Posted on Friday, 21 April 2006

A battered copy of the Odyssey had waited many years for such an opportunity. When young Peter Bennet of Longbourn happened upon the bookstore where it lurked, it had grabbed its chance and immediately began working its insidious way into his mind.

Mr. Bennet, a short, somewhat plump man with salt-and-pepper hair (more pepper than salt -- he'd married young and so was a mere 46 years old) retreated from his caterwauling wife into his library. There, the lovely books comforted him. He passed a hand over one: The Odyssey.

With the touch, the bookshelf swung aside, revealing a dark, narrow hole with a ladder that vanished into the depths of the pit. One would assume what lay beneath was a scary tunnel. It wasn't, though. Merely a long tunnel lit by delightful little oil lamps and skylights (about fifty feet down the tunnel, so the glow didn't really show from the ladder). He hurried as fast as he could, his destination, the Secret Kitchen.

Mr. Bennet had an alternate identity. His façade of retiring country gentleman, which was supported by the screaming wife and library retreat (well stocked with cooking sherry), was one he delighted in for its very improbability. His other identity, that of Mssr. Pierre de Bennoit, reclusive cooking genius, was his delight. In his later years, his beloved daughter Lizzy had followed him down this clandestine culinary path. Their published works, by Pierre and Elynnette de Bennoit, were bestsellers. The inventiveness and delicious flavor of their recipes won the hearts of every being that tasted their dishes. Not only that, they had provided ways for cooks to use leftover foods, meal plans that would last weeks, all based off a single original dish. Their works on the varied uses of the ubiquitous pot roast brought tears of joy to the heart of the beleaguered cook.

But all that was about to change. His darling Lizzy (or Elynnette) was to marry a man who didn't know she could cook. And worse, she didn't have a secret kitchen at Pemberley. That he knew of. How would she be able to indulge her passion? How would she be able to contribute recipes to their upcoming work on the uses of fruits? He was afraid that his beloved daughter and valued partner would stagnate in the culinary wilds of Derbyshire.

He reached the kitchen and blindly began chopping fruit. So great was his skill, that even unseeing, he chopped the fruit into perfectly even slices and didn't chop himself. The sunlight streamed through the windows of the ‘abandoned' cottage he had converted into his kitchen, highlighting the roses that grew all over the walls, effectively nailing the door. Cooking instruments of the greatest symmetry and perfection hung along the walls in easy reach of his hand. Fresh, cool water was ever at the ready. Ingredients of the finest quality were lined along the whitewashed shelves. He nipped a bit of rosemary off a plant in the window over the basin and threw it in among the delicious strawberries just purchased this morning from Donwell Abbey, fifty miles hence. Peace came over him. What was he thinking? His clever girl would find a solution. After all, was she not his daughter? And was he not one of the greatest cooks in Europe? He concentrated on developing a new recipe, to be called... Wedding Fruit. In honor of his little Lizzy. (It may be said that another appealing feature of his cookbooks was their lack of creative names. He hadn't a naming gift.)

Meanwhile, Lizzy was riding in the carriage of her new husband, the man himself napping by her side. Being on their Wedding Journey, which was to cover Scotland, since Lizzy didn't like boats, they spent a lot of time sleeping. Carriages, even shared with the person you loved best in the world, became tiresome absurdly fast. She was already wishing to have foregone Scotland and merely visited London properly. It was almost over, anyway.

But then! This was her chance to observe Scottish cooking techniques and find new recipes. Which reminded her... Will didn't know about her secret identity. She sighed, sobered once again. I should have... I don't know what I should have done. It seemed unlikely that he, who had said that disguise of every sort was his abhorrence, would approve of her alter ego.

Awakened by her sigh, Will sat up and distracted her thoroughly. She didn't end up thinking about cooking again until they got to Pemberley a few days later.

Lizzy quickly settled in at Pemberley, and after a few days, was quite comfortable popping in and out of any room whenever she pleased. She didn't dare go near the kitchens, though -- it would be unthinkable for a Lady of Quality to cook, or even appear knowledgeable about the gear. She was familiar with the concept, though she didn't agree. Her mother's tactless remarks on the subject of their being wealthy enough to afford a cook so her daughters didn't have to had led her to expect the sort of comment that would be directed at her should she reveal her interests. Or worse, her other identity. Thus, she unhappily avoided the kitchen.

Failing cooking, her next love was reading. As Will didn't like to be interrupted when in his study, she had used the large library for books. Today, however, the large library was on the other side of the house and the study was right there, so she entered. The study was large, lined with bookshelves. It didn't have much other furniture, though -- merely a few chests and a very tidy desk set. There was no chair for a visitor. Actually, the whole ensemble looked very little used. There were no ink stains on the desk, which had no clutter. The books, or almost all of them, were untouched red leather, lined up in perfectly even straight rows on the walnut shelves. She frowned. This was not the somewhat... disorderly Will she'd come to know. He had piles of books by their bed, all tumbled about, some lying half-open, some with broken spines. She examined the shelves a little more carefully. Here and there, a few books were pulled out, the top of their spines distorted by a hooking finger. Finding a copy of the Odyssey, she ran a hand along the spine. The bookshelf swung forward. She gasped in shock and recognition. Did everyone with an alternate identity hide secret doors behind copies of the Odyssey? Going down a remarkably familiar, thought somewhat longer, passage, she came out into a bright cottage with roses hanging over the windows. There was a peculiar smell in the air, she thought.

A contentedly grumpy mutter caught her attention and she turned around. There was her husband, seated in front of a large canvas, beautifully painted with a scene from Pemberley's rose garden. As she quietly watched, Will added the finishing touches to a figure seated in the arbor. She crept closer, and saw an image of herself, happy and glowing. She smiled with love and delight. How cute of him to have a secret identity! She'd give him a hard time, though, since he'd had the gall to say that disguise of every sort was his abhorrence!

Absorbed in her thoughts and the painting, she didn't notice her husband's gradual recognition of the fact that there was a warm presence behind his back. He turned around slowly, and, seeing whom it was, made a face that, for his dignity, would probably be better left unmentioned. However, the authoress feels no such compunction. He looked properly terrified.

"Er... Lizzy?" He said uncertainly, obviously unsure of where to begin talking. She turned her back on him and sauntered towards the windows, idly picking a rose. He began to babble. "I can explain! Everything! I -- I -- " She interrupted, swinging back around to face him.

"Does everyone hide their secret passages behind copies of the Odyssey?" She asked. He looked blank. She smiled, enjoying this interesting sensation of a senseless husband. "Do you think there's enough room down here for a proper kitchen, or will we need a new ‘abandoned' cottage? Nice to meet you, by the way. I'm Elynnette de Bennoit." She proffered her hand. Dawning enlightenment spread over her husband's face. He grinned and bowed, kissing her hand.

"Señor Ferdinand del Donostia-San Sebastian, at your service. I am enchanted to meet you at long last."

"Ah! The famous reclusive artist that is rumored to be an Englishman! The pleasure is all mine, I assure you."

"No indeed! The brilliant younger de Bennoit chef -- I cannot say how delighted I am!"

"I shall let you have the larger share of the delight, but I must claim the larger share of the astonishment. However, I have heard that the outer façade of the noted Sr. Ferdinand once said that disguise of every sort was his abhorrence." Lizzy playfully mentioned. Will abandoned the game.

"That was abominable of me, wasn't it? Now I see why those words hurt you so much, even more than they would otherwise! I am very sorry, beloved."

"No apologies necessary, as long as you let me cook!"

"Indeed, my love, there is no way I would stop you, so long as you teach me how to as well!"

"Then I demand lessons in painting in return."

"Done!"

The young couple made an excellent team. Lizzy showed as much talent for art as she had for cooking, and soon had galleries of her own. Will showed as much genius for cooking as he had for art, and soon collaborated on a cookbook with his beloved wife and her father. The names? Felipe de Bennoit and Asela del Donostia-San Sebastian, of course! (It may be noted that Lizzy and Will Darcy were much better at naming things than Peter Bennet -- not. Their first show together was called... Wedding Fruit.)

A battered copy of the Odyssey lay in wait upon the dusty bookshelf, waiting for its next victim. How it adored torturing hapless mortals, cursing them with inappropriate creativity, endowing them with fates beyond their control!

The End