Scotch and Sirens - Lizzy and Darcy - Scotch and Sirens

Darcy had gone to bed earlier than usual to make sure he would not be late for his morning ride with Elizabeth. Thusly fortified, he was awaiting her half an hour before the appointed time. Two wonderful hours followed during which he found it necessary to assure himself too many times that the position she took on her horse was both safe and comfortable. When they eventually parted it seemed too early, especially since he had to cancel their meeting on the next day promising that they would meet the day after tomorrow. It was already 10 o’clock when he finally headed to Clyne. However, Darcy was not sorry for keeping his friend waiting at all. On the contrary, he was cursing Brougham silently for his newly found fondness for morning activities. He met his friend near the stables.

“Good morning Brougham. Are you ready?”

Brougham leisurely sat by the stable wall stretching his long legs in front of him and squinting against the sun. At his feet lay his hunting bag and two rifles.

“Of course! I have been ready since eight o’clock. Which means I saw you sneaking out for your morning ride. Cannot bear to leave that beast without a ride, eh?

“Very well, Mr. McLaughlin says everything should be to our satisfaction and I suggest we set off. We have quite a walk ahead of us. I think we shall be up at Clanoch in about four hours. Unless you want to change and say goodbye to Mrs. McLaughlin, who has been hovering in the kitchen trying to force extra provisions on me all morning.”

Darcy, who had had an excuse already prepared in case Brougham would ask more questions, found now new, more generous feelings toward his friend.

“No, Brougham, I am fine. We can set off at once. I hope you will fill the four hours with an exact account of why we are heading so far only to hunt for game.”

“Oh you will see when we get there…”

Brougham picked up his gun and his bag and threw the other rifle over to Darcy. They set off, cutting directly to the north woods above the house and following a small path through the shade of the trees. Since the path was so narrow they could not walk side by side, and the terrain had them focusing on rocks and branches in their way instead of conversation.

After about an hour’s walk they finally came to a clearing and headed out to the rolling glens. The weather was fine and the wind was brisk out in the open. As they made their way with their eyes fixed on the horizon in front of them, they were able to walk side by side again. Brougham looked at his watch and pointed to the west with his walking stick.

“A mile or so up that hill, on the other side should be a small brook if it is not dried up after the summer. We can rest there and have some provisions. There are brambles there as well. This is already roebuck country but there are more grouse closer to Clanoch. If you can wait that long…”

Darcy followed his friend; glad to finally have some diversion to the thoughts that had been occupying his mind during the walk.

“Of course I can. And we should not shoot more than we are able to take back to Clyne. Is Clanoch a place of yours?”

“Yes it is. Came with the estate. I suppose it had been some sort of gamekeeper’s cottage, but it was quite dilapidated when I got it. It seemed like no one had been up there for years, so I worked on it for quite a while with Mr. McLaughlin, and now it is adequate. Spartan but adequate. Keeps the rain out and the warmth inside.”

Some time later, after reaching the spot, Brougham sighed, “So! Here we are! Glorious view, eh? Glad to see the stream is still at our service. Are you hungry? If we take time to rest for an hour I dare say we should be up close to the hut by three and then we will have some hours before it gets dark.”

Darcy made an attempt at conversation. “Brougham, you did not say anything about your visit to Mrs. Tournier. How did you find her and her charming daughter? Was the visit as fruitless as you expected it to be?”

“Oh no! The visit was most enlightening! As a result of some diligent questioning, Mrs. Tournier now knows all there is to know about Lord Brougham that can possibly be of interest to her, and I have discovered exactly what it takes to stay on a civil note with Miss Tournier. The secret route, Darcy, is science and compliments. When I stuck to those subjects I found her a charming and very pretty woman. When I strayed – which I unfortunately seemed to be forced to do to test my theory – I was rewarded with scorn, haughty composure and censure, and she started to be her unreasonable self once more. I wished it had been avoided, but there is something about her that makes it impossible for me to resist. And perhaps you have got your way and she is a challenge now!”

He laughed and lay down on the grass chewing on his piece of chicken.

“Well,” he mused further, “if I can ever forgive her for supplying Mrs. McLaughlin with ingredients for her agrimony, I suppose I shall have to lend my Flora Graeca to her, since she showed such excellent taste in her admiration for it,” he muttered to himself while he followed the flight of the swallows high up in the blue sky.

Darcy chuckled at his friend’s comment. “Indeed? What kind of challenge is she then? Do you want to check how long you can talk to her without a quarrel or how many more subjects you can risk during a conversation? And what is that something that makes it impossible to resist her?”

Brougham grinned.

“Yes, something like that certainly. Unless she is my punishment for confessing to have some partiality for impertinent women, in which case I suppose yours is close too, for was it not you who made that assessment on my behalf to Mrs. Tournier?”

Once they had refreshed themselves, they pick up their belongings and left for the last leg of their journey up to Clanoch. The country was changing and they could see steeper hills in the background as they made their way. After some time they climbed up to a large wild grouse moor and settled down for the day’s main purpose. It turned out it was a good day, and both the gentlemen had no time for talking in their effort to bag their quarry. As always, although there was plenty of game for both of them, they jealously guarded the other one’s prey and wasted no time in trying to outstrip the other in accuracy and speed.

It was a respectful heap that they attached to their hunting bags when the day finally turned to evening and they took the short walk down the moor and slope to another bend in the river with trees on either side guarding the little hut. It was hardly visible at all as they approached, but soon enough a glimpse of it could be seen.

“Well, here we are”, said his Lordship, hanging his bag and prey on the pegs on the outer wall. “Good day, would you not say? So, let us see what Mr. McLaughlin has been able to do for us in the way of provisions.”

After the gentlemen ate their dinner, Darcy looked around the humble room with curiosity.

“Well, Brougham, will you show me around your kingdom?”

Brougham wiped the last remnants of his dinner on his napkin and got up. He stoked the fire a little, but then gave up.

“It would be my pleasure, Darcy. Not that there is a lot to show, and it is getting dark, but we need to get more wood, I think, and there should be an oil lamp here somewhere to guide us around the house. “

The men found the oil lamp on the shelf, and after lighting it, made their way out into the dark but warm August night looking for more wood at the back of the hut. The air was soft and sultry and the stars were coming out behind the thin clouds. Quite as they expected, they found a meticulously arranged woodpile at the back under a small roof and started to pile up chunks of wood. Brougham went for the stray ones on the backside of the pile, and as he set down the lamp he discovered something gleaming in the faint light hidden behind the wall of wood.

“Well, I will be…! Darcy! Come over here! Take a look at this. Well, that crafty old McLaughlin! Do you think it is what I think it is?”

Darcy leaned closer and saw a pot filled with amber fluid. “Yes Brougham, I think it is, unless someone wanted to have a good store of tea. But tea cannot be left for long, can it?”

"I suppose not. And tea would not need to be hidden behind a woodpile.”

“Well, there is only one way to find out."

Darcy removed some wood out of the way and Brougham opened the pot. Both gentlemen smelled the fluid and had a sip of it. At first they choked but soon wide smiles spread across their faces.

“It is really strong stuff. Well, Brougham, since we have already opened it… I mean, do you think Mr. McLaughlin would mind?”

Brougham had a wicked grin on his face and picked up the oil lamp to have a better look. “Mind?! And this from a man who only a few days ago was concerned my servants take advantage of me!”

Darcy’s eyes glittered with a hint of boyish mischief in response. “It is a fine night. Shall we enjoy it outside under the stars?”

Darcy began building a small fire, and Brougham stalked back to the hut for some tumblers.

“This taste is somewhat familiar to me,” Brougham mused. “Not only do I think it is what Mr. McLaughlin keeps a bottle of down in the saddle chamber in the stables, but I will be damned if Mrs. McLaughlin does not put some of it in her blasted agrimony! Cheers!”

“Cheers!” Darcy took a good-sized sip. “So what is so awful in the agrimony? And why do you have it at all?”

“Ah, well, it is a long story, or perhaps not so long, but certainly boring. Here, help me throw these chunks on the ground. They will make a nice and appropriate sofa. As far away from a piece of civilised drawing room furniture as you could wish.

“Now, the whisky is of course the good part of Mrs. McLaughlin’s agrimony. The only good part, I might add. So, here is a toast to that! But other than that, it is a vile concoction, no doubt passed down generations as perpetual punishment for weak souls who have the indecency to fall ill with the flu, dropsy, gout, quinsy or dyspepsia – anything really. I had it once when I was caught in the rain and ran a fever, but I am happy to say I made a full recovery despite taking three doses of it a day, and I will avoid it like the plague ever after. Except now the charming Tournier garden is set to provide Mrs. McLaughlin with herbs and Lord knows what weeds!

“Well, a drop more of uisge beatha will surely keep us safe from that terrible fate. Is your tumbler empty already?”

Darcy burst out with laughter. “Why Brougham, maybe you should check Miss Tournier’s root cellar to foresee your fate.” He passed his empty tumbler to Brougham, who filled it with more whisky.

“Thank you. Or maybe it would be a wise step to mark your favourite herbs in your Flora Graeca before you lend it to Miss Tournier?”

Brougham slid down the pile he was sitting on and grinned. He rested his head against a log and looked up at the stars. “Ah, yes. The Flora Greaca. I already told her the pictures were beautiful enough to rip out and hang on the wall, blast it, and now I might be forced to do it after all.

“Oh, but do not mention that vixen to me again, Darcy. I am looking at the stars, The stars that guard the sky, and I am pleased with the world and my day’s work. If you do I shall think of an even more bothersome subject to bother you with.”

“You are welcome to if you dare.” Darcy smirked. “You see, I think Miss Tournier is quite an interesting subject to bother you with sufficiently. What do you think about her?”

“I think she bothers me. And I think she likes to bother me. And I know I bother her. And maybe, just maybe, I like bothering her. If she were not so bothersome to bother, that is.”

Darcy took the pot and filled their glasses again. “So, what are you going to do about it? Will you be pursuing her?”

Brougham laughed until he fell off of the woodpile. As he sat on the grass and wiped his eyes, he raised his tumbler and declared, “You shay the darnedest things shometimes, my friend.”

Darcy smiled and looked closely at Brougham. “Darnedest? I do not think so. I have known you long enough to know that your being bothered by a woman results in your pursuing her. Actually, I do not recall any woman who bothered you that you did not pursue in return. You happened to be attracted to every woman that bothered you, was bothered in any way, or was just simply bothersome, but maybe this time you have met your match?” Darcy knew that it was unlikely, but wanted his friend to realise it before his behaviour would complicate things even more.

“Oh for heavens' sake, what is going on here? Bothering Brougham-night? And day? I need more whisky for this...

“If by meeting my match you mean someone who can make me forget my manners and my detachment, you are probably right, but I cannot see why that should entail me to pursue her? What exactly is your point?”

Darcy stretched his long legs and sat back in the provisional sofa. He gave Brougham a lazy stare. “My point is that if you cannot resist her than maybe it would be wiser to pursue her.”

“And then do what with her? I cannot resist bothering her - let me clear about that. That is all I claim, and if you know anything more it is news to me!

“I really think you have to give me better reasons than bothersome behaviour, agrimony and root cellars to persuade me to pursue her. Just because you seem nicely tied up with a pair of fine eyes does not mean I can be swayed by the flashing temper, impertinence or dark brown eyes and chestnut hair, or that rather quaint way she has of tugging at her earlobe when she gets annoyed with me. No, I rather think I told you I have given up women all together. Though since you once swore so and have abandoned that thought already, I am not sure how long I will last.”

Darcy’s eyes glittered with a smile. “Brougham, though I was not quite sober on the night you are referring to, I remember I told you that I would never swear against Elizabeth. But to hear yourself, ‘flashing temper, dark brown eyes, tugging at her earlobe!’ Actually, how long are those intervals when she is not bothering your thoughts?”

“Hmpf. Well if you are going to be like that.” Brougham snorted. “But I do not see why not swearing against one female is more consequent than swearing against them all. Even if a female is so bothersome she should be sworn against just to prove that to pursue a female to stop her from bothering you is completely nonsensical, especially if you do not know what to do with her except talk about science and flatter her. I mean, bothering is not tantamount to pursuing, and the one does not necessarily cover the other. Surely that much is clear?”

Darcy leaned closer in order to better see his friend in the dimness that was caused both by the time of night and the effects of the whisky. “Brougham, look at me and tell me that you would not prefer to have her here now instead of me. Tell me that you would not prefer to examine her flashing temper and little habits with a bottle of wine instead of emptying the whisky pot.”

Brougham narrowed his eyes and returned the gaze, perhaps not so steadily but quite earnestly. “Well, at the moment there is precious little that separates your behaviour from each other, other than the whisky, you bothersome creatures, both of you. Except it would be easier to wring her little slender neck than yours.”

Darcy held Brougham’s stare. He was not sure what the contest was about, but he was certain he wanted to win. “Brougham,” he said a bit harshly. “She is a gentlewoman, do not forget it. You cannot have her unless you marry her. As much as I can see how tempting the thought of taming a shrew is, remember that there is a price to it, and with Elizabeth’s relative I will be the one to have you pay it.”

Brougham’s eyes did not waiver, although it was getting harder to discern Darcy’s dark gaze in the night. “And with all this good advice and resolution you show for my romantic wants, are you going to take your own counsel and stop mooning for Miss Bennet and do a bit of pursuing yourself? Or do you not know what to do with her either?

“I bet you do. I bet you have some scheme worked out. Some resolution and plan. You always do.”

Darcy’s gaze grew even harder, though his mind was not much more sober than Brougham’s. “I know perfectly well what to do with Elizabeth.”

"Well? What then?"

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “The question is not what I will do, but what she will let me do.”

“And how do you propose to find that out?”

“Do not be a child Brougham. You do not want me to teach you how to pursue a woman.”

“Ha! I knew it! Letting her decide what to do with her! Pursuing her! After all we went through finding that sister of hers. You are in love!”

Darcy blushed slightly. Or was it only the heat coming from the fire? He lowered his voice. “Yes. I am very much in love with her. I can hardly remember if there was a time when I was not…”

“Then...?”

“Then what?”

“Then what now?”

“I have told you. I shall see what she will let me do.”

“Well then, Darcy. Then there is nothing else to do. You must win her.”

Darcy was silent, yet Brougham went on. “You know, I have never practiced it myself, but I have heard that making an offer is not that difficult.”

Perhaps Darcy’s ever studious countenance would not have betrayed him had Brougham not been looking into his eyes so intensely at that moment.

“So you have?”

“I have.”

“And I assume it is not a new story?”

“Last April.”

“And those months that passed are not, by a chance, the time she asked you to give her to consider?”

Darcy shook his head slightly.

“No chance at all?”

“No,” Darcy’s lowered voice hinted at irritation.

Brougham shook his head, then tried to continue holding Darcy’s stare while he leaned over to fill his friend’s cup, and with the disastrous result that he tumbled down from the woodpile once again. He ended up on his back in the grass and gave a deep sigh.

“Oh well. That is how it goes.

Tis the witching hour of night,
Orbed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, glisten,
Seeming with bright eyes to listen
For what listen they?”

Darcy listened to the verse, and added,

“For a song and for a charm
See they glisten in alarm
And the Moon is waxing warm
To hear what I shall say.
Moon keep wide thy golden ears
Hearken Stars, and hearken Spheres
Hearken thou eternal Sky
I sing an infant's lullaby
A pretty Lullaby!”

He could now see Elizabeth’s eyes smiling at him so clearly. He had never expected he would speak his feelings aloud, but it felt good to speak them, as if voicing them would fulfil the magic spell. He smiled to Elizabeth, and she returned the smile. He closed his eyes with a new hope in his heart.

Darcy slumped down in his makeshift couch. The gentle snoring of Brougham lulled him into a dazed state of his own. He laid his head back on a log and closed his eyes. His mind wandered in that half dream state for a time until he finally drifted completely into dreamland.

When he arrived he was walking across a glen, following behind Elizabeth, who was some way in the distance ahead. As fast as he might walk he could not seem to get any closer. Not wanting to lose her in the mists that were gathering, he began to run. Suddenly, all was mist around him, and he had lost sight of her. Turning quickly in circles, having lost all sense of direction, he felt a touch on his shoulder. It was her. She was beckoning him onward. He followed where she led, two steps behind, and then they were suddenly on horseback. Racing side by side, her hair down, the curls blowing back behind her.

He gazed at her glowing face and rising bosom. She was so beautiful. He wanted to touch her. He must. She smiled at him when he put out his hand. Just when he was about to touch her hair he suddenly found himself in a big ballroom. Everyone was there. He saw her dancing with Fitzwilliam. She was smiling while he was whispering something into her ear. Darcy moved closer to see them better.

As he drew nearer, they both looked at him and laughed. She smiled as the dance suddenly became a waltz and his cousin held her closer to him. He could not bear to see Elizabeth that close to another and was about to intervene when Lucy was suddenly in his arms, her face melding into that of Miss Bingley's and then back again. As he tried to steer her toward the other couple, Lucy said over and over again, "You are more than the sum of your grounds," and Lizzy looked at him with her fine eyes and shouted, "Oh, yes! Much, much more!"

Then suddenly, he and Elizabeth were both riding side by side in an open carriage, her hands at the reigns, racing through a tunnel made in the lane by tall, dark trees, and he was reaching out to touch her hair again.

He wanted to embrace her and kiss her neck. He leaned closer and she quivered with excitement under his breath. Just when his lips were to taste her skin they were separated. Their bodies were entwined by long grape-vines. He looked at Elizabeth, but she was disappearing in the lushness. He wanted to free himself and run to rescue her, but the vines were tightening and he was losing his breath. Now, he was floating in deep water. He was watching himself from the outside. He saw that his eyes were closed and his body was falling deeper and deeper. Suddenly, a divine voice reached his ears. He could hear the words of a Burns’ song. Soon after he saw a beautiful creature, half women - half fish, who embraced his body and kissed his mouth. Little bubbles flew up and he opened his eyes. “Elizabeth!” he said, but she had already silenced him by putting another kiss on his lips.

Suddenly, he was soaring high in the sky, his arms held out like wings, drifting along with the wind. Her hand was clasped in his and she wore only a simple, clingy silk gown that allowed him to see her fine form. She was abruptly gone from his side, shooting almost straight down to the ground, and he followed. They landed in a garden at Pemberley, surrounded by friends and family. She was dressed in a pale green gown that flowed as she walked toward him, two glasses of wine in her hands. Giving one to him, she then continued on to his right, her body brushing against his side as she passed. She looked back several times, a gleam in her eyes, to see if his gaze followed her progress as she made her way through the crowd. Without giving a second thought to his guests, he followed her past all of the people and around a corner of the house. He saw her just disappearing down some steps into what looked like a root cellar, and hurried to follow, now suddenly holding a candle instead of the wine.

She opened the door and it was a root cellar. He put the candle on a shelf and pulled Elizabeth closer. He could hardly see her in the dimness, but the touch of her body was stirring his senses. She slipped her hand under his jacket while he was hungrily kissing her lips. Then, he heard quiet giggling from a dark corner of the room. He took the candle and held it in that direction. Suddenly all was very bright. Sunlight was shining straight onto a dishevelled couple lying on the floor. “God, I am so fagged” said Lydia and turned her face towards them. “Lizzy, what are you doing here with that dreadful Mr. Darcy?” Wickham turned his lustful gaze at Elizabeth’s bosom. Darcy reached for his sword. Suddenly they were in fencing school in London.

Darcy held his sword at point, facing Wickham across from him, and began his advance. Wickham parried, but his skill was no match for Darcy's and he quickly gave ground. Darcy's sword cut his opponent across the arm and the man went down onto his knees, holding his wounded arm with his uninjured one, doubling over onto the floor. Darcy went to him, and bending over to assess his condition, was suddenly met by Elizabeth's lips, her face turned up to meet his. She was kneeling in the grass on a blanket, a picnic spread off to the side of her. "Please put that sword down, Mr. Darcy, and have something to eat. You must be very hungry by now," she said, her lips slightly parted. Hungry only for them, he quieted her concerns with his lips on hers and replied, "I have all that I need here, thank you."

“What is that you are saying, Darcy? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Lucy?” Darcy leaned back and it was Miss Lucy, indeed. He looked around. It was very hot and the sun was shining remarkably bright. They were in an olive grove. To his right he could see the seaside, and to his left were the heaping peaks of Mount Olympus. Lady Catherine was sitting at a top of a large table. All the people gathered around were wearing white togas. “We were speaking of music, madam,” said he, and his aunt started to praise her own musical inclinations. He spotted a big pumpkin and started to roll it up the mountain, but no matter how much he tried the pumpkin would come rolling back down again. Suddenly a woman showed up and cast a spell on the pumpkin. In front of him was now an enchanted chariot with enchanted horses. He got inside. The horses opened their wings and started to fly higher and higher toward the sun.

Suddenly he saw Icarus, his wings were already melting, but he did not notice it. Darcy waved to him and then Icarus turned into Elizabeth. He spurred his horses on and started to chase her up the sky, the sun blinding his eyes. Finally he caught her in his firm embrace and whispered into her ear, “You are safe with me, Elizabeth.”

Cradling her in his embrace, they float down to an island. He was suddenly holding nothing in his arms except air. Looking up he noticed that the shoreline was crowed with sharks circling the tiny island. Each had the face of a female of his acquaintance. He saw Miss Lucy and Miss Bingley, along with many others that he recognised only vaguely, and he knew that they symbolised all of those who had at one time wished to capture his attention for his wealth and position.

Searching the island, he could not see Elizabeth anywhere until the island transformed before his eyes into Brougham's riverbank. She was coming around a bend in the river, singing and splashing as she went, and he smiled with joy at the sight. Laughing, she waved and called to him, "If you begin to laugh at me, Mr. Darcy, be prepared to be dunked in this river and become as wet as myself!" He began to laugh, throwing his head back in his mirth, and felt it hit something hard. Waking with a jolt, he realised he had hit his head on the log that had once made up his couch. Much to his dismay, he realised it was all only a dream when he heard Brougham snoring loudly to his left, but he was certain he could still taste her on his lips and hear her laughter ringing in his ears.

His back ached. And his head ached. And someone, or something, was making an infernal noise that sounded like bird song. And then there was the shaking. Lord Brougham opened one eye and saw his friend, Mr. Darcy, standing over him apparently shaking his shoulder.

“What?” asked his Lordship.

“Get up. You are sleeping on the ground. It is daybreak,” was the reply.

“Right” Brougham muttered and climbed to his feet. That was done a little too eagerly and he grabbed his head with both of his hands to steady it. “Oh dear”, he moaned. To his relief, however, his friend did not look much better and had his face set in a grim mode.

By silent agreement they looked around them in the early morning light and then began to rebuild the woodpile with the chunks of wood strewn out on the ground. They worked silently and built up the shelter around the gleaming copper root of their present misery again without a second glance at it.

After they were finished they stood, gathering their strength, slightly at a loss about how to proceed.

“Well?” asked Darcy.

“We might as well,” Brougham answered. There was slight hesitation when he looked behind him down to the river. “In a moment,” he muttered, “there is something I need to do first. Will you excuse me?” and Brougham walked off in the direction of the river, disappearing behind the trees. A few moments later there was an enormous splash and a stifled groan.

Darcy followed his example and, taking his shirt off, walked down to wash his stiffened muscles in the chilly stream, the invigorating coldness of the water waking him enough for the coming journey.

A few minutes later his Lordship appeared once again between the trees, his hair completely wet and his attire quite carelessly put on.

“Right,” he said. “Let us be off. The shortest way, I presume.”

“As long as you do not expect me to hunt along the way,” Darcy mumbled.

“Humph!” was the only reply Brougham gave.

They walked in silence, taking the low road through the woods, roughly following the river and cutting through some fields. Sometimes they sat down for a while, drinking the water and resting their feet. They met no one and neither did they look for anyone, although neither of them presumed it would have been beneath them to ask a farmer to lend them a ride on a cart.

Finally, without anyone coming to their aid, they reached the slope that would lead them down to Clyne. Brougham reflected that it was probably the walk and the fresh air, but also the prospect of relief that made his spirits rise for the first time that day. As they walked in through the back gate and stood and viewed the kitchen door, they stopped for a moment.

“We need to deposit these with Mrs. McLaughlin,” Brougham said, untying the grouse.

His friend nodded.

“And I am not doing it alone.”

His friend pulled a face, but did not protest. They looked at each other and walked toward the kitchen.

When Mrs. McLaughlin raised her eyes from kneading her dough on the kitchen table and wiped her hands on her apron, she looked as if she could hardly believe her eyes, and no wonder. Two men stood in the doorway to her kitchen, but were it not for the familiar coats and hats she would not have identified her Master and his friend so easily. The men look tired, pale, haggard, unshaven, unkempt and wary. The fairer of the two stepped forward and lay a bunch of strung up grouse on her table.

“Mrs. McLaughlin,” he said, “we are back. Please have a small meal prepared and brought to our chambers.”

And in the next instant they were gone.

Riemann was summoned and made to draw very hot baths in the middle of the day. Meals were taken in privacy and the staff was avoided. Silence was requested and crumpled, muddy, grass-stained clothes were submitted for cleaning without explanation. Soiled boots appeared in the hall. Not until dinnertime could two men closely resembling Lord Brougham and Mr. Darcy be found in the library. Books were picked out and opened and a chessboard set up, but they were hardly touched.

Deep sighs were heard when his Lordship opened what looked like an invitation to dinner, which, upon closer examination, appeared to be rather a small private ball. His friend stayed silent when he was passed the note. And so the evening ended very quietly and very early.

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