Section I, Section II, Section III, Section IV, Section V
Prologue
May 9, 18--, Pemberley.
Alexander Darcy had never seen his father's face look so nervous in all his life. Something was seriously wrong with his mother. What it was, Alexander was uncertain. He had asked his two elder brothers and two younger sisters, but none of them had known what was wrong with Elizabeth Darcy either.
Fitzwilliam Darcy gathered his five children in the Pemberley library to tell them the news. Elizabeth was very ill, and the doctors did not know what was wrong with her.
"They suspect that she might have picked up the illness while we were in London last month, but even they cannot pinpoint when she may have contracted this disease," he said in a hushed tone. "And as they do not know what it is..."
His unspoken words hung in the air. They did not have a cure.
Jane, the elder of Alexander's sisters, tried unsuccessfully to control her tears. They slid down her cheeks unchecked, and their father put his arms around her in comfort.
"What can we do?" Victoria, his other sister, asked. "Is there anything..."
"I think the best thing is for all of us to be here, with Mamma," Jane said quietly. "She loves us so much."
"I agree," William, the elder of his brothers, added. "Mother always says that she gets her strength from her children."
Alexander glanced at a portrait that had been painted soon after Victoria had been born. It was far and away his favourite, as most of the other paintings in the house were of ancestors long dead and forgotten, and all of them were so serious! Even his mother's portrait was serious, although there was always a hint of her playful nature shining in her eyes.
But in this picture was all of her pride and happiness, with her children and husband around her. William had been standing, and although Alexander had only been three at the time, his mother had told the story of William running off while the portrait was being made so often that he could almost remember William scampering away, not heeding his mother's amused pleas to stop running and his father's less-than-amused orders. Edward and Alexander sat together in a pair of chairs, Edward being a pleasing child and Alexander too young not to heed his parents. Jane had been in her father's arms, and baby Victoria in her mother's.
And now my mother is dying. How can such a vital, beautiful woman die?
Alexander knew that she had lived a good long life. She was fifty-two, her husband sixty. She had borne five children for her husband, and had become a grandmother several years ago and since then, several times over. She was a renowned hostess, known for her generosity and friendly manner, her enjoyment of life, and her deep, passionate love for her husband.
Alexander had always felt close to Elizabeth. In a family of five, the middle child, he knew, tended to be overlooked. His mother had said herself that his Aunt Mary had hardly ever received much attention from either of their parents, and she made certain that Alexander knew he was loved and appreciated, even if his future were uncertain. William would inherit Pemberley, and Edward had already inherited Rosings, a trick of fate that the infamous Lady Catherine would not have appreciated. She had never spoken to her nephew or his wife, nor made contact with their children. When she died, she left everything to her daughter, who never married. Anne de Bourgh, however, had a great fondness for the Darcy children, especially for Edward. She had arranged for him to inherit her estate.
But for Alexander, there was nothing to inherit. For him, there could be a life in the military, or perhaps as a clergyman or lawyer or such. But none of that have ever appealed to him, and it was not out of pride or disdain for any of the professions. After all, some of his ancestors had been lawyers and clergymen. It was just that he had no interest in any of it, and he did not feel the inclination to deprive someone of their chance. His father was disappointed, and feared that he would become a wastrel.
Alexander sighed. He was seven-and-twenty, almost the same age as his father had been when he married his mother. Alexander saw no wife in sight for himself. What could he offer any woman?
Nothing. And that insured that he would never know the happiness his parents had found together...
But enough of that, he told himself. Perhaps he could help his mother...but only perhaps...
May 9, 199-, St. Louis
The tears surprised her, for Kelsey Madison Chandler had believed that she had no more tears to cry for her now ex-husband. But on that day, when the final divorce papers arrived, Kelsey gave the final ending to her once perfect marriage a good long sob. She felt she deserved to do it.
It had capped off just one of a series of lousy days for her as well. Her five-year-old daughter, Emma, had been home all day with a bad case of the chicken pox that had been spread to her entire preschool class. She was an active child for the most part, and being forced to stay in bed and not scratch the itchy spots on her arms, legs, and face drove her crazy...which in turn drove her mother crazy.
"Why couldn't you get this when you were older, like I did? Then I could tell you not to scratch because you'll have scars if you do. That was enough to make me stop scratching at my face," Kelsey grumbled under her breath as she brought Emma a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.
Then, when she started up the washer with a large load of laundry, her washer began spewing a never-ending stream of bubbles all over her basement floor. Taking some of the clothes out didn't seem to help, because when she started it up again, the soapy water continued to stream out of her washer.
"Terrific," she muttered as she stopped the machine. "That's another two hundred bucks I can't afford to spend."
By the time that her mother had called to beg her once again to take John back, Kelsey felt like screaming. But she managed to keep herself under control, and tell her mother in a gentle but insistent voice that no, she wasn't going to take her husband back. Where her mother had gotten the ridiculous idea that John wanted to come back home was unclear to Kelsey. God knew, he had wanted the divorce fast enough. And she hadn't seen him since their court date nearly a month ago, when they had agreed that Kelsey would have custody of Emma, and John would see her on alternating weekends...or whenever he was in town and decided to bother.
Kelsey had just sat down in front of the television with Emma after popping Aladdin into the VCR to lull her to sleep when the mailman had come with the papers. And as Kelsey signed them, officially ending her marriage, she had started to cry.
Even then, her mind wandered to her other problems, like what she was going to do now. This just isn't your life, kiddo. Twenty-six and divorced, with a kid? And no real job? John's alimony check and child support will only go so far.
Kelsey sighed, thinking of the "if onlys" that had been creeping up on her lately. She could question why she had married John, why she'd stayed with him for so long, why she'd looked the other way. Why she hadn't written a short story or book idea in six years, or finished her college education like she'd been planning to. It all led to two inevitable conclusions. One, that she had been blind to a great many things. The other was that Emma had taken up a good part of her time.
Emma. The only truly wonderful thing that had come out of her marriage. The only person she had now, whom she could count on to love her no matter what.
Perhaps things would get better. Anything had to be better than the lie she had been living with John for the past six years. Perhaps she could find someone else to love...but only perhaps...
Chapter 1
Pemberley.
Alexander had hoped to be the one who brought the cure to his mother, but as days passed, it did not seem possible. The doctors had been brought in from all over England, and none of them could help her. As one doctor after another came in, examined the patient, and proclaimed to her husband that she was extremely ill, they were not sure what the cause was, and that they could only ease her pain, the hopes of the Darcy family grew dimmer. One doctor suggested an experimental treatment, but when Edward asked if it would work, the doctor did admit that she would probably die of the treatment if it did not.
He was immediately shown to the door.
Alexander looked down at the woman lying in the bed. She could not possibly be his mother, yet she was. His mother was a woman who may be in her fifties, but looked so much younger that people had difficulty believing that she had a son who was one-and-thirty. Before she had been struck by this illness, Elizabeth had been one of the lucky women for whom maturity had brought a deeper beauty. Her dark hair may have gotten a few silver strands, and her face may have gotten some lines to it, but when Elizabeth smiled, she could easily be considered the most beautiful woman in any room. And in those eyes, always, was that quick wit and intelligence which his father had told him was the first thing he had been attracted to.
Now, Elizabeth Darcy's hair had almost completely gone white. Her skin had seemed to turn gray during her illness. And her eyes, when they were open, were either dulled with pain or unnaturally bright with fever. In rest, she reminded Alexander of his Grandmother Bennet at that age, before she died when Alexander was sixteen.
And this illness was not only taking its physical toll on his mother, but it was slowly claiming his father as well. His father was not ill, except at heart, and yet his sickness was just as devastating as his wife's.
His father entered the room at that moment, his attention nowhere else but on the bed where his wife lay. He bent over her with the most tender expression in his dark eyes. When he saw this, a great fear clutched at Alexander's heart and he could only focus on one irrefutable fact.
My father shall die if she dies. He cannot live without her.
Alexander could not even think of losing his mother, much less both of his parents. Yet he could not help but remember the words of the doctor who, when asked to estimate how much longer Elizabeth had to live, said, "I would not give her more than two weeks, or a month, perhaps. You must prepare yourselves for her...."
Two weeks. A month. And that is all. Then she shall die. Alexander quietly excused himself from the room, not that his father heard him. He walked down the stairs and headed out the door, ignoring the calls from Victoria that she needed to speak to him. He loved his sister, but he was not in a mood to speak to anyone at the moment.
He stormed outside, into the warm, beautiful day that seemed to mock the tragedy that was about to happen. Ignoring the stables, he headed for the path leading to the maze--one of his favorite places to hide as a child, because there were so many places to lose oneself. And on the other side was the pond, his favorite place to relax and have fun. He was about halfway into the maze when he looked around him.
Green. Living things. And they were all living, when his mother was dying...
He tried to block it all out, concentrating only on the fact that perhaps in the maze, he could find a little peace and clarity, and perhaps find a way to help his mother more than he had. He had to be able to save her.
But the maze itself mocked him. It was as green as the grounds around it. It was not peaceful, it was not quiet, and finally, Alexander could no longer stand the torment.
"Why!" he screamed. "Why is all of this living, as if she is nothing! God, I would give anything to be able to save her life! I would do anything! Please, just let her live..." Alexander's knees buckled, and he sprawled onto the ground, fighting back tears, praying over and over, "Please, God, let me help her. Let me find a cure for this illness. She cannot die now. What would this family do without her?"
He remained kneeling for several minutes before he was finally able to stand, not caring that he had ruined a good pair of breeches, something his mother had scolded him over time and again during his childhood and teen years. He stumbled blindly through the maze, thinking that he would probably get lost even though he had known the way through it since he was three, hoping that perhaps he would for a change. Maybe he would get so lost that he would never return...
But how could he do that? His father was faced with the prospect of losing his wife. How could he add a son to that horrible reality? Even if it was the youngest son, the one who had no future anyway...
You cannot give up hope! You can still help your mother!
Alexander heard the small voice in his head, wondered if perhaps he was finally losing his sanity, and sighed. If anyone could help his mother, Edward or William would be the ones to do it. They always had before. Yet he had so hoped, that maybe this time, it would be himself being the hero.
Alexander sighed and looked around. It would have been funny under normal circumstances, but he had managed to take the right path through the maze even in his agony. He slowly made his way to the end, where he came upon an amazing sight.
The pond was not there. He was not certain what had happened to it, but it was gone. In its place was a...well, a cottage. It had to be a cottage, for it was far too small to be considered a house. But who lived there? And where had it come from?
He slowly stepped across the grass, his curiosity aroused...
St. Louis.
Kelsey sighed. If her mother called one more time to tell her that she had found her a man to date, she was going to tell her off. Of course, not one man "could compare to John in any way, dear, but you must start somewhere. And who knows? Once you've had a taste of the dating scene these days, you might just decide to ask him home."
That would happen over her dead body.
Emma had gotten over her bout with the chicken pox no worse for the wear. Kelsey had managed to keep her from scratching at them for the most part, and Emma was back to her normal, rambunctious self--which was currently at preschool. Kelsey was grateful for the respite, yet oddly sad not to have her daughter with her. For the past week, Emma had been uncommonly good, almost as if she had sensed her mother's sorrow and pain and responded in the only way she knew how.
The only problem Kelsey had with her was the one she'd always had--Emma asking to see her Daddy. Especially while she'd been sick. But how did you explain to a five-year-old that Daddy couldn't come when it was all she wanted? That even if she knew where Daddy was, there was no guarantee that he would come to comfort his ailing daughter?
For that matter, how do you explain any of this to a five-year-old? What does a child understand about divorce? Poor kid. But she felt it was better for Emma that she and John didn't remain married. Her parents had stayed married "for her sake," and Kelsey would never forget the battlefield mealtimes became during her younger years. They had finally divorced when Kelsey left for college.
Kelsey glanced at the college handbook she'd picked up a couple of weeks ago. It was strange to be thinking about going back, after nearly seven years away from it. All the things John had said before they'd married came back to her.
"You'll never need that education, baby. I'll take care of us both."
"What if we have a kid?"
"We'll name it little Kelsey."
"John, I'm serious! You make enough money to support us both, but not a baby."
"But the boss told me the other day that I was going places, Kelse. He believes in my potential. Soon, we'll be living so good, you'll want to have half a dozen kids and sit back and relax.
How naive she had been. John had had potential, and he had been promoted, and they had been living well. But he had to be joking when he said you could relax after having a child.
And he'd been wrong when he'd said she would never need an education.
For that matter, he'd been wrong about a lot of things. Why on earth had she listened to him?
Because you loved him, kiddo. You thought he was the best thing that had ever walked into your life, especially after your parents split up. And he made you believe that it was going to be happily ever after.
Kelsey headed into the kitchen to put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. How could she even think of going to college? She had to get a job. But what could she do, a twenty-six-year-old whose last job had been ten years ago when she'd waited tables? With only a high school education and a year of college to her credit? What would she go back to college for, anyway?
Kelsey was about to put an empty glass into the dishwasher when she saw the man. Her throat closed up, and she would have screamed in fear except that she couldn't find her voice. She dropped the glass, which, being plastic, merely bounced a few times on the floor before rolling under the dishwasher.
Kelsey ran towards the closet, trying to find something to use to protect herself. She did not have a gun because she'd refused to let John have one in the house after Emma was born, so she reached for the first thing she saw...a cane that John had used as a prop in his Halloween costume last year.
It was a long minute before the door tentatively opened. Kelsey raised the cane, prepared to strike.
"Hello?" he asked in a soft voice.
Kelsey whacked him in the back of the head. She hadn't thought the cane was that heavy, but she apparently put enough force into the blow to make up for the lack of weapon power, for he was unconscious.
Chapter 2
As the body lay inert on the floor, Kelsey's throat eased up and she felt some of the tension leave her body. Her first instinct was to tie him before he awakened and tried to exact revenge for her clubbing him in the head, but she thought that perhaps that was extreme. Besides, he showed no signs of waking up soon. And by the time he woke up, the police would be there to take him away...
But before she could call the police, she noticed something odd about the man. A lot of somethings--and very odd. First of all, his hairstyle. Kelsey couldn't name one man who wore his hair like this man did, even if it was messed up.
Curious about the man who had broken into her home, Kelsey rifled through his pockets, looking for a wallet, but she couldn't find one.
Doesn't this tell you anything, kiddo? The man has no ID because he doesn't want you knowing his name, if he doesn't kill you. Now stop this nonsense and call the cops.
But Kelsey couldn't--because the next thing she noticed was his clothes. The pants, coat, vest, and shirt appeared to be of the finest quality, something her somewhat untrained eye couldn't help noticing, and they had obviously been tailored to fit him only. That in itself wasn't uncommon, except that she had never seen anyone wearing this style of clothes in her life.
Why be fitted for clothes that aren't in style? What sort of person would do that? You dress for success.
Even his shoes--well, they weren't shoes. They were boots, and not even cowboy boots.
All in all, this man was very peculiar. And fascinating.
And she really should've been calling the police, because as she was looking at his face, wondering about what color his eyes were and chastising herself for it, he groaned loudly.
Kelsey picked up the cane she had dropped.
Alexander opened his eyes slowly, saw a strange young woman raising the cane, and cried, "Don't hit me! Please!"
Kelsey looked at the weapon in her hand. "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" he snapped. Hearing her speak, he thought, An American. No wonder she hit me.
"I live here. This is my house."
He frowned. "A house? Madam, I do not know who misled you, but this is a cottage, nothing more. A rather strange one, I must say, but--"
"A cottage? Cottages are little tiny things situated in the middle of the woods inhabited by hermits and sprites. This," she said, with a wave of her hand for emphasis, "is a house. In the middle of a city. And it belongs to me--well, technically to my ex, but--what am I telling you this for? I'm calling the police!"
"I see no one around to hear your call."
Kelsey tried to figure out what that meant, but couldn't come up with anything.
"And this does not belong to you, or your--whatever an ex is. It belongs to my family."
Kelsey merely blinked. "You mean, it used to belong to your family. But it belongs to me now. We bought it four years ago, and we have the title and everything to prove it."
"No, madam, I mean that it belongs to my family. It is on our land."
"Your land?" Dear God, I've got a madman in the house and I haven't bothered to call the police!
"Do you find it necessary to repeat what I say? I said it was on our land. How else would I be here?"
"That's kind of what I'd like to know. You break into my house and now that you're awake, you haven't tried to do anything."
"Why would I do anything?"
"How should I know? I'm not you, am I?"
"Look, all I know is that I was walking through the maze that has been on my father's land for all my life and probably all of his, and instead of the pond that I was supposed to find, I found this...cottage."
"And all I know is that one minute, I was loading the dishwasher and the next, there was a strange man in my backyard. Coming into my house."
"And you hit me with that." Alexander motioned to the cane she still held in her hand.
"We agree on that, at least. And now I'm calling the police."
"You said that once before, madam--"
"Stop calling me madam! It's annoying."
"Then what, pray, would you like me to call you? I thought madam was stretching the truth a bit, considering the circumstances under which we began our acquaintance."
Kelsey knew when she was being insulted. Picking up the phone, she shakily began dialing numbers. When she finished, she looked at him again. She expected him to come over and jerk the phone out of her hands, or pull it out of the wall. Something.
Instead, he merely stared at the instrument as though he'd never seen it before. His look unnerved her, and she dropped the phone back into the receiver before anyone could answer her.
"Wh-what are you looking at?" she asked, nervous.
"What is that device you were using? What is it for?"
Kelsey looked at her phone as though she'd never seen it before, much less used it. It was as natural as breathing sometimes, using the phone. Yet this man...it was as if he'd never seen it.
"A phone? You've never seen a phone before?"
"Phone? What is that?"
Definitely crazy. "A telephone. Don't they have those in England?"
"I--no, they do not. I have not seen one before."
Kelsey began laughing. Alexander glared at her, certain she was finding amusement as his expense.
"Surely you've seen a phone before! You probably use one all the time! How else do you communicate?"
"By letter, of course. What other way is there?"
Kelsey's laughter died. "Who the hell are you? Did John send you as one final prank? He would," she said.
"Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, ma--" he stopped before calling her what apparently offended her. "I am certain, however, you should not take offense." He was about to say something about how she had caused the lack of manners, but finally settled for simply saying, "I am Alexander Darcy."
"Alexander Darcy? Now there's an interesting name. I don't suppose you have a mother named Elizabeth or a father named Fitzwilliam, do you?" Kelsey asked with a smile.
Something in his earnest dark eyes caused her smile to fade. "You know of my parents, do you?"
"No, I don't...you're telling me your parents are really named Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam?"
"Why would I lie about such a thing?"
"I guess you're right. I just get the feeling that Jane Austen is looking down at this situation and chuckling. Imagine, in this day and age, a woman named Elizabeth marrying a man named Fitzwilliam Darcy."
"Why would that be such an oddity?"
"Because coincidence rarely happens."
"Coincidence? In my parents' courtship, there was a great deal of difficulty, but not much coincidence."
"I wasn't referring to your parents meeting and falling in love. I was referring to the names."
"What is wrong with their names? If the names mean anything, my mother was Elizabeth Bennet before she married my--"
"Your mother was who?" Kelsey's eyes widened.
"Elizabeth Bennet."
"A-ha. And I suppose that you have several aunts, named...oh, can I remember?...Jane, Lydia, Mary, Georgiana, and...Catherine?"
"Kitty. And I presume that you do know my family, Miss..."
Kelsey sighed. "Why I'm telling you this, I don't know. My name is Kelsey Chandler."
Kelsey. What an unusual name. Well, it suits her, I suppose. "Well, Miss Chandler--"
"It's Mrs. Chandler, but since I've given up that name, I suppose you could just call me Kelsey."
Given up the name of her husband? Why on earth would she do that? But he did not ask. Instead, he merely continued. "You must know my family well if you can name all of my aunts."
"No, I don't know your family well. I don't know them at all."
"Then how did you know--"
Kelsey saw the confusion in his eyes. It almost made her pity him, because there was something wrong with him, and she didn't know what it was.
"Look, that isn't your family. It can't be. But...perhaps I can help you find your family. We can call the police--"
"I know where my family is! They are upstairs in Pemberley, where my mother..." He couldn't finish.
Pemberley? Well, that settles it. You may be a harmless man, Mr...uh, Darcy, but you are truly not in your right mind.
"That isn't possible. It simply isn't," she said.
"I pray every day that I would wake up and she would be fine," he said quietly. "It has yet to happen."
Kelsey realized that he had continued speaking while she had been thinking of what one did with a delusional man in one's house. She couldn't let him go, but she couldn't turn him over to the police for breaking and entering. By now, she probably had no cause to have him arrested, anyway. She hadn't called them as soon as she'd knocked him out, after all.
"Listen, I don't know if you're under hypnosis--"
"What is that?"
Kelsey chose to ignore him. "--or if you've been hit by a car and temporarily lost your memory. God, this sounds like a bad soap opera twist! Anyway, there is no way that you can be who you claim you are."
"And why not, madam?"
Kelsey bristled with anger at his calling her madam again, but said nothing. "Because, Mr....Alexander, or whatever you're calling yourself, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy do not exist. They never did, except in one woman's writing and the minds of everyone who has read about them in the hundred and seventy-five years or so since."
Alexander had never met a woman like her. She talked strangely--even more bizarrely than the few Americans he knew did. And she was claiming that his parents did not exist! She had to be mad.
"Of course they exist. How else would I be here?"
Kelsey closed her eyes and willed herself to say the right thing, without really knowing what the real thing was. "You don't seem to get it. They're fictional characters. And while a great many people have read the book and wondered what happened to them after the story ended, and some have even written about it, the fact remains that they are not real and never have been."
"Mrs. Chandler, I must presume that you are playing some sort of...prank on me, one that is not very amusing. Do you not think I would not know my own heritage?"
"I'm saying you don't know reality right now." Kelsey started to walk into the living room. Alexander followed close behind. She immediately walked to the bookshelves, not taking notice of his reaction to the room.
The room was very plain, he thought at first. But as he glanced around the room, he noticed a great many things that were strange. For instance, there was light coming from some sort of source overhead, but he saw no candelabra, no lamps. And the cottage had a ceiling, so the light was not coming from the sun.
The pictures hanging on the wall were not great works of art, but rather family portraits, and he wondered why they were not hanging in a great hall. They were of excellent quality, almost lifelike. The first one that caught his attention, of course, was the one of the only familiar face in the lot--the woman who had conked him on the head and had since made him feel as though he were still woozy. She was slightly younger in the picture, looking much happier than she was right then. She was holding a small child in her arms, presumably her own, since she was married. In the next picture he noticed, the child was alone and seemed to be laughing. Finally, there was a picture of...Mrs. Chandler, her daughter, and a man who had a possessive arm around both mother and child...Mrs. Chandler's husband.
Before he could continue to other pictures he saw sitting on shelves, Kelsey had found what she was looking for.
"Here it is," she said, holding the book out to him. Alexander reluctantly took it, reading the title silently.
Pride and Prejudice, it said. By Jane Austen. That name again, the woman Mrs. Chandler had said would be laughing at the situation.
"Why did you give me this?" he asked.
"I'll take it you've never read it," she said.
"No."
"Then right here, right now, you should. Because it's the only way I can think of to snap you out of the insistence you have that you're the son of...that you're who you say you are."
Chapter 3
Alexander thought that Kelsey's idea was a rather ridiculous one, but he believed that the best thing to do with one who was not quite right in the mind was to humour them.
"All right," he said. "I'll read this book. But I fail to see what good it shall do, for I am who I say I am."
Kelsey sighed. "No, you're--just read the book, okay?"
"What is it about? My parents? Did some descendant of mine write a book based on their courtship?"
This is really getting out of hand, Kelsey thought. "No. Like I've been telling you, the book was written by a woman--"
"I can yet see without spectacles, Mrs. Chandler, and I could tell that this book was written by a woman."
"Don't call me that...Mrs. Chandler."
"Then what should I call you? You have become cross when I call you madam, and now you are telling me that the name you gave me is not the one you wish to be called. And why do you not keep your husband's name?"
"Call me Kelsey."
"We are not on intimate enough terms to permit my calling you by your Christian name."
"And, God willing, we never will be. Listen, in this time--" Dear God, listen to what you're saying! "In this time!" "None of this matters. Just read that book."
"All right." He flipped open the first page and started reading. Almost a moment later, he chuckled.
"What?" she asked.
"This beginning. This is something my mother said she learned as a child."
"From her mother's knee, no doubt," she said. "Would you like to sit down?"
Alexander looked at the couch, then at the two chairs in the room. Deciding on the couch, he sat down. As he opened the book again, folded papers on the surface beside the couch caught his eye. It appeared to be a newspaper of some type. The young woman--Kelsey--turned to look at the pictures on the wall, and he picked up the newspaper. The first line to catch his eye was, The Year 2000: Are We Ready?
The year 2000? That is not for another hundred and fifty-some years, he thought. Then he saw the date on the top of the page.
May 16, 199-.
Alexander started to feel dizzy, as though Kelsey had hit him a second time. This was all very strange. According to the newspaper, the year was...the year...
"Is something wrong?" she asked, a look of concern replacing the frustration he had been getting used to.
"Is...is this paper accurate?" His voice was barely a croak.
"Well, for the most part. If they print something wrong, I'm sure they'll retract it tomorrow. Why?"
"The...the date."
"What about it? It's the sixteenth. Why? Is there something especially important about today? Were you supposed to break into someone else's house and convince them that you were the son of a pair of literary lovers?"
"Would you stop making me sound as though I were bound for Bedlam! I am not insane!"
"Then why do you keep trying to tell me that you're--"
"Because I am. Now, something...strange is going on here. I am not where I should be."
"I'll say. For one thing, you're in my house."
"Where...where are we at?"
"I just told you."
"No, I mean...what part of the world are we in?"
Alexander immediately regretted the words after he had said them, for Kelsey's face grew even more suspicious...and more convinced that he was mad.
"We're in America. You're in St. Louis, to be exact."
"St. Louis?"
"Missouri? You've surely heard of the place. Home to the Gateway Arch and the St. Louis Cardinals. Well, probably better known for the former than the latter."
"St. Louis Cardinals?" Why would a place be known for its birds?
"You don't get out much, do you?"
"I am beginning to suspect that I do not get out nearly enough."
"And is the year really 199..."
"Yeah. So?"
Alexander wasn't quite sure how to say next. How on earth did this happen? How did I get here? And why--
Suddenly, he remembered the last thing he had done before stepping onto the strange lawn. He'd prayed to God to find a way to cure his mother.
"I--I think I need to...I am still--" He rubbed the back of his head where she had hit him, feeling the knot.
Kelsey suddenly realized what was wrong, why this man was acting so strange. She sat down hard on the couch beside him. "Oh, no."
"What?"
"This is all my fault!"
"What is?"
"I hit you with the bat...and now you're not right."
"I am perfectly all right, just a little woozy. I was about to ask you if you would not mind if I stayed the evening, until I recovered sufficiently."
"You don't seem to understand. When I hit you with the cane, I must've hit something that affects your memory. You must have amnesia--oh, God! Just what I need!" she groaned.
"Amnesia? Are you suggesting that there is something wrong with me?"
"I thought we agreed that I did. That was why I wanted you to read that. Now I see that you've already read it, and you think that they're your parents because they're the last people you probably read about before you...but why did you come here?"
"I...I do not know." And he was right--he had no idea why, of all the places the maze could have taken him, it brought him to Kelsey Chandler.
"Maybe we'll never know." Kelsey let the weight of that sink in. "I'm so sorry. I was just so scared--you were--"
"It is all right. It is clear that there is not a man around to protect you...and have you no servants?"
Kelsey sighed. Well, you've really done it this time, kiddo. You managed to knock a guy so hard in the head that he thinks he's from another time. Might as well go along with him until he regains his memory.
"No, we don't. This is...oh, God! How do I get myself into these things?"
"Into what things?"
Kelsey gave him a wistful smile--the first genuine smile she'd had since he'd met her. Alexander was surprised at how pretty she was when she smiled, prettier than in the picture on the wall. "It's a long story. Maybe, if you're still around, I'll tell you someday."
Alexander breathed a small sigh of relief. Thank God, she seems to be accepting who I am. And now we can get on to finding a cure for my mother.
Kelsey stood up abruptly. Alexander, taught from childhood to stand when a lady stood, rose as well, but almost immediately came crashing back onto the sofa.
"You should rest," Kelsey said quietly.
"No--I need--" But when he struggled to sit up, he knew she was right. He was too weak to do much.
"Do you think you can make it from there to the guest bedroom?"
"The what?"
"It's just down the hall. You won't have to climb the stairs or anything. And I'll bring you some of the things John left behind--they might fit. You look to be close to his size."
"Oh...that should be fine."
"Good. Then that's settled. Now you go rest, and I'll...well, I have to pick up Emma from school in a couple of hours."
"Emma?"
"My daughter."
"Ah...and how far is her school?"
"It's only a few miles, but the traffic could take longer."
Alexander nodded. Her absence should give him plenty to time to search her house--for why else would he have been sent to this place, if it did not hold the cure for his mother's illness? Kelsey Chandler should be gone for a good hour or so, unless she had a swift carriage to get her to her child's school and back.
He allowed her to lead him into a bedroom. Without thinking, he slowly closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest for the first time in several days...
Kelsey smiled as she saw him fall asleep almost instantly. She felt so bad about what she'd done, but it couldn't be helped. As he'd observed, there was no one else around to protect her.
"Well, Mr. Darcy, what am I to do with you now?" she whispered softly into the silence. More importantly, how am I going to explain this to everyone?
Kelsey shut the door firmly behind her, uncertain of the answer to either question.
Chapter 4
A pusher? Moi? Just subliminal messages weaved in among the normal print, that's all! Thanks, everybody, for your comments! And now, back to the story...
Alexander awoke, unsure of where he was. There were two things he was certain of--he had slept much longer than he had planned, for the light was almost completely gone from outside the window, and that Kelsey Chandler had hit him much harder than he thought, for he had a splitting headache. He turned with a sigh to find himself staring into a pair of gray eyes he didn't recognize for a second. With a small gasp, he sat up.
"Hello," he said.
The gray eyes belonged to a small child, and after a second, he realized that she had her mother's eyes. And her mother's honey-brown hair. She looked to be about five or six.
"Hi," she replied. "Who are you?"
"I'm Alexander Darcy. You must be..." Alexander knew that Kelsey had mentioned her daughter's name. "Emily?"
"Emma," she corrected.
"Of course."
"What're you doing here?"
"Uh..." Alexander smiled. I wish I knew. And if I do not know, how can I explain it to you?
"Are you a friend of Mommy's?"
"That's right. Your mother and I are friends."
"Then how come I never saw you before?"
"Because...I live..." In a different time? A different place? According to your mother, a different reality? "I do not live near here," he finished weakly.
Emma nodded. "Mommy said that you hurt yourself today, and that's why you're here."
And I shall wager that she did not tell you how that injury came about. But of course she did not. It would not be prudent to tell a five-year-old about such a thing. "I hurt myself here, and your mother was kind enough to take me in."
"How'd you do that?"
"How did I do what?"
"Hurt yourself. Did you fall down from a bike? That's how I hurt myself...see?" Emma lifted up her arm to show some scrapes on her elbow.
"Uh...no. I...I ran...I fell on something in the backyard and hit my head on a rock."
"Did it hurt a lot?"
"Yes, it did."
"Does it still hurt?"
"Emma?" Kelsey's voice drifted down the hall. "Emma, where are you?"
"In here, Mommy!"
Kelsey appeared in the doorway a minute later. "Now Emma, what did I tell you about not disturbing Mr. Darcy?"
"But he was already awake."
"It was quite all right, Mrs. Chandler. I was...awake. And your daughter was not a bother."
Kelsey remained unconvinced, but she decided not to press the issue. "It's time for you to have a bath, Miss Emma."
"Can I have my rubber ducky with me? And lots of bubbles?"
"Well, we'll see about the bubbles. Come on, go get Ducky."
Emma raced out of the room to look for the toy.
"If you like, I can reheat some Hamburger Helper...there's plenty left over."
Having no idea what Hamburger Helper was, but so hungry as to be willing to eat anything, Alexander said, "It sounds wonderful."
"I'm really sorry if Emma woke you up."
"Oh, no. As I said, she was not a problem."
"Good. She's in a phase where she asks a lot of questions. It gets very tiring, and very complicated."
"Yes, I noticed."
"Right." Kelsey turned to go, but then said, "I'll get supper for you as soon as Emma's had her bath, okay?"
"That is...okay."
"Good. By the way, I set some clothes for you on the chair over there." Kelsey pointed to a small chair with some clothing draped across it and then walked out of the room, calling, "Emma! Come on! If you're in the bathroom in thirty seconds you'll get to have bubbles in your bath!"
The pattering of small feet drifted further away. Alexander swung his feet out of the bed. When he stood up, he no longer felt dizzy, but his headache pounded with even more fury than before. He walked over to the chair and found clothing that was most unusual--a pair of breeches that were made of some rough blue material, with pockets not only in front but in back as well. The shirt was of a softer blue material, perhaps cotton, with short sleeves. There was no vest, no coat to go with it.
But this is a different time, he thought. The fashions are different. Mrs. Chandler's skirt was positively indecent, the way it only came to mid-calf. And that child of hers! She was wearing boy's pants! Is this where the future is headed?
As soon as he thought it, he chastised himself. After all, this future was where he was going to find a cure of Elizabeth. And he was apparently going to need Mrs. Chandler's help to get it.
He stripped out of the outfit he'd been wearing and put on the clothes. They did not fit perfectly--the pants, he felt, were a little too snug where they should not be. But the shirt fit just fine. And he had to admit, he rather liked the sensation of not wearing a coat and vest.
Alexander sat down on the bed again, waiting for Kelsey to return.
He sat at a table in the kitchen, a new experience for Alexander, who always sat in formal dining rooms--but then, the day had been full of new experiences. He ate while Kelsey washed dishes from the evening meal. When she was finished, she sat down at the table with him.
"What did you call this again?" he asked.
"It's Hamburger Helper," Kelsey said, smiling. He seemed as though he'd never had the dish before. Well, she supposed that he just couldn't remember whether or not he had. "Cheeseburger macaroni. It's Emma's favorite."
"I can see why," Alexander said. He'd had some of the finest meals a man could ever have, cooked by some of the finest cooks in the world, but for some reason, this tasted just wonderful to him. "You are a good cook."
Kelsey laughed--causing Alexander to look up at her in surprise. She had not laughed once since he had met her, and he was pleased to discover that she had a very pleasant laugh. Not a high-pitched giggle or a raucous chortle, but a soft, husky sound.
"Would you mind if I asked you something?" he set his fork down.
"Go ahead."
"What happened to Emma's father?"
The smile faded from her face, and Alexander immediately felt guilty. "I am sorry, I should not have asked. It is obvious that the mention of him still causes you great pain."
"It's not that...I got over the pain of losing him a long time ago."
"I understand. How long ago did he die?"
Kelsey frowned. "Die? John isn't dead."
"He is...but you said--"
"We're divorced. As of a week ago."
"Divorced?" Alexander was shocked, truly shocked. He had thought Kelsey a widow, but to discover that she had divorced her husband...well, no one he knew was divorced.
"Yes, divorced. Is that such a shock to you?"
"Yes, it is. You seemed like such a decent..." Alexander broke off when Kelsey's gray eyes darkened.
"Decent? What's wrong with being divorced, may I ask?"
"It simply is not done. And if it is, it is certainly never spoken of to a complete stranger."
Kelsey couldn't miss the disapproval in his voice. She'd heard it from everyone else, God knew, but from him, a man who didn't know her at all...
She finally exploded. "I am sick of people who think I should've stuck by John," she snapped. "I suppose you think it a mortal sin, but I refused to live a lie! I'd already lived one for the better part of my life. And I don't think that you should have the right to judge me because I got tired of living with a two-timing jerk who would rather spend his nights with bimbos at cheap motels than with his wife and daughter!"
Alexander was speechless. He had not expected her to become so angry, but perhaps he should have expected it. Some of what she had said did not make sense to him (he was pretty sure he knew what a bimbo was, but not for certain), but he knew that she was angry.
"I---I am sorry...Kelsey."
Kelsey crossed her arms across her chest and looked up at the ceiling. "Dear God, I hope Emma didn't hear me say that. It's bad enough that she hasn't seen John since the divorce."
"Where has he been?"
Kelsey lowered her gaze and looked at him. "I don't know. I don't think I care anymore."
"I am sorry. I should not have said anything."
"You're right. You shouldn't have." Kelsey stood up. "And I shouldn't have, either. But it's too late to take it back. I guess you're Catholic, huh?"
"No!"
"Then what's your problem with divorce?"
"It creates such a scandal, you know. And divorced people are never allowed back into society, you know."
Kelsey's brow furrowed again, uncertainty showing in her eyes under she remembered his problem. "Oh...right. I suppose in your society, it is a scandalous thing. But Mr. Darcy--"
"Please...if I am to call you Kelsey, you may call me Alexander."
"All right. Alexander, in...in today's society, divorce isn't the scandal it used to be, unless you're really famous or really rich. Of which I am neither," she said with a rueful smile. "And even then, it's not all that shocking."
"It...is not?"
"No. In fact, statistics have shown that over fifty percent of marriages will end up in divorce."
Alexander had been about to take a drink of...it looked like wine, but Kelsey had called it...cool aid, or some such strange name for a drink. But he stopped himself before he choked on it, for her "statistic" had him reeling.
"Fifty percent?"
"Over fifty percent."
"Dear God, what sort of world do you live in?"
Kelsey raised her eyebrows, and her eyes suddenly brightened. The gleam in her eyes was remarkably like the one he'd seen so many times in Elizabeth Darcy's, just before she did something mischievous. "Would you really like to know?"
Alexander knew he only had one purpose there--to find the cure for his mother and go home. But against his will and reason, and rebelling against what he saw in her eyes, he found himself saying, "Yes."
Chapter 5
Kelsey smiled. "Good. Then let's get started, because the first place to learn about life in the nineties is in the home." She stood up, motioning him to follow her into the living room.
Alexander stood up. His head was throbbing even worse than before, and he put a hand to his temple, as though that would do any good. Kelsey noticed the motion.
"Your head really hurts, doesn't it?" she asked softly.
"Yes, it does. You hit me, remember?"
"I'm not likely to forget."
"I do not suppose you have any laudanum or any such pain reliever, do you?"
Kelsey walked over to a cabinet and pulled a small bottle from the top shelf. "I have something that is more effective and won't make you drowsy--or so it says." She opened the bottle and shook out two small pills. She handed them to Alexander. "Take these with some of the kool-aid. Your headache should hopefully go away in a little while."
Alexander looked at the items in his hand, not wanting to trust her completely. "What is this?"
"It's aspirin--well, not aspirin. Tylenol. It works pretty much the same way. It's a painkiller."
"Are you certain?"
"If I weren't, I wouldn't have given it to you. Now take it." Kelsey opened the door of the freezer and took out some ice cubes. She put them in a dish towel and then knotted it to create a makeshift icepack.
Alexander swallowed the pills down. "What is that for?"
"For you. Put it...well, the back of your head might be the best place. Or wherever it'll do you the most good." Kelsey sat down again. "Maybe tonight's not the best time for you to begin remembering the twentieth century."
"As I have not lived in that century--"
Kelsey wanted to grumble that yes, he had, but her own guilt about why he couldn't remember kept her quiet.
"Would you like to hear of my family?" he asked.
Kelsey sighed. Much as she had loved Pride and Prejudice as a teenager, reality had long since caused the stars she'd had in her eyes to fade. Once, she had dreamed that she was Elizabeth Bennet, and that a wonderful man like Mr. Darcy was going to fall in love with her and they would live happily ever after...
And instead, you married John Chandler and lived unhappily ever after. And now you don't even have him.
"Sure," she finally said.
"Well, if you would rather not--"
"No, no. Tell me about...your family." It's not as though this is real, of course, except in his mind. And who knows? It might make for an interesting story someday.
"As you know, I'm the son of Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy." Alexander noticed that her lips tightened in response to his statement, but he decided to continue. She obviously still believed there was something wrong with him. "I'm their third child, of five. The youngest son."
"Oh?"
"Yes. My brothers, William and Edward, are both older than I, and my sisters, Jane and Victoria, are younger."
"How old are you?"
"I am seven-and-twenty. May I ask for your age?"
"You mean it was polite for a gentleman to ask a lady's age..." Kelsey trailed off. Dear God, kiddo. Pretty soon, you're going to start believing him.
"Well, no. I guess that it is still not polite to ask."
"It isn't. And I'm twenty-six."
Alexander smiled, and Kelsey couldn't help noticing that he had a very open, honest smile--something John had never had. Funny how she hadn't noticed that until after they were married...
"So what did you do?"
"Do about what?"
"I mean, what job did you have? How did you make your living? Your oldest brother, Edward--"
"William is the eldest."
"Okay, then William inherits Pemberley. What professions did you and your brother take up?"
"Edward took possession of Rosings several years ago, after the death of Miss Anne de Bourgh. Edward was her favourite, and the obvious choice to--"
"Rosings? You mean where..."
"Yes. Great-aunt Catherine de Bourgh turns over in her grave daily. Sometimes, you can even hear her doing it."
Kelsey laughed. "And what about you? I guess you weren't so lucky as to have a place to inherit...maybe Longbourn?"
"No. My mother's cousin, Mr. Collins, and his wife had a son of their own."
"Then what vocation did you take up?"
"I didn't."
"How did you survive?"
"I still lived with my parents, for most of the time. I did not feel an interest in any of the pursuits I could have had."
"And there's no fortune for you to inherit when they die."
"I would prefer not to speak of their dying," Alexander said with a sudden ferocity that made Kelsey grip the table top with trembling fingers. Even though he had seemed harmless, she didn't know him at all. He could still be...
"I am sorry, Kelsey. I should not have shouted at you. But...I must tell you the important thing, the reason I am here. It is of far greater urgency than my seeing your world, as interesting as it may be."
"What's wrong?"
"My mother is very ill. The doctors do not know what is wrong with her, and they have been unable to cure her as a result. They do not...they think she shall die soon."
Kelsey saw the tears in his eyes, which he blinked back. When he had himself under control again, he finished. "I think the reason I am here is to find a cure for her."
"And what makes you think that?"
"Because I prayed for this very thing to happen. In the maze which led me here."
"You did? You prayed to be...sent to this place and time?"
"Not exactly. I prayed to be able to help my mother. I said I would do anything, and apparently, God had time traveling on his list for the 'anything.'"
"Then why are you here, and not at a hospital?" Kelsey told herself that she had to be able to crack his story, to make him see that he was not from a past that never existed.
"I do not know."
"Well, you aren't going to find a cure in my house. The strongest drugs I have are aspirin and caffeine, neither of which could really help your mother."
"Are you so certain that the cure cannot be found here?" Alexander felt his heart plummet. He had been hoping that maybe she had the cure, surely that had been the reason he had come to this particular place in time...
"Positive, unless your mother has a bad case of the flu. In that case, I have several cold remedies and some flu tablets."
"The flu? Influenza, you mean?"
"It's not as bad as you...probably...got the flu then."
"That might be it!" he exclaimed, his dark eyes shining.
"But the doctors would have been able to identify the flu, right? If they were the best you could get. And they probably would've had something that would've helped her get over it. I don't think there's an absolute cure for the flu, as I manage to get it every couple of years--"
"You get influenza every two or three years? Dear God, how have you managed to stay alive to the age of twenty-six?"
"I don't really think it's like the influenza you're thinking of. It's pretty mild--well, you don't think so while you're sick. But I don't think many people die of the flu anymore, unless they're really old or they have other complications."
"Oh." Alexander digested this information. Neither of them said anything. Finally, he continued. "I fear for my father the most. My mother is delirious most of the time, and not knowing how close she is to death...at least, I do not think she knows. But my father...he spends every moment he can with her, and the more she fades away, the more..."
"You don't think he'll live long after she..."
"No. She has been his whole life for over thirty years."
"I'm sorry, Alexander. If there was something I could do to help..." If this was true at all... Kelsey refused to finish the thought. His heartache was all too real, even if it was not the truth. "I would help you if I could."
"Maybe you can help. You can show me your world, and somewhere, I can find the cure."
"The best place to take you would be a hospital, but we'd have to know what your mother has."
"Could we not just describe her symptoms to a doctor and have his help immediately?"
"I suppose we could, but what if she has something that hasn't been discovered in this time, either?"
"You mean there are things this century does not have? It seems as though you have everything--except happy families, of course."
"There are a lot of things this century doesn't have. And believe me, cures for some diseases rank right up there on the 'don't have' list."
The happiness in Alexander's eyes faded. "Then she could still die."
"She could."
"We should begin looking for the cure at once. Let's visit a doctor tomorrow."
"One problem with that, Alexander."
"What?"
"The doctor would want to see the patient. How could we tell him that the patient is living in another time?" Or that the patient doesn't really exist? We'd be carted off the a psychiatric ward in seconds.
"They would certainly cart us off to Bedlam then, would they not?"
"Exactly."
"Then how do you propose we go about this search?"
"Maybe by starting at the library. That's always a good place to begin learning about people, you know, and things. And tomorrow, I'll take you around, show you the world..." Try to get your memory back so we can give up this search you insist on having.
"All right. That is what we shall do. Is Emma to come with us?"
Kelsey hadn't thought about her daughter, too engrossed in Alexander's story and the fact that it was all made up. "I can probably ask my mother or sister to take care of her, unless they're going shopping for the wedding."
"Wedding?" Is she remarrying already?
"Not mine. My sister's. She's getting married next week." And Kelsey was already dreading it--because even though she loved her sister, Madeline's constant "I told you so's" got on her nerves. And her wedding, coming on the heels of the divorce, seemed to mock Kelsey at every turn.
"I see." Alexander felt oddly relieved.
"How's your headache?" she asked.
He had been so caught up in telling his story and asking her how they could find a cure that he had not even thought about his head. He was surprised to find that it had stopped hurting.
"Your medicine seems to have worked, for it is not a problem."
"Good." Kelsey gave a small yawn. "I think it's time for me to go to bed. Emma wakes up at the crack of dawn, so keep your door shut unless you want her waking you again."
"I shall."
"I put a pair of pajamas in your room."
"Pajamas?"
"Clothes to sleep in. Jeans and a t-shirt are uncomfortable, so I wouldn't suggest you sleep in them."
"Do they belong to John as well?"
"Yeah. You don't mind, do you?"
"No...would he be bothered?"
"Oh, absolutely." Kelsey smiled, then stood up. "Good night, Alexander."
"Good night, Kelsey."
Alexander wandered back into the room he'd slept in earlier, remembering to shut the door behind him. As he changed into the 'pajamas,' noting that the bottom half fit much better than those 'jeans' had, he couldn't help but marvel at the day he'd had. He certainly hadn't thought that morning that he would be falling asleep a hundred and fifty years into the future.
And just what about Kelsey...a woman who was divorced, but that did not seem to matter in this age. She was utterly fascinating, not that he should be concentrating on such things. But she was also frustrating, and she obviously didn't believe that he was telling her the truth.
"I shall endeavor to work on that misconception in the morning," he mumbled under his breath as he lay down on the bed and drifted off to sleep.
Directly upstairs from him, Kelsey slipped into a pair of red boxer shorts and her Cardinals jersey, what she usually wore to bed. She thought of the visitor staying downstairs and wondered how she'd managed to get herself roped into this mess. He may have told a nice story, but it was all made up, and he had no memory of who he was. She had to keep remembering that.
"Tomorrow," she said as she crawled into bed, "he's going to have to start remembering that he's from the twentieth century."
Soon after, she fell asleep as well.