Page 46 of Honor Requires

“I am.”

“Move away.” The voice was muffled.

Darcy complied, backing away from the spot where he crouched.

There was a scraping sound, and a large stone moved out of the wall. Darcy helped to shift it. Another came loose and, following its removal, a man crawled out of the space. He had long hair and an even longer beard, both unkempt and streaked with gray, though his eyes were sharp and keen despite his disheveled appearance.

Darcy offered the man his hand, helping him to his feet and out of sight of the door.

“Thank you,” he said. He sounded French…or possibly Italian. Darcy was unsure.

They stood blinking at each other before the man threw his arms around Darcy. Rather than stiffen as he might have five years ago, Darcy returned the embrace. It was the first human contact he had experienced since his imprisonment, and the simple act of being touched—of being acknowledged as something more than a forgotten creature—struck him with unexpected force.

“Come, sit.” He beckoned the man, and they sat upon Darcy’s straw pallet.

“Thank you,” the man repeated. It was impossible to guess his age, though he moved like a man in his sixth decade.

“Who are you?” the words tumbled from Darcy’s lips, going against all the training of his youth.

“My name is Lucien Villard,” the man replied. “You?”

“Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“Darcy? From the Norman D’Arcy, I assume.” The man—Lucien—stroked his beard.

“Yes, I have Norman roots.” Speaking felt awkward after so long in silence, but there was also relief in it—an easing of something long held tight.

“Then we are cousins after a fashion. “I am from Savoy. When last I was free, it was under the dominion of Sardinia, near the French border.”

“What is your crime?”

“Direct. I like that very much. One cannot mince words in a situation such as this. I was arrested and accused of espionage in 1805. I was but four-and-twenty.” Lucien shook his head. “Napoleon was taking over and my country was at risk. I left, intending to go to England to seek asylum. Instead, I was thrown into prison.”

“I am sorry for you.” Darcy frowned. “I can understand why my countrymen acted as they did. Fear of invasion was at its peak then. I was two-and-twenty then, so we are of an age.”

“One cannot tell under all this.” He tugged on his beard once more and grinned. “Now, I had thought your cell to be empty. How long have you been here?”

“It has been five years. That seems such a short time compared to you. How have you managed a decade here?”

“It has been very lonely, I confess. The guards treat prisoners as if they are made of the same stone used to construct the castle. Most are kept in other corridors, from what I gathered by listening to the soldiers talk. I thought I was the only one here.”

“Perhaps this area is for spies.” Darcy shook his head.

“You, a spy? I can tell by your speech that you are someone of standing. Surely, you were not so foolish as to support Napoleon.” Lucien laughed.

“On the contrary. I have been imprisoned for a crime I did not commit, all because I refused to satisfy another man’s greed.”

“That sounds like a story worth telling. I should like to hear it. We have some time before the guards bring our food. I must be back in my cell by then.”

He learned from Lucien that they were on the Isle of Wight. Over the years, the guards had withheld that information. Somehow, it brought clarity.

Darcy spent the next half hour or so telling his new friend how he ended up imprisoned. As he spoke, memories long turned over in silence found voice again—each detail sharpened by repetition, each injustice no less keen for having been endured so long. When he finished, he hung his head, despair pressing upon him.

“This man, Hargrave, sounds like the very devil. I am sorry you were so ill-used. But we can now help each other. It took me seven years to dig from my cell to here. I had hoped this would be an outer wall, but it appears my calculations were incorrect. It is a mere four meters from here to our freedom, and I believe we can dig it in a year. Perhaps less.”

Darcy blinked. “You mean to dig from my cell to the outer wall? What if there is a drop off? We cannot know what is out there.”

“You would rather stay here until you die? No, I shall take my chance scaling a cliff if that means I can escape this wretched place. I am no spy, and neither are you. And when we have escaped, I shall split my fortune with you.” Lucien grinned.