Posted on 2009-10-31

Dublin, September 1774.

"Dammit, Darcy, life is good," Sir Lewis said, "the food is cheap, the girls are pretty and the whiskey is flowing freely. And best of all, our wives are far away."

He poured himself another glass and pinched the girl on his lap, who giggled.

"Next year, we should do the Colonies," George Darcy said lazily. "You wouldn't believe some of the things I've heard about those Puritan girls. And we could easily be away from our wives for a year at least."

He patted the girl on his lap.

"Tell you what, with a few clever investments, we could even make money out of that," Sir Lewis said. "Yes, I like that idea."

"Blimey, this certainly isn't the time to discuss business," George Darcy said. "Actually, what's the name of yours?"

"No idea, but she can do some pretty amazing things," Sir Lewis said. "What's your name, lassie?"

"Molly, mister," the giggling waiting girl said.

"Want to swap, Darcy?" Sir Lewis asked.

Dublin, August 1775.

"Damn those colonists!" George Darcy said. "I really wanted to see those Puritan girls."

"Well, Ireland isn't all bad now, is it?" Sir Lewis said. "Remember that girl, Molly, from the Cock and Mussels? I wonder if she's still working there."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have a look," George Darcy agreed.

In amiable silence, they walked the short way from their hotel to the famous establishment. Molly was still a waiting girl there, as they soon learned. Not only that, but she was also waiting for them, having been informed of their arrival by a scullery maid from the hotel.

"You're back, mister," she said to Sir Lewis. "I knew you'd be back one day, as you said you would."

"Yes, well," Sir Lewis said.

"Everybody told me as you wouldn't come back to me, but I told them you wouldn't leave me alone, nor the little one," Molly said.

"Excuse me, the what?" George Darcy said in his haughtiest tones.

"The child," Molly explained. "My son. I had a son in July."

"Good grief, girl, and you believe it is mine?" Sir Lewis asked incredulously.

"Well, it could also be yours," Molly said, turning to George Darcy. "Everybody said as you wouldn't return, but I told them you would, and make sure my son won't starve -"

"Golly, woman, you certainly did not expect us to pay for some peasant's son you claimed was ours, now did you?" George Darcy said. "Let us leave, Lewis. I had remembered this place much more pleasant."

They turned on their heels and made to leave the establishment, ignoring Molly's screams following them.

"The plague!" she shouted. "The plague on both your houses! You will regret this – I promise you will! For shame!"

Kent, March 1799.

The doctor had been called for at once, but he could do no more than proclaim the girl dead, and attempt to comfort the mother.

"It was not wholly unexpected," he told Lady Catherine. "She never had a strong constitution, and the recent illness –"

Lady Catherine pressed her lips together grimly.

"But that look of terror in her face -" Mrs Jenkinson interjected. "She looks as if she saw a ghost!"

"It is possible," the doctor said, "that the last attack – which was very quick – brought with it a strong shock. It was probably worse than the attacks before, but let the thought comfort you that it was over very soon."

"The poor child," Mrs Jenkinson wept. "She was all alone! I had stepped out for a moment, just to see where the maid with the tea -"

Lady Catherine pressed her handkerchief to her mouth and said nothing. She would never speak again.

Hertfordshire, October 1799.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was drowning. He was by now used to the experience. As October was coming to its close, it had happened more and more often and now the sensation was tolerably familiar. Nevertheless, panic rose within him just like all the other times when he realised that he could not draw air into his lungs any more. Just like all the other times, the silent, unknown world around him was too eerie to bear; the only light far above him in the distance. He could hear the madly cackling woman again, invisible, but close, taking delight in his torment.

It was over in seconds. Without a warning, he was back in his bed again, drenched in sweat. He had shaken off the sheets and his feather bed in the struggle for air, just like all the nights before, and now was freezing in the cold autumn night. He rearranged the bed and hoped for sleep once more, albeit knowing that it would only bring more of the cold, oppressive sea.

The night brought no relief and he woke up feeling as tired as the evening before. He had almost drowned twice more, always waking up moments before unconsciousness claimed him, the laughing woman in his head becoming ever louder. He dressed without enthusiasm, not caring about the colour of his waistcoat or the knot of his cravat, and stumbled downstairs for breakfast.

"You look horrible," Mr Bingley greeted him. "You should go easy on the brandy tonight."

"I did not drink last night," Mr Darcy said curtly.

"Are you unwell, sir?" Miss Bingley asked. "Should we send for an apothecary?"

"I thank you, ma'am," Mr Darcy said. "But there is no need for that."

Feeling restless again in spite of his tiredness, he hastily left the room through the French doors, not bothering to explain his behaviour to his hosts.

"He has not eaten properly for days," Miss Bingley observed. "This cannot be healthy."

"He does not sleep a-nights either," Mrs Hurst said. "His room is across mine, and I can hear him getting up at all odd times."

"Charles, you really should have an apothecary sent for," Miss Bingley said. "I do not know what is troubling him, but this cannot go on."

"Believe me, Caroline, I would rather not do anything behind Darcy's back," Mr Bingley said. "He has a devilishly uncomfortable way of being annoyed that I'd rather not face."

"If he is not better by the end of the week, I will write to his sister," Miss Bingley said. "Maybe she can convince him to consult with a specialist."

Mr Darcy spent the day wandering about the countryside, not caring where he went nor whether he got cold. He hoped that complete exhaustion would at last bring untroubled, carefree sleep and with it healing. In the evening, he stumbled into bed with no thought in his mind whatsoever and slept without dreams for the first time in weeks. Around midnight, he woke again, feeling almost refreshed. Pulling the sheets closer around him, he turned over in the expectation of drifting back into that trouble-free world.

He was drowning once more. He was deeper in the sea than ever before – he could not breathe any more – he tried to shout, but only silent bubbles came from his mouth. There was the woman again, laughing, cackling with insanity. For the first time, he could see her. Like a ghost, she floated before him in the water. She was almost graceful in her movements. He was astonished how young she looked compared to her laughter. In this silent world, her voice was the only sound.

"I said he'd regret it, didn't I?" she asked him.

"What?" Darcy tried to say, but only fine bubbles would come from his mouth.

"Your father," said the woman, who seemed to have understood him nevertheless. "He thought he could abandon me and my son. He drove us into poverty. I was forced to walk the streets, to sell my fish and my goods. My son died of a fever and I followed him to the grave."

"Ma'am, this must be a misunderstanding," Darcy tried to say, but once more, he could produce only bubbles.

The familiar feeling that he was about to become unconscious overcame him once more. He reached out with his hands, fully expecting to find himself back in his cold bedroom, clinging on to his sheets, but all he was touching were algae, wet, slimy beneath his fingers, escaping his grip. Deeper and deeper he was falling now. The light above was ever fainter. Even the cackling woman was dimmed in his ears. The last he saw were her skirts swirling above him.

Hertfordshire, November 1799.

"Have you heard that Mr Darcy has gone missing?" his lady asked of Mr Bennet at breakfast.

It was the day after All Hallows, and Mr Bennet had been hoping to be able to read his newspaper in peace.

"He just disappeared from his bed the night before last, and no one has seen him since," Mrs Bennet said.

"Is that so?" Mr Bennet asked.

"It is," Mrs Bennet replied, "for Sarah's sister is a maid at Netherfield, and she told her all about it. They have been searching for him everywhere and no one could find him. Everybody was in an uproar."

"It must be a consolation then that he has been found at last," Mr Bennet said.

His wife looked at him in disbelief, but he simply pointed to the article that reported the finding of a gentleman's body on the beach at Holyhead the previous morning.