Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and The Scarlet Pimpernel

by Denise O'Hara

  The room roared, some in laughter and some in true outrage. And before Fitzwilliam knew what was going on, the whole of the tavern’s patronage was flowing out the front door to watch two drunken men attempt to slug each other. Fitzwilliam attempted to fight against the current of men for a moment, but eventually he found it was no use. He was swept up with the crowd and soon found himself a front row spectator to the brawl.

  The men hurled incoherent insults at each other for a moment, each man removing a dingy shirt to bare the skin and muscle underneath. They raised arms and one man circled the other while they sized each other up. To any spectator who had not been drinking – which, Fitzwilliam realized, may have been a group to which he was the only party – this scuffle would be the furthest thing from an even match. The significantly smaller of the two men was the one who had already taken a punch square to the face. Wounded and staggering, he stood in the center of the circle of men, struggling to stay upright as his knees wobbled – Fitzwilliam did not know whether this was an effect of the good time he had recently been having, or of the lone strike he had already received.

  Sadly, or perhaps not, Fitzwilliam would not see the conclusion of the horrifically one-sided fight. At the moment the men began to grapple, he was yanked by his elbow and lead gruffly through the crowd to the back towards the tavern.

  When they reached the outskirts of the battle, Fitzwilliam realized that it was the very foppish man dressed in yellow who was escorting him. As they entered the doorway, his face caught the light, and Fitzwilliam thought that he recognized the man, but it took him a beat to realize why. The fop called to the bartender in a much lower voice than he had been using previously,

  “A drink for my friend here.” It was Bayard, after all. None other than the Scarlet Pimpernel himself. “And some privacy, if you do not mind?”

  “Of course, sir” the innkeeper replied, as he walked back towards a door in the back and turned the lock.

  The innkeeper led them into an isolated back room and pulled out two chairs at a table. He lit the fireplace, and left the room, only to return with two drinks for the men.

  “Thank you, Wagner” said Bayard in his true voice. “We shan’t be long, I think.”

  The innkeeper nodded silently, raising one hand in thanks, as he closed the door behind them, and the two men were finally alone.

  “Every time,” Fitzwilliam sighed, “your disguise is impeccable. Every time…”

  Bayard took a deep breath, held his hand halfway in the air, and in the high-pitched voice he had been imitating, he said, “Commitment to the role, my friend, is the key to any disguise.”

  With that, he had himself a short laugh, before returning to his normal, calm self.

  “I wonder,” asked Fitzwilliam, “who is the man you used for the distraction? I did not recognize him, either.”

  “Fitzwilliam, do you not know that the best distractions are the ones that do not know they are your diversion? He was just a drunk man, in the right place, I suppose.”

  Fitzwilliam again sat in awe of the man who had become his commander. He wondered if such a man would have risen to such glory in the Royal Army, a duty from which Fitzwilliam himself had retired months previously. He had joined up as a young man and served a decade of steadily increasing ranks under the watch of a dozen men who were not half so capable as Louis Bayard. Though a good soldier, and eventually a leader himself, Fitzwilliam’s service had been less of a calling and more of a duty that he felt, a feeling that had waned some over the years. As the third son of a gentleman, Fitzwilliam had to make his own way in the world, and the army had suited his outgoing and adventurous personality.

  He had met Bayard through one of his former officers, and unbeknownst to his friends and family, Colonel Fitzwilliam had retired from the army several months ago. It was necessary to pretend to still have an occupation in the army, so that no one would question his disappearance for weeks or months at a time. He was happy enough to give up the life of a soldier for the more fulfilling life he now led. Fitzwilliam had himself a fine life with considerable pull among the local nobility, and he had found the lovely young woman whom he was thinking more and more of making his bride. Fitzwilliam’s life, however, also mirrored that of Bayard. He led a secret life along with Bayard and his other men - a circle of friends who were all themselves similarly afflicted and offended by the recent madness which had beset the French and their new ruler, Madame Guillotine. Fitzwilliam and his allies, under the command of the most dutiful and masterful Bayard, known only to others in England and France alike as the Scarlet Pimpernel, had successfully saved countless necks from that penetrating blade and had all done so without giving so much as a whisper either of any man’s true identity nor, indeed, their inclusion in such a regiment of liberators at all.

  This meeting, strangely, had been called by Bayard upon Fitzwilliam personally, and Fitzwilliam was not the least bit puzzled to receive the note from one of Bayard’s couriers with the location and time of the meeting, which ended curtly with the simple phrase, “Tell nobody, not even your brothers.”

  “Brothers,” Fitzwilliam knew, was meant to pertain to the other men of the group. He sat now in a chair across from the man whom he had spoken to only a faint few times since his inclusion, knowing only that there must be a mission at hand and that there was far more secrecy to the event than any of those prior.

  The facts were laid plainly before Fitzwilliam. Bayard’s boat was to leave with a dozen of his men, including Fitzwilliam, aboard the following morning. Bayard and a few others would be taking another route into France. Upon his arrival, Fitzwilliam was to take leave of his travelling companions and seek out the prisoners known as Montego. It was yet unknown in which prison they might be held, but Bayard was convinced that the family would have been taken near their home in Paris.

  There would be three in total: Paul, the Montego patriarch, his wife, Lisette, and their young daughter, Bridgette, a child of only seven.

  Bayard went on to explain that with Fitzwilliam as their escort back to England, he would have the proper friends and contacts within London to allow the Montego family to disappear into upper British life seamlessly and completely.

  Whether this family was known to Bayard directly, he did not say, nor did he seem inclined to know what imagined crime may have put them in line for execution, but Bayard ensured him that the charges were in error, and Fitzwilliam knew that he must be the fulcrum of Bayard’s rescue.

  “I fear I have given your mind much of a burden tonight, my friend,” Bayard said, “and I pray that neither you nor I take this charge lightly.”

  He rose from the table and extended a hand, which Fitzwilliam took in a manner of respectful friendship. Their met eyes and Bayard concluded,

  “I bid you to your home now, and I suggest that you may make peace and hold your loved ones tightly tonight. I know not whether our safe return will come with ease,” he paused, “nor can I guarantee it for yourself or any man on the treacherous adventure.”

  Fitzwilliam acknowledged this only with a nod, and Bayard gestured for him to exit before him. The two men would not exit at the same time so as not to arouse the suspicion of any men who may be observing, be they seen or unseen.

  “Until we meet again,” Bayard called.

  And with that, Fitzwilliam pulled the door closed and began the short walk back to his horse.

  Chapter Three

  It had only been a month, but it felt as if a lifetime had already passed.

  “Careful now, love,” Alex reached out a hand to help her out of the carriage. He smiled as he brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. “How does it feel to be back?”

  “It feels strange,” Georgiana let out a soft breath as she gazed at the familiar landscape. Everything still looked just like they had left it. “But wonderful.”

  The forests stretched into a rich backdrop behind Pemberley’s mansion, just as it had done since her childhood. The birds still waddled o
n the water's bank, cackling among each other as they searched for their dinner. There was the faint baying from their kennel announcing their arrival. She had seen a lot of sites over their honeymoon, but this one was the most welcome of them.

  They had no sooner dismounted from the vehicle than two women rushed out to greet them. Georgiana beamed as she was smothered by Kitty and Elizabeth, voices overlapping as they tried to ask about the honeymoon.

  “My goodness, you were not expected until tomorrow!” Elizabeth beamed as she looked between Alex and Georgiana. Alex gave the ladies a warm smile and proper greeting, which earned an eye roll from Kitty, who seemed to have abandoned all decorum for the occasion.

  “You should have let us know!” Kitty scolded lightly as she wrapped her arms around Georgiana's. “Darcy is going to sulk. He has been driving us insane with planning tomorrow's welcome home party.”

  “Oh it is not so terrible as all that,” Elizabeth said lightly as she warmly embraced Georgiana and then Alex. “He will be far happier to have you back a day sooner. It is so good to see you both home safe.”

  “We had a good wind at our sails and made excellent time,” Alex explained as he returned the hug and then gave his wife a warm look.

  “Wind at your sails?” protested Kitty. “You never left English soil!”

  “It is an expression my husband has used for so many years at sea, I believe it will require some time to break him of it. And, yes, you are correct; we spent the whole of our time in England. It is amazing how many places in the world my husband has seen, yet in this country he had seen little more than London.”

  “How strange it sounds to hear you call him, ‘my husband’”! Kitty commented.

  “Shall I escort you ladies inside?”

  “Always the gentleman,” Elizabeth said as she and Kitty flanked the young couple. Georgiana and Alex walked hand in hand toward the mansion with the ladies chattering happily.

  “Mr. du Pont,” Kitty chimed in as she walked with her hands clasped behind her back, “I have heard that you traveled with Georgiana's cousin, Fitzwilliam, on occasion. I imagine you must have some stories to tell.”

  “We may have gotten into a few misadventures along the way,” Alex said with an amused grin, glancing down at Georgiana.

  “Misadventure? Is that what it is called now?” Georgiana said with a wry smile. “Like the time Fitzwilliam stowed aboard and you two tried to smuggle a monkey to the next dock?”

  “All Fitzwilliam's idea, I assure you!” he raised his free hand in testimony as the other women turned their heads toward him.

  “A monkey?” Kitty asked with eyes glittering in curiosity.

  “He has never told any stories about monkeys.” Elizabeth looked perplexed as she looked between Georgiana and Alex, and then clapped her hands together authoritatively. “First though! You two had such a long trip. Let us have some tea and cake while Alex tells us the details.”

  “Darcy will not have it!” Kitty said with an exaggerated sigh. “He has probably already plotted out the whole night.”

  “Oh, do not worry about that. I can handle my husband.” Elizabeth said as she squeezed Georgiana around the shoulders. “His sister is absolutely exhausted from the trip after all.”

  “I am rather well actually--” Georgiana started to reassure them. She paused as her sister-in-law gave her a look. Her eyes widened in understanding and glanced at her husband. “I do suppose I feel a little peaked.”

  “Yet you still look every bit as lovely,” Alex responded with a conspiratorial smile, taking her hand to give it a light kiss.

  Chapter Four

  It was evening by the time they were finished with greetings, well wishes, and questions about their trip from family and staff. Georgiana could scarcely imagine how much busier they would have been if she had not claimed to be tired. There had been so many questions about the places they had been, about how long they planned to stay before heading to Italy. They had been pulled aside many times by Darcy and Elizabeth for sage advice about their new marriage.

  “Well, du Pont, how did you like our fair England?” asked Darcy.

  “I liked it very well indeed. It is not France, mind you, but it will do,” he teased. He shared with them their itinerary from visiting the Lake District, the Peaks, the moors, Stonehenge, Kew Gardens, Clifton Suspension Bridge, The White Horse, the waterfalls of Wales, and Dorset’s Lulworth Cove.

  “And this is when we claimed to be tired,” Georgiana marveled as she listened to the chatter. They would never have survived!

  Looking at Darcy, Alex asked, “I assume my family sent word when they reached Dover? Do you know if they met with accommodating weather for their journey back to France?”

  “They sent word when they reached Dover and then again when the weather permitted them to leave for Calais. “I am afraid they waited for a full seven days before they could board a mail ship to France. Your father did say they were taking advantage of the delay to rest up a bit from the journey thus far.”

  “Ah, it is a shame! When we are at the mercy of tides and weather, we do not always come off the victor! But, the delay may have been on our side as to the little surprise awaiting them when they returned.”

  “What little surprise awaited them, Alex?” Georgiana asked.

  “Your brother and I joined forces to have an addition added on to my parent’s fermette while they were away for our wedding. The farm house I was raised in is quite small, and my sister still occupies the second bed chamber. Soon there will be a room for us to lay our heads when we are able to visit them.”

  “How wonderful! Why did you not tell me?”

  “It was to be a surprise for everyone, my dear. I hope you are pleased?”

  “I am so pleased! It would have been terribly inconvenient to stay elsewhere if it is as rural an area as you have described.”

  “Believe me, I have not exaggerated. There is nothing but farms all around. It will be a very good thing for them to have the extra room. Knowing my papa and mama as I do, I would not be surprised if they offered us their room while they slept in one of the barns. You seem shocked, Kitty. They would sleep in the one with the winter supplies, not the one with the animals,” he laughed.

  The men disappeared right after the meal. Poor Alex never stood a chance against her brother’s enthusiasm. It warmed Georgiana’s heart to see how much the two most important men in her life enjoyed each other’s company.

  In some ways it was like she never left. In others though, she could see the time that had passed. There was a new vase in a corner she could not place. The women mentioned a hound getting heavy with pups. A visitor had come and gone.

  And it might be her imagination, but Kitty seemed particularly interested in stories about Fitzwilliam. She seemed more alert to tales about Alex and Fitzwilliam's antics than tales about London and a new lace shop in its market. Of course, Kitty and Fitzwilliam had enjoyed teasing each other when they were younger. Perhaps it had to do with some sort of new friendly feud they started in Georgiana's absence?

  “Oh, Georgiana, I wish you would stay more than a few days!” Kitty sighed and gave her a wistful smile. “I already miss our chats so.”

  “As do I,” Georgiana gave her friend a kind smile. “But we really must start for Italy when the ship leaves. It will only be a year. I imagine it will fly by.”

  “I highly doubt it. It was only a month, but it feels like an eternity.” Kitty studied her with a furrowed brow. “You seem a little different too. More...lively, I suppose the word would be. Self-assured. Married life seems to suit you.”

  “Thank you, Kitty,” Georgiana felt her face redden at the sudden praise.

  “You should try it, Kitty.” Elizabeth teased as she carefully stitched the linen in her lap. “You might enjoy it.”

  “Oh, goodness no!” Kitty said dramatically as she waved her needle in the woman's direction. “For shame, Elizabeth! Wishing such a thing on the defenseless young bachelors here.
They would dive into the sea before they got to the alter.”

  The ladies laughed, and Elizabeth shook her head with a knowing smile, “Do not worry, Kitty. I have no doubt there is a man out there who is a match for you.”

  “You are overly optimistic,” Kitty quipped lightly as she suddenly became very focused on inspecting her stitching. She kept her eyes turned down on the half-finished flower she was sewing onto a handkerchief.

  Georgiana felt that she had missed something important in the exchange, but she was at a loss as to what it was. Surely she had not missed that much?

  Georgiana and Kitty talked for many hours each day when Darcy was going over business details with Alex. They had laughed together as only they did with each other, and both tried not to think of how much they would miss their closest friend. One day, when Elizabeth was taking care of her duties, Kitty poured her heart out to her friend about Fitzwilliam. Georgiana could not contain her surprise on receiving the information. She had only ever considered him as a fun-loving older brother and thought Kitty felt the same. The two young women talked of nothing else whenever they had a private moment. Georgiana’s questions kept coming until she had heard the entirety of the interactions between the two and was satisfied that Fitzwilliam was not playing a wicked game. Kitty was delighted when Georgiana gave her final opinion on the matter: that her cousin must truly like her friend very much indeed.