Posted on: 2009-11-02

Chapter Twenty -two

For Caroline Bingley, the night had steadily gone from bad to worse. Insulted by knights. Thrown - repeatedly - to the ground. Tricked into splashing into the mud by insolent dandies. Fallen into a pricker bush, and left to flounder out of it by herself by an inattentive companion, who then clapped a hand over her mouth. Forced to walk for miles and miles in the dark with a chattering chit who seemed to worship The Enemy. Tied to a chair and forced to wear a hideous hat. Taunted and scratched by her own sister. Kept waiting interminably for her tea. Frightened by bees. Compelled to stand witness as the man she intended to marry walked arm-in-arm with, danced with, flirted with, made love with, made eyes at, played chess with, and plotted with another woman, a woman without beauty, fortune, grace, style, wit, connections... anything to recommend her, except being an excellent walker, and who looked for that in a wife!

Her whole reason for even being in the so-called Looking Glass World was her desire for Mr. Darcy. She had followed him there, albeit accidentally, and needed him to help her get home - and it did not make her feel the least bit less cross with the multifarious authors of her suffering to acknowledge that if she had paid more attention to what Moira the Sphinx had tried to teach her when she had been Queen of Darcinia, she would know how to return to the proper side of the mirror on her own.

Caroline's blood boiled at the memory of Moira, and not the least because she was angry to even have a memory of Moira. She was meant to forget the entire episode of Darcinia, she had desperately wanted to forget all about Darcinia when all of her plans to engage Mr. Darcy's honor in marrying her had gone so horribly wrong, and Mr. Darcy had acknowledged a love for Miss Eliza Bennet instead. And then, the plan to forget the horrid experience had gone wrong, too.

Potions were a specialty of Moira the Sphinx, among other areas of interest; the official historian and advisor to the Queen of Darcinia had been several hundred years old, and evidently of a scholarly bent, and had made use of that time to pursue several fields of study - potion making was but one of them. Moira liked to use potions to achieve various ends, to make others do what she wanted them to do, and in spite of a lingering fear Caroline nursed that her sphinx advisor would inadvertently poison her one day, Caroline had been happy to rely on such stratagems as well, whenever Moira suggested one of her elixirs as the most expedient way of gaining some benefit. The so-called love potion that Moira had concocted for Caroline to use on Mr. Darcy, for example. Of course, it turned out not to be a love potion, and it was Eliza Bennet, not Caroline, who ultimately used it to intensify Mr. Darcy's feelings for her, but the fact remained that Caroline had eagerly acceded to the plan, and had even, as advised my Moira, used the cloying brew as a perfume for months. What, if any, effect it was truly meant to have when Darcinia potions, as it turned out, were not effective if used outside of Darcinia, Caroline never did find out, but she had since conjectured that Moira, who was truly vicious at heart, had merely been allowing Caroline to make a fool of herself by wearing the useless but smelly brew as a scent. To that very day, the aroma of certain spices was enough to turn Caroline's stomach at the memory.

And then, there had been the memory potion, or rather, the forgetfulness potion. Mr. Darcy and Eliza Bennet had both taken the potion regretfully, wanting to hold onto their disgustingly happy memories of having found love in Darcinia, even though they had endured some excessively unpleasant experiences as well. Caroline, however, had taken it eagerly, in spite of the vile taste, and yet, with a degree of trepidation besides. For Caroline Bingley had never told Moira a certain very important thing she had discovered about potions all on her own accord - to be frank, that she had never been able to stomach them. A very few of them, the kind that worked their magic immediately, did effect her, but even so, she had never been able to keep them down. So, any potion that needed a night's sleep in order to become effective, never had a chance; Caroline's stomach always expelled them shortly after ingesting them, and they did not take effect. She had hidden this fact from Moira, pretending to feel the effects of whatever elixir the sphinx gave her, and at least it gave her a feeling of security that if her advisor did try to poison her, if it was not a fast-acting poison she would be unlikely to suffer any ill-effects from it.

But the forgetfulness potion, unfortunately, was one of those that required a night of sleep to activate it, and almost as soon as Caroline had returned to her own world through the wardrobe, she had begun to feel the signs that the potion was not agreeing with her insides. She had barely had enough time to eject the other players in that ill-fated game of Sardines out of her room before her stomach began to heave. Soon, it was all over. The potion was gone from her system, and no matter how long she slept that night (and it was not long, her mortification having precluded peaceful rest), there was no chance of forgetting a single humiliating moment of the debacle. And Mr. Darcy, as filled with honor as that dreadful Eliza Bennet had claimed him to be, had broken the latch to her wardrobe, exactly as he promised, so even if she had thought it would be safe to return to Darcinia to ask for more forgetfulness potion, even if there was some way to make it work, she was unable to return, forever.

And so, the memories remained. And the memories taunted. And the memories pained, and mortified, and infuriated.

And to all appearances, Mr. Darcy and The Enemy, Eliza Bennet, were also in possession of at least some information about Darcinia, and were well on their way to regaining all of their memories of the end of Caroline Bingley's reign as Queen. The very notion both angered and frightened Caroline. She would never be able to even look Mr. Darcy in the eye again if he knew what she had done in pursuit of him, much less ever convince him that she was the best choice to be his wife, and mistress of the grand and awe-inspiring Pemberley. Even worse, once he and Eliza Bennet remembered how they had fallen in love in Darcinia, and even married there, it was an absolute certainty that they would marry again, in an English church, with a legal ceremony, presided over by a real clergyman instead of a centaur. The thought made Caroline's stomach churn as if she had just drunk a whole goblet full of Moira's most revolting potion.

Forget being mistress of Pemberley - she would never again even be allowed to be a guest there!

Ironically, Caroline Bingley had always had an extraordinary gift of memory. It had allowed her to excel at her lessons, though she made sure never to become so learned as to be considered a bluestocking. Rather, it had enabled her to remember names of every worthwhile person she ever met. And she had been able to remember every exquisite detail of Pemberley well enough to have it faithfully reproduced in Darcinia - she had been able to see how impressed even Mr. Darcy had been when he witnessed that triumph. It was all a matter of applying herself to retrieving the information from the recesses of her mind, but she found it made a difference in her ability to recall some detail or other for her to consider the information worth remembering when she first learned it in the first place.

Thus, when Caroline found herself sitting in a peculiar replica of one of Pemberley's drawing rooms in the middle of a forest in the Looking Glass World, staring across the table at that infuriating Eliza Bennet, and desperately trying to think of a way to prevent Eliza and Mr. Darcy from recovering their full memories of her infamous plots against them the previous autumn, she channeled her anger into a determination to remember anything that Moira had ever taught her that could salvage her hopes for the future. Moira must have told her something useful, something that she had, at the time, considered worth remembering!

Firstly, she thought about what she had learned about antidotes. Caroline had never paid a great deal of attention to Moira when she was talking about antidotes, not being much affected by potions herself, nor concerned with their ill-effects on others, but when she had come to the Looking Glass World, and finally understood that she was not in Darcinia, the recollection of having been told of such a place came to the fore of her mind. The Looking Glass World was not like Darcinia; anyone could come and go there, if they only knew the trick of it, and their presence would have no lasting effect on the place, not in the way that Caroline's and Mr. Darcy's presence had changed the climate of Darcinia. Through Moira's quest for knowledge of anything that might affect her world, and her ambitions for it, the Darcinians had studied the Looking Glass World extensively, and it being a source of antidotes for Darcinian potions was a matter of great interest to Moira. Desperately wracking her brain, Caroline slowly recalled the things she needed to know.

The details were vague, as Caroline had obviously never been required to make such a potion; that she had been told anything about the subject was merely a reflection of Moira's passion for sharing information, as part of a belief that not only should everyone know as much as they can about everything, but that everyone must find the same things interesting that fascinated her. Caroline did not find this to be the case, but she did remember being told that the ingredients for antidotes must be collected in the Looking Glass World by moonlight, which would explain Mr. Darcy's nocturnal expedition, and that it did not matter where the ingredients were combined, so the potion could be made from those ingredients either in the Looking Glass World or after the return to the other side, though for the antidote to work, it would have to be drunk on the 'real world' side of the mirror. Clearly, Mr. Darcy and Eliza Bennet had chosen to mix their potion as they gathered the ingredients, as indicated by the bottle to which Eliza had added the brandy and tea, but they would have to wait until their return to drink it. Caroline knew also that there were many different receipts for antidotes, and that which one was used made no difference in the matter of efficacy, but a great deal of difference, evidently, in the matter of taste. Remembering the vile taste of the various potions she had drunk, she wondered if any of the antidotes were more palatable. Eliza Bennet's bottle certainly seemed to have a great many things crammed into it, but they were none of them identifiable in the soggy, swirling mass. It did not look appealing, but Caroline supposed that if one truly desired to experience the effects, one would not object to the taste. If she had been offered even the vilest concoction with a guarantee that it would make her forget her experiences in Darcinia, she would not have hesitated for a moment to gulp it down.

The question, then, was what to do to prevent Mr. Darcy and Eliza Bennet from drinking their potion on their return through the looking glass. To destroy the bottle containing the antidote would not be enough - if they had been able to formulate it once, they could certainly do it again, the very next night if they chose. So, something must be done to prevent them from coming back to the Looking Glass World once the antidote had been destroyed - and smashing every mirror in the world was not a viable option. Caroline seethed in frustration and glared at the offending bottle, and the offending woman.

Eliza Bennet. Caroline Bingley had never hidden her dislike for the woman, a dislike she fully admitted was born out of envy that Mr. Darcy had admired the insolent country nothing during his visit to Netherfield the previous autumn. Had Mr. Darcy declined Mr. Bingley's invitation to join him at his newly leased property, it might be supposed that Caroline would have liked the second Bennet daughter, and been friends with her as well as with her older sister, but Mr. Darcy had come to Netherfield, and that was that. He had admired Miss Eliza's eyes, and had willingly conversed with her - Caroline had not failed to notice that Eliza Bennet's participation in any discussion during her stay at Netherfield had always been enough to guarantee that Mr. Darcy would join in, too - and, most horrible of all, Mr. Darcy had actually danced with the insufferable chit at the Netherfield ball. Any one of these would have been enough to make Eliza Bennet into The Enemy.

Certainly, there were scores of other women in town who were in competition with Caroline Bingley for Mr. Darcy's attentions, affections, and vast estate, but as he had never paid any of them the slightest notice, Caroline did not concern herself with them. She, after all, had certain advantages, though others were perhaps prettier, more accomplished, better connected, and endowed with greater fortunes. Caroline, however, had something none of the others had - access. With a brother who was Mr. Darcy's closest friend, Caroline had opportunities, such as the months at Netherfield, and this current visit to Pemberley, that were not availed to those other ladies. But then Miss Eliza Bennet had to appear and ruin both occasions! And from what Caroline had gleaned from overlistening conversations between Mr. Darcy and her brother, or his sister, Eliza had also been present when Mr. Darcy had visited his aunt in the spring. From the way he was falling all over himself to please her now, they must have become very close at that time, and his low spirits when he returned to town after that visit must have been due to his regrets at losing her company! He must have been missing her, he acted the same way Charles had when he had been forced away from Jane Bennet.

The more Caroline thought about the whole thing, the angrier she became. She sat there in that parlor in the woods, listening to that insipid Georgiana trying to hold a conversation with the interloper, and she could not help but make every attempt to squash every topic introduced with her own snide observations, until she had suppressed Georgiana's newfound intrepidity. She almost regretted doing it, as surely she would have to make up lost ground in her own friendship with the young girl the next day, but for the moment she was more angry than wise, and Georgiana had been aggravating her every nerve since the moment they had first fallen through the looking glass. Still, one cool, dispassionate thought did manage to filter through Caroline's brain; she should be grateful for that accident, though she had suffered countless indignities as a result. Had she not followed the Darcys through the darkness of their house into the topsy-turvy, hurly burly world beyond the looking glass, she would never have known what Mr. Darcy and Eliza Bennet were up to, and she would not be able to prevent them from knowing the greatest of all her secrets, the truth about Darcinia and what she had done there.

By the time all of these thoughts had filtered through Caroline's brain, they had all been sitting in wait for their tea for a tediously long time. Caroline began to wonder why she had remained there, waiting, until she remembered that her goal had been to find Mr. Darcy, and if he was there, she needed to be, too. She knew Georgiana had asked him to help them return, and that he had put them off until Miss Eliza could have her tea. It rankled that they must wait for Eliza Bennet's benefit.

Thinking on it, as she watched Mr. Darcy play chess with the hoyden, Caroline was puzzled that Mr. Darcy had shown no surprise in meeting with them there. Had he known he had been followed? If so, it gave Caroline all the more reason to be angry with him. If he had stopped them, or let them accompany him on his excursion, none of the little accidents that had befallen her would have occurred. Miss Eliza Bennet certainly looked none the worse for wear - at least, for Miss Eliza Bennet. She was a bit rumpled, perhaps, but that was nothing when one considered that lady's total lack of beauty to begin with. Caroline studied The Enemy as The Enemy studied her next move on the chessboard. Her face was too thin. Her complexion had no brilliancy. Her features were not at all handsome. Her nose wanted character; there was nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth were tolerable, but not out of the common way, and as for those eyes, which Mr. Darcy considered so fine, Caroline had never perceived anything extraordinary in them, even from the very beginning of their acquaintance. They appeared to her to have a sharp, shrewish look, which Caroline could not like, and in her air altogether she had a self-sufficiency without fashion which was simply intolerable. Caroline even remembered a time shortly after they had all made the acquaintance of the Bennets, when Mr. Darcy had remarked about Miss Eliza Bennet, "She, a beauty? I should as soon call her mother a wit!" Caroline had a good mind to remind him of this opinion, on her next opportunity to speak to him without that stupid Eliza Bennet present. Sadly, after that, the chit seemed to improve on him. And Caroline had only that very evening found out that it was entirely possible that Mr. Darcy had been going around town describing her as resembling a redheaded ferret! A ferret! The whole situation was simply not to be borne.

Finally, the tea tray was brought in, presenting another trial for the beleaguered Caroline when she was confronted by a swarm of bees, which sank her into terror. It did not improve her humor when no one seemed to notice or care, but instead treated Eliza Bennet with all possible consideration - both Darcys were doing it, and Caroline began to feel rather hot under the collar as she sat and chewed the uncomfortably spicy biscuit she had chosen from the tea tray.

The last straw came, perhaps, when Georgiana Darcy, the shy, frightened, little slip of a nothing, a scared little rabbit of a girl, suddenly decided to recite a poem for the company, a ridiculous, scandalous poem about her brother's love for Miss Eliza Bennet! For Caroline did not miss the reference to fine eyes, the poet clearly had Miss Eliza Bennet in mind. Caroline's eyes flew to Mr. Darcy's face, certain that he had to feel mortified, and furious with his younger sister, but he did not look angry, or mortified, or even a little embarrassed, he looked... content. Content! Caroline suddenly understood that strange expression used to describe angry people, for she could truly see red. She felt, in fact, as if she could burst into flame.

And quite unwittingly, she did.

Georgiana Darcy screamed, and the next thing Caroline knew, the entire party, including the Hurst bear and the dog Georgiana thought was her companion Mrs. Annesley, were standing around staring at her, with empty cups, and tea pots, and decanters in their hands, while the former contents of all of those various vessels streamed down Caroline's face and neck, and dripped into her collar.

And the night, just like that, was that much worse.

Chapter Twenty-three

Fitzwilliam Darcy was a reserved man by nature, though he did, contrary to a fairly widespread belief, have a sense of humor. That is to say, he was known to laugh, on occasion, when something amused him. He had, in fact, had occasion to laugh a number of times on that particular night of which this is an account, which was not surprising given his companion for the evening, one of Elizabeth Bennet's charms being that she was so very fond of laughter and could easily inspire it in others who were inclined to, or at least willing to, share in her amusement. Seeing as Darcy was happy to share in almost anything with Elizabeth, he had indulged in the very pleasurable pastime of laughter, even at his own expense, at several points in the course of their adventure together. However, that level of hilarity was not usual for Darcy, and there were few occasions in his life when he had a painfully overwhelming desire to burst forth in absolute belly laughs but felt compelled, for some reason or other, to suppress the urge for any reason.

The sight of Miss Caroline Bingley, sitting in a chair with several cups of tea - in fact, most of a pot of tea - and at least half a decanter of brandy running down her face and dripping from her nose, her bright red hair wet and lank, and hanging down her neck, sticking to her skin and emitting the occasional wisp of steam, the mingled liquids further soiling her bedraggled gown, and a look of absolute shock and bewilderment paralyzing her usually scornful countenance, was a vision that even the marble bust of Fitzwilliam Darcy in the statue room of Pemberley would have felt an overwhelming yearning, a positive hunger, an absolute lust to laugh at. He could sense the exact same craving from the woman beside him; he just knew that Elizabeth had identical bubbles of mirth straining to burst forth from her in melodious glee, and the picture in his mind's eye of his beloved indulging in her humor in such a way only made him want to laugh all the more. But miraculously, both of them managed to swallow their levity and somehow present faces full of concern to Caroline Bingley in her distress. And yet somehow, Darcy knew, Miss Bingley could tell what they were thinking, and her look of affliction was quickly displaced by a mask of cold disdain.

"May I know why you have all suddenly decided to attempt to drown me?" Miss Bingley asked through clenched teeth.

Several people answered at once.

"My apologies, Miss Bingley, but your hair was on fire," Darcy said with great civility.

"Oh, Miss Bingley, you were on fire!" Georgiana breathed tremulously.

"Caroline, your hair! It was in flames!" Louisa Hurst exclaimed, all sisterly concern, while likely already framing a story about it for her next tea with friends.

"There, there, no harm done," tutted Mrs. Annesley, "Hair grows back, and I am sure your dress will clean up as good as new."

There followed a great bustle to make Miss Bingley comfortable and composed again, attentions which in another place and time would have been highly gratifying to her, but she continued to look disgruntled in the face of the fawning by her sister and her host and hostess, not to mention the hostess's canine companion. Even Elizabeth ventured to suggest that she take some refreshments, but the proposal earned even more frowns when it became clear that all of the cakes and pastries were swimming in the tea that had sloshed on the tray in the course of the late emergency, and there was no longer any tea to drink because it had all been thrown at Miss Bingley to douse the flames atop her head. The brandy, too, had gone that way, which Hurst seemed to regret quite deeply, wondering aloud what he had been thinking in throwing it on the flames when the tea dumpers plainly had sufficient forces to fight the conflagration without the addition of his precious libations. His murmured remark, that he had not considered the tendency of brandy to burn, and the risk he had run of making a Caroline flambé did nothing to improve the lady's humor, and all were relieved when Hurst returned to his place under the side table to sulk.

Darcy was unnerved when he saw Miss Bingley eyeing the decanter containing Elizabeth's elixir - he still did not know what was in it, but he had begun hours earlier to feel a proprietary interest in it, and in any event, felt certain that Elizabeth would not be willing to allow Miss Bingley to partake of it if she asked, and worried about what kind of scene might ensue; further, he was relieved to note that no one had seized that vessel to douse the flames. He would hate to have had all of Elizabeth's toils through the night wasted on extinguishing Caroline Bingley's hair. Elizabeth had apparently seen the pointed stare as well, and casually replaced her bottle in her reticule.

Everyone was at a loss then for what to say or do, and an uneasy silence filled the room, mixing with the sickening smell of burnt hair to make the whole atmosphere oppressive. Finally, Darcy thought to bring Miss Bingley a glass of sherry, bringing another for his sister, who was looking a bit peaked from the excitement.

The sherry had an extraordinary effect on the two women. Darcy had just turned to Elizabeth, who had taken her list of ingredients from her reticule to consult him about some detail, when he heard the sound of breaking glass. His glance darted first to Elizabeth's bottle, which was still intact, and then to Georgiana; the sound had come from the breaking of her glass as she dropped it on the table. She looked terrified; her face had gone pale, and she was shaking all over. Then Miss Bingley dropped her glass as well, missing the table and protecting it from shattering, but spilling sherry on the rug beside her chair. Had she noticed that it had splashed her slippers she would have felt aggrieved, but she was staring straight ahead, glassy-eyed, and her hands slowly moved to her throat as if she was choking. A single sound emanated from her mouth, a strange, squeaky yip.

Darcy's attention was pulled back to his sister when Elizabeth gripped his arm quite painfully and nodded her head at Georgiana. She was changing before his eyes, similarly to the way he had seen others change that night, Elizabeth's sisters and Bingley, among others, but for Georgiana the transformation looked excruciating. Her face was contorted with pain and fear, and while the others had all appeared to change voluntarily, as far as Darcy could see, the alteration of her form seemed unexpected and unwanted to Georgiana. She twisted and writhed, shrinking in her seat until Georgiana Darcy had disappeared, and in her place was a little, brown and white rabbit, quivering with terror.

As soon as Georgiana's transformation was complete, Darcy and Elizabeth hastily looked again to Miss Bingley, and the sight of her new form chilled Darcy to the bone. She was a ferret, a strangely colored ferret with a streak of red down her back, and she was poised to pounce and looking with her beady eyes at poor Georgiana.

"Ferrets hunt rabbits," Darcy heard Elizabeth breathe. Mrs. Annesley growled a warning, and Darcy made to move towards his sister, but the tea table and Elizabeth were blocking his path. At almost the same moment, as if she had been waiting for that cue, Miss Bingley struck. She launched herself at Georgiana with lightning speed, but fortunately, there were two others who reacted faster than she, and faster than Darcy had been able; Georgiana leapt in the nick of time across the table and into her brother's arms, and Elizabeth swung her reticule at the flying ferret, connecting in midair with a resounding 'clunk', and sending the ferret sailing through the wall of the room, unsettling the floating wallpaper design for a few moments, across the clearing, and straight into the trunk of a tree, where she hit with a splat and fell limply to the ground.

Louisa Hurst was the first to react, screaming and running to her sister, barging straight through the wallpaper instead of using the door. The Hurst bear gave a rumbling laugh, showing that he had not been asleep, in spite of the snores that had been emanating from his lair.

"Nice hit," the bear chortled, causing Elizabeth to blush. She looked completely mortified, but Darcy wanted nothing more than to gather her into an embrace, an improper gesture he might have thrown propriety to the winds and indulged in if he had not been cradling his rabbit sister to his chest already.

Mrs. Annesley was suddenly at Darcy's side, her canine nose examining Georgiana. "She will be well, Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Annesley said, "You need not fret. I think the sherry was perhaps too strong for her, at her age."

"Thank you... erm... Mrs. Annesley," Darcy said, receiving a quiet "Whuff," in reply as the dog padded away to return to her chair. His attention and concern were drawn to Elizabeth when he heard a shuddering sigh escape her.

"I... I do not think I have ever acted towards another... person... creature... in such a violent manner before," Elizabeth said as her knees appeared to give out and she sank back down on the settee. Her hands were clasped tightly together around the strings of her reticule, her knuckles white.

"She will be well, I can assure you," Hurst bear said as he shuffled over to the table and made short work of the remaining soggy comestibles, the view of his sharp, bared teeth made slightly less menacing by the comical sight of his tongue desperately questing for every last crumb. When even the tiniest morsel was consumed, he sighed, belched, and said, "Caroline is as tough as an old boot," and with that, he ambled over to the wall, sniffed the wallpaper before prodding it experimentally with his nose, and passed right through it, wandering off into the dark woods. Darcy and Elizabeth wordlessly watched him go.

"You saved my sister," Darcy sat down beside Elizabeth and grasped her hands in one of his own, still keeping a firm, yet gentle hold on the rabbit that had been Georgiana with the other. He could feel her little heart beating wildly in her chest, and she was still trembling. His own heart was pounding as well. Granted, he knew the little rabbit he cradled to his chest was not really his sister, and Georgiana would not have been harmed in the real world even if her Looking Glass self had been eaten by a ferret, but it had been hard enough to see that apparition of Georgiana in pain as she had transformed into a rabbit. To see her devoured by a ferret would have been unbearable. Never had Darcy felt a greater loathing for Caroline Bingley.

"It was nothing, truly. I am sure you would have done the same for any of my sisters," Elizabeth said, uncharacteristically subdued.

Darcy could not say whether or not that was true, though he hoped it would be his instinct to keep any of the Bennet sisters, even the annoying ones, from being devoured.

"Still, you must allow me to thank you for your timely intervention." Darcy noticed that Elizabeth looked a trifle unsteady, and feared the event had unsettled her in the extreme. "Are you unwell, Miss Bennet? Can I get you..." he was about to say 'sherry,' but the sherry was definitely suspect, "...anything? You need not distress yourself, I am sure Hurst is right, and Miss Bingley will recover, and you were only acting with my sister's safety in mind. I wish you would not vex yourself."

"It is just that... I enjoyed it. What can you think of me? And yet... Did you not feel a kind of sense of satisfaction when you cut off the head of Mr. ..." Elizabeth paused and took a quick glance at the Georgiana rabbit, "-the spider? Well, I feel as if I have exacted some kind of justice, for the horrid way she treated my sister. Of course, I could never strike Caroline Bingley in such a way as a woman, but, when I saw her as a ferret, and ready to attack Georgiana..." Elizabeth released a nervous giggle. "I never noticed before, but Caroline Bingley does resemble a ferret somewhat."

Darcy chortled in relief, finally able to relax a little. "I have always thought so. Now, I think-" Darcy stood up and threw a glance towards the tree where Louisa Hurst was still attempting to revive her sister the ferret, her shrill voice carrying across the clearing to them in the parlor. "We had better leave - it might be uncomfortable to be here when she revives, and there is still Georgiana to think about. I understand that you have discovered that you have one more specimen to collect?"

"Yes, I reviewed my list, having some time to sit and peruse it in better light, and found an item I had overlooked - I need some maple seeds. You need not accompany me, though - you have acquired everything on your list, and you have your sister to look after now, and if you will only suggest to me where I might find some maple trees, I can complete my collecting on my own. You have already done so much more for me than I can ever thank you for - I cannot think how I can ever repay such kindness."

Darcy smiled; he could very easily think of a way for her to thank him. "You have only just rescued my sister, Miss Bennet, I think that is thanks enough, if thanks were even required - indeed, I must think that we are now in your debt quite heavily. And as Georgiana is safe now," Darcy carefully placed the little rabbit in his coat pocket, where she snuggled in quite comfortably. He recalled that his sister had been desperate to, as she said, 'get back,' but as he had no idea where she was meant to go, nor how to get her there, he felt that he could afford to delay any measures to help her at least until such time as she transformed back into a girl and could explain what she meant. Darcy continued speaking to Elizabeth, "Will you allow me to accompany you as you complete your quest? You have not much time," Darcy glanced at the moon, close enough now to the horizon that it was only due to its halo of light that it was discernible above the trees of the forest, "and I would be honored if you would permit me to escort you the rest of the way - just in case."

"You are a very determined man, Mr. Darcy. Very well, I accept your offer of company. Do you know where we had best go to find maple seeds?"

"I think I do. But perhaps we should take ourselves out of the way before we make the leap?" he said, with a meaning glance towards the drama still enacting itself under the tree.

"I think that is wise. Oh, but do you think it right to leave them?"

Darcy could not but admire Elizabeth's compassion towards one who had always treated her with extreme contempt at best, and as an enemy at worst, but he could understand her feelings of guilt. "I do not imagine Miss Bingley would appreciate your assistance or your pity, Miss Bennet, and assuming that she will regain consciousness and her human form, I think it best if you are not about when she comes back to herself."

"Very well then, let us depart, and you may try to think of a new rhyme for us - but please, do check with me before you use it!"

Darcy laughed, and was pleased that the teasing Elizabeth had returned. They made their way towards the door, in unspoken agreement that neither wished to exit through the wallpaper, but the moment Darcy's hand grasped the door handle, his father's voice hailed him across the room.

"Fitzwilliam, my boy!"

Turning, Darcy saw both of his parents waving to him from their portraits. He stole a glance at Elizabeth and saw her surprise; when he walked over to the pictures, she followed him a few steps behind.

"May we meet your Miss Elizabeth before you go, Fitzwilliam?" his mother asked when he was once again standing before the pictures. Darcy could not have any objections to such a ceremony, and proudly introduced the woman he hoped to marry to the images of his parents, not without sorrow that he had never been able to perform the rite in reality. He could not suppress a smile when Elizabeth curtsied to the smiling portraits, and felt highly gratified at their kind reception of her, as well as her easy comfort in talking to them. Not for the first time did he regret that they had never known each other.

Time was short, however, to complete Elizabeth's search, and so Darcy gently interrupted their conversation and informed his parents that they needed to depart. Good-byes were said, and as they turned to walk away, Darcy's mother called him back.

"I like her, Fitzwilliam, she is very kind, and bright, and so very lovely. I think you have done well, my dear son. I am so happy you have found The One." Mrs. Darcy's picture said, gentle pride and a touch of sorrow in her features.

"Thank you, mother," was all Darcy could respond. He smiled at his parents and walked away.

His father's voice followed him this time when he was half way back to the door, as he called out, "Do not worry about Georgiana! She will be well!"

Darcy waved his acknowledgment, though he wondered if his father was referring to her being a rabbit at the moment, or something more significant relating to Georgiana's conference with them earlier. Deciding it did not matter, Darcy called a final farewell, and left the room behind.

Posted on: 2009-11-05

Chapter Twenty-four

Darcy and Elizabeth walked into the woods only far enough that they could no longer hear Louisa Hurst's voice, then they stopped, and Darcy reached for Elizabeth's hand. This time she allowed him to take it and hold it, and he had to turn his face away so that she would not see the broad grin that had spread across it. He asked her to hold his lantern in her other hand, and she took it, allowing her reticule to dangle from her wrist. As a precaution, Darcy slipped his hand into his pocket and rested it gently on the little rabbit; he wanted to be sure that she made the leap with them.

"Well, Mr. Darcy, have you constructed a proper rhyme?" Elizabeth teased him with an arch smile.

"I believe I have: Take us quickly if you please, to the nearest maple trees. There are many maple trees at Pemberley, and so I am confident that whichever ones are nearest, they will still be somewhere on the grounds, and we need not worry that we will end up in some unfamiliar place. For all we know, we shall not travel a hundred yards from here."

Elizabeth agreed that his verse would suffice, and so they clicked their heels, recited the couplet, and found themselves an instant later at the top of a hill, underneath a tree. The lake shimmered in the waning moonlight at the bottom of the grassy hill, and the great, dark shape of the house could be seen beyond that. Out of the shelter of the woods, they could see how close the moon was to the horizon. Another half an hour's wait and it would have set. Elizabeth released Darcy's hand and began to peer at the ground.

"It is dark, I cannot see," she said, crouching down with the lantern and running her fingers over the grass. "I cannot find any seeds."

Darcy looked up at the branches of the tree. It was very tall, and even the lowest branches were too high to reach. A glance at the trunk confirmed that he would not be able to climb it, either, as there was nothing to grab onto to reach the first branch. Darcy joined Elizabeth in crouching by the ground to search. He realized suddenly that his vision had completely returned to normal; he could no longer see with the strange sharpness of colors imparted by the evening primrose.

"Can you see, Miss Bennet?" Darcy asked. "I mean, as you were able before? My night vision has faded."

"No, I cannot, the flowers' magic has worn off," Elizabeth sighed.

"Can you not reapply it?"

"No, I gave you the last of the flowers, and each bloom can be used only once."

Darcy instantly regretted that he had allowed her to waste the precious powers of the blossoms on him. "I am deeply sorry that I have deprived you of your supplies. Did you not say that there were other means of acquiring such vision?"

"Yeeeeeeees," Elizabeth said hesitantly, "I know of one other. But I do not think it is a means I may use."

Darcy frowned; he could not give up so easily. "Tell me what it is, perhaps there is something that can be done, we have a little time left, we can possibly still find what you need-"

"It is not a question of finding the right thing, Mr. Darcy, it is... something that I... that must... it is an act that must be performed... it..."

Darcy looked at Elizabeth and could see that she was in an agony of embarrassment. With more concern than delicacy, and unable to imagine what could be so horrible, he asked, "Good heavens, what is it, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth had stood up and moved apart from him, facing away, indecision in the tense posture of her figure. Darcy waited while she seemed to struggle with whether or not to tell him.

"A kiss, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth burst out in a rush. "Or two kisses, to be precise. One on each eyelid. And I cannot-"

Darcy was in front of her in an instant, his hands on either side of her face. Her cheeks were hot; she must be blushing, though he could not see it. Her eyes were wide with surprise, and her mouth a perfect 'O.' At the sight of it he knew that it was that lovely mouth he would prefer to kiss, he had been wanting to kiss that mouth for ever so many months, but he was, for now, provided only with an excuse to place one kiss on each of her eyelids - though she had not given him leave to do even that much. He questioned her with his eyes; he leaned down close to her face.

"There is no one to see," Darcy whispered.

Elizabeth closed her eyes. Permission was granted. Ever so gently, Darcy placed one kiss on each of Elizabeth's eyelids; he was close enough that the breath of her sigh sent a frisson of bliss down his spine. Quickly, before she could open her eyes, he dropped one more kiss on her forehead and released her, stepping back away from her. Elizabeth opened her eyes in surprise, and her countenance quickly took on its playful mien.

"My night vision has returned, Mr. Darcy, I thank you. I can see that you are blushing." Elizabeth's voice was tinged with amusement, but before Darcy could even complete the thought that he was relieved she was not angry with him for the stolen extra kiss, she had closed the distance between them, and pulling his face down to hers, reciprocated the three kisses he had given to her.

It was several moments before Darcy felt he could speak, and by the time he had regained his composure, Elizabeth had already dropped to the ground again, in pursuit of her object. Darcy wordlessly knelt beside her, mindful of the fragile creature in his pocket; his night vision had returned, and he could see from her heightened color that Elizabeth was not as unaffected as she pretended to be. The realization gratified him.

"Thank you, Miss Bennet," Darcy said.

"I was only returning the favor," Elizabeth said with an air of breeziness that was belied by the mischievous smile that turned up the corners of her mouth and made her eyes twinkle. "Aha! I have found it!" Elizabeth triumphantly displayed the winged seed case while Darcy admired the glints in her eyes. He felt strangely bereft, now that they had exhausted her list of items, as well as his, and therefore their justification for wandering about his lands in the moonlight together.

Darcy was not a superstitious man, but if he had seen the shooting star that blazed across the sky above his head at that moment, he would have fervently wished upon it for a lifetime of opportunities to walk in the moonlight with that woman beside him - and yet, not that woman, for he did not want to spend the rest of his life with the Looking Glass Elizabeth, but with the real world Elizabeth, and he hoped beyond hope that he and she would someday, perhaps soon, be able to be so comfortable together as he was with her Looking Glass self.

As he sat there in silent contemplation of his desired future, Elizabeth was carefully breaking open the seed cases and pulling out the tiny discs that were the meat of the seed. She dropped them into her bottle with an extra flourish, and drove home the stopper with a finality that amply expressed her satisfaction at her accomplishment.

"There!" she said, as she gave the bottle a vigorous shake. "Everything is here, and we have accomplished a good night's work."

Darcy felt even more morose that she evinced such pleasure in having finished her mission, without displaying the least regret that they now must part.

Elizabeth sighed, though whether it was a sigh of contentment or regret, Darcy could not venture to say, though he feared it was the former.

"And... are you absolutely certain that you have found every item on your list?" Elizabeth asked, and Darcy had to restrain himself from pulling her into an embrace from exultation. She did want to remain with him! "I am not tired, and I know you have difficulty distinguishing between different kinds of flowers, so if you need help finding anything else..." her voice trailed off on a wistful note that gratified Darcy to hear.

Unfortunately, he had also consulted his list during their sojourn in the parlor in the woods, and every item on it was checked off and accounted for. There only remained to return through the mirror and combine the ingredients... and wait.

"My list is complete as well," Darcy said as he stood up, offering a hand to Elizabeth to help her rise.

"I suppose I must be returning to the inn then," Elizabeth said, without giving any sign that she meant to do so. Though they had nowhere they needed go, Darcy tucked her arm in his again and they began to walk down the hill towards the lake in a leisurely fashion. Darcy was desperate for something to say, but his habitual reticence, which might be less charitably referred to as being tongue-tied, had returned to him once again. A sidelong glance at Elizabeth told him little of what she was feeling, her face reflecting merely a pensive state. Darcy decided to be bold; this would be his last opportunity to practice flirting with the facsimile Elizabeth before he must face the real thing, which he hoped to be able contrive an excuse to do the very next day.

"Will you allow me to say, Miss Bennet, that, notwithstanding certain less agreeable moments, I have never in my life enjoyed an evening more than this one," Darcy said, hoping to sound gallant, though aware that he had pronounced his pleasure with his usual dignified gravity. He forced himself to look at Elizabeth, and she was smiling at him. It was every bit as pleasurable as he had always expected it might be to have said something flirtatious - though still entirely sincere, for in essentials he could never change - to her, and receive that smile in return. Her response was even more gratifying; she was more accomplished at such banter.

"Indeed, I must also own to having enjoyed myself immensely. Evenings of reading books, or playing cards, or music, or any other of the usual ways one may pass the time in a drawing room shall never satisfy me after this adventure."

Darcy tried to equal her in playful tone. "I hope you are not now regretting my sister's invitation to dine with us at Pemberley."

"No, not at all!" Elizabeth turned a distressed countenance to him, and Darcy knew that he had failed in his joke; she thought him in earnest, and feared she had offended him. As much as he must be contented with the evolution of her feelings that would make her not wish to injure him, he could not be entirely satisfied regarding his flirting abilities. Though he knew he had improved, he must still have a deal to learn. He gave Elizabeth an awkward wink, which surprised them both, but made her laugh and reassured her, for she went on in a lighter vein, more like herself. "Perhaps it will be enough to be in the same company that has proved so entertaining tonight."

This last was delivered with such a look as took Darcy's breath away for several moments. He swallowed nervously - how to answer such a sally?

Darcy stopped walking and took Elizabeth's hand in his, raising it to his lips to place a soft kiss upon her fingers as he determinedly held her gaze steadily with his own. "May I flatter myself that you are not referring to Miss Bingley?"

Elizabeth laughed, and Darcy felt the sound ripple up his spine. "As her normal self or as a ferret? I must confess that throwing a cup of tea in her face was the most enjoyment I have ever had in Caroline Bingley's company."

It was Darcy's turn to laugh, though he was disappointed that he had allowed - caused, even - the conversation to turn towards Miss Bingley, a decidedly un-flirtatious topic. Would he never get it right? He began to walk down the hill again; he had not released Elizabeth's hand after he had kissed it, and he kept hold of it now, instead of offering her his arm. She did not attempt to withdraw it, and they continued their easy, destination-less stroll in a companionable silence. Remembering that he had still another dilemma to face before he could return home, Darcy slipped his hand into his pocket to check on his sister; she seemed to have calmed considerably. Elizabeth noticed his action.

"How is Georgiana?" she asked.

"I think she is well - I do not know much concerning the health of rabbits."

"I wonder why she and Miss Bingley seemed so... did you notice that everyone else we met who transformed into an animal, or who was an animal already when we met them, still seemed partially human? In each case, there was something in their eyes, and they could still talk, at least, and still resembled themselves in some way, but your sister and Miss Bingley... well, they seemed different, as if they were no longer themselves - that is to say, they were not like themselves in animal form, but truly the animals they had transformed into. Does that make sense to you?" Elizabeth's brow was furrowed in a frown.

"Yes, I think so." Darcy stopped walking and pulled his sister out of his coat pocket. He held her up to his face. She was small for a rabbit, perhaps not quite fully grown, and her fur was white mixed with a light, tawny color like Georgiana's hair. And yet, Elizabeth was right, the rabbit did not resemble his sister in the way the badger had resembled Mr. Bennet, or the hedgehog had looked like Sir William Lucas.

"She is a pretty little thing," Elizabeth said.

Georgiana twitched her nose at Darcy, and flicked her ears around as if listening to sounds all around her. There was no recognition in her eyes. "I think, Miss Bennet, that my sister has turned into a real rabbit."

"And Miss Bingley must have turned into a real ferret, else I cannot believe she would have attacked your sister," Elizabeth mused, most generously, Darcy thought, as he was not so sanguine that Miss Bingley was incapable of such a vicious act, remembering what his journal said about what Miss Bingley had attempted to do to Elizabeth in Darcinia. But then again, Miss Bingley had little reason to regard his sister with the kind of enmity that she directed at Elizabeth, even if Darcy was convinced that most of her affection for his sister was largely affectation.

"Is there something we should do for her? Is there anything we can do for her?" Elizabeth continued, reaching out a hand to stroke Georgiana's fur.

"I have no idea," Darcy sighed. He suspected that there was something to be done, if Elizabeth, a denizen of the Looking Glass World, thought that there was. Darcy was perplexed. He had finished his mission, but he now felt that he could not leave the Looking Glass World until he found out if there was something he must do for his rabbit sister. A familiar fear of failing Georgiana engulfed him. Elizabeth placed a hand on his arm. He wondered if she had any notion of how wonderfully comforting that simple gesture was for him.

"Perhaps that is what Mrs. Annesley was trying to tell us? And your... father? That she will be fine," Elizabeth suggested.

"Yes, but around here that could simply mean that they think she will be fine as a rabbit," Darcy said, almost in a groan. How was one to reason one's way through a difficulty in a place that had no reason? Darcy thought of the trite expression, 'no rhyme nor reason,' - well, the Looking Glass World had an abundance of rhyme, and no reason at all, or at least, none that made sense to him! People could travel through the air by clicking their heels and reciting poetry, they could dry their clothes by reciting dull facts, they could light a candle by... well, a figurative spark could induce a real one, they could turn into animals and back again. It was all madness! So how was one to transform one's sister back into a human being after she had turned into a rabbit? Poetry?

"Poetry," Darcy muttered. "Poetry," he said again, a little louder.

"Poetry!" he and Elizabeth shouted together, laughing at themselves for having been so slow to think of an answer.

"There must be some poetic means to restore my sister -"

"As the sherry made her hairy," quipped Elizabeth.

Darcy chuckled. "Yes, and now I must find means, however formal, to return my sister to a person normal." Darcy fleetingly hoped that to restore his sister would be so simple, but his rhyme effected no change.

Elizabeth clapped her hands in glee, though she then turned serious. "And yet, how can we possibly guess the right rhyme, or even the right means? Perhaps it is not poetry we need, as it did seem to me that it was the drinking of the sherry that transformed them. There may be something else you must give her to change her back - some kind of antidote."

The irony of needing an antidote for something that happened in the Looking Glass World was not lost on Darcy. Another idea intruded. "And then perhaps I will have to find Miss Bingley and do the same for her," Darcy mused aloud.

"Unless her sister already knew what to do - regrettably, I did not think to ask. She may not need our assistance. And it was not Miss Bingley's transformation that upset Mrs. Hurst, it was my, well, when I... found it necessary to prevent her from harming Georgiana."

"That is true." Darcy could not help but feel that, as much as he enjoyed his attempts at flirtatious banter with Elizabeth, and as much as he had always enjoyed their spirited debates in the past, he rather preferred this serious, and yet companionable discourse. It had an intimacy he had never thought to share with anyone, and that she had such concern for the well being of his sister could only be encouraging. He could well imagine consulting with her about Georgiana's needs in the real world, when he did not know how best to manage a young sister who was rapidly growing into a woman. Even more so, he could picture with great pleasure holding discussions with Elizabeth about their concerns about their own children. The thought warmed him, and though he was not aware of it, caused a complacent smile to blossom across his countenance.

"I must confess, though, that there is certainly a strong temptation to leave Miss Bingley as a ferret, but I suppose it would not do. Do I shock you with my wicked sentiments, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth smiled with a complete lack of repentance for her stated wickedness.

"Shock me? No indeed."

"Oh dear, I am sure it is not to my credit that you should seem to expect such beastly, or at least, uncharitable notions to be a part of my usual character," she retorted with mock chagrin.

"It does not shock me because I feel the same way, and you have yourself mentioned seeing a great similarity in the turn of our minds. I am, instead, gratified to discover another point of resemblance between us."

Elizabeth looked unexpectedly serious. "I wonder how many ways our thoughts and feelings coincide now. I was jesting when I said that to you while we were dancing at the Netherfield ball - after all, up until that point we had done nothing but quarrel and disagree with one another, but now I think..." She paused before she finished her thought. "Do you hear that?"

The Georgiana rabbit's ears had swiveled about to pick up the sound, and she began to struggle in Darcy's palm. Darcy listened, and heard hoof beats; a rider was approaching. He quickly and carefully placed Georgiana back into his pocket, not knowing who he would be facing, and what Georgiana's reaction would be to a horse - she did not seem to like the noise, and he could not risk her jumping from his arms and running away into the night. After all, there was a ferret on the loose.

Soon the rider made his appearance, and Darcy was relieved to recognize him as his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but he was somewhat startled by his cousin's attire, and the strange mount he rode, both seeming to be made of stone, and by the presence of another person on the back of the horse, bound hand and foot and draped over the back of the horse like a sack of potatoes. He was a youth with rough features, dressed all in black, in a kind of tunic, with an odd little, round cap on his head. He looked, in fact, something like a medieval page, which was something in keeping with the archaic armor the Colonel wore.

"Darcy!" the Colonel hailed him as he reined in his mount in front of Darcy and Elizabeth. "I have found you at last! We must return at once to the game - I have finally caught this fellow, but who knows what that fool Malone has gotten up to while I have been out of play!"

"Malone! What ill-considered scheme has he embroiled himself in this time?" Darcy growled at the mention of his least favorite neighbor, someone whom, if he had thought about it, he would have included on a list of people he hoped not to meet in the Looking Glass World.

"Scheme?" the Colonel scoffed. "He has not the strategic skills to develop a scheme - you know how he plays, no vision! I cannot count the number of times he has fallen for fool's mate!"

"Fitzwilliam, of what are we talking?" Darcy was confused by his cousin's mention of a chess gambit that led to defeat in only two moves. It was certainly true that his neighbor lacked vision, and never gave a thought to the future when he made any decision, but what that had to do with chess, Darcy could not fathom. If it was a metaphor, he did not know to what his cousin alluded; in general his neighbor concerned himself with sheep.

"Chess, Darcy, chess! Or have you forgotten that we were in the middle of a game against Malone when you disappeared hours ago? I have had to replace you with that marble bust of you, but I think Malone is starting to suspect that it is not really you, and even Malone is capable of beating a hunk of stone. We cannot let that happen, you must return to finish the game, now that I have managed to hunt down this errant pawn. We play Lady Catherine next, and she will know that statue is not you for sure!"

Darcy was completely nonplussed. "I cannot play chess with you right now, Fitzwilliam, Miss Bennet and I-"

"Ah, Miss Bennet! I did not realize that was you. Excellent, Darcy, you have found a new queen! I cannot imagine Aunt Catherine will be pleased, but I would wager Miss Bennet will be much more suited to the combat than Anne."

"Combat?" Elizabeth said with no little alarm.

"Fear not, my lady, it is mostly ceremonial!" the Colonel replied jovially, delivering a casual clout to the head of the page trussed on the back of his horse when that disgruntled personage expressed his disagreement with the Colonel's assertion in the form of a derisive snort.

"Fitzwilliam, Miss Bennet is not going to... that is, we have not time to play games with you and Lady Catherine, Georgiana is-"

"Georgiana may come too - there is no more time to waste, Darcy, come along!"

With that, Colonel Fitzwilliam spurred his horse and took off at a gallop, wrenching a yelp from the hapless page.

"Mr. Darcy what-" Elizabeth began to speak, but her words were drowned out by the roar of a sudden gust of wind, which swept Darcy and Elizabeth off their feet and carried them away into the sky.

Caroline Bingley opened her eyes to see a dark shape looming over her. Normally, this would have been a cause for alarm, but as the dark shape was screeching at her in her sister's voice, it was not difficult to identify the figure; less easy was to identify where she was.

"Louisa, do be quiet," Caroline snapped as she tried to sit up. With disgust she realized she was lying on the ground, out of doors. The memory followed that she was in the Looking Glass World, but as to why she was lying on the ground, she had no memory. Nor could she think of any explanation for the throbbing pain in her head; raising her hand to the source of the pain, she felt a hard lump. She turned to Louisa, who, in spite of her admonition had continued to prattle on in a manner not conducive to comfort in a person with a headache, in search of information.

"Louisa! Will you please stop that infernal wailing and tell me what I am doing here on the ground - and help me up - and-" Caroline looked around her. They were alone. "Where is Georgiana?"

Louisa struggled to help her taller, heavier sister stand, jarring her aching head mercilessly in the process. "Mr. Darcy and Eliza Bennet have taken Georgiana off with them - and I cannot blame them, after you attacked the poor girl. Honestly, Caroline, how you expect to make Mr. Darcy offer for you if you are going to assault his younger sister, I cannot imagine."

"What? I make a few sharp retorts to her inane conversation, and that is classified as an attack? The girl is simply too sensitive - Mr. Darcy coddles her too much. And what does that have to do with me suffering the indignity of being, once again, splayed on the ground? I can tell you, I am quite weary of this particular attitude!"

"Caroline, I am not merely talking about a few witticisms at the child's expense, for I certainly have been tempted to give her a set-down myself a few times. But you attacked her! When she turned into a rabbit, you turned into a ferret and tried to devour her! Eliza Bennet was forced to beat you off, and I can tell you, Mr. Darcy was excessively grateful to her! If you were trying to drive him into her arms, you could not have done anything more calculated to achieve it! I cannot understand you at all! I thought we came to Derbyshire so that you could win Mr. Darcy for yourself once and for all."

It was difficult for Caroline to decide which part of this appalling speech to address first.

"If one more person compares me in appearance to a ferret, I... I... I shall commit an act of violence," she ground out through clenched teeth.

"Well! I am sure that is a fine way to speak to your elder sister, who has done nothing but care for you and assist you in your fruitless endeavors to win Mr. Darcy," Louisa huffed.

"You said I looked like a ferret!"

"I said you were a ferret! And it is no good threatening me with violence for saying it, for it is certainly true, and I do not know why you should deny it - there were certainly enough other witnesses, including Mr. Darcy. Shall you threaten him with bodily harm if he should mention it?"

"Of course not," the aloof Caroline returned, "but if Miss Eliza Bennet thinks that she can offer me the offense of a blow to the head, she may just think again. Towards her I have no scruples against retribution." 'Indeed not. I wonder if there are any shape-shifting serpents in the Looking Glass World.'

"Caroline, do be sensible. Think of Mr. Darcy. Do you think he would wish to marry a woman who is so vulgar as to sully her hands with violence? And consider, too, that Miss Eliza acted against you to protect his own sister - earning his gratitude and admiration. Your only recourse now is to apologize and make what excuse you can for your outrageous offense."

"Miss Eliza acted with violence, and you say that Mr. Darcy was grateful to her." Caroline sulked.

"Believe me, if she had not hit you, Mr. Darcy would have. What could you have been thinking, attacking Miss Darcy like that?"

"How can I answer that, when I have no recollection of the event? I remember having copious amounts of tea thrown in my face, taking a sip of sherry, and waking up here on the ground in the dark! I do not remember turning into a ferret and attacking Georgiana - though to own the truth, she has been entirely tiresome this evening, and if I did attack her, as you say, ferret or not, she very likely provoked it. When I marry her brother, she is going right off to school."

"She has already been to school, and has finished as a most accomplished young lady, as you have frequently acknowledged yourself. And she did nothing to provoke you that I could see - she had turned into a rabbit, I cannot see what is so provoking about that! You really must learn to control your temper Caroline, or I am afraid that you will never find a husband!"

Caroline narrowed her eyes at her sister. "I have found a husband, he just has not realized it yet. And what do you mean, Georgiana turned into a rabbit?" This was definitely news to Caroline; she recalled that Moira had told her that inhabitants of the Looking Glass World were able to shift their shapes - she had seen it herself when Louisa had earlier turned into a cat - but Georgiana was from the real world, and so was she - they should not have been able to change.

"Why is it that you find that so difficult to understand? You turned into a ferret, and at the same time, Georgiana turned into a rabbit. Honestly, it is not like it is the first time either of you have transformed! And yet you, and Mr. Darcy, and Miss Eliza all act like it was the strangest thing, instead of something that happens almost every day of your life! Has everyone around here suffered a blow on the head? Oh! My dear Caroline, that must be what is wrong with you - you have lost your memory because Eliza Bennet hit you on the head with her reticule!"

Her reticule! Well, that accounted for the lump on Caroline's head, she realized as she touched the tender knot gingerly with her fingers. Her maid would have to be careful when arranging her hair in the morning - and would no doubt have to make some adjustments to cover the protrusion. That selfsame reticule happened to be carrying a large, glass bottle - no wonder it had dealt such a forceful blow! A handkerchief and a bottle of smelling salts would not have inflicted so much damage. Caroline could appreciate the irony that she had been injured by the infernal bottle she was bent on destroying, but she did not find any humor in the recognition of it. It merely fueled her desire for revenge, and made her curse her luck that the infernal thing had not broken on contact.

"My memory is perfectly fine, Louisa, and I do not think you need concern yourself with Mr. Darcy's or Miss Eliza's, either. Just allow me a few minutes to collect myself and then I must go find the Darcys and Eliza Bennet." Caroline looked around her; she was standing in the woods in the dark, and there was no sign of the Pemberley parlor where they had all been gathered for tea. "Where am I? Why are we no longer in the drawing room? Why did you drag me out here?"

"I did not drag you - as if I would do such a thing! -this is where you landed after Miss Eliza hit you. It was a rather powerful hit - you sailed right though the wall, and landed just here. And the drawing room has gone away, of course, until it is time for tea again."

"And when will that be?" Caroline found Louisa rather exasperatingly thick sometimes.

"It should not be long - it appears whenever Mr. Hurst is hungry."

Caroline sneered, "No indeed, that should not take long at all."

Chapter Twenty-five

As Darcy and Elizabeth were carried along by the wind, Darcy could hear that Elizabeth was trying to say something to him, but the wind blew her shouted words away, and he could do nothing but reach out and grab hold of her hand to insure that wherever the wind chose to take them, it would take them together. His other hand he held firmly over his pocket to protect Georgiana from harm, though what kind of dangers might face her in their present predicament Darcy did not hazard a guess.

By gust of wind is not a comfortable way to travel; one's hair and clothes are whipped around, and it is difficult to take a breath, so that their journey over the tree tops, while it lasted only a few minutes, seemed rather longer; Darcy could not be positive, but he thought they had traveled at least a mile from his house, which would mean they were still within the borders of his lands. In fact, when they began their descent, which though gradual in grade was more than a little worrisome in speed, Darcy recognized where they were - inasmuch as anything he had seen in the Looking Glass World was recognizable to him. They were coming in to land in a hayfield that was part of Pemberley's farm, but, as in every other part of his estate he had visited that night, there was something there that should not have been: an enormous chessboard, nearly fifty feet square. As they were approaching the board from the sky, their speed suddenly slowed, and they gradually drifted in a circle around the entire board, landing together with nary a jar to the system. Darcy looked to Elizabeth to be sure she was unharmed, and saw that not only did she look well, she did not look at all as if she had just been caught in a windstorm; her hair was still neat, her clothes were in no way disordered, and other than an obvious concern for the contents of her reticule, she evinced no ill-effects of their journey.

Darcy quickly pulled Georgiana out of his coat pocket; she seemed to have weathered the trip without distress. Only when he was able to breathe a sigh of relief that she was unharmed did Darcy look around at his surroundings.

The chessboard, like many of the other places Darcy had visited that night, was well illuminated in spite of the moon's position very near the horizon. Scores of flaming braziers surrounded the field of play, making the game easy to observe. Darcy and Elizabeth had arrived while there was a game in progress; there were a great many 'pieces' arrayed in the trampled hay along the sides of the board, and not many remaining in the middle, in play. A second glance revealed that the white pieces in play were still numerous; it was mostly the black pieces that had been captured and sent to the sides to watch.

The pieces were, to say the least, curious. Darcy had heard of living chess matches before, but in such cases the chessmen were just that - men. On - and around - the board before them were a number of humans, but there were also statues, small structures of stone, pieces of furniture, and a number of sheep. The sheep that had been captured in the game were wandering around the hayfield, tripping over the tunics they wore that Darcy guessed denoted them as pawns; the ones on the board showed as little discipline and interest in the game. They were all black sheep, denoting themselves as members of the black side. An abandoned shepherd's crook lay on a white square, and Darcy speculated that the pawn the Colonel had been hunting had been the shepherd to the other pawns, though it did not seem likely that even a shepherd would be able to convince sheep to stand quietly on a square of stone and await marching orders, nor follow those orders when they came - not when there was a field of hay to entice them to abandon their posts. Somehow, the use of creatures known for their stupidity struck Darcy as just such a decision as would be made by the neighbor Fitzwilliam had said was his opponent. Fitzwilliam had intimated that Darcy was meant to be a king in this game, and based on Fitzwilliam's white armor Darcy surmised he must be the white king. Peering around a tall alabaster model of a castle that blocked his view, Darcy recognized that the black king was indeed the neighbor Fitzwilliam had mentioned, a Mr. Malone. Malone wore a black, fur-trimmed robe, and was slumped on a throne, and though he wore a crown, it was incongruously placed atop what looked very much like a jester's cap, which had slid down over his eyes. A faint sound of snoring issued from his direction.

"Who is that?" Elizabeth asked, indicating Malone with a nod of her head.

"That is a neighbor of mine - his lands share a border with Pemberley on the northern side. He is a great fool - a neglectful landlord, and a poor steward of the land, failing to either use his resources wisely or preserve them in a state that they may continue to serve future generations - I would pity his son and heir if it was not apparent to all that whatever that wastrel inherits will be gambled away in short order," Darcy said with a frown of disapproval. He caught a glimpse of a pensive look on Elizabeth's face as she considered him. "I daresay you think me judgmental, and pompous, to be condemning the man so, but-"

"No, I do not think so at all. I was only thinking of what your housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, said about you yesterday," Elizabeth said. "She praised you as a landlord and master, and I... for the first time I understood your position, and the very great charge that was laid upon you when you took over this estate, and at a relatively young age. I cannot but think of your sister, and all of the people whose lives are reliant on your responsible discharge of your duties - tenants, and servants, people who would suffer if you did not act with honor and integrity, and wisdom, but you take your responsibilities seriously, and it only reflects well on you that you cannot respect a man whom you think negligent."

Darcy felt rather abashed; he knew he was blushing, and looked down at his boots. He had not expected praise from Elizabeth. "I was always taught that the estate would never be truly mine, that I was only holding it in trust for future generations. I... I could never neglect my duties the way some do, it is not how I was raised. I am very proud of my home, and would not wish to pass anything less to my children."

"To quote my friend Charlotte, you have a right to be proud."

Darcy looked up in surprise. Elizabeth's face was unreadable to him.

"I... thank you, I... I suppose I might sometimes take it too far, into the realm of vanity-"

Elizabeth laughed, a welcome sound. "Perhaps you do." Her tone turned serious. "But I find that I have misjudged you in many ways, Mr. Darcy - it seems that when I chose to sketch your character so many months ago I was not truly seeing you. You were right, my performance at that time was not to the credit of either of us. I am pleased to have encountered you tonight, to improve on my previous attempts."

An awkward silence followed this admission, as Darcy did not know how to respond, and was inwardly cursing himself for his stupidity, but Elizabeth broke the tension with a return to a more lighthearted tone.

"Now, what are you going to do about this game?"

Darcy looked to his own side of the board, and saw, as Fitzwilliam had said, that a marble bust of Darcy occupied the white throne on that side of the board; a crown had been placed atop its head. Standing beside his effigy was obviously his queen, and he gave a shudder when he saw it - a terribly lifelike marble statue of his cousin Anne de Bourgh, dressed in a white, fur trimmed, medieval gown. The statue did not have the long braid his cousin had worn earlier when he saw her atop the wall, though there did seem to be an inordinate volume of hair wound around her head with an enormous crown on top, and to complete the look of his ungainly cousin, the marble Anne was holding a scepter at an ungraceful angle against her hip. Just as he was about to look away to examine the other pieces who were playing for his side, the statue moved, and Darcy gave a violent start when he realized it was not a statue at all, it was his cousin in the flesh - pale, wan, waxy flesh.

"Hello, Darcy," Anne said in her listless voice.

"Good evening, Cousin," Darcy replied with a slight bow.

"Is the game almost over? I am tired of standing here."

"I really could not say," Darcy said with all politeness.

"I hate chess," Anne sighed.

"I am sorry to hear it," Darcy replied. He heard Elizabeth clear her throat, and was sure that she was swallowing a laugh.

At that moment the sound of an approaching rider hailed the return of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who rode straight into the middle of the board and pushed the hapless pawn off the back of his horse, where he landed next to the shepherd's crook that had been left there. The Colonel then leaned down and whacked the pawn-cum-shepherd on the arm with the flat of his sword; the pawn struggled to stand despite his bonds, his attempts to use his crook for support only seeming to upset his balance further, and hopped to the side of the board, where he promptly collapsed in a heap on the grass.

"Your move, Malone!" the Colonel cried, while looking over his shoulder at his cousin. He gestured urgently towards the white throne, and Darcy, though not entirely certain why he was complying, hastened to take his seat there, thrusting the marble model of himself to the side and perching himself on the edge of the throne. He still held Georgiana in his hands; he cradled her to his chest and began to study the layout of the board in order to be able to make his next move.

Given that the sheep that were taking the part of most of the pawns for his opponent did not feel constrained to keep their places, but wandered the board at will, it was not easy to make out the current status of the game, but the dearth of black pieces still on the board, compared to the nearly full complement remaining for Darcy, made it clear who was on the defensive. Malone had no queen, only one rook, no knights, and one bishop. That the game continued, even though it appeared that Malone should be in check from several of Darcy's pieces, confirmed that at least some of the sheep should have been protecting his position. Darcy wondered if Malone and Fitzwilliam knew where the rest of the black pieces belonged, and if it really mattered where he sent his next piece. For the moment, however, he had to await his opponent's move.

In spite of having been asleep while most of his pieces wandered about, Malone did not take long to take his turn. He called out his orders, and Darcy watched as a trio of men in black stonemason's aprons bent their shoulders to a black stone plinth with a carving of a bird on top of it. It took him several moments to understand that it was meant to represent a rook, and he chuckled at the strange interpretation of the name. Being a student of the game, Darcy knew the origins of the name, which had been Anglicized from rocca, the Italian word for fortress; it did not refer to the black bird from the crow family. Darcy wondered if this was a reflection of Malone's ignorance of the game, and the move he made seemed to confirm it; Malone's rook captured one of Darcy's pawns, but not one that was in a strategic location to assist him in winning the game.

Darcy could not imagine how the statue of a bird was meant to fight with his pawn, but his question was answered quickly when one of the stonemasons slapped his pawn, who looked to be a farm laborer in a page's tunic, with the flat side of a trowel he pulled from his apron. The pawn scowled and retired to the side of the board, rubbing his cheek.

"Your move, Darcy," Fitzwilliam called out, and Darcy rolled his eyes with a chuckle. His cousin had taught him to play chess when they were both boys, and even though Darcy consistently beat him at the game from then until the present, his slightly older cousin never managed to shed that role of mentor in the game.

Darcy did not have to think long about his move; Malone had made a foolish decision and left himself open to be mated. Darcy called out his move, "Queen to King's Rook five."

Anne turned to him and scowled. "Must I?" she sighed.

"If you please," Darcy returned, always polite to his sickly cousin, no matter how much her petulant demeanor grated on his nerves.

Heaving another deep sigh, Anne looked to the Colonel, who indicated by pointing which square Darcy meant. Anne picked up the hem of her trailing skirts and slumped across the board to the space indicated.

"Check mate!" Darcy cried out so that his voice carried clearly across the board, and Anne moved again, onto Malone's square, and swung her scepter at his head. Darcy heard Elizabeth gasp behind him, and he started from his seat, only to fall back again in relief when Anne's weapon made contact quite harmlessly with Malone's crown, which went tumbling off his head and rolled a good distance across the board, finally coming to rest against the leg of a sheep.

Darcy's chessmen let out a resounding cheer, while Malone's grumbled and trudged off the board - all except the sheep, who continued to wander at will. Fitzwilliam wheeled his mount and rode to where Darcy still sat on his throne, causing white pawns to scatter out of his path.

"Well done, Cousin. Of course, the next game will be trickier," the Colonel said.

"I thought you said I was to play against Lady Catherine," Darcy replied, forgetting that he had not wanted to play in the first place. "I did not know Lady Catherine even knew the game."

"She does not, that is what is so tricky about it. She makes up her own rules as she goes, and even then, she cheats," Fitzwilliam shrugged, no easy feat in a suit of stone armor. Then he peered intensely into Darcy's eyes, making his cousin uncomfortable, not knowing what he sought to see there. "What is amiss with you tonight, Darcy? You have been playing these games with Aunt Catherine for years, and yet you act as if you know nothing about how it is done."

"I am afraid I am not myself tonight," Darcy stated, ruefully acknowledging to himself how truthfully he spoke the trite cliché.

Remembering then that he had encountered his aunt earlier that night and had made a vague promise to return to her to rescue and marry his cousin Anne - who evidently no longer needed rescuing, Darcy said, "I am afraid that I cannot stay to wrangle with Lady Catherine. There was something I was supposed to do for her earlier, which I have not done, and I think it best if I avoid her for the time being." Darcy figured that when he had returned to the real Pemberley his Looking Glass self could deal with Lady Catherine; he was probably better equipped to do so anyway.

"You do not mean that wall thing, do you?" the Colonel asked, to Darcy's surprise.

"Yes, yes I do."

"Good Greatcoats, Darcy, how did you manage to get caught up in that again? Why can you not simply ignore it, the way you usually do? Anne is no longer on the wall, so I would imagine that Aunt Catherine has forgotten all about it, until next time - she always forgets about, or at least chooses not to notice, your evasions of her marriage plots. It is obvious that she has moved on to the chess gambit." Fitzwilliam chortled at his own pun, though Darcy did not choose to reward him for such a pathetic attempt at a joke.

Just then the rabbit in his arms began to squirm, and Darcy was recalled to the unfortunate state of his sister.

"Be that as it may, I still have this problem of Georgiana's to work out, Fitzwilliam," Darcy said as he tried to soothe the agitated rabbit. Elizabeth appeared at his side and reached out a comforting hand, which touched his heart.

"What problem is that?" the Colonel asked.

"She is a rabbit," Darcy responded wryly.

"I repeat, what is the problem?" The Colonel looked genuinely puzzled.

"She is not meant to be a rabbit," Darcy's voice expressed his exasperation.

"So then, she ought to change back - though I do not remember that it has ever bothered her before," Fitzwilliam shrugged, as if the whole matter was of no importance.

This reply startled Darcy.

"You mean, she can simply change back to herself at will?" Elizabeth interjected.

"Of course," the Colonel looked at Elizabeth quizzically. "Did she not turn into a rabbit at will?"

"No," Darcy and Elizabeth said together.

"Oh," the Colonel nodded seriously, "That is a different kettle of chestnuts. How did she get turned into a rabbit then?"

"She drank some sherry and it-"

"Transformed her into a rabbit," Darcy finished what Elizabeth had begun, throwing her an amused and yet quelling look, which she answered with a saucy grin that confirmed she had been going to repeat her rhyme about the effects of the sherry.

"How much did she drink?" Fitzwilliam did not seem to notice the exchange.

"Only a sip, I think."

"Only a sip? Great gallopers, Darcy, what on earth are you going on about? Have I not always told you that you are too strict a guardian? A sip of sherry is not going to do her any harm - the effects cannot last for long!"

As if on cue, Georgiana suddenly began to wriggle quite violently, writhing so forcefully that Darcy was unable to keep hold of her. He quickly put her down on the ground, and Fitzwilliam reined his horse back a few paces.

The transformation from rabbit back to young woman was much more rapid than the reverse had been. After several violent twitches, and a spasmodic hop, suddenly Georgiana the girl was crouching on the grass where the rabbit had been but seconds before, her eyes opened wide in surprise, and her nose twitching.

"Oh!" Georgiana said quietly, moments before Darcy swept her into his arms in an affectionate embrace.

"How do you feel?" Darcy asked, setting her down, but holding her by the arms so he could peer into her eyes.

"I... I feel... well, I suppose, but... a bit confused. Where are we?" Georgiana looked around. The last she remembered she and her brother, and Miss Bennet, and the Hursts, and Miss Bingley, and Mrs. Annesley, had all been in that strange drawing room in the woods where she had spoken to her parents through a picture. And suddenly she found herself crouching on the ground in a hayfield?

"We are in one of Pemberley's fields," Darcy replied with the most succinct explanation he could. To explain the rest seemed a wearisome undertaking at the moment.

Georgiana looked around again, with greater attention to seeing what - and who - was there. She was pleased to see Elizabeth, and slightly wary when she saw her cousin, still dressed strangely as a knight. She noticed all the other people milling about, all dressed in either black or white, but she did not see Miss Bingley, or any of the others who had been of the party in the tea room.

"Where is Miss Bingley?" Georgiana asked.

Posted on: 2009-11-12

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Miss Bingley was unable to join us," Darcy said, exchanging a meaningful glance with Elizabeth.

"But... she needs to go back with us! Fitzwilliam, she does not know the way back either!"

Darcy frowned at her in concern. Georgiana had returned to the urgent distress she had addressed him with when he had entered the parlor for tea.

"What do you mean, 'go back'? Go back where?"

Georgiana looked around at the others who surrounded them, and noted that they were listening. She leaned in close to her brother's ear.

"Back through the mirror," she whispered.

Georgiana's declaration had a much more forceful effect on her brother than she expected. His eyes flew open wide, and he staggered backwards several steps until his legs came in contact with the throne, whereupon he sat down heavily, and simply sat there, looking stunned, for several seconds.

"Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana ventured tentatively, and Darcy snapped his gaze to her face. He leapt to his feet, and grabbing her hand, pulled her insistently away from the crowds that milled about the edge of the chessboard.

"What did you say?" Darcy's eyes bore into hers with a fierce intensity, his face stern and tense in a way Georgiana had not seen it since Ramsgate, only without the anger that had radiated from it then.

"I followed you through the mirror in the ballroom - it was an accident, I assure you, I did not mean to do it! - and now I cannot figure out the way back through to the other side. I have been looking for you all night, with Miss Bingley-"

"Miss Bingley came through the glass with you as well?"

This time Georgiana did see a flicker of anger in her brother's eyes.

"Yes," she answered him meekly, tears starting in her eyes, so that his expression softened at once and he took her gently into his arms.

"I shall take you home, dear, there is no need to fret." Darcy held her away from him at arm's length again, and forced her to smile in answer to a gentle smile of his own. "But why were you following me?"

"I was about to go to your room to ask you a question when I saw you leave, and I... I was puzzled and... concerned about where you were going so late at night - I could see that you were dressed to go out, and... Fitzwilliam, what are you doing here?"

It was the one question that Darcy was presently most ill equipped to answer, not least because to reply in any meaningful fashion would take hours of explanation.

"I had a kind of quest to pursue," was the answer he finally offered.

"With Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"

Darcy chuckled at the eager interest in her eyes. Without a doubt, if he did manage to secure the hand of his love, his sister would give her wholehearted support to the match.

"No, I happened to meet her here, on a quest of her own, and we joined forces to help each other."

Georgiana sighed. "It sounds like a fairy tale. Or like Mama told me a marriage should be."

Darcy was startled by this remark, but somehow pleased and touched. "Yes, I suppose so-"

"Brother, I have never asked you this, and I think I know the answer, but I wish to be sure, and I hope you will not be angry with me for asking, but..." Georgiana hesitated. It was too much to ask, but her adventures that night had made her bold - and desperate.

"Yes?"

"You are not going to marry Miss Bingley, are you?"

"What? No, of course not!"

"Or Anne?"

"No!" Darcy lowered his voice. "I am going to marry Elizabeth Bennet."

"Oh, Fitzwilliam! That is wonderful! Has she accepted you? Have you come to an understanding?" Georgiana did not think she had ever heard any piece of news that made her happier.

"No, we have not come to an understanding, and she has not accepted me," Darcy chose to leave out the fact that she had, in fact, already once refused him, but could not bring himself to lie and say he had not yet asked her. "But I have great hopes, Georgiana. But you must realize that that is not the real Miss Elizabeth Bennet standing over there. She is the Looking Glass World version of Miss Bennet."

Georgiana's gaze followed his own to the lady of whom they spoke, who was standing a short distance away from them, talking to their cousin. She happened to glance over at them, the way people are wont to do when they sense they are being talked about and stared at. She smiled at the Darcy siblings and turned her attention back to the Colonel.

"She looks very like," Georgiana stated plainly.

"Well, most of the people I have met here looked very like their real world selves - except for the ones who were animals, and even some of them-"

"Like Mr. and Mrs. Hurst!"

"Yes, like Hurst, but Mrs. Hurst..."

"Oh yes, you were not there when she was a cat."

Darcy blinked in surprise. "A cat? Yes, I think that suits her."

Georgiana giggled. "I wonder what Miss Bingley would be if she changed into an animal?"

"A ferret, evidently."

At this Georgiana outright laughed, clapping her hands in mirth. "I guessed a leech, but a ferret is so much better! And Miss Elizabeth? What does she turn into?"

"She has been a lady the whole time I have been with her, and says that she does not change. Georgiana, are you... are you aware that you have spent a good part of the last hour as a rabbit?"

Georgiana was startled into silence for a moment. "Have I?"

"Yes - and now I understand why - you should not have been allowed to drink that sherry. Fitzwilliam warned me not to consume anything from the Looking Glass World while I am here, and now I know the reason. I did not realize that you were real at the time, I thought you were the Looking Glass Georgiana, or I would never have given you that sherry."

"Would you still have given it to Miss Bingley?"

Darcy looked at his sister in shock. "Georgiana!"

"I am sorry brother, but if you knew what I have had to endure this night! But you say that Fitzwilliam told you not to eat anything here - you mean that is our real cousin?" Georgiana eyed the stone-armored knight with a doubtful countenance.

"No, it was a different Fitzwilliam, it... I will explain another time. Are you hungry?"

"A little. It has been a long time since dinner, and all I have had to eat since was a bite of that strange cake that made me recite a poem."

Darcy pulled the apples out of his satchel and gave one to his sister, biting into the other himself. He was relieved to finally have a moment to eat it, and hoped that no one else thought them rude.

"Eat that quickly - do not worry, I brought it with me from the real world, and it will not harm you. And then we must return to the house and go back home."

"We need to find Miss Bingley first. We cannot leave her here... can we?"

This time Georgiana received a rather stern look. "No, we cannot leave her here. You are right, we must find her. Allow me to consult with Eliz - I mean, Miss Bennet for a moment - you are not by any chance wearing anything red on your person, are you?"

"Why?"

"It will help us to find Miss Bingley faster."

With this cryptic reply Darcy tossed away his apple core and walked away to rejoin Elizabeth by the chessboard. Georgiana followed, curious about his meaning, and strangely gratified by his apparent reliance on Miss Bennet, even if it was not, after all, the real Miss Bennet. Before Darcy could speak a word, however, his cousin began to exhort him.

"Darcy, we really must begin to prepare for the next game! You and Miss Bennet are not dressed for it, and you have not assembled all of your other pieces. It would be best if you had all of your men in place when Lady Catherine arrives."

"I apologize, Fitzwilliam, but I will not be able to oblige you with a game. I have to take my sister back to the house, and we must find Miss Bingley and return her there as well."

"What! Darcy, you cannot expect us to proceed without you in a match against Lady Catherine! Think of what is at stake!" He looked around, and seeing that Anne de Bourgh was within earshot, leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You do not want to marry Anne, do you? I thought your preference lay in another direction." This last was accompanied by a significant glance towards Elizabeth.

"You know I have no intention of marrying Anne," Darcy replied, ignoring the inference about Elizabeth and focusing on the Colonel's first objection to his departure, though not seeing a connection between his marriage prospects and the chess match.

"Well then, you must play. You know that the only way to forestall your marriage to Anne is to keep winning these games of chess with Aunt Catherine! You cannot afford to lose, or to forfeit!"

Darcy almost laughed at such a conclusion. It was, in a way, the reason he had managed to remain unattached to his cousin in the real world, after all, though the chess matches there were metaphorical, and verbal.

"Oh, I think I would like to stay, Fitzwilliam!" Georgiana pleaded, which made Miss Elizabeth laugh. The three cousins turned to look at her questioningly.

"Do forgive me but... do you not find it confusing to know which Fitzwilliam is meant when you are all together? Mr. Darcy, you call your cousin Fitzwilliam, but your sister calls you Fitzwilliam... I confess I am having a hard time following the conversation, knowing which Fitz is which."

"You get used to it," all three cousins answered at once, causing laughter all around.

"Perhaps if you spent more time around the family," the Colonel said, with a suggestive look at both Darcy and Elizabeth, and then laughed when they both blushed.

Georgiana, drawing on a lifetime of experience, chose her brother's moment of weakness to press her point. "Please can we stay for the game? I am sure that Miss Bingley will be secure with her sister and Mr. Hurst until it is over. At any rate, she cannot go far," this last was accompanied by an expressive lift of the eyebrows, and her brother understood her meaning.

Darcy considered his sister's pleading expression. He was, in fact, more than a little intrigued by the opportunity to play the game - he never liked to turn down an opportunity to indulge in a match. And as Georgiana had said, Miss Bingley could not leave without his help, but he also knew that she could not really be harmed by anything in the Looking Glass World. Darcy looked at the faces surrounding him: the Colonel looked determined, Georgiana continued to plead with her eyes, and Elizabeth looked amused.

"Very well," Darcy relented, and his sister squealed with pleasure. Darcy turned to Elizabeth. "You need not stay, Miss Bennet, for I know you must be weary from our excursion this night." He hated for her to leave, but it seemed that their present association was at an end.

"I would not miss this for the world!" Elizabeth said with a twinkle in her eye that made Darcy want to gather her into his arms and swing her around in a circle.

"What are you saying, Darcy? Of course Miss Bennet must stay - she is to be your queen!" the Colonel cried with some indignation.

"I cannot ask Miss Bennet to-"

"I would be delighted," Elizabeth interrupted.

"But the combat," Darcy said, turning to her with concern.

"I saw the end of the previous match, Mr. Darcy. I think I will be able to manage," Elizabeth said archly.

"May I play, too?" Georgiana implored, bouncing up and down on her toes the way she had often done as a little girl. Darcy was at the point of refusing when once again the Colonel interjected.

"Of course you may - you would make a passable pawn. It might even be a beneficial exercise for you, a useful learning experience. It will definitely add something to your accomplishments, eh, Darcy?"

Darcy felt constrained to agree, not just about the accomplishments, but that Georgiana ought to be allowed to play, particularly when he saw his sister's enthusiasm for the venture, a charming attribute of her character that had been largely absent for the last year, but he shook his head at the way his sister managed to have her way. He smiled at her happiness, though, as he surveyed the rest of his forces. His cousin saw what he was about.

"These are not to be your pieces for the next match, Darcy. You would never play the same with Lady Catherine as you would with Malone."

This statement was delivered as if it were an incontrovertible fact, though Darcy failed to see the logic in it, at least as regarded the pieces to be used in the game. He would naturally use a different strategy, but it did not appear to be logical to have to change the pieces; however, as he had failed to see the logic in many things since he had passed into the Looking Glass World, he chose not to question it.

"Then what pieces am I to use?" he asked.

Suddenly, the sound of a roaring wind surrounded them, and all of the pieces from the previous match, both black and white, with the exception of Anne de Bourgh and the Colonel, were suddenly swept up into the air in the same manner that Darcy and Elizabeth had been when they came to the chess field, and carried away over the treetops. There followed a breath of silence, when not even a breeze ruffled the tops of the hay in the field, and then another gust, stronger, swirled about them like a whirlwind, faster and faster, blowing dust in their eyes and whipping their clothes and hair, and then as suddenly as it came, ceased. The small party blinked and looked about them, and a new cortege of chessmen had been deposited on the board.

The pawns, all dressed in white tunics, and pantaloons with stockings, and funny round caps like the one worn by the pawn the Colonel had hunted down in the previous game, were familiar to Darcy as members of his estate - he recognized footmen, and grooms from the stable, and a young boy who worked in the kitchens where his aunt was a cook. Georgiana, who had been standing beside him when the wind arose, was now standing on a white square, a white tunic over her dress and a round cap perched on her curls; Darcy thought she looked like she had a white melon on her head, but it was still an improvement over the hat she had been wearing when he saw her in the garden.

On the corners of the board, as rooks, were white stone structures about eight feet high, which Darcy recognized as parts of Pemberley, corners of the house that were now freestanding towers. Beside them were the knights: Colonel Fitzwilliam, the queen's knight, and a cousin on the Darcy side of the family, Gilbert Darcy, several years older and also a Colonel in the army, dressed and mounted the same way as Colonel Fitzwilliam, on the king's side. Colonel Gilbert Darcy had also inherited the Darcy shyness that his cousins shared, and acknowledged their presence with only a nod and an averted eye. Next were the bishops, and Darcy was amused to recognize them as well - the rector of his own parish, Mr. Busbee, a jovial old man, was already greeting Elizabeth, the queen, on her side, and another cleric, the ironically named - or perhaps aptly, depending on your sense of humor - Mr. Church, a young man whom Darcy had recently appointed to a living in his gift, stood on the king's side, looking awkward in his white robes and bishop's miter.

Elizabeth's attire had also been transformed by the wind, and she was now wearing a gown similar to the one Anne had worn as the white queen, white velvet, and trimmed in white fur, though with the wide sleeves, Darcy could see that she still wore her own gown and coat underneath, and her reticule still dangled from her wrist by it's cords. She had a veil over her hair, topped by a silver and white velvet crown that looked like the top of a chess queen. Darcy could not help but think she looked like a bride in her veil, and that she looked quite fetching.

Darcy himself had been changed as well by the whirlwind, and in addition to finding himself dressed in an all white ensemble that included a doublet, the puffy breeches of a much earlier era, and hose that left him feeling as if his legs were terribly exposed, Darcy was sitting on an ornate throne, carved out of white marble, but made comfortable by plush, white, velvet cushions. A heavy weight atop his head informed him that he wore a crown as well, and based on the shape of Elizabeth's headpiece, he could guess that his looked like a chess king.

"Ahem," a voice broke the hush that had fallen as Darcy surveyed his forces.

Darcy looked to see that Mr. Busbee, his vicar, was trying to attract his attention.

"Young man, I assume that the proper rites have been conducted?"

Darcy smiled. Mr. Busbee had known him since he was only a baby, and persisted in calling him young man, even though he had risen to the position of master of a great estate.

"What rites are those?" Darcy asked, genuinely curious to know what nonsensical ceremony might attend this pageant.

"The wedding rites, of course," the pastor chuckled.

As Caroline Bingley tramped through the woods, she could not but recall another time she had been forced to hasten through a forest on a mission to avoid the destruction of all of her hopes by Miss Eliza Bennet, and while her life was not currently threatened by an angry mob of her former subjects, she was in no kinder state of mind toward her enemy at the present time than she had been at the former. It was extraordinarily galling to consider how that country nobody consistently bested her. Could there ever be sufficient means of revenge for her suffering at the hands of Eliza Bennet?

Perhaps not, but the notion provided more entertaining thoughts for Caroline to ponder as she trudged angrily after her prey.