“I’ve been thinking,” General Fitzwilliam said, leaning forward, and rather viciously sawing his meat with a knife. “How to convince my loose, leaky, lecherous cousin to forget charges against you? Public pressure is the thing: The people love stories of aristocrats proving their rights should be taken away. Let’s have the story told clear and simple so everyone in London hears it and knows what sort of creature Lord Lechery is.”
Elizabeth sat straighter, her hand holding her cup of coffee. It tasted nice, but very milky with this much cream in. “I would like his reputation to be generally known, so he cannot simply hire another woman who will enter such a place unknowing of the risk.”
“Ha,” General Fitzwilliam said. “You have that fire in you, to want some revenge against him.”
“No, no.” Darcy placed his hand on Elizabeth’s elbow briefly, and she smiled at him, enjoying the comfort of his incidental touch. “Let’s not wish to splash a bad reputation for you about town. Lechery will not drop his plans that way; he will pursue them assiduously, because he must prove that he was right.”
“He’d be a laughing stock. A nitwitted object of scorn — think, Darcy, think.” General Fitzwilliam growled, “How will they speak of him in White’s? Already laughed at — already despised. Simply the whispers about the story. Everyone will make him an object of fun, for having been beaten to a pulp by a woman who he tried to force, and then they will sneer at him for trying to use the courts to rectify a private loss — nay, I tell you, it will hurt him.”
“That isn’t the point. I don’t give a damn about Lechery. I’ll challenge him one day, and then—”
“No!” Elizabeth felt a stab of anxiety, and a flash of seeing the two of them, with smoking pistols staring at each other across a green field on a foggy morning. “I do not want you to be injured, or to face the hangman like me.”
Darcy dismissively made a cutting gesture with his hand. “Juries never hang duelists. Much as the judges would wish them to, never happens. I voted to acquit once myself, at the Derbyshire assizes. None of us assembled for that trial demurred.”
Elizabeth took in a shallow breath. “I do not want to see anyone dueling. He would have a gun too, and… no, no, no. I could never bear it if you were shot. And he is a vicious man. He would try to kill you.”
Darcy had a mulish expression and that frightened Elizabeth. She knew that she could not keep him from making the attempt. Darcy said, “I would have made a challenge to him the instant I learned he still lived, if it would not have informed him of where you were hidden. But now—”
“Now I am lost, unable to return to our Green England, and I need you to protect me.” Elizabeth did not like being dependent, but she was enough of a woman to use her weak position to her advantage. “You cannot return to England and leave me alone here and friendless.”
General Fitzwilliam said calmly, “In any case, Darcy, you forget that I have priority, he is my cousin, and I already challenged him to defend Miss Bennet’s honor. He did refuse to face me, like a coward — he might refuse you as well. Not a man who wants to fight with one of equal strength is my cousin. He prefers to fight women, and given the end of his most recent attempt along those lines, I suspect the coward may become too cautious to even do that.”
“Oh, you challenged him?” Elizabeth grinned at General Fitzwilliam, for some reason having vastly less anxiety for him dying in her defense than Mr. Darcy. Probably because she loved Mr. Darcy, while she did not love General Fitzwilliam. And General Fitzwilliam had an air of being well capable of killing a man without feeling much remorse or hesitation. “What a hero.”
Confirming that sentiment, General Fitzwilliam replied, as he filled his coffee again, “My pleasure entirely. I must confess that I was more motivated by the hope to give my cousin a wound that would spout crimson than to make defense of your honor. Cousin Lechery annoys me. Always has. He’d intentionally wing birds when we went hunting as lads, just so they’d flitter to the ground in pain. He is family, and family ought take care of its own — both in good and in ill.”
“Hear, hear.” Major Williams raised his coffee mug, as though he were toasting with a glass of wine. “And Lachglass is no relation of mine.”
“It would do no good for Elizabeth — Miss Bennet — to sound the story about,” Darcy said. “What we must do is…” He frowned and trailed off.
“Darcy.” Elizabeth put her hand briefly on his arm, so that he looked at her with his beautiful and startlingly deep eyes. It was rather hard to think about anything with the way her stomach twisted and jumped in delight with his eyes upon her.
“I just want,” he said, “I just want you to be safe and happy, and able to return to your family in England, and be in such a position that you need not depend on me, and then…”
Elizabeth nodded. He felt as if his honor would not let him ask her again to marry him while she had such reasons as gratitude and necessity to suggest she must say yes.
Silly man — didn’t he know by now that she was quite talented at refusing men in cases where her interest suggested she must accept them?
“Well,” General Fitzwilliam said. “There would be value in making a scandal of Lachglass — he is one of the junior ministers in the government. A reward for bringing his rotten boroughs with him — a damned disgusting thing how our parliament works. That one man controls more of the government of our country through those MPs than all the people of Manchester.”
“I,” Darcy said, “would not be terribly enthused with giving the radicals amongst the workers in that city any say within the governance of our realm. You fought the French. You saw the sequel.”
Elizabeth smiled. “May I suspect this is a matter of regular contention betwixt you, since you have determined to become a radical, General Fitzwilliam?”
“You have ample proof yourself, from your own life, for why the privileges of the aristocracy should be trimmed back,” General Fitzwilliam replied.
“The system of pocket borough’s appears quite reprehensible, but in truth it is simply another manner of ensuring the greatest landowners in the country — those who have the deepest interest in its long term wellbeing — have a proper say in her governance.” Darcy replied seriously, “Such is the way that our constitution has settled for us to be ruled, and so it has been for many centuries now. We have prospered under this way of law, and we have defeated France many times despite its greater size. The landed interest must not be able to ignore the mercantile interest of the city, but the power of the land should always be predominant.”
General Fitzwilliam laughed. “Spoken exactly as one would expect a man who himself controls a rotten borough to speak.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “You now have the nonsense idea that everyone, man of consequence or wandering vagabond, ought equally to have say in who is their MP. I would rather keep my head, and avoid the inevitable sequel of a tyrannical British ogre rising from the masses.”
“Nothing of that sort happened in our colonies — I insist, every man is a soul equal before God, and I think there is no necessity to believe the negative consequences you believe would follow from an extended franchise are necessary.”
“Wide suffrage has already been put to the test. And then the French chopped the heads off all their betters—”
“Men such as Lord Lechery.”
“A few were such, but many were the most glittering flowers of civilization.” Darcy shook his head annoyedly. “In her bed, they grabbed Marie Antoinette from her bed, whilst in her bed clothes. A queen. And then they murdered her, in cold blood, whilst making the pretense it was justice.”
“Men such as you — and in general such as I — tend to have a rather narrow application of that sympathy Adam Smith argued was so vital. You have sympathy for the queen who is pulled from her bed. You can imagine those women who you love in such a case. But you have little sympathy for the vagabond who has no bed—”
“I do have sympathy for the poor, at le
ast those willing to work; you know how willingly I pay my poor rates, and how I offer charity above that when needed for those round about Pemberley.”
“In any case,” General Fitzwilliam said, “I know what I’d be expected to do if there was revolution in England. Any attempt at that sort, and I’d be expected to murder every gathered weaver in Manchester, every ‘prentice boy in London, every washer woman who tried to shout for her rights. There was some justice in the fear Robespierre had of reaction.”
“Nonsense. In the end the French king proved that Robespierre’s fear of mass murder following the victory of the better sort was insane, since when we placed him back upon his throne once more—”
“Not ‘we’, Darcy. It was me. It was Major Fitzwilliam. It was brave lads recruited from your farms, and from amongst the workmen of Manchester and London. Your only part in placing a king once more on the French throne was to pay your taxes.”
“And now you wish we had not done so.”
“I did my duty. I always do my duty. Do not think I will not do my duty — my duty as I see it before the Lord — I take no joy in this anymore. And Napoleon was a tyrant, and Napoleon needed to be removed.”
“And when he was removed there was no reaction such as you fear. There were not thousands of French peasants murdered. The women of Paris were not brutally shot by the new King.”
“Of course not, because he was scared they would rebel again, and remove him. Which they did the instant Napoleon bared his breast and dared the soldiers to shoot their emperor. Why do you think the French are willing to pay for our army to sit in Cambrai? It is because the king and his ministers fear their own people, drained as they already are by the wars. But mark my words — if Louis’s government outlasts twenty years, and I live to see it, I’ll eat my own hat.”
Darcy sighed and sat back. Elizabeth’s eyes were dancing. She had enjoyed being an observer of this argument a great deal.
“So then,” she said with a delighted smile. “Not to interfere with your chance to bare swords of words against one another, but Mr. Darcy’s question should be replied to: What is your purpose in spreading the story about Lord Lachglass about, beyond protecting other innocent women from ignorantly entering his clutches?”
General Fitzwilliam blinked and shook his head. “Ah that. The government is worried — you should hear my father rant upon the matter — the government worries about an uprising. There were few hints of any such chance whilst we maintained the war, but during the war, though prices were high, wages were high also.”
“It was those such as my mother who were hurt by those high prices,” Major Williams said. “Those who had all their income from the consols or a pension — Matlock gave her some eighty pounds a year to maintain herself and me after my birth, and he would not raise that just because the necessities rose in price.”
“Yes,” General Fitzwilliam nodded. “There are always those harmed by every change, but then at least everyone who could work had a full belly and full purse. Now employment is scarce, and a hundred thousand discharged soldiers wander the cities and countryside with no honorable place. A story like yours, Elizabeth, of an earl who is a minister in the government who first tried to rape a woman, and then attempted to use the court of law to murder her because she fought back. This sort of story might light a spark to the dry tinder of the already riled masses. The prime minister will push Lachglass to make terms with you, so that the story will go away.”
Darcy sighed. “This is hardly a certain route to protect Elizabeth, to enable her to return to England.”
“Have you a better notion?”
Darcy sighed. “I’d rather not see her name bandied about by the lower orders.”
“‘Tis my choice.” Elizabeth said, “And I am not so delicate — I have worked for my supper, myself.”
“It is entirely different to be a governess. That is still a respectable position, living in close terms with a proper family, rather than hiring yourself out by the day.”
Elizabeth patted his arm. “I thank you for your concern, but I truly have no worry on that account — But how would such a story be passed around? No newspaper would print such a scandalous story about a peer of the realm.”
“Well, well.” General Fitzwilliam scratched at his sideburns. “I know a few men who are well… ah, they have access to a printing press. Or they do not. But they know people who do. You know…”
“Good God!” Darcy exclaimed. “You have friends amongst the suppressed scurrilous press.”
General Fitzwilliam shrugged. “Not friends… friends of friends. Tell the story of what happened, and I’ll see it printed and distributed widely in London, and elsewhere in the country. Miss Bennet, you want that to happen, so Lord Lechery’s next governess will know what to expect.”
“I do.” Elizabeth tapped her foot on the brick tile floor a few times and looked out at the empty winter garden. “For my part, whether it helps me return to England or not, I like your plan.”
Chapter Twelve
Elizabeth’s first order of business during her stay in Calais was to pen an essay for pamphlets, or newspapers, and any other libelous and rebellious press that might print it. She was rather proud about her treatment of: The Tale of an Evil and Rakish Noble who wanted to Violate and Murder an Innocent Governess.
Her story, with rhetorical flourishes, was readied and sent out the afternoon of her second day in Calais. It had been written with the reluctant help of Darcy (who had a fine turn for the invective), and the eager help of General Fitzwilliam (who was a surprisingly poor writer given his ample other talents), and Major Fitz Williams who suggested many puns that were hilarious, but would not contribute to the desired effect if entered into the text.
The essay packaged and sent to General Fitzwilliam’s friends amongst some subversive organization of The Young and Privileged Against Tyrannical Excesses — Elizabeth had begun to think satirically in Capital letters about everything after penning her account of her experience.
She found this laughter cathartic, and it helped to banish any demons which may have lurked in her soul after such an unpleasant experience.
Though she liked to think any would-be demons had in the main been banished by the simple fact that she won.
Elizabeth also spent an hour each morning in attempted conversation in French with a servant M. Dessein provided who almost spoke English, and who was willing to correct Elizabeth each time she made a mistake. She made mistakes of grammar almost never, and mistakes of pronunciation almost always. The servant also repeated everything she said in French veeeery sloooowly until Elizabeth understood the sentence.
Becky came over with the Dover packet, along with Darcy’s valet, Joseph, the Darcy carriage with its driver and footmen, General Fitzwilliam’s soldiers, Darcy’s man of business, a pile of correspondence from Darcy’s lawyer about what he was doing to stymie and annoy Lord Lachglass, a supply of Georgiana’s modified clothes for Elizabeth, Darcy’s own clothing, ample odds and ends, and most remarkably to Elizabeth, a stack of large denomination bills in the French currency that was six inches high.
The man of business explained to Darcy, when he arrived, that they had been all changed by Childe’s as a courtesy at the rate which prevailed on the market.
Darcy nodded, idly rifling through the stack of bills that Elizabeth watched with wide eyes.
More than a thousand pounds were sitting on the table, except in French, that is in franc. “How badly would I have had my ears trimmed back if I let Monsieur Dessein give me Napoleons for guineas?”
“Is that his offer?” The man of business chuckled. “Quite badly, a matter of more than a tenth of the value, sir.”
“Still, a fine establishment.”
“Yes, sir,” the man of business, whose name Elizabeth had already forgotten but who was a far, far more friendly and honorable looking man than Lachglass’s Mr. Blight, replied. “A fine establishment. Mentioned by Sterne, you know. In his Sentimen
tal Travels. Though I believe the building that the family occupied then may have been different.”
“Oh, really!” Elizabeth exclaimed with a small clap. “I adore Sterne. I must find a copy of that to read.”
The man of business bowed with a friendly air to her. “I shall send for my own copy, madam, if you wish.”
After penning her story, Elizabeth was at liberty to enjoy the touring delights of Calais. She walked along the shore a great deal with Darcy. She looked at every part of the harbor. She was properly repulsed by the smell of the fish market late in the afternoon after all the catch worth selling had been sold. She admired the half medieval, half modern town hall. She listened to the church bells from the cathedral chime every quarter hour. The church had, she was told, been built during the English rule, three or four centuries before. And Elizabeth visited the neighboring town of Bourgoine, which had seemed to be half English in its population.
On the fourth day of their stay in Calais, which they planned to be the last, as General Fitzwilliam’s regiment was to leave the next morning, an event of some importance occurred.
Darcy had taken her arm in arm for a walk out along the long wooden pier that extended far out into the sea from the land. General Fitzwilliam was this day occupied arranging matters before his men marched off to join the division he commanded in Cambrai.
However Darcy and his cousin planned to meet for fencing at a salle patronized by many English gentlemen of fashion and leisure, and that General Fitzwilliam promised was exceedingly well equipped, at around four o’clock.
The pier delighted Elizabeth like a ball of yarn delighted a kitten.
She had never had the opportunity to properly enjoy a beach resort town, as Papa had a general disinclination to travelling, even so far as London, and he kept the family mostly fixed during the summers (and winters) in Longbourn when she was a girl.
The salty sea wind flapped loose strands of hair against her face, and the waves propelled by the wind splashed against the big round tree trunks that made the frame of the pier. Seagulls and albatrosses placidly sat on the roughhewn wooden railing of the pier. Despite the cold weather and winter season, every few yards some man with a bucket of stinky bait fished from off the pier. The hooks hung down off long twine strings, and the already caught fish swam helplessly in tubs, awaiting their final doom.
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