Posted on Tuesday, 31 October 2006

Blurb: Caroline Bingley's best laid plans for Darcy go awry when an old gypsy accidentally gives her a dose of the wrong medicine. Dark clouds scudded across the sky, blocking any light to be had from the moon. A lone woman moved carefully along the path that led to the woods surrounding Pemberley. Though the darkness made her progress difficult, she was grateful for its cover. Her errand was a secret one and she had no doubt that if her brother had had any knowledge of what she was about, he would have prevented her from leaving the house. She had waited until she was sure the whole household slumbered before slipping from her room and making her escape.

Though the huge house lay silent, not all within its walls slept that night. In the sitting room of the master suite, the young master of the estate sat staring into the embers of the dying fire. A hint of a smile graced his features as, in his mind, he replayed the events of the evening. She had been here--the woman who had captured his heart and then crushed it, had come to him. She had dined with him. He remembered the look they had shared at the pianoforte. Perhaps her affections might be won after all. He had worked these past months to attend to her objections and make necessary changes in his manner. The final objection he had attended to just before retiring this evening. He had shared with Bingley his mistake in separating him from Miss Bennet. His friend had been angry--rightfully so, but in the end had forgiven him. At least, he said he had. With a heart considerably lighter, Darcy decided to turn in for the night. Tomorrow he had every intention of seeing Miss Elizabeth again.

In a room in the guest wing, another man was also awake, brooding. Charles Bingley was normally a cheerful, even-tempered young man, but there were limits. This very evening his best friend had informed him of a most cruel act that had been perpetrated against him. His best friend and his sisters had conspired to separate him from the only woman he had ever truly loved. A vision of his sweet Jane's face floated before him [perhaps it was the alcohol] and he clenched his near empty glass of brandy to tightly it came close to shattering. He had been lied to. At least Darcy had had his best interests at heart. He had been arrogant and presumptuous, but had meant well. There was no such excuse for his sisters. They had acted out of pure selfishness and greed. It was bad enough that he had been hurt by their actions, but he shuddered to think of what his lovely Jane had suffered. What must she think of him now? Bingley threw the glass into the fire, watched as it shattered and the flames flared up briefly, then buried his face in his hands with a moan.

The gypsy camp lay in darkness. Only a single light shone dimly from the one window in the wagon at the outermost edge of the circle. The young woman approached warily and hesitated at the wagon's steps. For a fleeting moment she contemplated turning back, then an image appeared before her--an image of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet and the look that had passed between them in the music room earlier that evening. Caroline Bingley had seen the way Darcy had looked at Eliza Bennet all evening. It was most shameful. She had hoped that by bringing up Wickham's name, she would remind Darcy that Eliza was not worthy of his notice. Instead, however, Georgiana Darcy had seemed quite upset and, as Eliza had hurried to her side, that look has passed between her and Darcy. Why, one would think they were lovers. That could never happen. Caroline had worked too hard to gain Darcy's attentions for herself. With renewed determination, she squared her shoulders, raised her chin, marched up the two steps leading to the door and knocked softly, but firmly. She flinched slightly at hearing the summons to enter, but pushed open the door and entered the dim interior.

A small circle of light glowed in the center of the wagon, the lone candle not providing enough light for the whole wagon. Caroline swallowed hard and slowly approached the figure seated at the table. >p> "Come closer, dearie. I won't bite," the old gypsy cackled. "Now, what is it ye be wanting of old Birdie?"

"I hear you sell love potions. I'd like to purchase one," Caroline stated.

The old gypsy woman studied Caroline for a moment, then questioned, "A love potion? You're a pretty enough, lass. Quality too, from the looks of ye. What would ye be wanting with a love potion?"

Caroline was annoyed. What business was it of the old hag anyway? She was about to tell the old hag as much when she thought the better of it. "The man I'm supposed to marry fancies himself in love with another woman. He's mine. I won't lose him to another--especially not to someone so far beneath him."

"And what of the other lass? Does she love yer man?"

"What difference does that make?" Caroline cried impatiently.

"Only this," the old woman glared at her, "my potion will not work if yer man and his lass truly love each other." Birdie had heard the rumors of a lovely young woman who had captured young Darcy's heart and knew enough of the gossip to know of a Miss Bingley who was determined to ensnare him.

"Love," Caroline snorted, "She doesn't love him. She only wants his money and position. And his is merely a passing fancy. I want your help to see he doesn't make a mistake he'll regret for the rest of his days. I'm prepared to pay you well enough..."

Birdie was unsatisfied by this response. Instead, her suspicion was mounting. Young Darcy had always been good to the gypsies when they came through, allowing them to camp on his land and allowing them to hunt, fish and to pick some of his fruit. In return, they had abided by his rules and had stolen nothing in his district. As long as he treated them with respect, Birdie would have nothing to do with ruining his chances at true love. "What's the name of yer young fella, lass?"

Caroline was about to reply that it was none of her business, but then remembered the agreement Mr. Darcy had with the gypsies (an agreement she'd soon put a stop to once they were married). She noted the suspicion in the old hag's expression. She had to think fast. Hastily, she seized on the first name that came to mind, "Will Thomas."

"And what's yer name, lass?"

"It's Eliza Simmons," Caroline replied. Though tempted to give Eliza Bennet as her name, Caroline was aware from the gypsy's questioning that she knew the local gossip. At the last moment, she had supplied the name of her former governess. Birdie studied Caroline a moment, then with a faint shrug, turned and shuffled to cupboard located in a corner of the wagon. Caroline was left in darkness as the old gypsy took the candle with her. Caroline swallowed hard, feeling a pinprick of fear at the back of her mind. She nearly sighed in relief when the old gypsy returned, holding a leather pouch.

Caroline reached for the pouch, but the gypsy held onto it. "Do ye swear yer telling old Birdie the truth now, lass?"

Caroline swallowed an impatient sigh, "Yes, I'm telling the truth. Why wouldn't I be? How much do I owe you?"

Birdie gazed at her a moment more, then, apparently satisfied, named a price she thought Caroline would protest over. Caroline did not protest, however, merely commenting that it was worth it to her to get her "Will" back. Birdie then instructed Caroline in the proper use of the potion before handing the pouch over. Caroline turned and was headed for the door when, Birdie spoke up again, "A moment, lass, it's a fair warning I'm leaving ye with. If ye were lying about any of this, not only will the potion not work, but the consequences will be dire for you."

Caroline swallowed hard, then squared her shoulders, raised her chin and exited the wagon.

By the time Caroline reached the side door at Pemberley, she was breathing hard. Slipping inside the door, she paused to catch her breath, then crept silently up the stairs. She was about to enter her room when she heard a sound behind her. Stifling a scream, she turned slowly.

"C-Charles," she gasped as she gazed in surprise at her brother. His clothes were dishevelled, his hair tousled, but his eyes were alert.

"Out a bit late, aren't you?" Charles asked sternly. "What have you been up to Caroline?"

"N-nothing, Charles."

"Then what were you doing outside at this hour?"

Caroline had never seen Charles angry before. Whatever was eating him anyway? Deciding not to stir him up any further, she thought of an excuse. "I couldn't sleep. I-I had such a headache. I thought maybe some fresh air would help. I didn't go far. Just out to that little garden at the side of the house."

Charles glared at her a moment longer, then sighed. "Very well, Caroline. Just see to it you don't leave the house again tonight. It isn't safe. You could have hurt yourself out in the dark like that."

"I understand, Charles. I'll stay in now. Good night."

Caroline closed her door and commenced preparing for bed, unaware that Charles remained outside her door for a time. Charles had even taken a step closer to the door and stood listening to Caroline's instructions to her maid. "So that is what she was up to," he whispered to himself.

Birdie looked up from her crystal ball as the door to her wagon opened. "You followed the girl?"

The young man made his way to the table before answering, "Yes, Birdie, I followed her."

"And where was she going?"

The young man sighed, "Pemberley." His answer tinged in disappointment.

"So," Birdie mused, "she was lying to me after all. I thought as much."

"Perhaps not, Birdie," the young man protested. "She may be a servant there."

"Anton, Anton," Birdie scolded softly, "it's not likely, given her dress and manner of speech. Forget her son. She's not for the likes of ye."

"But ... she's so beautiful..." the young man sighed sadly.

"How many times have I told ye, my son, beauty is only skin deep. And from what I saw of the young woman, hers barely penetrates the surface."

After a brief pause, the young man looked up, a puzzled expression in his blue eyes, "Birdie, if you truly didn't believe her, why did you give her the love potion? If she is who you think she is, she'll use it to ensnare Mr. Darcy..."

"Twasn't love potion I gave her," the old woman cackled.

"Not love potion?"

"No, my son, just the opposite. It's a "loathe" potion if you will...twill make whoever ingests it loathe the very sight of the one who gave it."

In the early hours of the morning, Anton was awakened by a trembling hand on his shoulder and a fearful whisper. Opening his eyes, he looked into Birdie's troubled ones. "What is it, Birdie? What's wrong?"

"Trouble, my son. Grave trouble. I thought I was being clever in giving that young lass the wrong potion last night, but..."

"But ... what ... Birdie? What is it that frightens you so?"

"I ... I truly gave her the wrong potion, son."

Anton rose quickly from his cot and helped Birdie to a chair. "What do you mean you "truly" gave her the wrong potion?"

Birdie fixed her gaze on the patterned cloth that covered the crystal ball, drew a deep breath, then continued, "I ... I was just checking my supply of potions and it ... it's gone."

"What," Anton questioned softly, but urgently, "what is gone, Birdie?"

"A potion my father made many years ago. Why he didn't destroy it, I'll never know, but he made me promise never to destroy it either. I ... I thought it was put away, but it must have been put on the shelf by mistake after we were cleaning up from the effects of that last storm..." Birdie buried her face in her hands.

"What does the potion do, Birdie?" Anton asked, a feeling of dread welling up inside of him.

"It ... it turns whoever drinks it into a murderous beast. The person will have the appearance of a man still, but..."

"We must stop her..." Anton cried.

"Yes, my son. Go to the big house. Be quick. Heaven help us all if the lass has already given Mr. Darcy the potion..."

Caroline Bingley was up early--a rare occurrence for her, knowing that Darcy was an early riser, she wanted to join him at breakfast. It was her best chance of slipping the love potion into his tea undetected. What she did not count on was Charles also rising early. Caroline had poured a cup of tea for a startled Darcy and was just about to hand it to him, when Charles had strode into the breakfast room, a grim expression on his face. Before she could react, Charles had grabbed the cup from her hand and drained its contents. It was a moment before anyone spoke, as both Caroline and Darcy were stunned by his uncharacteristic behavior. Caroline found her voice first, "Charles, how dare you behave in such a rude manner. That cup of tea was for Mr. Darcy."

"Oh yes, why don't you prepare another cup for Darce? You did bring more than one dose, didn't you?" Charles taunted.

"What on earth do you mean, Charles? Dose of what?" Caroline asked indignantly (though she wondered to herself how he could possibly have found out).

"What is this about, Bingley?" Darcy was puzzled, both by his friend's behavior and by his comments.

"You know that my sister has long had her mind set on marrying you, Darcy," Charles stated, glaring at Caroline, "well last night she took a little walk after everyone had turned in. She told me, when I found her trying to sneak into her room, that she had only gone outside for some fresh air, but I know different. She really went to the gypsy camp."

Caroline tried her best to look affronted, but was turning paler by the minute.

"Gypsy camp?" Darcy inquired.

"Yes. I believe there is an old gypsy there who deals in various potions..."

At that moment the door burst open and a young man hurried in, followed by the distraught butler. "I'm sorry, Sir, I tried to stop him..."

"Please, Mr. Darcy, I must speak with you. It's urgent ... a matter of life and death..." the young man stammered breathlessly.

"What is it?" Darcy asked with a trace of annoyance.

"Please, sir, might I speak to you alone? It will only take a moment, but it's most important ... I assure you," Anton implored.

"Very well, but only for a moment." Darcy rose and threw down his napkin. "I haven't had breakfast yet and I've estate matters to tend to."

Darcy lead the way out, pausing in the doorway, "I'll be back shortly, Charles."

On reaching Darcy's study, Darcy turned to the young man beside him, "Now, be quick, man. What is so urgent?"

"Have you taken any tea from that young woman?"

Darcy was startled by the question, "No, but..."

"Thank the Lord for that," Anton murmured in relief, then, forgetting himself, laid a hand on Darcy's arm, "see to it that you don't."

"Here, now," Darcy snapped irritably, "What's this about tea? First Bingley..."

"Last night the young woman in there," Anton gestured towards the dining room, "came to our camp."

"Miss Bingley?"

"Yes, but she gave a different name. She came to purchase a love potion. Said the man she was supposed to marry had fallen for another and she wanted him back."

"Why that..." Darcy exclaimed, but paused, "I have a feeling you didn't come here to save me from drinking a love potion, though..."

Anton shook his head, "Birdie suspected she intended it for you. She substituted a potion that would make you loathe her instead."

Darcy snorted, "I hardly need the aid of a potion for that."

"But sir, that's not what I came to tell you. You see, Birdie accidentally gave her the wrong potion."

"You mean she actually gave Miss Bingley the love potion?"

Darcy recalled Charles drinking the tea meant for him and swallowed.

"It's worse than that. Birdie accidentally gave her a potion that turns the person who drinks it into a murderous beast. Sir? Mr. Darcy?" Anton looked at Darcy in horror as the color drained from Darcy's face and he swayed for a moment. "You--you said you didn't drink the tea..."

"No," Darcy said slowly, "I didn't. Bingley drank the tea his sister intended for me."

After a frantic trip to the gypsy camp to see what, if anything, could be done for Bingley, Darcy was returning to the house, discouraged. The gypsy had informed him that the change in Bingley would not take place until the moon came out. He was debating whether or not to tell Bingley as there was no cure. What should he do? Looking up, he saw that he was nearing the garden where two of the cook's helpers were picking vegetables. He would have passed by them without taking notice, but he caught his name and the word potion.

"Can you imagine the nerve of that Miss Bingley, Ellen? Buying a potion to make the master fall in love with her. Poor Mr. Darcy."

"Yes, but didn't that maid of hers pull a fast one on her and serves her right too. Her with her high and mighty ways."

"What did she do, Ellen?"

"Why she was so mad at Miss Bingley for the way she'd treated her sister that she took the potion when Miss Bingley was asleep and threw it in the fire. Replaced it with plain tea leaves, she did. And Miss Bingley none the wiser ... why Mr. Darcy, we didn't know you was there," the maid finished, blushed furiously.

"Ellen, in future, I'll thank you not to talk about my guests like that," Darcy scolded with mock sternness, then a smile broke through that nearly sent both maids into a swoon as he hurried off.

Later that evening, as the tale was retold at the supper table (minus Caroline and the Hursts), Darcy could be heard laughing out loud at Miss Bennet's comment that it had all been "much A brew about nothing".

The End