Darcy's Hope at Donwell Abbey, a WW1 Pride & Prejudice Companion

by Ginger Monette

  She released a lungful of air. “I can’t believe it. It’s a miracle I’m still alive.”

  “Providential, for sure. And it was no coincidence your tent mate was on duty that night. She was also an agent. She and Sapper disappeared along with the prisoners.”

  “Tootie was an agent? I’d never have suspected her.”

  “She disappeared the night of the air raid. And that newspaper article that scared you away was referring to her, not you.”

  “But it mentioned my nicknames—Florence and Chérie.”

  “That was a simple case of shoddy reporting and mistaken identity.”

  “So no one has ever been looking for me?”

  “I was looking for you.”

  She brushed his cheek. “I’m so sorry to have put you through so much. I can’t believe I ran away for nothing.”

  He placed his hand over hers and kissed her palm. “I berated myself every day for not warning you of the danger you were in. If you’d known of the situation, you would never have felt compelled to flee. But as an undercover agent, I was sworn to secrecy.”

  “I understand. But I’m here—we’re here—together. Now.”

  “My regret in not warning you is one of the reasons I came back today. And I’m so glad I did.” He leaned in and kissed her gently, then pulled away. “Where were we?”

  She turned back around. “What about Sapper? How did he know I was at Pemberley?”

  “Caroline Bingley and Wickham were both working in Boulogne. He encountered her in a cafe just after you left, and she told him. He’s the one who sent Sapper.”

  “What about the hairpins the Belgian officers questioned me about? Do they tie in somehow?”

  “It turned out not to be about hairpins. It was the medal. The medal is a pin.”

  Elizabeth sagged against him. “How could I have missed all the clues? It all makes perfect sense now.”

  “Don’t berate yourself. It took me months to sort it all out.” He leaned forward and traced his nose along her neck. “Now it’s your turn. You may not be an agent, but you certainly succeeded in eluding me and a host of others. How did you do it?”

  She leaned into him. “I can hardly relate my journey with you tempting me in such a manner.”

  “Forgive me.” He straightened and cleared his throat. “I promise to behave until you’re finished.”

  Elizabeth giggled. “Well, I set out from Pemberley right after luncheon in the pouring rain. On the far side of the lake, I thought to stop at the gazebo as it was raining so hard. That’s when Sapper appeared and demanded the medal. When I realised he had no scruples about shooting me, I darted away, then made my way through the woods to Lambton and boarded a train to Manchester.”

  “After you helped an amputee on the station platform.”

  “Yes. You have been sleuthing.”

  “I thought you went to Stockport?”

  “My intent was to go to Manchester, but as the train was pulling into Stockport, one of my patients from the hospital in France recognised me. Of course I was terrified of being found out, so I got off to elude him. How did you know I stopped in Stockport?”

  “The stationmaster remembered you. He said you asked about a ticket to Liverpool.”

  “My aim was to escape to America. The next day I boarded the train, but just outside Manchester, I saw an advertisement for voyages to America ‘from six guineas.’ I didn’t have that much, but there was also an advertisement for VAD training in London—a perfect place to hide among the masses.”

  “So how did you secure a position working for Scott?”

  “On the train I overheard two medical officers discussing his injury and that he needed an assistant. They practically offered me the job on the spot.”

  Fitzwilliam threw back his head and laughed. “I was frantically looking for you, and all the while you were living in my house in London. Fact is indeed stranger than fiction. But if you were trying to conceal yourself, why agree to go to Hartfield?”

  “I only agreed to accompany Dr. Scott to a hospital outside London. I had no idea the hospital belonged to Dr. Knightley’s family.”

  “So it was really one comedy of coincidences after another. How did you keep from being recognised?”

  “I purchased these glasses to disguise myself, not that you or anyone who knew me wouldn’t have recognised me. But I anticipated working among strangers in London, not living with your relatives. Your cousin Anne did recognise me, but she promised to keep my secret because she has a secret of her own.”

  “Would that secret involve a certain Hartfield doctor?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I observed them at Christmas in Matlock. I’ve known them both for many years, and it was obvious to me there was something between them. But tell me, you never encountered anyone else in my family?”

  “Dr. Knightley had been home on leave right before I arrived, so I assumed he wouldn’t be back for another six months. I managed to elude Charles and Jane the day before the hospital’s dedication and the day they visited you in London, but your cousin Richard is scheduled to return next month. That’s one reason I was so anxious to leave.”

  “You’ve been eager to leave ever since I arrived.” He squeezed her arm.

  “I was. But I didn’t. I just couldn’t leave you, Fitzwilliam.” She twined her fingers in his. “When you—. Th-that day you’d given up hope...and I found you with that shard of glass.... I just couldn’t abandon you. I knew I had to stay until you were in a better place.” She caressed his hand. “I nearly revealed myself right then. But even prior to that, I’d planned to post a letter to you from Dover on my departure abroad to let you know I was alive, but a telegram took care of that.”

  “Well, not exactly. It told me the body in Liverpool wasn’t yours, but it didn’t assure me you were alive. And what if I hadn’t received the telegram? Would you still have posted the letter since your VAD request was denied?”

  She chuckled. “I don’t know what I would have done. I suppose I would have crossed that bridge when I came to it—just like I did every other situation.”

  His kisses found her neck again. “Is today one of those bridges?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. And I couldn’t be happier to have crossed it.” She turned and kissed him gently, but when he deepened the kiss she eased away. “If we are ever to finish, my love, perhaps we should walk.”

  He groaned. “If you insist.” He pushed to his feet, and then threaded her arm through his.

  “What became of Mr. Wickham?” She started around the pond. “I read an article in the newspaper that mentioned the ringleader of the conspiracy had been brought to justice last November. Was it referring to him?”

  “It was.”

  “Was he convicted of treason?”

  “No. Killed in a prison fight.”

  She paused at the news, then resumed her pace. “When we were in the passport office last year in Boulogne, I feared we might run into him.” She laid her free hand over his arm. “Now that I think back on that day, it struck me as peculiar that, when I gave the passport agent my name, he seemed to be expecting me and asked if I was travelling to Liverpool.”

  Darcy stopped. “Liverpool? Perhaps he thought you were the two-t Miss Bennett. I wonder if it could have been her body that washed ashore in Liverpool.” He grasped her arm. “Did you ever suspect anyone was following you?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “I suspected everyone was following me. At least until I arrived in London. Was there someone following me?”

  “Wickham said he sent men after you. We know he sent Sapper, but never found evidence of anyone else. I’m now wondering if he could have been referring to the Elizabeth Bennett spelled with two-t’s.”

  “But the telegram said the body in Liverpool wasn’t Elizabeth.”

  “No.” He stopped. “The telegram said it wasn’t my Elizabeth. We may never know that whole story. But what I do know,” he took her in his arms, “is
that I found you again, and I have no intention of letting you go.”

  “I’m so glad you came back,” she whispered against his chest.

  “And I’m so glad you were wearing that necklace.” His nose found her ear. “And thankful Scott kept encouraging me to pursue you.” He kissed her cheek.

  She stepped back. “Dr. Scott encouraged you?”

  “More than once.”

  “You don’t think—? Surely not....”

  “What?”

  “Do you think he knows who I am?”

  “I suppose it’s possible. You said Anne recognised you. Shall we go ask him?”

  Elizabeth squealed. “I can openly ask him. Tell him.” She raised her chin and shouted, “Tell the world I’m Elizabeth Bennet!” She giggled and hugged him. “And I can tell everyone how much I love you.”

  Fitzwilliam chuckled. “If you’d like.”

  “And I can write to Mary and Kitty in America. And see Jane! Oh, dear Jane. What will she say?”

  “I imagine she’ll be almost as happy as I am.”

  “Does that mean I can attend the christening?”

  “Indeed it does. And what about after the christening, Miss Juliet Elizabeth Thomas Bennet?” He pulled her back into his arms.

  “We’ll be married. And then you will take me home, Fitzwilliam, because I love you.”

  “With pleasure.” He bent his head and kissed her soundly.

  ~EPILOGUE~

  Seven years later

  Darcy set his reading spectacles aside and looked up from the ledger spread open on his desk. The curtains gently billowed in the breeze from the open window, and Darcy smiled at the boyish laughter drifting in from the garden.

  He scanned his study, breathing in its scent and savouring its comfortable familiarity. It was Pemberley. Home. And that was his son out there. His heir.

  Attuning his ear, he heard Betsy’s little voice talking to her stuffed rabbit and Elizabeth humming in the distance. He could see. And hear. Tears pricked his eyes. Seven years ago, he was blind and deaf, Elizabeth was lost to him, and he was without the hope of a future. Now he had it all—everything he’d ever wanted. He would never take it for granted again.

  He tucked his glasses into his pocket, then closed the ledger and rose to his feet. Starting across the rug, he stopped at the framed photograph of a reunion last year at the Somme. Elizabeth was right. Facing his fears had helped to take their power away. She’d given him the courage to attend the reunion and the unveiling of a monument. He touched the glass, and then put his spectacles on to observe it more closely. In the centre stood a tall white monument with the names of all the men who had died that first day of the Battle of the Somme. A vicar clad in his vestments stood at the base of the monument, his hands raised in blessing.

  Darcy could still recall the clergyman’s poignant words. He’d said something to the effect that those who served had endured a reality that the rest of humanity would never understand, but that the soldiers themselves could never escape from. He was right. The scars of The Great War would always be with him. But they were just that, scars, no longer open wounds.

  Among the large crowd surrounding the obelisk-shaped monument, Darcy could just make out a portion of his silhouette and the head of his son, George, resting on his shoulder. He smiled recalling his son’s innocent question that day. “Papa, is this where you won the war?”

  “No,” he’d replied. “It’s where thousands of acts of kindness and sacrifice were planted so that peace and freedom could grow.”

  Closing his eyes, Darcy recalled that hellish day at the Somme, trudging beside his men over the barren ground and surrounded by the thunderous roar of artillery and rattle of machine gun fire. And then rolling into a putrid shell-hole and coming face to face with a scared young German.

  His eyes flew open and riveted on a face in the photograph’s crowd. It was him. Fritz. Darcy knew the face looked familiar, but he’d never been able to place him.

  Darcy studied the light-haired man with a young boy by his side, a woman on his other. A chill ran down his spine. That day could have marked the end of either of their lives, as both had possessed the power to deprive the other of his life. But in their mutual mercy, they’d spared each other and, in doing so, made it possible for both to have a future, sons, and succeeding generations. How many other times had his life hung by a fragile thread, determined only by a split-second decision or the mercy of God?

  A squeal of glee drew his attention to the garden door, and his feet crossed the room. Bracing his hand on the doorframe, he looked out. George was dashing over the lawn, flying his aeroplane on a stick. Betsy sat beside a bench feeding berries to her bunny. And Elizabeth was clipping roses and placing them into her basket.

  His heart lurched as another memory flooded his mind. He’d stood in this same spot some seven years ago and envisioned Elizabeth in this garden beside him, her brown curls bobbing, her laughter warm. His partner and lover, the mother of his children. It was a dream he thought could never be fulfilled and yet, there she was.

  He opened the door, then strode across the terrace and skipped down the steps.

  “Papa, look at me!” George called out.

  “I see,” he called back, lifting a hand in acknowledgement. Proceeding down the gravel pathway, he approached Betsy rocking her rabbit. She waved, then put her finger to her lips in a shushing motion. He smiled and waved back, not breaking his stride as the object of his mission was just ahead.

  Elizabeth leaned over to clip a flower, and her garnet cross swung out, brushing the top of a rose. She still wore that necklace every day. That one habit, that one detail, was one of those threads that had forever changed the course of their lives. Was it mere coincidence that her father had owned the land he had been sent to requisition? It was certainly Providential that they both had ended up at The Ritz. And even that she’d happened to be on the same train with those two medical officers who’d offered her the job with Scott. Life was full of these thin little threads that could alter one’s course and determine an entire future.

  As he approached Elizabeth, she looked up. “Fitzwilliam,” she smiled, “what brings you out in the middle of the afternoon?”

  “You.” He placed her basket on the ground, then took her in his arms and kissed her.

  Her eyes fluttered opened in awe when he released her. “What was that for?” she breathed.

  “Making my dreams come true.”

  END

  

  A NOTE FROM GINGER

  Thank you for joining me in this WW I era adventure!

  My journey into penning the Darcy’s Hope saga began in 2013 as Downton Abbey was taking the world (and me!) by storm.

  I began to daydream…. What if Darcy & Lizzy were catapulted into the chaos of WW1? Needless to say, what you’ve just read was the result—composed after nine months of arduous research that produced over 200 pages of notes on everything from Belgian flowers, to WW1 patient evacuation, to the training of blinded soldiers.

  Though the journey has been long and often painfully discouraging, it has been one of the biggest joys of my life.

  If you enjoyed Darcy’s Hope at Donwell Abbey, would you leave a review and tell a friend? It would mean the world to me and will help others discover Darcy’s Hope.

  Until next time,

  ~Ginger Monette

  .

  •Let’s stay in touch! Be the first to hear of new releases and such. Join my newsletter family at GingerMonette.com.

  •Connect on Facebook at Ginger Monette Author.

  •I’d love to hear from you at SperoBooks@gmail.com.

  

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  .

  The teacher always learns the most. And in homeschooling her three children, Ginger Monette learned all the history she missed in school. Now she's hooked—on writing and World War I.

  When not writing, Ginger enjoys dancing on the treadmill, watching period dramas, publ
ic speaking, and reading—a full-length novel every Sunday afternoon.

  In 2015, her WW1 flash fiction piece, Flanders Field of Grey, won Charlotte Mecklenburg Library's “Picture This” grand prize.

  Ginger lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, where she happily resides with her husband, three teenagers, and two loyal dogs.

  She loves to hear from her readers! You may contact her through her website GingerMonette.com.

  Other works by Ginger Monette:

  •Darcy’s Hope ~ Beauty from Ashes, A WW1 Pride & Prejudice Variation

  •Tree of Life ~ Charlotte & the Colonel, A Pride & Prejudice Companion Story

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  .

  Special thanks to Sabine Clement for her help in ‘sketching the character’ of Lizzy and Darcy, her tireless suggestions to get a key scene just right, her insight into Belgian language and culture, and for her editing expertise.

  .

  Heartfelt thanks to The Ardent Reader, M K Baxley, Renée Beyea, Evelyn Catano, Anna E. Graham, Dr. Steve Jackson, Betty Campbell Madden, Mary, and Karen Tauber for their plotting, proofing, and editing suggestions.

  .

  To the members of the Great War Forum online and Frogsmile in particular: Your collective knowledge of every detail of World War I is incredible. Thank you for sharing it with me!

  .

  And finally, a special thanks to Paul Cunningham, my graphic designer, for his endless patience and

  outstanding skill.