The next week brought a flurry of activity. Each day Elizabeth joined Dr. Frazier at the bedside of the charming Dr. Cowart, and a steady stream of boots tramped through the library to Captain Darcy’s office. For the first two days, Elizabeth watched a young corporal trudge in and out of the annexe carrying logbooks and file folders until she wondered if every military record at The Ritz had made its way into the tiny room.
After touring every inch of the chateau, Captain Darcy called in various staff members one after the other, and then it was quiet. For several days he hardly moved from his small desk. Elizabeth caught occasional glimpses of him with shirtsleeves rolled up, jotting notes, and poring over documents amongst neat stacks of papers.
Each morning at breakfast the Sisters were abuzz with gossip about the captain and speculation as to his plans. “I heard he has the largest estate in Derbyshire.... He will have this place running like a machine.... Does he have a sweetheart?... So handsome!... Do you think he will let us have a dance?”
At last Captain Darcy emerged with a plan that met the approval of the colonel and summoned the entire staff to the great marble hall. With his ever-present flat cap and pipe, the colonel read the directive aloud. When all was said and done, everyone had been assigned reasonable responsibilities under a workable schedule. Because her room was in the linen cupboard, Elizabeth was asked to compose a weekly inventory report and deliver it to the captain.
Once the new routine was running smoothly, Elizabeth hardly saw Colonel Weekes’ handsome new assistant. Her days were much the same: morning walks, rounds with The Yank, seeing to the needs of the little Frenchman, and their twice-weekly visits to see his neighbour Meneer Bongaerts. Captain Darcy sped off on a motorcycle for the ward housed at the boys’ school early each morning and returned in time to dine with the officers. In the evenings while the other men smoked Woodbines, played cards, and enjoyed friendly banter, Darcy retreated to his office behind the closed door.
“Bingley? You know Charles Bingley, son of the Dr. Bingley?” Dr. Cowart raised his head from his pillow.
“Yes, I do.” Elizabeth looked up from his abdomen to meet his eyes. “He is a particular friend of my sister Jane.”
The Yank joined into the conversation. “Is that the Bingley fellow we can thank for developing immersion baths for injured limbs?”
“It is.” Elizabeth nodded. “I’ve rather forgotten the details, but I believe Charles senior came up with the design during the Boer Wars.”
“It’s a shame the old man died.” Dr. Cowart shook his head. “Quite personable. I had dinner with him and his daughter Caroline on a number of occasions. He implemented several of my ideas for improvement. Truth be told, I should’ve been included on the patent.”
The American doctor scribbled something on the clipboard and looked up. “Well, Cowart, it appears your wound is sufficiently healed. You are free to change the world with the next great invention.”
“So I shall.”
Elizabeth caught The Yank’s smirk and smiled back.
“Florence, have one of the orderlies locate his uniform and show him to his room upstairs.” The Yank rose and turned to his patient. “Looks like you will be attired in your Poilu blues after all when General Moreau arrives to present medals to your countrymen.”
“Indeed, I look forward to it.” Cowart swung the bedclothes from his lap. “There are some matters I aim to bring before him. Much better accomplished in a uniform than pyjamas.”
“Very well.” The Yank nodded to the braggart, then shared a final knowing smile with Elizabeth as he turned away.
She stifled a giggle. The French doctor was charming but obviously rather full of himself as well.
“Miss Bennet?”
She turned back to the newly discharged patient.
“Now that I am sufficiently healed, perhaps you would accompany me on a drive in the countryside. My mother’s family lived not far from here, and I have many fond memories of climbing about the remains of an ancient castle. It would make a splendid place for a picnic.”
“That sounds lovely. But now we must get you upstairs. You wouldn’t want to miss the general’s arrival.”
Elizabeth picked up a borrowed medical journal from the circular table in the library, then moved towards her chair beside Monsieur Dubois.
The Frenchman released a defeated sigh as his hand flopped to his armrest, rattling the letter between his fingers.
“Is Céline’s little Francois not behaving himself?” Elizabeth sat down.
“Oh, no. My little grandson is fine. Céline is just worried for me. There are reports the Germans are shelling hospitals from aeroplanes.”
“Surely that is propaganda. Medical compounds are clearly marked with a red cross.”
“Oui—making them perfect targets on clear nights.” Her employer shifted in his chair. “But that is not all. It seems rumours of spies and sympathisers in this area have reached my daughter’s ears.”
“Spies?”
“Do you remember the prisoners who escaped last Christmas? There is talk they were helped by traitors.”
“I can’t imagine anyone here doing such a thing.”
He chuckled lightly. “Le traître is good only so long as no one suspects him. Last summer many whispered a young girl in Poperinghe was a spy. A week later she was found floating in a canal—no arrest, no trial.”
“Unfortunately, it is much the same in England. Several families of German descent had to move and change their names because of the suspicion aroused merely by their name. I know one family in particular who lost everything. The town shunned them even though their son had volunteered and died at—”
“Excuse my tardiness for our walk, Monsieur,” The Yank barked, slapping his gloves in his palm as he crossed the library. “I was detained by General Moreau. He came sauntering in this morning in all his pomp and regalia and glibly handed out medals to the two dying Frenchmen. Makes me sick. As if somehow a bit of ribbon and bronze is a worthy exchange for a man’s life.”
Elizabeth and her employer sat silently in the wake of the doctor’s uncharacteristic outburst.
“Forgive me.” He released a sigh and relaxed his shoulders. “Today’s ceremony was particularly trying. One of the Poilus refused the medal saying he did not deserve the Croix de Guerre—his captain did. The boy only undertook the mission at gunpoint by his superior. His obedience will cost his life.”
Elizabeth winced.
Monsieur Dubois leaned forward. “You are an honourable man, doctor. It is a good thing that you are still troubled by death when you have become so familiar with it, eh? Perhaps a walk will help you to feel better. Let us circle the fountain today. It has been some time since I have seen my swans.” He pushed to his feet just as the housekeeper placed a tray of refreshments on the table in the centre of the room.
“Ah, Mrs. Simpson.” The lean doctor peeked over the matron’s shoulder. “I see we shall have some tempting sweets on our return.”
“Aye, and to add to y’er sweets, I bring glad tidin’s of great joy.” Sapper appeared waving a handful of envelopes as he continued in his Scottish accent with the distinct rolling of r’s. “Another letter from y’er daughter, Monsieur, and two for you Lady Florence. One from y’er sister and another from mine. I think I might even have one for The Yank.” He distributed the missives and turned back to Elizabeth. “Lass, I cannot tell ya’ what y’er letters mean to Lorna. Your tales of everythin’ goin’ on here give her a jolly good adventure.”
“I’m so glad.” Elizabeth reached for her hat. “I find I rather enjoy our little correspondence. You were right. Lorna reminds me much of Lydia. I suppose growing up in a house with four sisters makes me a bit of an expert on the sorts of details pleasing to young girls.” She retrieved a letter from the table beside her and handed it to him. “I finished this one just this morning.”
He accepted the envelope and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Have ya’ told her about our newest officer and how he nabbed y’er room?” He jutted his thumb towards the captain’s office.
Elizabeth laughed lightly as she pushed her arms into her coat sleeves. “I might have mentioned The Ritz’s newest officers, but it would hardly be noble of me to sulk over losing my sleeping quarters.”
“Whatever ya’ said, I’m sure ‘twill tickle her toes pink.” He slid her letter into the postbag and drew out two more. “I see the captain is out. Would ya’ be so kind as to see he gets these?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Elizabeth turned with the others towards the deep voice of Captain Darcy as he strode through the library. Lili, in her usual manner, barked excitedly and circled him, begging for his attention. Darcy nudged her aside with the toe of his boot and plucked the two letters from Sapper’s hand. “In the future, I’ll thank you to deliver them to me personally or slide them under my door.” With a nod he disappeared into his office, taking the light-hearted mood of the room with him.
Elizabeth glanced around at the others, none sure what to say.
“Well,” Sapper planted a smile, “I suppose I’d better be deliverin’ me other glad tidin’s and hope those getting’ them are more joyful. Then we shall be off to Bongaerts’ and the washerwoman for the afternoon.” He dipped a slight bow and exited the room.
Disappointment settled on the face of Monsieur Dubois as he stared at the closed door of the annexe. Elizabeth ached for him. His hopes for stimulating male conversation in fluent French were dashed.
The housekeeper looked to the monsieur and sighed. “I am sorry to have misled you, sir. He’s always been rather reserved but not...” Her voice trailed off.
“War often changes a man.” The Yank put a hand on the Frenchman’s shoulder and continued in hushed tones, “I hear the captain’s company was nearly obliterated the first day at the Somme.”
The little man shook his head. “Ah, a great weight indeed.”
“The poor dear.” Mrs. Simpson wrung her hands. “It’s a shame he hasn’t even his mother for comfort. Perhaps the scones and a glass of milk will cheer him.” She filled a plate and proceeded towards the captain’s door.
Jane had mentioned that Darcy had been wounded at the Somme, but Elizabeth had no idea his losses were so devastating. A blow like that would be difficult for any leader. But was the captain’s manner—cold and aloof—really any different from what it had been in Meryton two years ago? How curious that Mrs. Simpson’s recollection of his character differed so greatly from her own.
“Come, ma chérie.” Monsieur Dubois held out his arm. “Let us walk, and then we shall delight in refreshment and news from our loved ones.”
A week later Elizabeth quickened her pace to the overlook, anxious to read the letter from Jane. She settled in her favourite spot, leaning against a sprawling oak with a magnificent view of the canal below. Lieutenant Bingley had been back in Boulogne for nearly a week, so surely there would be news.
Scanning the letter Elizabeth squealed in delight. A wedding—next week! And Jane begged that she come. So soon? Oh, but did Charles have to ask Darcy to stand up with him? Elizabeth grunted. Could she not go anywhere and be away from the man? Even the wedding date was chosen to coincide with the captain’s meeting in Boulogne to ensure his presence. Why in the world would Charles, who must have plenty of friends, pick sour-grapes Darcy?
Could The Yank be right? Could the captain’s time in the trenches and his losses at the Somme have profoundly affected him? She often heard horror stories of things soldiers had seen and experienced that left them numb. She huffed under her breath. Certainly that was not the case with Captain Darcy. He was stone cold by nature with an impenetrable heart—no—he told her once he loved her. And that first day she nursed him, he kindly consoled her about her mother and sister. There must be something beating in that broad chest of his. What difference did it make? She shook off the thoughts as she refolded Jane’s letter. Darcy had ruined her family, and she wanted nothing to do with him.
She raised her chin and gazed over the distant meadow. The morning sun shimmering off the water in the canal below and the quaint windmill on the adjacent rise beckoned her. She’d never ventured down the face of the bluff to the canal, but she had plenty of time today, and the May weather was glorious.
Inching her way down, she steadied herself on rocks and branches protruding here and there, nearly losing her balance on the loose embankment. Finally reaching the bottom, she started towards the waterway. Rounding a knoll, she squinted into the sun at a tall silhouette of an officer peering down the canal through field glasses. Whatever he saw must have been intriguing, as he surveyed the horizon for quite some time. Just as she opened her mouth to call out a greeting, a stick snapped under her foot. In one deft motion, the soldier whirled around and levelled his revolver at her.
“Don’t shoot!” Elizabeth cried, pleading her hands in surrender. It was Captain Darcy.
“What are you doing here?” he barked, lowering the firearm and glaring at her with flashing eyes of steel.
Her heart pounding, she bit back, “Perhaps I could ask the same of you.”
“That is not the point.” He reached out and grabbed her arm above the elbow, nearly shaking it in rage. “A lady has no business out here alone. There are men roaming about who have no thought for their future and would be only too happy to ravage an attractive woman such as yourself.”
She jerked her arm away. “I appreciate your concern, but I am quite capable of looking after myself. But it’s nice to know you now consider me attractive as there was a time I wasn’t handsome enough to tempt you.”
His face hardened. “If you were this obstinate towards your father’s authority, it’s no wonder he gave up on your sisters and retreated to his stud—”
His eyes widened in shocked contrition, and his manner softened. “Forgive me. That was uncalled for and unkind. Please...trust me in this.”
“Trust you? You are asking me to trust you? After your reprehensible treatment of Lieutenant Wickham and your calculated separation of Charles from Jane, I have no reason to trust you.”
Darcy clenched his fist. “Perhaps had you read my letter explaining myself, you might think differently.”
“Letter? What letter?”
“The one I sent to Longbourn from London after our...encounter at Hunsford parsonage. It detailed my dealings with Wickham and your sister. I suppose you were too prejudiced against me to even open it.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it, dumbfounded. Was it possible he had an explanation? She’d stayed an extra two weeks with Charlotte after the captain’s departure, but surely had a letter arrived at Longbourn, it would have been left with her other correspondence. Wouldn’t it?
He released a defeated sigh and broke the silence. “Although I no longer adhere to my principle that my good opinion once lost is lost forever, I suppose I cannot fault you for abiding by it. Good day, Miss Bennet.” With a nod, he turned on his heel and strode away.
Elizabeth stepped back, wilting as she released a breath. Why did every encounter with him leave her breathless and weak-kneed? The tension that radiated between them was unlike anything she’d experienced before. He was somehow entrancing—both repelling and tantalising at the same time.
She started towards the chateau and shook off the thoughts, not wanting to think on it any more.
...it’s no wonder your father gave up on your sisters and retreated... She winced at the grain of truth. But she wasn’t the obstinate one, her sisters were.
She hastened her pace, but his words crept through to her consciousness again. A lady has no business out here alone....
She huffed at his presumptuousness. What made him such an expert on everything? She’d never seen anyone out here except the children who played with her stuffed dog, an occasional wagon on the road, or Sapper and his men at the cemetery. Under the captain’s authority, she’d already surrendered the dower house and the annexe. She had no intention of following his every whim as if he were an omniscient god.
Besides, what was he doing out here gazing down the canal? Didn’t he go to the ward at the school every day?