Chapter Seven

Posted on: 2009-08-14

It often happens that no sooner has one stated with confidence that a given undesired event will not take place, than that very dreaded misfortune falls into one's lap. Or, as in the case of Mr. Darcy, who had, less than a minute before, assured himself that he would not have to suffer any adventures that night, an adventure appears in one's garden.

Darcy should have been prepared for something odd, or at least, should have been aware that things in the Looking Glass World could be very different than they were in his normal sphere after walking past the stable block and hearing the peculiarly discordant trumpeting noises that issued from within. It sounded as if a number of horn players were practicing their instruments, and that they still required a great deal more practice, and while it did strike him as unusual that anyone should be playing loud music in the stables in the middle of the night, he did not investigate it, not wanting to waste any time on purely curious motives. That should have been a hint to him that all was not as it was in his world, but all the same, Darcy expected to turn the corner of the building and see before him the gravel walks and shrubbery that he was accustomed to finding on that side of the house, but instead he was confronted with the sight of... well, he was not certain exactly was he was seeing, but it was not his garden. There was instead a fairly large edifice resembling a miniaturized version (though still large enough for all that) of the Roman Colosseum, as Darcy had seen it in illustrations in various books of a historic nature, only instead of being built out of stone, it was constructed of wood, and was formed of only two tiers of arches, and those much smaller than the real Colosseum. Unlike the original in Rome, the miniature arena was open on one end, and Darcy could see that it was illuminated by hundreds of torches, and its seats filled by an enthusiastic throng of spectators, in obvious expectation of some exciting event.

At the near end of the arena, filling the open end, a pavilion was set up, of colors indeterminate in the night, but aglow nonetheless, being brightly lit within. In the middle of the field within the arena, which otherwise had the look of an athletic field, stood a stone wall, roughly fifty feet high as best Darcy could estimate from the distance; from where he stood Darcy could see that a lone figure perched precariously upon the top of it, though from such a distance away, he could not tell who it was. From the clothing, and the length of hair that trailed a good distance down the side of the wall, he took it to be a woman. The notion entered his head that the scene reminded him of some kind of medieval tournament, with a damsel in distress in need of saving, such as he had often read about as a boy. At any moment he almost expected to see knights on charging steeds converge in the center of the field - excepting that the wall there would no doubt prove an inconvenient obstacle in a jousting match.

While acknowledging that it was not really his Pemberley in whose garden all of this had been assembled, Darcy nevertheless felt a sort of proprietary annoyance in seeing it there, and the Master of the Estate authority which had been bred into him compelled him to seek at once an explanation of the incursion upon his grounds. At the very least he wanted to know what had happened to the gardens which belonged on the spot, as he had several ingredients to collect there, and if the gardens had been moved or were no more, he would have to find some other source, and wanted very much not to waste time and moonlight. Sensing that the tent likely housed whomsoever might be able to proffer such an explanation, he strode purposefully towards its entrance, which was guarded by two servants in livery. With each step closer to the pavilion, Darcy discovered some new and surprising piece of information. First, he realized that the livery worn by the two servants standing by the opening of the tent was not the livery of Pemberley. Next, with a sinking feeling he recognized it as another livery that was all too familiar to him, that worn by the servants of his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who was the very last person one might wish to encounter if one had a mission to complete in a timely manner. Almost immediately following this discovery came another that was exponentially more startling; the two servants, whom he had taken for a pair of tall, thin, be-wigged men, were in fact not. They were tall, and thin, but they were not be-wigged. And they were not men. They were birds.

Though he had never made a thorough study of ornithology, Darcy was fairly certain that the avian sentinels were not of a species that could be found in the real world on the other side of the looking glass. They were the height of a man, and a tall man, no less, but what Darcy had at first taken for white wigs upon the heads of human servants were in fact the white feathered heads of what looked like giant versions of the cockatoos his aunt kept in cages in her drawing room. They had the posture of a man, but as he grew closer, Darcy could see their beaks, and the avian position of their eyes, and their spindly bird legs and claw-like feet, quite grotesque when manifested so large. As he approached, they raised the feathered crests atop their heads, the same way his aunt's pets did when they were agitated. He distinctly heard a squawk, and sensed a ruffling of feathers.

Just as Darcy arrived before the two creatures, the birds held what seemed to be a conference in a series of chattering, squawky noises, and then one of them scurried into the tent, while the other moved to block the entrance, his crest raised, and his head bobbing side to side in what Darcy took to be a threatening manner. He felt distinctly uneasy with the black, beady eye fixed upon him. From inside the tent he could hear more squawking and chattering, and then was forced to suppress a groan when he heard a voice he recognized, raised imperiously in response.

"My nephew has arrived? Send him in!"

Darcy bristled at the summons, and at the intimation that his aunt had expected him. He was accustomed to her manner of ordering people around, and when possible, if he absolutely had to comply with one of her demands he tried to act as if whatever she had demanded he do was exactly what he intended to do in the first place. This was certainly so in the present case, but to be ordered into her presence when he was the one who was seeking answers, and on the grounds of sort of his own estate, it was irksome to appear obedient. However, when the second sentry returned, and both birds ushered him into the tent, Darcy followed with his head held high, and wearing his haughtiest expression, which would have been familiar to many an inhabitant of the environs of Meryton.

The appearance of Darcy's aunt provided yet another surprise, though not the greatest he was to confront within the tent. Lady Catherine de Bourgh sat upon an enormous, elaborately carved, gilded, velvet-cushioned chair that would more rightly be called a throne, in the center of the tent, with her feet resting upon a footstool that looked for all the world like an enormous tortoise with a pillow on its back. She was dressed in a most peculiar fashion, in a gown of a style centuries old, black and red velvet and brocade, with voluminous skirts, and a wide lace ruff about her neck, just like the portraits of Queen Elizabeth. Her hair was piled upon her head in a high, elaborate style, atop which perched a crown, most precariously; Darcy could see it wobble when she moved her head. She held in one hand an object that could have been a cane, but looked more like a scepter. With her other hand she frantically fanned herself with a delicate lace fan, which she snapped shut upon Darcy's entrance. Beside her chair squatted a most extraordinary creature.

The being that crouched beside Lady Catherine's throne should not, perhaps, have left Darcy so nonplussed after seeing the giant birds who served his aunt, several more of whom stood at attention inside the tent, and yet, this particular entity was more disturbing, even to a man who had recently read his own account of having been abducted by centaurs, and fighting a giant shape-shifting serpent. The creature was, in the main, an enormous frog - a toad, rather, with dry, warty skin. In his, well, toadish squat, his head was about level with the arm of her ladyship's throne. And yet, there was something about the toad's appearance, in his face and his clerical garb that suggested...

"Mr. Collins!" Lady Catherine barked in her most imperious tones, thumping the ground with her scepter, and startling the toad man into giving a little hop. "Fetch the proclamation!"

Mr. Collins answered with a sort of bleating croak, and then turned his head to the side; his tongue darted out of his mouth so quickly that Darcy almost did not see its passage, and when it had snapped back to place, the toad had a scroll of parchment clasped between his wide, flaccid lips. He turned to his patroness with another croak, which Darcy could not but regard as fawning.

"Thank you, Mr. Collins," Lady Catherine said dismissively as she took the parchment from Mr. Collins's mouth and ostentatiously wiped his slimy amphibian saliva from it with an enormous, lace-trimmed handkerchief. "Darcy, you will read the proclamation."

"Lady Catherine -" Darcy began, but Lady Catherine did not allow him to proceed further with what he had to say.

"Nephew, you will read the proclamation!" She thrust the rolled document at him as if she were wielding a sword, and Darcy, with a sigh, stepped forward and took it from her, careful to touch it only at the ends, which had not been in the toad's mouth.

Darcy gingerly untied the damp velvet ribbon that bound the scroll, and had that limp piece of decoration snatched almost immediately from his fingers by one of the bird servants, who had scuttled forward to take it and then scuttled back to place, the red velvet hanging from its beak. Darcy unrolled the parchment, but his voice was checked before he could begin to read, and he almost laughed instead.

'I should have known,' he thought, as he ran his eyes over the words written on the scroll. It would not be easy to read. Darcy thought back to his boyhood, and a tutor of his who had traveled in Italy, and was fascinated with the works, artistic and scientific, of Leonardo da Vinci. There was one particular aspect of da Vinci's genius that had intrigued the young Darcy, and that was that, according to his tutor, the great artist and scientist had used 'mirror writing', in his notebooks, with all the words being written backwards, and from right to left, in order that, it was speculated, no one would be able to read what he had written. The young Darcy had taken this as something of a challenge, and had spent several months, to the very great chagrin of his tutor, perfecting the technique of mirror writing - and reading. He had even shared the method with his cousins, and among them they had passed many 'secret' messages that pertained to whatever boyish games they were playing at the time. Darcy was now pleased to have cultivated such a facility, even if the skill had grown rusty with disuse over the years, for the words that confronted him looked like this:

*

The script was elaborate and flowing, like an illuminated manuscript, adding to the difficulty in reading it backwards, but Darcy could sense his aunt's impatience for him to begin, and so he did.

"Hear ye, hear ye -"

"No! That is not how you read a proclamation! Do they teach you nothing at your universities these days! Stentorian tones, young man! Begin again."

Darcy did not bother to hide his rolling of the eyes as he began again, using a tone of voice he was well aware that he possessed, but had not used since debates at university.

"Hear ye, hear ye -"

"Posture! Stand up straight! Head up! Shoulders back! Chest out! Elbows at a proper angle! Right foot pointed forward, left at ninety degrees, with the knee slightly bent! That is the way to read a proclamation! Is that not right, Mr. Collins? Begin again!"

Darcy had not been corrected for his posture since he was a boy, and he resented the approving croak Collins had given to his aunt's instruction, not to mention the instructions themselves, but he adjusted his position according to her dictates, though he did not know precisely what the proper angle was for his elbows.

"Hear y -"

"Skip that part, heard it already!"

Darcy gave his aunt what would have been a quelling glance, had it been directed at any other person, but it did not discompose her at all; that she fell silent was due entirely, as Darcy was perfectly aware, to the fact that she had said what she had to say - for the present. Still, Darcy glared at her as he cleared his throat and prepared to speak, but when his eyes happened to light upon the actual words of the proclamation he was meant to read, he was forced to clear his throat several more times to cover the laughter threatening to bubble from his lips. When he had finally composed himself, he began, in the most stentorian tones he could muster, to read his aunt's proclamation.

Silence descended upon those within the tent when Darcy had finished reading, to be broken finally by what Darcy mistook for a trumpet blast until he realized it was actually his aunt, blowing her nose in the same lacy handkerchief she had used to wipe the slime from the scroll. Darcy was taken aback to see that tears were running down Lady Catherine's face. She began to applaud, and within seconds Collins and all of the avian retainers followed suit, creating a strange, ruffling, slapping chorus of his aunt's tribute.

"Exactly so, exactly so! Just the way your mother wished it! How I have waited for this day!" her ladyship blubbered, and then, as if they had been turned off by a spigot somewhere underneath that towering hairdo, the tears abruptly ceased and Lady Catherine leapt to her feet. "Right then, you have heard the proclamation, let us get on with it," and stumping her scepter on the ground with each step as she walked, she exited the tent by an opening in the rear that had been parted by two more of the bird-men in livery. Mr. Collins the toad hopped after her with alacrity, and Darcy followed more warily, not understanding what, exactly, he was meant to be getting on with.

Pemberley was a large house, and its grounds and gardens were extensive. There were broad expanses of undulating green lawns, such as the one Georgiana and Caroline currently trod upon, which were bounded along their edges by very handsome wooded areas, in a natural style; the terrace where the adventurers had exited the ballroom looked out over a lake, perfectly placid in the still, breezeless night, a mirror itself of the glorious moonlight. The estate boasted as well some very beautiful cultivated gardens, which as much as possible allowed their forms to reflect the natural inclinations of the landscape. These more formal gardens, where Georgiana had spent many a fine afternoon in pursuit of fresh air and exercise, were what that young lady expected to see when she and her companion rounded the edge of the building, but as the reader must be well aware by now, an entirely different landscape confronted her - the very stadium where, unbeknownst to Georgiana, her brother was shortly to be presented with a challenge worthy of a knight, which he would diplomatically refuse to undertake. Had Georgiana known of this, in particular the fact that her Aunt Catherine was inside that impressive structure, she would have faced the prospect with a greater degree of dismay attached to the feelings of wonder and surprise which consumed her.

Caroline merely reacted with annoyance.

"Why Georgiana, dear, no one told me that the gardens of Pemberley had been replaced by - what is this, a sporting arena? What can your brother have been thinking? If he had asked me, I would have advised him against it, for I do not think I have ever seen anything more charming than the gardens of Pemberley! And I really do think he should have asked me!"

"But Miss Bingley, the only other time you have even seen the gardens was in February of last year, when there was nothing blooming. In fact, if I remember correctly, when I offered to show them to you on that visit you declined to see them at all, claiming that no true lady would subject her complexion to the punishing air of winter to look at a bunch of dead flowers." Georgiana, who was a very openhearted creature for all of her shyness, sometimes did not understand the apparent contradictions in Miss Bingley's statements. She had often secretly wondered if Miss Bingley had problems remembering things. And at the moment she was wondering exactly how much wine Miss Bingley had imbibed at dinner.

Before Caroline could reply, Georgiana let out an excited "Oh!" and began to rush towards the huge structure.

"It is Fitzwilliam - I have seen him!"

Darcy stopped Lady Catherine with a hand on her arm, but his emergence from the tent had set the crowd to cheering, or at least, he took it for cheering, though it had a most peculiar sound to it, and looking at the crowd in the stands provided a ready explanation; the spectators at whatever event was about to take place were all toads, exactly like the Reverend Collins, who had settled once again at Lady Catherine's feet where she stood outside the tent, her arms raised in a salute meant to incite the crowd to greater exultation. The answering uproar of croaks was positively deafening, and it was all Darcy could do to refrain from covering his ears to block out the sound; Darcy had often wondered if his aunt's tendency to not hear what she did not want to hear stemmed from any real impairment in her ears; that she did not flinch from the cacophony made him renew his speculation on the matter. Finally, her ladyship lowered her arms and the croaking of the crowd abruptly ceased. She then resumed her stomping march, her crown teetering unstably from side to side atop her lofty up-do, scepter thumping all the way, straight for the wall in the center of the field. Darcy followed.

"Aunt, about your... proclamation..."

"You may keep it, I have other copies. Mr. Collins makes them for me - he has a very fine hand... er... flipper."

"Erm... thank you." Darcy, for lack of anything else to do with it, shoved the parchment into his satchel. "But, what is the meaning of it?"

Lady Catherine stopped in her tracks and turned to face her nephew, an incredulous look contorting her countenance. "What does it mean? Why, exactly what it says, Darcy. It is time for you to face your responsibilities, young man, you cannot expect Anne to wait forever, you know! Ladies have feelings." Again she turned and resumed her course for the towering wall.

"Perhaps you could be more specific. I found some of the wording somewhat... vague." Darcy remembered Fitzwilliam the Centaur's letter making mention that he would meet people he knew in the Looking Glass World, and that they may act peculiar, but it had never occurred to him that by peculiar he meant they would act completely mad. His aunt always needed handling with exceptional care, but Darcy sensed that he would have to proceed with extreme caution if he hoped to be able to excuse himself from whatever task she wished him to perform, and resume his own pursuits. And as he still wished to find out what had happened to the gardens that should have been in the very spot where he now trailed after the Looking Glass World's version of his aunt, he would have to at least give the appearance of conciliation.

"Poetry. Wrote it myself," Lady Catherine said to him over her shoulder as Darcy sidestepped Mr. Collins, so as not to trip over the toad who was struggling to keep up with the vigorous dowager. "As you no doubt noticed, I am a great proficient, though it is the first - the only poem I ever wrote! I really should have started writing poetry much earlier in life - the world, as you can see, has been deprived of a great talent."

"Yes, a most amazing example of verse, but poetry, as you know, can often be interpreted in myriad ways -"

"Not this verse. I do not hold with interpretation; upsets the digestion, as I have explained to Mr. Collins here."

Mr. Collins croaked a confirmation, and Darcy looked down upon the rector, unable to dismiss the thought that for a toad, he looked mightily pleased with himself. Darcy found himself wondering if the rector's unfortunate wife, Elizabeth's dear friend, also took the form of a toad in the Looking Glass World, and hoped for her sake that she would not. He wondered what Elizabeth's reaction would be to the amphibian version of her cousin. He also wondered, should he meet anyone else he knew, which, in spite of the late hour was seeming more likely, would they still be human, like his aunt, or would they have taken some animal form? Specifically, would Elizabeth still be a woman, or would she be... he could not imagine what other form she might take that would reflect her true self. It could not be an accident, after all, that Mr. Collins appeared as a toad. Darcy had to force his mind back to the matter at hand.

"Very well then, Aunt Catherine, I shall not attempt to interpret your verse. Kindly tell me exactly what it is you would have me do."

"Why, rescue Anne, of course!" Lady Catherine stated emphatically. They had by then arrived at the base of the wall, and Lady Catherine looked up, her crown sliding backwards and hanging on by what miraculous means Darcy could not imagine, and waved vigorously at the figure atop the wall. Looking up, Darcy could just make out that the figure perched aloft was indeed his cousin Anne de Bourgh; she wanly lifted a hand in response to her mother's hail, and then lifted a handkerchief to her nose. "You cannot marry her until you get her down from the wall. The poem says so." Lady Catherine said in explanation.

That Darcy would marry her daughter Anne was a long-standing delusion of Lady Catherine's that no one, over the course of over twenty-five years, had been able to dislodge from her mind. Not the late Mr. Darcy; not his wife, Lady Anne Darcy, Lady Catherine's sister; not the Earl of ----, Darcy's uncle; and most certainly not Darcy himself. It was one thing to try to hint to her in the real world that the match she so desired in order to accomplish the union of the great estates of Rosings and Pemberley would not take place, but it was another matter entirely to stand at the base of a precipitous wall in the Looking Glass World and decline to rescue his unappealing cousin from her position at its eminence and marry her immediately. And for that matter, Darcy did not see how he was meant to carry out such a rescue, even had he desired to do it, and he said as much to his aunt.

"Why, you must climb up her hair!" was the exasperated reply.

Anne's hair, as Darcy had noted even from a distance, was very long, and hung down the face of the wall in a thick plait. However, it only reached about halfway to the ground, and the lowest part of it, adorned by a bright pink bow, was still several stories above the ground, and much too far beyond reach for a rescue to be effected by such a route - even if it was not the most ludicrous idea Darcy had ever heard in his life.

"Surely you must see, aunt, that I can do no such thing. Her hair is not long enough, and I am afraid that if it was, Anne, whose health, as you know, has never been robust, would not be able to bear the weight."

"Then we must wait."

"Wait for what, exactly?"

"Why, for her hair to grow! I never knew you were such a simpleton, Darcy. It is fortunate that Anne is such an extremely clever young woman, or your children would be doomed to be dunces. It would be better if they had a clever father, like Mr. Collins here," Lady Catherine patted her vicar on his toady head and he responded with a proud croak, "but Anne's superior understanding will suffice, I am certain. Now, I must go to my place in the royal box -" and here she gestured towards that regal compartment among the stands, festooned with black and red bows and bunting, "and when I am settled, you may begin the rescue - I am quite confident that Anne's hair will have grown enough by then. She is quite proficient at hair growth."

Darcy let both the barb and the unmerited, hyperbolic praise of his cousin pass without comment, as was his policy whenever his aunt made her outlandish claims to superiority for her daughter; it would serve no purpose to contradict her. At any rate, Darcy was at a loss for what to say in the circumstance, or how to extricate himself so that he might continue on his own quest.

"See here, Aunt Catherine -"

"Do you defy me?" Lady Catherine's eyes narrowed. "OFF WITH HIS HEAD!" she shouted, waving her scepter in an arc around her head to a thunder of croaking approval from the crowd. A pair of the bird footmen advanced on Darcy, and Lady Catherine beamed, basking in the adulation of the crowd.

Darcy was just preparing to resist the bird-men intent on his arrest when Lady Catherine, converted from anger to congeniality by the applause of her subjects, smiled beneficently and waved her hand dismissively.

"Now, now, we will have none of that. My nephew has always done his duty. Come Darcy, you may escort me to my box before you rescue your bride."

Darcy nearly groaned in frustration as he offered her his arm, unable to conceive of a single thing to say to his aunt that might force her to see reason. He highly resented this delay in his own plans, and cast about desperately for a solution, a way out. Fortunately, Lady Catherine herself provided him with the means to effect his exit. She suddenly looked at him piercingly, head to toe, craning her head from side to side as if there was some detail of his attire that ought to have been there but was missing.

"Darcy, where is the flower?" Lady Catherine demanded.

"I beg your pardon, Aunt, what flower?"

"Were you not paying attention as you read the proclamation? You must persuade her with a flower! Otherwise I am sure she will not marry you, she is bound to be feeling cross, you know, from being sequestered up on that wall for so long waiting for you. Well, you shall have to go find one; there is some time, while her hair is growing. Lilies are best, they complement her delicate complexion." When Darcy failed to immediately follow her orders, Lady Catherine thumped her scepter on the ground impatiently, startling a dozing Mr. Collins. "Well, be gone with you - do you want Mr. Collins to come along? He has excellent taste when it comes to all matters floral."

Darcy ignored the eager little hop of the amphibious rector, and hastened to inform his aunt that he would prefer to choose a flower by himself, if she would only inform him of the way to the gardens.

"All ways are my way!" Lady Catherine shouted.

"We are speaking of my gardens," Darcy remonstrated his aunt with his Master of Pemberley authority.

"Second star on the right, and then straight on 'til morning," she said, and then, when Darcy hesitated, waved vaguely in the direction beyond the walls of the arena, towards a rising ground with scattered groupings of trees upon it, "On the other side of the hill, and down through the trees."

Darcy thanked his aunt for her help, offered her a most respectful bow, and made vague promises to return when the time was exactly right for the rescue and the match she awaited - he almost muttered a different promise under his breath, but stopped himself when it occurred to him that there was no guarantee that in the Looking Glass World, pigs might not fly by at any moment.

Due to the croaky murmurs of the crowd as he walked away, Darcy did not hear Lady Catherine's parting warning to him, which produced a shudder in the toad-Collins, to beware the Jabberwock.

"Georgiana, dear, what have I told you about ladies running?" Caroline panted as she hurried to catch up.

"But we must reach him before - Oh!" Georgiana suddenly halted and Caroline collided with her, sending them both to the ground in a heap for the second time that night. Georgiana had started to run the moment she espied her brother leaving the tent at the near end of the stadium-like structure, but it was not until she had narrowed the gap between them that she recognized the figure who had preceded him out of the tent. And as much as Georgiana wanted, even needed to reach her brother, she did not want to see her Aunt Catherine. She seldom wanted to see her Aunt Catherine, but she especially did not want to see her when she was perfectly aware that she was committing several simultaneous actions of which she knew her aunt would disapprove; when her aunt felt disapproval she never hesitated to share her feelings with whomever had incited that censorious emotion. Georgiana wanted to return to her own side of the mirror very, very much, not at all liking the world on the other side, but she had no desire to first endure a lecture about being out of doors at night, or about not getting the proper amount of sleep, or for all she knew, another lecture about practicing her instrument.

Caroline had not seen what Georgiana had seen, nor was she acquainted with Lady Catherine, so she did not understand the cause of Georgiana's alarm. She also did not like sitting on dewy grass, or having one of her favorite gowns covered in dirt and grass stains, so despite her long-standing policy of always being solicitous to Miss Georgiana Darcy, she gave vent to her feelings.

"What on earth has come over you, you clumsy child? Your heedlessness has ruined my dress! What good is all of my guidance on how to behave like a proper lady if you insist on ignoring all of my advice and running about the countryside like that hoyden Eliza Bennet!"

Georgiana was indignant, not for the scolding Caroline had given her for her own behavior, which she was perfectly able to ignore, as she generally ignored her constantly proffered advice on behaving like a proper lady, and as she recognized her own guilt in having knocked Miss Bingley to the ground, but she was incensed by Caroline's unkind reference to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who had been very gracious to Georgiana when they had met the previous morning, and whom Georgiana was persuaded was soon to become the sister she had wanted since she was a very small child.

"Elizabeth Bennet is not a hoyden! She is a well-bred lady, the daughter of a gentleman, and... and my friend! And my brother admires her very much! He told me so. I... I would be proud to be like her in any way."

In spite of her pique at Caroline's criticisms, this defense of her new friend was delivered with a great deal of timidity, as one who was not in the habit of expressing contrary opinions to anyone. If Georgiana had desired to assuage Caroline's testy mood, these were not the words to accomplish it.

"My apologies, for any offense, but you will understand when you are older," Caroline said through gritted teeth, "Now be a dear and help me to stand. I hope I have not twisted my ankle."

Georgiana scrambled up and helped Caroline as well, hiding her rolling eyes when the latter made a great show of gingerly taking a few cautious steps in order to test the soundness of her lower limbs. All contrition she may have felt for being the cause of the accident was rapidly melting away in the face of the ungracious way her companion was behaving in the aftermath. Suddenly a confrontation with her imperious aunt did not seem so daunting if it meant that her brother would soon be taking her home.

When Caroline had finally determined that she had suffered no debilitating injury, Georgiana and Caroline approached the sporting field at a more measured, cautious pace, making their way through an arch and creeping, in the most dignified and ladylike manner Caroline could muster, underneath the wooden grandstands in order to observe the action without being seen themselves. They peered between the feet of the spectators out onto the field, and were just in time to see Darcy walk away from his aunt, who was seated in an elaborately festooned box in the stands. Georgiana had eyes only for her brother, but Caroline became conscious of certain other details of the scene before them, and the crowd seated above their hiding place.

"He is leaving! Did you hear what was said? I could not hear, the crowd is making too much noise - we must follow him, Miss Bingley! Where do you think he is going?" Georgiana made to move from her place crouched beneath the stands, but Caroline grabbed her arm and prevented her.

"Georgiana, dear, did you notice anything about the... man... person... creature who was, erm... sitting next to your aunt and brother?" Caroline asked in a sweet, yet strained, voice that suggested an attempt to repress panic.

"No, I did not see... Oh!"

"Yes. And, did you notice anything about all of these... people sitting in the stands here?"

"No, what could I notice from seeing only their... Oh!"

"Tell me, Georgiana, because it may have some bearing on how - or where - I choose to spend the rest of my life. Is Derbyshire heavily populated with these toads of unusual size?"

Georgiana tore her eyes from the webbed feet on the planks in front of her and looked at her companion, seeing that Miss Bingley had turned rather pale.

"No, I have never seen such large toads. But Miss Bingley, I really do not think we are in Derbyshire anymore."

"No, that is what I have been afraid of all along. Georgiana, dear, I think we had better follow your brother now; otherwise, I fear that in a few moments I may begin screaming and may not be able to stop."

The glassy-eyed smile plastered on Miss Bingley's face held no mirth, and managed only to project a degree of panic that convinced Georgiana that she meant what she said and had best be obeyed with due haste. She sincerely hoped that Miss Bingley would not become hysterical - she knew that in such a case she would be called upon to slap the hysterical woman, and Georgiana was fairly certain that she would not be able to bring herself to do it, no matter how irritating the woman was becoming. She had never struck another person before, and thought that is was a bit late to begin that sort of thing. Not wanting to embarrass Miss Bingley in her obvious distress, Georgiana pretended not to hear her whimpering as they crept out of their hiding place and hurried along the outside of the arena in the direction that Darcy had been seen to leave the field.

"Who was that woman atop the wall?" Miss Bingley asked when she had regained a modicum of control.

"What woman atop the wall?" Georgiana replied, puzzled.

"The pale, sickly woman with the long, blonde hair sitting on the top of the brick wall. You did see the wall, I assume? The fifty foot brick wall in the center of the arena?" Caroline snapped, startling Georgiana. The younger woman strained to see over the stands full of spectators; luckily, the wall was a great deal taller.

"That is my cousin Anne de Bourgh. I wonder what she can be doing up there? Perhaps it is some kind of quarantine? She is often ill, according to my aunt. Still, that seems a strange kind of quarantine - it cannot be safe! I wonder she is not afraid up there, but she does not appear frightened. I would be terrified if I had to sit up there - and with so many... erm... people watching! I never realized her hair is so long - you would never guess from the way she usually wears it! It does seem strange, though, that she is sitting on top of a wall, and in the middle of where the gardens should be! This really is a peculiar place, such odd goings on in the middle of the night - curiouser and curiouser! Is this what I miss, by retiring early every night? If so, I am not sure I will be ready to come out next year - this is all so confusing! Well, I am sure my brother will explain when we find him. But I wonder what my aunt is doing here, and what she was talking to Fitzwilliam about. Perhaps she is pushing for the wedding again."

Caroline stopped walking, and Georgiana had gone at least a dozen steps before she realized that her companion had fallen behind her. She turned around with a questioning glance.

"What wedding?" Caroline asked in a curiously brittle voice.

"Between my cousin and my brother - my aunt has long been anxious for them to set a date to marry," Georgiana answered matter-of-factly.

"I see," Caroline seethed. Darcy was engaged? She had been pursuing him for years, making her interests patently obvious, to the point that she was aware it was a source of gossip among her friends, and he was already promised to his cousin? The things she had done to captivate him! She shuddered to remember some of them. And it was all for nothing? And to think she had been worried about Miss Eliza Bennet! And she had always thought Mr. Darcy so honorable - had the man no shame? Leading women on when he was not available? For Caroline Bingley, life had never been worse. "Your brother has been somewhat remiss about making his engagement known. I myself have heard nothing about it!"

"Oh, Fitzwilliam is not engaged! He has no intention of marrying Anne, that is only what my aunt wishes to happen - she has been going on about it since he was born, from what my relations say." Georgiana drew nearer to Caroline, whose hopes had suddenly been buoyed, and dropped her voice to a whisper, though there was no one near who might have overheard her, "Please do not say anything to anyone - I should not say this, but you have always been a... a friend to me and my brother - I suspect Fitzwilliam wishes to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet. When I met her this morning it was very obvious that my brother... Miss Bingley, wait for me!"

Chapter Eight

Posted on: 2009-08-21

When Darcy left the company of his aunt and her attendant birds and amphibians, and moved away from the torch-lit surroundings of the arena to start up the pleasantly moonlit slope, he discovered himself to be in a most congenial mood. In his real life, though he held her in a certain kind of affection due to her connection with his mother, Darcy always left his encounters with his aunt feeling either irritated or weary, and sometimes both. He hated her persistent attempts to unite her estate and his through what would be a most unsuitable match between him and his cousin, and even more he hated her willful, and yet strangely blithe, disregard for his feelings on the matter. That she chose to continue to believe that the match would take place was no fault of Darcy's. And yet, having just walked away unscathed from the absurd situation left him feeling more amused than annoyed. If only his aunt could be so easily dismissed in the real world! Darcy could not repress a chortle at the thought that her peculiar demeanor in some way reflected the true Lady Catherine de Bourgh. At the very least, the world he was accustomed to ought to be thankful that it was only her looking glass self that was given to writing poetry.

From thoughts on the comical activities of his looking-glass aunt, Darcy began to wonder about his own incarnation in the Looking Glass World, and feel that it was something of a pity that he would be unable to meet himself there, and find out what of his own character was reflected in his 'image'. He could not help wondering, for example, what his reflection would have been doing at that very moment had his own arrival through the mirror not banished it from existence - how, for instance, would it... he have handled the bizarre encounter with Lady Catherine, and her demands for the rescue and marriage with Anne? Would his looking glass self even have attended to Lady Catherine in her tent? Would he be human, or would be be some sort of animal, like Collins? Based on the activities of his mirror-aunt, there was little regard for the difference between night and day there, and it was obvious that the inhabitants of that world were not able to distinguish between people from their own world, and people from his. To him, the differences were obvious, but his aunt did not seem to question his identity for a moment. He wondered if she had found his behavior peculiar; if she had, she had not made any indication of it.

The trek up the hill was not a long, nor steep one, though it was something more than a quarter of a mile, and therefore took several minutes to complete the ascent; that Darcy's wonderings should eventually find a way around to Elizabeth Bennet as he walked is, naturally, not surprising. She was, after all, never far from his thoughts, and had not been for many months. Her persistence in retaining a hold on his mind had been part of what convinced him that his feelings for her were love; that she had continued to be the object of his meditations even after her refusal, and that he had come to consider her refusal and her assessment of his character perfectly, if unfortunately, reasonable, and had made a concerted effort to change his behavior accordingly, convinced him further that his love had only grown, and was true and likely permanent. He sighed as he neared the top of the hill. Now if only he could find some way to inspire an answering affection in her heart! As he had earlier determined, it was only a pity that he must find some way to do so without the practice he so desperately needed in that area. He wondered again if she would be one of the people he would meet in the Looking Glass World; if his aunt, whose physical entity was at that moment several days' journey from the real Pemberley, could appear on his grounds at the Looking Glass Pemberley, could not Elizabeth Bennet, whose corporeal self slept but five miles away in Lambton, be expected to appear there as well?

No sooner had such a thought established itself in Darcy's brain than he suddenly found himself face to face with the very object of his thoughts and his affections; as he topped the hill, there in front of him, standing in the moonlight in the midst of a cluster of trees on the downward slope, as if his thoughts of her had conjured her into existence, was the familiar form he instantly recognized as Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Darcy's breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon her; she had not yet noted his approach. He could not, at such a distance, read the expression on her countenance, but her posture gave him the impression that she was diligently searching for something on the ground. He did not question her appearance in such a place, and at such a time of night; she was there, and that was proof enough that it must be right for her to be there. Was there not an arena where his garden ought to be? The Looking Glass World made its own reality, it seemed.

Of a sudden, Darcy realized the answer to his dilemma; he needed to practice his wooing and flirting before approaching Elizabeth - the real Elizabeth - to renew his suit, there was no other woman of his acquaintance with whom he could practice with any kind of comfort and without raising expectations, and here was a replica of Elizabeth herself in front of him - the perfect person on whom to cultivate an ability to woo. Indeed, what could be better? Darcy hastened forward toward the Elizabeth among the trees, though he made a concerted effort to appear as if he were not hastening at all. He felt foolish, like a boy, not a man, but he had never set out to do such a thing before. He remembered what Fitzwilliam the Centaur had written, that he might even find himself changed when he entered the Looking Glass World. Darcy was convinced now that he was changed - at no time in his life could he remember ever having felt so giddy before, though perhaps giddy is too strong a word - excited, nervous, lightheaded might be more apt. He was nearly beside her before she looked up and perceived his approach, and thus when he raised his lantern to illuminate both her face and his own, Darcy was able to see that she not only seemed unsurprised to see him, but smiled at his advance.

The sight of that smile nearly robbed him of his ability to speak, but Darcy remembered all of the times he had treated her to silence and reserve, and it had not served him well with her. He resolved to speak.

"Good evening, Miss Bennet." He bowed most civilly over her hand.

"Good evening, Mr. Darcy." She smiled again.

"Only yesterday I happened to have the pleasurable surprise of finding you here at Pemberley; finding you here now is, I must say, an even greater surprise."

"But not a greater pleasure?" The smile she gave him was the same arch expression she had given him of old, when they were used to have such interesting discussions during her brief stay at Netherfield the previous autumn, which more recent experiences, not to mention the account in his journal of a quarrel they had had in Darcinia, had taught him were an expression of her dislike of him, but now there was something else in it, a certain gleam in her eye that had not been there before. He would not call it love, or even affection, not yet, but he might be willing to concede that she was showing... an interest in him that she had not previously expressed.

"The pleasure, Miss Bennet, is infinitely greater," Darcy smiled warmly at her, and, taking her hand again, placed a gentle, but perhaps shockingly lingering, kiss upon it. He was highly gratified to see her look of astonishment, and decided at that very moment that to flirt was not such a disagreeable exercise at he had previously believed. He pressed on. "Have you lost something, madam?"

"No, though I am looking for something. And here it is," she cried triumphantly, bending swiftly and picking up some small object which Darcy did not see. She then opened her rather large reticule and pulled out a clear glass bottle; in the light of his lantern he could see that it held a pale, brownish liquid with bits of something floating in it. Elizabeth deftly uncorked it, and the acidic aroma that tickled Darcy's nostrils identified the fluid as apple cider vinegar. Elizabeth dropped into it whatever small item she had picked up off the ground, and then re-corked it and returned it to her reticule. Having completed this curious ritual, she turned a satisfied countenance upon him, but did not vouchsafe to explain what it was she had found, nor why she had added it to the bottle of vinegar.

"And so your business is completed?" Darcy inquired.

"By no means. I have much more to accomplish before I can make such a claim."

"You are looking for something... or someone else?" Darcy hoped it was not a someone.

"I have a great many things still to seek while the moon consents to light my way."

"Then perhaps I can accompany you, if your business takes you in my way. Which way are you going?"

"I am afraid I do not know."

"Are you lost, Miss Bennet?"

"No, I do not think so, not precisely. I simply do not know where I am, nor which way I ought to go. But it does not necessarily follow that I am not where I ought to be now, so I do not think that I can truthfully say that I am lost."

"No, perhaps not. Can you tell me then, where you wish to go?"

"I think I may find what I am looking for in Pemberley's gardens, if you will be so kind as to take me there - provided it is not out of your way."

"It is not out of my way, I am in fact going there myself, and it would be my pleasure to escort you there." Darcy bowed.

Georgiana suddenly found herself running to catch up with Miss Bingley, who was stalking off in high dudgeon, and Georgiana was unable to get another word out of her for quite some time.

When the ladies reached the end of the Colosseum they looked in every direction, while continuing to try to keep themselves out of sight of the crowd still assembled in the stands, but neither could see where Darcy had gone. The myriad torches that lit the sky so brightly above the athletic field made it difficult for them to see far into the darkness beyond it, in spite of the bright moonlight that had illuminated their wanderings thus far, so they moved farther away, sheltering in a clump of trees out of the way of any straying eyes. Georgiana's heart sank. Though the contours of the landscape, the hills and forests, while backwards, were still the ones she had grown up exploring, certain features, such as the unexpected sporting field, were unfamiliar, and so Georgiana could not say with any degree of certainty what might lie in any direction, and as she still had no notion of what her brother might be up to, she could not know in what direction to seek him. The idea of approaching her aunt and asking her assistance did occur to the girl, but it was swiftly dismissed as unlikely to be successful, and therefore not worth the discomfort such a petition would undoubtedly occasion. Georgiana was certain that her aunt would scold her, tell her that her brother's business was none of her affair, and then send her to bed. She did not think she could explain to her aunt that she was unable to go to her bed, and she had no desire to see what, if anything, might be occupying her room on that side of the mirror. If, for example, there was another Georgiana, and that version of her had a similar propensity to turn into an animal like some others she could name, she did not want to know about it. Best to find her brother on her own - so long as it was her real brother she managed to find, of course. She pushed aside thoughts of any other possible entity who might look like him and returned to her original dilemma - she did not know where he was, and the darkness yielded no clues.

"Now we shall never find him," Georgiana said. "Whatever shall we do now?

"May I be of any service to you, Miss?" A voice interjected.

Georgiana and Caroline both looked around, but could see no one who might have spoken; in fact, aside from themselves, the only living thing to be seen was a large green moth that had just flitted down from above the walls of the Colosseum.

"Did you just speak to us?" Georgiana asked the moth, which alit on her outstretched hand.

"Georgiana! You should not touch that thing!" Caroline scolded as she shrank away from the delicate, if enormous, insect.

"It is only a Luna moth, Miss Bingley, it will not hurt me," Georgiana said, admiring the luminous wings that were larger than her hand. She addressed the moth again, "Are you someone I know?"

"No, you would not know me, Miss Darcy, but I know who you are - I have lived on this estate all of my life," the moth said, its voice a melodic whisper, exactly the kind of voice Georgiana would have pictured a moth owning, if she had ever thought about moths having the ability to speak. It was not the answer she was seeking, however; when she asked if the moth was anyone she knew; what she meant to ask was whether the moth was ever a person, or was it always a moth? After having seen the transformation of the Hursts, it seemed a good possibility that the moth might have a human form as well. Still, it did not seem polite to ask that so directly, in case there was any way the question might imply offense, and she let the issue drop.

"May I ask your name?" Georgiana said, with all politeness.

"You may call me Motha," replied the moth, pleasure and pride evident in every syllable and wing beat.

"Martha?" Georgiana asked.

"No, Motha."

"I see. I am very pleased to meet you, Motha," Georgiana curtseyed, and ignored what sounded like a derisive snort from Miss Bingley. "This is... my... erm... friend, Miss Bingley. You said you know me - do you know my brother as well?" Georgiana asked anxiously, assuming that anyone who knew who she was, must know her brother - he was, after all, the Master of Pemberley, while she was only a young girl not yet out. Everyone for miles around knew Fitzwilliam Darcy, but Georgiana, who spent much of her time in London, and knew very few of even her nearest neighbors, was not likely to be recognized by many.

"Yes," Motha said, fluttering up into the air, and then resettling upon the young girl's palm.

"Did you see where he went when he left the arena?" Georgiana nearly gave a hop of excitement, before she recollected that refined young ladies do not hop, according to Mrs. Annesley, a restriction that Georgiana always found sadly constraining in her happier moments.

"I happened to be flying above the arena just as your brother was asking your aunt the way to the gardens, and when he left, he walked in that direction, so I would assume he has gone there."

"But the gardens should be right here!" Georgiana protested. "That is, that is where I expected to find them. Do you know where they are? And did my brother say why he was going there?"

"I do know where the gardens are, and I can lead you there, but I am afraid your brother did not mention his purpose in seeking them."

Caroline Bingley had observed this peculiar exchange with silent disgust until this point, but on the moth's offer, she felt the need to interject.

"You cannot be serious, my dear. I will not follow an insect. I am appalled that you would even consider placing your trust in such a dubious guide! To think that that... fly-by-night would lead you to your brother - why, it is more likely to lead you into a... a swamp, or a trap, or a spider web, or... or... right into the arms of centaurs, or..." Caroline had run out of possible nefarious intentions to ascribe to the proposed guide. Her reluctance to follow the moth stemmed from another source as well, however. Still anxious about being found in a place she had no right to be, Caroline was reluctant to move too far away from the house, particularly off into the unknown in the dark. She had hoped that they would encounter Darcy very quickly within the near environs of the building, not that they would have to chase after him somewhere amongst the many acres of land that constituted his estate - or, for all she knew, beyond that even. And in her mind, no one - no creature, person, or... anything they met could be trusted. She had trusted Moira, and Pemberley the faun, and his brother, Derbyshire. And yet, she was no longer the Queen of Darcinia, and was not married to Mr. Darcy in that world or her own, and did not trust the moth not to turn her in to those who would hurt her for returning to her old kingdom. "He is an insect, Georgiana. Insects are not to be trusted."

Motha fluttered in what Georgiana interpreted as an offended manner; the sensitive girl was certain that she heard a tiny "Humph!" emanate from the direction of her hand.

"There are no swamps on this estate, Miss Bingley," Georgiana said with barely concealed disdain, "And why would a moth want to lead us into a spider web? Moths must hate spiders, do they not, Motha?"

At Motha's assent, she continued "...and what spider could possibly be large enough to trap us? As for centaurs - there is no such thing as a centaur, they are only creatures of myth. I think we ought to trust Motha, who has so kindly offered to help us. We shall never find Fitzwilliam without assistance - we do not even know where the gardens have gone."

Georgiana had nothing like her brother's domineering presence when he was in his more imperious moods, but she did have a certain degree of the Darcy hauteur when she could summon the courage to draw upon it, and for some reason, she was feeling exceptionally courageous. Perhaps it was something about the strange circumstance she found herself in. Perhaps it was a sign she was becoming a grown woman. Perhaps it was the consequence of having met Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whose poise in the face of Lady Catherine de Bourgh had been described to her months ago by not only her brother, but her cousin Fitzwilliam. In any case, she liked the moth more than she liked Miss Bingley, whom she had used to view with a certain degree of awe, if not respect, but was lately seeing as, well, a shrew. Miss Bingley very obviously did not like Miss Elizabeth Bennet, which was in direct opposition to the feelings of Georgiana's adored brother, and therefore must be wrong. And so, if Miss Bingley did not want to follow the moth, Georgiana was determined that it must be the right course of action. And with any luck, Miss Bingley would refuse to go along, and Georgiana could search for her brother on her own. She could not deny that the prospect made her a trifle uneasy, but Miss Bingley's presence was not especially comforting anyway, and Georgiana was fairly certain that her brother would not be much pleased to see Miss Bingley, either. She turned her attention away from her peevish companion and addressed the moth.

"I would be much obliged if you would take me to my brother," she said in her most polite tones, ignoring the petulant huff of the other lady. "Are the gardens far?

While Georgiana discussed the matter with the moth, Caroline shuddered in distaste and moved to where she could see into the stadium again. The crowds of toad-people remained in their seats, patiently watching the wall in the center of the field. The sight of the enormous amphibians was still unnerving, but not more so than a talking moth, at least given the relative proximity of the two different revulsions. In truth, everything there was unnerving, knowing as she did that if any of the Darcinians recognized her, she would be in grave danger. Granted, the P.R.O.B. was dead, but she would not put it past Moira to have come up with some new terror just in case their former queen returned, and Moira would not be merciful merely on the grounds that Caroline's return to Darcinia had occurred completely by accident. Her instinct now, knowing that Darcy had disappeared somewhere in the darkness, was to return to the ballroom and wait for him next to the mirror, on the assumption that he would return to their world through that portal. She would have to convince Georgiana to do the same, however, but the prospect did not seem favorable - the silly chit actually seemed to be enjoying their escapade! It was so unlike the shy, diffident creature she was used to, and Caroline was not well pleased that Darcy's young sister no longer treated her with the deference she was used to be paid by one she had always treated as something of a disciple. A quick glance back at Georgiana showed that the earnest discussion between girl and insect continued, the enormous green thing still perched on Georgiana's palm.

Caroline shuddered and turned away, returning her gaze to the activity - or rather, lack thereof - in the stadium. She wished she knew what was supposed to be happening. As she watched the pale, sickly woman atop the wall, some thought teased at the back of her mind, the notion that there was something important she was missing about the scene. Allowing her gaze to sweep across the crowds, it finally struck her - there were people, humans there. And there were toad-men, and bird-men, but no centaurs, no fauns, no dryads, or satyrs, or sphinxes. The weather had not changed on her arrival, and the landscape was more like Derbyshire than her former kingdom had been. Caroline slowly came to the realization that she was not, in fact, in Darcinia, or Lizziana, or whatever the citizens had renamed the country after she had been deposed as queen. Darcy's aunt and cousin would not be in Darcinia. Louisa and Hurst, as humans or animals, would not be in Darcinia. In fact, Darcy, as honorable as he was, would not have returned to Darcinia after promising that he would not. Caroline breathed a sigh of relief, the worry about the danger of being apprehended there leaving her instantly.

But the question remained - if not Darcinia, where were they? Again Caroline had a feeling like she should know something about the place, that maybe she had heard something about it before, but where? Surely if anyone had ever told her that one could pass through a mirror into a new land... and then the recollection hit her. The Looking Glass World. There was a connection to Darcinia after all; it was in the lectures Moira had given her about Darcinian potions that she had heard of it, it was the place to go to collect ingredients for an antidote to any potion made in Darcinia.

Was that why Darcy was there? He wanted to make an antidote? But how would he know about it if he could not remember Darcinia? The conclusion was unmistakable - he must remember it! Caroline wracked her brain for some sort of sign that Darcy knew about their misadventures together in her erstwhile queendom, and could think of nothing, not a thing he had said or done since that horrid day the previous November that would hint at his being in possession of such knowledge, except that he had been rather cool to her since the spring, for no apparent reason. And if he did remember, why would he need an antidote anyway?

Unfortunately, Caroline was all too well able to supply the answer to that question - Miss Eliza Bennet. If Darcy remembered Darcinia, and how he had felt about Miss Eliza there, and how she had seemed to warm to him as well, he might be trying to concoct an antidote to the forgetfulness potion in order to make Eliza Bennet fall in love with him - after all, what woman would not love a man who saved her from a giant, shape shifting serpent? Granted, with his property, connections, and handsome figure, Caroline could not understand why Darcy would need such heroics to attract a wife, but he was an oddly principled kind of man, and Eliza Bennet pretended not to be impressed by such things, preferring indigent redcoats to the master of Pemberley.

For some reason the thought of that very same master of Pemberley putting himself out to attract the much inferior Eliza Bennet irritated Caroline. Why could he not see that he already had a perfectly willing bride-to-be right in front of him all along? Caroline had no need of heroics. She would take Darcy right that instant, if only he would ask! But he was becoming less and less likely to ask with every passing day, and now, it seemed, he had hit upon a way to make Eliza return his misplaced affections. Caroline did not know whether to feel angry, or ill. She had a new imperative - find Darcy and stop him from concocting his antidote. Just as she had reached this resolution, conceding that it might be necessary to follow Georgiana's chosen insect guide, Caroline heard the moth tell Georgiana that it was at least a half a mile's walk from where they currently stood to the gardens whither Mr. Darcy was bound.

"Half a mile! Do be serious, Georgiana dear! Why, we have already walked half way around the house, you cannot expect me to walk another half mile, not in these shoes! There must be some other way - could not your little winged friend flutter off to the gardens and give your brother a message to come here and see you?" Caroline was no great walker, even when appropriately shod, but in the elegant slippers she had worn for dinner, which were already the worse for having carried her thus far through the dewy grass, the prospect of a half mile's walk - up a hill, no less! - began to make her imperative less imposing.

Georgiana looked at Miss Bingley, and back at Motha, who was again fluttering indignantly, though it was hard to tell if it was due to having been called a 'little winged friend,' or Miss Bingley's imperious manner in ordering about the creature whose help she had already scorned.

"I would rather go myself," Georgiana said. "My brother is not accustomed to receiving messages from me by moth, and I do not know if he would perceive the seriousness of the situation in hearing it from a third party. When I have something very important to discuss with him I never send a servant - not that Motha is a servant, of course - I go to him myself."

"Yes, but I have been thinking that perhaps it is not so important that we find your brother after all. We might simply return to the ballroom and wait for him there," Caroline suggested in what she was convinced was an entirely reasonable tone, but which sounded to her audience suspiciously like wheedling.

"You need not come along, if you do not wish to, Miss Bingley, you can return to the house to wait, but I prefer to go find my brother." Georgiana would have been proud to know how much the stubborn set to her chin resembled her brother's at that moment.

"Oh, but I could not allow you to venture off by yourself, my dear. What would your brother say? He told me once that he did not like the idea of you traipsing about the countryside alone," Caroline simpered, not wanting to be left alone herself, and deriving no small pleasure from the memory of Mr. Darcy's disapproving words about Eliza Bennet's walk to Netherfield in the mud all those months ago. Her pleasure was curtailed, however, when that delightful remembrance was followed by that of Mr. Darcy praising the brightness the exercise had given to the hoyden's fine eyes. Caroline scowled at the memory, which did not give Georgiana much reason to believe the sincerity of her solicitous words.

"I am not going to go traipsing about the countryside, Miss Bingley," Georgiana huffed with an irritation she had never before displayed to the older woman, whom she was beginning to wish had not come through the mirror with her, "I am only visiting the gardens of our own estate. I cannot think that my brother would disapprove." This last was pronounced with much more conviction than Georgiana actually felt; she was certain that her brother would disapprove of any number of things related to her walking there that night, the lateness of the hour being of minor significance to the fact that she had followed him there in the first place. Still, Georgiana was coming to understand that the way to handle Miss Bingley was with confidence and arrogance, at the very least because it was obvious that her 'dear friend' was annoyed by it. Funny, then, that it was exactly the way Fitzwilliam dealt with her, as Georgiana suddenly realized. She could not wait to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet in company with Miss Bingley - that would be a most educational spectacle!

"And I will not be alone," Georgiana continued, "I have Motha as my guide. So you need not be concerned, and may return to the house without apprehension. Or, if you prefer, you may be able to find a seat in the stadium, and Fitzwilliam and I will be sure to retrieve you before we return through the mirror."

Georgiana had pushed too far; nothing would have coerced Caroline to sit in the stands like a commoner, even if said stands were not filled with enormous toads. The thought of brushing a sleeve or skirt against one of the slimy creatures was positively revolting.

"No, I had best come along with you," Caroline said in a strangled voice, "though it is so far."

Georgiana was not in complete disagreement with Miss Bingley on that point, and offered a compromise. "We could ride, I suppose. We are not shod for that, either, but if we choose gentle mounts, that should not signify. And we are so far behind my brother by now, it might give us an opportunity to catch up to him, even though we must first go to the stables to procure our horses."

Caroline beamed at the girl. Pemberley's stables were reputed to house only the finest horseflesh. "I think that is an excellent idea," she crowed, and, after consulting the moth, whose assistance Caroline still was loath to accept, as to the direction, the two young women and their winged companion set off back towards the house to make their way to the stable block, which, fortunately, was situated exactly where it should be, if the real Pemberley was observed in a mirror.

"I do believe we must go this way," Darcy pointed down the hill, which was more thickly wooded than the opposite slope had been during his upward climb, and offered Elizabeth his arm, which she accepted with such perceptible ease and comfort that his hopes soared. They began to walk in the direction he had indicated.

"You believe? You mean you do not know?" The arch smile, and obviously suppressed laugh that accompanied these questions nearly took Darcy's breath away.

"Not anymore, I am afraid. You see, the gardens have moved since I was here last." Darcy was perfectly aware that he was speaking nonsense, but he did not seem to mind it, much to his surprise. It simply seemed the way things were done there, and he could not find fault with anything that brought such a bright smile to the countenance of Miss Elizabeth Bennet the way his last statement did. And it was, after all, the truth. There was a kind of heady freedom attached to the circumstance of being able, for the first time in his life, to say absolutely anything at all, with no repercussions. It did not make it easier for him to think of things to say, but Darcy felt a sort of wicked satisfaction in being able to say them when he did. He inwardly cautioned himself not to take it too far - he did wish to remain a gentleman for Elizabeth's sake.

"Oh my. How inconsiderate of them. Have your gardens been wont to behave in such an unpredictable fashion?"

"It is the first time I have known them to do so, but I am often away from home, and cannot know what they may be doing in my absence - and you already know that I have only recently returned from having been away for some time. However..." Darcy peered towards the bottom of the hill through the thick trees. Though he could not see clearly, there were lights below, paper lanterns perhaps? And looming shapes that might have been shrubbery. It did appear that Lady Catherine's directions were accurate, and the gardens were there, but this side of the hill presented a longer walk even than the other had. He looked back at Elizabeth. "The gardens do appear to be at the bottom of the hill, and it would be my pleasure, as I have said, to escort you there. Unless you find the walk too long for you - I know you are an excellent walker, but you must have covered a great deal of ground already, coming five miles from Lambton." As he said it, Darcy wondered if this Elizabeth, the Looking Glass Elizabeth, had in fact come from Lambton. It did not seem that the location of one's real world counterpart had much bearing on one's location in the Looking Glass World, when one's real self was not in front of a mirror. Elizabeth, however, did not contradict his assumption.

"I see you are mocking me, Mr. Darcy, for my fondness for a long walk, and I feel compelled to rob you of the means - I did not walk from Lambton, I... I had an alternate means of, as you say, covering the distance between there and here."

"I apologize for my assumption, madam, and for seeming to mock you, which you must know I would never want to do. I conclude, then, that you came here by carriage?"

"No, I had a more expedient means of travel. I - what is that disagreeable sound, Mr. Darcy? Have you any unusual birds here in Derbyshire?"

Darcy had not noticed any unusual noises, his attention being entirely fixed on the woman who walked easily beside him with her hand upon his arm, but when she questioned him, he stopped and listened, and became aware of a somewhat shrill chattering in a tree a short ways ahead of them. It was not a familiar sound, though it did sound something like birds, but he did not know how to truthfully answer Elizabeth's question. He would previously have replied that, no, Derbyshire did not harbor any birds of particular note that he was aware of, but he was not in his Derbyshire, at his Pemberley, and could not make such a generalization for the Looking Glass version of the place. In addition to which, he had seen the bird-men who were in service to Lady Catherine. They were certainly unusual in his experience, but perhaps they were not from Derbyshire - the Looking Glass Derbyshire, that is - and had been brought specially by her ladyship. They were clearly domesticated birds - they were domestic servants! And then there was the question of what this Elizabeth would consider unusual. He was not at all persuaded that she and he would be of the same mind as to what would constitute something unusual. Darcy's head was beginning to ache a bit - would every question, every thing he encountered in the Looking Glass World require such convoluted reasoning? Would it all be so difficult to reconcile with his usual way of thinking? He recalled the words of his journal, and the way in which he had appeared to accept with little question the mythical creatures and extraordinary events of his visit to Darcinia. Clearly the Looking Glass World would require a similar kind of acquiescence. He resolved to yield to the nonsensical - it should not prove too great a challenge - after all, he had managed quite nicely in his confrontation with his aunt, her toad clergyman, and her insistence that he rescue and marry his cousin. If he could so easily weather that assault on his sense and credulity, a simple question about birds ought not trouble him.

Realizing that he had been silent for too long, and that Elizabeth was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, and that it would be too like his taciturn self to leave her question unanswered, Darcy replied simply, "None that I know of," as they, by unspoken agreement, moved closer to the tree, which was a little out of the way of their downward path, to see for themselves what avian species roosted there, producing such a cacophony.

Darcy knew that Elizabeth had seen the animals in the tree at the same moment as he by the sharp intake of breath he heard by his side, and by the tightening of her hand upon his arm.

"I do not like monkeys," Elizabeth said.

Chapter Nine

Posted on: 2009-08-28

It was on the tip of Darcy's tongue to say that it was only natural for Elizabeth to dislike monkeys after her experience with them in Darcinia, when it occurred to him that not only could he not say that to her, but that her reaction indicated that she had had some kind of experience with monkeys, which may, perhaps mean that she remembered Darcinia, for why else would a lady like Elizabeth dislike monkeys?

"You have seen them before?"

"I hardly know."

Her reply puzzled Darcy - for the second time she had given him such an answer, one of confusing ambiguity. One generally knows if one has seen a monkey - either one has, or one has not, and one can state with confidence whichever the case may be. She had not said that she did not remember, but that she did not know. Could the Looking Glass Elizabeth be affected by memories that the real world Elizabeth had forgotten?

Elizabeth had stopped walking the moment she realized what kind of animals were in the tree, and she actually began to back away from the towering tree, which, it was now clear, was positively infested with the chattering simians.

"We can go around the tree, Miss Bennet, and you need not fear, I will not allow the monkeys to harm you," Darcy reassured Elizabeth, though he could not help but remember that in his journal he mentioned having failed to protect Elizabeth from the flying monkeys that attacked them in Darcinia and carried her off with them. The fearful expression did not leave her face.

"What a pity you do not have your sword," Elizabeth said.

"Indeed," Darcy replied, and just as he said it, a remarkable thing occurred: all of a sudden he did have his sword - it instantly materialized in his hand. And while he was surprised by the occurrence, and registered Elizabeth's startled gasp, he could not help but wonder what sword she had meant; surely she did not know about their adventures in Darcinia, and the sword that had been presented to him there, which he had used to fight off several dangers? Darcy wondered whether he should ask her, and decided against it. After all, what difference did it make if the Looking Glass Elizabeth remembered, when the real world Elizabeth did not? He could not use those experiences to woo her, not if the potion he was attempting to concoct did not work. But perhaps in the Looking Glass World he had a sword, and she knew that? Was there a different relationship between him and Elizabeth on that side of the looking glass? The distinctions between the two worlds were still dizzying to think about.

"Apparently I do have it, but we can still avoid walking past that tree, so we shall be perfectly safe," Darcy attempted again to reassure her. Elizabeth had by now put a considerable distance between herself and the infested tree, and Darcy had unconsciously followed her as she retreated. Her expression remained wary.

"Unless they have wings. But monkeys do not have wings, do they?"

"No, they do not," answered an astonished and hopeful Darcy. She must know about Darcinia! Could this mean that the real world Elizabeth knew? Darcy did not think so - he could not help but think that if she did, she would have given some kind of evidence of it, shown some sign, said something that would reflect such knowledge, such memories. But if she had ever said anything about it, it would surely have confused him, and Darcy was confident that she had never said anything to him that he did not understand. Or rather, he had often misunderstood her, as he had discovered to his very great detriment in Hunsford Parsonage, but it had never been because she was speaking of places and events and creatures that were unfamiliar. And above all, he must remember that this was merely a reflection of Elizabeth beside him, not the real woman, and her fear of monkeys, flying or otherwise, may have nothing to do with Darcinia at all. He would not pin his hopes on what this looking glass version of her may or may not remember. "If you are uncomfortable, we had best move on, Miss Bennet."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy, but I think I had better use my own method of travel to reach the gardens - it will be quicker, and I will avoid any other... hazards along the way."

"But I thought you did not know the way?" Darcy was once again puzzled by her, and disappointed to not be allowed to escort her. Much might be accomplished in the way of practice on an un-chaperoned walk in the moonlight.

"I do not need to know the way by this method," she replied, stepping away from him, her eyes never leaving the creatures in the tree, in spite of the distance at which they now stood. Darcy heard her murmur under her breath, "They do not have wings." He was torn - which statement to question her about?

"What is your method of travel? May I still escort you to the gardens if we travel your way?"

Elizabeth eyed him speculatively. "I do not know if you can go my way - I am new at it myself, and it is... an odd mode of transportation. You might find it... ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Darcy was more bemused than ever. "What here is not ridiculous?" He was not sure he should have said it, but he could see that he had made his point; she looked determined, and did not contradict him.

"Very well. I was told, and I found that it does work, that if I click my heels together three times, and say... certain words, I am able to simply... arrive at the place I need to be. I do not know how it works, but it does."

Darcy blinked in surprise. He had not known what he expected her to say, what her mysterious mode of travel might be - unicorns, perhaps, or flying horses - but he had certainly not expected this. "How interesting. Who told you about this?"

"A friend."

"And what are the 'certain words' that allow this magical transportation to take place?"

"Well, that is the ridiculous part. It requires a rhyme."

"A rhyme? You must recite a poem?" Was poetry the preferred form of communication in the Looking Glass World?

"Not an entire poem, only a rhyming couplet about where you wish to go. It is not an exactly precise mode of travel - it took me a great number of rhymes to get to Pemberley this evening, and several more before I managed to find myself under an oak tree, which is where I needed to be."

"Under an oak tree?" The Looking Glass Elizabeth was becoming more and more incomprehensible to Darcy, but something about the matter-of-fact way that she delivered her pronouncements was so like the real Elizabeth that he was still irresistibly drawn to her.

"Yes, I needed an acorn."

"Of course," he said, as if it was perfectly natural for her to be flitting about in the middle of the night in search of acorns, and then it struck him that it was remarkably similar to the mission he himself was currently embarked upon and decided that it was not for him to judge. "Well, shall we try to make the leap to the gardens together?"

"I do not know if it will work with two people - I do not know if we will end up in the same place."

"Well, if we both recite the same rhyme, I do not see why it should not work."

"You have never even tried it, and yet you consider yourself an expert!" Elizabeth looked at Darcy with an arch smile that changed to uncertainty. "Perhaps we should take hands, or you might give me your arm, that is, if we are in contact with each other... just in case..."

Darcy could not prevent the broad grin that spread across his face - she could not have made any suggestion that he would have welcomed more.

"I think that is the wisest course. Well thought of, Miss Bennet. Now, what shall be our rhyme? As you have had some practice already in this poetic travel, perhaps you should suggest something?"

"There is something else first - are you by any chance wearing anything red?"

"No, no I am not. Why?"

"The poetic transport only works if you have something red somewhere on your person. I do not know why - I know it sounds silly," Elizabeth shrugged.

"I am not wearing anything red," Darcy could not keep the disappointment from his voice. She was going to leave him because he could not travel like her.

"Hmmm..." Elizabeth mused, and then reached into her reticule and pulled out some object. As she shook it out, Darcy could see that it was a handkerchief. "This has my initials, and a border, embroidered on it in red. If I may..."

Elizabeth stepped close to Darcy, and without meeting his eye, threaded her handkerchief through a buttonhole of his coat and then tied it in a knot. Darcy's heart pounded against his ribs as she stood so close, with her hands so familiarly handling his clothes. He knew that if she lifted her gaze to his face she would see, even in the moonlight, that he had turned bright red. As it was, he felt he would have difficulty meeting her eyes himself, and instead focused his gaze on the fine red herringbone stitches that edged the bit of fabric she had attached to his coat.

"There!" Elizabeth seemed satisfied with her handiwork. "Now, if I may take your arm?"

Darcy looked down at his attire to see if there was any way he could conveniently stow the sword so that he might have a hand free for Elizabeth while still carrying his lantern, and he noticed that the scabbard for the weapon was hanging from a belt at his waist. He sheathed the blade and offered the lady his arm, which she took without looking at him. He could see, in spite of her slightly averted face, that she was somewhat perplexed.

"Is there something amiss, Miss Bennet?" Darcy asked.

"There is the difficulty of knowing what to say. There are not many words that rhyme with garden. I can think of only 'harden,' and I cannot think of a sensible rhyme using that."

Darcy smiled at the look of fierce concentration on her face. "What about warden? Or pardon?"

"No, it must be a perfect rhyme, or nothing will happen. Forced rhymes will not do."

"And it must be a sensible rhyme? Nonsense will not work?" Darcy had a suspicion that in the Looking Glass World, nonsense would be eminently suitable, especially in matters concerning poetry. In fact, it might even be preferable, though he had his suspicions that what he might consider nonsense would pass for perfect lucidity there.

Elizabeth paused. "I... I do not know. I did not think to try nonsense. Well, no harm can come from trying it. It will work, or it will not." She took a deep breath. "Let me see...

"In winter water into ice hardens,
Take us now to Pemberley's gardens."

"Can you remember that?" Elizabeth glanced up at Darcy.

"Yes, I think I can," he smiled back, encouragingly.

"Very well then, click your heels three times -"

Darcy transferred his lantern to the other hand, on the side that Elizabeth clutched gently at his arm, and rested his now free hand atop hers; he tightened his arm against his body, making sure he had a secure grasp on her.

"Must we close our eyes?" Darcy asked, seeing that Elizabeth had done so.

"No, I do not think we must, but for some reason, I prefer it. Have you clicked your heels?"

Darcy quickly did so, and replied in the affirmative. Elizabeth then nodded her head emphatically, and together they recited her nonsense rhyme, and the next thing Darcy knew, he and Elizabeth were standing on a gravel path among the shrubbery of Pemberley's grand gardens.

The route to the stables took Georgiana and Caroline past the kitchen garden, and Georgiana, on passing the gate, thought she detected someone within; stopping to peer through the bars, a figure was clearly discernible in the moonlight, indeed, she could see the light cast by his lantern. In fact, she was easily able to recognize Pemberley's cook scurrying among the beds and muttering to himself.

"Bon soir, Monsieur Lapin," Georgiana called out to the man who had always spoiled her with her favorite foods, especially since she had taken on the task of preparing the daily menus. She lifted the latch on the gate and pushed it open, ignoring Miss Bingley's inarticulate noise of protest. Miss Bingley, she knew, vehemently disapproved of speaking to servants unless one had orders to give them, which was certainly not the case at the moment. But Monsieur Lapin appeared distressed, and Georgiana could not pass by without investigating the cause of his unease. It was not the Darcy way.

Monsieur Lapin's distress was even more apparent when Georgiana found herself face to face with the man; his entire body quivered with indignation, his nose twitched angrily, and even his overlarge ears seemed to be flapping a bit in his rage.

"Whatever can be the matter, Monsieur?" Georgiana asked with real concern for her friend.

"Sacrebleu! Someone - un vilain has been stealing from my garden!" the cook declared dramatically, more than a hint of tragedy in his tone. Though others were charged with tending the plants, the Pemberley cook considered the kitchen garden, except for some of the medicinal herbs, to be his particular domain, as the plants grown there were to supply his requirements.

"Have rabbits been eating the plants?" Georgiana asked in all innocence, unwittingly offending him.

"Bah! Rabbits! I do not have rabbits in my garden! It is a man who has stolen from me - you see, he has left his footprints!" At this Monsieur Lapin brandished his lantern, showing very clear boot prints in the dirt of one of the beds. "And look how he has ravaged my herbs!" Monsieur continued, waving the light at some plants that had broken stems where someone had carelessly ripped off parts of the plants, unlike the neatly snipped plants that were more carefully harvested by a maid with scissors. Georgiana was familiar with the proper technique, having gathered herbs in this garden herself for use in the stillroom.

"And look!" Monsieur Lapin went on. "Look at the Brussels sprouts!" he wailed, sounding as if he physically felt the pain of his wounded vegetables. "A whole stalk stripped of its bounty! Who could have done such a terrible thing!"

Before Georgiana could offer either explanation, of which she had none, or comfort, Miss Bingley, who had followed her through the gate and had been standing aloof from the discussion, cut in.

"Perhaps it was your brother, Georgiana."

"My brother? Why would my brother sneak into the kitchen garden in the middle of the night to steal plants? Especially Brussels sprouts - he loathes Brussels sprouts!"

This remark provoked another wail from the cook before Miss Bingley replied, "Of course, anyone of good taste loathes Brussels sprouts -"

"I like Brussels sprouts, Miss Bingley," Georgiana cut her off coldly, patting Monsieur Lapin on the arm in hopes of lessening his grief - or at least his wailing.

"Well..." For once Caroline could not think of anything to say to turn her blatant, ill-judged insult into any kind of praise for a Darcy. "But we know your brother is wandering the grounds this evening. He could have come here before we saw him."

"There are others wandering the grounds too - we saw the Hursts -"

"But Hurst was a bear, and he is not very likely to venture into a kitchen garden to steal vegetables or herbs, is he? It is not the wine cellar that has been robbed," Caroline said acidly, knowing full well that if Darcy was indeed collecting ingredients for an antidote, the pilfering of the kitchen garden was very likely his doing, and the fact that such had taken place only further confirmed her suspicions. Caroline's stomach churned at the memory of the vile taste of the forgetfulness potion the three humans had been forced to drink upon leaving Darcinia. It had tasted strongly of Brussels sprouts.

"If it was, in fact, my brother who has been here, he cannot have stolen anything - it is his garden, after all," Georgiana protested, ignoring the indignant squeak of Monsieur Lapin at hearing his garden declared the property of another, even though it was obviously true. "But I still cannot imagine my brother had any reason to come here, in the middle of the night, no less, and harvest herbs and vegetables."

"But you do not know anything about why he has come out in the first place, my dear, and can you really say that it is impossible that he needed some one or two things from this garden? On the whole his behavior has been most peculiar."

Georgiana did not like to admit that Miss Bingley had a valid point, especially when she pronounced her suspicions with such a smug look contorting her sour face, and it was a further annoyance to think that Miss Bingley was so anxious to lay the blame for the damage in the garden, which, admittedly, was very minor, in spite of the extreme distress it had caused Monsieur Lapin, at the feet of her brother. So, she chose not to admit it... aloud.

"Well, I do not suppose it matters for the moment who has been taking things from the garden - I will inform my brother of it, Monsieur Lapin, and he will look into the matter. Will that do?" Georgiana addressed the cook, who nodded somewhat reluctantly.

"At least it is not a Jabberwock," the cook sighed, adding an extra shudder to his already quivering mien.

"Excuse me?" Georgiana asked, thinking she had not heard him rightly.

"The Jabberwock. Better to have a man poaching from the garden than one of those nasties," he answered her knowingly.

"Oh, yes, of course, everyone knows how dreadful Jabberwocks can be for a garden," Caroline sneered with palpable sarcasm, which aggravated Georgiana, who was appalled at Miss Bingley's rudeness, and further offended Monsieur Lapin.

"In a garden, in the forest, anywhere you meet a Jabberwock it is dreadful, madame," Monsieur Lapin bristled, "And you will beware of them if you know what is good for you!" He shook a twitchy finger at Miss Bingley. "The jaws that bite! The claws that snatch!"

"Yes, I will beware," Caroline said most condescendingly as she took Georgiana's arm and tugged her back towards the garden gate. "We will leave your servant to his vegetables and his garden beetles."

"Beware the Jabberwock, mon enfant!" Monsieur Lapin shouted after them as they passed through the gate.

"Miss Bingley, that was very unkind of you to mock his distress!" Georgiana said as soon as she could recover well enough from her indignation to speak.

"My dear, it is not his place to concern you with such trivialities as garden pests, and you will never be able to handle your servants properly if you will make friends of them," Caroline chided her. "You must learn from my example - I have been running my brother's household -"

"I have been handling the servants here at Pemberley for quite some time Miss Bingley! And I was under the impression that you only ran your brother's household for some few months in Hertfordshire - none of the servants there were people who had served your family for your entire life, as Monsieur Lapin has for the Darcy family! He has always been very kind to me, and I cannot see him treated so inconsiderately in his own garden!" Georgiana gave a slight gasp when she realized what she had done - she had once again scolded Miss Bingley. She almost apologized but then... did not. Miss Bingley deserved to be scolded, and Georgiana was convinced that had her brother been present, he would have agreed with everything she had said - though Mrs. Annesley might have given her a gentle reprimand about her tone.

Before Caroline, who was thinking to herself that when - if - she became mistress of Pemberley, not only would Miss Georgiana Darcy find herself living in London whenever the master and mistress came into the country, but the family would be enjoying the services of a new cook, could say anything in rebuttal, both ladies were startled to hear a tiny "Ahem" from their moth guide.

"The Jabberwock is not a garden beetle," Motha said, when the women had turned their attention from their squabble.

"Well, what is it then?" Caroline snapped, earning a glare from her young companion for her continued rudeness.

The moth shuddered in reply. "Beware the Jabberwock," was all it said.

"Oh, that is a fine explanation," Caroline scoffed. "And how will we know what we are to beware of if no one will even explain what a Batterblock, Jabberjaw, Wobbleduck... whatever it is... IS."

"You will know it when you see it," Motha replied as she hovered before Georgiana's eyes, giving the distinct impression that she had decided that Miss Bingley was no longer worthy of her attention.

"Yes, I suppose anything with jaws that bite, and claws that snatch... catch... what-have-you," Caroline sniffed, not unaware of the snub.

"We shall take care," Georgiana assured the moth most solemnly. "Now, we must make our way to the stables - Fitzwilliam will be quite far ahead of us by now! Come, Miss Bingley!"

Caroline followed petulantly behind when Georgiana nearly skipped after the moth in its quirky, erratic flight, and was further irritated when her young companion once again exhorted her to keep up. Georgiana Darcy was getting on her last nerve, and to her own dismay, she was finding herself increasingly unable to hide her feelings from the little chit. It was not a prudent course, and Caroline chastised herself for her weakness. Her goal had not changed, even with the setbacks of the last day, and a rapport with her intended husband's sister remained an important piece of her tactical puzzle, especially now that Georgiana was so obviously taken with that insufferable Eliza Bennet. Plastering her sweetest, most ingratiating smile across her countenance, Caroline increased her pace in response to the most recent, 'make haste, Miss Bingley' from her dear friend.

"Georgiana dear, you must call me Caroline - there is no need for you to call such an intimate friend as I am 'Miss Bingley,' she cooed.

"Oh, but I must address you properly, Miss Bingley!"

"No, I insist -"

"Really, Miss Bingley, I cannot call you Caroline. My brother has always been quite clear on the subject - and Mrs. Annesley, too - that until I am out, I must always address my elders by their proper titles."

Caroline had to grit her teeth at being called an 'elder,' but she fought to hide her displeasure. "But my dear, I am not so very much older than you -"

"Oh, it must be ten years at least!" Georgiana cried.

"More like six, I think," Caroline forced herself to keep smiling. "And we are such friends, and, I have reason to hope, may some day be more... closely connected."

"How do you mean?" Georgiana halted her urgent strides and turned to face her older friend, while Motha fluttered in circles around her head.

"Well, I have always wished, and I am not without hopes, that we might one day be sisters," Caroline said with what she believed was bashful modesty.

"Oh, I do not see how that could happen," Georgiana said with a shrug, resuming her brisk walk towards the stables.

"Do you not?" Caroline asked with a valiant, if not entirely successful attempt to keep the edge from her voice.

"Well, of course, I can see how that could happen, if I were to marry your brother, or you were to marry mine, but what I do not see is how either of those events would ever occur. I could never marry Mr. Bingley - he is very kind and good, of course, but he is so like a brother to me - and so old - he is even older than you, is he not? Though I suppose there have been many marriages with greater disparity in age - Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I think, is only one and twenty - but still I can only think of Mr. Bingley in a sisterly sort of way, and I have a suspicion, from the things he said today about Miss Elizabeth's older sister, and from hints my brother has let drop before, that your brother is quite taken with Miss Bennet - Jane is her name, I think? And as for my brother - OH!" Georgiana stopped again, her face radiant with girlish excitement. "I see what you mean, Miss Bingley! If my brother marries Miss Elizabeth Bennet, which I am quite certain he means to, and your brother marries her sister, then in a way we will become sisters! Oh, and just think how many sisters I shall have then! Miss Elizabeth told me that she has four sisters - can you imagine? - and so, with her, that makes five, and then with you and Mrs. Hurst, that would make seven! And I have spent my whole, entire life longing for even one sister! How perfectly splendid it shall be! Oh, I do hope they shall like me!"

Caroline marveled that the quiet, shy, mousy girl that she had always known and, in her own way, been fond of, had so lately developed such vexatious volubility, and was beyond chagrined that the subject that finally excited diffident little Georgiana Darcy to speech would have to be the nauseous notion of her brother's marriage to that country upstart, that horrid, maddening, disgraceful Miss Eliza Bennet. And then, Georgiana delivered the fatal blow.

"When my brother marries Miss Elizabeth, I shall be honored to call you Caroline, Miss Bingley."

This was spoken with such a beneficent, almost angelic smile that Caroline was forced to accept with what grace she could. Impossible to explain to the naive little brat what she had really meant about becoming sisters. The only shred of comfort she could wring from it all was the faint possibility that Georgiana's words indicated a comforting ignorance of Caroline's true designs and desires. Perhaps the child truly believed that Caroline had been sincerely fond of her for her own sake for all those years. At the very least, if her plan to wed Mr. Darcy did fail, heaven forbid, she would be spared that one bit of mortification. Caroline smiled weakly and resumed her walk, concentrating mightily on reining in her irritation at the young woman bouncing along beside her as if following a large, green moth across a lawn in the moonlight was the greatest lark of her life. And perhaps for her it was, Miss Darcy having led a properly sheltered existence, notwithstanding a brief journey to the seaside the previous summer, which from what Caroline had been able to glean, Georgiana had not at all enjoyed. Still, it was just as well that Caroline did not examine her companion's countenance too keenly just at that moment, for all of her meager hopes of eluding mortification would have been dashed had she seen the glint of mischievous delight shining there, a light of distinct triumph, at having been given the opportunity to say to Miss Bingley, in all innocence, what could give no pain to any but she.

The walk to the Pemberley stables was not as long as it seemed to be to at least one of the party, but it was still with a great measure of relief that Caroline Bingley threw open the doors of the handsome outbuilding, in spite of the sounds of some person playing a trumpet very ill indeed somewhere inside. Stepping through the entrance, Caroline stopped short; she stared about her in silence, waiting for Georgiana, whom she had outstripped in the end, to arrive at her side. She heard the young woman's delicate, ladylike gasp.

"There are gentlemen, of course, who would consider a lady accomplished if she is a good walker," Caroline stated with grim finality.