“I think not.” Lady Matlock, who had chosen the seat nearest the door, now stood between him and the only exit from the room. She produced a small pistol from her bodice and cocked it. “I apologize for this extreme discourtesy, but I must request that you sit down, General. Please keep your hands in plain sight. You as well, Darcy. I do not want to have to shoot you, either.”
Darcy stared at her in astonishment, but placed his hands on his knees.
An expression of incredulity passed over General Desmarais's face. Then he smiled and took a small step forward. “Surely, Madame, there is no need for violence.”
“Stop right there!” Lady Matlock commanded. “I assure you, sir, that I know how to use this and I will do so if I must. And while I myself am accounted no more than a reasonable shot, the young lady behind you never misses.”
Desmarais look back over his shoulder to where Georgiana stood, her shoulders back, pistol in hand. Carefully he held his hands out, palms facing Lady Matlock, and retreated to sit beside his wife. “I applaud your courage, Madame, but you have no hope of succeeding. My soldiers know what to do in case of an uprising, even if I am unavailable.”
A thunderous boom sounded to the east. Lady Matlock said in a conversational tone, “Do you suppose that was the Deptford Armory? We will know soon enough, I imagine. It is, of course, possible we may lose, but I have been given one simple task: to make certain you remain in this room. I do not intend to fail. Georgiana, my dear, if you would be so kind as to lock the door?”
Georgiana sidled towards the door, keeping her pistol trained on Desmarais, only lowering it long enough to turn the key in the lock. Another explosion followed, then an even louder one, and a series of shots and more shouting.
Desmarais looked sadly at Darcy and gave a deep sigh. “Et tu, Darcy?”
Before Darcy could speak, his aunt said, “In fact, no. He was asked to lure you to a secluded spot, and he refused. He did not know I volunteered to take his place. But I would not look to him for assistance if I were you. He has some loyalty to you, but he will not betray his family.”
General Desmarais's upper lip curled. “How kind of him to keep his own hands clean, but he still came here today to take part in this little ambush. I had thought better of you, Darcy.”
Since Darcy had to keep his hands in plain sight, he could not clench them into fists. Instead he dug his fingernails into his thighs. It was true; he had done nothing to stop this. His loyalty was to England.
“Yes, Darcy, how did you know what we planned?” asked his aunt.
“You made no effort to cover your tracks. The servants told me Kit had come to speak to you, then you ordered the carriage to take you to Carlton House. It was obvious what you planned. I came after you in the hope of stopping you before you put Georgiana’s neck in a noose. What in God's name were you thinking to allow her to help you?” Darcy demanded. “If this uprising fails, she will die!”
“I am well aware of that,” Lady Matlock snapped.
“Then why did you bring her?”
“She insisted. Do not move, General; I am quite able to keep my pistol trained on you while I quarrel with my nephew.”
Darcy could not believe his ears. “Because she insisted? You could have locked her in her room!”
Lady Matlock's eyes darted towards Georgiana. “She was very insistent. Commanding, one might even say.”
Georgiana said, “I have my reasons for wishing to be here, William.”
“Reasons or no, I would have locked you in!”
“Your concern for your sister is touching,” drawled General Desmarais. “I am glad to know my safety was of no concern to you. It will save me from regret over losing your so-called friendship.”
Darcy glared at him. “You told me to cooperate with you. I did. I never agreed to stop someone else's uprising for your sake.”
Lady Matlock shook her head sadly. “Darcy, do calm yourself. General, it is only out of courtesy to Darcy that you have been taken alive instead of shot on the street – at substantial risk to both Georgiana and me, I might add. I took that risk because you had been kind to Georgiana. Holding you at gunpoint may seem a poor repayment of the hospitality you showed us, but I assure you, you would have liked the alternative less.” She pursed her lips. “But I do apologize for behaving in such an ill-bred manner when I have received nothing but courtesy from you. You have made it difficult to maintain my illusion that all Frenchmen are villains.”
“It is kind of you to say so.” Mme. Desmarais’s voice was a trifle unsteady as she observed Georgiana through narrowed eyes. “Not a halfwit, then, Miss Darcy?”
The girl raised her chin. “Not a halfwit, and not Mi—”
“Georgiana!” Lady Matlock's voice cracked like pistol shot. “This is not the time. You agreed to follow my lead.”
The girl subsided but looked mutinous.
“Your ladyship, how long do you intend to hold us prisoner?” Desmarais spoke in a light, social tone.
“Until I receive other instructions, or, failing that, until your soldiers arrive to take me to prison. I hope it will not be too long. I am not as young as I once was.”
Desmarais leaned back, apparently relaxed. Then he bellowed in a voice fit to carry over a battlefield, “Aidez-moi!”
Lady Matlock could move surprisingly quickly for a woman with grown children. In an instant she was behind Desmarais's chair, her pistol pressed to his temple. “Georgiana, watch the door.”
Nothing happened. Outside, cries of “Vive l’empereur!” and “Vive la France!” began to be outnumbered by shouts of “Queen Charlotte!” and “For England!”
A knock at the door made Georgiana jump. Lady Matlock called, “Qui est là?”
“Richard. Let me in.”
Lady Matlock hesitated. “What day were you born?”
“December 17 during a snowstorm,” growled Richard.
Lady Matlock nodded to Georgiana. “Let him in. He would have lied if he were being held prisoner.”
Georgiana worked the lock until the door opened. Behind it stood Richard wearing the Carlton House footman’s livery.
Richard stared at the girl, clearly taken aback by her presence. He managed a stiff bow to her.
Lady Matlock said frostily, “You took your time in arriving. My arm is quite fatigued.” She switched her pistol to her left hand and shook out the right.
Richard reached across and took the pistol from her. “If all goes well, Kit will be here to take my place soon. He is my second in command, but I did not trust him to infiltrate this place. Kit would still have qualms about knifing an innocent servant, so I put him in charge of the street fighting instead. Madam, I must say your schedules were worth their weight in gold.”
Desmarais glanced at Darcy. “Another relative? Now I am paying for my leniency to your family,” he said bitterly. “The Emperor warned me I was too trusting. I should have listened to him.”
Richard turned on Desmarais with unconcealed fury. “What leniency? If there were not ladies present, I would tell you precisely how viciously your soldiers treated me when I was their hostage. If it were solely my decision, you would be dragged through the streets behind a cart until you were dead, and I would still consider it an inadequate punishment.”
“Richard!” admonished Lady Matlock. “There is no call for rudeness.”
Caught between Desmarais’s accusations and Richard’s hostility, Darcy said, “Richard, General Desmarais was not in command then. General, this is my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”
“Lieutenant General Fitzwilliam, actually,” said Richard. “Wellington has been handing out field commissions rather liberally.”
“Wellington?” said Desmarais coldly. “I suppose that explains a few things.”
“Wellington on land and Nelson at sea,” said Richard with relish.
In the distance, a familiar voice shouted, “Where are they?” It was Kit.
“In here!” called Georgiana.
/>
Kit skidded to a stop outside the door and strode in, holding a pistol and wearing a shockingly red frock coat. A smile grew on his face. “Oh, well done!” Then he spotted Georgiana standing beside the door. “Good God, what are you doing here?”
“Never mind that,” said Richard. “Report.”
“London is ours,” said Kit. “We hold the city and the bridges. The armories in Deptford and Greenwich have been destroyed, and the remaining French troops have taken refuge in Westminster Abbey. The crowd there is restless, and I cannot say what will happen.”
Richard nodded. “Good. I will take over for you, then. You know what to do here. Are your men outside?”
“Yes,” said Kit. “Waiting for you.”
With a nod, Richard strode out, his limp barely showing.
Kit turned to Desmarais. “General Desmarais, Lord Wellington will be here within the hour to accept your surrender. Do you wish to give me your parole, or must I have you bound?”
Desmarais laughed harshly. “You will have to forgive me if I do not take your word about the situation.” He held out his hands, wrists together.
Kit signaled to someone outside, and a man entered with a length of rope. Kit said, “Bind the general's hands.”
“No,” Georgiana said firmly, her head held high. “He is not to be bound.”
Kit hesitated. “It would be safer—”
Georgiana shook her head. “He arranged my release from prison and saved my life. I pay my debts.”
His brows drawn, Kit looked at the general and back to the girl. With a sigh, he waved off the man with the rope. “Stand outside the door in case I need you.”
General Desmarais tilted his head and studied Lady Matlock. “You give in to her when she insists. Now he does the same. Why, I wonder, do both of you take orders from a girl?” He turned to Georgiana. “How old are you, child?”
She lifted her chin. “Sixteen.”
A disbelieving smile touched his lips. “I had you under arrest in my own home, and I let you go. Perhaps I deserve what the Emperor has in store for me.”
Mme. Desmarais put her hand on his arm. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “I will explain later – if there is a later. Darcy, this young man with the unusual taste in clothing, he is your brother? A real one?”
The scorn in Desmarais’s voice hurt, even though Darcy had done nothing to be ashamed of. “He is my brother, yes.” And his frock coat was a truly appalling shade of red. Kit usually had better taste than that.
A man with his arm in a blood-stained sling entered and handed Kit a scrap of paper.
After scanning it, Kit turned to Desmarais. “Victory beacons have been lit in Chatham, Dover, and Portsmouth.”
“Again, I will need more assurance than your word,” said Desmarais coldly. “I assume you have taken the Achille and the Neptune, since I have not heard the cannon.”
Kit nodded. “Both ships are at the bottom of the Thames.”
“No!” cried Darcy, horrorstruck. He jumped to his feet. “Devil take it, Kit, Elizabeth is on the Neptune!”
Kit flinched. “Elizabeth was there? God, William, I am sorry. It had to be done; we could not allow the ships to fire on the city.”
“Are there survivors?” demanded Darcy.
Kit glanced at Lady Matlock before responding. “They fired the gunpowder stores,” he said apologetically. “The hulls exploded. No one could have survived.”
Desmarais's mouth twisted. “Darcy, I apologize for suspecting you of involvement in this. Pray forgive a bitter old man.”
A quiet sob from Georgiana was the only thing that broke the silence.
Horror and cold, empty darkness. Had Elizabeth felt any pain? Had the explosion killed her or had she drowned? It hardly mattered; she was dead, and she would have been alive if he had never entered her life. And Kit, the brother he had finally rediscovered, saying it had to be done. Would Darcy ever be able to look at him without recalling this moment?
He shouldered his way past Kit to the door, blindly seeking escape to a place where he could contemplate the wreckage of his life in private. Only the sound of his aunt calling his name halted him.
“Darcy, I must beg you to remain. Georgiana and I will require your escort to return to Darcy House, especially given the tumult in the streets.”
He wanted to refuse. How could anyone expect him to do his duty now? But he had not the wherewithal to reject her request. Without a word, he crossed to the window where he could at least turn his back on the others. How could the late afternoon sun still be shining on the neatly trimmed courtyard garden?
Waiting for news of Elizabeth's execution had been a nightmare, but the reality was even worse. He had been given a bit of hope and a moment of happiness, and now it had been snatched away. Elizabeth was gone. Bingley had betrayed him, Desmarais had failed him, and now Kit had joined the ranks of those who had destroyed the woman he loved. What remained to him? Richard, the cousin he had not seen for five years, and then just for a brief meeting? Pemberley, where he had not set foot for even longer, where the servants and tenants must feel he had abandoned them? His other friends had either died in the invasion or turned their backs on him for cooperating with the French.
The conversation continued behind him, but it was a blur to him. Darcy stirred only when someone spoke his name. No, not his name. He had said Major Darcy. Tiredly he turned, ready to correct him, but the man had been speaking to Kit. Kit, a major? Ridiculous.
Tears still in her eyes, Georgiana said, “A commission, Kit?”
Kit colored. “Not precisely. Wellington said I was a major, so I am a major, at least for now.” He glanced at his shoulder and ruefully pulled a mass of gold braid from his pocket. “I was supposed to put on these epaulettes once the fighting began, but it slipped my mind completely.”
Georgiana shook her head. “That is why your coat is red! I wondered at that; it is not a color you usually wear.”
“My tailor said the same, albeit with somewhat stronger words, but I could hardly tell him it was because of a shortage of red uniforms.”
Georgiana took the epaulettes from him and shook them out. “How do they go on? Oh, I see the pins. Stand still, Kit.” She had to reach on tiptoe to pin the first epaulette to his shoulder.
She was untangling the second one when Wellington, wearing a real red coat, strode in. Kit attempted to salute, a difficult operation with Georgiana pinning an epaulette on his shoulder. Wellington gave him a quick nod and said, “I hear London is ours.”
“All is well, sir, and done in accordance with your plans. We lost a few men in a skirmish near Aldgate, and more at the barracks – a dozen Englishmen, some forty Frenchmen. An entire troop was taken down near the Tower by a mob of Londoners using their bare hands and kitchen knives, and many lone soldiers met the same fate. Jérôme Bonaparte, the so-called Regent, has barricaded himself inside Hampton Court. The palace is surrounded by loyal Englishmen, and there is no escape possible.”
“Good. Let him rot there.” The older man's eyes scanned the room, settling on Desmarais. “General Desmarais, I presume?”
Demarais inclined his head. “General Wellington.”
“The day is ours. Your ships at Great Yarmouth, Chatham, and Portsmouth are in British hands, or failing that, sunk. Lord Nelson holds the channel. We await word from the north, but I do not anticipate problems there. I call on you to surrender and to order your troops to lay down their arms before more of them lose their lives.”
Desmarais stood unmoving for a minute and then turned to Darcy. “I seem to have a shortage of servants at the moment. Darcy, might I impose upon you to bring me my sword? It is in my study; you know where to find it.” He would have used the same tone to ask for cup of tea.
From a great distance, Darcy managed to nod. At a signal from Wellington, one of his soldiers trailed Darcy as he left the room, crossed the library, and triggered the latch on the door to the study. The dress sword
rested against the side of the desk. It was heavier than he had expected.
He returned and gave it to Desmarais.
“I thank you, Darcy.” Desmarais took the sheathed sword in both hands and held it out to Wellington. “I will order my men to disarm. I will give you my parole that I will make no attempt to escape, on the condition that you guarantee the safety of my wife.”
Wellington took the sword. “I am happy to guarantee her safety. We do not make war on women or children. I accept your parole and return to you your sword.”
The standard theatre of surrender.
It was true. The French were defeated. It was everything Darcy had dreamed of for years, and now he did not even care. He would give anything to turn back the clock.
“Kit.” Lady Matlock's voice sliced through the resulting silence. “With England restored to us, I believe there is an important introduction you have forgotten to make.” She looked pointedly at Georgiana who was placing the last pin on Kit's epaulette.
Kit met Georgiana's eyes briefly. Then he stepped away from her and made a formal court bow, the dramatic effect somewhat hindered by his epaulette slipping sideways off his shoulder. “Your Majesty, may I have the honor to present to you General Lord Wellington, commander of your troops – such as they are. General, you are in the presence of Her Majesty Queen Charlotte Augusta.”
Mme. Desmarais let out a squeak. “But she is Miss Darcy!”
Wellington looked stunned.
Georgiana – no, Charlotte – her back straight and chin lifted, said, “General, I... We thank you for your efforts on our behalf.” Her voice barely trembled.
“Your Majesty, it is my signal honor to serve you and England.” Wellington finally made his bow and glared at Kit. “What in God’s name were you thinking to allow her to be here?”
“We have already had this discussion,” Lady Matlock said. “Since she is here, you might as well make use of her presence. It seems the crowds outside are restive. Perhaps Her Majesty could appear briefly before her subjects so they may be assured of her presence and safety? The colonnade overlooking the street might be suitable.”
Conceit & Concealment: A Pride & Prejudice Variation Page 32
