Where we learn that the battle of Brighton had its English heroes. Sort of...
Chapter 19: War heroes
Pemberley, Saturday the eighth
Richard looked at himself in his new uniform and he saw a smile blossoming on his lips.
"Finding yourself handsome enough, lieutenant general?"
Richard turned his head and shot a poisonous look at his "adjutant", captain George Wickham.
"When will you learn to show proper respect, Captain?"
"With an old war buddy like you? Let's not forget that everything which is happening today is happening thanks to my efforts and my relations..."
Richard came nearer. He didn't want anyone hearing what he was going to say.
"Your efforts and your relations, Wickham? Had you been on the beach supervising you men, the French would not have come ashore..."
"My men and I would have been dead and quite a lot of everybody else also" replied Wickham. "And the French would have com ashore nevertheless..."
"You do really believe that we should thank you for being a gambler and a drunk?"
Wickham put a finger on the insignias of his new uniform.
"Got me a rank more and probably something more later today. If that's not thank enough..."
"You should have been shot, Wickham," whispered the new lieutenant general. "You abandoned your post to go into town gambling..."
"You have no proof, general. I was in town, yes, but clearly I was there in the line of duty. And I, let it be reminded, was the hero who overcame your gaolers and got you out of your little holding cell..."
"More the reason to suspect you, Wickham. You're a coward and a thief and I'm sure you would not have come to my help if it had been dangerous!"
"I came because you're an old friend, lieutenant general! For no other reason! I know you suspect me of having had plans of eloping with Georgiana Darcy but that's not the case! I loved her and I would have..."
Richard took hold of himself just in time. Wouldn't give a good image of the army if the new lieutenant general punched his new "adjutant" in the nose in front of half the English aristocracy, now would it?
"Shut up and do never again speak the name of my ward in front of me or, I swear it, I'll kill you on the spot!"
Wickham gave him a shameless look.
"I'm the hero tonight, do not forget it, general. You said it yourself to the Crown Prince. Thanks to me and my relations you were able to free these highly esteemed general officers and bring them to safety in London."
Richard looked at his "adjutant" and did nothing to conceal the contempt he felt for him.
"You're a sham, Wickham and someday I'll prove it!"
"Not tonight, general, not tonight." He turned away and looked at the half full Throne Room. "Tonight we will be honored by the Crown Prince himself, general. We the only heroes of Brighton! I have no doubt that if you could have found someone more suited than myself to stand at your side, you would have, general. But no such luck! You're stuck with bad old Wickham. Try and live with it, general, there will be no better replacement."
He shot a satisfied smile at his superior officer.
"I'll let you stare at your image, general. I, for my part, am going to bask in my new and deserved popularity."
He bowed a perfect bow.
"General, it has been a pleasure serving at your side! I hope we will have other occasions to fight side by side!"
Wickham was soon very angry.
The company was aloof and he was not acknowledged by everyone non military.
The military part of the crowd bowed at him and smiled admiring smiles at him. But the Gentry and the Aristocracy just looked through him.
He stomped on his anger and played his role of smiling hero to perfection.
They would soon be on the run. Most of them were only still in Town because the Crown Prince would have been very upset not to see his faithful followers at one of his parties.
And since there was no better man in England at holding a grudge, most of them had come even if theirs families and jewels were running on England's country roads.
The minute this party ended they would flee as speedily as possible.
Some by carriages to the North, most by ship to other parts of the Empire where the French army had a chance never to arrive.
There would be quite a lot of things abandoned behind.
He had already made contact with a few old buddies and this very night two squads of burglars were "visiting" the lone homes of touring aristocracy.
And then there was his new employer.
That snake of a d'Arcy who payed his debts in order to enroll him in his little invasion.
Wickham could only shiver at the memory of their last encounter.
He had had the password and he had been brought to the commander in chief of the invaders.
He was there bending over maps and little tin soldiers when he came in the room.
He looked up and Wickham could only stare at his opposite so dumbfounded was he.
What was Darcy doing within that tent?
The exclamation came out against his will.
"Darcy?"
"Not that Darcy" came the voice. Not the same voice. And, finally, not the same man.
He came from behind the table to look at him. Definitely not the same man. This one had the eyes of a killer. He knew, he had seen enough of them.
A shiver walked down his spine.
"Hello, Mr. Wickham. Needless to say that I'm quite satisfied with the intelligence you have sent us. Very thorough and very accurate . Even if you failed to signal that the Crown Prince would not be at the Ball."
Wickham could only stare, once more. And swallow his fear.
"Was he not?" stammered he. "He should have! Everybody was awaiting him..."
"Gout," said d'Arcy. "I got, finally, the good informations. Poor George was unable to stand. So he parked his bulk back in his bed... Quite disappointing."
Wickham's stomach shrunk under d'Arcy's gaze.
"But, luckily, this invasion went much better than I could have asked for. So the absence of the Crown Prince can be considered as a little unavoidable drawback of no importance. Nobody could have guessed that, for this year, dear George would be eating even more unreasonably than usually."
D'Arcy went back to his place behind the table and with his right hand showed him the map.
"Great Britain, Mr. Wickham. Soon French Great Britain! You'll have played an important role in the demise of the British Empire. Shame nobody will ever know the prominence of your influence on the success of this campaign."
D'Arcy looked him in the eyes, all traces of good will erased.
"You shouldn't have come, Mr. Wickham. Somebody could have seen you. What good is a spy who comes overtly to discuss with his foreign employer? Have you the least idea what would happen to you if your old buddies of the militia would learn what you have done?"
Yes, Wickham had a very good idea. But he had thought that a little bonus could come his way. With the invasion going so well and so...
"Greedy once more, Mr. Wickham?" said d'Arcy with a smile in the eyes.
"No, of course not, I came to offer further service. Perhaps there are things I could do for you..."
D'Arcy looked at him a few very long seconds and Wickham was sure he didn't believe a word of what he just said.
"As a matter of fact, there is, Mr. Wickham. I need you to stage a little rescue. There are a few generals who are urgently needed in London at the side of the Crown Prince. I would like you to free my cousin Richard Fitzwilliam and push him in the right direction... I'm sure he will be able to do what I want even without you whispering him the plan in the ear..."
"I could do it... Alone..."
D'Arcy looked at him and Wickham hated the smile he shot at him.
"I'm sure you could, Mr. Wickham. But I need an honest officer at the center of this operation. You're not renowned for your honesty Mr. Wickham. I fear you could not play this role with enough believability. I've even heard ugly rumors saying that you tried and elope with a cousin of mine... Georgiana's her name. You know her, I believe..."
Wickham knew it would be suicide to try and lie. He nodded.
"You were friends when you were young, weren't you? It's perhaps normal that such a friendship can, sometimes, be confused with a crush..." D'arcy's eyes darkened. "Can we go out from here that you came over this youthful confusion?"
"Without a doubt, Sir... Without a doubt..."
D'Arcy stopped looking at him and took a purse out of one of the trunks. He tossed it at him.
"You'll need money to get to Town. And you'll need horses. You remember the Calloway Farm? Where you and a few of your buddies..."
"I remember" cut Wickham wondering what this man did not know.
"You'll find seven horses there. Army horses with erased markings. Horses you were about to sell on the black market... As usual..."
"But they will wonder..."
"They will, Mr. Wickham. And let's hope that they'll not be too suspicious. But let's face the truth Mr. Wickham: you have a reputation. A bad reputation! We have no choice but to play on that reputation. Nobody will believe you if you try and play the honest militia officer. But everybody will believe you if you show yourself as you are. A con artist and a thief who, even if dishonest, has, within himself a core of healthy patriotism. That this patriotism pushes you to help an old friend to get out of his goal in order to yourself dodge the prison camp would be in character with said reputation... Wouldn't you agree?"
"I would" said Wickham.
"Good" said d'Arcy. "Your know the Rat and the Bat, I was said?"
"I do. Quite well" answered Wickham with even more tremor in his voice.
"Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam has been put in one of the rooms who have a door to the backyard. I have two very tired soldiers guarding it. It should be possible to surprise them. Please do not injure them. You should have the opportunity to strike them without killing them."
"I'll do my best..."
"That's all I can ask, Mr. Wickham" said d'Arcy with a smile. "Be sure, yet, to know that those who work with me whose best is not good enough tend to disappear from the pay roll."
Wickham forced himself to remain calm and not to swallow. How was it that this man could scare his wits out of him with a smile?
"I'll keep it in mind..."
D'arcy smiled at him.
"And now, I fear I'll have to make you pay for the recklessness you showed by coming here without being summoned." His smile broadened. "You wouldn't want that one of your fellow officers became suspicious of the reason you were within this tent for so long, would you..."
"Of course not..."
"Then, we fully agree... Please let your howls be convincing. It will help to shorten the round."
He turned towards the back f the room.
"Kennedy, wen need your expertise, here. Please let's help our friend here to save his image..."
A black haired and smiling man came in.
"T'will be ma pleasure, sir..."
The first kick took Wickham by surprise. He was still wondering what hit him when two punches in the face made him fall over.
And d'Arcy's face was there just in the background, looking disinterested.
He howled as asked. It was easy.
Wickham looked at his face still marked with blue and brown areas.
How he hated d'Arcy. But he hated him much less than he feared him.
Next time he would wait to be summoned. That lesson was not to be learned again.
And it had been useful. Some officers had been there when he was brought to d'Arcy and they saw him coming out between two French soldiers with a face that showed that someone has had some disagreements with him...
Even Richard Fitzwilliam had looked at him with different eyes when he had freed him.
A shudder near the door tore him out of his dreams and he did as everybody and looked towards the door.
The massive bulk of George, Prince of Wales, was soon coming towards him and the stage were the most of the ceremonies would take place.
Soon Richard Fitzwilliam was at his side and they both followed the lead of a manservant who just appeared before them.
"Show time" said Wickham. "Try to smile, you're the hero of Brighton." He smiled his most charming smile. "We are the heroes of Brighton!"
"I cannot fathom that you're so happy about it... We lost without fighting a shot. We were overwhelmed. No reason to be proud of what we did. We should have been shot..."
"Generals first" said Wickham. "Responsibility falls down, isn't it? Than let's them be shot first who were responsible for our extraordinary performance. Must I remind you, lieutenant general that this very evening you were babysitting Anneley?"
"Don't remind me of that wretched night..."
Wickham smiled at him and proceeded toward the stage where the Crown Prince was half pulled, half pushed up the stairs.
They both followed and were placed in hierarchical order behind everyone else.
Wickham smothered his contempt for all those pitiful people who soon would have no choice but to run, first to run out of Town and soon to run out of England.
Were would they go?
Scotland?
He wouldn't. Scotland would fall within weeks. He was sure of it.
Ireland?
Safer than Scotland. But not sure enough. He had seen the Irish guards around d'Arcy. They would push until he went to Ireland to free their people from England's yoke. And the troops in Ireland would stand no chance against the French.
Canada ?
With the insurgents ready to grasp what the French would not take for themselves?
No! India was the only choice. A far distance away and enough good troops to stand against a French invasion.
He wondered how long it would take all those mighty counselors to arrive at this same conclusion?
A month? A year?
He wouldn't bet a shilling on them finding out quickly.
"Ladies and gentlemen..." The fat prince was, lastly, arrived at the edge of the stage.
"We are here this afternoon to honor two astounding soldiers who, at the risk of their lives, were able to free and convey to London three of our best Generals. Thanks to these brave men what could have been a striking defeat was turned into the start of a new military campaign. With our best military counselors back, we will soon be able to strike back..."
With what troops, wondered Richard Fitzwilliam. With the two Royal Regiments? They'll be squashed like flies...
"...And therefore, in the name of King George the Third..."
Now came the interesting parts for Wickham. He already knew the overall gifts.
A rank, decorations and an estate...
He needed only the details.
The Prince's words shook him to the roots.
In Kent! His Estate was in Kent!
Blast you, thought he You miser of a Prince! Giving us estates in French occupied land. Go to hell and burn!
Lieutenant General Fitzwilliam was very proud of his Prince. Giving them Estates in French occupied lands could only be seen as a healthy motivation to get these Lands back soon.
He knew it would not be easy but it was the right signal to spread.
The frown on Wickham's row was even more satisfying.
Next chapter: Hunsford arrival