Recovering from the rigors of their journey, Darcy and Elizabeth slept quite late that morning. He noticed happily that the dark circles under Elizabeth’s eyes had lightened, and her eyes regained some of their sparkle. His fear that her exhaustion heralded a relapse of her lung fever abated.
After they arose, Adele served them a leisurely luncheon in her garden. It was simple fare—a bit of ham, cheese, grapes, and bread—but the food was fresh and delicious. To Darcy’s delight, Elizabeth ate with relish.
The garden itself was small but well-maintained, surrounded by high walls that preserved its privacy from the surrounding houses. The roses were in bloom, and their subtle fragrance added to the meal’s pleasures. Elizabeth and Darcy were introduced to Marie, Adele’s niece, a girl of fifteen who was as bright and cheerful as her brother was dark and brooding.
Conversation soon focused on how Darcy and Elizabeth would reach the coast. After clearing away the food, Adele spread a map on the table so she and Darcy could debate which roads to travel and which ports would be safest. Finally, they settled on a rather circuitous route that would eventually lead to Calais while avoiding the roads most likely to be frequented by soldiers.
The conversation then turned to other subjects. Bright-eyed and fascinated, Marie asked Elizabeth many questions, particularly about the amnesia. “You do not remember anything at all of your life before awakening in Saint-Malo?”
Elizabeth hesitated briefly before replying in stilted French. “Recently I have had a few memories.”
Darcy leaned forward in his chair at this news; his skin prickled with apprehension.
“Only a few remembrances from my childhood,” she reassured him with a smile. “I recalled when my sister and I thought we must rescue a baby rabbit from beside a pond, but the rabbit ran away and we both got wet.” Everyone joined Elizabeth’s laughter. As it died down, Elizabeth said wistfully, “I do not remember my sister’s name.”
Darcy’s heart ached anew. How lost Elizabeth must feel!
Elizabeth mustered a smile. “I do not believe such was an unusual occurrence. I think my mother complained about my ‘wild ways.’” She looked ruefully at Adele. “I am sure William did not provoke similar complaints as a child. He must have been always polite and well-behaved.”
Oh no. Darcy was not pleased with this turn in the conversation, but Adele had a knowing smile on her face. It was already too late to prevent disaster. “Oh, he was very well behaved.”—she rolled her eyes—“except, of course, for the time he slid down the front stairs on the best silver tray from the butler’s pantry.”
Darcy could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. Naturally that would be the story Adele chose first.
“William!” Elizabeth exclaimed in mock horror. “Now I learn the truth of your misspent youth? Did you disclose this to me before I married you?”
“Another time,” Adele continued, “he climbed into Pemberley’s attic and dropped apples and potatoes into the courtyard.”
Elizabeth gave him a dubious look.
“I had been studying about Sir Isaac Newton and thought to conduct my own experiments with gravity,” Darcy said with as much dignity as he could muster.
The hand over Elizabeth’s mouth surely concealed a smile. “And what did you discover?”
He could not completely suppress an answering smile. “I discovered that when you drop apples and potatoes into the courtyard, it creates a mess on the stones that your governess will require you to clean up.”
Adele nodded. “Precisely. And you never did that again.” Everybody laughed.
“Of course, it was your cousin Richard who caused the most trouble,” Adele remarked. “I certainly hope the army has tamed his wild ways.”
Darcy drank from his teacup. “That might be beyond their power.”
Adele turned to Elizabeth. “Richard would organize all the local children into battalions and send them into battles with sticks and wooden shields. I was forever treating bruised shins and scraped arms.”
Darcy smiled reminiscently. “I rather enjoyed Richard’s visits to Pemberley.” As the second son, his cousin had never experienced the sense of responsibility that weighed on Darcy’s shoulders.
Elizabeth gave him a teasing look. “And what do you do for amusement now?”
Darcy absently rubbed his chin. Amusement? He could recall few things he did purely for amusement. Everything advanced some purpose or another. Even when he went into the country, it was with the aim of benefiting from the clean air and the exercise of riding and hunting. Good Lord, when did I grow into such a dullard? However, one thing sprang to mind immediately. “I have had far more amusement since you came into my life.”
Elizabeth blushed, but Adele clapped her hands together. “Well said! Well said indeed!”
After a short pause, Darcy asked Elizabeth, “Have you recollected anything from your time as an adult?” Anything about me, for instance?
Elizabeth hesitated and then shook her head, her eyes fixed on her lap. “No, nothing.”
Darcy did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Had she forgotten him because he was not important to her life? Or should he count his blessings that she could not recall some of their less agreeable encounters? The somberness of Elizabeth’s expression troubled him.
Adele drained her teacup and set it on the table with an air of finality. “Your memories will return in time, I have no doubt.” She leaned over to pat Elizabeth’s hand reassuringly. “In the meantime, I am very pleased fate has brought you here.”
***
Over the next two days, Elizabeth rested and recovered her strength while Darcy worked with Adele to perfect their escape plan. They developed alternative routes in case of unforeseen obstacles and packed away cheese, apples, and other food that would not spoil quickly. With Darcy’s money, Adele discreetly purchased additional clothing for the journey. Elizabeth passed many pleasant hours in conversation with Marie and Adele, who seemed to find her good company. Despite the circumstances, Darcy was pleased he had the opportunity to introduce his former governess to Elizabeth.
By necessity, Elizabeth and Darcy did not leave Adele’s house except for occasional forays into her walled garden. But on the third day, Darcy was forced to venture out to sell the curricle and horse. The carriage was simply too noticeable and too ostentatious for a laborer and his wife; they were fortunate indeed that it had not aroused suspicion on the road to Paris.
The very act of slipping out of Adele’s back door made Darcy’s palms sweat. His mind instantly conjured up a variety of horrific consequences, from the French army descending on the house to Elizabeth suffering a terrible relapse.
Darcy traded the curricle for a dogcart and a sturdy mare. Such a conveyance would slow their pace, but it was a necessary inconvenience. To avoid drawing attention to Adele’s house, Darcy arranged for the man to deliver the cart and horse the following morning, when they planned to depart.
His head full of last-minute preparations, he returned to Adele’s house from the back alley, muddy and strewn with refuse as it was. However, as he unlatched the garden gate, the hairs on the back of his neck lifted, causing him to freeze in his tracks. Something was not right.
The windows on the first floor were wide open. Despite the heat and the pleas of her niece and nephew, Adele had steadfastly refused to open any windows because of her distaste for flies. Now, however, the lacy curtains in the rear windows fluttered in the lazy summer breeze. Also, the cat was sitting on the back step. A rather elderly yellow tom, Adele’s cat always stayed indoors. Fearing it had grown too old to fend for itself, the older woman allowed it a quiet retirement at her fireplace hearth. Yet here it was on the doorstep, extremely disgruntled and meowing piteously to be readmitted.
Something was not right at Adele’s house.
Darcy slipped through the gate and closed it softly behind him. Rather than stroll up the back pathway, he skulked along the wall where he was partially concealed by vegetation. Drawing closer to the house, he could hear voices; clever of Adele to open the windows. The rumble of a deep masculine voice did not belong to anyone in the household. Darcy inched closer until he crouched under the windowsill where he could discern the words.
“When will your husband return?” the man demanded.
The voice that replied was Elizabeth’s; her French was halting and heavily accented. “As I said before, monsieur, he traveled to Toulon. He is looking for the work. He will be far away for plenty of days.” Whoever their unexpected visitors were, Elizabeth did not want Darcy to encounter them.
“If you do not wish to tell me, madame, we will wait.” The man’s tone was mocking.
“I assures you my husband is a French citizen.” Darcy winced at her conjugation of “assure.”
The man, who must have been a gendarme, chuckled. “And no doubt his French is as good as yours.”
Elizabeth huffed indignantly. “Yes, I am from the England, but Georges is French—born in Normandy. It is not a crime for marrying to an Englishwoman.” She tries to protect me, Darcy thought sadly.
“No, but being an English spy is a crime,” said a different male voice. There were at least two gendarmes. How had Darcy been discovered? They had been so careful.
“Georges is not an English spy,” Adele scoffed. “Why would you think this?”
One of the men cleared his throat. “Your neighbor heard English being spoken in your garden.”
“Which neighbor?” Adele asked shrilly. “Was it Mr. Renard? Was he eavesdropping from his side of the wall? He is a senile old man. You should not listen to anything he says!”
Elizabeth’s voice was calmer. “Me and my husband do talk in the English. It means nothing.”
“We will make that determination for ourselves,” the gendarme said coolly.
A long silence followed. Darcy pictured Adele and Elizabeth sitting on one side of the drawing room, glaring at the gendarmes in the tense stillness.
Finally, Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Many Frenchmen married to Englishwomen. Why do you bother my husband?”
The pause was so long that Darcy believed they would not answer. Eventually, one of the men cleared his throat. “We seek a spy who was last seen in Brittany.”
Darcy’s heart raced. How had that news traveled so fast?
“We believe he has some connection with Miss Laurent,” the man continued.
Icy chills crept down Darcy’s spine. If they suspected his true identity, they would not give up easily. How had they discovered that connection?
Elizabeth barked a laugh. “You believe my husband might be this man, Lieutenant? We are living in Marseilles for months.” She is good. Her outrage seems quite genuine. But her accent does not suggest a woman who has lived long in France.
“You will forgive me, madame, if I do not take your word for it.” The Frenchman’s tone was oily. “When I speak with your husband, I will judge his story for myself.”
Under the window, Darcy stiffened; his accent was good, but he could not vouch for its perfection. A careful listener might notice mistakes.
Blast and damnation! The safest course would be for Darcy to depart, and swiftly, but that would leave Elizabeth and Adele—and possibly Bernard and Marie—alone and undefended. The gendarmes seemed focused on him, but they might imprison Adele or Elizabeth on a whim.
He felt for the handle of Dreyfus’s pistol in the pocket of his coat. It slid in a palm slick with sweat. Darcy had purchased ammunition and powder; however, a single pistol would not be sufficient against two or more armed men. Cold perspiration trickled down his neck and between his shoulder blades.
“My husband is not returning for weeks. Will you to sit in Madame’s drawing room for such a whole time?” Darcy wondered if Elizabeth’s words contained hidden meaning. Was she warning him that he should leave the city? She should know him better.
The man chuckled. “Madame, if your husband tries to leave the city, we will soon be informed. Our men guard all the streets leaving Paris. At the moment we seek several spies; he is but one.” Darcy shivered. So much for their plan of sneaking quietly from Paris.
Elizabeth made a slight sound; a noise of distress? Darcy longed to put his arms around her and assure her that all would be well.
“Is this your plan?” asked Adele with some aspersion. “Sit here and await his return?” She snorted. “As he is on his way to Toulon, it will be a long wait. And I have no intention of feeding your men.”
“We shall see,” the man said smugly. The hairs rose on the nape of Darcy’s neck; did the gendarme know something about his whereabouts?
“Well, Adele,” Elizabeth said in English, “I suppose we can only wait for them to weary of this exercise.”
“Indeed.”
As the sun began to lower in the sky, Darcy crouched immobile under the window—not daring to leave for fear the gendarmes might harm the women. His muscles cramped and protested the uncomfortable position, but he could not risk the slightest movement.
There was little conversation in the drawing room. The two women talked a bit about the weather, fashion, and similar topics, pointedly ignoring the gendarmes. Adele provided a small dinner for herself and Elizabeth; apparently she had sent her niece and nephew to stay with friends. As promised, she did not offer any food or tea to the men occupying her house.
Although the gendarmes spoke little, the sounds of coughs, pacing, and muffled curses suggested that the men were tiring of the activity. Based on the noise, Darcy guessed there were at least three men. Finally, at around eight o’clock, the lieutenant stood with a scrape of his chair legs on the floor and announced their departure. Darcy breathed a sigh of relief.
“Madame,” the gendarme said in a clipped voice, “your lack of cooperation with the gendarmerie will be noted.”
“I cannot help it if my guest has left for Toulon,” Adele replied serenely.
“He will cooperate.” The gendarme’s voice had dropped an octave. “We will be taking his wife to the Temple.”