The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth

Dinner over, they rose from the table. Elizabeth complimented Marie on the meal and on her cook’s skills, but Darcy noticed she had eaten little. Whitmore clapped Darcy on the back. “You have thought this all through. It is a solid plan.”

Darcy did not enjoy nearly as much confidence. “I hope it will be enough.” The thought of leading Elizabeth into such danger was very disconcerting.

“Come to my study and I shall show you my maps. The more you know about the geography, the better you can make decisions.” Whitmore led Darcy off to his study while Marie took Elizabeth to the drawing room for tea.

The next morning they were up early and out the door after saying goodbye and expressing heartfelt gratitude to their hosts. They settled into the coach across from each other – as tradition dictated – and Darcy insisted on tucking a blanket around Elizabeth to stave off chills. Darcy rapped on the roof, and the coach started moving with a lurch. Darcy immediately moved so he could sit next to Elizabeth and hold her close.

Elizabeth watched the beautiful French countryside move past the window, attempting to appreciate these last glimpses of her first trip abroad. However, it was difficult to focus on the scenic beauty. Instead she was torn between anxiety about how they would escape to England and the very pleasurable distraction of Darcy’s proximity.

When she thought about how they would escape France, she was more apprehensive on Darcy’s behalf than on her own. The French government would most likely release her if they were captured together; however, Darcy could languish in jail for however long the war lasted, perhaps years. That must not happen! But what could she possibly do if they were captured? Pondering the question, she drew closer to Darcy, who shifted on the leather coach seat and stroked her hair with his hand.

Dusk was falling as the coach rode into the small town where they would stay the night. The weather had been cooperative and they had made good time, only making a brief stop to change horses and eat the meal that Marie’s cook had prepared for them. They wanted to minimize their contact with the general populace; although the average French man might not harbor animosity to a traveling English couple, the two countries were at war. They could not take the chance that they might encounter someone who would alert the authorities.

They stopped at an inn that Whitmore had recommended and Andre, the footman, went to secure lodgings for his “Italian” master, keeping Darcy from betraying himself with English-accented French. Their rooms were small, but well-appointed and clean. Andre had asked for dinner to be brought up to their room, so they spoke very little to the inn’s staff.

Darcy watched Elizabeth with concern. He could tell that the trip had fatigued her – and that she was attempting to conceal the extent of her fatigue, although she could not hide the worsening of her penetrating cough. He had no doubt the travel was taking its toll on her health. She did not protest as he picked her up and placed her on the large bed’s embroidered coverlet – and her face showed relief when he suggested they retire early. Only one more day of travel and then we should be away to England, he thought grimly. If we are not captured first.

Elizabeth awoke early as the golden light of dawn was just beginning to shine in. Darcy was still asleep beside her and she took a moment to admire his sleeping form. It was taking her time to accustom herself to waking up beside him, but the sight of his face always made her smile tenderly. As if aware of her scrutiny, his eyes opened and he gave her a warm smile. “How are you feeling today?” He asked, concern darkening his eyes.

“Well,” she assured him. “And we are not due to depart for at least an hour. How will we pass the time?” She leaned in to kiss him, inhaling his deliciously male scent.

When they separated, he smiled at her. “I appreciate the sentiment, my love, but the walls in these inns are very thin. Other inhabitants are likely able to hear everything we say and do.”

Elizabeth pondered this for a moment. He expected her to express dismay and was perversely disappointed himself that she merely looked thoughtful, but then she smiled impishly, “I can be very quiet if necessary.”

“Mrs. Darcy,” he marveled. “You are full of surprises.” Likewise, Andre was surprised to find that the usually punctual Darcys were late departing from the inn.

The good weather continued all that day and they arrived at Dunkirk in late afternoon. Knowing that no boat would undertake a voyage so late in the day, they spent the night at another inn, attempting to blend in with the other guests. The night passed without incident and they reached the docks just as the sun was rising the next day. The port was crowded with fishing vessels, small cargo ships, and pleasure craft.

With the help of Andre and the other footman, Jean-Paul, they sought out small, but seaworthy boats whose owners might be persuaded to transport them to England. Darcy tried to be careful about whom he approached since the wrong person might report them to the authorities. One fisherman had already turned Andre down rather brusquely despite what the footman assured Darcy was the offer of a very generous payment.

Darcy glanced around the port. Most of the boats were big passenger or cargo ships bound to far distant ports. Before war broke out, there had been smaller sailing vessels that plied the waters to England and back daily, but no one would engage in such a dangerous activity now – at least not openly. The other boats of that size mostly belonged to fishermen. Darcy eyed the naval ships at one end of the wharf and hoped that they would not attract the attention of anyone on those vessels.

Andre started speaking with another fisherman, one with a boat that seemed in good repair. Darcy was following the progress of the conversation and could see that Andre had reached an agreement with the man. But, as Darcy scanned the area, he noticed that the fisherman they had spoken to earlier was now talking to a group of men resplendent in the uniform of the French army. The man was gesticulating and motioning in Darcy’s direction. This does not look good, he thought. We should disappear. He tugged on Andre’s sleeve to pull him away from the negotiations, but it was too late. By the time the two had returned to where Elizabeth and Jean-Paul waited with the luggage, the soldiers, a group of five, were already approaching.

Andre intercepted them. In response to their inquiries Darcy heard him tell them that his employer was an Italian businessman who had interests in England and needed to travel there with his wife. The commanding officer, a hawk-faced man in his forties, was clearly skeptical. He sauntered over to Darcy, standing closer than was necessary, and asked some pointed questions about his name and business. Darcy had invented these details in the carriage ride, so he had ready answers, which he gave in Italian while Andre translated as best he could. Over the officer’s shoulder he could see Elizabeth’s face, as white as a sheet. If only he could spare her this anguish!

Darcy thought they might have the officer convinced. Several of his men seemed bored, anticipating no excitement from these “Italians,” but suddenly the commanding officer leaned very close to Darcy and plucked a book from the breast pocket of his great coat. Darcy’s heart pounded when he realized it was a volume of Shakespeare’s poetry that he had been reading to Elizabeth in the carriage. Hardly the kind of book an Italian tradesman would possess. The man perused the pages and then glanced significantly at Darcy, a small smile curled his mouth. Dread seized Darc

y’s heart.

The man then sauntered over to Darcy’s trunk and opened the latches, ignoring Darcy’s protestations. He pulled out several documents and scrutinized them. Darcy knew what would happen next.

“Il est Anglais!” The man announced triumphantly, waving the documents around. Before Darcy could react, two soldiers grabbed his arms and held him in a vise-like grip. “I arrest you in the name of the Republic of France!” The officer said in heavily accented English.

Chapter 8

Darcy saw Elizabeth blanch even more and wished he could reassure her. At least she could return safely to England; they would not detain a woman. He would cooperate, giving them no reason to be angry. Otherwise they might create some trumped up charges of spying against her, in which case they could imprison her indefinitely. He had heard reports of such things happening.

“Your wife may return to England, but we will keep you here.” The officer said.

“No!” Elizabeth cried, all her anguish contained in the one word, causing the soldiers to shift their attention to her. Elizabeth drew a breath to speak, but then started coughing, the longest fit Darcy had heard in days. She is worse! She will have a relapse right here in Dunkirk!

Even at this distance he could hear the wheezing and rasping in her lungs as she coughed. Perhaps she was coming down with pneumonia; the doctor had warned of that possibility. Had all of the traveling triggered a relapse? Was the anxiety of the current situation worsening her illness? If she had to return to England alone, who would take care of her? Darcy turned these questions over in his mind, finding no satisfactory answers. There was no one who could travel with her, a woman traveling alone was vulnerable enough, but an ill one…He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. She was safer in England…as long as she could reach England.

Elizabeth had stopped coughing and approached the officer, her face drawn and wan. “May I speak to you, sir?” She asked in French; her voice was a harsh whisper.

“Elizabeth, no!” Darcy did not know what she had planned, but if she said the wrong thing, they would arrest her as well – which would be far worse. A French prison would undoubtedly be horrible, but he could withstand it if he knew Elizabeth was safe and there was the chance that his family could ransom him from the French government. Elizabeth glanced at him briefly – her face inscrutable – but ignored his plea. The commanding officer took her aside and spoke with her in low tones that Darcy could not discern –with Andre acting as a translator.