For Miss Bennet's Honour

by Sophia Woodford

  It was late April, and the spring planting was under way; even in town, they passed farmers with their carts. The women participated in the planting as vigorously as the men, with one girl of nine or ten driving the cart with a confident hand. Elizabeth's father would be getting on with the same planting and sowing, with their own cart. The hands would be carrying baskets like these. Elizabeth missed them suddenly, all her family and the farm. The thrill of a new place was briefly eclipsed with a short, sharp yearning for the familiar comforts of home.

  Not far to go, she reminded herself. When Mr. Wickham was found, they would all be on their way back to England in no time at all.

  At last the girls reached a coffee shop, and Lydia looked in at the patrons sipping their coffees and eating eclairs in twos and threes. "I am exhausted," she announced hopefully.

  "I am sure we can spare a few coins for coffee," Elizabeth said, doing the sums quickly.

  "Oh, we can put it on credit. Dear Wickham always does," Lydia said, waving a hand. "It looks so pleasant!"

  "What a wonderful idea!" Elizabeth said. "How sensible he is. Truly you are blessed with the most thoughtful of husbands." She paused and looked cautiously at Lydia. "As he is family now, I had been wondering – where exactly does Mr. Wickham's income derive from?"

  "Why, from the army, of course," Lydia said, surprised. "He said he was due a large payment – and it was just a question of when it would come."

  Elizabeth doubted this very much. "Do you think this is the kind of place he would like?"

  "This is the very kind of place he would be," Lydia said thoughtfully. Though she reflected that it was perhaps a little too prim, and clean, and that when they had dined out in Le Havre, they had favoured more raggedy establishments. Elizabeth suggested they keep walking, and look for one more in line with Mr. Wickham's tastes – "for I am sure you must miss him desperately, and it may help soothe your spirits."

  After an hour, they had no luck. Lydia had not been helpful, and Elizabeth's hope to beat the gentlemen to finding her brother-in-law was looking in poor shape.

  "Did we pass a bookshop?" Elizabeth said, trying to salvage the day. She was curious to see what the French stocked. Perhaps there would be new volumes that would be wonderful to discover, whole new worlds of literature that no one in England had yet read. Beside her, Lydia groaned loudly; Elizabeth did her best to ignore it.

  "I am sure there is," Louise said. "I am afraid I do not know the town, but there is always a bookshop. Everyone likes to read."

  "Can't we go to the opera house?" Lydia said. "I am sure it must be the grandest thing."

  "Very well," Elizabeth said, through nearly gritted teeth, and giving up on her last hope of making something of the day, they made their way back to the centre of town, and settled into the coffeeshop they had passed earlier.

  The bill was much better than Elizabeth feared; even the rich pastries were cheap. At this rate, her money would last longer than expected.

  "Might we practice speaking in French?" Elizabeth said hesitantly. Though she was afraid of being overheard by strangers nearby, and laughed at, she would rather be laughed at by someone she did not know than someone she might need help from.

  "Mais oui, certainly!" Louise said. The girls all settled in with filled choux pastries, and Louise began instruction.

  The first bite of the sugary patisserie made Elizabeth forget her aching feet, her frustration, and took the light edge off her longing for home. She was even getting used to the strong coffee. It would almost be not such a bad thing to stay here longer. Especially with the promise of a bookshop…

  "You are not paying attention," Louise said, mock-severely. "Repetez-moi – repeat after me." As she taught them to pronounce the 'r' in 'incroyable', Elizabeth and Lydia laughed.

  As if drawn by the sound, footsteps neared their table. Elizabeth looked up. The gentlemen were approaching. "Ah!" she said.

  She brushed the crumbs from her dress; something in Mr. Darcy's face made her start to rise. She did not like to guess – but their expressions were grave.

  Col. Fitzwilliam held up a hand. "Perhaps it is best if you sit down," he said.

  Chapter 24.

  Darcy slept poorly. His offer to Miss Bennet of finding other accommodation had been as much for his own sanity as for her comfort. Just a few days in her continuous company was beginning to unsettle him greatly. He could now recognise that – at least in part – his intention in going to France had been to accomplish something to show off to her.

  It was especially helpful that her sister was present. Whenever the temptation of Elizabeth Bennet's bright eyes lured him in, Miss Lydia was a sharp reminder of the unsuitability of her family. No, he reminded himself – not Miss Lydia, Mrs. Wickham. And how much more unsuitable was that? Somehow this still did not help.

  In the next room, Richard was stirring. Darcy looked outside: it was nearly dawn.

  Darcy could not face another morning with nothing to do but wear out his heels running all over town. He certainly could not face another hour in the presence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet with nothing to do. He must find an errand – or go mad.

  Over the early breakfast table, Darcy appealed to Richard.

  "Let me come with you," he said.

  "To my meeting? Out of the question," Richard said around a mouthful of bread roll. He swallowed. "This is a very sensitive intelligence contact. They are highly placed in the new administration. It will be a delicate meeting no matter what. With respect, I cannot have a loose cannon."

  "That is the first time I have ever been called such a thing," Darcy said. "I thought I was too grave and silent."

  Richard looked at him thoughtfully. "You are," he said. "It is the oddest thing. You are – oh, I can see you will not let this alone until you have your way. Very well."

  He took a seat and indicated Darcy to sit across from him. "Let us rehearse. You cannot behave in your usual way. Imitate my manners."

  Richard's manners were easy. For the first time, Darcy saw his cousin's manners for what they were: a practised trait, not one that necessarily came naturally, but that he had developed over time. Again Miss Bennet came into his head, reminding him that her proficiency on the pianoforte was not instilled in her by God or nature but by attention and work. "Very well," Darcy said.

  "But not too far. Watch me in everything. Do not raise a subject if I do not – there may be some reason for leaving it out."

  "I have learned that well from navigating the ton," Darcy said, smiling.

  "It is true, you have managed to avoid being entrapped in snares that may be much wilier than any our friend will use," Richard said. "Or entrapping yourself – which is much more difficult to avoid." He sighed. "I am glad Miss Bennet is in town. It is a pleasure to have someone so sensible and easy to talk to."

  The idea of Richard appraising Miss Bennet gave him a cold feeling. What had they been speaking of last night? She had been friendly to him, but no more than was polite.

  "I suppose she is," Darcy said. Richard looked at him oddly, and Darcy grew annoyed.

  "I forget that you dislike her," he said. "I cannot imagine why – she is the most pleasant girl."

  "I do not care to discuss ladies of good birth when they are not present," Darcy said.

  "Very well – you have convinced me," Richard said, still looking at him. "You are a model of discretion and I may take you without worry."

  "You are too kind." A door creaked upstairs. Darcy tried not to think about which member of their party might be awake and moving about, and hurried them out the door.

  They walked half a mile into town, Richard sure in his direction.

  The town hall was a grand building, not touched by the ruins of the revolution. Above the door, in large letters, was written MAIRIE. The letters were thick and gold, shiny with new paint and crisply done without a drop awry; Darcy raised an eyebrow at his cousin, who shrugged. The new Napoleonic gover
nment was clearly not impoverished nor the hotbed of egalitarian radicalism that the English newspapers suggested.

  Inside, they were greeted by a young woman who stood to receive them.

  Did the monsieurs have an appointment? Her French was thick with the regional accent, but her meaning was clear enough.

  "I do – although I am sorry to say I have left my coat at home," Richard said.

  The young woman smiled. "Then you must have two hats."

  "A red and a blue one," Richard said.

  She showed them upstairs.

  It was surprising to see a woman working in the mayor's office, but in their walk over, Darcy seen many women working in the fields planting – and even spotted one behind a butcher's block. The Revolution and the wars of the past ten years had taken many young men.

  The interior of the town hall was fine. The ceilings were high, the curlicues ornate. The frame on the large portrait of Bonaparte that hung on the wall was painted dark gold, and if he had a spirit level, Darcy suspected it would have rested exactly even.

  Not the grand oak doors of the mayor's office, but a single side door, opened, and a clear male voice called, "Come in."

  When Darcy and Richard entered the room, the man was seated behind the desk.

  He was surprisingly young, near Darcy's own age. His dark hair fell in a thick wave over his forehead, giving him a romantic look that was belied by his rigid posture and ruler-straightened desk. He stood up when they entered. "Welcome," he said. His eyes flicked between them. "I expected only one."

  "This is my associate, Mr. Darcy," Richard said. "My cousin and a gentleman at leisure. He is jointly guardian of my ward, whom you know about." Darcy winced. It should not matter if this stranger had such knowledge of Georgiana's reputation – but he hated the thought of someone who did not even know her, knowing such things about her.

  "A personal relation," the man said. "Very well. A pleasure to meet you both. I am Jean Mercier, the mayor's private secretary – and another role, which you can guess from the fact that we are speaking now."

  Richard smiled and took his seat. Darcy did the same.

  "We believe the gentleman is here. I do not know if he has deserted, or simply run off, but we are aiming to find him and bring him back to England – ideally without it becoming known."

  "If he has deserted to our side, it seems unlikely that you would come to me expecting me to turn him over to you," Mercier said. "There must be something else."

  "He has run off with a young lady."

  Mercier shrugged. "This is a common habit among young men, particularly soldiers," he said dryly. "As many of our female citizens are discovering. Your English men do not have a good habit of staying put."

  Even in Darcy's brief understanding of intelligence work, this did not seem to be going well.

  "She is a young English lady of good family," Richard said. "I appreciate your meeting with us and I do not wish to waste your time. We have two objectives. First is to recover him and repair any damage he may have done. We understand that our countries' relations are precarious, and I do not wish this fool to be the cause of a breach between us. Second, to salvage the young lady's reputation – a difficult task under the circumstances, and nearly impossible if her new husband is found guilty of treason."

  "You admire the lady?"

  The idea of admiring Lydia Bennet enough to follow her to France was too much. Darcy snorted; he could not help himself. Richard shot him a sharp look, but Mercier seemed amused. "I see. It is an inexplicably noble task you have set yourselves, but it has always struck me that English men are more romantic than pragmatic. Very well." He opened a desk drawer and took out a sheet of paper, and dipping his pen in the inkstand, wrote in a rapid but tidy hand. "This is a letter of introduction and pass of access. It will take you where you need to go – questioning men, anyone who works for me." He withdrew a stamp from the side of the desk, pressed it on the page, and inked a signature. Shaking drying sand over the page, he waited for it to take, tilted it into the bin at the side of the desk and blew it dry, handing it to Richard. "Civilians only, you understand. You must sort out the military for yourselves."

  Richard stared at the paper. "This is a great help," he said. "A very great help. I thank you." He hesitated. "I will speak plainly. This is a great help. It is much more than I would expect. You do not think – ?"

  "I will also speak plainly," Mercier said. "My supervisor believes in this peace. It has been too long a war. We are instructed to give every help we can – to show our trust, and our good will."

  "I appreciate this trust – this great trust," Richard said. "I, too, value the friendship between our governments."

  Mercier smiled. "It will be pleasant to not always have to be sneaking around," he said. He hesitated. "You are staying in town, I suppose?"

  "On rue Gros-Horloge," Richard said. Mercier nodded.

  "As you are strangers, it would be impolite of me not to ask you to dine. Tonight I am occupied, but several of the citizens are dining with me tomorrow night – you would be very welcome to join us. The hour is five o'clock."

  "You are too kind," Richard said, "we would be honoured to join you."

  "Yes, thank you for your hospitality," Darcy said. Would it be a meal of business, or a social occasion – would the ladies be welcome? "Will we meet your wife?" he asked.

  A flicker of a pained expression passed over Mercier's face, so quickly Darcy almost doubted he had seen it at all. "I am not married," he said. "Unlike your English girls, it is more difficult with – there have been many changes since – I am busy with my work."

  "You do not have to explain yourself," Richard said, throwing another sharp look Darcy's way, "we are bachelors as well. My cousin only meant to ask if there would be ladies present."

  "Indeed, I apologise," Darcy said. "We are here with two English women – the lady we spoke of, and her sister – and I do not know the customs of your town."

  "Ah! I take your meaning," Mercier said. "It would be a privilege to receive them; there will be six or eight ladies dining with us, of quality." He took a card from his desk, and rose to hand it to Richard. "Here is the address." He paused. "I did not realise she had a sister." Darcy kicked himself for letting that piece of information slip.

  Richard rose as well, and Darcy followed suit. "It will be our pleasure," he said. "Until tomorrow."

  "Until tomorrow," Mercier said, and followed them to the door, shutting it behind them.

  Darcy did not speak until they were out of the building, walking along the street towards their lodging. Richard followed him, silently, until he noticed where they were going and quickly pivoted. "Shall we take the long way?" he said. "One never knows."

  They walked along several meandering streets before Richard said, "Very well, I think we may speak openly. That was a funny one. You did well."

  "Thank you," Darcy said dryly. "I had no idea your French was so good. You managed to keep that secret."

  "Oh, well," Richard said, waving in a suspiciously offhanded manner. "I cannot work this Mercier out. Why is he giving us so much help? If I were the secretary to the mayor of the capital of Upper Normandy, I would not be giving two foreigners a pass with my signature on it. It is very unusual."

  "Perhaps he likes us," Darcy said. "He struck me as sensible. I was expecting a half-crazed Jacobin ready to carve up anyone with a whiff of private property."

  "Yes, he was sensible," Richard said reflectively. "The government must really want this peace to last, if they are behaving so courteously to us. Well – we shall take it. We are an easy pair to help, anyway. If he is telling the truth and does not know where Wickham is, ours is a small mission compared with some of the others taking place."

  Darcy had never thought about Richard's profession in this way.

  "I do not think it matters that he is aware there are two English ladies, rather than one," Richard said thoughtfully. "I suppose h
e would have discovered it anyway when we came to dine." He looked at Darcy and smiled. "Perhaps it is for the best – he can take you for a fool."

  They passed the coffeeshop on the main square – and Darcy heard the familiar sound of Miss Bennet's laughter.

  Chapter 25.

  Lydia took the news about her still-missing spouse better than Elizabeth feared. The news of a dinner invitation for the whole party was cheering enough to compensate, and Lydia was quickly diverted into a discussion, which lasted all the way back to their lodgings, of what the French ladies would be wearing, how much time Louise would be able to spend on her hair, and whether her yellow or green frock would be most impressive.

  The next evening, the foursome left their rooms dressed for dinner. Elizabeth decided against another wearing for the ball gown she had borrowed from Lydia, thinking it was better to be simply dressed than garish; she wore a simple dress of finely woven muslin, that would look passably well in candlelight. After long deliberations Lydia had settled on yellow silk.

  "Is this the house?" Mr. Darcy said. Elizabeth frowned. It did not look like a normal house. The servant who opened the door did not announce their names, and there were many people sitting inside, at small tables rather than one large one.

  "It is the address," Col. Fitzwilliam said.

  Lydia shrugged, and stepped further inside.

  A very handsome young gentlemen with a neat jacket and thick black hair approached them. "Welcome," he said, and bowed over Elizabeth's hand. "Enchanted – I have met your companions but not yet the privilege of your presence."

  His words were almost too extravagant, but there was something careful behind his eyes. It oddly made Elizabeth feel safer with all his effusive compliments; they both understood that they were playing a social game.

  "Monsieur Mercier," Col. Fitzwilliam said behind her. "How good to see you again."