These Three Remain

by Pamela Aidan

  “Yes, well…I was not at work on my paper; not the entire time. I was not even in Cambridge but here in London.”

  “In London!”

  His friend nodded but continued to stare out the window. “One evening while I was at work on my thesis, some men appeared in my rooms and whisked me off to a very private meeting, one which I was not permitted to refuse. My work in the relation of mathematics to linguistics had gained the notice, it seemed, of certain officials in the government who wished me to apply it to ciphers being passed here in England. Being young and impressionable, I agreed at once!” He stopped and looked back at Darcy. “No, that is not the absolute truth. I agreed because it was, at last, an opportunity to exorcise a personal demon. I have never told you of my father, Darcy. Have you never been curious as to why?”

  “Naturally, I was.” Darcy straightened, surprised at the turn of Dy’s explanation but intrigued with its direction. “That you do not go by your title, Westmarch, but prefer Brougham was always curious. But early on you had made it clear that anything to do with your family was a private matter.”

  “My family!” Brougham snorted. “Yes, I suppose you could call it that! My father, the Earl of Westmarch, was said to be a brilliant man; and perhaps at one time, he was. I have no notion of his intellect save in the inventive ways he studied to persecute my mother and humiliate me. He also had the Devil’s own temper, was a quick hand with his riding crop, and had a passion for gaming. The fortune my mother brought to the marriage was quickly dissipated, and after my birth, he had no more use for her, preferring, as he did, to graze in fields elsewhere.”

  “Good God, Dy!”

  Brougham shrugged his shoulders. “It is a common enough tale among our class, Fitz. You understand why I practically begged to spend that summer after our first year with your family at Pemberley? Even though the earl was dead and I had nothing to fear going home, I hungered to experience what a real family was. Your father was such a revelation! I am honored to have known him and confess that he has always been my ideal of what a husband and father should be.”

  Darcy nodded, acknowledging the tribute. Both of them swallowed hard and looked away.

  “Pardon my digression.” Brougham broke their silence. “My own father’s need for money became desperate after my mother’s death, for her income from her family’s holdings now devolved upon me, and my uncles had made certain that he could not lay his hands upon it. It was then that he turned to intrigue.”

  “Intrigue?” Darcy frowned. “With whom?”

  “Anyone!” Brougham threw up his hands. “Anyone with coin: French, Irish, Prussian, the Barbary pirates for all I know! Westmarch Castle became a tollhouse for anything or anyone that wished to elude the notice of the government.”

  “A traitor!” The condemnation burst from him.

  “Yes, a traitor.” Dy’s face hardened. “And not even for a cause, a belief, but merely for money. When he was finally caught by the authorities, he put a bullet through his brain before they could take him. Since his suicide had saved the Home Office the cost of a scandal, it was all hushed up. An accident while cleaning his pistol, or some such tale. But I knew, Fitz, I knew!” He turned away, his head and shoulders stiff. “So, you can see that I viewed this offer as a means of redeeming my name. Translating ciphers was also a fascinating challenge. The pitting of one’s mind and imagination against that of an unknown enemy was exhilarating. I finished out our last year at University dividing my time between my thesis and my work for the Home Office.”

  “And still managed to win several prizes!” Darcy shook his head in chagrin.

  Smirking, Brougham faced him. “You have not quite forgiven me that, I believe!”

  “No!” Darcy answered. “But I can hardly begrudge you them after this. Go on.” He brought his old friend back to his subject. “For I do not see how this explains these last seven years or these mysterious pranks of yours.”

  “Ah, but I have set the stage, as it were.” The steady, concentrated gaze reappeared. “It became obvious from their content and complexity that the ciphers were originating in the upper classes of British society, circulating within them before finally being sent to France. With Napoleon’s forces gathered at Boulogne in ’04 for a proposed invasion, the Home and Foreign Offices went into a panic. The plans for Pitt’s coastal fortifications in Sussex and Kent were discovered in a packet bound for Holland. I saw them myself and deciphered the note that accompanied it; a very elegant, inventive one I might add.” He smiled wryly at the memory.

  “Well done, Dy, but the problem remained!” Darcy was caught in his friend’s narrative. “It was the men themselves who needed to be apprehended!”

  “Precisely!” Brougham replied. “But how to discover them? They moved in the first circles of Society. They were highly intelligent and possibly powerful men. They might even have been part of the government itself ! The introduction of an agent would prove useless, for he would never be accepted, let alone trusted. It remained, therefore —”

  “It had to be one of their own!” Darcy looked at his friend in wonder and some apprehension. “Someone they would accept without question but who was their equal in cunning and resourcefulness. Good Lord, Dy! You turned spy?” Brougham offered him a confirming bow. “All this time! Your pose as a rattle and nod cock?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” He sighed. “It was rather depressing how quickly I was accepted as such, but there it is! For King and Country, you know!”

  “But did you catch them?” Darcy persisted. This was too incredible! His best friend a spy!

  “Oh, yes, I caught him.” A strained look appeared upon Brougham’s face. He veiled his eyes. “But I cannot reveal his name or those of others I have exposed. They are dealt with by others and quietly while the Rattle continues on his rounds of dancing and hunting, gaming and playing Society’s fool. I swear, Fitz, you do not want to know what is revealed to a fool about those of our set.”

  “Or to a servant?” he asked quietly. It may have begun as a noble quest to redeem his family’s name and an exciting challenge to his active intellect, but now the chase was taking its toll upon his friend. Darcy could see it in every line.

  “Yes, when I do not have the right connections, such as those that would gain me entrée to the fanatics who surround Lady Monmouth. She has no use for the likes of me, much too devoted a lady to want my sort of fool. Would you offer me something to drink, old man?” he asked abruptly. “Dry work, this confessing! Almost envy you your way!”

  “Getting drunk, do you mean?” Darcy groaned. “I do not recommend it. Besides, you may say something you ought not.” He strode over to a cabinet and opened it upon an assortment of spirits. “Wine or brandy?”

  “Wine! We dine with your sister in a few moments, and I do not wish to have anything stronger lingering about my person.”

  Darcy poured him a glass and then put the bottle away. No wine until supper for him! “And your familiarity with innkeepers and wonderful ability with locks?”

  “Tools of the trade, Fitz.” He almost drained the glass in the first swallow. “In this business it is not enough to know the powerful. One must follow treason behind locked doors, through the streets, and into the gutter as well. There are parts of our fair city you would not believe existed even were I to swear on my honor to it. But gutter or town house, the stench is the same, and few are what they seem. I was even beginning to worry about you, old man!”

  “Me?” Darcy stared at him, surprised and affronted.

  “Oh, not that you were disloyal! Heavens, man, do not poker up so!” Brougham chided. “But I was worried about the company you were keeping. Sayre and Trenholme were always dubious pieces of work, not your sort at all! Then, it seemed that you were taken with Lady Sylvanie, now Monmouth, who has become a rather dangerous woman with whom to be connected. Recently, your behavior had become so unusual, especially in regard to Miss Darcy and since your return from Kent, that I did not know what to thi
nk. When you insisted on accepting Monmouth’s invitation, I feared for your reputation and tried to discourage you.” Dy skewered the area over his heart with a finger. “But you ignored even my ‘pointed’ advice.”

  “I thought that display was concerning Georgiana,” Darcy responded, only partially mollified, “which is another subject we must discuss before we join her.”

  “Must we?” Brougham’s jaw hardened. “I would rather not.” He downed the last of his wine.

  “I believe we must.” Darcy tensed at his friend’s reluctance. “You were quite correct about her, and your reproofs to me were more than warranted. I thank you for both. I see now that I have lately given into your keeping responsibilities that were rightly only my own and that I must ask you to relinquish.” Abruptly, Brougham turned and walked back to the window, leaving Darcy to frown after his frame outlined against the gathering dusk. “Dy?”

  “Do you have any idea what an extraordinary and precious young woman you have in your sister, Fitz?” Brougham leaned against the window frame. “I doubt that I have met her like in any female of our class, or at least in any that my public character has been allowed near! Already she is possessed of the graces an intelligent, discerning man appreciates. What she will be when she has reached maturity takes one’s breath away!”

  “She is but sixteen, Dy!” Darcy remonstrated, alarmed at the intensity he heard in his friend’s voice, “and I had your hand that you —”

  “That I would not be a danger to her!” Brougham turned back to him. “You have my hand still, my friend. I do not and would never play with Miss Darcy’s heart! I have been at some pains to keep my own feelings at bay, hidden beneath layers of mutual interests and friendship. Upon my honor, Fitz,” he protested vigorously in the face of his friend’s silence, “I have taken the greatest care that Miss Darcy know me foremost as friend. I am only too aware of her age; give me some credit for delicacy, I beg you!”

  “But it will be some years before I would even consider giving her in marriage.” Darcy put as much disapproval into his tone as possible. “And the disparity in your ages, Dy!”

  “Well do I know it.” He laughed grimly. “I would not have believed it myself. The baby sister of my best friend! How absurd! But there is this, Fitz. I’m old enough to know my own mind and know what love is. After this bloody war is over, I know what I shall do with the rest of my life, and it shall not be performing as London’s prize idiot, I assure you! You know me, Fitz, despite these last seven years. You know that I would cherish Miss Darcy above my own life, and if I ever did not to your satisfaction, you have my leave to thrash me within an inch of it!”

  Darcy stared at his friend in silence. He could not doubt that every word Dy spoke was true and from the heart, but the idea that he loved Georgiana and wished to make her his wife was more than Darcy had ever expected to entertain today or any other. “Dy —”

  “Please, let us not speak of this further for now,” Brougham interrupted. “She is too young, as you say; and I am entangled in this snarl of intrigue that makes my life not worth a tuppence. Nothing may come of this confession, you know! Any day a notice may appear in the papers. Until this war is done, I can say nothing nor ask anything of you or Miss Darcy. Perhaps, by the time Napoleon is finally dispatched, she will be of age to listen to my proposal. I leave it to you, my friend, to decide in the interim whether you will allow me to make it. Now…” He straightened and gestured toward the door. “Shall we go in to supper?”

  “Dy, in all honesty, there is something you must know first.” Darcy made one last attempt to deflect his friend from his determination to wait for his sister.

  “Yes?” Brougham stopped with a look of amusement. “Is there some dark Darcy secret that will deter me?”

  “Dark?” Darcy bit his lip. “No, but you must know that she…” How was he to put this? There was no delicate way —

  A knock sounded on the study door, causing the open expression that Dy had worn during his narrative to be replaced by one of wariness. “Enter,” Darcy called and watched with fascination the stages in the transformation of his friend from the sincere lines of the man he had been during their interview to the supercilious ones of his public persona. In the few moments it required for a footman to open the door and Georgiana to enter, the metamorphosis was complete.

  “My Lord Brougham!” The pleasure in her eyes was unfeigned. She cast them down only briefly as she did him her curtsy and turned to Darcy. “Have you closeted with His Lordship long enough, Brother, or shall I have supper sent back to the kitchen?”

  “Oh, we are quite at an end, Miss Darcy,” His Lordship interposed. “We have exhausted between us every topic of conversation. I fear it will fall upon you to keep us civil to each other through supper.”

  Slipping back into his pose with uncanny ease, Dy proved an excellent dinner guest, entertaining them with anecdotes and absurd homilies interspersed with informative bits concerning the great, the famous, and those who aspired to be so. Darcy could almost believe their earlier meeting had been a dream, so little did the man sitting at table resemble what he had confessed. Still, Darcy watched with a heightened awareness for indications of the strands that might one day bind his sister to his friend. Certainly, Georgiana blossomed under his regard, losing her reticence in Brougham’s company even more than when among their relations; but he could detect no feeling for him other than a delighted friendship. On Dy’s part, there were no secret glances or soulful sighs. He continued to play the amusing rattle Society thought him, sometimes ridiculous, often ironic; yet his edges were softened in their company with occasional displays of his true intellect and powers of discernment.

  Darcy knew that his friend would keep his promises, but when Dy took his final bow in wishing Georgiana a good night and pulled him into a conspiratorial huddle at the door to inform him that his “duties” would require his absence from Town for an unspecified period of time, Darcy was not sorry. “What I most regret is that I shall not be here for the unveiling of Miss Darcy’s portrait,” Dy said as he shrugged on the coat a footman held for him and reached for his beaver and gloves.

  “You shall miss nothing,” Darcy replied, continuing at Brougham’s upraised brow with “I have concluded that Georgiana has the right of it. Family only, then it shall be packed up for Pemberley.”

  “Excellent!” Dy beamed at him. “That was well done of you, Fitz! Although I appreciate Miss Darcy’s dissatisfaction with her portrait, I hope that one day I may have the privilege of seeing it displayed in proper state in your gallery.” He extended his hand, which Darcy immediately clasped in a hard grip.

  “Have a care, old man.” Darcy choked on the words of farewell, the inestimable value of the man before him filling him with gratitude and fear. “You play a dangerous game, which it is my heartfelt wish you survive and without injury.”

  “I shall, Fitz,” he replied with equal emotion. “You cannot imagine what a relief it has been to come honest with you about it…and the other. I shall be Lord knows where during the next several months, but if you should need to contact me, send a note to the sexton at St. Dunstan’s. He will make sure I receive it.”

  St. Dunstan’s? Something from the past stirred inside Darcy at the name. Where had he heard of St. Dunstan’s before?

  Dy took a deep breath. “Good-bye then, my friend,” he said and clapped his hat upon his well-ordered curls. “Watch over Miss Darcy, and think of me. I will require an accounting when next we meet.” He laughed, then asked, “What is it that you frown so?”

  “St. Dunstan’s! Why should I have heard of that parish before? I certainly do not frequent that part of London!”

  Brougham grinned provocatively. “Oh, I should be very surprised if you did! Where have you heard of it? I would imagine you ran across it in the references provided you by the excellent Mrs. Annesley.” He nodded to the footman to open the door.

  “Mrs. Annesley!” Darcy stood rooted to the floor of his hall,
staring stupidly at his friend while he scrambled to recall the contents of the woman’s letters.

  “St. Dunstan’s was, before he died, Peter Annesley’s parish. Her late husband,” Dy offered to the blank surprise that continued to render Darcy immobile. “I beg you will not mention to her that I knew Peter, or apprise her of any notes you send there in search of me. She is not aware of our connection or the circles in which Peter was involved, and he wished it to remain so.”

  Darcy nodded. “Good Lord, Dy, what next?”

  “The end of this damned war in the defeat of Napoleon, I should hope!” he answered grimly. “I must be off!” He sighed, then turned on his friend a smile that spoke warmly of their years of high regard each for the other. “Have a care, Fitz.” He turned and in a breath was swallowed whole by the darkness.

  Chapter 6

  Under Transgression Bowed

  “The next time you and Brougham decide to have a go at each other, I trust you will send me notice.” Sir Hugh Goforth used his queen of clubs to scoop up the trick he had just won. “Heard it was one damned fine show of swordsmanship!”

  “Would not have thought that frippery rattle pate knew which end of a sword meant business,” Lord Devereaux drawled as he threw his cards into the middle. “Although, I will grant, he is a regular hell-for-leather in the saddle. Ran his horse into the ground at Melton last year, I understand. Had to put a bullet through him.”

  Squarely caught between a desire to defend his friend and fear of revealing something he ought not, Darcy gathered up the cards and confined himself to shuffling them. It had been more than a week since their confrontation at Genuardi’s, but he had only today looked in at Boodle’s, where both their absences from the clubrooms had prompted speculation.

  One by one, Sir Hugh soldiered the cards Darcy dealt him into the company in his hand while Devereaux and the fourth of their rubber palmed theirs all at once before setting about to order them. Darcy glanced again at his unlikely partner across the table. Lord Manning met his speculative regard with a mocking lift of a brow. “If you had been at Cambridge instead of Oxford, Devereaux,” Manning observed, “you would not labor under such a misconception. Brougham is, or was then, an excellent blade. When he and Darcy were not flinging academic prizes in each other’s face, they were drawing edges.”