Section I, Next Section
Introduction
"Fitzwilliam, have you got a moment?"
"What for?" he asked suspiciously as the door opened. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, was not, by nature, a suspicious man, but there was something in the tone of his friend's voice that he did not quite like. It was quite unusual that Carter would pop in to see him during what passed as 'office hours', even though it was not all that far a walk between them.
Carter crossed the floor and sank into the chair with a unique boneless grace and produced an inconspicuous-looking white envelope.
Fitzwilliam's face fell "You're going," he left it at that, unsure if he could continue. What would happen to both of them of Carter was going to be stationed on a battleship somewhere far, far away? Their romantic relationship was still in the uneasy early stages, even though they had been friends for some time.
"Not exactly." Carter smiled in that mysterious way that never failed to enthrall him, and handed the opened envelope over to him.
Dear Commander Carter, he read,
We would be honoured if you would consent to being part of _____magazine's feature article on ____ City's 50 Most Eligible Bachelors for ____. If you are at all interested, we would be…
"The rest just goes on about how you've got to accept otherwise they'll slash their wrists and set themselves alight." Fitzwilliam folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope. Carter took it and stretched lazily.
"Actually, I was here to see if you had gotten…" Carter was interrupted by the office's officious errand 'boy', William Collins. No one had any idea how Collins had got the job, yet no one could think of a decent excuse to get him out, so, he stayed, being a general nuisance.
Collins now stood on the threshold, hand over mouth as though he had walked in upon Fitzwilliam and Carter in the throes of passion. As usual, he had neglected to knock, and bowed and scraped as he made his way over to the desk and placed a letter on it, taking care not to touch, or come nearer to Carter or Fitzwilliam than he really had to before sidling out the door.
Carter watched him out with narrowed eyes. "I wonder how long he was listening for…"
Fitzwilliam shrugged as he opened then envelope then dropped it as he saw the first few lines.
"It appears I was but a few minutes early," Carter chuckled, looking at the letter, then getting up and vanishing out the door.
The telephone rang in the empty apartment as a key rattled in the lock.
"…This is Jane and Lizzy's vacuum cleaner…" came a female voice on the answering machine "…all the appliances have swapped jobs again, which is fine with me 'cos my last job sucked. Anyway, leave a message. BEEP!" the machine began recording just as someone finally won his or her battle with the door and struggled in.
She was a pretty woman in her late twenties or early thirties, with dark hair pulled up in a French roll, wearing a conservative dark grey suit that made her virtually indistinguishable from the stereotypical female banker, accountant or lawyer.
"Jane? Lizzy?" came a high female voice on the answering machine. The woman groaned, as though this was the last thing she needed after a trying day at the office. "You've got to keep a firmer control of your appliances! Every time I ring it's a different one on the phone. Why didn't you just let that nice answering machine do its job? I'm quite sure that everything will work much better if you do that. Anyway…BEEP!" the woman gave a sigh of relief as the other voice was cut off. It didn't last long, though, as the high female voice continued. "…dinner on Sunday. That nice William Collins, you know, the one that works for the Ministry of Defense, is coming. He's not really Jane's type, but he'll do very well for Lizzy. I hope you girls realise how your biological clocks are ticking away. Why, I had four of you by the time I was Lizzy's age! I just don't know what you girls are coming to…"
"Mama again," a blonde woman remarked as she entered the apartment. She appeared about a year younger than her sister, with the appearance of a supermodel with a brain and dress sense.
"Need you ask, Jane?" the dark haired woman collapsed on the couch and pulled the pins out of her hair. She reached for the remote control. "I'll just see what's on the news." She was surprised to see her sister trying to hold back laughter.
"What is it?"
"That tone. It's just like the way Megan says 'I'll just see what's on The X-Files', as though she's not looking for an opportunity to see whatis-Mulder's butt."
"Oh?" Lizzy appeared defensive as she clicked the news on "so whose 'butt' am I looking for an opportunity to see?"
Jane gave an uncharacteristically evil smile as she gestured to the screen. On it, a handsome man in his early-to-mid-thirties was saying "We have full confidence in the investigation being held by the IOC and hope this situation will be cleared up as soon as possible…." He continued in this vein for a little longer.
Lizzy snorted "As though I would watch the news for a glimpse of Will Darcy's butt! He's a politician. Doesn't that, as a rule, exclude them from being attractive?" she glowered under her sister's amused smile "Oh all right, he is sort of cute. They never show anything below his chest anyway…"
"Hey Darcy," the voice on the answering machine was that of a man, warm and slightly amused "Did you know that ____magazine's named me one of their '50 Most Eligible Bachelors?' Darcy. I know you're there. Pick up the phone."
A sigh, as a tanned arm leaned across the back of the couch and rather reluctantly picked up the handset.
"Hello Bingley." The voice was male, refined and exhausted.
"Oh…" the voice on the end faltered for a second "…is this a bad time?"
"No…I was going to get up to answer the phone anyway."
"Anyway, Will, did you get something in the mail?"
"What?" Will Darcy asked, out of humor as he crossed over to a pile of paper on his desk and shuffled through it. 'Am I supposed to be looking for anything here?"
"Well…." Bingley drew his words out "it would make sense if you got one of these little notes too, would it not?" He got all the answer he needed when he heard his friend's muffled curse. "Are you going to accept?"
"Why?"
"It'd do heaps for your popularity, for a start," Darcy could almost see his friend's grin "but, on the other hand, it might confirm Cara's suspicions…"
"Oh no" Darcy sounded horrified. "I'll think about it," he finished lamely, as they both hung up the phone.
"Look Lizzy," Jane held up the two identical envelopes.
"The '50 Most Eligible Bachelors' thing." Lizzy examined hers. "I thought that was just for guys…like all those beauty pageants are for girls."
Jane shrugged "Maybe they're running out of suitable guys. I suppose they have to be politically correct now. And I guess 'bachelor' sounds better than 'spinster.'"
Darcy groaned as the phone rang again.
"Hello?"
"Hi Will!" the voice was cheerful, too cheerful for Darcy's mood. "Did you get one of the _____magazine's 'begging' notes?"
"Yes. Did you, Fitz?" Darcy was not one for long conversations when he was dead tired. Especially not on this topic. Especially not with his cousin. Did this happen to people on the list every year?
"Yes. You know what's really surprising?"
"Carter got one too!"
"Who's Carter?"
"My soul-mate, love-of-my-life, the person I want to spend eternity with…" a pause "I don't know why we both got the 'bachelor' thing. I mean, it's pretty certain that we'll be staying together for as long as I care to think…"
Darcy seemed rather shocked "Are you sure about this, Rich?" he asked cautiously, not sure if he liked this side of his cousin.
"Sure, of course I'm sure. We're planning on moving in together soon. You've got to visit us."
"But Rich…doesn't the military object to this sort of thing?"
"Why should they? If we're discreet and it doesn't affect our work, I don't see why it should concern anyone but ourselves."
"Oh…bye…"
Richard grinned as he hung up the phone on his shocked cousin. Carter grinned back; takeout container in one hand, bending over to examine the stacks of documents piled up on the desk between them.
"You like deliberately making people think that I'm a guy, don't you?" she chuckled as she highlighted a few phrases.
"You can't deny it's not a lot of fun when they meet you in person, can you?"
"No…" she admitted "but it's not as though I don't know Will Darcy."
"I doubt he's going to connect 'Carter' with 'Meggy' who used to throw him into the horse pond."
"Probably not."
"Besides, it might be wonderful to see how my cousin's conservative sensibilities are going to be affected by this."
"Perhaps."
The phone rang again "He's quicker about it than I would have thought." Richard Fitzwilliam chuckled as he picked it up.
"Fitzwilliam."
Carter could hear only Richard's side of the conversation as he chatted with his cousin.
"Of course I've thought it through. I've been certain of it for a very long time…no…why would my parents object? It's not really any of their business …Darcy, we are almost into the twenty-first century, don't you think you should get out of the nineteenth? Meet?" Here Fitzwilliam paused for a few seconds "…we have been casual acquaintances for some time…but not really until we were with that UN peacekeeping force together…Navy…Commander…ex-pilot…of course they send the Navy to help with the UN…not exclusively…we did fail the commando course together…How should I know whether you know Carter? Anyway, I have to go now. I'll catch you later."
"I didn't know Will was so conservative," Carter remarked as she tossed her empty container into the rubbish bin.
Fitzwilliam shrugged "I suppose he never minded in the abstract, but now that he thinks someone he actually knows is involved…"
"I wonder what would astound him more - that you're going out with a guy or that I happen to be a woman with a decent military career. Do you think it actually occurred to him that I might be female?"
"Probably not. I usually don't call my female acquaintances by their surnames, Megan."
"No. You don't." She cracked her knuckles "Why do you suppose they sent one of those 'bachelor' thingies to me anyway? Did they mean to? Or did they just see M.I.V. Carter somewhere together with my financial records and think 'Hey, big bank statement, hasn't gone senile yet, let's send him a letter' sort of thing? I should go now. I was going to call up some friends for a 'girls' night out'"
"Could be." Fitzwilliam was non-committal as Megan walked towards the door "Or it could be that they are making a pretense of gender equality and are using 'bachelor' to describe someone of either sex who has never married."
Carter paused in the doorway. "As if." She muttered as she walked out the door.
Part 1
"It was Megan," Lizzy told her sister as she reclaimed her spot on the couch. She wants to know if we want to go on a 'Girls Night Out' with her and Anne…is that proper grammar?"
"Who's Anne?"
"Elliot. She's a friend of Meg's and mine from Uni, who's just broken up with her boyfriend. Meg thinks we should give her the standard 'It's not your fault, it's all his fault, it's not the end of the world, there are plenty of other men, why don't we go and see the Chippendales?' talk."
"That would be her cure for everything," Jane remarked sourly.
"What's the matter?" Lizzy asked.
Jane gave a small sigh. "You know, sometimes I think Mama is right. Look at us - twenty-nine and thirty, without one functional romantic relationship between us. Is it ever going to end?"
"Jane. It's nearly the twenty-first century. You don't need a romantic relationship to make your life complete. It's your life, totally independent of anyone else's."
Jane nodded, but Lizzy thought she could detect a small sigh.
Anne Elliot was a delicate-looking, slight woman who looked as though the slightest wind would carry her away. She was a marked contrast to the other four women at the table--elegant, beautiful Jane, pretty and vivacious Elizabeth, and the aristocratic, quietly powerful Megan.
They were watching a comedy debate, that 'The Bloke is an Absolute Joke'. It was pretty ordinary, as far as comedy debates went, except that the teams were segregated by sex - the all-female team defending the 'Bloke', while three 'Blokes' had the not-that-difficult job of deriding themselves. Except for an average of one good joke or pun per speaker, the debate itself was rather lackluster.
Afterwards, they went into a café for coffee.
"Anne, did you have anything to do with _____Magazine's 'Bachelor' special?' Megan asked, trying to ascertain if her letter was an accident.
Anne shook her head, "I'm just the shoot co-ordinator. I organize all those boring things that no one else will do and that are certain, not things where we're not even sure of the numbers."
"Not sure of the numbers?' Lizzy asked, "How does that work?"
"Well," Anne began "In a vain attempt to appear to be free of the patriarchally misogynistic attitudes of the past, someone up there," she rolled her eyes skyward "realized that the term 'bachelor' wasn't exclusively male. So they sent out letters to women this year as well, but they're not sure of the refusal rates. Most men say 'yes', but we're not sure whether the women will."
"Why not?" Jane asked.
"Considering that most of the women we have approached are those with brains and careers rather than sit-on-liposuctioned-butts-doing-nothing-socialites or lobotomy-chic models, they may feel that going on the photoshoot might be trivializing their real achievements and saying 'Look, I might have seventeen doctorates and a Nobel prize, but I want to get married more than anything else in the world and spend the rest of my life picking up dirty socks' or something like that. Men don't seem to have that problem."
"So you did send out the letters to women on purpose." Megan confirmed.
"Yes. Why, did you get one?"
"Yes," Megan snorted "and, considering they addressed it 'Commander', do you blame me for thinking they just went down the lists of shareholders and bank accounts picking out everyone who was born this century? It's not the first time people have assumed I was male because of my career." Here she stopped and smiled a little "It's not as if I leave the toilet seat up or anything. I still remember what happened when they sent me to the Gulf, and none of the guys I had to share quarters with worked out I was female until they caught me reading 'Pride and Prejudice' and tried to tease me about it not being a very 'manly' book."
"What happened?" Lizzy laughed.
"I looked at them, then at the book and said something like "Really? But it's semi-compulsory reading for us women"- You should have seen the looks on their faces. You would've thought that after a week or so in the same rooms, in the same showers (though I picked very interesting times for mine), they'd have worked it out." She shrugged "Most of them thought I was pulling a 'Mulan' until I explained ever so clearly that I was meant to be there even though I was too young even if I had been a guy, and that women aren't technically meant to be in the front lines."
"So what were you doing there?" Lizzy's eyes narrowed. About the same time Meg had been there, she had been in anti-war protests.
Meg shrugged "Flying." Then she quickly changed the topic. "But the overwhelming collective blindness of the opposite sex is not supposed to be the principal topic of a 'girls night out'. We're out here for a good whinge. Who wants to start? Anne, how about you?"
Anne spoke little of her own grievances, which was a problem considering that was the main object of their night out. She'd broken up with a semi-serious boyfriend, who had wanted to become more serious. There was an underlying current that Megan did not pick up on until Anne said, "It's no good. Even if everyone tells me he's past, he's still the guy I'm measuring every other guy against."
"Who?" Meg asked.
"I don't think you'd know him. He was my boyfriend in the first year of Uni, when you were running around trying to get your Uni/Academy studies organised so that you could do both and still sleep. He enlisted into the Navy, but he went to the Academy later. His name's Frederick Wentworth. But from what I hear, he's not back here much, so I doubt you'd know him."
"This isn't, by any chance, Lt. Commander Frederick Wentworth, Admiral Crofts's brother-in-law or something like that, we're talking about here, is it?"
"Why…yes…you do know him."
"A little. We were on a lot of the same ships early on. He's back, doing boring office work like me for a few months now. If he's still 'The Guy' for you, shouldn't you be meeting him?"
Anne replied in the negative, and then passed the conversation on to Jane and Lizzy.
Lizzy had no such problems in shying away from her grievances. Her mother constantly harassed her about her single status, she was hitting the glass ceiling at the law firm more painfully every time, and her youngest sister had recently started to attach herself to Lizzy in the hope of getting invitations to A-list parties.
Jane was Lizzy's second sister, less than a year younger. She was less outspoken than Lizzy was but expressed many of the same views. How people thought she was stupid simply because of her looks (Jane was extremely beautiful. The sort that makes people stop dead or walk into poles) and didn't take her seriously. Even the children at the paediatrics ward where she was a psychologist had some sort of strange fantasy that she was a fairy-tale princess and eagerly awaited the arrival of her prince.
Lizzy and Jane had three younger sisters, who Meg knew only vaguely. Mary, the middle sister, who was 27, was a computer programmer with the imagination of the machines she worked with. Kitty, 25, was a production assistant at a moderately sized film studio, though she often complained that it consisted entirely of holding jackets and making coffee. She hoped to be a director one day.
The youngest daughter, Lydia, was 16 and a late surprise to the family. Her life seemed to consist of nothing more than parties and dates. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Jane and Lizzy's parents (Megan never actually found out what their first names were) seemed an ill-matched pair - Mr. Bennet, passive to the point of indolence, Mrs. Bennet giving one the impression of the proverbial headless chicken. It was an interesting household.
Megan accepted the offer to appear in the magazine, considering that it might be time for everyone to realise she was a woman as she was getting sick of getting letters with 'Commander Carter' and then 'Dear Sir:' written on them. Richard Fitzwilliam did too, and the General and Admiral jokingly remarked that it just might be the first thing either of them did to actually improve the image of the Defence Forces (instead of grim faced people wielding guns, rich, gorgeous people wielding guns.)
Lizzy accepted, as did Jane. So did Jane's hereto unknown colleague, Dr. Charles Bingley. And his best friend, William Darcy, who was already the indisputable holder of the title '_____ City's Most Eligible Bachelor'
Megan got her little questionnaire within a week after informing them of her acceptance. She smiled a little at the questions and began to fill it out. It was more fun than filling out expense forms, after all.
Later, Anne chuckled as she read through it and several others.
Then, with a gasp, Anne saw the next filled-in questionnaire in the pile. The strong, neat hand was as familiar to her as her own.
Tears had come, unbidden to her eyes. Ignoring the diverted looks of her colleagues, Anne ran out of the room and fled to the refuge of the toilets, where no one could hear her sob.
Part 2
Long, aristocratic fingers drummed impatiently on the table. "It's your move, Richard," Will Darcy said slowly, forcefully, as his cousin stared at the chessboard, running his fingers through his hair.
"Where?" Richard looked up; "If I move here, I'll lose the bishop, here I'll lose the knight. Move anywhere else and you'll have me in check. You already have all my decent pieces. That's it." He tipped his King over with a gesture of defeat.
Will raised an eyebrow "That's going down very easily. I shudder to think what the state of our defenses would be during a war if you were in charge."
"Sometimes the sign of the best commander is knowing when to give up." Richard replied, standing up.
Darcy also rose to his feet. Standing next to each other, it was possible to see the family resemblance. They were approximately the same height, with the same lean, muscular build and long limbs. Darcy was considered the more handsome of the two, particularly with his dark, bottomless eyes, and looks that had been described as 'romantic' and 'seductive'. Fitzwilliam, on the other hand, was hazel-eyed, brown-haired, and quite conventionally good-looking. There was always a sense of good humour and fun about him and almost always a smile on his face, which could not be said of his rather surly and introverted cousin (some would say that politics was an entirely unsuitable profession for Darcy, even though he performed well.)
They were in Fitzwilliam's apartment, almost the perfect template for a stereotypical bachelor pad. Most of the food that Will saw was the 'just add water' variety, and the fridge held three different types of beer (most unopened), every soft drink imaginable, and leftovers from the beginning of time, and some mysterious growth in the corner. Dishes were overflowing from the drying rack (at least he washed them on a semi-regular basis) and clothes, books, videos and other miscellaneous equipment seemed to be multiplying to fill the entire apartment. It was, not to put too fine a point on it, a pigsty. To Darcy's rather prejudiced eye, it seemed that the only rooms that were not a case for the health department were the bedroom and study.
Darcy had been intending to talk with his cousin to confirm his suspicions about certain aspects of his cousin's private life, but every time he tried to bring the subject up, however discreetly, the topic always seemed to mysteriously change.
Fed up, and thinking that his mind was jumping to conclusions, Will gave up after about an hour of videos, and the odd chess game (which Fitz invariably lost), and they lounged around, eating pizza and drinking beer.
Just before he left, Darcy went to the bathroom. Unlike the rest of the apartment, it was actually reasonably clean. As he washed his hands in the basin, a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
It was an eyeliner pen.
With a rather guilty glance at the door, and then a trip over to make sure it was locked, Darcy began an inventory of the contents of his cousin's bathroom cupboards.
Toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss (unopened), mouthwash (likewise), a packet of 'pore-cleaning' strips, shaving gel, razors, aftershave, moisturiser, lip balm, first-aid kit, deodorant, comb, a tube of 'intensive hair conditioner'.
A quick peek into the shower revealed more, to Darcy, incriminating evidence. Shampoo and conditioner, and scented soap. Back at the washstand, there was one more item that confirmed Darcy's already deep-seated suspicions.
It looked harmless enough, a small, inoffensive simple zip-up bag. It contents, however, made his imagination run riot.
Mascara. He laid the little tube down on the enamel. Lip colour - bright red, high gloss with SPF 30+ sunscreen built in. A glossy black and gold palette that held a mosaic of bright frosted eyeshadows. A little pot of multi-coloured glitter, suspended in some greasy-looking substance.
"Will, has the toilet monster got you? You've been in there for twenty minutes!" came his cousin's rather amused voice. Richard had a pretty good idea what had diverted his cousin from such a simple task.
Will's silence was all the answer he needed as his cousin exited the bathroom and departed.
Richard began to clear up, that is, to dump the beer bottles and pizza boxes into the recycling bin, shrugging as he realised that melted cheese wasn't recyclable and sat back down on the couch to watch the replays of the football.
About ten minutes into the game, he was interrupted by a call on the phone.
"Richard."
"Hi Meg, what's up?"
"Me. And considering it's midnight, I'm not too happy about it. Into the office, pronto. There's some kind of emergency in a place I can't pronounce."
"Serious?"
"Probably not. You know them." She paused for a second. "By the way, Fitz, have you seen my 'party' make-up kit?"
"Errr…not in the last ten minutes…but I think my cousin has,"
"Where is it?"
"In my bathroom. Will was just over and spent twenty minutes in the bathroom ransacking my cupboards before leaving in a state of shock, I think we can safely assume that he leapt to the conclusion that it belonged to me."
Megan chuckled "Poor Darcy. I don't suppose he's ever stopped and thought once his mind was on one track."
"It wouldn't surprise me. Not at all. Do you really need me there?" he whinged.
The silence was all the answer he needed. With a sigh, he pried himself from the couch and went to look for his car keys.
"Darcy." Charles Bingley shook his head and looked bemusedly at his friend, "Fitz hasn't come out and said he is yet, has he?"
"Well…no…but…"
"If he hasn't told you, I don't think you should be making assumptions about him that may or may not be correct. As far as we should be concerned, nothing has changed, and even if he is, it wouldn't make a difference. He'd respect our preferences, just like I think you should respect his, unless it involved a goat, an economy-sized tub of Vasoline and a hydrogen bomb."
"He has lipstick in his bathroom."
"So do I." Bingley burst out laughing at Darcy's expression "how could I not, with Cara for a sister? Anyway," he shrugged, "I'm told it's good for dry lips."
The sun was over the horizon by the time Megan and Richard were finally able to get away. It seemed that nothing that serious was going on, just a few guerrilla groups who decided to join into a 'liberation army' and make general nuisances of themselves.
They decided to go to a café within walking distance for breakfast, one that was popular with the businesspeople and professionals of the city as well as the staff at the Ministry.
Neither Megan nor Richard wore their uniforms when they weren't actually fighting or on a base, (Meg often complained that the only comfortable part of her military wardrobe was her combat uniform, and that really wasn't in vogue this Season) so in their dark suits they blended easily into the breakfast crowds.
The combination of Richard's easy smile and charm and Meg's rather mysterious air always guaranteed them quick service (or was it the fact that they were easily visible walking from the Ministry of Defence?). That morning they chose to have the berry muffins with fruit juice.
They were halfway through the generous servings when Meg quickly excused herself. Looking up, Richard realised why. Darcy was just visible from their table, and moving towards the café, probably with the intention of having breakfast. It was improbable that he had seen Meg, and even if he had, he would have seen little more than a tall figure darting off. Idly, Richard wondered how Megan had seen him coming.
"Will," Richard greeted his cousin cheerfully as he came near.
"Oh…hello," Darcy replied, seeing his cousin sitting alone at a table set for two. A half-empty (or half-full, depending on how one looks at it) glass of orange juice and a half-eaten muffin lay next to the empty place setting.
Darcy swallowed "Who're you here with?"
"Just Carter. Would you like to join us?"
"Ummm…not today…I was just popping in to get something…heaps of work piling up…" with that, Darcy showed that he had not lost much of the speed he'd possessed since almost breaking the national record for the U/21 400 metres fourteen years ago (though he didn't actually break into a run. Fitzwilliam had never been about to do that.)
Megan showed up two seconds later with two cups of coffee.
"Long queue." She said by means of explanation "this is getting funnier all the time."
Darcy spent the day glancing impatiently at the clock, willing it to go faster. Finally, it reached the time he knew that his cousin would be home. He had to know, for once and for all. As he grabbed his coat and started to head out the door, he was interrupted by the phone. With a muffled curse, he vaulted over his desk (gaining a round of applause from the people outside his office) and picked it up.
"Darcy."
There was the sound of muffled sobs from the other end.
"Georgie?" he asked hesitantly. Please, please, let nothing have happened to her.
"He's here…" came the terrified voice.
"Wickham?"
"Yes…please come…please…"
"Hang on Georgie, I'm coming," any thought of his cousin was pushed to the recess of his mind. What has that…thing…done to her now? he asked helplessly as he drove away in the direction of the University's country campus.
Georgiana Darcy was nineteen years old and studying music in the tranquil surrounds of the University's 'outer' campus, almost exclusively for the arts. Students of the other disciplines tended to want to be nearer the attractions of the city. She was a shy, introverted young woman, but with a wonderful personality and deep intelligence. The features that were so suavely confident and seductive on her brother were angelically innocent and pure on her. Unfortunately, that innocence had been badly scarred just over a year ago. Not by the carnage and waste of war, as had been the case with one of her brother's childhood friends, but something that seemed a little more feminine. It was just over a year ago that one of her brother's old friends, George Wickham, their father's godson, had mysteriously shown up after vanishing for about eight years. He was charming, considerate and the perfect embodiment of the ideal boyfriend. It had been Georgiana's first year at University, her first time living away from home (though her brother was only about an hour and a half's drive away), her first real brush with the 'real world'.
Is it any wonder than, that she looked upon Wickham as a guide to this new world (he was, he said, studying some course in graphic design), that he seemed so familiar with. In retrospect, he was almost too eager to escort a girl fifteen years his junior around, but his motive became blindingly clear.
The Darcys were rich. Almost obscenely so. And Wickham saw Georgiana as a perfect means of getting it. He would court her, get her pregnant, marry her and then all her money would be his. What would an eighteen-year-old know about financial management, he thought.
In a stroke of good luck (if you can call it that), Wickham had trouble persuading Georgiana to the second. He just started physically persuading her (ie, almost raped her) when her brother showed up for a surprise visit. Unfortunately, even though they brought up charges, all Wickham got was a one-year good-behaviour bond.
The year was up. And Wickham was back in town.
Part 3
"Must we?" Lizzy whinged as she collapsed onto the couch.
"We must." Jane replied, carrying an overnight bag out from her room. "Lizzy, they're our family. How bad could it get?"
Lizzy said nothing.
"Oh, all right. It could be worse, though. There might be a nuclear war on." Jane admitted.
"Nice to get it in perspective." Lizzy snarled, and went to her room to collect her bag.
For Jane and Elizabeth, visits home would follow a predictable routine. First, their father would come out, and greet them quietly, and then sneaking away as Mrs. Bennet and Lydia, the only daughter still living at home overwhelmed them and interrogated them on every single event that even remotely touched their lives since the last visit.
Invariably, the events that interested them most, were men, and the apparent lack of them in the lives of both Jane and Lizzy. Lydia seemed to look upon them with a sort of pitying contempt. She was never short of boyfriends. She seemed to have a whole flock of them with names ending in 'y', to the point that her other sisters lumped them into the collective category of the 'Y Viles'.
"Guess what!" Lydia enthused, just seconds after they arrived this time.
"What?" Jane gave the standard answer expected of her while Lizzy unloaded their bags.
"I got into the finals of the 'Face of the Year' contest!"
"What's that?"
Lydia gave them a look of pity, "It's a modeling contest, duh, and the winner gets on the cover of Stupid Gullible Half-Dead Bimbo Magazine! Isn't that cool?"
"Yeah, really," Lizzy muttered without enthusiasm.
"I'm so proud of Lyddy," Mrs. Bennet said, with a look at Jane "She knows to make the most of her looks."
Years ago, Mrs. Bennet had tried to push Jane into modeling, and held a long-standing grudge against her husband and eldest daughter for backing Jane's decision to become a psychologist.
Lydia was Mrs. Bennet's favourite daughter, Lizzy her least, and she made no bones about it. In her mind, Lydia was the only one who was following a 'suitable' course - a short-lived career of little use, sure of meeting rich men.
Desiring to 'help' her daughters as much as possible in their love lives, she made it a habit to invite men over whenever they were home, usually unstable mental wrecks who would do anything for a free meal.
This time was no exception. The candidate was a fortyish, balding man, who, according to him, was an integral part of the country's military structure.
Lizzy had never had so little faith in the military.
"Oh yes," William Collins (yes, that was his name) nodded enthusiastically to Mr. Bennet "I am so privileged to be a participant in the highest levels." Here he stopped to gaze around surreptitiously "But it's all very hush-hush…if you get my meaning,"
Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzy saw Jane almost lose her drink.
"Then, of course, you would be aware of the military's latest computer systems?" Mary raised an eyebrow.
Collins appeared to be at a loss for words. "Yes…indeed I am…" he said hesitantly, as though he didn't even know what a computer system was "…but I am not permitted to disclose anything about them…" Here he took a deep breath, as though he were enormously relieved.
That night, the four older girls congregated in Lizzy's room.
"I don't believe that Mama is really getting that desperate," Kitty griped, pounding the pillow in her hand. "It seems as though her entire point in life is getting us married. Where has she been for the last fifty years? Down a hole?"
"I don't think it would have made much of a difference if she had been," Mary commented, pushing her glasses up. "If it wasn't for Dad, and a big guilt trip, I don't think I'd ever come here."
The others agreed, even Jane.
"I just saw him the other day…I don't know what he's doing here…but he is…I'm so scared…" Georgiana tried to hold back tears.
Her brother looked on helplessly. There was little he could do. As far as he could see, George Wickham wasn't enrolled as a student, so she would be safe as long as she was on campus - but off-campus, there was nothing the University could do. While there had been increased security since some anti-something protesters had come and held a vigil outside the chancellor's office, accusing the university of 'training the oppressors of the masses' or something like that, that would only work on campus. And Georgiana wasn't going to remain a virtual prisoner on campus, not if he could help it. What could he do, short of assigning bodyguards to her 24/7?
"Guess what! Guess what! Guess…"
"What, Lydia," Mary finally interrupted, throwing down her book with an air of frustration. Did Lydia ever leave them alone?
"The Bingleys are here! The Bingleys are here! The…"
"Bingleys are here. Yes Lydia, I'm quite sure I got it the first time. Is that all? Mary asked, before picking up her book again.
"No! There's more. You know Charles Bingley!"
"Vaguely. He has been here before, you know Lyddy"
"But not when I remember! He hasn't been here for at least ten years!"
"Try twelve." Mary buried her head in her book. "He and Jane do work together, though. But I'd thank you not to mention it."
Predictably, Lydia did scream it out at the dinner table, with Mrs. Bennet furious that Jane had never told her that she worked in the same ward as Dr. Bingley. Why? was never a question one asked Mrs. Bennet, who seemed to think that hiding any scrap of intelligence (huh?) from her was a capital offence.
"Gi, do you remember Charles Bingley?"
"His sister's always hanging off you every time you invite him over. How could I not?"
"He's invited us to his country estate. Do you want to go? I mean, exams are over and you haven't got anything on for a few months. Who knows? I'm told it's very pretty. You might get inspired. It might distract you from…" Will trailed off, not knowing what to say next. He had seen no evidence of Wickham, though Georgiana was certain that she had seen him. She shrugged. He had thought Wickham no threat and look what happened last time. He was determined that nothing of the kind would ever happen to his sister again.
"How do you know that they'll use him?" Carter wanted to know, as she read over reams of reports. "You know it's rare they'll use the same one more than once, and this guy doesn't strike me as being particularly valuable."
"Perhaps that's why." Fitzwilliam looked up to see Meg's eyebrows arch "They might think that we'll be taking out eye off him. What if they're counting on us to ignore him. What if last time was a complete set-up? What if they're assuming we'll take our eyes off the minor offenders, assuming that we'll assume that they'll keep to the straight and narrow while we try catching the big ones."
"You must run that by me again when I'm awake. I'd hardly call attempted assault a 'minor' offence. Especially if he went after Georgiana Darcy. Do you have any idea how big the expense report will be if we went after everyone with a history?"
"Yes. But wouldn't it be better to spend the money and have nothing happen or do nothing and see someone dead?"
Meg sighed "All right, all right. Why did I have to get you for a partner? But you get to take the request forms to the General."
Part 4
Charles Bingley was thirty-four, easy-going, charming and affable. His family's country estate of Netherfield was less than two hours drive from the city, so he'd decided to spend his weekends there. He hadn't spent much time there since he was twenty-two, mostly because his father had died there - a stupid horse-riding accident, when the horse had been frightened by a rabbit and reared, throwing the older Dr. Bingley and breaking his neck.
But, despite the unpleasant associations, there was one reason he was there.
Jane Bennet.
He knew her by sight, of course. There were few at the hospital who did not. To him, she was like an angel come down on earth, her beauty serene and fairy-tale perfect. He'd never even spoken to her, beyond a simple 'hello', and when he had confessed his attraction to one of his friends, he'd been advised to go and get to know the woman better before returning to give a more complete report. He decided to do just that.
After all, Col. Richard Fitzwilliam always seemed to know about women, no matter what his cousin thought. Charles was rather skeptical about his friend Darcy's seemingly unjustified assumptions about their long-time friend. No matter what Darcy said, Richard had never showed that he was attracted to anyone or anything other than adult human females. So what if he had lipstick in his bathroom? Couldn't Darcy ever think of the obvious? That Richard's (latest) girlfriend had left it there by mistake? That would be far more logical than whatever Darcy's paranoid mind was cooking up. Bingley shook his head. He was here to get to know Jane Bennet better, not to worry about the apparent blindness of his friend.
He knew that she'd grown up here, less than three miles from his estate. He remembered her as a pretty teenager, but had not really spoken to her much when he'd visited. But that was in the past. Now was the time to remedy that. After listening in to the gossip in the ward, he'd managed to hear that she was spending the long weekend with her parents. From what he remembered of Mrs. Bennet from his teenage years and the rumours around the ward (from friends of Jane who had been scarred for life after spending time with Jane's family), Jane would be probably be spending a lot of time out in the surrounding countryside. That was where he was planning to meet her.
As was the sad case of many of his plans, there was a slight glitch. His younger sister, Cara, insisted on coming along. For a few instants after he'd agreed, he'd been at a loss to explain her motivation. Then he gathered that she must have overheard him speaking on the phone to Darcy, inviting his friend to the house for the weekend.
His purpose was twofold - in case the rumour proved false and Jane Bennet would not be coming for the weekend, he would have someone to talk to, and also to provide some much-needed change of pace and scene for his perpetually stressed-out friend. He added Georgiana in at the last minute - though he wasn't close to the girl, he was well aware of the stress that had plagued her for the past year - and besides, if Cara was coming, they would need someone to distract her. Bingley did feel a little guilty in saddling the shy Georgiana with the more…extroverted Cara, but knew Cara wouldn't do anything that would jeopardise her own chances with Georgiana's brother.
The weekend started predictably enough. Cara tried to get a ride in the Darcy's Range Rover only to realise that the passenger seat was held by Georgiana, and the back seat was occupied by one of Will's enormous Great Danes (which Charles knew was coming, but neglected to tell his sister). Cara, who hated dogs, retreated back to Charles's car, where his German Shepherd, Max, held court on the back seat.
Cara then spent the entire trip perched on the front passenger seat, trying to force Max to stay in the back, while complaining to her brother about the lack of everything out in the country and Darcy's reluctance to see 'what was meant to be', which her brother took to mean her non-existent romantic relationship with his friend.
Leaving his sister and guests to unpack, Charles got out of the house as quickly as possible after his arrival. He needed to reacquaint himself of the grounds, to see where his land met that of the Bennets, where he presumed he would have the greatest chance of meeting Jane Bennet. He was not wrong.
It was the morning after Charles Bingley, his sister, and his friend and his sister arrived at Netherfield that Jane and Lizzy saw the need to go for a walk. A long walk. They were accompanied by what passed as the family pet, a mop-with-eyes that was Mrs. Bennet's pride and joy, and the bane of the rest of the family. The little fluffball never seemed to stop yapping, nor would it go back to the house, no matter what Jane or Lizzy tried. Eventually they gave up, simply hoped that the little pest would tire of them and go home. They walked for what seemed like a long time, neither of them willing to return to the house and suffer their mother's continuing post-mortem on William Collins's visit.
It was almost a surprise to them when the little mop gave a yelp and darted off in the opposite direction, yapping for all it was worth. Seconds later, two huge dogs burst through the undergrowth and gave chase.
Two male voices shouting "Goneril!" and "Max!" followed. The larger dog, which must have been 'Goneril', paid attention, for she stopped, albeit reluctantly, and loped back to the slightly taller of the two men, while the other, still shouting "Max!" at the top of his voice leapt over the fence to chase the German Shepherd.
He gave a bright, apologetic smile as he raced past Jane and made a dive for his dog's trailing lead, and was dragged several meters before the dog came to a stop, and sat, tail wagging.
Jane was the first to reach him, and he accepted her help up with a shy grin. A flash of recognition crossed her face.
"Dr. Bingley!" she said, "I didn't expect to find you here,"
"Nor I you," Charles lied smoothly. Though this wasn't quite how he thought things would turn out, it would do well enough.
"Is that your dog?"
"Yes…I'm sorry about Max. I think he's just been cooped up the backyard in town for too long, and gets a bit excited when we come out here."
Lizzy gave an amused smile at her sister and their neighbour. He certainly didn't waste any time getting to know Jane better. She left them at their conversation and walked towards the fence, where the other man was admonishing his dog.
As he looked up at the sound of her footsteps, Lizzy was surprised to see a face that she recognised. Except he's far more gorgeous in the flesh, she thought.
He looked a little uncomfortable as he watched her approach.
"Mr. Darcy," she began. He looked startled, as though he hadn't expected her to know his name You're a politician, I read the paper, I watch the news. Do you really think I'm that out of it?
He gave an uneasy smile and held out his hand. She took it. "It's nice to meet you, Ms.?"
"Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet."
She could see him raking his mind for her name. "Gardiner & Associates?" he asked, at length.
"Yes," she replied. It was her turn to be surprised. While Gardiner & Associates was by no means unknown, it was not enormously large, either.
There were several minutes of tense silence as they both watched Jane and Charles, seemingly engrossed in conversation.
"Is that your dog?" Lizzy asked, wanting anything to break the silence.
"Yes." He replied. Goneril responded by sniffing Lizzy's feet, and then, apparently approving of her, began to wag her tail.
"Any reason for the name?" Lizzy asked, wanting to get more than one-syllable answers. If Jane and Charles were going to continue much longer they would have to get something going or die of boredom.
Will Darcy shrugged "Well, she is a bitch," he gave a small smile, and when Lizzy began to laugh, he joined in too.
Part 5
"I was wondering when they would finally start," Meg said as she unfolded the letter "…very grateful…next week…discuss…."
"Promotion?" Richard asked, stretching and looking over the couch.
Meg snorted. "Hardly. It's the magazine. They want to know when I can do the photos for the article, and any preferences I might have."
"What do they mean by that? Stilettos and a whip?"
Meg coughed. "I hope not. Otherwise I might be forced to use the whip on them. When I want to do some irreparable physical harm to myself, I'd rather run through a minefield. No, I'm guessing it's something like outdoors/indoors, flattering/true to life sort of thing."
"Next week? So how long would it be before the article actually comes out?"
Meg shrugged, "If there's something really interesting, it'll be all over the rival publications almost overnight. It's scheduled to come out in about three or four weeks, I think."
Whatever Fitzwilliam was about to say was drowned out by the phone (funny how phones have such good timing, isn't it?). Meg picked it up.
"Carter."
There were a few minutes of silence as she 'ummed', 'ahhed' and 'that's stupided' to whoever was on the other end. She put the handset down with measured precision.
"They're onto him."
Richard looked at her, uncomprehending, for a second, before leaping up from the couch and following her out the door.
He had a string of non-convictions due to lack of evidence. The authorities saw him as a threat, though one that was more annoying than actively harmful.
Not bad for someone who never liked to do anything, and whose hobbies consisted of bumming around and trying to push drugs onto schoolchildren (with only very limited success). But now, now They had contacted him. They had a special task for him. He smiled. How innocent she had been. Was she still? He might have completed the job last time, too, if her interfering @$#^!%* of a brother hasn't butted in at precisely the wrong moment. Now They had given him another chance. He would not fail them. Particularly as this would be most enjoyable.
Jane's clear laughter could be heard as she and Charles galloped their horses across the paddocks, Jane's 'Nellie', doing so with some reluctance, while Charles's thoroughbred tossed his head impatiently, wanting an even faster pace.
Things were going even better than the optimistic Charles had hoped. Jane's family (with the exception of Lizzy) were, as yet, unaware (it had been less than twenty-four hours since they had met up), and Lizzy herself seemed to be spending the time with Will and Georgiana. The thought of the first made something go off in Bingley's head. What if Lizzy and Will… he thought, then brushed it off Nah!
Netherfield, which had been neglected in the years since the older Dr. Bingley's death, was a mock-Gothic mansion with a catacomb of winding corridors. One of its chief highlights was the cavern-like library, occupying a wing of its own. It was here that Georgiana, Will and Lizzy spent the time while Charles and Jane were out and about on the estate. Cara spent most of her time in her room, trying out new make-up looks and complaining that she didn't like the smell of books.
To Lizzy and Jane's surprise and delight, Mrs. Bennet had no inkling of their whereabouts, and, an even greater shock, did not seem to care. Lizzy hoped that she might have given up on them as a 'lost cause' and decided to concentrate her efforts on Mary and Kitty.
They usually spent the time in companionable silence, Lizzy melding almost seamlessly with the siblings. There was the occasional interruption as one or the other of them would find a particularly amusing passage, but for the most part, after the initial introductions, they each settled into their own thoughts.
They were interrupted by what seemed to be a huge crash and a horse's scream of terror. Racing out the back, they were confronted by a sight that made them all freeze. The low fence which partitioned the 'back yard' from the rest of the estate - and served as an unofficial 'boundary' for any children, had been broken, Jane's horse - Nellie, lying on her side in the broken part, screaming as only a horse can scream.
Jane lay motionless a few feet away from her horse. It looked as though Nellie had misjudged the distance and the height of the fence, and in so doing, catapulted Jane over her head when she missed the jump. Charles was about as frantic as a doctor would be under such circumstances, as he checked Jane's vital signs, seemingly becoming more agitated as each second passed. Cara wandered out, wondering what was going on. Perhaps the exceedingly strong smell of her perfume alerted Charles to the fact that he had an audience. He looked up at them, handsome face contorted in fear.
"Don't just stand there, get an ambulance!"
"I don't see why I have to do this," Meg grumbled as she let go of the bench - and then fell down again. "I have a Masters in Political Science, a degree in Psychology, I can go and practice Law in about three countries, there's a position on the International Tribunal/Court thing they can never make up their minds what to call that's mine for the taking, any time I even give a hint. I've trained with the SEALs, the SAS, everything down to the First XI Girl's Hockey Team. I speak three languages fluently, four passably and two badly. I've survived about six trillion UN missions; I'm practically the only woman who's been in active combat recently for the last %&($@ years (though that's not too hard. It's not supposedly allowed) and they want me to strut around like this?" She grizzled as she accepted Richard's outstretched hand and pulled herself up. "There are others who are far more qualified for this. I'm a fighter pilot, a lawyer, a psychologist, a political analyst, a Naval Officer, and a few more things that come to mind, but not a @%&^&*# hooker! No offense to hookers intended." She added "It's just not on my list of potential careers. Why do some people think that all women are somehow all like this?"
She had a point. Meg wore a small, strapless red dress that only barely cleared the definition as such, heavy makeup, tacky jewelry, her dark hair rather patently dyed a reddish-blonde, with the roots purposely left showing. But the killing factors were the six-inch stiletto-heeled platform sandals, which she was having trouble walking in. They might have had a knife concealed in each of the heels, but she would have preferred some sensible clothing that had room to hide at least one gun. As it was, it seemed that the dress was about to fall down with her next deep breath, as Meg had virtually no curves for the figure-hugging dress to hug on to.
But to be fair, her partner wasn't too much better off. Even though he was spared the torture of heels, he didn't seem to have too much in the way of mobility either. His black trousers looked as though someone had first bought them a few sizes to small, and then shrunk them, ensuring that he'd have difficulty doing anything other than swagger. They were complimented (badly) with a very bright, glitter-dusted shirt, which was purposely left open to expose dark curls on his chest (none of which were his. Rich had light brown hair, and Meg disliked chest hair anyway).
"It's a good thing there's backup," he mused "otherwise we're dead. Literally."
"Believe me, I appreciate that." Meg muttered, hauling herself up again. "I will almost be seriously displeased if nothing comes out of this except a broken leg."
"Commander Carter!" a junior officer came pelting into the room, phone in hand. He took one look at Meg, and his jaw fell. Richard walked over to him, pushed his jaw back to its rightful position and relieved him of the phone. The boy took one look at him and ran off.
Meg took the phone. After a second or so, she turned pale and began to undo the straps on her shoes. She stood up, stretching her legs as she shut off the phone, and turned so that her back faced her partner.
"Can you unlace this? They've decided to send Sharp and Jones instead. You can go back home."
"What about you?"
"One of my friends is in hospital with a horse-riding accident. I'm going to see her." Here she paused for a second. "Maybe you'd like to come. It's in the area they think They will strike next, and apparently there were some rather funny circumstances."
Jane was unconscious and her breathing was harsh and shallow by the time they finally got her into hospital. After the initial panic, it seemed that had suffered severe concussion, but no further injuries apart from a few bruises. The doctors were confident of a full recovery.
But that could hardly be surmised from the reaction of Mrs. Bennet when she was informed of the accident. She was flapping around the ward in a flurry, occasionally uttering things like "My poor, dear girl!" and "Wake up Jane! Your have no idea what this is doing to my nerves!" She was eventually calmed down by Charles Bingley, and then diverted her attention to him, her daughter forgotten, when she found that Jane had been with Charles at the time of the accident. She then proceeded to make sly, pointed remarks about the nature of his and Jane's relationship and how he should make amends for her being hurt in his company.
Luckily, she was so preoccupied with embarrassing Bingley that she failed to see her second daughter at the other end of the room, being comforted by a rather familiar person, and a younger girl. However, this was soon rectified when the sound of a confident stride on the hard floor made them all turn towards the door.
The reactions were mixed. Charles looked relieved, Lizzy not-that-surprised, Mrs. Bennet giving the newcomer a slight nod of welcome, as though this person was important enough to be civil too, but that she didn't like very much. Will looked at the woman with a twinge of recognition. Where have I seen her before? She was tall, with wet dark hair falling past her shoulders and an elegant, confident manner about her.
She went to hug Lizzy and then Mrs. Bennet, and then turned to face him. "It's nice to see you again Will. Long time." He racked his mind as to who she could be.
"Meg?" he asked hesitantly, How long has it been? Ten years? Fifteen? Not since we had that huge fight about women in combat and she went off in a huff.
"Of course it's me," she laughed at the expression on his face. Feeling a little uncomfortable, he excused himself to go and get a cup of coffee.
He was met with the unexpected sight of his cousin in the hallway.
"What are you doing here?" He noticed that his cousin's hair was wet, and his face bore the signs of vigorous scrubbing, as though to remove…no Darcy, don't go there. You already know he wears it. At least he doesn't flaunt it.
Richard shrugged. "One of Carter's friends was in an accident, so we're here. Why are you here?"
"Charles's new…well….female friend, I suppose I'd say…fell off her horse. Concussion."
"Oh." Richard looked over his cousin's shoulder, "Carter's coming out now. Do you want an introduction or something?"
"Err…maybe later…I…I…promised Charles I'd get him a coffee." With that he made off to the cafeteria, not looking back.
Richard and Meg exchanged amused shrugs, then moved quickly to the door.
"We've got to get there before anyone messes around with it." Meg remarked as they got into the dark car.
With that they were gone, into the endless night.
Part 6
"No doubt about it," Meg remarked as she examined the broken fence with a small torch "Someone's definitely sawed through it. They wanted someone to get hurt. But who? And why?"
Beside her, Richard shrugged and wrapped his coat more tightly against himself. It had grown unseasonably cold since they had been out here, examining the fence.
"And who's 'someone'? If this thing is just a bunch of neighbourhood kids and their idea of a joke I'll almost be annoyed."
"Then aren't you glad it isn't?" came a voice from the darkness. Both of them froze, and then turned around, Richard's hand going to his hip, Meg's to her shoulder holster.
"Which one of you is it this time?" Fitzwilliam asked, his voice carried away by the wind.
"One of us?" the unseen figure chuckled.
A scream of agony from a male throat made Richard turn around, in time to see Meg kick a rather large-looking shadow in the midsection. To his horror, he then saw a third black shadow descend on her back.
She gave nothing more than a strangled sound of surprise before crumbling bonelessly to the ground.
Before Richard could move, the two black shadows had vanished. He looked for the first, then, finding a darker shape in the dark light, pounced on it and pressed it up against a fencepost, shining his torch at the shadow.
"Wickham." He breathed, not sure whether to believe his eyes.
"Nice to see you too, Fitz," the other man chuckled. He was a year or so older than Fitzwilliam, who would have been handsome if not for a certain expression in his eyes and face.
"You're gone this time, Wickham."
"So's your friend." Wickham began to laugh as Fitzwilliam turned to see his partner, still unconscious, barely breathing.
"So, Fitz, what's it to be? You take me, she could die in the meantime. And if you do take me, what's the chance I'll actually get charged with anything? You haven't a shred of evidence to charge me for anything other than taking a moonlit walk."
Fitzwilliam looked hard at his old adversary, before shoving him roughly against the fencepost one last time.
"Get out of my sight." Wickham dropped his act and went scurrying off into the dark
Richard walked to the crumpled shape of his partner, and gently cradled her in his arms for a second before gently lifting her up and carrying her back to their car.
"Wait a sec, Will. I want to get out." Charles Bingley told his friend.
"Here?" Darcy looked out. The sun was just starting to creep over the east, and he was exhausted. The Bennets were still at the hospital, keeping vigil over Jane.
"Here." Bingley said firmly.
With a rather confused look, he stopped the car and followed his friend to the broken fence where Jane had fallen.
"I thought it was like it was with my father all over again." Charles said quietly. "He died just over there, you know," he waved to a spot further along the fence. "His horse refused the jump and sent him over. He broke his neck on impact."
"Oh." Will did not say anything else, but looked at the ground. Noticing something interesting, he bent down to pick up a small object.
"Bingley, neither you nor Jane was carrying a torch, right?"
"Well…I
"Not that kind, Bingley. A flashlight. Look." He held up the small tube.
Bingley took it "I've never seen one as small as this. It's certainly not in the shops." He paused to think for a second. "And there's been a fight here."
Darcy looked back at the ground. The wet soil was far more churned than the steps of two horses would make it. There were red stains on the ground too. He bent down to get a bit on his finger, and smelt it. Blood.
"What are you two doing out here?" Georgiana asked, as she walked up to them. She had been asleep in the back seat, and they had been loath to disturb her.
She looked at their faces, and then at the mess of the back fence.
"Something tells me that this is a bit more serious than a horse-riding accident,"
"Ow…" Meg bit back a groan as Richard gingerly probed the large green-purple bruise that spread across most of her lower back.
"How did they know to hit me there?" she asked. "It's not as though this little vulnerability of mine is exactly common knowledge."
Richard shrugged as he smeared some sweet-smelling substance on her back and began to gently rub it in. "How did you get it?"
"I was flying reconnaissance about five years ago when someone locked onto me and shot up half the @$#& plane. I just made it back to base, but I had to end up making a crash landing, which isn't too good for the chiropractor bills, particularly as I'd already pulled some muscles in my back the week before playing basketball with guys who were about seven feet tall."
"Why didn't you eject?"
"Where I was? I'd have preferred to crash. They think female fighters are the Devil's work or something like that. At least you die quickly in a crash. "
It was that moment that their superior decided to walk in, looking remarkably unsurprised, as though it were every day he saw one of his senior officers lying topless on a massage table with another officer, shirt open and sleeves rolled up rubbing salve into her back.
"I hope you're all right there."
"I'll live." Meg nodded, then grimaced as Fitzwilliam touched a particularly painful area.
"Do you have any idea why they would show up there, Sir," Richard asked, as he stood up straight.
"Don't let me interrupt you. At present, no. Charles Bingley would be of no interest to them, nor would Jane Bennet. Who else is there."
"Well…from what I heard, there would be Elizabeth, Jane Bennet's sister…"
"She's only a junior partner, even if it is at Gardiner & Associates. I doubt that she'd be of interest to them."
"There's Cara Bingley…"
"Fashion design is about the only thing they're not interested in …but I hear they're starting their own 'modeling agency'" Here all of them exchanged a look, as though they were thinking of something other that 'modeling agency' "…but it's not a big thing…more like a hobby…so I doubt her."
"…and my cousins, William and Georgiana Darcy."
"Ah." The General nodded "They ride, do they not?"
"Yes. But the sawed fence might or might not have had anything to do with it. It might have been a bunch of kids…"
Meg, who had been in contemplation, looked as though something had occurred to her "Fitz…Sir…maybe it wasn't anything to do with trying to kill someone."
"What?"
"Look, the sawn-fence thing is hardly reliable. If they wanted someone dead, I'd think they'd try a more direct method. What if this is just an attempt to scare them off, so they can use Netherfield…"
"What for? It's miles from everywhere except…"
"Except what we officially aren't aware of." Meg smiled. "Remember, Netherfield has a conservatory perfect for an amateur astronomer. What's to say they won't use it to look out for something else?"
"What indeed?" the General looked thoughtful "What indeed?"
Meg thought she saw a shadow that shouldn't have been there vanish from the doorway, but she put it down to the painkillers.
Jane gained consciousness a few hours later, and apart from a splitting headache and some bruising, was fine, though she took some sick leave, just in case. Dr. Bingley, ignoring the whispers of Mrs. Bennet and her friends, decided to stay at Netherfield for an extended period, and go to the hospital only when he was needed.
At the end of the long weekend, then, Will offered to take Lizzy back to the city, and after dropping Georgiana off at the University, they had more than an hour to themselves.
Part 7
"Thanks for the ride," Lizzy said as she stepped out of the car.
"No problem," Will replied as he also got out of the car to retrieve her bag. "Err…I'm sorry about your sister," he sounded as though he were not sure what else to say. While they had been comfortable enough on the drive back, their parting was rather awkward, neither sure of what to say or do.
"Thank you." Lizzy repeated, and took her bag. "I'll see you later. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Darcy."
Will knew that he had been dismissed. He watched her enter the lobby, feeling like an idiot. I should have said something, he fumed What did we talk about? Books! Films! Nothing even remotely important. Not how she makes me feel so alive, how I feel that I've known her all my life, even though we only met a few days ago. No, we had to talk about 'The English Patient'! What kind of an idiot are you, man! You didn't even &#%^&* get her phone number! One whole hour and not one phone number! he chastised himself as he sped back to his townhouse.
"Someone's been getting into this," Fitzwilliam was surprisingly calm as he accessed a file that didn't officially exist.
All heads in the room shot up. "Who?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't have made a deal out of it," Fitzwilliam snapped impatiently. "Look. That ID should not be here."
The others crowded around. True to his word, among the codenames, there was one that was just made up of numbers.
"But they obviously knew the 'back way'." Carter mused. "I told them not to install that. Any half-computer literate schoolkid could work it out."
"I'm just hoping it's only a schoolkid." Richard pointed at another screen that came up "Someone's copied about half of it."
The shadow hovering around the doorway scuttled off. He would have to be more careful in future.
"Lizzy?"
"Hi Anne, how's everything?"
"Great, great," Anne nodded at the other end of the phone "Can you still do the photo-shoot next week?"
"Depends where it is. I have to confess I'd almost forgotten about it."
"I don't blame you. How's Jane?"
"She's fine. Did she tell you that she still wants to be in it?"
"Yes…so we're making arrangements to do hers with Dr. Bingley's at Netherfield. Do you think you could take maybe an afternoon off sometime mid-next week?"
"For the photo-shoot? Aren't you doing those in a studio?"
"Well…not unless we can't avoid it. We'd prefer a more 'natural' setting…there's a beautiful estate up north that we can use for some of the shoots. It'd be perfect for you."
"I could make it on Friday week…that way, we could use the weekend if it runs overtime."
"Perfect! We can take you up if you don't feel like driving."
"No, that's fine. What's the estate called?"
"Pemberley."
"What could anyone possibly want with that part of the data?" Meg was unusually perplexed. "It's both useless and unintelligible without the rest of it."
"I don't think the point of the exercise was to take anything valuable." Richard was going through the rest of the files to ascertain whether they had been accessed. "I think the point was to show us they could."
"Or it could be to tell us that we have a mole. But who? And whom would they be working for? And why?" Here she stopped "I can answer the last. There are only five main causes for them to persuade someone." She counted them off with her fingers "Wealth, power, ideology, fame (or secrecy), lust. Now we've got to find out who wants what."
"Who indeed?" Richard sounded just as confused. "What is going on?"
Darcy sat at his desk, not seeing the stacks of documents before him. Friday night. For any normal person in his age and position, that should entail at least a date, or, if not, perhaps a night out clubbing with the guys.
Usually he'd go to the theatre or party or some sporting event, with the expected model or bit-part actress on his arm, usually one he'd only been introduced to by his secretary fifteen minutes earlier. It couldn't be seen that he, that someone handsome, rich and powerful was dateless at a function or party, oh no.
Will rarely went with the same woman twice - that would give the tabloids a field day and there would be bets as to the engagement, but he was never without a partner at the functions. It worked out for both parties - for him, he could deflect any questions about his celibate state, and for her, it usually entailed more offers and audition calls.
But not this evening. He'd told his secretary to hold off the offers from the various modeling agencies, all of which clamoured for their 'girls' to be in the spotlight. Refused the invitations. How could he explain? That he wanted 'out' from the inanities attached to his job? He wanted the work but not the 'fun'?
There was the sound of footsteps outside. Will looked up, surprised, as his cousin stuck his head around the door.
"Hi Will," Richard grinned, looking a little tired "It's 7, it's Friday. You're still here?"
"No, it's my evil twin," Darcy shot back sarcastically. "What brings you here?"
"Can't I visit my favourite cousin?" Richard chuckled "You're working too hard. Come on, let's go and get a drink...
"You're in love."
Darcy looked up, startled, at his cousin's bland pronouncement. "It's that obvious?"
"Only because I am," Richard raised his glass to his lips, smiling at his cousin's double take, as he revisited his assumption as to who Richard was in love with.
"Who is it?" Richard continued.
"Elizabeth." Darcy's voice was soft, as though he didn't really wanted to admit it.
"There are about a million Elizabeths, Will. I don't suppose you could be a bit more specific?"
"Elizabeth Bennet."
"The lawyer?"
"No, the garbologist. Of course the lawyer. Do you know her?"
"Only vaguely. She's a friend of Carter's. Are you finished?" Richard asked, indicating Darcy's glass.
Darcy nodded, and they walked out of the bar.
They walked out to a moonlit promenade, passing numerous couples out for a stroll. Richard chuckled as he watched his cousin gaze after them with a touch of envy. The only 'real' date he and Meg had been on -dinner, dancing, stroll (at least, that was what he had planned)- had been rudely interrupted by a bunch of Neo-nazi thugs who had smashed their way into the restaurant and kidnapped a civil rights leader at gunpoint. It did kill the mood a bit. All their other 'dates' usually consisted of a night at either one of their apartments watching videos and eating take-out.
Thinking of Meg, now, he remembered something he had to do. He stopped in front of the display of a very exclusive jewelers'.
"What are you looking at?" Will paused to see his cousin examining the glittering gems in the window.
"Carter's birthday is coming up. I'm not sure what to get. What about something like those?" he pointed to something in the window.
Will assumed he was pointing at the cufflinks Not the hairpins. Nor the tiara. Surely not. "Nice." He commented.
"I was thinking of getting the diamonds my mother left me reset into something like that," Richard told him "How long do you think it would take? Carter's birthday's next week."
Darcy looked shocked "But they're your family jewels. Didn't your mother say you should only give them to the woman you love and marry?"
Richard smiled inwardly as his cousin stressed 'woman'. "I'm in love…and if I can't marry Carter, I won't marry anyone else."
Obviously the word 'can't' reverberated around Darcy's mind a lot more than his cousin had anticipated, if the weighty silence that followed his remark was any guide.
"Do you think they'd have enough time to do it by next Thursday?" Richard mused.
The first shoots for the 'bachelor' article were up and running, which meant Anne was breathless from making sure everything was going to plan. The first location was on a picturesque beach, where they would photograph a swimmer, coast guard, an environmental engineer and a naval officer.
The swimmer was done in the dawn light, a young man (even though there were women this year, over thirty of the subjects were still male) standing waist-deep in the surf, looking out to sea.
The coast guard was during the morning, sun-bronzed and confident. The afternoon reserved for the engineer.
Late-afternoon/dusk was for the naval officer. Anne made sure everything was ready for his arrival. "Lights - check, photographer- check - subject -…" she was walking around, checking the last things off her list, when she bumped into something every solid.
To her growing embarrassment, it was a tall, well-built man, wearing deck shoes, shorts, jumper...and a rather shocked expression in pristine blue eyes.
"I believe 'check' comes next. Nice to see you again, Anne."
"Frederick." She breathed.
Darcy waited impatiently outside his cousin's door. He wanted to get up to Pemberley sometime before midnight, and wanted his cousin's advice. After all, Richard had already had his photo taken in some wilderness somewhere. Darcy had no idea what it was about. He had assumed it was something like having a portrait taken, but when the magazine had rung him up asking for his preferred 'look' he hadn't an idea what they were on about.
Finally his cousin answered the door. Will walked in to see his cousin dripping wet and wearing nothing except a towel around his waist, and a shaving cut on his chin.
"Big date?" he asked, then mentally hit himself as he realised who was the person most likely to be going on a date with his cousin.
"Carter's birthday," Richard confirmed his thoughts. Will belatedly noticed a long, slender black velvet box lying next to a bunch of long-stemmed, dark red roses on the table by the door.
"I just wanted to ask what the whole photo-thing was about," Will told his cousin as Richard exited the room, and then came back with a comb.
"They just tell you to hold still and they do the rest," Richard told him, combing his hair out. "By the way, which tie do you think I should wear?" He came out of the bedroom with an armful of ties, which he dumped on the couch.
Darcy threw aside the South Park and Disney ties before deciding on one with a simple dark-red and black pattern.
"Wait a sec," Richard disappeared back into his bedroom with the tie, but continued to talk with his cousin. "What are you so worried about?"
"What do they mean when they ask about a 'look'?"
"Just that. Do you want sexy, appealing, cute, rugged or charming?"
"I think I said normal."
"Pity. How do I look?"
Richard was wearing dark pants and pale shirt, knotting his tie as he came out. His jacket was draped over his arm, and his hair was combed neatly.
Will nodded his approval "You have the merest hint of good taste. I'm impressed."
"Thank you." His cousin replied, then went to pick up the box and the flowers. "Where are they taking yours?"
"Pemberley. Tomorrow. That's why I wanted to come and ask you about the whole thing tonight."
"And they'll only have time to take you tomorrow. Don't you feel important? I had to be sandwiched between an accountant who kept walking into trees and a football player who probably didn't know what a tree was."
"No. They asked me if they could take somebody else's at Pemberley, so I assume that whoever it is will take some of the time."
"Know who it is?"
Will shook his head "No. I should leave if I want to get home before tomorrow morning. Have fun on your…" he hesitated "…date."
© 1999 Copyright held by the author.