interest through any means.” Miss Bingley’s voice was calm. She stared up at him through her lashes, her fingers resting on the gentle swell of her bosom.
Darcy averted his gaze. Perhaps Miss Bingley was right. What did he know about this Bennet family besides they had one headstrong daughter who was forward, brash, and at points hostile? The mother had certainly been ambitious enough about getting him to spend time with any or all of her daughters.
Caroline added, with a laugh, “My brother suspected another young lady might be ‘assisting’ their father on the occasion when he called, but I suppose the family felt it unwise to be so brazen on a second occasion.”
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I believe Miss Elizabeth was sincerely assisting her father.”
“Perhaps she was. But women rarely take action for one reason alone.”
That much was true of Miss Bingley. Even now her perfume and the placement of her hand was a planned temptation. One Mr. Darcy had little interest in, though he could not shrug her off. It would be impolite.
His mind flashed toMiss Elizabeth, standing and taking a letter from him, her dark eyes glinting. That had not been a seduction, but he could not escape the memory of it.
The letter was signed E. Bennet. What was Mr. Bennet’s given name? Edmund? Erasmus? Or had Miss Elizabeth had penned this? A lady’s correspondence often had a lingering impression of her scent: lavender, honeysuckle, or rose. Mr. Darcy resisted the temptation to bring the pages to his nose to check.
Foolishness! He hadn’t even liked the woman. She had been too forward, and the entire conversation had been an embarrassment.
Mr. Darcy had put the first letter aside and picked up the second just as the door to the library was flung open, and Mr. Bingley strode in. “Darcy! There you are!
Miss. Bingley took a quick step back and turned to the door. She walked to her brother, hands extended. “Charles! Why are you in such a stir?”
“Caroline, if Darcy and I might have a moment. I have news for his ears alone.”
