Conceit & Concealment: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

by Abigail Reynolds

  “But something is the matter. Are you in trouble with the authorities because of this? Is that why you would not see me?”

  Something snapped inside Darcy. “Something is indeed wrong,” he said savagely. “Elizabeth and Georgiana were arrested yesterday for treason, and Elizabeth is to be hanged. You will have to forgive me if I am not in the mood to receive callers.”

  Bingley gasped. “No! It cannot be true.”

  Darcy’s mouth twisted. “You may believe that if it gives you comfort.”

  “Oh, God – is it because of what I did?”

  “It may well be, but you need not worry. She gave them a false name when she was arrested, so your dear Jane will never learn the truth and can continue to believe her sister is somewhere in Scotland.”

  “I... I... Is there nothing that can be done?”

  “Do you think I have not tried? For God's sake, Bingley, go away and leave me in peace.”

  “If that is what you want. But I wish...” Bingley did not complete his sentence. He shuffled out of the room, his head down.

  He should have said nothing at all. That was what Elizabeth would have wanted.

  Darcy had thought nothing could possibly make him feel worse. Another new loss to add to the list – Elizabeth, Desmarais, and now Bingley. One more of his few friendships ruined beyond mending.

  He deserved to lose all his friends. If he had not given in to the temptation that night at Netherfield when he had given the address to Mr. Tomlin, Bingley would not have guessed about his role, and he could not have sent the French after Elizabeth. Why, oh, why had he done it? He had known the dangers. He had spent six years avoiding taking even the smallest risk – until he met Elizabeth.

  But why had the French sought out Elizabeth in the first place? It was not surprising they had managed to see through the anonymity of her article, but why would they care? They usually ignored stories like that. Why would they be interested now?

  Of course. They did not care about the article. They only wanted someone who could lead them to Andrew. Desmarais had said it himself – the paper was causing too much unrest with its reports about Princess Charlotte being in England. Elizabeth's arrest was nothing but an afterthought.

  That only made it worse.

  ***

  The following day, Desmarais stopped in during Darcy's visit with Georgiana. “Darcy, it is good to see you. Will you dine with us tomorrow night? It will be a small gathering, quite informal.”

  Darcy could hardly bear to look at him. “I thank you, but I must decline. I am not of a sociable disposition at present.” He had never refused one of the general’s invitations before. He should not be risking it now, but he no longer cared.

  Desmarais's genial face clouded over. “I am sorry to hear it. Can I perhaps persuade you to join me for a glass of port in the library?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Darcy said woodenly. He had no choice. Desmarais's word was law in England.

  “Very well.” Desmarais's tone told Darcy he had understood his meaning.

  Darcy trudged behind him through the ornate library. He should not hope for news, since the only news would be bad.

  The general poured two glasses of port and handed one to Darcy. “So,” he said, almost gently. “Is our friendship to be ended then?”

  Darcy set down his port untasted. “I am very grateful to you. Without your efforts, Georgiana would be in prison and facing a death sentence. I can never repay that debt.”

  Desmarais settled himself in his favorite leather armchair and sipped his port, as always taking a minute to appreciate the fine wine before he spoke. “That was not what I asked, but it is, I suppose, an answer to my question. I am sorry for it. Another casualty of this damned war.”

  “I understand you have to behave in accordance with your laws, regardless of my sentiments on the matter.” Darcy could not even bring himself to care how bitter he sounded.

  With a sad shake of his head, Desmarais said, “Not regardless of your sentiments, but despite them. To think I had wished to see you fall in love someday! But not like this. Not like this. She does not deserve you. She deceived you and she is proud of it.”

  A sensible man would have said nothing, but anguish had undermined Darcy’s good sense. “No, she did not deceive me. I knew her views perfectly well and that she was in contact with the Loyalists. I made no effort to stop her. She put on an act for you because she knew her case was already hopeless, and she wanted to protect me from suspicion. Now you may arrest me as well.”

  The general held up his glass and examined the color of his port. “Darcy, I have always known where your sympathies lay. Your family is a hotbed of rebels. Your father fled with Princess Charlotte. Your uncle was in communication with the government-in-exile prior to his apoplexy, no doubt abetted by your charming aunt. Your brother has been up to his neck in the Loyalist movement for years. I can overlook his little rescue missions since he has not been captured on one of his jaunts to the Scottish border, and his mistress seems to limit herself to making useless lists. You yourself have no doubt wished us to perdition a thousand times, but you have faced reality and obeyed the law.”

  “And this is where it has brought me.” He should not be saying these things, not when Desmarais held Georgiana’s safety in his hands. But the Frenchman was an honorable man; he would not punish Georgiana for Darcy’s sins. “Have you hanged her yet?”

  Desmarais winced. “She has not yet been sentenced. The men who were with them are still being put to the question.”

  Darcy’s heart skipped a beat. “Is she being questioned?” He could not bear it.

  “Of course not. I told you I would see to her comfort. Besides, she seems to know nothing of their leader, the mysterious Frederick. He is the one we seek.”

  They would seek a long time before it occurred to them that the mysterious Frederick was a woman, one who cared about nothing but making useless lists. “Thank you.”

  “But she must have something to hide. Did you know Gardiner is not her real name?”

  Of course. Lamarque’s men had been hunting for Elizabeth Bennet and found Elizabeth Gardiner instead. “Yes.”

  “Why is she using a false name?” It was the tone Demarais used when he was questioning someone.

  “So that no one would find her and return her to her family. They are not Loyalists.”

  Desmarais nodded. “As I suspected. That is what I told Lamarque when he asked. I thought it wiser to give him an answer than to have him attempt to obtain one from her.”

  An icy chill ran down his spine. “I appreciate your efforts.”

  “Ah, I dislike seeing Lamarque questioning women. He enjoys it too much.” Desmarais took a long sip of port. “Again, I am sorry I cannot help more, doubly so if what you say is true and she does care for you. But there is nothing I can do beyond hoping that someday you and I may begin anew.”

  “Would you be able to forgive the man who allowed the woman you loved to be executed?” Darcy said harshly.

  The general’s calm demeanor did not change. “No, most likely not. It is perhaps too much to expect friendship when I have my duty to the Emperor and your loyalty lies elsewhere. But I wish you well, and I will continue to work to restore your sister to you. It is a pity your Miss Gardiner dragged her into this.”

  Darcy jammed back the words that threatened to spill out. He was the one who had dragged Elizabeth into this. It would do no good to say it and would only expose Georgiana. He could not afford to antagonize Desmarais, not when there might still be the slightest possibility of helping Elizabeth, even if only to make her suffer less during her last days. “I understand. This situation is neither your fault nor of your making. You are simply the embodiment of the French occupation. That is the true cause of it. If—”

  “Stop!” Desmarais commanded, holding up his hand. “You are skirting close to treasonous speech, and I have no wish to be forced to act upon it.”

  It was a sobering r
eminder. Desmarais was Napoleon’s man before he was Darcy’s friend. “Of course. My apologies,” he said stiffly.

  Desmarais clapped his shoulder. “It is nothing.”

  Darcy hesitated. “Does Lamarque know about my brother?” He would have to find a way to warn Kit. He could not bear to lose Kit, too.

  Desmarais shook his head. “Lamarque’s answer to any hint of trouble is hanging, so I do not share my intelligence with him. I think there are better ways to solve problems. Now go see that sister of yours. She speaks of you constantly.”

  Darcy inclined his head. “Yes, General.”

  ***

  “Miss Gardiner?” It was a woman’s voice, one with a French accent, at the barred door of her cell.

  In no particular hurry, Elizabeth stepped down from the stool which allowed her to gaze out the tiny window. The crowded street, busy with London’s poorest, would not have been an appealing scene in normal circumstances, but now it was the most interesting thing in her life. She had learned to entertain herself by making up stories about the passers-by, creating conversations with them in her head. It helped to keep despair at bay.

  After seeing no one but her gaolers for days, it took her a moment to recognize her visitor. “Mme. Desmarais, how kind of you to visit.” At least she could show the Frenchwoman that she still remembered her manners.

  The lock rattled as the guard turned the key in it, permitting Mme. Desmarais and her maid to enter. The maid carried a basket. Dare she hope it might contain decent food?

  “Good day, Miss Gardiner,” said Mme. Demarais. “I hope you have been as well as one might be under the circumstances.”

  “I am quite well, I thank you.” Elizabeth gestured to the single rickety wooden chair which graced her cell. “As you can see, my accommodations are more comfortable than they might be. I suspect I have your husband to thank for that.” Once she might not have considered this small, whitewashed cell with rudimentary furniture to be remotely comfortable, but after a single night in a Newgate cell, it was paradise.

  “He has not mentioned it to me, but I hope you have been treated well.”

  “Far better than a traitor deserves, I imagine,” said Elizabeth. “I am surprised to see you here.” Shocked would have been a better description. Why was Mme. Desmarais there? They had only met once on the evening she had dined at Carlton House, hardly enough to be considered more than acquaintances. But there were many things she wanted to know about, and this would likely be her only opportunity to get answers.

  Mme. Desmarais gestured to the maid’s basket. “I have brought you a few comforts – some cakes, a book, and a copy of Ackermann’s Repository. I hope it will make the time pass more quickly for you.”

  A book? She would give almost anything for a book, even if it were Fordyce’s Sermons. “It is kind of you to be so generous, especially to a traitor.”

  Mme. Desmarais smiled with the same warmth she had shown at Carlton House. “I cannot blame you for loving your country more than mine.”

  Elizabeth managed a laugh. “I fear I am but a poor excuse for a Loyalist! If one is to be hanged, should it not be for some dramatic attempt at freeing one’s country? I shall go down in history as the fearless woman who was hanged for folding newspapers.”

  “Is that what you were doing? Dear Georgiana becomes distraught whenever that day is mentioned, so I have not dared to ask her. But I am glad to see your sense of humor is intact.”

  Elizabeth seized on her words. “You have seen Georgiana? I have heard nothing since your husband took her away.”

  “Oh, yes. She is with us at Carlton House. My husband arranged for her to remain in his personal custody until he can arrange for her freedom.”

  The relief was so profound that Elizabeth could hardly speak for a moment. “I am glad to hear it. Thank you for caring for her.” There were so many other questions she wished she could ask, but just knowing Georgiana was safe was enough for now.

  “She is a dear girl. But you must be wondering why I am here. I am hoping to beg a favor of you.”

  Elizabeth gestured to indicate her cell. “I cannot imagine what would be in my power to do for you, but I will be happy to try.”

  Mme. Desmarais lowered her voice. “It is a very simple matter. Would you be willing to write a note to Darcy, telling him that you want him to eat?” She sounded mildly aggrieved.

  This time Elizabeth’s laugh came without effort. “To eat?”

  “He has not been eating, you see. I have had my cook make his favorite tarts for when he comes to visit Georgiana, but he will not touch them, and his man tells me Darcy has been feeding his meals to your dog. He looks terrible, and my husband is fretting about it. Darcy will not listen to me, but I thought if you were to ask him, it might be more successful.”

  “I would be happy to do so.” There was so much she wished she could tell Darcy, but even this small thing was a connection of a sort.

  Mme. Desmarais beamed. “I knew you would! My husband, he is not certain whether you actually cared for Darcy, but I could see you did on the night I met you.”

  “I do care for him. Very much.” Elizabeth blinked back tears.

  “I know. These men, they are such a problem sometimes, are they not?” She turned to the maid. “Marie, can you give Miss Gardiner the pen and paper?”

  “Oui, madame.” The maid unloaded the basket on the plank that served as a rude table.

  “May I ask you one thing?” asked Elizabeth impulsively. “Can you tell me when my trial will be? It is hard, waking up each day not knowing if it is the last.” Her voice barely trembled.

  Mme. Desmarais looked crestfallen. “Alas, I do not know. The tribunal meets once a month, but I cannot tell you when it is.”

  A chill ran down Elizabeth’s spine. It had already been ten days.

  ***

  When Darcy arrived for his daily visit to Carlton House, the footman did not take him to Georgiana but instead to a worried-looking Mme. Desmarais. “Madame, is there a problem?”

  “Yes, there is a problem, the same one I take you to task for every day. You have not been eating.”

  Of course he had not been eating. Food choked him and tasted like ashes. How could he forget that Elizabeth had nothing but prison fare to eat? She was most likely going hungry rather than eating the vile concoctions that passed for food in gaol. “I assure you I am in perfect health, but I will try to eat more if you wish.” He did not mean it, but it seemed only polite to agree.

  “That is what you have said every day. Since you will not listen to me, perhaps you will listen to someone else.” She held out a folded sheet of paper.

  He had no energy for these games. He took it because it was less trouble than refusing. There was no seal or writing on the outside.

  “Open it, you silly boy. It is from your Miss Gardiner.”

  Darcy’s breath caught. He unfolded the letter with trembling hands.

  My dearest William,

  Does it shock you to hear me address you so? One of the few benefits of waiting to die is that I need no longer care about propriety. Therefore I shall say whatever I wish, and you may despise me if you dare! But I have little time, and a mission to fulfill.

  Mme. Desmarais tells me you are not eating. You must eat, you know – if not for yourself, then because of the people who need you. If you do not care for yourself, how can you care for Georgiana? You may find this difficult to believe, but Kit needs you, too, although he would rather die than let you see it. But please eat for my sake, even if you have no appetite or taste for food; I need to believe you are well and caring for yourself. I can tolerate my lot as long as I know you are well.

  Madame is waiting, so my time is short. I pray you will find happiness again someday for you deserve it more than anyone I know. Do not blame yourself for inviting me to London; it has been a privilege to have had the opportunities you have given me. I would not trade the last few months for anything. There is so much I wish to say, but no tim
e.

  Think of me when you see bluebells, and my spirit will be there with you.

  Your Titania

  The last words blurred before Darcy’s eyes. He turned away from Mme. Desmarais, clutching the letter as if it were his only hope for salvation. But nothing could save him. He had lost Elizabeth, and even if she forgave him for leading her to her death, he would never, ever forgive himself.

  Rubbing the heel of his hand against his eyes, he struggled to breathe, like Georgiana in the midst of one of her nervous fits. The ache in his chest seemed to press against his ribs, but he knew better. He was an empty hull with nothing inside him but a dark void, a place that had once been filled with love and Elizabeth’s laughter. And bluebells.

  Think of me when you see bluebells.

  As if he would ever be able to think of anything else.

  But the magic would not be there the next time he visited a bluebell wood because the magic was Elizabeth, lending life and sparkling joy to everything she touched. And soon she would be gone, her spark of vitality and her future stolen by a length of rope.

  He had not cried when his father and sister left him to go half a world away. The news of his father’s death had brought no tears to his eyes. He could not remember crying since the morning he sat by his mother’s deathbed on a sunny spring day when the bluebells were in bloom. He had thought there were no more tears left inside him.

  He had been wrong.

  The click of the door latch sounded behind him. Mme. Desmarais must have decided to give him some privacy. Fortunate Mme. Desmarais, who had spoken to Elizabeth, had been in the same room with her, breathed the same air she did. He would never have those privileges again.

  All he had was this brief letter. He read through it again, hearing Elizabeth’s voice in his mind. Even while waiting to be hanged, she managed to find humor.

  My dearest William.

  How could three small words simultaneously fill a void in his soul and stab him in the chest like a knife twisted in his heart? If only he could turn the clock back and have her say it to him a fortnight ago, it would have been one of the finest moments of his life. If only he had realized earlier that he need not tie himself to Georgiana forever, he might have had the chance to see her lips shaping the words. Now it was too late.