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July 3rd 1921-Cheringham Place, England

Even Gods occasionally have problems which need discussion. - Sandy

Wing-Commander Lord James Ashington-Frankston pried open one stiff, unwilling eye and used it to unenthusiastically scan the countenance of the person who had disturbed his sleep.

"What 'n 'ell d'you want?" Ashie couldn't bothered even attempting to bring his other eye into use.

"For you to wake up." Darcy dropped heavily onto the foot of Ashie's bed and it responded with a creaking groan of protest.

"Oh God!" Ashie groaned and let his eye shut.

"Precisely." There was no humour in Darcy's voice.

"What time ist?" Several minutes passed before Ashie once more spoke.

"Quarter to four in the morning."

"Ugh!" It could only be described as a despairing moan.

"Precisely."

"Get me a drink and I'll consider being awake." Ashie drove his hands into the mattress and pushed his head up against the bedhead. "I forgot how ungodly your hours were." Ashie didn't bother listening for Darcy's departure for he knew he would not hear it.

"Orange Squash made to order with two eggs, three slices of toast and marmalade, with two rashers of bacon." Darcy dumped the heavy tray onto the bed and Ashie made exceedingly short work of the contents before he squinted in disgust at the clock.

"Five o'clock." It was uttered in a tone of disgust. "Do you realise it has been nearly three years since I last woke up this early?"

"I know, you're usually not even in bed by this time." Darcy gave a yawn. "Matter of fact I had actually been intending to go there when I came here."

"Are you ever going to become friends with your wife again?" Ashie picked up his cigarette case from the bedside table and offered it to Darcy. Darcy waved it aside, bringing his pipe up into view. Ashie gave a brief nod before he lit a cigarette of his own. "Well?"

"Precisely." Darcy was abstractly twisting the pipe between his fingers.

"If you say you've got your heir and you now don't care I swear I'll beat the bloody hell out of you." Ashie's face abruptly hardened up.

"How poetic." Darcy's expression didn't even quiver. "I'd probably laugh if I wasn't aware that you both could and would." Silence encased the dim room again.

"I made peace with Caroline last year."

"I told you she didn't know." The response was a blunt statement of fact.

"Have I ever listened to you?"

"No." Darcy's mouth twitched slightly.

"I won't marry her."

"Thank God!" The response was a profoundly relieved one.

"Precisely what she said....except she followed it up with an extremely rude remark which I will refrain from repeating."

"Kind of you." Darcy's tone was dry.

"So.....do you make peace with Miss Beth?"

"I don't know.....I don't think I can.....I really should have died."

"Coward." Ashie yanked the covers up to his chin.

"Precisely." Darcy rubbed his head wearily. "Why in hell am I so bloody afraid of my wife and sister?"

"Because you know your wife has forgiven you and is hoping that someday you'll tell her the truth. That terrifies you for the simple reason that you'd never forgive, or trust again, a person who deserted you for a minute.....let alone for three and a bit years. George terrifies you for the simple reason that you know she'll scream at you the minute you enter the house and you know perfectly well that you haven't the strength left for another fight with George. She's stuffing your life around Old Chap and she always has."

"How so?" Darcy's look was suspicious.

"You had national call-up for cricket.....but your name was never mentioned on the national cricket team. You missed a tour of Sussex and Essex in 1908. The cited excuse was that you had other engagements. You damn nearly never got your Boxing Blue you pulled out of so many fights at the last minute in your last year at Oxford. Death had nothing to do with these withdrawals. Your father and mother had no opinion on the matter. But Little George had a big opinion on the matter. Your National Call-up became breaking in a damned pony. The Sussex-Essex tour was spent travelling with Little George. Your Oxford Blue nearly died because Little George needed comforting. She disowned you as a brother in 1914 so you left. She decided she wanted an elder brother again in 1916 so you returned. She's got you at her beck and call and by God does she know it." Ashie gave a yawn. "She manipulates you and unlike most of the people who manipulate you she does not manipulate you for your own good. Georgiana manipulates people to her own personal advantage. I know only two people who are not manipulated. One of them is Lady Helen O'Niell, and she isn't manipulated because she's a manipulator with a skill level to make politicians blush. You couldn't possibly have got a better woman to hold Georgiana's hand if you'd deliberately searched the entire world. The other person who is not manipulated is Edward Fitzwilliam. Ned's not manipulated for the simple reason that he dared to yell back at her in 1916.....may observe that that yelling match is the only reason why you were allowed home."

"Any more to say?"

"Not at this dead second."

"You saying she manipulates you too?"

"No, but that's only because she's never tried."

"Why do you hold Nelli in such respect?"

"Because she meets you on the doorstep and gives you one glance with a pair of cool grey eyes. It takes Nelli about one glance to know all about the person. Nelli knows for a fact that it's no use attempting to manipulate me because I just storm off in a fit and sulk. Known fact, to manipulate General Darcy you have to appeal to his damned conscience. Nelli's manipulable to, as is Miss Beth, but no one ventures near that for it's no fun."

"Translation?"

"They'll be manipulated, but first you have to argue them to exhaustion so they give in out of sheer exasperation." Ashie sighed. "Yes, Miss Beth is avoiding you. She's avoiding you because she knows damn well that she's as vulnerable as hell. It takes only on crass comment and the fragile grip she has on her dignity and pride with shatter into a million pieces and be scattered to the four corners of the earth. She's exhausted Major. Even with Nelli bringing up a baby is no easy task, on top of that she's had to deal with Lady Catherine and that lovely thing called the spiteful public. You're tired and exhausted yourself....but you're the one who's going to have to take the steps because Miss Beth won't.....that I can promise you. She hasn't the energy to spare to open up another line of attack for the world."

"How do you know this?" Darcy's look was curious.

"You asked me to watch her Major. I've been watching her since November 1917. I've watched her age from a tired woman into and exhausted old lady who is only still alive because of that little life she still shelters from the world. There's not much in Miss Beth's life to bring joy right now and I'm dead scared for her."

"You think she might....?" Darcy didn't dare finish his question.

"No." Ashie shook his head. "She won't. It's called personal pride, Bennets....and Darcys, don't do that sort of thing." There was another patch of silence. "Take it one step at a time Major, become her friend again. You're back in January of 1917, you've no idea in hell what she thinks of you, but you're too desperate not to risk everything in an effort to gain her trust and love. She's an amazing woman Major."

"You don't love her do you?" Darcy's looking was enquiring.

"Only as a sister. I guess she's like Caroline in that field. They're two women I absolutely adore and would kill for without a second thought. But there's nothing more too it. I sometimes wonder whether I'm odd or defective or something that no one ever gets passed that."

"Possibly it's because you utterly despise your mother. Possibly it's because, as a breed, except for a couple of women, you despise all women with an almost pathological hatred. You know it was your mother who decided on that match. It was your mother who attempted to make all the other matches. You're not stupid Ashie and you know for a fact that your mother is one of the most cold-blooded power seekers in this world. Had your mother been in Berlin we'd either still be at war or there wouldn't be a single Aryan left breathing in the world. The greatest 'Ladies Man' alive today. You're 31 years old and you've had more women at various stages of your life than I care to remember. You use them and then discard them....and you despise them because they let you. I noticed that you've picked up pretty much where you left off back in '14."

"True." Ashie was frowning in a slightly introspective manner. "Never thought of it that way you know. I just assumed it was as society said and a case of extreme appreciation of the feminine form."

"To be in that situation you need discrimination....frankly speaking you have none. Long, short, thin, fat, brown, blonde, black or red. It makes no difference to you and your record proves it. If the public knew half the truth their hair would turn snow-white and curl up in shock."

"Anything worthwhile about me to say?" There was no acid in the question, merely curiousity.

"Quite a bit, for those women who do not let you trample on them, and who do not manipulate you, you have a deep respect for. If you make a promise you'll keep it even if it kills you. You make a friend and that friend is for life unless the friend betrays you. You're dead honest with yourself and the rest of the world for the most part. Also you're one of the most fearless people I've ever met, one of the best fighters, and by far the best piano player I have ever heard in my life."

"And you've heard a few." Ashie's expression was wry. "Please spare my blushes."

"I'd actually like to see you blush." Darcy pushed to his feet and picked up the tray. "Enjoy the rest of your sleep."

"Hmm." It was a doubtful noise. "Major."

"Yeah?" Darcy turned back at the door, then nodded and left through it. There was no need for Ashie to vocalise his request his expression had said it all.

General David Fitzwilliam Darcy turfed the tray onto the bench and then sank down at the kitchen table and cursed softly.

"Sorry." It wasn't until the words were spoken that Darcy realised he had company and he jerked around just as Elizabeth started to retreat.

"I....did I disturb you?" Darcy's expression snapped into the worried.

"No." Elizabeth stopped her retreat and tied the belt of her dressing gown. "I had to get up, James was fussing."

"Not a bad problem?" Darcy rubbed his hands nervously.

"No, just a bad dream I think."

"Oh." Darcy hesitated, at a complete loss for words.

"Why do you keep walking your fingers like that?" It was after a moment's silence when Elizabeth spoke again.

"What?....Oh." Darcy looked thoughtfully at his fingers. "A bit of a habit. I spent six months doing most of my speaking with my fingers."

"What are they saying?"

"Umm." Darcy bit his lip and glanced warily at Elizabeth. "I'm dead nervous, scared out of my wits, and desperately hoping I'll think of something sensible to say soon."

"Truthfully?" It was a doubtful look.

"Would I lie to you?" Darcy abruptly shot Elizabeth a sharp look. "Do you think I would lie to you?"

"No." There was a hesitation before the answer came, and it came reluctantly. "No you wouldn't lie."

"But....?"

"You're not meant to pick up on those things." Elizabeth made a grumbling noise. "No you never lie, but you frequently only tell half the truth, or 'forget' the important part."

"Oh." Darcy frowned thoughtfully. "That was the whole truth, I promise you. My fingers just keep repeating themselves." Darcy shoved his hands into his pockets.

"What......" Whatever Elizabeth had been going to say was never finished as a loud squall broke out from the other room. "Bother." Elizabeth left in a flurry of robe.

Darcy later realised that he hadn't even considered his action before he took it and followed Elizabeth into the room. The room was dimly lit by a small lamp. The wails emanated from a small white cot.

"Another nightmare?" Darcy looked wonderingly down at the red face with thick black hair which rested on Elizabeth's shoulder.

"Yes." Elizabeth frowned as James showed no signs of abating his fuss.

"Poor tyke." Darcy hesitated before gently touching one red, tear-stained cheek. "Hope I never look that bad when I have them."

"You have them?" Elizabeth's mind was clearly only half attending, though she seemed to welcome the distraction.

"Occasionally. Usually I'm back in France, but either way they're not much fun. Wonder why he has them?"

"I don't know." Elizabeth flinched away as James gave an extra loud howl.

"Give him to me and go to bed Elizabeth."

"But....." Elizabeth wiped her face uncertainly.

"You don't trust me? Fair enough. You're just dead tired and need some sleep." Darcy gave a shrug and started to leave.

"It's not that David." It was a choked whisper which stopped Darcy at the door.

"What is it then?" Darcy came back and stood in front of her.

"It's...it's....." Elizabeth closed her eyes in obvious pain. "You weren't there." It was barely more than a whisper when it came, but it had the crashing impact of a monstrous wave.

"I see." Darcy closed his eyes as the immense wave of pain and guilt surged through him. You weren't there. Three simple words which brought the world crashing down around his ears and rebuilt it anew. "I see." As the wave receded slightly Darcy finally opened his eyes and he hoped the desolation he felt inside did not show in his face. Darcy glanced cautiously at Elizabeth and found her watching him worriedly. "Can't I be here now? Have I been that unforgivable? Can't I at least help with our son and let you get some rest? I promise I won't hold him upside down, feed him gin, or put him through the wringer....." Darcy came to a halt because Elizabeth was laughing, it was a feeble chuckle, but a laugh.

"Take him....please take him." Elizabeth abruptly sagged against Darcy. "So tired....can't fight you tonight."

"I don't want to fight My Beth." Darcy gave Elizabeth a light hug as he freed the squalling James from Elizabeth's arms. "Heavy brat.....how old are you?"

"He's nearly three. James McKenna Darcy. Ashie's Godfather, Kitty's Godmother. Carrigan, Florrie, Pyro, Mac and Caroline are the reserves."

"Well that's not a bad name and good collection of people to watch over him."

"Odd he usually wails even louder if he's with someone other than me or Nelli."

"So he has good taste." Darcy rearranged the now quiet boy on his arm. "Go to bed My Beth. Go to bed and go to sleep."

"Too tired to argue."

"So go to bed." Darcy gave her a gentle push towards her bed before he scooped a blanket out of the cot. "Absolute miracle, for once it doesn't have the 'Flu." Darcy glanced up as an indistinct mumble came from the bed. "Sleep well My Beth." Darcy quietly returned to the kitchen and dumped both blanket and James on the kitchen table.

"Back to bed." The words met Elizabeth as she looked sleepily into the kitchen.

"But I'm not tired." Elizabeth smothered a jaw-cracking yawn and shook her head before glancing at Ashie, who was seated with his feet on the kitchen table.

"Tell that one to the mirror." Ashie moved his feet to the floor. "I'm acting under strict instructions, you're spending the rest of the day at least in bed."

"But then I'll never sleep tonight!"

"Just try it." Ashie poked around in the oven for a minute. "Rubbery eggs, very crisped bacon, rather dark toast.....and there's orange squash in the fridge. Now go back to bed or you don't get anything. You're having breakfast in bed."

"That sounds dangerous." Elizabeth reluctantly shuffled back to bed.

"Oh it is, I've never safely carried a tray in my life....however I wouldn't question the Major's ability to cook until I'd tasted it." Ashie was following Elizabeth closely with the tray and squash.

"Where's everyone?"

"To be translated as 'where's my husband gone with James? I'm worried.' The honest response Miss Beth is that I have no idea but as the Major left everything behind I would say it is safe to assume he'll be back before tomorrow morning." Ashie handed the tray to Elizabeth before he set about ruthlessly tidying up the room and straightening the curtains. With the room tidy Ashie departed, returning a couple of minutes later to retrieve the tray. "Now go to sleep."

"Why are you doing this?" Elizabeth looked up curiously.

"Because you've got a husband who is dead worried about you. I suggest you comply with bed for I'm rather of the opinion he'll pack you off to Pemberley if you don't start looking better in a week."

"He wouldn't dare!"

"He would, and what's more he wouldn't even hesitate over doing it."

"Then why isn't he here?"

"Because Miss Beth, he doesn't trust me with the boy....quite understandably so, and he won't have the boy in the house disturbing you. Now why not take advantage of the peace and quiet and get better."

"Tyrant." Elizabeth pulled the blanket over her head in a disgusted move, only to promptly pull it off again. "Tell him when he returns I want to speak to him......alone!"

"No problem." Ashie pulled the door closed behind him and returned to his seat by the kitchen table.

"She wants to see you, immediately and alone." Ashie greeted Darcy with the words as Darcy came through the front door.

"Hmm." Darcy pulled James off his shoulders and frowned distractedly at the door for a moment before giving a shrug in a fatalistic manner and handing James across to Ashie. "Thank you." Darcy quietly went through the kitchen before knocking quietly on Elizabeth's door.

"Come in." Elizabeth was in fact only about a quarter awake.

"Thank you." Darcy hesitated by the doorway but finally came in and settled himself on the foot of the bed.

"Has a bed ever collapsed when you've sat down on it?" Elizabeth tried to clear her mind from its sleepy fog.

"I don't think so....or at least not one like this." Darcy stretched awkwardly and then rolled his shoulders.

"What did you do?"

"Went and watched Swans on the Thames."

"There are Swans on the Thames?"

"Couldn't say, didn't find any."

"You spent the day doing that?"

"More or less, we stopped off in a couple of parks coming back so he could see some swans."

"What's his opinion?"

"He prefers the geese in Green Park, at least he can imitate their noise."

"Oh." Elizabeth blinked uncertainly for a minute. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked you to come in, my head is in a big muddle."

"Well we could continue talking inanities until it clears up...." Darcy left it hanging.

"Just remembered. Why did you stay in Germany so long?"

"I was stuck there for six months at the least. Chris wasn't going to risk anything and was actually quite willing to hand me over to the Germans should I prove troublesome."

"Who is Chris?"

"Pyro's elder brother.....there's fifteen years between them. Chris spent the entire war doing intelligence stuff, mostly in Belgium and Germany. He's a bland-faced monkey who is incredibly dedicated to whatever he sets his mind to. Expert forger and totally invaluable during the war. Show him a piece of paper once and he can reproduce it so exactly you'd believe it was the same one. Chris had no illusions, and to the allied cause his intelligence net was infinitely more important than me. It actually surprised me that he picked me up at all since I was undeniably more of a liability than an aid."

"So why six months?"

"Time to have border controls and such like places settle down. It's difficult to smuggle someone as outstanding as me out of a country. Usually they just ferried their people across into Holland and that was it, but the country was on wide alert searching for me and there was as much hope for me to safely make it through as there would be for a snowflake staying frozen in hell. Left with six months to while away I chose to tangle myself up in Chris' affairs. The thought of doing nothing for six months made me feel ill. I was never going to return to France and it's highly unlikely they'd even have let me leave England, so I might as well have made myself useful." Darcy rubbed his head wearily.

"That makes it September." Elizabeth had counted it off on her fingers.

"Six months was the earliest possible moment, everyone could see the war was starting to wrap up. I honestly thought you were still at the hospital. It never occurred to me that something else might have occurred like James here."

"You object?"

"No, but I would have come home if I had known." Darcy paused again. "First of November nineteen eighteen.....I was in no condition to even drink my food through a straw. I was caught in the early hours of the morning. They knew who I was, what I was doing and so they beat me senseless. I remained unconscious for....a week and a half. Chris says it was the day after the Armistice when I rejoined the conscious world. Being conscious my captors decided I was a nuisance so they gave me three times lethal dose of morphia.....injected, so I copped the whole lot instead of digesting most of it. About a week or so later I returned to the conscious world, the war was over and everyone had started to pack up and go home." Darcy paused and stared meditatively at the wall.

"What then?"

"I so nearly died that I almost thought of myself as dead. I felt it....improbable that I would live much longer. Morphia's strange stuff and it does strange things to you. Not that I'm blaming my refraining from returning on that. Morphia had nothing to do with the final decision. I'd spent about six months roaming around the backwoods of Southern Germany. If you think it's bad in London you don't want to visit the backwoods. Families were literally starving to death back there. The government had been taking everything for years to feed the armies, and now the war was over the promised supplies didn't arrive. They hadn't the strength to fully harvest and that was immediately taken for the cities. At the same time the 'Flu was starting to arrive. These were people who had housed me and fed me. These were people who had mended my clothing, who had willingly offered what little hospitality they had. To them I was a man who was a trifle crazy, they didn't know I was English, and they still don't...except for a couple of them. No more than I could I sit back and watch my tenants and men in my companies starve could I let those people starve. We weren't crusading to save these people, all of them still suffered and some even died, but we did seek to ease their burdens. They had given us what they could, so we gave them what we could. We had a German Forester and he just walked around his duties watching for people in desperate straits. We 'left' clothes behind when we left houses which had offered us hospitality. We slightly enlarged any loads of food which actually came into the region. Yes, the Red Cross covers small towns and such places, but even the most die-hard does not think of the people who live ten miles from the next house. Then the 'Flu started to strike hard and there were many children who lost their parents, or parent. These children we found homes for, or supplied a means of living for. This really doesn't seem to explain at all. These were the people who neither started the war, nor fought in the war, nor ended the war. They were blameless, but they suffered more than those who were to blame. They gave me life, so how could I deny them life? It took so little from me to help them."

"Why didn't you tell me?" There was a pause before Elizabeth spoke. "Why didn't you let me know? Couldn't you have managed to send a letter?"

"My Beth." Darcy paused and gave a heavy sigh, he was clearly searching for the right words. "Eight months passed before I could have let you know.....then it seemed kinder to keep silent. I wasn't coming home My Beth and I could have still died. I made a rash assumption I know, but surely believing me dead was less painful than wondering if I was alive?"

"What would you have done if I had married again?" Elizabeth glanced across at him gravely.

"David Fitzwilliam Darcy would have remained dead, simple as that."

"Would I have met you?"

"Likely not."

"What would you have done?"

"I'd have probably retrieved my box from Parker and headed for South Africa or Australia."

"Box?" Elizabeth looked puzzled.

"Oh. Assumed you knew about it since you'd tidied up the Estate. I'll introduce you to my box another day." Darcy rose to his feet.

"Why?" Elizabeth was looking curious.

"Why what?"

"Why would you have just vanished."

"Well." Darcy hesitated and scratched his ear. "April 1st 1918, I sent a letter to South Africa. It had been my intention to intercept that letter if I survived the war....I completely forgot about it until the middle of last year, else I would have intercepted it. Did you get it?"

"March 1919." Elizabeth pulled the dirty envelope out from her bedside table.

"I meant it My Beth, I meant every last letter of it. If you'd married someone else I was in no position to raise a fuss for I was the one who did not come home. Had you been unhappy in the marriage I may have raised a fuss, but if you were content then I had no intention of interfering. I'm serious My Beth, you burn in my mind like a fire where I warm frozen fingers. It gives me immeasurable comfort to know that you are out there living and loving.....even if it isn't me you're loving. You've no reason to love me, I dealt you a cad's trick. I hit you with the thick end of the wedge and it would appear I expected you to lump it and like it. If you want a divorce I'll not contest it, you've every right and more to divorce me. I'll make the statement public so nothing is held against you for the move. You can do what you like with James. I like him, he's an intelligent blighter, but I know for a fact I'm one lousy imitation of a father. Ball's in your court, My Beth, and I'm an utter cad to leave it there....but short of climbing over the net, there's nothing I can do about the ball."

"You can hardly duck out David?" Elizabeth looked wonderingly.

"I just die again, thrown by a horse, drowned while sailing, shot in the back streets of Jo'burg, there are many ways to die if you want to."

"But I'd know you weren't." Elizabeth rubbed her forehead.

"I said I could die again, I never said it would be another unsuccessful death. I'll even make sure the corpse is found to prevent suspicion."

"I don't want you dead." Elizabeth rubbed her forehead. "I don't want James to grow up without a father. I....I think I need some time David. It's been a while since we've met. There've been a lot of changes during that time. I'd love just to fall into your arms and pick up where 1917 ended, but I can't, it's 1921. Please give me some time David, I don't want a divorce, but other than that I don't seem to know a thing."

"Just let me know when you know anything. I'll give you all the time you need."

"Thank you, David. I wish I could say either way for it isn't good to leave you hanging while the trial is in session, but honestly I can't say."

"I'd prefer you took your time and never decided to regret whatever decision you made." Darcy rose from the bed and straightened awkwardly. "Which ever way you decide....can we be friends?"

"Mac nearly fell over when he heard James had been named after him and I wanted him as a guide. Mac was dead certain I blamed him for the crash. David, I've lost too many people already, I can't afford to willfully discard those who remain to me. To be honest I think it would break my heart if you didn't want to be friends, you're a big part of my life."

"Thanks." Darcy's smile was slightly wry at the edges. "Why is it you can invariably make me feel like the greediest hedge-taddie alive. You're far too good for me My Beth and I must admit it continues to amaze me that you ever said yes to begin with....let alone considering it for a second time."

"What happens to James?" Elizabeth considerately refrained from comment.

"He remains with me until either you are well or he starts asking for you directly. Why on earth did you let him get away with just yelling to get your attention? Unless you object you'll be a mother of some type before you see him again."

"I really don't know." Elizabeth shook her head wonderingly as she searched her memory. Darcy had been completely right, James had never used a name or word for her, he just yelled.

"Any particular wish name wise?"

"Not Meemee or Marmee."

"Duly noted." Darcy gave a grin. "You'll find out what we've concocted when you next see him."

"That fills me with dread." Elizabeth wrinkled up her nose.

"I suggest getting filled with sleep. Dinner will arrive in an hour and on no account stir out of bed just because you hear screams coming from the house." The last was added as an ear-splitting howl sounded from the rest of the flat. "Sleep well." Darcy pulled the door closed behind him as he left, a move which considerably muted the noise. Darcy shut his eyes and leaned his head against the wall as soon as he left the room. Once again guilt, fear and worry were sweeping through him, and once again they left a path of desolation behind. Because you weren't there.

August 30th 1921-Pemberley, England

Even God cannot change the past. - Agathon

Georgiana had remained hunched on the windowsill for eight hours. Georgiana had wanted to hear that door slam, she wanted to hear that echoing and strangely satisfactory bang. Georgiana had wanted the reassurance that she was not alone in her dark world which hurt so much. But the door had not banged, in fact she had barely even heard it close. There was no satisfaction to be had in a gently closed door. A door closed gently is not closed by a hurt person, a person angry and hurt. The result was like a lemon, a bitter after-taste which never seemed to go away.

Georgiana gently touched the cool glass of the window, its rough irregularities comforting in a world of nothing. The clock in the hall chimed musically and Georgiana knew that a few feet away the piano sat with it's lid open, but Georgiana could not play when she was angry and right now she was very angry.

"Miss Georgiana." Nelli was the only person in the house who could enter a room Georgiana was in without her hearing.

"What is it Nelli?" Georgiana had a brief wish that her voice did not have such a petulant edge, but she shrugged it off.

"Mail for you."

"I don't want it." Georgiana hunched her shoulder.

"Georgiana Marie Darcy you are going to take and read that letter and you are going to attend to what it says if I have to break your neck to make you do it!" Elizabeth's furious tones brought it to Georgiana's attention that Nelli was not alone.

"That's hardly possible Elizabeth." Nelli's tone was lightly touched with amusement.

"Well I'll make it possible if need be! She is not going to go chasing my husband out of house and home for a petulant, childish whim resulting from being an utter spoilt brat!" Elizabeth's voice cracked at the end and the door slammed. It was an echoing, crashing slam, and yet that had not been the slam Georgiana had wanted.

"What's going on Nelli?" Georgiana turned her head towards the door.

"I couldn't say Miss Darcy.....do you wish for your mail?"

"Please." Georgiana took the fold of paper and felt her heart breaking, for never had Elizabeth screamed at her and never had Nelli used the formal Miss Darcy. There was a soft click and Georgiana knew herself to be alone. Spoilt brat! The words echoed through her head like a singing refrain, one of those horrible refrains which you cannot forget. Spoilt brat! It rang a bell of memory. Georgiana could still remember the day now four years ago ....FOUR YEARS AGO?! When Colonel Fitzwilliam had said a similar thing. Spoilt brat! Georgiana touched the fold of paper with a thoughtful brow. How precisely was she meant to read this letter? Georgiana touched the fold of paper again and her brow contracted sharply. There was no flowing indentation on this page from handwriting which try as she might she could never decipher. This page seemed to consist of irregular indentations....all of the pages were the same. Georgiana felt carefully through the pages. 7 pages all told and not a single one marred by the flowing indentation which so thoroughly confused her.

Miss Georgiana Marie Darcy,

Do forgive the formality of address, but no other form seems appropriate when addressing this matter at hand. George, Miff-miff, Muffy, Gurgle-gump, and all the other names you have had over the years seem most inappropriate in this situation. Were Freddie and I such awful brothers? Did you dislike those names and merely tolerate them because we wouldn't stop, or did you actually like them, or was it indifference. Questions from a void, no compulsion to answer, or even think about the matter.

I wonder about this situation, questions from the void. It is so amazing I find what comes to the mind when one is not particularly thinking. I have been staring at this page for ten minutes now. I feel that I should be pouring all manner of things onto this page, but I find myself unable to. Sometimes I find it bewildering, I want to hurt, I want to be able to pour out pages of abuse like I've had to read and hear. Why can't I? Instead I find myself remembering the summer when I was 18. Do you remember George? Travelling south from Sweden through the mountains. Do you remember when Freddie put ice in your bed? I can remember plotting with Freddie to delay us at Mostou in Switzerland. Do you remember that 'house' near the Augustow Forests, the one which was dug into the side of the Mountain? I can remember breaking Misty, was there ever such a stubborn horse who would not be ridden?

But as observed previously that was not actually what I intended to write. I can't seem to write what I intend to write either so I may as well keep it brief and a statement of fact. I'm going away. You needn't worry about me any longer. David Fitzwilliam Darcy died in 1918 and he won't be returning from the grave. I've made arrangements with Miss Bingley and Mrs. O'Niell so you should never need anything, no matter how bad this depression gets.

Good luck to you and I hope, given time, you will forget this curse who was given to you as a brother. You are a fortunate woman Georgiana for you only ever brought happiness into my life.

Georgiana checked four times, but that was most certainly the end of the matter, there was not a single word more. Georgiana checked the floor around herself but there were no pages which had escaped her. Georgiana checked the windowsill in mounting panic. There were no more pages to be found and Georgiana slumped onto the windowsill once more as sick defeat welled through her. Defeat, disgust, and self-hatred flooded through her every limb and Georgiana cowered down on the windowsill. He was really gone? Georgiana wished that she actually believed that any moment now he would come, but she knew he would not. ...Driving my husband away..... Elizabeth's words echoed through her head and Georgiana flinched down into an even smaller ball on the windowsill. Had her motives actually been selfish? Up until the moment Elizabeth screamed at her Georgiana could have claimed, and believed her claim, that she had said what she said purely to save her sister-in-law from pain. But I was the one thinking of hurt. Georgiana curled up even tighter, and though she winded herself as she fell off the sill and onto the floor she wasn't uncurling. Always in the past. Georgiana couldn't remember who had said that to her. Someone had said it years ago though. Georgiana had denied it with a laugh that she ever thought in the past. Did you ever consider that there was a life to be put back together? The question hammered at her mind. Yes he was gone. Maybe he had no choice? Did it ever occur that he might have suffered from the separation as well? The voice continued to hammer through her head and the more she fought it the louder it got. You're diffident when you're uncertain Georgiana and you know it. You barely say a word in the presence of new people because you're afraid of their response. Has it occurred to you yet that your brother's diffidence was because he wasn't certain whether you were going to scream at him or not?

"No." Georgiana tried to curl up even tighter, but she couldn't. Georgiana wanted to block the voice out of her head, but it continued relentlessly, a pounding, hated rhythm. He's your only family member left alive. That had been Edward who had said that. Until today Georgiana had been certain she had learnt so much and matured so much since that day. Georgiana was not so certain now.You cried when you heard he had died.....was that just because everyone expected you to?

"No." The tears which would not fall were choking her, she couldn't breathe.....the pulse pounded loudly in her ears, a deafening beat.....and finally the voice fell silent after one last remark.

To change takes pain, and a lot of it. You've suffered nothing yet George, you've just been a selfish brat who claimed the world owed you a living. You make your own comfort, don't blame others.

Elizabeth lay on the bed sobbing, she knew it had been hours, but it felt like milleniums. Her head ached from her tears and she felt utterly drained, but the tears kept flowing and nothing would stop them. Elizabeth could feel her chest aching again, she knew she should relax and wait, but she couldn't and it was with relief that she sank into oblivion.

"No Beth....please no." The words, so softly spoken, seemed to come from miles away. It was like a wide, black chasm separated her from the speaker. "You can't do this to me Beth....Oh Dear God in heaven what have I done which makes you do this? Please Beth, you've got to be alright. Please wakeup." The voice was still soft, a desperate, pleading whisper. "Please Beth." There was a helplessness to the voice. It was a voice Elizabeth knew quite well, but she had never heard it speaking like this before. Elizabeth wanted to comfort the voice, to reach out and hold it, but she couldn't.

A great lassitude had washed through Elizabeth and she was rather of the opinion that she couldn't even move a finger if she wanted to. The voice was almost inaudible now, but Elizabeth had the feeling that it was merely because the voice was barely speaking now.

David.

Elizabeth had finally placed the voice and abruptly she felt the lassitude leak out her toes. Elizabeth knew she could move her fingers. Somewhere out there, there had to be a hand of such formidable proportions that it could envelope both of hers and still have room to spare. Somewhere out there was someone strong enough to pull her away from this dark pit. Somewhere out there was someone she knew would pull her back.

Elizabeth found a hand at last and with difficulty wrapped her fingers around one finger. She wished she could do more, but lassitude was sweeping through her once more and oblivion nibbled at the edges of her consciousness.

Something moved sharply near her and Elizabeth felt her grip on the finger fail. Oblivion nibbled a bit closer.

It was quite a loud noise and a very comforting noise, a steady, rhythmic pounding which curiously enough drove the oblivion away. As energy began to leak back in, forcing the lassitude away, Elizabeth became aware that an arm was holding her gently but firmly. It was an infinitely comfortable position she was in and it felt safe.

"Is she alright?" It was Nelli's voice which came from the doorway, and it had overtones of worry.

"She's breathing again, and it is steady." The response was soft.

"I completely forgot about her. It's been so long since it last happened that I completely forgot that this was a sure-fire way to set her off."

"What is it?"

"Don't actually know." Nelli's response was candid. "The Doctors can't make up their minds about it. Dr Alastair stated the matter most bluntly. By Alastair she's managed to cook her heart and from now on every second is borrowed time."

"How?"

"We assume it was when she had the 'Flu, but it might have been before for she had been a bit off-colour for months."

"I see." There was a pause. "When's she likely to wake up again?"

"I couldn't say. Sometimes she's awake in seconds and ready to do anything in an hour, sometimes she's over an hour waking up and it's more than a week before she's willing to even move out of bed."

"I see." The words were very soft and Elizabeth could feel a hand gently stroking her head.

"Miss Georgiana's looking for you."

"No Nelli." The tone was utterly blank now. "If she starts up here, give a ring so I can get out of here."

"I think she wants to apologise."

"I don't want her to appologise." The voice was still blank.

"It may seem presumptuous, but why?"

"Everything's been on her terms before. I returned officially in 1916, but that was only because she asked me to. Most of what happens in this house is governed by Miss Georgiana Darcy's whim. I won't be governed by her, Nelli. When I see Miss Darcy again it will be on my terms and because, for whatever utterly insane reason occurs, I wish to see her. If Miss Darcy thinks she can scream me out of the house whenever she feels like it, I've got a bit of news for her. If I return and she screams me out, it will be Miss Darcy who leaves Pemberley, not me."

"What brought you to this?"

"You questioning it?"

"No, frankly speaking you should have done it years ago. What I'm asking is what woke you to the fact that she needed a few lessons?"

"Ashie."

"I thought so." Nelli paused. "Where are you going?"

"That entirely depends on Elizabeth. I hope it won't be too much for you to remain and ensure Miss Darcy doesn't get into any real trouble?"

"No problem at all, you pay me enough for me to willingly watch three Miss Darcys."

"Terrifying thought." There was a quiet chuckle. "I'll let you know where we are. Keep Ashie and Mr. Bennet up to date."

"Certainly. I'll come up again in an hour with your evening meal."

"Thank you, Nelli." Silence ruled the room once more for several minutes. "I'm going to tell you about Germany, My Beth. Such an odd country. Such interesting people. I probably should have told you before but I never quite knew how to start. I think I'll tell you about the crash. Then I'll tell you about Walter. Then I'll tell you about what actually happened to this poor prisoner. Falling out of the sky isn't much fun My Beth. Falling out of the sky in a burning aeroplane is even less fun. Rather like Denny my adventure ended in a tree. Possibly that tree saved my life. I fell from the Bristol to the tree and then from the tree to the ground. When I woke up on the ground I found myself looking at a very unpleasant revolver. A German patrol of six men had found me and it was their intention to take me back to their base. Unfortunately they didn't manage to carry their intention through and they met with a slight accident. Walter had only one leg....." The voice droned on gently as Elizabeth lay in a comfortable ball against a large shoulder. There was a long road ahead of them of re-acquaintance and discovery, a long and hard road, but the first steps had been taken and more would follow. Elizabeth now knew without doubt what her response would be to the question Darcy had asked two months ago. It was not gratitude which produced the answer, it was the plain and simple fact that Elizabeth never felt a quarter as safe as she did when she was within his arms. She'd tell him when she had the strength, but now she was going to listen.

May 14th 1930-Pemberley, England

Jane shivered as she looked around, moisture seemed to hang in the air, everything was soakingly, clingingly damp. They made a small compact group as they clustered around the freshly turned earth, and Jane bit her lip as the minister finished. Standing aloof and to one side she could see Sir David and young James, so similar, except in size, that it was almost ludicrous. Sir David had a single hand around his son's shoulders and both of them stared expressionlessly and emotionlessly down at the mound of dirt. Jane shivered again and looked away as the earth thumped home on top of the coffin. Ten minutes later the group wended its way back to Pemberley and to a silent meal which neither master nor son attended.

Jane would never have believed that she would live to see this day, and yet here she was, standing while they piled earth over her sister. Elizabeth had always been so alive, so strong and so vibrant, people like her couldn't die, and yet she had. Jane choked and hurriedly excused herself from the table and fled to her room.

"Jane." A hand shook her shoulder. "Jane."

"Yes?" Jane rolled over and looked up at Charles.

"James is at the door."

"Why?" Jane sat up and rubbed her eyes, a quick glance showed her that the time was two in the morning. "What's he doing up at this hour?"

"Apparently Darcy wants to speak to you."

"What?" Jane scrambled out of her bed and pulled on a dressing gown. "Okay Charles, go back to bed." Jane slid her feet into her slippers. What Sir David wanted her for at two in the morning, Jane did not know, but she certainly did not approve that James was up at this hour.

"Aunt Jane." James held out his hand and Jane took it.

"Why aren't you in bed Jim-boy?"

"I couldn't sleep." The voice wobbled slightly in the response. "Papa....." James' voice ceased.

"Okay, where's papa?" Jane wasn't about to press him.

"He's in the study." James led the way through the network of corridors then came to a halt in front of a dark door and knocked on it.

"Enter." Sir David's voice came from the other side, and Jane found James pulling her into the room.

"Here's Aunt Jane, Papa."

"Thanks, now get back into those covers." Darcy was seated at the window with a small desk drawn up beside him, the room was lit by a small lamp. Jane watched in astonishment as James burrowed his way into a pile of blankets on a small sofa at one end of the room. "Thanks for coming Jane, I'm really sorry that it's at such a hideous hour."

"Well I will admit that I was asleep." Jane creased her brows slightly as she looked at her immense brother-in-law. "Are you alright Darcy?"

"As well as I ever am. Please take a seat, I have more than a minor problem to discuss with you." Darcy frowned down at the top page on the desk then edited it slightly.

"What's the matter?" Jane settled herself into a nearby chair.

"It's James actually." Darcy sighed and abruptly shoved the table aside. "Would you be willing to accept him into your family if anything were to happen to me before he reaches his majority?"

"But...." Jane paused for a minute. "Why do you bring this up now?"

"Jane, before this last week Elizabeth was alive, but now she is gone. If anything happens to me now James is going to be an orphan. I don't want him to go to the Fitzwilliams unless there are no other options."

"You're serious aren't you?" Jane looked curiously at Darcy.

"Deadly." Darcy picked up his pipe and started to chew on it.

"Why ask me? Charles is the one you should ask."

"Don't be a fool Jane, Charles spends very little time in the house, you're the one who will suffer if James comes into your house. Don't base your decision on his relationship to you.....I won't have him being a duty to anyone...........base it on your own interests."

"Before I answer, would you mind telling me why you're doing this?" Jane finally brought her attention away from the small fire which burned in the hearth.

"I'm dying Jane." The response came softly, with a nervous glance at the small sofa. "I've been dying since 1915 and I'm going to continue doing so. I'm a walking time-bomb Jane and I could die tomorrow, or I might hold on for another fifteen years."

"What's the biggest problem?" Jane blinked at the slightly sardonic expression which crossed Darcy's face at her question.

"Take your pick, I'm nearly top ranking for dying to Tuberculosis, I've been addicted to Morphia and as a result I'm probably never going to really sleep again. I'm a prime candidate for Angina, or any other heart problem you can dream up, and I've suffered most of my life from malaria. I've also got a crippled leg which may any day release a blood clot which will kill me. Before precautions weren't as necessary because Elizabeth and Georgiana could look after James, but now Elizabeth's gone and I can't and won't saddle Georgiana with the task of bringing up James. Neither, will I add, am I going to saddle James with living alone with Georgiana. I have to check the options out."

"Well certainly, I'd love to take James. I can promise that William and Miles will be delighted if he came to."

"Thanks Jane.......Elizabeth had hoped you would."

"Papa?"

"What is it Jim?" Darcy turned away, and glanced across to where the small, dark topped head poked out of the blankets.

"Do you think Mumma's still hurting?"

"No Jim, Mumma's no longer hurting."

"Do you think she misses me?"

"I'm certain she does Jim, now try and get some sleep. You too Jane." Darcy pulled the desk up beside himself again.

"What about you?" Jane paused by the door.

"I've got three more days before I call in the reserves and get sedated."

"Darcy you've got to sleep."

"Not bloody likely." The response caused Jane to start, then she slid out of the room. Never had Jane heard Darcy utter a profanity when women were around.

"What was all that about Jane?" Bingley was seated on the end of the bed when she returned.

"I'm not sure." Jane sank down and removed her slippers and dressing gown. "Sir David just wished to discuss James with me, we're to take him if Sir David dies."

"I wondered whether that might be the reason." Bingley pulled his legs in and yawned. "How'd he look?"

"He said he had three more days before he called in the reserves and got sedated. He looked awful."

"That does not sound good...means he hasn't slept since before Lizzie died."

"How do you know that?" Jane looked in surprise at Bingley.

"He can go for ten days straight without sleeping and except that he gets pretty short tempered there is little change in him. After that he slides downhill quickly. If he says he has three days left, then it means he hasn't slept in seven, which dates it from when Elizabeth slid."

"Oh." Jane paused, and frowned. "He wasn't surprised Charles."

"No, I actually think they'd been expecting it for several years."

"Why?"

"It was something Ashie said actually." Charles rested his head back against the canopy post. "It was five or six years ago I think. I think it was such an odd statement which made it stick in my mind. It was just after they returned to Pemberley from their tour of Canada and the Darcy Estates. Ashie was in a truly foul mood, I think his mother had been pressuring him to propose to Caroline again."

"Why doesn't he?"

"Because, thank God, they both know that they'd drive each other nuts inside a week. I used to think they'd be good for each other to. Ashie would stir Caroline up a bit and she'd possibly settle him down. Then I found out that they were more similar than anyone realised and if one of them got absolutely furiously angry the other was undoubtedly angry as well. When both of them are angry any person with half a mind runs for their life. Darcy and his brother were invariably against the situation and the two Fitzwilliams tended to hover. George Arthur would just state that he didn't give a damn."

"It happened?"

"Not really. Ashie's father just announced one day that they were to be married in four months. Ashie took the boat to America that night and didn't return for close on four years. But this is off the subject! What were we talking about?"

"Ashie's odd comment which you remember some six years later."

"Thank you. Yes, he was quite sarcastic at the time, but the gist of the remark was that the race was on once again to see which of them could leave first. Everyone has known that Darcy's time is somewhat borrowed. There's no chance in hell of him being in good health after what he went through during the war. Ashie comment made me wonder whether Elizabeth might not be unwell as well. I made a couple of enquiries but the only thing brought to light is that Elizabeth has been cancelling things sometimes at the very last second for unexplained reasons. Mrs. O'Niell usually stood in for her. Frankly I have never thought of Elizabeth as someone who might cancel without reason unless it's a life or death situation and she is physically incapable of attending."

"I have to admit, except for right at the beginning of the war I have never been at all jealous of Elizabeth. I loved her dearly and I'm going to miss her terribly, but I infinitely prefer my own life."

"That is very nice to hear indeed." Charles wrapped an arm around Jane, for even though he could hear nothing he knew Jane was crying once more.

"Papa." The hand tugged at Darcy's shoulder and Darcy turned to find himself at eye level with his son.

"What is it Jim?"

"Where's Mumma? Can you point her star out to me again?"

"Not from here Jim. But if we push this window open and descend to the lawn for a brief walk we'll go find Mumma's star." Darcy suited his words with actions and he descended into the damp, wonderfully scented outside world. After a damp and dreary day it was a night of incredible beauty.

"Why does the air smell so nice?" James had attached himself to Darcy's sleeve.

"Because it was a beautiful sunset." Darcy had watched the sunset from the roof of Pemberley with James. "With the sunset the world says goodbye, and with the night the world remembers."

"Is that true?" James' voice was slightly perplexed.

"I hope so, for your mother deserves nothing but the best from this world."

"Is that Mumma's Star?" James pointed a finger.

"That is Mumma's Star. She's up there watching you know. Watching, waiting, and undoubtedly laughing at us." Darcy had knelt down so he could follow the line of his son's finger.

"Mumma had a nice laugh."

"Yes, Mumma did."

"Do you think she'll laugh when we join her?"

"Undoubtedly. She'll laugh and she'll dance......but only if we've lived our lives first. Darcys take no shortcuts, we wait until we're called."

"Mumma said I should make sure you looked after yourself."

"Mumma would say that." Darcy's tone was so comically despairing in note that James gave an abrupt giggle which he clamped down on.

"Do you think Mumma would mind my laughing?"

"Mumma liked to hear you laugh Jim. Mumma always believed that laughter solved any problem."

"It didn't solve her heart." James' voice shook a bit.

"No Jim, but Mumma's heart wasn't a problem. Mumma's heart was a bit of machinery which just wore itself out. It got badly damaged when she was sick with the 'Flu. But laughter helped I'm certain. The Doctors didn't believe Mumma would live four years ago, but Mumma lived. A very special Mumma you had."

"Do you think she can see us?"

"Probably. She may even be able to hear us."

"I think I could sleep if I could say goodnight to Mumma."

"Then say goodnight to Mumma. I'm sure she'd like it." Darcy rose to his feet and walked slowly away as he finished.

Darcy had nearly reached the house when he heard the pattering feet flying to catch up.

"Mumma says goodnight too and that she loves us both." James' face seemed to almost glow in the dim light.

"That is wonderful. Now bed with you James, eleven year-olds should not be out of bed at three in the morning."

"But I miss Mumma." It was barely more than a whisper.

"I know. I miss her as well. Come Jim, let's to the study.....do you think you could sleep leaning against me?"

"I don't need it, but if you'd like me to.....?" The unfinished questioning remark brought a faint smile to Darcy's mouth.

"I must admit to liking it." Darcy kept his voice quiet, he had no intention of letting his laughter show through. James' pride was fragile and Darcy had no intention of upsetting the boy further and breaking the last thing which remained between the boy and an outburst which would embarrass them both. Darcy went through the window first before reaching back to pull James in.

Ten minutes later Darcy gently brushed aside the dark hair on his sleeping son's forehead. It was a distracted movement which spoke much of distraction of mind.

"Shakespeare said something on the subject of sleep washing away the woes, of that I am certain. But for the time being I really haven't the faintest idea where or when." Darcy gave a sigh. "Oh for a few hours of blissful oblivion." Darcy twitched slightly before distracting pushing the hair off his own forehead. "I made my promise and I will keep it to the best of my ability, My Beth. This is goodnight."

April 13th 1935-Hilary's Pride, England

When you hear I have died, I want you to jump around, dance and wave a flag in sheer joy and delight. - Buffy (Sciatica sufferer)

Dr Anne Marshall, officially recognised as such by the world at large and totally ignored by her sister, looked wonderingly around the crowded lawns of Hilary's Pride. There were hundreds of people milling around, talking softly, both expressions and topics somewhat funeral.

"Anne!" A hand grabbed Anne from behind as the deeply relieved voice spoke.

"Who.....Phillipa!" Anne hugged the tired woman fiercely. "Finally someone I recognise. Who are all these people?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Phillipa glanced somewhat bitterly at the crowd. "For someone who had no friends, there's an awful lot of people at his funeral."

"Goodness!" Anne blinked.

"What is it?" Phillipa tried to follow Anne's line of vision, but failed to trace it.

"Just saw some people who are here for completely genuine reasons and would undoubtedly be able to answer about everyone else. Wait here." Anne dodged into the crowd leaving a bewildered Phillipa behind.

"Lady Fordingham?" The voice was grave. Phillipa turned to find herself face to face with one of the reddest crops of red hair she had ever seen in her life.

"Yes." Phillipa blinked at the man in puzzlement.

"Probably shouldn't be here but I wanted to tell you, he was an amazing man."

"How do you know?"

"I sailed under him for the first year of the war. I was the Number One when old Dakota was off duty."

"Oh." Phillipa wasn't quite certain what to say.

"Jim!" A voice called loudly before a hand clapped the redheaded man on the back.

"What the.....Chris?!?!?!" There was compounded astonishment in the voice.

"I was hoping I could find you here. Afternoon Lady Fordingham, is the Admiral around? Your brother-in-law fished me out of a couple of tight corners in the Mediterranean so it seemed only polite to come."

"Who are you?" Phillipa frowned at the bland face, weathered, scarred and yet familiar.

"Earl of Clarrington, Lord Christopher Adam Forsythe, I was at your wedding and got in strife for upsetting champagne down the Admiral's shirt collar."

"Oh." Phillipa blinked and then frowned as memory awoke and started functioning. "Oh. Yes, you also tore the lace on my Maid of Honour's train."

"It was too long."

"Did he really help you out in the Med.?"

"Four occasions he fished either me, or my boss, out of a tight corner. Twice from Turkey itself. Once from Austrian Italy and once just my boss from a boat drifting about ten miles off the coast of Turkey."

"Hardly enough to warrant coming here?" Phillipa looked up enquiringly.

"Definitely not enough, but I was expecting Jim to be here and it's been an age since I've seen you or the Admiral."

"Couldn't you have paid a polite call some other time?" Phillipa lifted enquiring brows.

"'Fraid not Lady Fordingham, I'm headed overseas by boat this evening. So long Jim." Chris vanished into the crowd leaving Phillipa to blink at Pyro.

"And you are?"

"Mr. James Angel Forsythe. I'm usually James Angel though. Squadron-Leader James Angel to be precise, but I keep forgetting my rank. I was Lieutenant Angel under your brother and he only had to charge me once.....compared to having to charge Dakota four times."

"To be perfectly frank I really hate having to host this affair."

"Don't blame you, you've got hundreds here who are here for the simple reason that they won't pass over the chance of saying they were at Commodore Fordingham's Funeral. Bores the lot of them. Ashie should come soon. He crashed in Switzerland, walked out through Turkey and was picked up by your brother on one of the two occasions my brother mentioned. There are a couple of other Legits here as well. Lieutenants Maitland and Housemann are here, they're even more legit than I am, they sort of stuck around for the whole war like Dakota nearly did. General Darcy is also here, but I doubt he intends to stay long, his boy's in strife at Eton."

"Is he?"

"Fell off the roof or some such stunt." Pyro gave a shrug. "I'll come talk to you later, but until then I want a bit of fun with the gulls."

"Oh." Phillipa moved on slowly. Most of the people who spoke to her uttered the reliable and polite words and earned Phillipa's despisal, but the occasional one had something true to say. Captain Halworthy a Chief Engineering Officer who had been on duty in the Falklands until two days previously and hoped he wasn't intruding. There were twenty or so other men who had served on various ships with Fordingham, and Phillipa had no doubt that their regret was genuine.

"Lady Fordingham." The deep voice stopped Phillipa and she turned to find herself looking at about a middle button of a waistcoat.

"Sir David, a pleasure to see you." Phillipa looked up with a genuine smile.

"And to see you." Darcy tipped his head.

"An interesting character with red hair just told me you've a broken boy up at Eton."

"I don't know where Pyro gets his news from. Yes, James was experimenting with Newton's Laws of Gravity and he found that they were still working today. Clown fell off the roof and consequently has a broken arm, broken shoulder, three broken ribs and is apparently quite concussed."

"Sounds like alternation of generation, you smash your legs, he smashes his head."

"I hope not." Darcy grimaced speakingly. "I would commiserate you on your loss, but somehow I doubt you want commiseration's."

"Why do you say that?" Phillipa looked up curiously.

"Does one wish to torture the sick by making them live?" Darcy gave a shrug. "I cannot legitimately call Fordingham a friend, even though we were at school together. I didn't re-meet him until after the war and he feels guilty for what he did during the war. Not a good way to live at all, much better to say 'so it was war' and move on."

"You did that?"

"I think most of us have."

"You know what his problem was?" Phillipa looked up at Darcy very curiously indeed.

"I do Lady Fordingham, I know what he did and I know why he did it. If he had not let it destroy him I would have liked him."

"I think the biggest problem was that they gave him a medal for it."

"Speak to Ashie, he'll tell you all about getting medals for deeds which you despise yourself for doing. Did it affect your opinion of him?"

"No." Phillipa shook her head. "I'm afraid he was never more than old Pep who pulled my hair pins out. I never met Commodore Fordingham, so the actions of Commodore Fordingham never disturbed me.....but he never believed me when I said I didn't care."

"Like I said, why make the sick suffer, he didn't want to live and he couldn't face himself and his memories. The war has ended and yet the casualties continue to mount. Keep heart Lady Fordingham I think he would be disappointed if you let his death spoil your life....he wasn't that spoilt."

"You are a strange man General.....did you actually spend time helping the Germans recover?"

"Yes. And even with this threat of war I don't regret my help."

"Pepel was saying war was coming three weeks ago. Do you also think war is coming?"

"Undoubtedly, in some ways it will be worse than our war, but in other ways it will be much easier. The Servicemen will not suffer as much, that I can assure you. It is the civilians who will suffer this time." Darcy tilted his head gravely. "Well, I'll take my leave while I'm here because I doubt I'll see you again before I leave."

"Thank you for coming General, you are one of the few people whom I am quite willing to see here."

"That is kind of you. My greetings to the Admiral." Darcy nodded briefly before he ducked back into the crowd.

"Was that Darcy?" Admiral Fordingham came up and put an arm around Phillipa's shoulders.

"Yes it was. A strange man, but a genuine one."

"Also a highly intelligent one. Met him up at Pepel's place once, they were both quite in their cups arguing over the relative merits of port and rum and drinking both as they did so."

"The General didn't look like a drinking man."

"Oh he isn't, though he won't refuse a glass if it's offered. Darcy just never lets people get drunk on their own."

"He offered his greetings to you."

"Well I'll thank him for coming next time I see him in town. He's got some very interesting theories on life and death.....not that you'd expect anything else from him."

"Why?"

"He's seen such an awful lot of death, and so much up close. He was down in South Africa before the war. Then he was in the War. Then he was in Germany for a couple of years after the war. He got home and a couple of years later his wife died. That boy....James I think is the name, seems to be doing his level best to get killed as well. Mike practically worships young Darcy, isn't a horse the boy won't ride, car the boy won't drive, tree the boy won't climb, race the boy won't run. He's very like his father in many ways and is expected to go far if he decides to pursue Cricket past school teams. Boy has brains too and seems to fear nothing. Seems he particularly loves the night and is always breaking bounds to go walking."

"I'm surprised the General hasn't more grey hairs than he does."

"James means no harm and he's probably half grovelling in apologies over this latest shenanigan. Least that can be said is that for all the mischief, James has respect and some awe of his father. If General Darcy speaks, his word is law and you won't see James breaking it. We'll probably get a letter from Mike tomorrow babbling on about this latest incident."

"Do you think Pepel was glad to die?"

"Let's say he didn't like his life." The Admiral hedged warily.

"What happened on that boat. I know the incident which is the problem, but I don't know why. He was months in hospital recovering and yet he seems only to be more pained by it."

"The German sub had no survivors." The Admiral paused. "Dakota and the rest, except for a snotty and the Bo'sun, had been killed. Pepel was fortunate the sub surfaced and came for a closer look at the boat. As the report goes, he holed the sub badly." The Admiral grimaced. "What the report doesn't say is that the Germans surrendered but Pepel kept firing. That was where the problem lay. We see it as logical, he was avenging the death of his friends and his men.....but Pepel saw it a breach of his military promises and it was a breach of military ethics.....though that kind of breach is usually treated with a blind eye. Had the affair just blown over and been forgotten no doubt Pepel would have lived passed it. They awarded him a medal for bravery and it's mentioned in several history books. He didn't believe he had any friends for the simple reason that he hated himself, he hated what he had done, and unlike many he couldn't just post the matter to the back of his mind 'pending further thought next millenium'."

"So General Darcy spoke nothing but the truth. The war has ended and yet the casualties continue to mount. I wonder how many suffer like Pep did?"

"I would be guessing there are hundreds of them on both sides." The Admiral gave his wife a light hug before he moved off to continue his duties of socialisation and recipient of the hollowest commiserations there ever were. It was a neat wording Sir David had used, neat and infinitely accurate, he'd consult Phillipa about putting it on the grave marker. The war has ended and yet the casualties continue to mount.

August 3rd 1939-Pemberley, England

They made a curious quartet standing on the top step of the front stairs of Pemberley. On the gravel sweep in front of the stairs a battered looking Silver Bentley twenty some years behind the times was sitting peacefully. The boot of the Bentley slammed shut with a strength that caused the Bentley to jump on its springs. Ashie checked that the boot catch was holding before he moved forward and easily swung over the top of the door and into the driver's seat. The car had two other passengers already seated in it. One of the passengers was still so immense that he dwarfed the others, but to all of them it was painfully clear that he'd lost considerable weight in the past month or so. The car's ignition turned over easily, too easily for a twenty some year-old engine, then accelerated away with a spray of gravel which more than proved that the Bentley was over-powered to the point of viciously over-powered.

"So." Nelli's tone was clipped. Nelli carefully took Georgiana's elbow before she turned and retreated back inside Pemberley.

"So." Brian O'Niell glanced a quick, flickering glance at the man who stood next to him.

"So." James Darcy spoke in exactly the same tone as he abstractly dug a hand into his pocket. "Chess?"

"Sorry, promised Mother I'd fetch some foodstuffs from Lambton." Brian's tone was truly regretful.

"Catch you this evening then." James gave a shrug before descending the stairs. "I'm off for a ride."

"Ashie's going to be here for Supper."

"You think I'd miss that?" James gave a laugh. "Just a bit restless."

"You promised you wouldn't take Thunder out until I was able to ride again." Brian's look was warning.

"Stop being an old woman." James gave a laugh. "You have my promise....now have the decency to trust me to keep it."

"Whatever." Brian watched James' departure for the stable with a grim mouth.

"What is it Brian?" Nelli came softly up behind her son.

"James." Brian spoke briefly as he picked up his jacket from the hall stand. "Not that I think he'll do something stupid....but he knows we're not telling him something and he's not happy."

"We're not allowed to." Nelli gave a sigh before turning back towards the house.

"Mother." Brian's face was thoughtful.

"Yes?" Nelli turned back slowly, she had a feeling that this was not going to be fun.

"Do you think I would have liked my father?"

"I don't know." Nelli paused. "I honestly don't know. I'd like to think that you would have liked him. But honestly I don't know." Nelli gave a shrug.

"But I've still got you, so why does father matter." Brian caught his mother in a quick, one-armed hug.

"Well in that case, make-sure I've got chicken for tonight."

"Yes ma'am." Brian gave a laugh before he shook off his curiously sentimental mood, jumped down the stairs and crossed across to the battered car he and James had built the previous summer from one of Ashie's numerous crashes which the owner just discarded.

James' face was expressionless as he watched the small car rocket off down the drive and skid awkwardly around the corner as the far from reliable steering once more threatened to fail. As the small car vanished into the trees James tapped the neck of the bay he was seated on and first at a slow walk, then at a quicker trot before finally moving up to a gallop.

Four miles had passed before James finally brought the bay to a gradual stop and dismounted. The bay was heaving for breath and James was only slightly better as he slid to the ground and pulled the bridle off the bay's head.

"So." James sank onto his heels as he somewhat distractedly watched the bay move off and start cropping the grass.

The Silver Bentley drew up with a screen of flying gravel that little bit too late to avoid running the front wheels into the garden.

"Sir, have you ever arrived without running into the garden?" Brian was seated on the front stairs.

"I don't think so." Ashie sprayed a bit more gravel as he reversed out of the garden and pulled up neatly in front of the house. "What are you doing sitting on the front stairs?" Ashie hauled himself awkwardly over the top of the door and descended to the ground.

"I'm waiting."

"Who for?" Ashie had no illusions that the watch was kept for him.

"James."

"When did he go out?"

"Ten minutes after you'd left I'm guessing. I had to get food for the house and James hadn't left the stableyard when I left."

"That makes it ten or so hours since he left." Ashie's expression was grim. "Know what he was riding?"

"The Bay. He promised he wouldn't ride Thunder until I was fit again." Brian shifted restlessly.

"The Bay hasn't returned?" Ashie's eyes were watchful.

"He has. He returned minus his bridle."

"So somewhere out in that beautiful darkness James Darcy is wandering around with a bridle in his hands." Ashie glanced at the sober-faced young man who still sat on the stairs. It was a broken foot which had stopped Brian from riding and it wasn't difficult to see that the disability was grating badly at the present moment. "Is the Bishop in the stable?"

"Aye." Brian's eyes were wary as he glanced up.

"Good, tell your mother I'll eat when I'm back."

"You're not going to ride the Bishop are you?" Brian was on his feet in a flash, concern etched on every feature. "Even James can't ride that horse."

"I have one advantage over James." Ashie threw his coat into the Bentley before striding for the stables.

"What's that?" Brian had limped as quickly as he could after Ashie, and now he watched in amazement as Ashie tacked up the immense chestnut.

"The fact that I foaled, broke and reared this blighter before I handed him over to the Major." Ashie swung easily up into the saddle and spent a moment twitching the bit, a move which sent the Bishop twitching and rearing in restlessness. "Lovely, still has a mouth like custard." Ashie twitched the bit once more before finally he edged his way out of the stable, looking almost ridiculous atop the immense horse. Brian hesitated for a moment before he followed and he reached the yard just in time to see the Bishop clear the gate effortlessly and vanish into the darkness, his rider was still very much attached.

James McKenna Darcy had been staring silently up at the sky when something whuffled loudly in his ear, breaking his conversation with the stars. James jerked upright and twisted his head, only to find himself nose to nose with the Bishop.

"What the....." James shook his head, struggling to clear the cobwebs of a lazy afternoon aside, as he sat up further.

"I had the suspicion that you'd probably want a ride home." The voice spoke quietly, and James turned his head on a still sharper angle until he could see Ashie's pale face seemingly among the stairs.

"You're not going to die any time soon are you?" James' face was still blank.

"I have no intention of dying. My fortune says I'll live to an old age. But both intentions and fortunes can fail....would you like a corpse of me at your feet?"

"No thanks." James jerked his head irritably.

"James McKenna Darcy, I am forty-nine years old and I can assure you that I do not joke." Ashie's voice had gained a sharp edge. James bit his lip and then looked away.

"Sorry."

"You're not in the slightest and we both know it." Ashie abruptly slid to the ground and came to look into James' face. "Thought so, you've spent the entire day here."

"They could have told you that at the house. Since you've got the Bishop you must have been to the house. Why deduce it otherwise?"

"You're sunburnt.....and it takes a lot of hours just lying in the sun for James Darcy to become sunburnt."

"Am I?" James' tone was disinterested, but he winced when he touched his face. James was sunburnt for the second time in his life.

"Yes." Ashie retreated to a more seemly distance, a distance which blurred his face to just a patch of paleness in the darkness. "Now, do I give you a lift home, or do you tell me what's biting you?"

"No one has told me anything and no one will tell me. I ask a question and it's like running headfirst into a brick wall."

"Well in your current condition that would be very painful, so I suggest you spit out what's biting in total and I'll see if I can supply an answer."

"Who am I speaking to?" James abruptly turned his head.

"You are speaking to someone who has just seen their best friend for the last time. I'll know when you know that the Major has crossed over. Frankly speaking when you're not at war it really bites when people call it quits and it puts me in a rather sober and serious mood."

"Why wasn't I told? I didn't need to spend the summer semester at Oxford. The rowing and cricket could have gone to hell for all I cared."

"You weren't told, James Darcy, because your father wouldn't let us. I think you know well enough that when the Major says something won't happen it tends not to happen."

"Why not?" James shifted irritably. "I come home three days before he leaves. I see my father for all of three days during which he seems to do his level best to avoid me. If I did something to irritate him, someone might have told me."

"The only thing which irritated him was that you came home." Ashie took a deep breath. "He's dying Jim, he's been dying since 1915 and he's been dying in slow, agonised millimetres."

"Why are you always mixing units?"

"Habit." Ashie's tone abruptly shortened. "We're all dying James, Manners went last year. Bing's okay, but he never got gassed either. Florrie's dead. Bennie died during the war, as did Miles, Nash, Thomlin and a host of others. They were people we knew, people we grew up with. They were our sporting and political idols. Dalgleish died same year as your mother, and even though the Major called him all manner of bad names, they were good friends. Parker died in a crash. Pyro's elder brother is dead.....we think. It's damnably hard to keep going when everyone around you is dying like flies and those that aren't dead are either twenty years younger or twenty years older." Ashie shook his head. "He didn't want you home James, and he wanted you to stay away because he loved you. Old George Darcy was suffering for months and months before he died. Most people didn't know it. Old George Darcy slowly wasted away. If you think your father a hard man, you do not wish to have met your grandfather. The Major knows what it's like to see a loved one fade slowly. The Major's seen it happen twice. It is very difficult to remember someone as healthy and lively when you've seen them sick and two steps short of death."

"Then why in hell don't you die? Everyone else has!" James' voice was harshly edged and more than slightly resentful.

"And all I'll say is that it is my damned bad luck which has not killed me by now." Ashie abruptly grabbed James by the shoulder and yanked him around so they were face to face. "Do you think I actually want to live? Do you think I enjoy watching men I have lived with, fought with and drunk with slowly fade and die. Do you think I enjoyed driving the Major to London? We did not speak a single word in the entire journey James. Do you think I enjoy seeing the charred remains of my Wingman and cousin? Do you think I enjoy being almost a complete cripple." Ashie took a deep and raggedly edged breath. "Can you name one reason to me why I might possibly wish to live? As I am and where I am."

"Kenneth?" There had been several minutes pause before James finally gave the name of the five year-old who was Ashie's nephew, the son of Gerard's second marriage.

"Great reason to wish to live. Do you think it is fun administering a fortune which is not mine? Do you think I enjoy always knowing that people say what I do is live at my nephew's expense? Do you think I like the idea that in fifteen years time that nephew is likely to do what my entire bloody family has done at least once? Cast me off as a lame-brained idiot too stupid to earn my own bread."

"But you're not."

"So you're saying that you and Brian don't roll your eyes behind my back? That you don't groan and ask why in bloody hell I don't grow up and act like a respectable Wing-Commander and peer of this country? You're saying that you don't sigh in relief after my departure in one of three arrivals?" Ashie's eyes were bitterly hard and unforgiving and his fingers bit painfully into James' shoulders. They were eyes which could shoot off millions of bullets without worrying about whom they hit. They were eyes which could watch a flaming aeroplane fall out of the sky without flinching. They were eyes which had taken a squadron from being utterly useless to being one of the most feared squadrons on the Western Front. James abruptly realised what he and Brian had puzzled over for years, how Wing-Commander Ashington-Frankston had got where he was with the reputation he had within the Air Force.

"Except that it would be a waste of effort I would say sorry. However sorry doesn't come near cutting the cake so I won't bother." James spoke carefully, choosing each word with infinite care before he uttered it. "However one remark I will make is that it is hardly fair to blame the world when you never let the world see. What else can be expected of us but to assume you are a bit of an idiot since you only ever act like an idiot in our presence. I'm twenty-nine years younger than you sir, you can hardly expect me to know much about you. I don't even know much about my father. But whether I think someone is intelligent or not has no bearing on anything. My Grandmother is an utter bird-brain, but I love that bird-brain dearly. There is a time and a place for everything, and sometimes a bird-brain fills the bill. My grandmother for all her stupidity is endlessly encouraging. No one is better than her girls. She may have said nasty things to my face about my appearance, but she has never been anything but support if someone else is speaking of me. My grandmother owns the right to correct me. I allow her that right because she defends me the second anyone else tries to correct me.....except for my father. Yes, Brian and I have been excessively discourteous behind you back on occasion, but we've also been discourteous to everyone else in the world.....and that includes my father and to his face." James paused. "I don't think I've been more thoroughly thrashed in my life. If I have one explanation for our discourtesy, it is because we see our fathers, our uncles, our relatives all dying. They're dead for us too Ashie, and you can't ask questions from the dead. You're the generation ahead of us, you're the only people who can answer the questions we wish to ask about what in hell is happening around us. Brian doesn't have a father. I now have neither father nor mother. We live in a household of women, who think like women and who act like women. We leave this household and we go to Oxford. We enter a world so busy worshiping academia that it barely acknowledges that there's a world outside. Yes we have our roll of people who died in the war. We 'remember' them every year by a memorial service. We hear of the valour and splendour of these men who 'died so we might live in a better world'. Now we're told we botched it all up because we're on the verge of another war. For me this isn't a war we've won before we've started because I've lived for too long with my father."

"They're saying that?"

"Not exactly, but that's the general feeling." James moved his head slightly. "Yes, I have been rude behind your back, I've also been rude to your face. But frankly speaking, sir, you've been rude to me to. I'm not a child and I don't like being treated like one. I very strongly object that my father wouldn't let me spend time with him because he didn't want to hurt me. My pain is my business, the same goes for what I fear, what I feel and what I think. If I want to hurt, I'll hurt. It's the way we live and the way we'll always live. Just ask Brian, I haven't precisely breezed through school. Lady Catherine's attempt at my family has left its mark, everyone has their opinion, and everyone likes to voice it. I'm called the illegitimate if I make a mess at school. Sure, I'm the General's son the moment I win a race, hit a ton, take a wicket or win a race. But if I get a duck or lose a race, or fall out of my boat or any other of innumerable daft things that occasionally just happen, I'm back to being the Illegitimate. Do you think I enjoy hearing rumours about my parents? Now what are people going to say? In less than two days they're all going to know that I went home and three days later my father left the country. I can tell you what they'll say. My first duck and they'll say that I drove him away. If I don't win the race it will be that my Father found out the truth of me and couldn't bare to face me."

"No one will know whether he has left the country or not. You're going to hear rumours flying with a vengeance in the next couple of months." Ashie finally released James' shoulders. "You're a bloody fool not to have mentioned this business to your father."

"Would you have?"

"In your position or mine?"

"Mine, it didn't happen to you."

"I have to admit I wouldn't have."

"Same reason, you're still a piker if you blab out of school."

"Howabout we make a pact?" Ashie had restlessly picked up the spare bridle, the Bishop was quietly grazing a few yards off.

"What of?" James was wary.

"You let me know if your life is going to hell and buggery, and I'll behave at least semi-intelligently when we meet."

"What's in it for you?" James had no difficulty seeing what was in it for him. To be able to claim Wing-Commander Lord James Ashington-Frankston as a friend meant doors opened all over the place. It brought instant service at a bootmakers or tailors, instant service in a way that only the well-dressed man received. There were other bonuses as well of the more obscure kind. There was also the point that there was someone older, who was not his father or his best friend who might as well have been his brother, who he could talk to.

"For me?" Ashie abruptly stood up and caught the Bishop, once again easily swinging up into the saddle. "Hand up?"

"Thanks." James accepted the hand and scrambled up to sit behind Ashie on the immense horse. James took a firm grip on one shoulder and the back of the saddle.

"Shift the mit or I'll pass out." Ashie shifted his shoulder and James removed his hand and settled for gripping the saddle with both hands, it was a long settled thing that such problems were not mentioned.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"This is the most peaceful place in Pemberley, where else do you go when you're majorily upset with the world?"

"I had not considered that." James settled himself more firmly as the Bishop moved off. The return was made in silence and the meal which followed was also silent, until Ashie stood up to leave.

"I'm back to London tonight." Ashie picked up some oddments which invariably fell out of his pockets as he spoke.

"Safe journey." Nelli was already turning her attention to the reorganisation of the household.

"Thank you." Ashie flicked a brief glance at James as he spoke before he retreated to the front hall.

James descended to the gravel sweep some five minutes later to find Ashie wrestling with an oddly recalcitrant motor.

"Problem?"

"Not really, just a loose wire." Ashie tried the ignition once more as he spoke and the car broke into a satisfying roar of life.

"You wanted to speak to me?" James leant against the passenger side of the car.

"Yes." Ashie made some adjustments and then waved James away from the side of the car. "You wanted an answer for what's in the deal for me? Easy question to answer for all my reluctance to answer it. It gives me a reason to live." Ashie dropped the clutch as he finished and shot off in a cloud of gravel and spinning wheels.

It gives me a reason to live. The words echoed comfortingly in the still night. It gives me a reason to live. Standing there under the stars James abruptly realised the main key to living. The key which made it possible for people to live through utter hell and come out the other side at least reasonably intact. Staring up at those stars which had always given him comfort, James realised that no matter what the future brought he would survive for he had a reason to live....Even though for the life of him he could not say what it was.

The End

Continued in Next Section