Page 18 of Elizabeth’s Refuge (Mr. Underwood’s Elizabeth & Darcy Stories #16)
“We dislike Napoleon quite more than you do I would imagine.” Major Williams grinned widely. And as he spoke he pulled from somewhere a large yellow coin that Darcy believed was worth ten francs, which he rolled around his fingers with impressive dexterity.
The clerk watched the coin quite closely. He then said, “Well, Monsieur Darcy and you are of undoubted respectability… we can have a passport made here for Mrs. Benoit… you really ought to have followed procedure. That is the procedure for a good reason.”
“I know. I know.” Major Williams placed the coin on the desk and said again, “I am quite disapproving of Mrs. Benoit.”
He winked at Elizabeth.
“We have further servants who will come this afternoon on the Dover packet,” Darcy added, “but I have good hopes they will have acquired passports of their own.”
“Just send them here, if they do not.” He sighed. “You British, how did you ever win the war when you are so disorderly. By regulation, everything should be done by regulation.”
Major Williams laughed. “We won with money, we have a great big lot of the yellow stuff — Monsieur Darcy here more than most.”
The clerk disappeared the coin Major Williams had put onto the desk into his pocket and he spoke to Darcy, “A two franc fee if you wish me to write up a passport valid for internal travel, and ten francs if you wish one that shall allow passage past borders.”
They paid, and then the man, carefully writing Elizabeth’s description into the passport, under the name of Mrs. Benoit, filled out the document, and then signed the bottom of it, and he had the chief of the office enter and give a final undersigning of the passport.
Now free of customs. Though when all of their trunks and carriage arrived they would be held here and Darcy would need to return to the office to pay the import fees on the carriage and allow the inspectors to look over his clothes and other belongings to ensure he was not a smuggler.
Based on the timetables for the regular packets to Dover, he’d asked the harbor master about the packets from Dover, Darcy expected to have his servants and carriages to arrive late in the afternoon.
They planned to stay in Calais at least until General Fitzwilliam gathered all his troops and set them off on a march towards Cambrai.
They picked their way along the streets lined with tall buildings painted in oranges and blues. Major Williams led them quite confidently. “First time in Calais, Mr. Darcy? Lovely city. Lovely people — too deuced talented with the use of cannons. Never liked that about them.”
“First time in France,” Darcy agreed.
“Here we are,” Major Williams said when they reached a fine park, with an excellent building taking up a large frontage of the street.
Several carriages were parked out front, one of them being loaded as they watched.
“Dessein’s. Best hotel in this city. Or so they say — the rooms being a little above my purse.
They have the finest breakfast in town, and excellent wines.
The General always dines here when he is in Calais. ”
Though everyone referred to the hotel as Dessein’s the sign in large letters above the entrance to the building proclaimed it to be the H?tel d'Angleterre .
When they reached the coach yard, they found a fashionably dressed English gentleman with a face ruddy from too much drink and beer, waving a gold tipped cane as he oversaw the loading of his carriage.
Darcy almost winced as the gentleman leapt eagerly towards him, not liking him in the slightest, even though they both attended White’s in London, and both had accounts at Childe’s Bank. However, always polite, any such sentiments were kept from Darcy’s face.
“Allo, Darcy, damned fancy, pardon miss” — said aside to Elizabeth — “seeing you here. Thought you were stuck on our side of the little river that kept the little ogre away. France.” He took a deep breath.
“Stinks to the soggy heavens, of course, but they have the best clothes here, whatever Beau says. What’s your business, old chap? ”
Darcy shrugged.
“Just to look-look the sites, eh? Maybe voir-voir their women in Parii?” He chuckled good naturedly and almost good naturedly elbowed Darcy.
However something about Darcy’s foreboding expression stopped him.
“Most beautiful, neatest dressed women in the world. With their curves… even if they all are radicals, even those of fashion.”
“That is not my purpose in visiting,” Darcy replied stiffly.
The gentleman laughed. “Second time here since the peace. Off to Paris. Nothing in the world like the Palais Royal — covered like a market hall, but bigger than any, with a half mile walk and fine shops on either side, and the gambling upstairs.” The gentleman sighed happily.
“Best gambling in the world. And the girls they have there…” And then he coughed embarrassedly and looked at Elizabeth.
“Who is the lady? And your fine martial companion?” he added inclining his head to Major Williams.
“Major Williams, at your service.” Major Williams bowed to him.
“Lord Wakefield at yours.”
“I’m afraid I have no time for chatter — the General has need of me. Till we meet again, Mr. Darcy. Dessein will set you up nicely in the hotel, and tell you what room your cousin breakfasts in — my apologies,” he added with another bow to the gentleman. “But military matters demand urgency.”
“Of course, of course.”
And with a satisfied air Major Williams went off leaving Darcy and Elizabeth alone with Darcy’s acquaintance.
Feeling a little odd with the lie, which he was not at all sure was still necessary here in France, but General Fitzwilliam had thought would be best to continue as they had begun, Darcy replied, “Mrs. Benoit, the widow of a relation of mine. Mrs. Benoit, Lord Wakefield.”
“Benoit. That’s a French name — didn’t know you had any French relations, Darcy. Hahaha. Well met, Mrs. Ben-waa,” he said ridiculously overexaggerating the pronunciation of the French ‘oi’. “When’d you pick up French relations, Darcy?”
“Ah…”
“My husband's family were Huguenots,” Elizabeth replied smoothly, from her voice she found it a much easier task to pretend than Darcy did. “They have been on our island for a hundred fifty years and almost entirely forgotten anything about France.”
“Ah, no Papist tendencies then. Good. Not that the French are very Papist anymore. Hahahaha.”
Elizabeth politely laughed with him.
Then Lord Wakefield shouted in English at the man loading his carriage, “Not that way! That trunk is worth more than your head, you fool! More than your head!”
The hotel’s servant replied in French that he had no idea what he was being asked, but that he was offended by the foolish Englishman’s tone. Or at least that is roughly what he said.
“Eh, ah, mais qu'avez-vous dit ?” Wakefield replied first and then he angrily strode over to the servant, smacked him on the back of the head, and demonstrated with big gestures and slow half shouting in English the way that he wanted it to be done.
Darcy caught Elizabeth’s eye, and she laughed. “In truth, it seems I do not speak so good French as I thought I could… I can read easily, but…”
“It takes a bit to get the knack to hear them speaking, but don’t worry, you’ll manage sooner or later.”
“I hope.” Elizabeth looked at the ground and frowned.
Darcy extended his arm to her, “Shall we?”
He gestured his head to the hotel where they were to breakfast with General Fitzwilliam and decide just what their next plan was.
As they started towards the ornate doors of the fine large building, Wakefield jogged back up to them. “Charmed, Mrs. Benoit. Charmed. Busy now, so apologies, Darcy — you are coming to Paris, right?”
Darcy again opened his mouth, not sure what to say.
It would sound deuced strange to admit he had come across the channel with no plans about what he was to do after he’d crossed.
That sort of answer was acceptable for a youth of nineteen or twenty on his Grand Tour who was quite ready to just fall in with whichever friends fate presented to him, so that he might let chance show him the adventure and culture he longed for.
A man past thirty was expected to be somewhat more deliberate though.
“We are,” Elizabeth’s clear voice said from beside him. “I am eager to see the Notre Dame and walk along the Seine. See where those famed events took place.”
“Of course you are — best city in the world, better even than London, because the cits in Paris aren’t trying to pretend to be one of us .
Call on,” Wakefield pulled out his card, and scribbled on the back of it with a nub of pencil he pulled from a little book that he apparently kept for the purposes of tracking odds during games of chance, “I’ll be settled on the Rue de St Denis, quite near the Isle.
We servants of King George must hang together eh? Charmed, Mrs. Benoit. Charmed.”
Wakefield took her hand and kissed before he returned to shouting at the servants.
Elizabeth smiled, a little melancholically, “If I am to be exiled from the Albion, at least I need not miss for John Bull .”
Darcy laughed, and walked her into the hotel.
The decor was elaborate, pretty, and very ornamented.
Endless detailed patterns, all done in gold and blue, with chairs that looked too thin to support the weight of a man of Darcy’s size.
It was like the hotel had been decorated by a Lady who’d become obsessed with French fashions and threw into some rubbish heap all the good solid furniture made of English oak.
Which was fair, since this was France .
Likely anyone who bought sensible furniture here was laughed at by his companions for adopting the English style — à la mode Anglais .
There were large mirrors built into the walls, from ceilings to ground, like he’d been told were in the old palace of the king at Versailles.
And there was no carpet, but instead a hard brick floor, which must save on the expense of cleaning the carpet, at the cost of being quite uncozy when the weather was cold.
Monsieur Dessein himself was at the desk, and something about Darcy’s manner led him to brush aside his servant to serve Darcy himself.
Their host’s English was completely clear with an almost affected French accent.
“The rooms General Fitzwilliam asked for you are prepared. We have a good collection of bathing rooms here, large and commodious, and there is a passage to the theatre. If you have any needs at all, simply ask me, and I shall provide — do not worry about gaining French money, it is simple. I shall give you Napoleons for your guineas, and then when you return, when your sojourn in our fair land is complete, I shall give you guineas for any Napoleons that remain to you.”
Elizabeth looked down with a slight frown and a little turning away from him.
She was thinking again of the money he’d promised to pay to transport the rest of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s troops to the continent, and what they paid now for this fine hotel.
Each time he gave her anything it put Elizabeth deeper in his debt, and he did not want that.
He wanted them to be one, so that there was no talk of debt or obligation.
Darcy frowned as he ran over what Dessein had said. What were the values he usually received in his business dealings? “Is not a Napoleon twenty francs?”
“It is, Monsieur Darcy.”
“I shall refrain from having any money changed for the moment.”
Monsieur Dessein laughed. “You’ll not find a more convenient way to change your money, but I confess, as I can see you have already established in your mind, you may find a cheaper way to do so.
Sign the register, and I will have you shown to your rooms, and then shown to the breakfast parlor where General Fitzwilliam and his aide are at present — both of you, please. ”
Elizabeth frowned. “Is it necessary to sign?”
“Quite, I am afraid.” M. Dessein replied. “One of our local peculiarities.”
“ Que faisiez-vous avec eux ?” Elizabeth asked stiffly as she signed her false name of Mrs. Benoit. Elizabeth had apparently decided now was the time to practice her French, with a Frenchman.
M. Dessein tilted his head in confusion.
Elizabeth repeated her question, with an air of frustration.
“Ah,” M. Dessein replied in English, “Dear Madame, whilst your accent is perfect, I fear my hearing is poor. Perhaps you might repeat your question in your own noble language.”
Elizabeth laughed, and it made Darcy glad to hear that she could be distracted from her worries easily. “My accent is not perfect, while your hearing is, I suspect.”
“Were it so, I would not confess it,” M. Dessein replied with a smiling bow of his head.
“What is done with the register, why is it necessary to sign?”
“Ah the police require it of me, that I inscribe every stranger staying with me. My boy runs the pages down to the gendarmerie each morning, so they can know who stayed the previous night, and then they copy out the names, and return the register. It simply means that if you did commit a crime, they would be able to find you. But, mademoiselle, the only crime a woman such as you could ever commit is the theft of a heart.”
Elizabeth laughed nervously, and made a pretense of blushing at the compliment.
They then went to the breakfast room, where General Fitzwilliam and Major Williams already sat over their coffee.