Where we see that old Dragons never sleep. Sixth day.
Chapter 28 Dragon Breath
London, Royal Palace, Monday the tenth of August.
"What happened?"
Lieutenant General Fitzwilliam was out of breath and he looked at the private secretary of his Highness with more than apprehension.
Never before had he been summoned so early and with so few explanations.
"He's beside himself. Got an letter from your aunt and since then he is raving in his study. Wants to see you ASAP."
Fitzwilliam sighed. He had been charged with the defense of London and he really did not need his aunt making his direct chief angry.
He went upstairs as fast as he could and was immediately introduced.
"...Ete idiot," His Highness was raving. "If I see him again, I'll shoot him myself. No! I'll crush him against a wall..."
Fitzwilliam took an deep breath and showed himself.
He had survived d'Arcy, he would survive George the future fourth.
"Ha! Fitzwilliam, you're here. What took you so long? I summoned you hours ago."
"I came as soon as possible. Lest I learn to fly I won't be anytime any sooner."
The Prince of Wales looked at him and finally laughed.
"You're not afraid of my wrath, Fitzwilliam?"
"Since I doubt we'll survive the next fortnight, I see no reason to be afraid of a little princely annoyance, Your Highness..."
That last remark brought a burst of laugh out of the Prince of Wales.
"How refreshing! I should have called you at my side years ago. I like your frankness..."
He took a letter on his table and hurled it toward him.
"But then it's a family trait. Read this and give me your opinion."
Fitzwilliam immediately recognized the scripture of his aunt. A very fine and very precise scripture. Not in the least feminine.
The letter had been sent to His Majesty the King George the Third.
He opened it and began to read.
Your Majesty,
I'm very sorry to have to disturb you, but I fear that nobody within your retinue had found the courage to signal you that our beloved country is taking a beating. The French have disembarked and are raving in South England. They came ashore in Brighton at just the place where all the fashionable people of the Gentry were gathered to lick the boots of your walrus of a son.
Fitzwilliam could only hide his surprise behind a fit of coughing.
"Ha... You're at the Walrus part... I was sure you would react at this one! Go on, it becomes more interesting..."
Fitzwilliam looked up and tried a defense.
"She's an old woman, Your Highness. It's really not worth to..."
"Go on I said! We have no more time to lose!"
Fitzwilliam took a long breath and went back t the letter.
Fortunately for the Kingdom your son's bad eating habits have saved his life and liberty by confining him to bed in London. While his courtiers were awaiting him in Brighton, he was safe at your Palace. You should really insist that he stops his glutton way of life. Even if he is notably brighter than the rest of your brood, his habits make him quite the shame of the Dynasty.
But that's not the reason I'm writing you. As you know my late husband was quite a scholar and he shared most of his knowledge with me. Since I'm a woman I was reduced to homely occupations and banned from all responsibilities, that doesn't mean that I'm untrained in matters military. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true knowledge of strategy than myself, or a better natural instinct for the tactical lay of the Land. If I had ever had the opportunity, I should have been a great strategist.
Fitzwilliam looked at the Prince and could only see his impatience. He went on.
In case you do not have been informed by now, let us be clear that we have nothing to put against the invaders. Our troops in Brighton have been swept aside without standing up against the French. If my informants are right, those bloody bastards didn't even lose a squadron. As I write, the French troops are unscathed and in battling order. The only experienced --if this word can be employed for toy soldiers more accustomed to ride in London streets than on foreign battle fields-- force we still have, is located in London and will probably be confined there in order to protect you Majesty and all the other members of the Gentry who will be flocking around your son in the fallacious hope he will be able to do something.
Because it is a fallacious hope, Your Majesty. There's nothing more than can be done here in England and the only way to save your Crown and a part of the Empire is to gather all available troops and sail to some of our oversee dominions where we could rebuild our strength and prepare a counter attack.
Fitzwilliam could not help but show his surprise. He had defended this exact thesis not once but three times before the Generals of the British General Head Quarter. And three times they had refused.
"I see you got to her advice to gather our things and flee. She does think like you, but let me remind you that she is your only support. Everybody else, including me, believes it would be foolish to leave London and England, so do not take false hope..."
Fitzwilliam bit on what he wanted to say. He had already said it and they hadn't listened. He cursed once more his bloody cousin who had exactly known what he was doing to England when he has organized the escape of these three abysmally idiotic generals.
As a matter of fact I would take our troops and riches to Canada where we should remind our insurgent cousins that, even if they have forgotten it, they belong to the Crown and are at your service and calling. With them back under royal rule, we could strike against French America and build a power base which could, with our other possessions, be sufficient to strike back. And such a power base will be necessary since our European allies are all going to lick the Corsican's ass as soon as they learn that we have been invaded. If you have not been already informed, your Majesty, it seems that we are, now, alone and without any chance of help coming from outside the Empire.
Fitzwilliam had problems to concentrate. He didn't like his aunt and he was sure that only half of her remarks about the royal family should have earned her a special passage to London Tower, but one thing was sure: her mind was crystal clear and her analysis more than accurate. Nobody in the Prince's retinue had uttered an analysis which was half as proficient.
Of course they will regret it since the Corsican swine will eat them for dessert and incorporate their Land in the Empire he will, within a few years, build in Europe. He will call it Empire in order not to shock his revolutionary friends and to overcome the opposition of the remnant of the old aristocracy he is already beginning to gather around him.
As a proof of this his strategy, let's be known that the commander of the French invasion Force is none other that my nephew Geoffroy d'Arcy d'Arques, present Earl of Arques and as he introduced himself, First Proconsul of the French Republic. Which means that, apart being the heir of one of the oldest French Aristocratic families, he is the fourth dignitary of said Republic. And that the so called Republic will soon show his new Monarchic face. To those who will read this letter whose illiteracy in history and geography is well known, let me remind that Arques is in Normandie which is the part of France where William staged his invasion.
Fitzwilliam couldn't help but look at the Prince who was renowned for his lack of knowledge in History and Earth Science. The Prince, immediately, felt the reason for Fitzwilliam's interest.
"Yes, I know, the letter is addressed to me, not my father. Your aunt seems not to like me..."
"It's a rather common trait in those who do not flock around you to lick your arse, Your Highness!"
The Prince of Wales burst out in laugh.
"Fitzwilliam, be careful, your aunt is in French occupied country and I can't get her in the Tower but you are quite at my side and I could decide to throw you into my deepest dungeon..."
"Do it, your Highness. Do it quickly. So I'll have reasons to serve my cousin when he finally beats the crap out of the remnant of your troops and takes London..."
The smile on George's face disappeared.
"You're not funny, Fitzwilliam. You should not mock me..."
"Indeed," said Fitzwilliam who had mocked nobody, "I should not..."
He went back to his reading.
I must say that I have known personally young d'Arcy when he came more than twenty five years ago to England to escape the rule of his father, a complete idiot, a womaniser and a real shame for the family. He came at Rosings and Lewis, my husband, and him became real near and he could have become a real British gentleman had the universities be less formalistic and had accepted him even two months after the beginning of the courses. They did not and young d'Arcy decided to go on on his search for knowledge. My husband tried to convince him to stay but he had a few old grudges against our Kingdom since it seems that the Royal Navy insists on sinking d'Arcy admirals. The last one being his grandfather who was the last kind father figure he had encountered he had taken his death rather badly. Lewis and Darcy, Fitzwilliam's grandfather, gave him enough money to go abroad. Last thing I heard about him was his wish to go to the American colonies. It seems that he didn't go to America but took a ship to India and from there to deep Asia.
It's the last time I heard of him till this morning when he came to give his aunt a call. He was the perfect gentleman and if Fitzwilliam is a handsome young man, I must admit that Geoffrey is a dashing mature man. Well built and muscular he is the image of the perfect Aristocrat. And his retinue of generals is much better than everything you are going to find in this cesspit you call your army.
Fitzwilliam could only approve.
The troops d'Arcy brought with him this morning were numbering five thousands and were under the direct orders of a general Duroc. If one can believe the rumours, Duroc and d'Arcy do not go by very well. Duroc is seen as Napoleon's creature and is said to spy on d'Arcy for his Corsican Master. D'Arcy has him next to him in order to hold him and to look at him. Duroc has a reputation of being a bloodthirsty killer who has a great admiration for Timur Lin. He has shown in Palestine and Syria that he does not hesitate to exterminate the populations of cities who had refused to surrender. It is said that it's Duroc who will be charged with the taking of London. I do confess that I have not followed Napoleon's Egypt and Syria campaigns and that I'm unable to give you the names of the cities Duroc has razed. But I'm sure you could ask one of your generals. With any luck you'll get the answer just before the arrival of Duroc. And if you don't have it by then, you could ask him person to person... Try a colonel or, even better, a lieutenant. Then you'll have the answers within the day.
Fitzwilliam had heard about Duroc and his methods. He was indeed an adept of razing cities who had not surrendered. And it was an effective way to get the next citizens to force their leaders out of resisting.
For the time being, d'Arcy has no interest in taking London. He wants your son to stay there and to call back his troops all around the world. He's sure that he is able to destroy them unit after unit just after they came back. And I'm quite sure he could do it if Your Majesty is foolish enough to send for these troops and call them back.
His staff regroups all the generals who fought with Buonaparte in Italy and in Egypt. I know with certainty that Junot, Murat, Lannes, Bessières, Dammartin, Carraffeli, Kellermann and Kléber are present on English soil and that they have armies numbering around five thousands footmen, one thousand cavalry and an artillery regiment.
D'Arcy himself is overall commander and has the direct command over ten to twelve thousand men who are not called soldiers but "gendarmes" and who are here to garrison the taken cities and to man the forces which have the task to deport the prominent citizens of our Counties. There seem to be a last bunch of forces which are under d'Arcy direct command. They are called "Forces Spéciales" or Special Forces and I have discovered nothing about them since d'Arcy never speaks about them. The only sure thing is that Duroc hates them and believes they are a danger for himself and Buonaparte. He also believes that d'Arcy wants his death and the throne of France.
Fitzwilliam couldn't help but look up and search his prince's eyes. They just received the first accurate report of the invader's armies.
"Impressing, isn't it?" said the Prince of Wales. "This aunt of yours has a better spy ring than myself. She got more information out of troops that were occupying her estate than all the men I sent out to gather everything they could get on the French." He shook his head. "And this letter arrived yesterday and my chamberlain, after having looked at the first paragraph had discounted it as non important... Had my secretary not find it amusing I would never had it in my hands..."
He sighed.
"At what part are you?"
"Duroc and the part with the throne of France..."
"Well, now comes a part I want you to study especially well. I will ask for your opinion immediately after you finished..."
Fitzwilliam nodded and got on.
I do hope that what I just sent you will corroborate intelligence you got out of other sources. For more you'll have to use your own spies. I have especially no information about their battle plan since my nephew refused to hold his meetings inside my manor. Perhaps, at some point, you'll get lucky and will be able to infiltrate one of your men into his retinue. There could be a possibility which aroused here in Rosings. My nephew while here at Rosings encountered a young woman, daughter of gentleman farmer of the Hertfortshire Gentry. It seems that she let quite an impression on him since, while here on my estate, he was quite often seen in her company. She could be the opening you need to have an eye and an ear within the enemy camp. She's named Jane Bennet and seems intelligent enough to understand what her position near d'Arcy could mean for England. She springs out of a family with very mercenary instincts which should give you an easy opening to get her to agree. She's here in Rosings with two of her sisters. She lives at my parson's cottage. He is the last priest for miles around and I do believe that he is still here because d'Arcy knew he was Miss Bennet's cousin and as such he refused to deport him like everybody else of the Gentry and Clergy to make her a favor.
I do hope you learned that the French are deporting Gentry and Clergy, didn't you? Let me just add that d'Arcy claims it to be to split our people from their natural leaders and to instill terror into our ruling class pushing them into gathering their belongings and fleeing. I fear more and more that he is right on that last point. I, for my part, will stay!
Catherine de Bourgh.
Fitzwilliam looked up and gave the letter back to the Prince of Wales.
"And?" asked George.
"And what?"
"What do we do with this Miss Bennet?"
"What about Miss Bennet?"
The Prince of Wales looked to the heaven.
"God, Fitzwilliam, stay with me! What do we plan to get this Miss Bennet here?"
Fitzwilliam make a face.
"Why should we plan anything? She had done nothing to be subjected to arrest. It's not yet a crime in England to be courted by a man... Or is it now?"
The Prince looked at his aide.
"Nobody's speaking of arresting her. And if it isn't a crime to be courted by the enemy commander in chief, it is an opportunity we, the defender of the Crown, have to grasp."
He raised his left eyebrow.
"You wouldn't happen to know her?"
Fitzwilliam frowned at his Prince.
"No I don't know Miss Bennet. I have had the pleasure to meet her sister and for what I know, all my aunt said of her family is pure slander..."
"That's not what's important here! What's important is that d'Arcy has met her and seems interested in her." He looked at Fitzwilliam with suspicious eyes. "You know Rosings, don't you?"
Fitzwilliam took a few seconds to think about the implications of his answer. He decided a yes was the right answer.
"I do! I spent years there with Fitzwilliam Darcy."
"Well, then take enough men to go in and come out and get me this young Lady within this Palace. And the sooner the better."
"She's not alone there..."
"Bring everybody. I want this d'Arcy to believe that we know everything about him. Including his courting. Perhaps he will be upset enough to make a mistake and come to us. This Miss Bennet will be our perfect bait!"
Next chapter: Hunsford Confidences