Chapter Twenty-Three

Darcy was incensed that the arch scoundrel Wickham had somehow managed to weasel his way onto the Colonel’s staff. He was aware that his childhood companion had joined the militia several months ago, after the debacle in Ramsgate. He had even managed to convince his commander to post him to London, rather than serving with the rest of the unit. Darcy had hoped, with that move, he might have seen the last of the blackguard. But to have him here, now, was almost more than Darcy could bear. But there was a more immediate need, and a greater danger to be dealt with. So, Darcy kept his temper and participated in the organizational conference Sir John was leading.

The new Colonel was familiar to Darcy. Sir John was a baronet, with an estate in the far north of Derbyshire. He was some years older than Darcy, but not of his father’s generation. They had once met at a house party near Buxton in ‘08. Glover, as he had not yet inherited the baronetcy, had been a major in the 7th Hussars and was preparing to sail for the Peninsula. Later Darcy had heard he had lost a hand in the fighting during the retreat to Corunna and had been shipped out with the other wounded before the actual battle. He was somewhat surprised to see him as a colonel of the militia only three years later. He assumed the militia was willing to accept his impairment in order to have access to his combat experience and formal training. At first glance the Colonel did not seem any happier to have Wickham on his staff than Darcy was. Perhaps the scoundrel’s reputation in Derbyshire had reached the commander’s ears.

“We have no flyers in the battalion,” Major Francis stated. “It would be advantageous if we could field an aerial reconnaissance element. Sir William, how many fliers in the neighborhood might we be able to draft for this task? Equally important, have any of them nocturnal sensing gifts as well?”

“Hrmm…” the old soldier thought for a moment. “I have the register of gifts in my office, but I believe there are only four or five flyers in the neighborhood. And two of them are girls still in the nursery. We cannot use them. As for night sensing …”

“I believe I am the only person in the area with both of those abilities,” Miss Elizabeth said.

“That’s not quite true at this time,” Darcy disagreed. “I too have those abilities. I’m sure we can coordinate with the other flyers to create a schedule for aerial patrols. However, given the numbers Sir William is positing, I do not think we will have enough people for proper coverage. So, the question is, which is the best use of our limited time and personnel? Miss Elizabeth and I likely have the two strongest, most versatile, gifts. We are also the most familiar with the investigation so far. Is having us tire ourselves out on constant patrols a more effective use of our time and abilities than leaving us to continue our investigations, or keeping us rested as a tactical reserve? While I am not under Sir John’s command, I am willing to take his opinions under advisement.”

“I appreciate your thoughtful consideration, Mr. Darcy.” Miss Elizabeth’s voice was carefully controlled. From plentiful practice, he was learning to tell when he had offended her. This was another one of those times. “But, as you just pointed out with regards to the current command structure, nor am I under your orders. My Father and I will make those decisions for ourselves.”

“I don’t think Major Francis was suggesting that any of you place yourselves under our orders,” Sir John placated. “And Mr. Darcy’s questions about priorities are both insightful and entirely appropriate. We have limited resources and an enemy with unknown abilities and numbers.”

“Five have been seen,” Mr. Bennet began, “though the scraps of paper collected at Triple Creek before its destruction suggested the existence of at least one other person who was giving the Meryton cell their orders. The existence of the three faux-agents and the French forger suggest that this is part of a larger plot. It is possible that one of those four is the person giving the orders, but …”

“But?” Mr. Bingley urged impatiently, like a child waiting for the end of his bedtime story.

“But I doubt that he is. I think it more likely that there is a French spymaster in London running a network of agents, and recruiting dissatisfied, greedy, or compromised Englishmen with promises of new gifts and other, more traditional, inducements.”

“More traditional inducements?” Captain Denny inquired.

“Money, revenge, women … begging your pardon, Miss Bennet … and favors are the most common.” Captain Cleveland replied in an unfamiliar accent. Darcy thought it might be North American, though whether from the former colonies or from the Canadas he could not hazard a guess. “The likely recruitment of the younger Dash into the scheme supports the theory, as does the logistical difficulties behind the rescue of the other prisoners.”

Sir John knocked his signet ring on the table to get the assembly’s attention. “The whys behind it all are of no little interest to me and to many in the Capital, but our immediate need is to determine where the fugitives may be currently. I see two basic possibilities – they are either in the area or they are not. If they are not, they are no longer our immediate concern and all our efforts are likely to be an elaborate training exercise. But, if they are, then they are likely planning at least one more attack, and possibly several. Where might they be?”

People started offering up possibilities.

“Another farm, either with the permission of the residents or without.”

“An abandoned or unoccupied dwelling.”

“A cave or some other natural shelter.”

“An inn, guest house, or some other hostel.”

“They could be in disguise.”

“They could have split up.”

“They could have left the immediate area with plans to return for their next attack.”

Once they felt they had exhausted the possible options, they started discussing how they might confirm or eliminate those alternatives. The militia had manpower and firepower. The local gentry had an intimate knowledge of the area. Darcy could offer suggestions based on experience, study, and logic. The balance of gifts was weighted in favor of finding the fugitives, without letting them know they had been found. The justification was that once found, greater strength could be concentrated before the radicals either attacked or fled again.

In order to make the best use of their strongest people, Darcy and Miss Elizabeth were separated, with Darcy partnered with Sir William and Captain Cleveland in leading the night searches and Miss Elizabeth acting as the local guide for Sir John’s units, with Bingley’s speed used to increase their effectiveness. Darcy was not certain, but he suspected that Wickham had something to do with separating Miss Elizabeth from him. The scoundrel was whispering to the Colonel throughout the discussion. At first, Sir John had been annoyed by the disturbances, but later seemed to be listening more to his new adjutant. Darcy was sure he had seen the snake’s eyes rest hotly on Miss Elizabeth’s face several times during the discussion. He had to warn her away from that man, before he did her some great injury.

“Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Bennet, may I speak with you for a moment.” Darcy asked as they were leaving the tent. “Someplace a bit more private than this.”

“Is it urgent,” Mr. Bennet inquired.

“No, but it is important.” Darcy watched as the father and daughter spoke to each other without words.

“Very well.” The father acquiesced. “You may either ride with us, though it is out of your way, or you may call upon us at Longbourn on the morrow.”

“If you are agreeable, Bingley and I would accompany you this evening. You were particularly despised by Nash. Although he is gone, you may still be a special target.”

“We do not need an escort. We are well able to protect ourselves, Mr. Darcy.” Once again, he had managed to belittle the woman he respected above all others.

“This is not about that, I assure you.” They were silent as they mounted and rode out of the encampment. Bingley started a conversation with Mr. Bennet about the drainage along their shared border. Miss Elizabeth did not join in. Some minutes later Darcy felt it was time.

“I asked to speak with you because I felt it imperative to warn you about Mr. Wickham.” Darcy started.

“The Colonel’s adjutant?” Mr. Bennet asked.

“That’s him.” Bingley’s voice was unusually somber. “I must say I was shocked to see him there.”

“No more than I, I can assure you,” Darcy continued. “I must warn you in the strongest possible language, that blackguard is a liar, a thief, and a despoiler of young women. He is exactly the sort of man for whom gifts are not reason enough to justify the title of gentleman. You should protect yourself and your family and have nothing to do with him if at all possible.”

“Those are very strong accusations.” Miss Elizabeth sounded astounded.

“But true,” Bingley confirmed. “I only knew him at Cambridge. He was a silver-tongued devil, whom you could not trust with your purse, your classwork, or your servants. He would take them all for his own and could talk his way out of any trouble that might come from his actions. Darcy has known him all his life and has been injured by him more than anyone.”

“Not anyone.” Darcy almost whispered.

“You need not share your own tale, sir,” Mr. Bennet assured him. “I trust your word. And I thank you for your timely warning.”

Darcy looked at Elizabeth and saw tears of sorrow and sympathy hanging on her lashes. He opened his heart and tried his best to share the years of pain and rage that man had cost him through his eyes. She swallowed and nodded speechlessly to him. He almost smiled at the thoughts that they seemed to trade in the silence between them. Recently it seemed that only one of them would be willing or able to speak at any given time. But this time the silence was filled of sympathy and solicitude rather than affront and anger.

He hoped that this silence was strong enough to build upon.