A Very Austen Valentine

by Robin Helm

  Millie smiled back. “I do indeed. But that was a dreadful matter. The spy, Louis Benét was the name, was it not? And no one in his circle of friends knew he was anything but a charming émigré with a fondness for art. I hear the spies often disguise themselves as something very innocent—did not one of them masquerade as a clergyman?”

  “I believe I did hear something of the kind. But I do not think there are any spies here in your charming village, and we are quite safe.”

  “You never know,” said Millie with a twinkle in her eye, “ ‘I speak of peace, while covert enmity under the smile of safety wounds the world.’”

  “Ought I to know where that quote came from?”

  “Yes, you ought. Shakespeare, my dear.”

  ⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟

  “And so, my dear cousin, what is it really that brought you to me this evening?” asked Darcy.

  Col. James Fitzwilliam finished the last of the brandy in his glass and smiled. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “You arrived on my doorstep without invitation, supped at my table, drank my brandy, and told me a few unamusing anecdotes—none of which you would have done out of mere cousinly affection.”

  “Perhaps I came merely to relieve your boredom.”

  “Boredom? In Town? At Pemberley, perhaps, but not in London.”

  “Admit it, man, there is a sameness to your days that you are longing to change.”

  Darcy had a little smile at the corner of his mouth. “Well, I suppose do find life a trifle monotonous, even in Town.”

  “You could take a wife…”

  “And I will. When I find a woman who has the qualities that I require in a wife.”

  “You will never find a woman who fits your rather exacting specifications, Darcy. Better take a wife that is young and impressionable, and mould her to your criteria.”

  Darcy rolled his eyes. “I have no desire to be a schoolmaster to my wife. And I do not believe people change much, if at all, for someone who is determined to alter them. No, I will find someone who does not need to change.”

  “You will be single for a very long time.”

  “Perhaps I will. Come now, we are wandering from the point. What is it you want?”

  “As I said, I am come to offer you relief from the tedium of your life.” At an impatient gesture from Darcy, he relented. “I will explain further. You remember hearing about the spy Louis Benét, of course. It was in all the newspapers.”

  Darcy nodded.

  “What was not in the newspapers was that his accomplice was his cousin, a woman called Elise Benét. Half English, half French, and speaking both languages fluently, and without accent.

  “Indeed!”

  “Yes, an unusual and accomplished woman. Quite the little actress. She found out that General Longacre is involved in intelligence work. Also, that when he is in London, he stays with his sister, who happens to be the wife of the Bishop of Hounslow. Somehow she contrived to become friends with this woman, feigning a very religious aspect.”

  “And contrived to be there often when the General was staying there, I presume?”

  “Yes. No one suspected her of espionage, of course. She was all over the house, and it was not until she disappeared, at the same time as several sensitive documents, that she was even suspected.”

  “So she is still at large? With the documents?”

  “Yes. We only discovered it recently. We think she is probably on her way to Essex, to the coast, to meet up with some compatriot of hers.”

  “And how is it that you know so much about it?”

  “Can’t tell you, cousin.”

  “So how does this concern me?

  “We wondered if you could take a message to the military commander in Southend, warning him about this Miss Benét.”

  “’We’? You and who else?”

  The colonel smirked. “I can’t tell you that either.”

  “The whole thing sounds ridiculous. You know of all these clandestine activities, but cannot tell me why, and with an entire regiment at your disposal, you ask me, who am in no way connected to the military, to bring a message to someone.”

  “We can’t use our own men, Darcy. There’s a leak of information somewhere, and we don’t know where. Any elaborate plans would be remarked upon. And before you ask, official military communications may not be sent through the mails. It must be delivered by courier into the hands of the recipient. But what could be more natural than for me to dine with my cousin? And if you happen to go on a journey the next day, what could be less remarkable?”

  “As it happens, I am going on a journey tomorrow. I am bidden to Lanesborough Hall.”

  “Lanesborough Hall. In Benington?”

  Darcy nodded.

  “Well, Hertfordshire is not so far out of your way. You could travel on to Southend the next day, could you not?”

  “I could, I suppose, but I would have to make some excuse. They expect me to stay a few days, at the least.”

  “Unmarried daughter in the house, eh?”

  “Yes,” said Darcy coldly, “but there is no reason to believe I am asked there on that account alone.”

  “Isn’t there? Well, you know your friends best.” The colonel grinned.

  “At any rate, I am not in the habit of telling falsehoods to my hosts. Disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.”

  “Well, you would have good reason to do so this time. And I have no doubt you would be believed. You have, as well as a fertile imagination, the abilities of a first-rate actor. Do you remember the theatricals we used to have? Never saw anything to equal your Anhalt! Come, Darcy, say you’ll serve your country in this way.” There was a comical look on his face, but there was also a serious expression in his eyes.

  “All right then, I suppose I will.”

  “Good man.”

  “At any rate, it will enliven my days for a week or so. Perhaps I may even encounter your spy,” he teased.

  “Yes, well, if you see a dark-eyed beauty clutching a sheaf of papers and gabbling in French, you will have reason to be suspicious,” laughed the colonel. “Assume a character yourself and stick close to her. Pretend you are Anhalt the clergyman. Or better yet, take a false name near to your own. You could be Mr. Fitzwilliam. No, no, The Reverend Mr. Williams. That sounds better.”

  “Will you be serious? Go off and write this message for me to deliver.”

  The colonel plucked a sealed note from the inside pocket of his coat. “Here it is.”

  “You brought it with you, assuming that I would deliver it?”

  “But of course. I know you.”

  Darcy grunted and took the proffered note.

  “Take it to the address written there, and deliver it to the general personally. As I said, we don’t know who we can trust.”

  “And if the general is not there, for some reason?”

  “Then wait for him. I would rather he not get the message at all than it be delivered into the wrong hands.”

  “This is all sounding a bit more grim and dangerous than you first led me to believe.”

  “Well, your part in it is safe enough. No one would suspect you of anything at all.”

  ⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟

  Darcy went the next day to his friends’, ate their dinner, was distantly civil to the daughter of the house, and made the excuse that he had to make an urgent trip into Essex on Georgiana’s behalf. His hosts were too polite to enquire into the details, no matter how disappointed they were at his rushing away, and he salved his conscience by declaring to himself that the safety and welfare of the nation was of paramount importance to Georgiana, and therefore it was really on her behalf that he was bestirring himself.

  He left early the next morning and stopped at midday in a small market town called Meryton. His manservant enquired about a meal at the hostelry on the main street.

  “There’s no private room available, Mr. Darcy,” reported the servant, “this not being a main road, and too small a town for Quali
ty to frequent. There is a parlour, though, set apart from the taproom, and they said you can eat your meal there.”

  In a few minutes, Darcy was taking a seat near the only window in the rather dark room. It gave him a view of a couple of shops, three houses, and a pretty little church. He remembered his cousin’s words and smiled to think about himself as a clergyman. If he had been the clergyman in this town, say, he would be eating a nuncheon in just this fashion when he travelled. And if he were a poor curate, travel would be done on horseback, not in a carriage. His meal would be simple, as this one was (though the innkeeper had done his best). However, he probably would have someone to converse with as he ate in the taproom—one of the local farmers or tradesmen. He stared out the window in boredom.

  A group of young ladies came down the street. They were smartly dressed but not elegant; most likely daughters of a well-off merchant or the local squire. There were three of them, and they paused outside his window.

  “Charlotte!” called one of them, and waved to someone across the road.

  “Lydia!” said another of the girls reprovingly, and added some remarks that were spoken too softly for Darcy to hear through the window. The young woman called Charlotte came across the road to meet them; she had rather a plain face but an intelligent expression, and she stood conversing with them for a few minutes. If he were that clergyman, Mr. Fitzwilliam—no, what had his cousin suggested? Mr. Williams, that was it—yes, if he were that Mr. Williams, he would probably be looking to this group for a wife. It was not a happy notion. Not one of them caught his attention. One of the older young ladies, the one who had reproved Lydia, had a pretty face, and evidently enough manners that she knew what proper behaviour was. But no, he would not have been tempted to know her better, even if they had been of the same rank.

  The young ladies departed, no doubt in search of some feminine trifles like fans or ribbons, and Darcy’s attention was now caught by the voices of some men talking in the taproom.

  “A fine carriage that is outside. Have you seen it before?”

  “No, must be someone passing through the town.”

  “I’ll tell ye what it is; I’ll warrant someone is come to enquire about taking Netherfield Park.”

  “Aye, that might well be. It would be good to have the house occupied.”

  “Yes. Good house, good land…good price, too, I heard.”

  “A little surprising that it hasn’t been let yet.”

  “Well, Mr. Caulfield is a choosey sort, you know. It isn’t everyone he would approve to live there.”

  Darcy heard the taproom door creak open and thump shut, and greetings to newcomers and orders for drink took the place of the conversation he had been listening to. He pulled out his small notebook and pencil and scribbled Netherfield Park, near Meryton, Hertfordshire in it. It might be the sort of house his friend Charles Bingley would like, and Bingley was an ideal tenant, even for such an exacting landlord as this Mr. Caulfield seemed to be. He put the notebook away and finished his meal as quickly as he could.

  Within half an hour he was on his way again, and got as far as Chelmsford before stopping for the night. The next day was a Sunday, and he dutifully observed the Sabbath by declining to travel that day. He made good time on Monday, and was in Southend by late afternoon. He drew a sigh of relief as the carriage halted in front of the general’s house. Only one thing left to do now: be admitted to the general’s presence and hand him the note.

  In five minutes, however, he realized that he was not, in fact, at the end of his responsibility. The crape bow on the door knocker did not signal just any death in the household, but that of the general himself. The manservant who answered the door informed Darcy that the general had died only the day before.

  “Took ill very sudden, he did, sir,” said the man. “I’m sure I don’t know what was wrong. His stomach pained him, he said, and he went up to bed early, and he never woke up again. I found him this morning, dead in his bed.”

  Darcy murmured appropriate sympathies, while wondering what had best be done. Should he discover who was second in command and give the note to him? But then his cousin had said, “I would rather he not get the message at all than it be delivered into the wrong hands.” Presumably James would know if whoever was now in command was trustworthy, but he dared not pass on the note to him without this assurance. What a time for the man to die! If he had only come yesterday or the day before! And yet…it was an unusual way to die, was it not? A sudden pain in the stomach and then death within a few hours? What if the general had been poisoned? It seemed too fantastic to be believed, but the manner of death remained a very singular circumstance.

  Darcy excused himself from the house and told his coachman to find an inn. It was too late in the day to start back to London, and the horses needed rest. There seemed to be little choice but to admit that his journey had been fruitless and go back to his home in London and give the note back to James. Darcy grimaced as he imagined what his cousin would tell him: go back to Southend and give the note to a different commander!

  Stay, why should he not then remain in Southend for a little while? He would write to the colonel and tell him what had happened and see if there was someone else who should be informed. Accordingly, after he had found accommodation for the night at the Royal Hotel and eaten his evening meal, he secured paper and pen and wrote a letter to James. It took some little time to figure out how to tell him the information in a way that would not cause suspicion if his note were to be somehow read by eyes other than his cousin’s.

  The Royal Hotel

  Southend

  My Dear Sir,

  The business for which I came here has been left unfinished, the intended recipient having departed the day before I arrived, and departed in such a manner that he will never return again. It was a very unexpected departure, and one that might justly arouse curiosity. I thought it best to inform you of this, in case you had any instructions that I might execute on your behalf before I leave the district.

  I remain, etc,

  The Reverend Anhalt Williams

  Darcy chuckled as he penned the signature. No doubt his cousin would recognize his handwriting, but the assumed name would make him laugh and would be less suspicious than an unsigned note. He arranged for the letter to be mailed in the morning, and then went to bed, rejecting the offer of the proprietor to be introduced to some of the other guests and join them for a card-party. He had seen no one at the hotel whose society he would enjoy, and the thought of an evening spent with plebeian strangers, engaged in an activity he was not fond of, was not enticing.

  The morning dawned clear and less frigid than was usual for early February. Darcy was not in a humour to spend the day in his room at the hotel, and enquired of the landlord what attractions the local countryside might hold.

  “There’s the seaside, sir, not but what it’s less pleasant at this time of year than in the summer. And there’s the ruined abbey that some folks like to see; that’s five miles away, near the village of Rowsley. But,” he added regretfully, “there’s no castles or grand houses nearby, not unless you want to go twenty miles to see them.”

  Darcy chose the ruined abbey as the best option for whiling away the day, and after a good breakfast he took his horse and rode out on his own.

  ⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟

  Elizabeth paused to get her wind at the edge of the ruins. After three days of visiting, Millie had virtually shooed her out of the house after breakfast, giving her a small bundle containing a French novel and bread and cheese, and telling her that she ought to visit the ruins that were not even a mile away.

  “It is a clear sky and no wind to speak of,” Millie had said, “and you should be out in the sunshine while it lasts.” And Elizabeth had kissed her old nurse on the cheek and submitted to being warmly wrapped up and pushed out. As she surveyed the picturesque remnants of previous centuries, she was glad she had come.

  The ruins were pillars and partial walls with arches, left
alone after the local people had taken away the loose rocks of the demolished monastery to build their own homes and bridges and boundary walls. After examining them with curiosity for quite some time, she found a window arch at eye level that made an inviting seat and climbed up into it. She opened the bundle to get her lunch and her book and settled herself there, with the sun’s rays warming her back, for an hour’s delight.

  ⸟ﻬ⸞ﻬ⸟

  Darcy approached the ruins with an appreciative eye. It had evidently been a magnificent abbey at one time. He dismounted and tied his horse to a bush, and had begun to walk around the ruins when he heard a dog growling, and a female voice saying, “Go home! Bad dog!”

  He peered around the remains of a wall to see what the problem was. A young woman was perched in one of the window arches, about five feet off the ground, with a large dog on the ground below her, growling. She was out of reach of the creature, but it was evident that he would not let her get down without trying to do her harm.

  Darcy came a little nearer and called, “Can I be of service?”

  “I would be very grateful if you would call the dog off,” said the young lady. “I don’t know who he belongs to—some local farmer, perhaps, but for some reason he thinks I need to be watched or guarded.” There was a note of amusement in her voice, and also a touch of exasperation.

  Darcy approached with his hand on his riding whip, in case the dog should prove more vicious than he looked. The dog ceased his growling and swung his head around to look at Darcy. His ears were back but his tail was erect, and he stared suspiciously at the approaching gentleman.

  “Have you any food there?” Darcy asked the young woman.

  “I have some bread.”

  “If you throw it to me, I will attempt to lead the dog away from you.”

  The damsel proved to have a strong arm, and the hunk of bread landed at Darcy’s feet. Darcy broke off a small piece and threw it to the dog. He gobbled it up and took a step closer to Darcy. Darcy backed away and tossed another small piece toward the animal, who consumed it and came closer. The dog was led further and further away from the ruin by a judicious doling out of the bread, and at last, Darcy hurled the remaining fragment as far from him as he could, and the dog went loping after it.