by Violet King
“Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye
“That thou consumest thyself in single life?
“Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.
“The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;
“The world will be thy widow and still weep
“That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
“When every private widow well may keep
“By children’s eyes her husband’s shape in mind.
“Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend
“Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
“But beauty’s waste hath in the world an end,
“And kept unused, the user so destroys it.
“No love toward others in that bosom sits
“That on himself such murderous shame commits.”
Mary interpreted her readings in as literal a manner as possible, overlooking subtler or more scandalous interpretations, but in this, she seemed to have captured the spirit of the sonnet with some accuracy. Why had Mr. Reginald Darcy hidden this phrase in the cipher text? And so cleverly, marking them with what appeared to be random water droplets?
“Does that help?” Mary asked. “I can write it out for you if you’d wish. Did you wish to study the sonnets? It has been some time since I have memorized them, and I would love to have some serious company with whom to read them. Lydia and Kitty simply laughed and gossiped about some of them. They even claimed some were about his admiring…” Mary looked around, and then leaned in to Elizabeth, her eyes wide. “Another man.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed. She had little doubt her sisters were correct, which only made discussing such things with Mary more embarrassing.
“I think they were saying it to upset me. Sometimes Lydia’s jests can be cruel,” Mary added. “I have tried to remind her of the sin of telling falsehoods, but she does not listen. Lydia has always been a frivolous sort, not that she cannot improve herself should she so choose.”
“I… Can you write this one out for me? The ninth sonnet? Papa wishes to use it for a code.”
“Certainly. Once you have married, you will devote yourself to motherhood and family as you ought, but it is good you are so attentive to his needs now. Is it very difficult?”
“I enjoy it,” Elizabeth said, sharply. “I can decipher quite a bit on my own now.” Practically all of it, if she were to be honest, which, despite Mary’s admonitions about falsehoods, was a truth she would likely ignore.
“I will write this out for you presently. While you are waiting, why not take some time to practice your fingering. It is important, when attracting a husband, to show all manner of womanly accomplishments. That is what Mother says, and she did succeed in attracting a husband.”
Elizabeth would never look at her parents as an example of her concept of marital bliss, but there was truth in Mary’s words. She practiced until Mary returned. Taking the sonnet in hand, she went back to her father’s study. Why this line? Why these words?
The night before the Assembly, Elizabeth woke from her sleep. Mr. Darcy’s voice echoed in her head. “A makeless wife.”
Elizabeth rubbed her eyes. Of course Mr. Darcy would accuse her in her dreams. Why had his brother chosen to send such a sonnet to their little sister? Threatening her with a childless existence?
Ninth sonnet. Fourth line. The line contained nine words in total. Four began with W.
Nine. Four.
Elizabeth sat straight up in her bed. An Affine cipher! It depended on a new form of modular math pioneered by Carl Friedrich Gauss’s Disquisitiones Arithmeticae. The book had been published in Germany in1801. Mr. Bennet had acquired a translated edition in 1807 and both Bennets had puzzled through it, creating and cracking codes for each other.
If this was an Affine cipher, and the A coefficient was nine and the B coefficient was four, then it was a simple piece of reverse math to decipher the rest. Elizabeth’s fingers itched. She could not sleep now. Not with the answer so close.
Elizabeth put on her dressing gown and lighting a candle at her bedside, crept out of her bedroom, down the stairs, and into the study.
Assuming the nonsense letters between the watermarks were the second code, not counting the ones which were a part of the first section, then the letters to be deciphered were:
WPBMKEZYFOARACBKPABOJBATOWTTPOWBAUR
Elizabeth took the text from the shelf again and flipped through it until she found the relevant section. Each letter would originally have been assigned a value of A=1, B =2 through Z=26. An Affine cipher was a simple shift, using the equation, f(x) ≡ ax+b (mod 26). Assuming A as nine and B as four, yielded f(x) ≡ 9x+4 (mod 26). From there, all she needed was to do the reverse: x = inverse (9) (y – 4) (mod 26).
Elizabeth whipped through the equation, her heart pounding as she wrote out each letter and then double checked her work.
CHRYSALIDEONOURSHOREPROTECTTHECROWN
Chrysalide on our shore. Protect the Crown.
A chill passed over Elizabeth, and she hugged her dressing gown around herself. Was the Regent in danger?
Chrysalide. Chrysalis.
Remember the butterflies.
She folded up the letter and her translation, placing them each in two separate drawers in her father’s desk. She would check it again tomorrow, but she was certain her deciphering was correct.
Who were you Reginald Darcy, and what work were you really doing for the army? Whatever it was, he had died to send this message, and Elizabeth would have to make certain his death was not in vain.
8
On the morning of the Assembly, heavy rain pattered against the roof, making the day as gray and troubling as Elizabeth’s mood. She rechecked her deciphering with her father and penned an urgent letter to the prime minister’s office.
“This is good work,” Mr. Bennet said. “But we cannot share this with anyone else until we are certain they have acted upon our warning. If it is acted upon.”
“Why would they ignore us?”
“Not us, but Mr. Reginald Darcy. If he was even one of ours.”
“Of course he is one of ours! He died for this! And Mr. Darcy—” He was a cad, but not a traitor.
“This letter may well be a sham. Something to have us running about in circles chasing our own tails. We shall see. In any sense, we must be cautious and keep these revelations to ourselves.”
As much as it galled her to have to play the fool with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth agreed. Nervous energy captured her as she went through her morning activities and preparing for the Assembly. It was out of her hands, Elizabeth reminded herself. The letter was at least five months old. Perhaps the danger to the Regent had passed. Or perhaps it had never been.
“Lizzie, are you well?” Jane remarked when Lizzie returned to her room to change into her morning dress.”
“I did not sleep well,” Elizabeth said. She could not bear to lie outright to her sister, and even this skirting of the truth made her feel ill.
“Oh, poor Lizzie!” Jane said, capturing Elizabeth in an embrace. “We shall have tea brewed with chamomile and mint! You will be right as rain for the Assembly and to meet Mr. Bingley. We will see!”
Elizabeth nodded. Her guilt hung over her like a shroud. She drank the tea, which helped, and then with vigorous intent, gave her attention to her family obligations. Elizabeth could do no more to decipher the code now, and she would not allow her diffuse fears to spoil Jane’s fun.
It was still raining at noon, and Mrs. Bennet despaired the evening would be a disaster. “Our first impressions will be as drowned hens, and how is Mr. Bingley to appreciate a half dozen drowned hens? Oh! The dear Lord gives us trials such as he sees fit and says we must rise to them, but my nerves! I cannot stand it, but I must!”
Mary, stiff and proper at the cleared-away dining table, looked up from her book, and from memory quoted, “Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee: He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.”
Mrs. Bennet sighed. “Perhaps, dear child, you might wish to spend time on the pianoforte. I’m certain you will be called on at some soon point to display your skills.”
Mary nodded solemnly and took herself away. Elizabeth attempted the same, but Mrs. Bennet refused to give her leave to return to her cipher. Instead, she spoke of the fortune teller, Madame Godiva, and how Elizabeth and Mary, but especially Elizabeth would have to make herself available for their next excursion into town.
“Oh, Madame Godiva spoke such a wondrous fortune for our dear Lydia and Kitty. Jane refused to share what the fortune teller had said to her, but she was pleased. A mother can tell, you understand. A mother always knows.”
Jane had said little of the experience the previous evening, stating only, “I love you more than life, Lizzie, but I fear you would tear the Madame’s words to shreds, whether or not they were true.”
“You do not believe she can see the future, do you?” Elizabeth asked.
Jane said, “Her words lifted my heart. She saw love in my future.”
“Then she is not completely without her wits. Anyone could see a future for you with love because you are, above all things, good.”
“You think too highly of me, Lizzie.”
“Never.” Elizabeth put her arms around her sister. Few things were as wonderful as they appeared, but Jane was one. Elizabeth loved her sister’s steadiness, honesty, and most of all her kindness.
Still, it did not mean Elizabeth needed her fortune told. She would see through the entire charade and ruin everyone’s fun.
“Lizzie, are you listening? It is bad enough your father woolgathers when I am trying to tell him something, but it is also to some extent to be expected. He is but a man. A good man, and one we must ensure stays alive lest... I cannot bear to think of losing Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet grabbed Elizabeth by both hands in a grip that made Elizabeth breathe in sharply through her teeth. “Dear Lizzie, tell me you will marry! I cannot bear the thought of you as a spinster aunt living upon our Jane’s back.”
Nobody ever doubted Jane would marry. If only Elizabeth had been born a man. Even if her deciphering might even gain her an income. As it was, her best options were as a wife or governess. The former held a much greater possibility of love than the latter, Elizabeth had determined years ago. “Yes, Mother,” she said, making sure to meet Mrs. Bennet’s eyes. “I plan to marry. I will.”
Mrs. Bennet breathed in a large sigh. She pulled her hands away. “Good. It is such an ease to my nerves to hear your vow. Now I only have to fear for our Mary and myself if I am unfortunate enough to outlive your father.”
When the family arrived at the Assembly, it was sparsely populated. Mrs. Bennet considered this all for the best, but as the hall filled and none of the new arrivals appeared to be Mr. Bingley or his reported seven bachelors, her discomfiture grew more pronounced.
Worse, Mr. Bingley’s party, when they finally entered the Assembly hall, was comprised of only five altogether. Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of his eldest, and Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth’s attention swept to the latter. Mr. Darcy was as stiff and cool as he had been when he arrived at their home with his brother’s letter in hand. Had the letter been a plant? If so, wouldn’t Mr. Darcy have put in more effort to give over a good impression of himself?
As the other young ladies whispered behind their fans about his fine, tall person, handsome features, and noble mien, and of the most import, his having ten thousand a year, poor Mr. Bingley was quickly overshadowed.
Fools, all of them!
Mr. Darcy’s noble mien was him looking down his nose at Meryton, Hertfordshire, and all before him. In this, he seemed perfectly suited to the woman on Mr. Bingley’s arm, who shared Mr. Bingley’s bright blue eyes and honey-brown hair, now piled high in a graceful sweep of curls punctuated by glittering jeweled hairpins. Mr. Bingley’s sister, presumably. Her face was pinched, and she unfurled her fan over her nose and lips as though its stiff feathers would provide a firm barrier between herself and all that was beneath her.
Detaching herself from her brother, she went to Mr. Darcy and whispered something to him. Her fan lowered as she smiled, her teeth ivory perfection.
Mr. Darcy nodded once with stiff formality. If the letter was a ruse, Mr. Darcy could not have any knowledge of it. He was too proper to engage in spycraft, let alone treason.
Jane hooked arms with Elizabeth and, placing her palm just below Elizabeth’s shoulder, whispered, “My, he is handsome, is he not?”
“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth breathed in sharply. By heaven, Jane could not have been compromised by Mr. Darcy’s fair looks!
But Jane laughed. “No silly! Mr. Bingley. It is not merely his countenance, but in his smile. One senses a certain kindness.”
Elizabeth turned her gaze back towards Mr. Bingley. He did have a pleasant countenance, and unlike his sister or Mr. Darcy, he met those in his path with easy, unaffected manners. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, and older sister also appeared of a more grounded nature, though Mrs. Hurst dressed as stylishly as her younger sister, Caroline.
“Mr. Bingley appears to be handsome and well-mannered,” Elizabeth said. Though she could not help adding, out of a sense of protectiveness towards her sister, “But he and Mr. Darcy are close I would assume, and close friends often have a similar nature.”
Jane was undeterred. “Then perhaps it is Mr. Darcy who was softened by Mr. Bingley and not the reverse.”
“Then I fear, before his acquaintanceship with Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy must have been as cutting as a diamond and about as warm.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but note the contrast between Mr. Darcy and his friend. Mr. Darcy deigned only to dance twice, once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley. He spent the rest of his time stalking about, speaking only occasionally to one of his own party.
The tide of opinion quickly turned against him.
Lydia found herself the gleeful center of attention as she shared her own earlier experience with Mr. Darcy. “He was the proudest and most disagreeable man in the world!”
If Elizabeth had felt any inclination towards defending Mr. Darcy, his slight of her immediately dashed it. Due to the scarcity of gentlemen, Elizabeth had been obliged to sit down for two dances. Mr. Bingley, having danced prettily and with much enthusiasm with Elizabeth’s sister Jane, stepped away from the floor for two minutes to entreat Mr. Darcy to join him.
“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest dancing unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. Besides, you are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room.” Mr. Darcy looked at the eldest Miss Bennet.
Elizabeth stood, the horror of Mr. Darcy’s regard being aimed at Elizabeth’s eldest and most beloved sister, forcing her into motion before she could stop herself.
Mr. Bingley, being of an open and generous nature, at once extolled Jane’s virtues, of which he had only made acquaintance, and added, “But there is one of her sisters, standing just behind you. She is very pretty, and I dare say agreeable.”
Elizabeth stepped back, hoping to place herself in the shelter of a large potted plant, but it was too late. Mr. Darcy turned, and for a chilling and miserable moment, the full weight of his disregard rested on Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth.”
“So this is Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Bingley said, cocking his head. “She is quite handsome!”
“Passably.”
Elizabeth’s hands clenched. She forced herself to take a breath. A man might engage in a tantrum, but a lady must always hold her temper. “My father has been working diligently on your project since our last correspondence.”
“Of butterflies and imaginary lords.”
“Of Chrysalide.” It was a risk, bringing the subject up in a crowded ballroom, especially if Mr. Darcy had planted it with some ulterior motive. Elizabeth studied his expression for some recognition of the word.
But Mr. Darcy only furrowed his brow. “A French cocoon. What nonsense is
this?”
At that moment, the attention of everyone in the room was caught up by two new arrivals. Both were most gentlemanlike in officers’ regimentals. The first, Mr. Denny, was stocky and dark with excellent posture and a pleasing face. But he was outshone in an instant by his partner, who was a stranger to all but his friend.
Stranger as he was, he possessed all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, a fine smile, and a pleasing address. Both men immediately took pains to confront the disparity of gentlemen to ladies by entreating the two ladies closest to them to dance.
Mr. Darcy’s attention was suddenly arrested by the sight of the stranger who, upon noting Mr. Darcy’s gaze, lost all color in his face. Mr. Darcy, in contrast, flushed bright red.
After a moment, the stranger inclined his head at Darcy. He then held his hand out to one of the ladies he had been speaking with and directed her to the dance floor where another dance was beginning.
Mr. Darcy clenched his hands, and he took a step towards the stranger. The tendons in his neck stood out in sharp relief, and Elizabeth wondered with a thrill if Mr. Darcy was planning to strike the man. Elizabeth added a point in the stranger’s favor.
“Darcy!” Mr. Bingley took Mr. Darcy’s arm. “Not here,” he added in a harsh whisper.
Mr. Darcy whispered something to his friend too softly for Elizabeth to hear.
Mr. Bingley asked in a more regular voice, “Do you wish to leave?”
“No.”
“I can speak with Caroline. And Miss Bennet. We do not know if he is even involved with the rumors—”
“Go. Dance.”
“You cannot confront him. Not without evidence.”
Evidence of what? Now Elizabeth was intrigued. Whether this strife had anything to do with Mr. Darcy’s letter, Elizabeth could never resist a mystery.
“I do not wish to speak of this further. I will not embarrass you, Bingley. You have my word.”
Mr. Bingley clapped Mr. Darcy on the shoulder. “Good man.”
Mr. Darcy nodded stiffly, and Mr. Bingley returned to the dance floor with Jane.