Perilous Siege

by C. P. Odom

  “I hope so,” McDunn said, trying to stretch out those muscles that hurt but quickly giving up the effort since stretching just made the pain worse.

  “You did very well,” Georgiana said. “I thought you looked very natural—except for your outlandish attire, of course, but I shall soon put that aright.”

  “Whatever you say, Miss Darcy. Right now, all I want to do is soak in a hot tub of water, as hot as I can stand.”

  “It will pass,” Fitzwilliam said. “What is the saying you taught me from your Corps of Marines? Pain is only—”

  “Pain is only weakness leaving the body,” McDunn groaned, hobbling a bit as he and Fitzwilliam returned to the house. “You’ve far too good a memory, partner. I’m going to have to be more careful about what I say to you.”

  Fitzwilliam only nodded and smiled.

  ***

  Wednesday, November 15, 1809

  Pemberley, Derbyshire

  At the noon meal, McDunn was enjoying a second cup of Darcy’s excellent coffee with the other gentlemen when Georgiana finally made her appearance. He waited until her food had been set before her and the servant had left before he spoke. “I would like to suggest a gathering in my sitting room after this for a council of war.”

  The others looked at him with interest since he had spent the last several days deep in research.

  Darcy was the first to speak. “I take it you have decided how best to proceed?”

  “I have, but I reiterate I will only be making a suggestion, not a command decision. I need the agreement of my partners.

  “What is this council of war, Major?” Georgiana asked with concern. “What war are you speaking of?”

  “He means a meeting where all of us try to agree on a course of action, Georgiana,” Fitzwilliam said. “It is different from the command decision he mentioned where he would simply make the decision without asking our opinions.”

  Georgiana nodded, though the nod seemed a bit dubious.

  McDunn rose from his chair. “Then I’ll see you all shortly.”

  ***

  Darcy and his sister found McDunn’s door already open and both McDunn and Fitzwilliam holding glasses half-filled with Scotch. Darcy shuddered at the thought that not only had his cousin been corrupted into trying it, but he was beginning to show a real preference for the drink. Darcy could only shake his head in bemusement.

  He said as much aloud, and both McDunn and Fitzwilliam chuckled.

  “The colonel is a fine fellow, Darcy,” McDunn said cheerfully. “A credit to your family. Not only does he show an admirable liberality in associating with a mere sergeant—although it is well known throughout the entire US Marine Corps that sergeants actually run things—but he’s developed a taste for this imitation Scotch your butler supplies.”

  “I would like to propose a toast to sergeants,” Fitzwilliam said with a laugh. “Fine fellows even if we have more sense than to let them run things.”

  “You only think they don’t, Fitz,” McDunn said.

  “Something leads me to believe this is not the first glass of this swill you two have sampled,” Darcy said, pouring himself a glass of port and handing Georgiana a glass of watered wine. “And the sun has barely passed its zenith.”

  “Swill?” Fitzwilliam challenged, taking another sip. “I used to say the same, but I have learned otherwise. It is the perfect drink for a penniless younger son.”

  “I understand George Washington owned a distillery, and he pretty much gave you Brits everything you could handle a few decades back,” McDunn said.

  “And yet another vulgarity!” Fitzwilliam declared with a flashing of white teeth in his tanned face. “Brits!”

  “Short for the people of Great Britain. Though you wouldn’t suspect it right now, what with the Revolutionary War being relatively recent and with tensions increasing with the US, but both countries will become firm friends and allies in the not too distant future. For almost a century and a half in my world. Two world wars, two minor wars, and a host of smaller conflicts. Yeah, we call you Brits, and you call us Yanks.”

  “Well, only proper, after all, since we share a common language.”

  “One of your future statesmen once said the United States and Great Britain were two countries separated by a common language!”

  “He did, did he?” Fitzwilliam said, pounding a knee. “Sounds like a stalwart fellow! And you know I am going to steal that one too!”

  “Of course,” McDunn said, thinking Winston Churchill would have been appalled to see his country reduced to what it had been in 2045.

  “Well, that Washington fellow was rather stalwart too, even if he did own a distillery,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “I still cannot believe he did not become King George the First of North America,” Darcy opined. “All the dons at Cambridge spoke of it. Everyone, literally everyone, seemed to believe he would. They did not so much as question it.”

  “Interesting man, Washington. Fine president. We needed more like him. Our President Davis might have gone down in history as very much like him—if the fanatics hadn’t killed him and the rest of our government leaders in the Massacre.”

  Setting his glass on the table, McDunn sighed. “Time to get down to brass tacks.”

  “Uh, Major?” Georgiana said.

  “You don’t say that now? Well, it means getting down to essential stuff. I have no idea where it came from, but it looks as though it’s sometime in the future.”

  “American sayings,” Fitzwilliam said. “As I said, he must have an unlimited supply.”

  “As you know, I’ve been busy these past weeks, especially the last few days. We’ve talked several times about the possibilities I was considering, but I’m now fairly certain what our first project should be.”

  “The telegraph?” Darcy said.

  “Exactly. I think it has the best possibilities for becoming profitable, and the expenditures to build a working prototype shouldn’t be nearly as extensive as something like the steam locomotive.”

  “I had been holding out hope for the breech-loading rifle,” Fitzwilliam said sadly. “Or those revolver pistols you mentioned. My men could use those, but I always knew they were low on your list.”

  “The dynamite you spoke of was intriguing,” Darcy said, “but you are probably correct it would be more valuable in the United States than in Britain. More land there—more construction needed.”

  “Especially since McDunn says there is going to be a war between our two countries in a few years,” Fitzwilliam said morosely. “As though we did not have enough troubles! Those idiots in the government!”

  “Well, the US has more than a few idiots of its own, Fitz.”

  “I do not understand how you can be so casual about a war,” Georgiana said, rather anxiously.

  “I came from the year 2045, not 1812, Miss Darcy,” McDunn said with a shrug. “I have no real feeling of allegiance to the United States of this coming war with your country. It’ll be a stupid war with plenty of fault on both sides, but at least it’ll be a small war compared to your war with France.”

  Georgiana nodded, then she turned rather pink before she said timidly, “I liked your ideas about…plumbing.”

  “Me, too,” McDunn grinned. “I miss proper plumbing. But there are too many problems associated with making it work, especially in the cities. However, while I’m working on the telegraph, which I hope to sell to your government for lots of money, I’m planning a side project here at Pemberley with working toilets and water flowing through pipes inside the house. Pemberley has lots of land for the waste handling possible with a septic system. It may not be very cost efficient, but it’ll work.”

  He nodded to Darcy. “Consider it partial payment for not throwing me off your land or having me trundled off to Bethlem Roy
al Hospital.”

  “Nonsense. You have successfully convinced me all of us are going to make a great deal of money,” Darcy said. “You may be a lunatic American, but you are my lunatic American.”

  McDunn looked at him in stunned silence for a moment. “That sounds very much like an American saying.”

  “It does?” Darcy said, clearly pleased. “Well, great minds and all that.”

  “That did, too!” McDunn said before turning to Georgiana. “Your brother is associating with entirely the wrong class of people, Miss Darcy. You must do something.”

  “Now stop it!” she said, her hand over her mouth. “You were going to speak of the telegraph, brother!”

  “Ah yes, the telegraph. The idea appears to have obsessed you to the point that you skipped several days of the physical punishment you laughingly call exercise.”

  “Well, it is getting rather cold in the morning. And I wanted all of us to consider my suggestions before heading to London. I thought we needed to reach agreement before we left. And I’ve convinced myself, so I wanted to present my ideas to you. It’s always a good idea to have other people comment on your thinking so you don’t out-clever yourself.”

  “Is that a word, William?” Georgiana asked. “Out-clever? I have certainly never heard it before.”

  “No, Miss Darcy,” McDunn said. “I very much doubt it’s a real word either in your time or in mine. It just came to mind as a description of someone falling in love with his own clever ideas. My research has shown it’s happened with distressing regularity throughout history.”

  “I suppose the word does capture the essence, my dear,” her brother said. “Now, I believe it would be best to let the major proceed.”

  McDunn nodded cheerfully. “One of the best reasons for choosing the telegraph is that it can be done in the here-and-now, and the time is right. Some people are already looking at ways of sending messages electrically, but none of those ideas are anything close to workable and won’t be for a number of years. We can produce a better product in a shorter period of time—less than a year, hopefully—since we can avoid the mistakes and the false leads other inventors pursued.”

  He went on to explain how the telegraph system he envisioned would work. It would use only a single copper wire with a telegraph key sending pulses by means of a simple but effective battery that historically would not be invented until 1860. It would also use electromagnets—not invented until 1824—at the receiving end to produce clicks an operator could hear. He also described how the clicks could be formed into a code for the letters and numbers.

  “That’s where I think we ought to bring you in, Fitz. I plan to call the telegraph system itself the Darcy-Fitzwilliam Telegraph, and the code I plan to use is going to be called the Fitzwilliam Code. You’re going to have to learn the theory of this code by heart until you can explain the ins and outs of it and the advantages it gives. I don’t think you’ll need to actually learn to operate the telegraph key, but you’ll need to learn the theory of the code thoroughly.”

  “Do you understand any of this, Darcy?” Fitzwilliam asked.

  “A word here and there.”

  “But this madman is saying I have to learn some kind of code! I can ride anything with four legs, and I am an excellent swordsman and a passable shot—but codes!”

  “McDunn has obviously spent a prodigious amount of time and effort studying this, and I am sure he has good reasons for his suggestions. We owe him our full attention.”

  “Be patient, Richard,” urged Georgiana.

  “It’ll all work out,” McDunn said. “Trust me. You need to be a full member of this partnership, and if you take ownership of the code, it’ll be a weight off my shoulders.”

  “Ownership!” groaned Fitzwilliam. “Another word I do not understand! Will there ever be an end to them?”

  “Never, Fitz, never!” McDunn said cheerfully. “I think the version of the code that was the international standard for decades would be best. To tell the truth, I really haven’t given it the careful thought I gave the rest of the system, and I’d appreciate another viewpoint on how to make it better.”

  He paused for a moment then said, “One more thing, Fitz. Being the go-to guy for the code—”

  Fitzwilliam groaned at this, so McDunn only grinned before continuing.

  “—it’ll give you a presence before the government and military people we have to convince to buy this thing. That may come in handy for you in future years.”

  “Whatever,” Fitzwilliam said with a depth of feeling that had everyone laughing.

  McDunn clapped him firmly on the shoulder and said, “Now, here are some of the sketches and drawings I’ve made—”

  After everything was explained, questioned, answered, and a consensus reached, Georgiana held up her hand.

  “There is one thing I find somewhat troubling, Major,” she said, and it seemed as though she had a hard time meeting his gaze. “It seems…that is…should we be worried about the people who are working on this problem now? Is it unfair?”

  McDunn was not offended. “Progress has always been a cutthroat business, Miss Darcy, and competition always has losers as well as winners. But none of the present versions of electrical transmission of messages is going to work. And when it finally does, the people working on it now won’t be the ones who benefit. We’ll just be stepping in and producing a workable product right away. I’m going to compete ferociously. We have to succeed at this. I will not waste your brother’s money by failing. No way.”

  Georgiana still did not look completely satisfied, but McDunn was glad to see her brows unknit as she gave him a sheepish smile.

  “Perhaps you could clap her on the shoulder, Yank,” Fitzwilliam said, only to have to leap from his chair as Georgiana flew after him. Luckily, he was able to get the door open before she could catch him, but she was still in hot pursuit, and the sound of their running feet receded down the hallway.

  “Ah,” McDunn said, leaning back and sipping his drink, “to quote a movie my grandfather loved and I watched with him a number of times, they’ll make a fine, boisterous couple once they’re safely married.”

  Darcy was so startled by the comment he forgot to ask what a “movie” was. He looked at McDunn intently for several moments since he had actually mused a time or two that McDunn himself might make a good match for his sister. At last, he relaxed and leaned back in his chair, looking at McDunn thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps they will, Major Edward McDunn,” he said slowly. “Perhaps they will.”

  Chapter 9

  The true snob never rests; there is always a higher goal to attain, and there are, by the same token, always more and more people to look down upon.

  — J. Russell Lynes, American writer

  Thursday, December 21, 1809

  Darcy Townhouse, London

  “Come!” called McDunn.

  One of the servants opened his door to announce that Mr. Darcy wished him to come downstairs.

  “Please inform Mr. Darcy I shall be down directly,” he said, turning back to his drawing and adding just one more detail before standing up. He looked at it wistfully, wishing to continue just a bit longer, but he knew himself too well. When he became immersed in a task, he might look up to find an hour or two had passed.

  As McDunn rose and donned his coat, he reflected on having grown used to the fashionable attire Georgiana had so gleefully arranged for him. It was much like wearing a military uniform, and he had certainly worn uniforms much more uncomfortable.

  Like Marine dress blues, he thought sadly, remembering the only set he had ever owned. They had been presented to him by his regiment when he was promoted to gunnery sergeant, the youngest gunny in the Corps at the time. He left them hanging in his closet at home when he was recalled to duty, and he supposed they were atomized dust
floating over the ruins of Beaufort along with everything from his previous life.

  Since leaving Pemberley for London the previous month, he had been immersed in the details of preparing to produce their telegraph. The task had been his alone since Fitzwilliam had been called back to his regiment.

  The colonel had been uncomfortable when he first began working on the telegraph code, but he had studied the historical records on McDunn’s computer tablet and gradually learned what he had to know. From Fitzwilliam’s last letter, he had decided on the version of International Morse Code best suited to their plans with the addition of a few extra punctuation symbols—a period, a comma, a question mark, and an exclamation mark.

  McDunn had left it in Fitzwilliam’s hands, reminding him of the KISS principal—Keep It Simple, Stupid. They did not want to make the code too complicated right from the start.

  Fitzwilliam had only nodded and tucked his papers into a pocket of his red coat before leaving. He might have been a bit unhappy at his assignment, but he had understood the necessity and had done his best.

  The remaining partners’ first task had been finding a suitable workshop in which to hand-craft the components of their telegraph, a venture made difficult by McDunn’s total ignorance of London and by Darcy’s knowledge being confined to the more fashionable parts of town.

  But the task had been completed thanks to assistance from several of Darcy’s friends and acquaintances. They had also located and hired a quartet of artisans skilled at working with metal and wood. Even with McDunn’s assistance, the four of them struggled to assemble and test the battery and the parts of the telegraph key that would send electrical pulses over the copper wires.

  Learning about the less fashionable—and less safe—districts of London had been required for both of them because it was in those areas that most business and trade was conducted. It was where they had found their workshop and workers. Additional employees were going to be required after the parts of the first components of the Darcy-Fitzwilliam telegraph system were crafted by file, chisel, and saw. Once the concept was tested and working, additional units would need to be produced for the demonstration he envisioned.