Beginning, Section II
Chapter 5. House of Cards
Posted on Wednesday, 26 July 2006
The alarm clock was brutal. Its petulant wailing penetrated deep into her foggy brain until she could ignore it no longer. After Lizzy had finally managed to get out of bed she contemplated having another shower. It would feel so good. Then she had a look at the clock and started; she’d better not risk being late.
In the basement everything was set up for breakfast. First they had a roll call though, which relapsed into much repetition due to the general fatigue and inattention. After breakfast they were issued white T-shirts and told to write their names on the front. Then they followed Darcy upstairs to the Great Hall.
In the stark light of morning the magic of the place faded quickly. Lizzy leaned against a marble column and noticed it was chipped in several places. The wooden floor was full of dents and scratches, and the red velvet curtains were ragged at the edges. And it was filthy; completely incongruous with the Great Hall’s status as the inner sanctuary of student life. So they were issued brooms and buckets and told to clean up last night’s mess. Like an army of zombie minions they nodded and set to work.
Meanwhile, Darcy sat in front of the massive fireplace in a leather club chair, enjoying a fine cigar. Occasionally he gave some helpful hints to the people cleaning the floor of. “You missed a spot. There.”
Lizzy so wanted to dip his head in her bucket. Instead she put in her brush, cleaned it and continued scrubbing. She glanced around at the others, and spotted Richard with a broom. He was inefficiently sweeping the same place over and over again, just to get a waft of cigar smoke. Poor nicotine addict, she thought. Darcy had noticed it too, it seemed. He blew some smoke in Richard’s direction, who wallowed in it like a ballerina in a rose garden.
The sight of that display made her sick. It had an almost feudal look to it, she thought as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. And why is he looking at me all the time?
The day didn’t prove to be all bad though. They also learned to play chess and got dancing lessons, and at one point Lizzy was having so much fun with Richard that Darcy broke them up. He then partnered her off with Boy, who was a bit sloooow and frequently stepped on her toes.
Then they went upstairs to the library to be addressed by the Senate. Miss de Bourgh was her usual charming self, and hammered Tradition, Honour and Pride into them. Next came Mr Collins’ lengthy sermon. “To uphold the name of the Society you must be properly attired at all times.” he solemnly informed them. “Meaning; sports attire should never be worn outside the fields, and that includes track suits, sneakers, and in particular white socks.” he said, as if it were the gravest of sins. “Of course you can play sports,” he explained, “as long as it’s rowing.”
Miss de Bourgh coughed discreetly.
“Or field hockey,” he added, “that is also quite proper.”
When the entire quintet had finished their wholesome lectures Lizzy was glad to stretch her legs, after sitting on the floor for all that time. As they moved to the door in a somewhat orderly manner she squeezed Jane’s arm. “That freak keeps staring at my chest.” she whispered, indicating Collins.
“That’s just because you have a long name.” Jane soothed.
She’d forgotten about the t-shirt. Lizzy shrugged. “Still, he must have some pretty serious alcohol-induced brain damage if he can’t read ‘Elizabeth’ in five minutes.”
Jane muffled a laugh and then poked her in the ribs. Lizzy looked up and caught Collins staring at her again. Not sure if he had overheard, she quickly turned around and bumped right into Darcy. Oh God, I’m in so much trouble! she thought. But he only impatiently told her to “Get out.” and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. She wasn’t exactly sure what to get out of, but went as far as possible just in case.
Meanwhile Darcy desperately tried to compose himself. So that’s what the physical contact rule is for, he thought wryly, and quickly lit a cigarette. He found himself wishing he could smoke two at the same time, without looking stupid.
They enjoyed their dinner down in the basement, and afterwards Darcy stood up. He reminded them to take the Senate’s wise words to heart for their own benefit, and held them up as an example of eloquence. “The art of rhetoric is held in high esteem at the Society, and each one of you will have to learn the necessary skills through practice, starting today.”
Lizzy looked at Jane. She knew how her friend felt about public speaking, and she was always first in any alphabetic line, like the daily roll call. However, Bingley pulled out a list and announced Glen as the first speaker. He came forward, and after a series of instructions on how to stand, look, speak, dress for the occasion, etc. Darcy explained a very important concept. “A Society Member must be able to speak with ease and confidence on any topic imaginable. Fortunately, you’ll get a chance to practice that here.” He turned to Glen. “Your topic will be: Fried Lice.”
Glen seemed confused. “What?”
“Excuse me?” His voice cut like a knife. “Don’t you have any manners? That’s: I’m sorry, Mr Darcy, I didn’t quite hear what you said, because I stuffed my ears full of mashed potato during dinner, or: I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr Darcy, because I sold my last brain cells to science to pay for my college education.”
Lydia was eating her hand. She seemed to be learning something at last.
Glen looked sheepish, and swallowed. “I’m sorry, Mr Darcy, I didn’t hear what you were saying.”
“I said: Your topic is Fried Lice.” he replied, with the pain and exasperation of a kindergarten teacher on a 24-hour shift.
Glen still looked puzzled, but he seemed to grasp that it was for real now. “Honourable Senate, dear Members,” he began, as they had been instructed, even though the Honourable Senate were nowhere in sight. Then he thought long and hard. “Fried lice are very healthy...and they are good for you,” he stated at last. “Because bugs are full of...meat.” he enlightened them, and proceeded to supply them with similarly useful information.
After what seemed like an age of stammering and spluttering, Darcy told him to wrap it up. Glen looked very grateful, having near exhausted the topic of edible insects. Bingley announced some other seemingly random names and those speakers delighted their audience with orations on such varied topics as The Hungarian Paperclip Industry, Life on Mars Bars and Dust.
When Bingley put away his list there was a sigh of relief, until Darcy announced they were going up to the Great Hall. There would be no fighting this time, but apart from that it turned out as gruelling as last night. Members poured in to mingle with them, eager to get better acquainted.
“Don’t you remember me?”
“I told you my name last night.”
“And you were too stupid to remember, am I right?”
“That’s no excuse, ‘cause I remembered yours, Elizabeth.”
Yeah, because it’s written on my shirt, she thought grimly.
“Come on, sing a song.”
“I don’t care! Don’t you have any brains of your own?”
“Ad fundum!
It would be a long night.
The next morning Boy came running in after roll call had started.
Darcy ostentatiously took out his watch. “You are late.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Darcy.” he panted. “My bicycle...”
“I don’t care!” he interrupted. “Tomorrow you’ll come in one hour early.”
After the roll call was finished he announced they would split up into two groups for the day. The girls were to go with Miss Bingley and Miss Hurst, and the guys would follow himself, Mr Bingley and Mr Howard.
They walked upstairs together and reluctantly parted in front of the Aede, to go their separate ways. Miss Bingley led her flock at a brisk pace across the square, through a couple of narrow alleys and over the bridge, until they ended up walking along a picturesque canal, where dignified trees shaded even more dignified houses. She halted in front of a grand, imposing edifice and turned to the group. “This is Caesar’s Palace, by far the most prominent men’s house.” she said reverently, no doubt implying they’d be very lucky to spend a night under this roof.
She rang the bell, then she tried another one, and after a while a tall, heavy-looking man opened the door. “Morning.” he said in a low monotonous voice.
“Good morning.” Miss Bentley replied cheerfully. “This is Mr. Forthingham, the House Eldest.” she explained, before she backed away to let an enthusiastic golden retriever pass by. The dog immediately bonded with Jane, who got to her knees and petted him, cooing: “What’s your name? What’s your name?”
“Have a guess.” Forthingham said, leaning against the doorpost.
“You must be Goldilocks? Right? Yes?” Jane asked the dog.
Forthingham looked slightly disgusted. “Of course not. You?” he pointed to Kitty.
“Uh, Rover, Mr...Forthington?”
He let it slip. “No.”
Mary suggested Fido, with equal success.
You guys are so predictable, Lizzy thought. “Augustus, Mr Forthingham?”
“Yes, his name is Gus.” he replied “Good girl.” and he threw her a dog biscuit. “Well, come in.” he told the rest. “Make yourself at home.”
Miss Bentley led them through a narrow hallway, which would not have been quite so narrow if it hadn’t been stacked with beer crates and bicycles, while Forthingham left them to go upstairs.
At the end was a door, which revealed the filthiest kitchen Lizzy had ever seen. It was even worse than she could have imagined possible. She thought it looked more like a pigsty than a palace: dirty dishes, pots and pans everywhere, the floor, the table and the couch littered with trash, and almost everything was covered in food scraps and dog hair. There was an overwhelming stench of stale beer, and fruit flies were dancing around empty bottles everywhere.
They carefully walked in, soles sticking to the floor. It was a large space that seemed to double as a living room. Miss Hurst looked around for an ashtray, and found it was the floor.
“We are going to clean this place up.” Miss Bentley briskly announced. Incredulous stares were the only reply. They didn’t even know where to start. “Come on, get to work!” she urged.
At last, Lydia and Lizzy began collecting old newspapers and pizza boxes, and deposited them in the wastepaper bin in the hallway. Lydia picked up an empty envelope from the floor.
“E. J. Carlisle.” she read. “Interesting.” She dug into the pile and picked out some more envelopes. “W. T. R. A. Forthingham. F. R. L. Darcy!” she exclaimed gleefully. “Can I buy a vowel?”
“Why do you even care?” Lizzy responded wearily.
“What, he’s utterly cute!”
Lizzy frowned. “Does the term Stockholm Syndrome mean anything to you?”
Lydia didn’t reply, engrossed as she was in some official letter. “C. Bingley is on a full scholarship. Poor guy!” she said empathically.
Lizzy felt ashamed and furious at the same time. “You can’t read other people’s mail!” she cried, trying to grab the paper.
Lydia ducked to avoid her. “Oh wait, he’s got a loan as well. Holy f*!” she exclaimed.
Then Miss Hurst came in to see what all the ruckus was about, and they quickly resumed stacking newspapers.
After they were finished Lizzy had the honour of cleaning out Caesar Augustus III’s basket. He had received a postcard from Zakopane. She just hoped he understood Polish.
She nudged Jane, who was bravely attempting to clean the floor. “Hey, did you know Charles Bingley lives here?”
“Oh.” She looked around in horror and scrubbed with new vigour. “But, how you know that?”
“Well,” Lizzy replied, “you know how people start looking like their dogs?”
Jane stared at her.
“Just kidding!” Then she sighed and resumed her task, hoping the guys were having as much fun pulling hairs from a girls’ bathroom.
After moving the couch they came across various items that had been hidden underneath, including two strange metal contraptions, and they had a guess as to what these were.
“They look like really big mousetraps.” Kitty thought.
“More like some kind of Medieval torture device.” Lydia suggested, touching the pointy spikes.
“Must be Darcy’s then.” Lizzy concluded.
As on cue, Miss Bentley appeared. “What are those?” she asked.
“We don’t know, Miss Bentley.” Lizzy replied. “We were hoping you could tell us.”
There was a short silence. “It’s none of your business.” she said, and put them on the table.
Lizzy was staring at the wall. “Look at this.” she whispered to Kathleen, pointing to some dark red spatters. “It must be...blood.”
“What?” she asked, and then started laughing. “No, it’s probably just ketchup or something.” She took a closer look. “Actually I think it’s cherry sauce, see?”
Lizzy had to admit she was probably right, and she felt more than a little embarrassed.
Kathleen smirked. “I suppose dessert can get a little ‘enthusiastic’ around here. Now, you didn’t really think this house was full of bloodthirsty monsters, did you?”
Lizzy tried to smile. She realised she’d made a fool of herself by letting her imagination run wild. Of course nobody got murdered around here.
Lydia punched her amicably. “Maybe they ritually sacrifice goats.” she teased.
“Or perhaps they put their ex-girlfriends on the barbecue.” Kathleen suggested dryly.
Miss Bentley snapped her head. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
When the kitchen was clean they all felt a great sense of satisfaction. But they were not done yet.
“Now we’re going to bake some pies for the men.” Miss Bentley announced. They would make an apple pie, a chocolate cake, and because there were only two ovens, a strawberry cheesecake as well.
Lizzy was mixing the chocolate cake batter. Shall I drop a hair in it? she thought.
“Yes, and his hair!” Kitty interrupted her musings.
They had found that this day was an excellent opportunity to do some female bonding, that is: talk about guys. It was soon settled that Richard was the hottest guy in their year, although some preferred Victor’s babyface. Jane didn’t have an opinion, which people found odd.
“So what don’t you like then, in a guy?” Lydia insisted.
She thought about it. “Moustaches,” she admitted, cringing at the thought.
“Me neither,” Kitty responded. “And I don’t like guys with long hair.”
“Or guys with earrings.”
“Or tattoos.”
“Yuck!”
“I hate guys with pink shirts.” Lizzy said, and they stared at her. “They’re absolutely hideous! I think I’d rather even have a guy who wears white socks.” she joked.
Miss Hurst was shocked. “Go wash your mouth!”
“Hey Elizabeth,” Lydia asked, “what about guys with white shirts and pink socks?”
She turned around from the sink. “They’re gay.”
After putting the cakes in the oven they were busy washing the utensils. Then they heard a rumbling noise coming from the staircase, and a few moments later Forthingham stood in the doorway, a dumbfounded look on his face. “Where’s my kitchen?!”
“I thought we’d clean it up a bit.” Miss Bentley explained.
He threw her a look of contempt. Then his nostrils caught a waft of chocolate cake, and he walked towards the oven.
“No, no, don’t open it!” Miss Bentley warned him.
“Whose house is this?!” he barked at her, but he didn’t open the oven door. Instead, he stared through the glass as if he couldn’t believe it had ever been transparent.
Then he turned around and looked at the table. “Ah, you found Darcy’s crampons!” he exclaimed, and picked them up. With his other hand he took a beer from the fridge and opened it on the radiator. As he left the kitchen everyone stared at the beer cap that bounced onto the pristine floor.
“Well, pick it up!” Miss Bentley said at last.
Still, what the hell are crampons? Lizzy thought. Cram-pons? Cramp-ons?
When the pies were done they put them in the middle of the table, the top of which had revealed a large Society crest after scraping off several layers of candle wax. Before they left, Miss Bentley quickly wrote a note to Darcy saying she found his ‘crambons.’
They returned at the Aede for dinner, and Lizzy quickly sought a place next to Richard. “So, what did you have to do today?” she asked impatiently.
“Oh, we went rowing and smoked cigars.”
“What?!” she exclaimed. “I would have liked to go rowing.”
“Yes, it was fun. Bingley’s awfully good at it.”
She wanted to kick him, but then realised it wasn’t really his fault. But it was not fair that the guys had gotten off so easily! She glared at Darcy.
“So how about you?” Richard asked.
“Oh, we did some redecorating,” she said airily, “and then we made pie. You know, girlie stuff.”
He made a face. “Well, whatever floats your boat.”
After dinner Bingley pulled out his list again, causing sweaty palms galore. Mary was the next victim, and she held a very informative, if somewhat incoherent treaty on Flying Submarines. They were yellow, apparently.
Then Richard was called to the stand. As he got up, Lizzy sent him a sympathetic glance, although he didn’t seem to lack confidence. He walked up to the High Table and waited for Darcy’s verdict.
“Muffins and Maimed Moose.”
Richard blinked. Then he cleared his throat. “Honourable Senate, dear Members,” he began, and proceeded to relate a story about brave moose with a hernia on an epic quest from Lapland to Tahiti to fight cursed muffins from outer space, that had everyone howling with laughter. Yet, the Introduction Committee remained as grave as the judges of Hades. Lizzy wondered if they were drinking lemon juice instead of beer.
Later that evening, as they strolled around the Great Hall, Darcy and Bingley discussed their pupils’ progress. “Richard is doing quite well.” the latter remarked.
“Yes, I’m very pleased with him.” Darcy replied. “I was thinking of presenting him for Caesar’s Palace.”
Bingley stared at him.
“What?” Darcy responded grimly, “We can’t leave a room empty forever. How long has Lewis been dead now?” Then he lit another cigarette and walked off.
“Where’s Darcy?” Miss Bentley asked a few minutes later.
“Oh, give him a break.” Bingley grumbled.
She removed her cigarette and blew some angry puffs of smoke in his direction.
He sighed. “I think he’s in the billiard room.”
“With whom?!”
“Well, alone. You can play billiards there too, you know.”
Miss Bentley thought this was an excellent opportunity to uhm…convince him what a great Assessor she’d make. “Well, I have to speak to him.” she said, and moved to depart.
“No, you’re needed here.” Bingley objected. He turned to the nearest victim. “Elizabeth, go fetch Mr Darcy from the billiard room.”
She quickly excused herself from the beer game she was being forced to play, and walked upstairs as slowly as possible. The silence in the hallway was quite refreshing. At the landing she looked around, and tried to remember where the billiard room was. Of course they had explained it to her. Once. Then she saw a flash of green through an open door and heard the faint clicking of balls. When she entered the room Darcy immediately missed a shot. He looked at her, the billiard table and back at her with a dark look.
Well, it’s not my fault I had to interrupt your game! Lizzy thought indignantly. “Miss Bentley wants you.”
“So what?” he replied, staring intently at her. He took a few steps towards her before he suddenly snapped out of it. “Of course,” he said curtly, and reached to pick up his jacket. He paid no attention to her as he briskly walked downstairs. In the Great Hall he accosted Miss Bentley. “So?”
“Right, uhm...well, I’ll take care of Boy tomorrow morning, if you want.” she offered.
“Really?” Darcy asked incredulously.
“Sure.”
“Well, thanks.”
“You owe me!” she added, playfully serious.
Chapter 6. Falling Further
Posted on Thursday, 28 September 2006
“Miss Bentley wants you.”
“So what?” he replied, staring intently at her. Then he closed the distance between them, effectively pinning her against the wall, and kissed her. After some playful resistance she soon responded with equal fervour. She tasted as sweet as forbidden fruit ought to. After a long and intoxicating kiss they broke apart.
“How dare you seduce me!” he hissed.
“Please forgive me, Mr Darcy,” she replied coyly.
He looked sternly at her. “You’ll have to earn it.”
“I’ll do anything you want, Mr Darcy,” she offered, lowering her gaze.
Just when things started to get really interesting the alarm clock woke him with a start. Darcy desperately tried to piece his dream back together and hold on to it. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, he thought. He grinned and took a cold shower.
He leaned against the tiles and rubbed his eyes. After washing his hair he absently started shaving. He had to look presentable. Always. A sharp sting cut through his reverie, and he stared at the blood in mild surprise.
After leaving the shower he hurriedly dried off and dressed with great care. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and straightened his tie, more out of habit than necessity. It seemed only yesterday his mother had taken him to get measured for his first suit. For his next birthday his father had given him a golden pocket watch. He had wanted a fire engine.
The faint ticking of time reminded him of his duties again, and he walked downstairs to the kitchen. On the threshold he halted, and blinked. It suddenly looked so big.
“I know,” Bingley said. “Bizarre.” And he took another piece of strawberry cheesecake.
Darcy walked in and poured himself some coffee. He didn’t know how he could survive without coffee. And cigarettes. He picked up a piece of cake and cracked the thick layer of dark chocolate covering. He was absently munching on the moist interior when something got caught between his teeth, and he pulled out a long brown hair in utter disgust. He quickly spewed the cake into the sink, cursed loudly, and threw the rest of the piece to Gus.
Bingley stared at his cheesecake and put it down. Then he looked at his watch. “We’ve got to go.” He stood up and grabbed his jacket from a chair.
When they arrived at the Aede Miss Bentley was already there, looking remarkably bright and perky. Darcy ordered Glen to wait for the others in the hallway and had to bear her thinly veiled attempts to fish for compliments about the cleaning and the baking until Howard came in.
Darcy took out his watch. “Where’s Louisa?”
Howard shrugged. “Dunno. She went home last night. Said she was tired.” he replied, with a look that said: What a lame excuse!
They sat down behind the table and waited. At last she came rushing in, looking breathless and flushed. She guiltily eyed the rest of the Committee, and there was a tense silence.
“Don’t let it happen again,” Darcy said at last. “And fix your hair, for God’s sake!”
After hoarding the year upstairs and into the back of the waiting van, Miss Hurst leaned against the wall of the Aede. She took off her dark sunglasses and rubbed her eyes. “He is such an arsehole.” she whispered hoarsely.
Miss Bentley didn’t reply.
“I was only like, a few minutes late,” she continued, lighting her cigarette with a trembling hand. “I just couldn’t get out of bed this morning. If I ever hear one of those f*ing brats complain about sleep deprivation again, oh I’ll…” she continued, looking murderously desperate. “I just can’t take it anymore.”
Miss Bentley absently rubbed her nose. “I can help you,” she said. “I’ve got something.”
Lizzy had almost fallen asleep from the quiet cadence of the van when someone poked a knee in her ribs.
“Sorry,” a hushed whisper came. “I got cramp.”
Lizzy peeked under her blindfold to see it was Mary. “It’s okay,” she whispered back. They were huddled so close together that it was almost impossible to change positions.
She only realised she had been dozing off into a strange half-dream when she woke with a start. The van had stopped, and an annoying whistle woke everybody up. With consciousness came nausea and headache, and she attempted to massage her temples. Names were called, but not hers, and when the van took off again she soon reverted back to her dreamlike state. More stops followed, and every time the shrill whistle stabbed her brain like a quality steak knife. The van became less crowded, and she could stretch her legs at last. Oops. She had hit something in the dark.
“Do you mind?”
She froze. It was Richard. “Sorry,” she whispered back.
He chuckled. “Oh, it’s you.” Then she suddenly got poked in the side. She tried to suppress a giggle, and planned to retaliate. Then the van stopped and she quickly put her fingers in her ears to take the edge off the whistle. However, this time her name amongst them and she stumbled out of the van, cursing her blindfold.
It was probably Darcy who ordered them to turn around ten times. Lizzy was sure she looked like a drunk, swaying from side to side, because her feet seemed to have a mind of their own. Then he told her to hold out her hand. She expected something slimy or otherwise disgusting, but it felt more like paper.
“Here’s a phone number and a quarter. If you haven’t reached the Aedificium by nightfall, use it and you’ll get picked up. If not, you’ll have to hand it back.”
Scrooge, Lizzy thought.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr Darcy.”
“Count to a hundred, then take off your blindfolds.”
Soon afterwards she heard the sound of a starting engine.
“-98-99-100.” Lizzy looked around and found there were three of them standing in the middle of a forest.
“Well, we could be anywhere,” Lydia said helpfully.
“Okay, which way should we go?” Glen wondered. It all looked pretty much the same.
“Let’s examine the tyre tracks,” Lizzy suggested.
Lydia sighed. “You watch too much CSI.”
“Quiet!” Lizzy said. She was trying to find out if the direction of the tracks corresponded with the faint noise of cars in the distance. After a short stroll through the woods they did reach a road, and Lizzy and Lydia let their hair down to attract passing motorists while Glen hid in the bushes. They soon caught a ride into the next town, and learned some interesting facts about eighties rock legends from the eccentric driver.
He dropped them off near the centre and they thanked him heartily, although they were mostly just glad to get out of his smelly car. They sprawled out on the nearest bench and looked around. The shops were still closed but they didn’t have any money with them anyway. They hadn’t had any breakfast that morning and Lizzy felt her stomach grumble.
“So, we’d better score some cash then, to buy food.” she decided, and got up.
Glen yawned. “How?”
“Prostitution?” Lydia suggested.
“Ha ha! Come on, let’s try and do some chores or something.” Lizzy said. “Or do you really want to sit around here all day?”
They wandered aimlessly through a residential area for some time, but everybody seemed to be either asleep or hurrying off to work.
“I’m hungry!” Lydia whined.
Lizzy turned around. “Have you got a better idea then?” Then she spotted a pensioner at work in his front garden. “Good morning, sir!”
He smiled and greeted the ‘youngsters’ amicably. Lizzy’s hopes were up again, and she cautiously asked if he needed some help in the garden, explaining their cause. However, he threw one worried look at his precious plants, as if they had offered to trample them for money, and declined the offer. Lizzy was about to take leave when Glen interrupted her.
“How about we wash your car then?”
He pondered the question. “Yes, that might be an idea.” They bartered over the price and soon came to an agreement. He provided a bucket of water and sponges and they set to work while he continued weeding. When they were about halfway with their task a woman came out and stared at them in surprise, but her husband quickly filled her in. She smiled and immediately invited them all into the kitchen for a coffee break. Lizzy felt her mouth water when she was offered a small biscuit. The woman laughed. “How long has it been since your breakfast?”
“Well, quite a while.” Like yesterday, she thought. The others nodded.
“Would you like some raisin bread?” Yes, they would. She generously spread it with butter and seemed to take much pleasure from their grateful profusions. They finished their work with renewed energy, and after thanking the couple for their hospitality they were back on the street again, with a full stomach and some cash to boot.
“Well, that was easy.” Lydia remarked. “So, where do we go now?”
Glen pointed to a sign. “The station.”
“We don’t have enough money to go back by train.” Lizzy said.
He shrugged. “We’ll just say we forgot our transport cards.”
“What, all three of us? Who’s going to believe that?”
“They robbed our wallets!” Lydia suggested.
Lizzy sighed “How about telling the truth?”
And in the end, that worked just fine. The train conductor listened to their story, laughed and said, “Only this once!” He then proudly told them all about his eldest daughter, who was also a student. “She’s a member of CSA. Does that mean anything to you?”
They thoroughly enjoyed their train ride, chuckling at the thought of other groups who where probably having a lousy time hitch-hiking. They were convinced nobody could have travelled as fast as they had, and raced the last bit to the Aede.
Unfortunately there were already two other groups there, who loudly welcomed the newcomers in. Lizzy stamped her foot, and they shared a disappointed look. Then Darcy called them to the table, and she languidly handed in the paper with the coin inside. He crossed their names off his list and dismissed them.
They listened to some of the others’ funny hitch-hiking tales, and Lizzy soon had her good humour back and shared her own story with great spirit. Occasionally another group came in, with the same disappointed look.
“GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!” Darcy suddenly shouted.
She ducked in a reflex. They hadn’t heard that tone in a while. However, when she looked around she saw that he was addressing a group of new arrivals: Victor, Boy and Anne.
“How did you get here?” he bellowed at the quivering trio.
“We...we hitch-hiked, Mr Darcy,” Victor replied timidly when he realised that Anne was too scared, and Boy too dumbfounded to speak.
“Don’t lie to me! How did you get here?”
“We came hitch-hiking all the way, Mr Darcy.” Victor asserted again.
“You have one last chance to tell me the truth! Who did you call?”
Baffled by Darcy’s clairvoyant or perhaps mind-reading abilities Victor decided it would probably be in his best interest to confess. “I...I called my mother,” he hesitantly admitted. “She picked us up.”
An ominous silence followed, with Darcy slowly pacing up and down in front of them. Then, in a wide curve he threw the quarter he had been holding in front of Victor’s nose. “Take this back to your mum, and bring me back a quarter from 1998!”
Victor struggled to catch the bouncing coin as realisation dawned on him.
“No, bring me twenty of them.” Darcy added thoughtfully. “That’ll teach you.” He looked down at the trio. “Out!” he commanded, and they scrambled to their feet and hurriedly left the Aede.
Even though Lizzy secretly couldn’t stand Victor, she wouldn’t allow herself to feel even a little bit smug. She felt bad for Anne, who could barely manage to drag herself along. The daily routine was taking its toll on all of them, but some managed to cope better with the lack of sleep than others.
Darcy had just congratulated himself on not yawning during dinner when Bingley announced the next speaker. “Elizabeth.”
With a light shock he realised he had forgotten to think up a number of topics that morning. He had gone so distracted lately. As she stood in front of him, waiting, his thoughts were spinning like mad; yet somehow ‘billiard table’ was the only thing that came to mind. What was he going to say? He thought he could hear her foot impatiently tapping the floor, only distracting him further. “Talking Furniture,” he managed at last.
She raised a quizzical brow, and after a short pause addressed them. “Honourable Senate, dear Members, I suspect that you, in your infinite wisdom, would be amongst the first to doubt that talking furniture really exists. But obviously it does, because Mr Darcy just said so.” She paused a moment to fidget and think of something else to say. “The truth is,” she continued, “that the minute you leave the room all the furniture starts gossiping amongst themselves. The couch complains you’ve gained weight, so does the bed, and sometimes even the kitchen table.” She was really getting somewhere now, and easily filled the allotted time with splendid nonsense. “So, to conclude, you’d better watch your mouth in the presence of furniture.”
“Bravo! ‘Vo! ‘Vo!” the whole year shouted at her in appreciation, as was the habit.
After tasting a bit of freedom that day it was even harder to go back to the nights in the Great Hall, full of beer, noise and humiliation.
She stoically endured the insults and impossible demands, yet she suspected that Jane was closer to crying after another round of verbal abuse. She furtively scanned the Hall for Bingley, but when she finally caught sight of him he was talking to some woman. Lizzy grinded her teeth and answered some more stupid question, wrongly of course. A little later that same woman came over and demanded Jane’s company, with an air of entitlement that her tormenters didn’t dare question.
I wish I had a guardian angel, Lizzy thought wryly as beer streamed down her neck while Jane sang a few songs to a bored face. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse Mr Collins approached her in order to claim her exclusive attentions. The Assessor told her to spin around, and his beady eyes travelled over her body as she made a full turn. Now she knew how a shoarma roll felt.
“Sit down.” he told her, and she kneeled on the floor.
“Kiss my feet.”
What?! she thought. “No, Mr Collins.”
“What did you say?” he asked incredulously.
“No, Mr Collins.” she repeated. I’m not going to act out your sick fantasies, she was tempted to add.
“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” he shouted. “I am a Member of the Senate! and I said: KISS my FEET.”
“No.” Then she saw another pair of black shoes approach, and some muffled conversation ensued.
“Apologise to Mr Collins.” Darcy said.
What for?! But then she decided to do it anyway, just to get out of the predicament as quickly as possible.
After she was dismissed she wandered around the Great Hall trying to make herself invisible, but with little success. At last she found a dark corner and she absently stared at the scene in front of her. Two guys were yelling at Kitty, who was standing on a low stool balancing a beer glass on her head. Every time the glass fell down they made her empty another and put it on her head.
Then Kathleen discovered her hiding spot. “Hey, I heard you scored some brownie points.” she whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you stood up to Collins, right?”
“And how is that a good thing?” Lizzy wondered.
Kathleen sighed. “You still don’t get it, do you? They’re looking for people with some backbone. Besides, he was out of order: physical contact rule.”
Lizzy could have hit herself for not remembering that.
“I suppose he does enough bootlicking himself,” Kathleen continued. “Assessors, you know.”
Then Lizzy heard the sound of a crash and a scream, and she turned around to see Kitty lying on the floor, clutching her forearm. She immediately attempted to reach her but an enormous beer belly blocked her way.
“Get lost!” he almost spat in her face.
“No, I—”
Kathleen pulled her arm. “Just stay out of it.”
They were immediately absorbed into the frenzy again, but from the corner of her eye she could see Kitty leave the Great Hall, leaning on Miss Hurst.
The atmosphere was tense at the Committee meeting that night.
“How could you let this happen?” Darcy asked furiously. “I can’t be in every place at once! You were too drunk, as usual,” he told Howard. “Why were you staring into the void again, instead of paying attention?” he asked, turning to Miss Hurst. “And you probably thought it was funny?” he shouted at Miss Bentley. “And you!” he told Bingley. “You’re only looking after Jane’s arse!” He slammed his fist on the table. “Do I have to do everything by myself?” And where was your mind? a little voice asked.
Miss Bentley yawned. “Why are you making such a fuss?” she asked. “Stuff like this happens every year.”
“But I didn’t want it to happen to MY year!” He took a deep breath and realised he was overreacting. Making a fool of himself. He could see it in their faces. He sat down and lighted a cigarette. “Right, damage control,” he said evenly. “Is the doctor solid?”
“Of course.” Miss Bentley replied stiffly.
“And what about Kitty?”
“I think she wants to quit.” Miss Hurst said.
“Well, talk her out of it.” The last thing he needed was someone running to the press. Reputations were at stake.
After the meeting he sought out Philip and Emerson. “Well, what have you got to say for yourselves?” he asked coldly.
There was a short silence. “Nobody said we couldn’t do it.” Philip responded defensively.
“That is the LOUSIEST excuse I’ve ever heard!” He felt his anger flare up anew. “YOU are responsible for your own actions, and nobody else!” Nothing he said seemed to make any impression though, and he dismissed them sooner than he should have just because he couldn’t stand their lethargic faces anymore.
“Pfff.” Emerson said, once they were out of earshot. “He was pretty scary.”
Philip grimaced. “Do you suppose Catherine likes that kind of stuff?” And they both chuckled.
When Lizzy walked in the next morning, she was surprised to see Kitty on her way to the basement. “Hey, you’re back?”
She turned around on the stairs. “You thought I would give up just because I broke my wrist?” she asked indignantly, showing off the plaster.
“Well, I mean, after what they did to you...”
“What are you talking about? It’s not like they pushed me!” She turned back to Lydia. “So anyway, yeah, the doctor was really nice. He told me he was a Member, you know.”
At the High Table the same topic was under discussion, while the basement slowly filled itself.
“So you fixed it?” Darcy asked.
Miss Bentley was examining her nails. “Piece of cake,” she said carelessly. It bothered her that Darcy still hadn’t mentioned the cake. Was it possible that he hadn’t liked any of the flavours? There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him, especially when other people did the work. “I mean, of course I fixed it. You can rely on me.”
“You didn’t even have to offer her a room?” Darcy asked, amused at her blasé manner.
“Not in our house!” Miss Bentley said indignantly. “Such a dog.”
“So uhm, have you thought of anyone else for that room yet?” Bingley asked casually.
There was a short silence. “Well,” Miss Hurst replied at last, “we have been considering Jane...”
When in fact they hadn’t. They had discussed Lydia and Elizabeth, and while the former showed more party spirit, the latter seemed more likely to hold high offices. And because the girls at Cleopatra had a reputation to uphold in both, it was a difficult decision. But since screwing prominent men was considered a virtue in itself, Jane might also stand a chance.
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “What about Elizabeth?” he asked, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Bingley threw him a look that said: backstabber! and Miss Bentley was shooting pure venom across the table.
“Oh, you mean for Richard?” Miss Hurst asked obliviously. “You really look after that boy, don’t you?”
Darcy blinked. So he wasn’t just seeing things. Damn.
Author Note: This chapter is available in audio version (MP3 format) here
Chapter 7. Endgame
Posted on Wednesday, 16 May 2007
Lizzy was polishing a bronze plaque engraved with the name of every Praeses since the beginning of time. It was quiet in the Senate Room, except for the sound of Miss Helstrom’s printer. Besides her there were two other Senators present: Carlisle was busy entering figures into a spreadsheet and Collins was dividing his time between bending paperclips and glaring at her. Lizzy thought he looked a bit lost without his Preases.
She turned back to the plaque and polished Miss De Bourgh’s name, proudly displayed beneath a Mr Ross-Glazier. Further up there was the illustrious Mr Forthingham, whom they had met at Caesar’s Palace. There was still plenty of room at the bottom. She slowly worked her way up, encountering quite a few recurring last names and recognising a number of prominent politicians and captains of industry – Hmm, Wentworth. – Then, about one generation ago, she found something really interesting. Between Mr De Bourgh (That must be Lord Thingy) and Mr Darcy (What a surprise!) there it was: Miss Fitzwilliam. So it’s in your blood, Lizzy thought, smiling to herself.
Miss Helstrom picked up a few envelopes and left the room. Lizzy glanced to the side and saw Carlisle leaning back in his chair. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyeballs. “If you haven’t got anything better to do, then get me some coffee,” he said irritably.
A short silence ensued, broken by Collins’ fake cough. “Elizabeth, you heard Mr Carlisle!” he ordered. “Go fetch him a cup of coffee.”
Carlisle looked at her in surprise, as if he had forgotten she was there.
“Well, hurry up!” Collins urged, as if it was a life and death situation to get the Fiscus coffee.
She walked downstairs to the Great Hall, and spotted a girl behind the bar. “Mr Carlisle asked for a cup of coffee.”
“Sure.” She poured a cup and handed it to her. Lizzy thanked her and went on her way. Then, halfway up the stairs, a sudden thought struck her numb. What about sugar and milk? Should she have asked Carlisle how he liked his coffee? After short deliberation she thought it best to get some at the bar, just in case.
“No, he likes it black,” the girl informed her, and Lizzy walked upstairs again. At the top of the staircase she was intercepted by Miss Bentley, who looked disapprovingly at the steaming cup. “Where did you get that?” she inquired sternly.
“At the bar, Miss Bentley.”
“And who said you were allowed to drink coffee?”
“Nobody did, Miss Bentley.”
“Then what are you doing with that cup?”
“I’m taking it to the Senate Room, Miss Bentley.”
“I asked you WHY!”
“To give to Mr Carlisle, Miss Bentley.” She’d had enough of this game, and besides, she imagined Carlisle would prefer his coffee while it was still warm.
“And what were you doing in the Senate Room?”
Lizzy wondered what was affecting her short-term memory. “I was polishing the bronze plaque, like you told me to do.”
Miss Bentley then started quizzing her on all the important names she should have absorbed while doing that.
“Excuse me, Miss Bentley,” Lizzy interrupted, “Mr Carlisle’s coffee is getting cold.”
“That’s not my problem, is it?” she asked, and continued her interrogation. At last she walked away, and Lizzy felt the cup. It was lukewarm. She considered going in anyway, but it would be rather pointless. She sighed and walked downstairs, wondering what to say to the girl behind the bar.
“Could I have another cup for Mr Carlisle, please? she asked, putting the full one on the bar.
When the girl picked it up she looked surprised at its weight and content. Then she nodded. “Don’t let them get to you.” she said conspiratorially, and flashed her a brief smile.
Lizzy was more shocked by this random act of kindness than if someone had slapped her in the face. She took the hot coffee and mumbled a thanks.
When she returned to the Senate Room she quickly put the cup on Carlisle’s desk. He picked it up without taking his eyes off the screen. Meanwhile, Collins had started berating her for being late.
“Miss Bentley detained me,” she protested.
“Yes, blame it on someone else! You should have told her you were on official Senate business,” he declared, ending the conversation by turning around.
“Seahorses.”
Jane’s eyes became wide. “Honourable Senate, dear Members.” she began. “Seahorses...live in the sea. They...They eat...They are...not....” she stammered. Red spots were appearing all over her neck. Lizzy sent her a look of heartfelt sympathy. It was all she could do.
Then she glanced over at Bingley. He was staring at the wall, strangling his cigarette. Somehow his studied avoidance told her more than any look or word could have. She looked back at Jane, silently mouthing, “You can do it.”
Jane desperately tried to pull herself together. She breathed in deeply. “Once upon a time...there was a little seahorse, who lived deep in the ocean.” And she told them a charming story about a seahorse who wanted to be a horse, and went to an evil witch to ask for four legs to live on dry land, etc. etc.
They were roughly shaken out of fairyland by the order to move up to the Great Hall. Lizzy felt sick at the thought, but she reminded herself that tomorrow would be the Inaugural Assembly, so this was the last night of that kind. However, it seemed all Members were determined to get their money’s worth and they were extra vicious as an encore.
As she was kneeling on the floor reciting her own insignificance to another fat, foul-mouthed duo, she reminded herself again why she was staying. For Jane, and for her year of course. She couldn’t let them down. Apart from that she didn’t want to lose all the new friends she’d made, like Kathleen. And though she was reluctant to admit it, maybe most of all Richard. He was the embodiment of everything that made the Society so attractive: handsome, confident and funny. A gush of beer blinded her sight, and when she opened her eyes she was suddenly faced with the black trousers of doom.
“Elizabeth.” Her gaze followed one razor-sharp pleat upwards.
“Yes, Mr Darcy.”
Darcy stood turned away from her at an angle, as if she was not even worthy of being looked at. “Fetch Richard and return here,” he ordered sharply, and then turned his back on her completely.
For a split moment she thought he could read her mind. But that was absurd. “Yes, Mr Darcy.” She got up and scoured the hall in search of Richard. He was licking food off the floor blindfolded, and seemed most grateful for the interruption. His tormenters reluctantly let him go and turned to another victim. As they made their way through the crowd she took the opportunity of sharing her amazing discovery of that morning.
“Hey, I found out about your aunt.”
“What?!” he exclaimed.
“Uh, you don’t have an aunt who was Praeses?” Lizzy inquired cautiously.
“Oh yes, that’s true,” he replied quickly, sounding relieved. “You’ve got gum in your hair, you know that?”
Lizzy nodded absently, wondering what could be so embarrassing about his aunt that he seemed so anxious to avoid the topic. Maybe she had taken a wrong turn and become a heroine addict, or a stripper. Or both.
They had reached the spot where Darcy was waiting. “Follow me.” The frenzied crowd parted before him like the Red Sea as he led them through. Lizzy and Richard shared a worried glance. From what they'd learned in the last two weeks, there was no such thing as good news. As they passed the bar she noticed Bingley in heated discussion with Miss Bentley and Miss De Bourgh. The latter vigorously shook her head. “No, we’ve made up our minds.”
Caroline nodded and threw what was left of her beer at Lizzy – to point would have been rude, of course. “That one.”
Bingley said nothing, but glared at her in the passing.
Richard poked her and whispered, “you’re settled.”
“What?” she replied.
Darcy turned around and told her to be quiet. They had reached the oversized fireplace, where Forthingham sat smoking an oversized cigar with all the care-free dignity befitting a former Praeses. Darcy joined him in the club chair next to him.
“So, these are your two biggest troublemakers?” Forthingham scowled.
Darcy nodded. “Richard Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Bennet.”
Forthingham unhurriedly scrutinised them both. “We’ve been expecting you,” he told Richard. “And nice to meet you,” he addressed Lizzy, in a polite yet condescending way. He casually indicated two low stools nearby. “Have a seat.”
Richard and Lizzy looked at each other. Was this another trick? When had they ever been allowed to sit anywhere but the floor?
“What are you waiting for?” Darcy asked, and they decided to consider that a benediction.
They reluctantly sat down, more worried than reassured by the great distinction bestowed upon them. Forthingham asked them each a couple of questions in order to strike up a light conversation, in ridiculous contrast to the drunken mayhem surrounding them, while Darcy was absorbed in the long and intricate process of lighting a cigar. Forthingham mostly talked to Richard about everything from sports to whiskeys, although from the look of him Lizzy thought he saw more of the latter. She was, however, quite content to just sit and listen, occasionally answering a few questions. It was a pleasant change from the ruthless interrogations.
Meanwhile Darcy was smoking his cigar, never looking at them by turning his head to either side. She wondered if he had a twitch. Or perhaps he thought it was the best angle to display his Grecian profile. From up close she noticed he had a small shaving cut, and for some reason that amused her. So he wasn’t perfect after all. At last he leaned over towards her, and Lizzy started coughing ostentatiously when the cigar smoke floated in her direction. He quickly sat back and after a short time turned to her again, holding his cigar at a distance. “Do you play any sports?”
“No, Mr Darcy,” she answered, as formally as possible. She was in no mood to discuss the injury that had made her quit athletics with a complete stranger.
He made no other attempt at civil conversation, and shortly afterwards Forthingham dismissed them both.
As they walked downstairs to the basement later that night she related the events to Jane. “It was weird. I mean, what does he care what sport I play?”
“I hate sports,” Lydia interrupted. “Way boring.”
“If you don’t play sports, you get a fat arse.” Kathleen warned.
Darcy called them to attention. “The following people will report to the Aede tomorrow at 10 o’clock.” He read out a shortlist of names: Lizzy was on it but Jane was not, and they looked at each other questioningly. “The rest will come in at 7 am as usual.” He offered no further explanation and dismissed them.
Lizzy was silent on the way out. What’s the catch? she thought, and then saw Darcy staring at her from the top of the stairs.
“Aren’t you grateful?” he asked brusquely as she passed.
She stopped and raised her chin in defiance. “I don’t trust the Greeks even if they bring gifts.”
He avoided her gaze. “Very perceptive of you.”
Lizzy wanted nothing more than to sleep in till 9 o’clock the next morning, but the routine was so hammered into her system by now that she woke up early in a panic. She could not catch sleep again after reassuring herself, and after dozing for a while settled for a long hot shower instead.
She felt her stomach rumble, so she quickly threw some clothes on and headed for the kitchen. The table was strewn with breakfast items, including a big inviting pot of tea. A friendly-looking redhead appeared from behind the newspaper. “Morning.”
“Hi, good morning.” She held out her hand. “I’m Lizzy.”
“Laura. I think we met briefly when you were moving in?”
“Yeah, I think so.” It already seemed like ages ago.
“Do sit down. Would you like some tea?”
“Oh yes, thank you.” She gratefully accepted a steaming mug. “Uh, may I borrow some sugar, please?”
“Sure. But it’s not mine; it’s all communal, you know: tea, coffee, sugar, salt...Well, I’ll bore you about it in detail some other time. Oh, and the newspaper. Want a section?”
“Thanks.” She stared at the headlines. At least it didn’t look like another war had broken out she should know about. In any case, it was a comfort to find the world was still as miserable as always.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of more domestic issues. “Uh so, is the bread communal too?” she asked hopefully, since she had just realised she didn’t have anything in store except a bag of crisps maybe.
“Uh, no.” Laura put down the paper. “Well, everybody likes their own type. Although I know one house where they do share the bread, but...yeah, not here.” She wiped her hands on her faded, worn-out Amnesty t-shirt. “Oh wait, you want a slice of mine?”
“If that’s okay?”
“Sure, here you go. One, two, three?”
“Two, please. Thanks.” She didn’t have anything to put on, so she decided to toast them.
“Here’s the margarine. Would you like some cheese too, or honey? I’m out of jam, sorry.”
She felt overwhelmed by kindness, even though it was, well, just a sandwich. Somehow she’d lost that faith in strangers. She silently munched her bread and skimmed the pages.
“So you’ve been busy getting settled?” Laura smiled. “I haven’t seen you around much.”
“Yeah, I’ve been really busy lately,” she replied evasively. For some reason she wasn’t quite comfortable talking about the Society with her new housemate. It felt as if she’d landed on another planet. She hastily swallowed the last of the bread. “Right, I have to go now. Lots more to do.” She rushed to her room and fell down on her bed, trying to get rid of that nagging feeling. It was all normal. It would all be over soon. She flipped through a magazine and bit her nails until it was time to leave.
When she arrived at the Aede she saw Jane and a few others chalking a large grid in the middle of the square. On the other side CSA members were working on their part of the grid, as well as erecting a platform in front of their building.
Inside, she found Richard lingering around the stairs to the basement, and they walked down together, discussing the mysterious unknown that lay ahead. She stifled a yawn as Darcy started another story about the evil, evil CSA.
“....that they had the audacity to build their shed on our square! Naturally, this has caused the occasional skirmish in the past, as they refute our superior claims to the whole square. However, at the insistence of the local authorities” – he said that like it was the worst sort of vermin – “we have shaped these encounters into a more civilised form.”
Howard grunted. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rough’em up when they provoke you.”
Lizzy had a feeling Darcy didn’t like being interrupted.
“So,” he continued curtly, “today the Senate will be playing their annual game of chess against CSA.” He paused for dramatic effect. “And you are the pieces.”
Lizzy grinned secretly. She should have known it would involve megalomania of some sort.
“However, unlike ordinary chess, you’ll have to fight to take your opponent. All the rules of messing apply here too.”
A collection of gasps filled the basement, and Mary immediately took off her glasses as a precaution.
He briefed them further on rules and regulations, and showed them a black overall with a large pawn on the back. Then the whole pile of overalls was distributed, and they eagerly unfolded each to find out what chess piece they had been assigned.
“I’m a knight!” Richard exclaimed. “Ni! Ni!”
“Ecki Ecki!” Lydia replied.
Lizzy leaned against the bare concrete wall, amused by the frenzied spectacle.
“Your Majesty!” Richard announced, and threw her an overall. She smiled. Being queen wasn’t that bad. She realised she probably owed it to beating Richard in messing. It wasn’t a trick she was going to try on any CSA member though.
Kathleen came over and gave her a thumbs-up. “Well done!” Then she showed off her bishop overall. “I’m glad I’m not a stupid pawn,” she whispered, “like Mary Bishop.”
Lizzy snickered and quickly put on her overall, as the excitement died down under Darcy’s patented death glare. He assigned them each a place on the practice grid.
“You will get your instructions from the Senate on the balcony. When it is not your turn, you will stand absolutely still. That means no coughing, sneezing, scratching, waving, or any other disorderly conduct. Understood?”
Lizzy suddenly got why Anne with her allergies wasn’t in, even though she wasn’t half bad at messing due to her considerable weight. But she would certainly put the Society to shame with her indiscreet coughing. Lizzy tried to imagine the horror on Miss De Bourgh’s face, but then realised that while standing on the chess board she wouldn’t be able to see them anyway. She chuckled. “You know, this means we get to turn our backs on the Senate,” she whispered to Victor, the queenside bishop. He immediately raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“Mr Darcy, is it quite proper that we stand with our backs to the Senate during the game?”
Lizzy wanted to bang her head against the wall.
Darcy snapped his big shiny monstrosity of a lighter shut and took a thoughtful drag. “Well, since they are standing on the balcony they’ll still look down on you.” He stared through his cigarette smoke. “But how very thoughtful of you to mention it,” he sneered.
After another edifying speech on Pride, Honour, Tradition and the likes, they sang their year song a few times to get properly hyped up for battle, and they were ready to go.
“We’ll show them wogs!” King Glen yelled as they marched up the stairs and onto the square in two neat files.
“Ave Senatus! Morituri vos salutant,” they said in one voice, and took their positions.
They waited until they saw the CSA dignitaries leave their building and climb onto the platform. They probably wished they had a balcony too. Then the white pieces came out and greeted their notables, but not in Latin so it was tacky.
A frosty silence descended onto the square, until, like in a bad western, the battle began at the stroke of noon. After the last chime from the church tower White opened with e4.
Mary sighed. “How typical,” she whispered loudly to her neighbouring pawn, before she was ordered to move herself in a Sicilian defence.
As the game progressed the difference in tactics became more apparent; while CSA had one decidedly girly flank and the king castled behind the men, the Society had the sexes spread more evenly across the board.
Lizzy sighed. Not that she was reluctant to fight, but until now her part in the game had merely consisted of standing frozen like a statue in the burning sun. She could feel sweat dripping down her back. The overalls were far too hot, and she wished she could open a button. However, one careless move could mean a serious disgrace to the Society, or even disqualification. Her nose itched.
“d8 to a5!” Miss de Bourgh ordered.
That was the call she’d been waiting for. She walked in a firm yet breezy manner, to get maximum ventilation out of the opportunity. Somewhat refreshed, she took her new position and tried to look menacing, even though her nose was still itchy. Soon they threw a pawn at her to test her strength. He was dead meat in mere seconds. It was just the beginning of the murderous rampage she was about to embark on.
She took a long diagonal stride across the board towards a white bishop. “Muriel!” she exclaimed, as she grabbed hold of her collar. She almost hadn’t recognised her without glasses.
Muriel squinted her eyes. “Oh hey, Lizzy?” She grabbed her overall too and started pulling.
“Yeah,” she replied, while trying a tackle. “How are you?”
Muriel groaned. “Fine.” She had regained her balance and launched a forceful counter-attack “And you?”
“Excellent, thanks,” Lizzy panted.
There was something utterly bizarre about the conversation; not only that they both knew they were lying but also that friendly chit-chat and fighting like mortal enemies didn’t really go together. But there was no time to weigh odd feelings, and Lizzy focused on the battle again. Muriel wasn’t stronger, but she was sharp and had good technique, and after a couple of failed tricks and lots of fruitless pulling about, Lizzy wracked her brain for another cunning plan. Then she remembered the demonstration fight between Darcy and Bingley. She pulled a sharp feint to the left, catching her opponent off-balance, and floored her with a powerful thrust. The crowd cheered. How smug he would be if he knew, she thought while she held out her hand. “See you.”
Muriel avoided her gaze. “Bye,” she mumbled and dejectedly strolled off the board to the CSA camp, where her new friends patted her on the shoulders and brought her smile back. Lizzy watched it all from a distance with an empty feeling of regret.
However, it was soon forgotten as she continued her tour of duty, and after a while she really started to enjoy wreaking havoc behind enemy lines. With the help of brave Kathleen she wiped out almost the entire girly flank. Richard, on the other hand, was idling away, slaying some pawns left and right, but mainly guarding the kingside battlement. It almost seemed as if he was too precious to use, and Lizzy could see he was mightily annoyed by that.
It got even worse when CSA moved a rather large rook right in front of him, obscuring his view of the action. As the cheering from another of Kathleen’s victories died down, Richard’s opponent suddenly bended over double, clutching her stomach and shaking with laughter.
“Mr Carter, your castle moved!” Miss De Bourgh yelled through her megaphone.
“That’s because your knight is ridiculous!” he retorted.
“No, your pieces are weak and undisciplined!”
After exchanging the customary insults Mr Carter finally took his castle off the board, and the game continued. Soon all that was left of the CSA defence was a tight clump of pieces surrounding the king.
After some heated deliberation on the balcony Miss De Bourgh moved Richard forward, in the next turn repositioned Boy and then sent Lizzy straight into the line of fire, to attack the tall knight positioned right in front of the king. As she entered his square he grabbed hold of her with a rage and unbridled energy that caught even her by surprise. She quickly recovered and launched a forceful counter-attack, but he stood his ground like a brick wall. Trying some other moves proved equally pointless, and she was thrown back into a defensive position. But she could be stubborn, and she stoically endured his fierce attacks as best as she could. The tugging and pulling seemed to go on forever, and the whole square held their breaths.
Lizzy was sweating profusely, and she was almost ready to give up when she noticed her opponent began to pant. She pulled herself together for one last, desperate attempt and hooked his left foot. He should have been expecting such a classic move, but since he was not completely focused it actually worked, and he dropped to the ground. As she helped him up he threw a nasty insult in her face, but it was drowned in the crowd’s manic cheering.
She felt drained, exhausted, and tried to catch her breath in a dignified manner. She almost forgot she had checked the king until he came right for her with a menacing grin. All she wanted was to turn and run. She tried to put up some resistance, but she had spent all her energy in the previous fight. She was soon thrown on the ground, the back of her head hitting the square’s rough bricks.
She stumbled off the board, utterly humiliated in mere seconds.
“What kind of idiot thinks I can do that?” she grumbled, glaring up at the balcony. “They were both huge!”
Kathleen patted her on the back. “I’m sure nobody expected that. You were only the bait, to draw out the king so Richard can finish him. Look!”
She turned around and watched him jump right in front of the king’s nose, and attack immediately. The king staggered for a moment, before he regained his footing and roughly pulled Richard to one side, who only managed to stay up by clinging to his opponent’s overall. Lizzy cheered with the rest of them, completely caught up in watching the fight. The king turned red in the face and kept an iron grip on Richard’s collar, almost dragging him down with his weight after an otherwise successful feint. Lizzy touched the back of her neck. That must hurt.
This fight was more brutal than any she’d seen before. With men fighting men, they held nothing back. She thought she saw Richard mouthing insults to taunt him before the king spat in his face. A roar of outrage rose from the Society camp, but the Senate did not call on the infringement. As Richard used one arm to wipe his face, his opponent lunged at him and almost managed to drag him down. He regained his balance and launched a counter-attack. With the king hanging from his overall again, Richard used one hand to pry his fingers away from the collar in one quick movement. The king’s other hand slipped, and he fell to the ground. The square erupted with cheers, and Lizzy and Kathleen hugged and danced around like mad.
After the CSA retreated and the Society were done appropriating the whole square as their own for another year, they also went back into the Aede to celebrate in style. Beer flowed freely, they sang victory at the top of their lungs, and toasted to the brave warriors.
Lydia tried to monopolise the attention on account of her supposedly sprained ankle. Miss Hurst went to get an ice-pack just in case. But most centred around Richard to hear him tell of his amazing feat of psychological warfare involving the giggly CSA rook, after Boy inquired ‘how he’d gotten that fat pig to move.’
Richard grinned. “She said it was bloody hot in the sun,” he explained, “so I demanded a shrubbery.”
Meanwhile, Darcy was watching the joyful mayhem from a distance, showing a hint of discontent in his otherwise unreadable expression.
Bingley handed him a beer. “So, tomorrow morning, right?” he asked.
Darcy sighed. “Yes, I’ll sleep on the plane.”
He was left to ponder his problem. Richard was obviously interested in Elizabeth, but, he flattered himself, she could do better than that. However, he now was faced with a difficult dilemma: he couldn’t possibly make a move on her while he was still in function, yet he might not have another opportunity after the Inauguration. He had to make his interests clear though, to avoid a potentially messy situation when he got back.
At last he resolved to speak to her. “Follow me,” he said, and walked to the hallway. Thankfully no one was there. He turned around to look at her. “I have to tell you something.” This was going to be harder than he thought. “Look, I’m going away for a while.”
Her face was blank. As it should be, he reminded himself. “Now, you can either wait till I get back, or...not. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr Darcy,” she replied mechanically.
“Good,” he said, and walked upstairs.
Lizzy remained standing in the hallway. It’s kind of draughty in here, she thought. Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going back into the Great Hall.