Beginning, Section II
Jump to new as of May 17, 1999
Part 8
No, Will thought as he listened to the stylist flap around, giving loud orders to the rest of the crew Definitely nothing like portraits. Why can't the other guy get here? I could use a distraction.
The photo crew had him ready to run screaming off the estate, even though there really wasn't much he could run to. Since mid-morning they had been fussing around him, trying him with different clothes, different lighting, different settings. Garden, Woods, Stables, Kennels. Almost everything in his wardrobe. Could they not be satisfied?
"Mr. Darcy?" the stylist came back "Just one more?"
Darcy sighed. Why did I agree to do this?
Lizzy gazed at the huge mansion as she got out of the car. Who lives here? she thought This place must be the size of a small country! Look at it!
She turned to see Anne coming towards her, smile on her face.
"Lizzy! Fantastic of you to come!"
"Hi to you too. What are you on? Happy pills?"
"Better. I saw Frederick again! He's asked me out!" Anne was as giddy as a girl half her age.
"Frederick…that would be…no…the guy from Uni?"
"Yes! He was having his photo done last week, and we met up again then. We got talking when it started raining and we had to postpone his shoot. Can you believe it? He's forgiven me!"
"Forgiven you for what?"
"Didn't I tell you? No…no…. I wouldn't have. He asked me to marry him, just before he went off to sea, but…I said no…I wasn't ready…"
"What's wrong with that? You were eighteen, for crying out loud!"
"He thought I didn't have any faith in us." Anne said quietly, then swiftly changed the topic "Did you bring some of your favourite clothes, like I asked?"
"Yes," Lizzy replied, going around to the back to get out an overnight bag.
"Great," Anne ticked something off on a clipboard. "Come on. We haven't quite finished with Mr. Darcy yet, so we have a bit of time. We were thinking of doing yours on the lawns near the lake…"
"Darcy?" Lizzy interrupted, stopping on the path.
"Yes. William Darcy. You know, Mr. Tall-Dark-Handsome already Most Eligible Bachelor, Thank You Very Much, I-Hate-Photos. That's him."
"Oh. Is this his place?"
"Yes. Huge, isn't it? Come on, if you want to have a look at the lawns we can go this way. It's through the fencing gallery here."
"Mr. Darcy, could you look a little more…enthusiastic?" the photographer pleaded.
Will sighed, and looked into the camera. His left arm ached where he had been leaning on it against the wall. He looked around, at the fussing camera crew, the lights…at…No…What is she doing here?
The first sight that confronted Elizabeth as she walked into the gallery was the herd of crew in one corner. Further inspection showed a stressed-out photographer and a frustrated subject.
William Darcy had been leaning on his left arm, which was bent above his head, right hand carrying a weighty rapier in easy repose. Initially, he looked as though he had just finished an exhausting fencing session, with his hair slightly mussed and his shirt clinging to his chest. But closer scrutiny showed that his clothes were not what one would wear for fencing. With the close-fitting black breeches, boots and linen shirt open to the waist, he looked remarkably like a coverboy on a 'historical' romance novel. As she entered the room, their eyes met above the heads of the crew, and she saw the intensity with which they burned, like dark gems with some mysterious inner fire.
"Try to imagine the woman you love is walking…there…that's perfect!" The photographer took the shoot before Will knew what was going on, and then smiled in a rather patronising way.
"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
Will mumbled some reply before reverting to his initial point of interest. He walked over to where Anne and Lizzy were standing, after carefully placing the (real) sword back in its display case.
"Ms. Bennet…Elizabeth…I…didn't expect you." He felt unusually ill at ease. Perhaps it was the outfit.
"Didn't you?" it was Anne who answered. "You seemed favourable when we contacted you."
"For the magazine? No…it's just that…"
"You thought it was only guys?" Lizzy raised an eyebrow. Her eyes seemed to be challenging him to say 'yes'.
"Err…no…just not you….excuse me, I…I'm going to get changed…" he gave the excuse lamely and then left the room.
Will ran up to his room as quickly as he could in the restricting breeches and boots. As soon as he was safely in and the door closed behind him, he stripped them off as quickly as he could, and then began rummaging around the various wardrobes and cupboards for suitable clothes and underwear (the stylist had started nagging about VUL, though Will had no idea what it was, and insisted that he not wear anything under the breeches.)
After a cursory glance into the mirror to make sure he was decently dressed, he sent a little prayer to no deity in particular that this meeting would go well.
"Thank you for dinner," Lizzy said politely as they made their way out to her car.
"Thank you for accepting," Will replied quickly. After getting dressed, he'd gone outside to see the crew taking Lizzy's photo on the lawns near the lake. He was gratified to know that the stylist and photographer were as fastidious over Lizzy as they were over him, fussing over every little detail.
They'd eventually settled on a back-lit shot of her standing at the edge of the lake, the reds and golds of the setting sun reflecting off the water, making her look like some sort of other-worldly visitor, about to return to the depths of the water.
After the shot, the crew packed up to go back to the city. They said they had another shoot the next day, even though it was Saturday. At least, that was the reason the Anne gave for turning down Will's invitation for dinner, leaving Lizzy (who had already accepted) alone with him.
Dinner was certainly enjoyable, with just the two of them, no distractions, just the joy of being in each other's company. Will even managed to get her private phone number without raising her suspicions (or at least that's what he thought). It was over all too soon, and as neither could come up with a half-decent excuse why Lizzy should stay any longer, it was with some reluctance that Will escorted Lizzy out to her car.
"I hope we'll meet again very soon." Lizzy said, reaching for the door handle.
"So do I." Will opened the door for her.
She smiled her thanks, and stood there for a while, giving him a chance to come closer to her.
She closed her eyes as he lowered his head…
Only to hear the sound of a car racing down the driveway. When she opened her eyes, Will's face was mere millimetres away from hers, but he, too was distracted by the sound of the car. Lizzy saw him look panicked.
"Who is it?"
"It's Georgiana…but she shouldn't be home this weekend. Something must be wrong!" he took off in the direction of the front steps.
The driver of the small, but undoubtedly expensive car was quite distressed, if the haphazard way she parked was any indication. She stumbled out of the car and into her brother's arms, letting out tears she had been holding back the entire trip for fear of obscuring her vision. In between sobs, Lizzy heard the words …my room…notes…painted…
It took several hours before Georgiana told them the entire story. That day, she had felt that someone had been following her around, though she saw nobody unusual. Then, at her first class, someone had scrawled some very abusive language on the seat in front of where she normally sat. She found that it was the case at every class. Someone broke into her locker and left her possessions alone, but spray-painted some more insults in it. The last straw had come when someone had entered her room and left everything alone except her photos, where every photo had been 'modified' with a permanent marker, and much of her work had been strewn around the room.
Since it had taken them so long to calm her down, it was well past midnight by the time she finished. Feeling that Lizzy would have a hard time staying awake on the long drive back, Georgiana invited her to stay the night. It took only a moment's hesitation and a call to the frantic Jane before she agreed.
"Good…look a bit less…no…more this way…" Meg sighed as she leant over and stared into the camera. Due to her other commitments, it was not possible for her photographs to be taken at their preferred location - one of her family estates famous for its rugged beauty. Instead, they were shooting hers in a studio. It had been designed like a plain, pale grey curved room, so one was not sure when one wall became another, nor when the floor became the walls and the walls became the ceiling.
Megan sat on the floor, wearing charcoal grey pants and shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair was pulled sharply off her face, and with the startling contrast between her ivory skin and dark hair, it seemed that the only colour in the entire shot were her piercing green eyes.
"No…too…harsh…" the stylist complained. "Can you…take your hair out a bit?' he pleaded.
Meg sighed, and then walked over to her bag and withdrew a black velvet box. It held two slender hair-clips made of platinum, set with glittering diamonds. She shook her hair out from its severe style before pinning it back again with the clips.
"They're beautiful," Anne complimented her "Where did you get them?"
"My partner/boyfriend/lover gave them to me for my birthday, a few days ago," Meg smiled "so you might not like to mention that in a 'bachelor' article. Somehow I don't think it would be appropriate."
"Perhaps not." Anne agreed, grinning.
The shot took only another ten minutes, and afterwards, the crew packed up as quickly as possible, eager to enjoy the rest of their weekend. The stylist pestered Meg about the designer of the hair-clips for a little while, before giving up and stamping off in a huff.
Megan had carefully put the clips back in their case and was pulling her hair into its customary knot when her mobile rang.
"Carter?" She paused for a few seconds, and then it looked as though all the blood had drained from her face. "You're sure? Who would have thought? I'll be there in a few minutes. Don't start anything until I get there."
Part 9
"We caught him at the computers this morning," Fitzwilliam grimly informed his partner as they strode through the corridors, unusually panicked for a Saturday morning, Meg tugging at her uniform as she went.
She nodded, "Of course we never thought of him. He didn't even seem to know what a computer was, most of the time, with that 'village idiot' act. How could we have been so stupid? I know he's been here forever, doing some menial job, being unnoticeable. Shouldn't we have recognised the signs - no discontentment, no grumbling - just more kowtowing. He was the perfect mole." She said the last somewhat contemptuously.
"We ran checks on him when the rest of the stuff went missing." Richard continued "He was here, apparently doing some task like sorting out stamps or something. And the access codes match his. It's just that no one even thought of checking to see if it was his. It was just lucky he left such a trail."
Carter nodded as they stood in front of the heavy door. "In?" she asked. He nodded.
William Collins ignored the stool in the middle of the room and was curled up in a foetal position in the far corner. Carter and Fitzwilliam, who sat in a separate box behind a one-way mirror took a second to scrutinise him.
Apparently whoever had caught Collins at the computers had not been gentle about their discovery.
"Sharp found him." Richard told her, reading her mind.
"Becky? Is she back?"
Richard nodded "That was why she was so mad. He'd been sending stuff off through the editors of 'Stupid Gullible Half-Dead Bimbo' Magazine to his contacts overseas. Becky's just…"
"…spent six months being treated like $*%# while looking into the magazine. Quite interesting, that line of work - who'd think of a 'fashion' magazine selling military secrets?"
"That was an aside, remember, after sending 'girls' to goodness knows where? Have they even tracked half of them down?"
Megan shook her head "No one even bothered to ask. What were most of them? Pretty, certainly, but they were wannabe models and actresses without a smidgen of talent or brain between the lot of them. Most of them would have ended up walking the streets or drugged-out in an alley somewhere." Meg shrugged "They came from families with little money, prestige or power. No one in control gave a #^&%#@. The magazine would persuade them they were going to Paris or Milan or somewhere for a shoot, and then they were on the plane, and then all evidence of them disappears. And because they went willingly, we can't charge whoever's responsible with abduction or anything like that." Meg sighed, as though it were something that really rankled her. "Remember the fuss that got kicked up when Georgiana Darcy was approached by one of them? And more than a hundred girls had already gone by then, most of them just as pretty and innocent as she was…just not as rich. What happened to them all? They can't have vanished into thin air!"
Richard indicated the window through which they could see Collins. "Then I suppose we had better start now."
The morning had broken bright and clear at Pemberley. Lizzy opened her eyes, panicking, for a second as she saw the unfamiliar room.
Yes… she remembered I'm at Pemberley…Will's home…Georgiana…I.. she got up from the bed, noting that it was easily large enough to accommodate three. The room was well lit and spacious, with adjoining bathroom. Georgiana had 'scrounged' Lizzy some toiletries (or that's how she put it. Lizzy didn't really think of producing stuff worth the GDP of several small countries 'scrounging'), and Lizzy already had several changes of clothes in her bag, not sure what to wear for the shoot. For the most part, they were comfortable, casual clothes, mostly made of natural fibres, with only a few 'dressier' items in case they were unsuitable.
Thinking of Georgiana, Lizzy hoped that the younger girl was not too upset about the incident the previous day. After getting it all out, she seemed to be back to normal. Perhaps Georgiana was one of those people who coped better after a good scream/cry/temper-tantrum session.
After dressing, she made her way down the ornate staircase, and once she encountered the housekeeper, was shown the way to the breakfast room, where Will was already sitting down, reading a newspaper while trying not to get toast crumbs onto the table.
He looked up as she entered the room, and then made as though he was going to get up help her into a seat, except she sat down before he had a chance to do anything.
"Thank you for helping with Gi," he said awkwardly, as though not sure what to do around her "That's only the second time I've seen her like that."
"Oh," was Lizzy's only reply. What could she say to that?
If either of them was going to say more, they were interrupted by Georgiana herself coming into the room in a rush.
"Charles is on the phone," she said, breathless, "Jane needs to talk to Lizzy." She turned to Elizabeth and handed her a cordless phone "You might like some privacy," Georgiana told her uncomfortably 'Come on, Will,"
Darcy followed his sister out of the room after a long look at Lizzy.
Despite what Georgiana had said, they stayed about three centimetres away from the door to the breakfast room, so they heard every word.
"Lydia's gone where? What do you mean no one knows? She had a plane ticket, and a visa, didn't she? Didn't get off in Milan? What happened to her, then? They couldn't have strapped her into a parachute and thrown her out of a window for crying out loud! Is anyone doing anything? The magazine was what? William Collins? I knew Mama had bad taste in prospective sons-in-law but that's just the ultimate. Well she would be, wouldn't she? Yes, I'll be home as fast as I can."
Will and Georgiana jumped away from the door when they heard Lizzy's footsteps approach it. When she opened the door, she found them further down the hall, intently studying a flower arrangement.
"I'm sorry, but I have to leave now," she said, "my youngest sister has gone missing."
Georgiana followed her up the stairs "Do they know where she's gone?" Darcy walked on her other side, not saying anything, an inscrutable expression on his face.
"No," Lizzy shook her head "she told us that she was going for a modeling shoot in Milan, but she never got there. They have no idea what happened between the departure gate and when the plane she was supposed to be on touched down. Now, of course, they find out that the magazine she was doing the shoot for was being used as a front for trading military secrets and shipping girls overseas for goodness knows what."
Here Lizzy stopped and said no more than politeness dictated. Georgiana and Will watched as her car drove out the gates.
"Are you going to call Richard, or shall I?" Georgiana asked.
"I will."
The background noise indicated that there was pandemonium wherever his cousin worked.
"Will, I can't hear you," Fitzwilliam shouted down the line "everyone's in a mad panic trying to work out what's been copied."
"Copied?"
"Yes, someone's been paying the 'office boy' to copy stuff out. Luckily, he was pathetic with computers, so we've found most of them, but it looks like someone was pulling his strings."
"What is going on?"
"That's what I'd like to know. This morning one of the…someone came in early to find the so-called 'office boy' in the section he wasn't meant to be in, copying files that don't officially exist. Then the floodgates open, and it turns out he was passing the stuff on to the editors of some gossip magazine Carter says is just full of anorexic girls in cheap makeup…"
Great, so he reads those magazines too.
"…who were passing the stuff on to someone else outside. Then we get a link with a slave-ring which the magazine was running by calling for 'models' and sending them off somewhere. You might be interested in that. The guy that apparently 'escorts' the girls off is the guy that annoyed Gi a bit last year."
"George Wickham?"
"The very one. We've got all the ones on this side except him. He left with another 'girl' just yesterday…but it could be a good thing…he might lead us straight to the ones at the top." The was a commotion somewhere on Richard's side "I've got to go. Talk later."
"Rich…" Darcy was cut off by the dial tone. He slammed the phone down in a gesture of disgust.
"What are you going to do?" Georgiana asked as he ran up the stairs.
"Pack."
Part 10
"I knew my family was insane, but this really tops the lot. Well…perhaps Ivan the Terrible and Vlad Tepes just beat her, but she's pretty close." Carter went through the last of the files on their quarry as Fitzwilliam drove them both to the airbase.
"You're related to her?"
"Semi-distantly. Close enough that I've met her a few times, and that I can call her 'Aunt Catherine'."
"And you had no idea about what she was up to?"
"The last time I saw her I was fifteen and smart enough not to tell her I was a cadet and wanted to get into this line of work. If she'd known, I'd probably be dead by now. She never believed in waiting for a potential problem to sufficiently mature before getting rid of it."
"Uh huh. Tell me again why we are back in the field. I though we'd earned our time paper-pushing behind a desk."
"We have. I'm bored. We need a holiday."
"A holiday? Are you insane? We could be killed!"
"I know. I do know her, both personally and through her files. Let's just say that our family has got to be the only one that has security guards, sniffer dogs, metal detectors and the anti-terrorism squad on full alert at our reunions."
"Where do you think she is?" Fitz asked, at length.
"She could be several places. The most likely would be the estates that the entire family owns." She met Fitzwilliam's curious glance with grin. "Family tradition. There are three family estates - one in Europe, one in Asia and one in the Americas - and that's all I can tell you about their location, for the moment. Every member of the family knows where they are, and are entitled to three days stay there. It's like emergency accommodation, I suppose. It's paid for by a trust account set up a couple of hundred years ago, and each estate is cared for by a family descended from people who used to be family servants, and owe some kind of debt. They're all pretty isolated, so not many people outside of the family know of their existence. Oh. I nearly forgot. If you're running from someone or something, you will be hidden for those three days, from everyone but another member of the family, unless they happen to be 'someone or something'. I have no idea how, but after that, though, you'll have to go and the caretakers will answer the questions of the authorities honestly."
"You think she went to one of those?"
"Almost certainly. If she can cover her first few movements, she increases her chances of getting away. You of all people should know that. The problem is that the caretakers will cover for her for three days from her arrival, and I don't know when she's going to go to one of the houses. That's one reason I volunteered for this. It would be downright impossible to track her if someone didn't know about the houses."
"Will they tell you?"
Meg shrugged "Maybe…though she 'outranks' me in the family way of thinking. "The most likely one that she'll go to is in Europe, as that was where she and her associates were persuading the girls to initially go to, and where most of her assets are, but she could have equally gotten away by now."
They pulled up at the airstrip. "Where to, then?"
Meg smiled as she got out of the car and shouldered her bag "Wait and see. It's my turn to fly."
Richard stumbled out of the plane, looking airsick "You would do that," he glared childishly at his partner, who seemed to be showings no ill effects from the flight.
She shrugged, "It was the most efficient way to turn. We'd have missed the runway otherwise. Come on, let's go and get the car."
Within minutes they were ushered through customs, and driving towards the non-descript motel where they would be staying.
"What are we this time?" Meg asked (they took turns being in charge of the transport) as she thumbed through a pile of false papers. Eventually she found their identity cards. "Not this one again!" she laughed as she read it.
"What is it?" Fitzwilliam asked, curious.
"Ianthe DuBois and James Matlock. We're missionaries" from her tone, one could have replaced 'missionaries' with 'pile of festering maggots' and not noticed.
"You have something against organised religion?"
"Well…while I wouldn't want to join one myself, I do understand why someone else would…no…I've just had some bad experiences with people who claim to be religious."
"Oh?"
"Let's say it went a bit beyond ringing my doorbell at 6.30 am on a weekend morning, trying to convert me, OK?"
Richard knew her well enough to sense it was a sore point and left her alone until they pulled up at their motel.
It was a comfortable, homely place, run by a perfectly normal-seeming family. As usual, they had separate rooms for appearance's sake (though usually they only used one), but this place was a standout in that there was a connecting door set in the wall between their rooms.
On their arrival, Meg entrusted Richard with unpacking everything except her personal gear, while she went for a walk.
She went about fifteen minutes out of the village by the main road, before branching off to a lesser-known path that led to a heavy gate, seemingly set to block entrance into a cave.
She had been there less than five minutes before a middle-aged woman came scurrying out. She walked up to Meg, and examined her face closely, before guiding her into an alcove just in front of the gate.
"Your name?" the older woman asked.
"Megan."
"Which branch?"
"DuBois/Bolkonsky. My mother's side."
The woman nodded as she typed into a sophisticated-looking computer, which seemed somewhat out of place in the rustic surrounds.
"Father?"
"British stock. Only very distantly connected."
The woman made a sound as though it were a great misfortune. "Your hand here, please." She held out a flat metal disk. It scanned Meg's palm before making a sound. Evidently, the woman was satisfied Meg was who she claimed to be.
"Your mother was Tatiana, of the DuBois/Bolkonska match, was she not?"
"She was."
"Your purpose. You cannot have come on a pleasure trip."
"I come to ask who is in residence."
"Only Catherine of the Borgia/Tepes, marriage to de Bourgh, and her two friends."
"I was not aware that companions were permitted."
"Catherine is one of the more senior members. Certainly her bloodline incorporates more of the original stock than anyone else living. Her line has not taken advantage of the houses for more than fifty years. We can bend the traditions a little."
"Who are her companions?"
"Their bloodlines are of little consequence," the woman said a little haughtily, as though one's entire place in society could be decided by one's gene pool "A man of very poor stock, generally, but with a dash or two of some very good lines, including yours. Illegitimate, though. The girl is of middling sort, with enough good to suppose she might make something of herself."
"What do they look like?"
The woman gave Meg a hard look before giving a precise, detailed description of Lydia Bennet and George Wickham.
"How long have they been here?"
"Since late yesterday. The House is obligated to protect them for the time taken for the sun to rise and fall three times."
"How are you counting that?"
"They may see three sunsets and sunrises while the House protects them." The woman clarified.
Megan nodded and then got up, "I'll see you the day after tomorrow, then. I offer my gratitude and thanks."
"They are accepted."
"Well?" Richard asked expectantly as she walked into his room "Did you get anything?"
"She's there, all right. So are Wickham and Lydia. Which is good, because then we don't have to go and do another search, which will probably be cold by the time we get onto it."
"Will they make a run for it?"
"I doubt it. Catherine will use this time to plan and flee only at the last minute. She will need to."
"Who told you about them?"
"Lieta Reynolds. She's an old family retainer. She doesn't like Catherine much, so she won't tell her about my appearance. I helped her daughter get out of the whole indentured-servitude-to-the-House thing and into college, so she told me everything I asked for."
"So what are we going to do until this House thing wears off? Sit around and go shopping?"
"No. You are going to call for reinforcements, and I shall be going to plan how I'm going to delay their departure the day after tomorrow."
Meg sat at the dressing table, carefully inking a design in red, blue and green onto her arm so that it looked like a tattoo. Sitting behind her, Richard was working with curling tongs and brush so that her hair looked rough and windswept, with split ends. Meg looked at her appearance in the mirror, and nodded her satisfaction as she stood up.
She wore comfortable low black leather boots, black jeans and a close-fitting white T-shirt. A black leather jacket and gloves as well as ivory cashmere scarf and sunglasses lay on the bed.
"Well…what do you think? Do I look enough like a spoiled-rich-girl rebel to convince 'Aunty Cat'?"
"Yes. Why are you going for the rich-bikie look? You hate motorbikes."
"Catherine is very conservative." Meg smiled "And by that I mean late-nineteenth century, Victorian conservative. She always dresses like a Victorian or Edwardian Lady (capital 'L'). Some of my earliest memories are of her telling me to sit up straight and telling my mother that I should never be without hat or gloves. Then when I was about ten or twelve she kept bugging my grandmother to start 'figure training' me. I always thought of it as 'down girl! Heel!' sort of thing until I found out that her real eleventh-birthday gift to me was a made-to-measure corset and not the new pony grandma got me and told me it was from the lot of them. So, I show up in the spoiled-brat-bikie look, she has a heart attack, admonishes me, and delays her departure, so that you lot burst in thirty seconds after sunset when the servants have to let you in."
"Why only after sunset?"
"I have no idea what the idea behind 'protection' is. I don't think we should take the chance."
"What are they going to do? Set dogs out?"
"Considering who our ascendants were, I think the canine population would be the least of any worries."
"Oh?"
"This is a family that's produced some of the most blood-thirstily creative feudal autocrats. I'll not risk more than we have to."
Richard nodded reluctantly "You all right in case something goes wrong?"
Megan gave him a look that said that he was being foolish. "Of course I am. I've got two guns, a knife and lip balm. Everything a girl needs to get her through the day."
Darcy paused in front of the motel. This is where they said Fitz was, he thought. Why would his cousin be there? and this is as far as they could trace Wickham and Lydia. Coincidence? I think not. But where could Wickham and Lydia be? Not in the village…not even Wickham is that stupid…but where? There's nothing for miles around, and don't tell me they're stupid enough to be camping…
Whatever he was about to say was interrupted when a woman came out of the motel, brushing past him and getting onto a gleaming Harley which then roared off down the street. The woman looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't think where.
He stepped into the foyer just as his cousin was coming down the stairs. Richard looked visibly surprised to see his cousin.
"What are you doing here?"
"Same thing as you," Darcy retorted.
"I don't get it. This is not 'Pride and Prejudice,' Darcy, this is real life. It's not about saving your love's sister's honour, it's about breaking one of the most well-planned slave rings in memory." Richard told his cousin in the privacy of his room.
"You've read Pride and Prejudice?" Darcy was rather surprised. He'd always thought of his cousin as more of an Ian Fleming sort of person.
"It's one of Carter's favourites," Fitzwilliam enjoyed the look on his cousin's face. Obviously Darcy's mind was still on the same track. This was beginning to get tedious.
"You look exhausted. Why don't you have a lie-down here? I have some things to do. I'll come and get you if anything interesting's going to happen."
Darcy would have refuted his cousin had he had the strength. As it was, he collapsed onto the bed just as his cousin left the room. He didn't notice his cousin lock the door softly behind him as he walked out.
He didn't even notice the small pastel packet with the little circle-and-cross symbol on the bedside table, or the scraps of silk and Lycra half-kicked under the bed.
Part 11
It was mid-to-late afternoon before the driver of the limousine finally saw his passengers. He had been waiting out in the cold for more than three hours while the older woman (who he assumed was in charge) alternately abused the staff and her companions for not having the preparations done exactly as she wanted.
The driver disliked the house he had been summoned to. It was well over five hundred years old, and he could easily imagine it as some sadistic noble's torture-centre. He shuddered as a chill crept down his back. With the twisting ivy and the iron gargoyles adorning the grey stone, it appeared to be the stereotypical 'haunted house' from a thousand horror films and comics.
At length, then, his passengers came out, followed by a few disgruntled-looking servants dragging enough trunks to fill a cruise ship. The older woman, he guessed, was of middle age, but with the careful application of an entire counter of cosmetics, managed to look eerily ageless. If he had been a fashion historian, he might have categorised her unusual look as being based on the 'S' bend popular in the early twentieth century, chest thrust forward, bottom thrust back, joined rather precariously by an impossibly small waist. As it was, he assumed she had some problem with her back. She wore an enormous hat, dripping with feathers, and a long-skirted blue suit with a frilled shirt designed to show off her 'S' bend.
Her male companion was in his mid-thirties, looking like a used-car-salesman in a three-piece suit with a cocky grin on his face, as though he were about to get off on some crime he committed due to lack of evidence.
The third member of the party looked a little uncomfortable, or at least that was the impression the driver was getting. She was a pretty girl who couldn't have been much more than fifteen or sixteen. It was evident that the older woman had played some part in her appearance. The younger girl wore a white dress than appeared to have strayed from some other time frame, dripping with lace and ribbons and so gathered and flounced that it had the appearance of a large meringue. Like the woman, her face was heavily made-up, but in such a way that from a distance (a very great distance), it looked almost natural. But, judging by the difficulty she appeared to have breathing, and the bewildered, drugged look in her eyes, she wasn't quite sure what she was doing there.
As the older woman began to get into the car, there was the sound of a motorbike racing down the driveway. It made a perfect 360º turn in front of the steps of the house, skidding slightly on the stone before coming to a stop.
The woman abandoned her efforts to get into the car and turned to the newcomer as the bikie climbed off and turned to face them.
She was a tall woman in her late twenties or early thirties, with dark brown, almost black hair, and, once she removed her sunglasses, green eyes that seemed to bore into a person's soul.
She looked rather surprised to see the woman in blue, before nodding slightly and saying. "Aunt Catherine. I had not expected to find you in such surrounds."
"Nor I, you." The woman replied, looking at her up and down critically. "It shows. Come, come inside with me. Oh, be quiet, Wickham," she snapped at the man as he made to protest. "Bring the girl. Our departure can wait."
With that, she swept regally up the stairs, motioning for the others to follow.
The driver cursed his luck. Who knows how long they might be? He looked after them, so intent on being annoyed, that as soon as everyone had gone into the house, someone pressed a vile-smelling handkerchief to his nose from behind. As he collapsed, someone sat him in the driver's seat, making it look as though he had fallen asleep there.
Darcy woke in his cousin's room. Where? he thought groggily for a second, before remembering Oh…yes. He got up and stretched, before going to the door. Trying it, he found that it was securely locked He sure didn't want me here, he thought, rather annoyed. He turned back into the room. There was another door. He tried it, cautiously. It led to another bedroom, and looked as though it was unoccupied, though the suitcases on the floor were evidence otherwise. Whoever was in this room was just about to leave. He shrugged and went back to his cousin's room, without reading the luggage tags.
He passed his gaze over the room, not picking up the packet of tampons on the table nor the underwear half-under the bed. Instead, his eyes focused on the latest issues of 'Vogue', 'Half-Dead Stupid Gullible Bimbo' and 'Guns and Ammo', lying on the desk, seemingly incongruous with a copy of 'War and Peace' being used as a paperweight. He picked up the 'Vogue' and flipped through it, only to find it was in French and several of the models in both it and 'Half-Dead Stupid Gullible Bimbo' were circled for no particular reason. Curious he thought, just as there was the sound of key in lock and his cousin stuck his head around the door.
"Will, do you want to see something really funny?"
"Well, Megan, how long has it been since we have had the pleasure of meeting?' Catherine asked regally as she accepted a cup of tea from an unusually smiling Lieta Reynolds.
"It must be several years, at least," Meg replied, nodding at Lieta "Not since my grandmother died."
"Ah yes. Alexandra." Catherine nodded, "I always thought she was too soft. Look at what she did to you."
"To me?"
"Yes. Look at you. Come over here, girl!" Meg, who was more accustomed to giving orders than receiving them, gritted her teeth and obeyed. Only a little more to go, she thought, seeing the sun, ever so slowly creep towards the west. Once she was directly in front of Catherine, the older woman stood up and examined her, even walking around with the air of a predatory cat.
"Look," Catherine said up into Meg's face, "Your bones are too sharp, your cheekbones are too high. You have an impossibly stubborn chin…and what have you been doing to your hair?"
"What do you mean? I wash it, I brush it."
"It's rough, windswept. You probably have split ends. And that's just from the neck up. That reminds me. You're entirely too tall, you have no bust or hips to speak of. And look at that," she poked Meg in the midsection and seemed surprised to find that the muscle was as hard as a board.
"No waist whatsoever. Did your grandmother never take my advice about figure training?"
"Figure training?"
"The mark of a true Lady. Do you see me?"
"I have eyes, you are here. Why would I not?"
"Don't be impertinent, girl. What sort of clothes do you usually wear?"
"Well…this on my bike.."
Catherine rolled her eyes, "A Lady is never on a 'bike' as you call it…"
"Well, the Hummer's in for repairs," Meg shot back, and ignored Catherine's shocked look. "Trouser suits to work, jeans, T-shirts, jumpers…"
"What colours?"
"Black, White, grey, green. Maybe navy or burgundy at a pinch. Why?"
"Never mind why." Here Catherine grabbed Meg's chin and pulled her down. Meg had to fight the urge to throw her aunt over to the other side of the room. "You are not wearing any cosmetics."
This close, Meg could see every brush stroke on Catherine's face. "No. Why would I?"
"It is a Lady's duty to look her best," Catherine said stuffily. "Do you ever wear any?"
"A little."
"What sort?"
"Well…usually things from The Body Shop…"
"That group of self-absorbed greenies! They know nothing of true beauty. What's their point? Beauty is Inner? Hah! Anything else?"
"I use MAC if I'm going to a party or something. Lancome for formal things. Why?"
"Never ask why. At least you're using the proper things sometimes. All is not lost. Which designers do you use?"
"Chanel, Donna Karan, whoever's things I find. I have no particular favourite."
"What? With your fortune? It can hardly be small, with your parentage." Megan shrugged. "With a fortune like yours, you do not find clothes. They find you. You should be having your things made. I say Dior, or at a pinch that Italian one, Armani…or was it Gucci…never mind. Never settle for less than the best."
"I see."
Catherine continued to pace around, "It's probably too late to do anything for your figure. Oh, if only your grandmother had the sense to send you to me…"
Thank you, whoever. I will believe in you forevermore if you were the one who gave my grandmother guts and brains.
"…you had so much promise. I could see it in you. That determination, that will to succeed. You would have been my most wonderful creation!"
"Creation?"
"Yes, that's why I'm here. I try to help those poor girls who only want to be beautiful and loved, and what do I find? Now those vultures from three countries are after me!"
"Oh?"
"Those poor, lonely, rich men. They so needed some company. And then I met all these wonderful, nice, girls through a wonderful fashion magazine. So promising, all of them. So I decided to take them away and improve them. Deportment, training, beauty. I had all the best teachers, artists and surgeons at my beck and call. When they were perfect, I sent them off. But no…one little mistake on the side and now my whole dream is ruined, ruined I say!"
"What happened to the girls?"
"Oh, I don't know." Catherine brushed it off, "My only concern was that they were perfect. Their masters probably got sick of them and dumped them after a while, it was none of my concern. But greed. One of them wanted to know some unimportant things about missiles and such. I only asked questions of one insignificant little man, and now all those people are after me."
"Who?"
"You know. Those people who make it their business to interfere in everyone's lives. Megan," her tone changed "come with us. I remember you from that beautiful little girl you once were. I can make you like that again."
This was rather unexpected. As she tried to gather her thoughts, to stall, to think of some reply that was neither rude nor would give too much away, Meg watched the scene out of the window behind Catherine's shoulder. The sun seem to hover above the horizon, stubbornly refusing to set. Catherine was about to make another statement when Wickham walked in.
"My Lady, the sun is nearly set. We must leave,"
" Must? I must nothing. Megan, your reply."
"I'm afraid I must decline, Aunt."
The sun, now realising its duty, seemed to hurry up, melting into the skyline.
"Why?"
Shadows outside the window, ready to pounce the minute she gave them a chance to.
"I'm afraid I have prior commitments at work."
"What could be more important that the pursuit of true Beauty? What is this work?"
Hands on the windowsill, itching to jump. The sun mere millimetres…set!
"I'm in the Navy. Military Intelligence."
Catherine's perfectly painted mouth was a perfect 0 shape. Time stood still for several seconds while black-garbed people swarmed in through the doors and windows.
Catherine glared at Meg, who stared her down with equal intensity.
"You…" she seethed, barely containing her rage.
"I did." Meg confirmed. "I'll see you later, Aunt Catherine, Mr. Wickham. Nice hat." She smiled tightly as they left the room. She turned to one of the black-clad people. "See, I told you we wouldn't need so many. Where's Fitzwilliam?"
The black-covered shoulders shrugged. "He took that clueless guy up to find the girl."
"Since when did we have a 'clueless' guy?"
"Oh," the person's voice was a sort of high male/low female, difficult to discern which sex precisely. "He's not one of us. He's some guy who turned up and Fitz let tag along. He's not bad for a novice. Anyway, the girl they have in the Green Room is his sister or friend or something like that. Is that all?"
Meg nodded and the person left the room. She took a few seconds to gather up her sunglasses and scarf before heading for the staircase.
Part 12
Meg met Lieta Reynolds in the foyer, just as she could hear Catherine and Wickham being bundled off. Out the window, she could see that they had left a low-key looking Range Rover, presumably for Fitzwilliam, Lydia, herself and the clueless guy.
Reynolds tried to look disapproving, "The whole point of having a House was that the members would look after each other."
Meg shrugged, "I have, in a way. There are things more important than blind loyalty."
Reynolds nodded, "And in this case, I think you were justified. You'll find all sorts of interesting documents in Catherine's room, that she'd tried to hide here so no one but her would find them."
"Let me guess, the Borgia room, behind the portrait of Lucrezia?"
Reynolds snorted as Meg moved past her. As the younger woman started to climb the stairs, Reynolds called after her "You will keep the location of the House…discreet, will you not?"
Meg nodded.
"Very well then. You and your friends will not be impeded when you leave. Farewell then, with my blessing…Commander Carter …or whatever you call yourself."
Meg waited until Reynolds retreated into the shadows and began to grow faint around the edges before she continued up the stairs.
After retrieving several disks and a monogrammed leather case full of documents from Catherine's room, Meg made her way down the lonely corridors until she came to the wing that contained the Green Room.
She was about to open the door when it flew open in her face and Fitzwilliam came out.
"You got Catherine and Wickham?" he asked.
"Yes. Perhaps you might explain why I've been told you have a 'clueless' guy with you."
"Oh." Fitzwilliam looked a little sheepish, "Will turned up five seconds after you left and insisted on getting involved. I locked him in our room while I was getting everything ready so he wouldn't get in the way. Apparently Ms. Bennet is the younger sister of his adored lady-love. He thinks he's getting into it to save her honour and all that clap-trap. I think he's been reading too many of those books you give to the Sisters of Charity."
"You're probably right. This is Will Darcy we're talking about, isn't it?"
"Uh huh."
"Great. Now we have William Darcy going mushy over Elizabeth Bennet, Charles Bingley and Jane Bennet spending loads of time together, Lydia Bennet being…whatever she's being by George Wickham, and Colonel Fitzwilliam hanging around not doing much…"
"Hey! I resent that!" Richard crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"Am I the only person in this whole thing who isn't a Jane Austen character? Honestly, it'd be worse if I'd been an English Lit. Major or something." She furrowed her brow. "Does he still think that I'm a guy?"
Fitz shrugged.
"How blind is he? I have practically every feminine item I own in the room! What do you mean, he still thinks you're gay?"
Three seconds later, the door opened to reveal Darcy with a look on his face that implied that he had just obtained confirmation of his worst dread.
Will had been in the room with Lydia, trying to get a response from her. She sat rigidly on the bed, staring into space with a glazed look in her eyes and laboured breathing. After his cousin had left the room, presumably to ask someone what Lydia had been doing, Will suggested that she might like to get up and walk around.
She followed his instructions unquestioningly, robotically, and began to walk around the room, in a precise square, ten steps by ten. Will knew enough about her from his brief acquaintance with the Bennets to work out that this was definitely not normal.
He heard voices on the other side of the door. One was his cousin's, the other a woman who sounded vaguely familiar. However, because the door was of thick oak, he could hear a few words.
"What do you mean, (mumble mumble)…you're gay?" that was the woman's voice, definitely questioning.
I knew it Will thought, I knew it. Who is she? One of his admirers who will now be disappointed? he went to the door, and opened it.
"Oh, Will," Richard looked as though he expected his cousin's interruption, "This is Megan, Catherine de Bourgh's cousin…you've met, I think?"
"It was a long time ago," Megan held out her hand, while giving Fitzwilliam a dirty look that Darcy couldn't quite interpret. "Shall we go?"
Whatever drug they had been using on Lydia wore off halfway through the flight home. Her fellow passengers weren't sure to be relieved she was back to normal or to wish the drug lasted a bit longer.
Lydia was back to what constituted normal for her within days. It was as though nothing had happened. She remembered nothing of the few days she had spent with George Wickham and Catherine de Bourgh.
Will assumed that his cousin would be a little annoyed about that, as Lydia was probably the clearest source of evidence they could have, but remarkably, Richard seemed unconcerned about Lydia's testimony. When he asked about the fate of George Wickham, William Collins or Catherine de Bourgh, all Will received was a shrug and "…it's all been taken care of."
Oddly, too, Darcy never saw any mention of the trio in the media or the courts.
Lizzy was in a foul mood. Not only had Lydia come back even more irritating than before, she had taken to calling Lizzy at all hours asking for advice on what shade eyeshadow she should wear to her next casting.
Even though 'Half-Dead Stupid Gullible Bimbo' had been closed down, the publicity surrounding both it and Lydia had made her one of the most sought-after models of the rival magazines, usually the more trashy, border-on-porn ones, but magazines nevertheless.
Added to Lydia's triumph at being named a 'Face of the Future' (which was presumably better than 'Face of the Year'), Will Darcy had not called for three weeks. He was officially still in the city, and she had seen him from afar once or twice, but could never catch him. He was never home when she called, either. What had gone wrong? They were getting along so nicely. Certainly, they were closer than she had ever been with any other male friend. Was it the business with Lydia? Could he be so neanderthalic as to assume because Lydia would make an idiot of herself that there was a trace of that in Lizzy? But if he was, Lizzy reasoned, it was just as well they weren't talking.
The phone's sharp, demanding tone penetrated her mood.
"Lizzy." She snapped.
"It's Meg," came the voice at the other end of the line, uncharacteristically…what was it…happy?
"Shoot. What is it?"
"You free this time next week?"
"Yeah…why?"
"Do you want to come to a housewarming?"
"Whose?"
"Mine. Who did you think, the Tooth Fairy?"
"No…it's just…where is it?" Lizzy asked, finally.
"Regency Square. It's the Neo-Georgian one…it's called…oh I can't remember now. Anyway, it's big, it's creamy coloured and has great gardens out the front."
"Isn't that a bit big for one person?" Lizzy asked, confused. Even though she knew her friend's dislike of small, enclosed spaces, the thought of one person living in the Neo-Georgian mansion didn't quite make sense to Lizzy. When she had driven past it, it looked large enough to fit several armies and still have room for the odd Viking horde or two.
"Maybe. But what's that got to do with anything?" Here Meg paused "Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm moving in with my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend?" Lizzy sounded shocked. In all the years she had known her, Lizzy had never know Meg to be even the slightest bit interested in anyone of the opposite (or same, for that matter) sex.
"Yes. Boyfriend." Meg enunciated the words clearly, "Why, is it so inconceivable that I just might want an approximately normal life one day? That someday I want to be able to stick my head around the study door when my kids are playing 'minesweeper' and tell them that real mine clearing isn't anything like that?"
"No…" Lizzy hastened to add, "It's just that this is a tad unexpected. So…this time next week? Want anything?"
Will groaned as he collapsed into the easy chair in addition to the even more-than-usually challenging work (there was some huge mix-up on the Olympic board), he had to go to his cousin's house-warming that evening. He had seen the house before. He had even considered buying it. So it wasn't the house. It wasn't really his cousin. He was a bit wary of meeting his cousin's 'partner' though. What should he say? What should he do? What if Fitz's partner invited some 'friends' that took a fancy to Will himself? How could he tell them he wasn't interested? He knew how to pry off women, but he'd never had any experience with turning men down. What was he to do?
Georgiana chose that moment to come in. She was smiling, and holding what appeared to be a magazine. Darcy closed his eyes and groaned again when he realised it was the 'Most Eligible Bachelors' special.
Georgiana chuckled at his pained expression "Don't look like that, Will," she laughed, and then showed him the photograph of himself, before taking it back.
"It's quite good," she said critically "but it makes you look like a three-way cross between Joseph Fiennes, Pierce Brosnan and Val Kilmer."
"Great, so I'm an Elizabethan dandy, Don Juan with a gun and/or a block of wood," muttered Will as he leaned back into the seat. "What else have they done to me?"
"Not much else. Except you'll have to fend off even more women when they work out you can look like this."
Will groaned again as he took his head in his hands.
"There's a nice one of Charles Bingley in polo gear - pretty funny considering he's a hopeless rider - but he looks as though he knows what he's doing. Max is looking cute and amused."
A 'humph' from her brother.
Undeterred, Georgiana went on "Look, here's Richard," Georgiana turned the page "I think I like this look on him - it's the slightly scruffy, unshaved hiker look. It's quite flattering."
Will opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it as the phone rang. He picked it up, to find it was his cousin.
"Yes, I'm coming, I'm coming," he said "we'll be there in a bit," he continued, standing up.
"It's not about the party, which doesn't start for another seven minutes and twenty-two seconds," his cousin said "Not really, anyway. I'm getting married!"
"What!" Darcy spluttered, dropping the phone. When he picked it up again, he asked "Who?"
"Megan. You saw her when we were doing that Lydia Bennet thing. I thought you two had met before. Didn't she throw you in the horse pond when she was twelve and you were sixteen? That was so funny."
"Well, I don't have a black belt in anything," Darcy said through gritted teeth, as though he didn't want to relive that memory "Does Carter know?"
"Why shouldn't Carter know?"
"Because…because Carter's your partner. Don't you…anyway, you're moving in with Carter, aren't you?"
"Yes….what has that to do with me getting married?"
"Hold it, I'll be there in a few minutes," Will told his cousin decisively, before hanging up and facing his sister.
"Richard's getting married."
"To who?" Georgiana asked.
"Megan…I forgot her last name…"
"Wasn't she the one who used to throw you in the horse pond?"
"I'd thank you not to remind me of that." Darcy grizzled as he hunted for the car keys "I've got to tell her."
"Tell her what?"
"About his 'flatmate'" Darcy said through gritted teeth "I don't want her to go leaping into this. Come on." He all but ran out the door.
Georgiana shrugged and followed him.
By the time they arrived at Regency Square, there were already numerous cars parked in and around the beautiful property. In size, it was larger than most houses, and smaller than most mansions. The gardens were tastefully landscaped and there was an abundance of food set out. The guests mingled to the soft background music of the band.
Will noticed none of this, however, as he went to look for his cousin. A bemused Georgiana followed, the magazine still in her hand. Darcy was so intent on looking for his cousin that he didn't notice when he bumped into a familiar figure.
"Lizzy…Ms Bennet," he amended "I…I hadn't thought to see you here."
She seemed a little wary "Perhaps not. Megan is a good friend."
"I see. Can you tell me where my cousin is?"
"Your cousin?"
"Richard Fitzwilliam." Here he hesitated "Your friend's fiancé."
Lizzy raised an eyebrow "They're just over there."
Will turned around to see his cousin and his cousin's fiancee talking to his uncle and step-aunt. He noticed that Meg's hair was pinned up by two clips that looked vaguely familiar, and she wore a matching engagement ring in diamonds and platinum.
It appeared that Richard's father and step-mother were quite taken by her. Perhaps they were relieved that his fling with 'Carter' was only temporary and that he was settling down now.
Will approached them and took his cousin aside. "Rich, can I talk to you for a second…alone?"
"About what?"
"Just come."
Fitz shrugged his shoulders, and making his excuses (anyway, judging by the look on his cousin's face, it was walk or be dragged), showed his cousin the way to the library.
Lizzy walked up to her friend and watched the retreating figures.
"What was that about?"
Meg smiled, "I think Will is finally going to put two and two together."
"Oh?" Georgiana came up. "About what?"
"It appears that your brother's forgotten my surname, and doing his best to pretend he hasn't," Meg told her "but along the way, seems to have gotten the idea that Fitz is moving in with a naval officer who isn't me, and happens to be male."
Georgiana's eyebrows went up "Oh dear. Will's about to make an idiot of himself."
Meg did nothing to refute that statement "Shall we go to the library?" she asked conversationally.
Part 12
Darcy didn't even stop for his cousin to close the door before he began.
"What are you thinking of, Rich? Who are you trying to hurt more?"
"Who have I got to chose from?" Darcy saw his cousin frown, as though he had absolutely no idea what he was going on about.
"Your fiancee or your flatmate." Darcy said through gritted teeth "Have you even told her who else lives here?"
Richard looked really confused "Why wouldn't she know she lives here? Where ever did you get the idea that they were two different people?"
"But…but…" Darcy spluttered.
"Will," came a voice from the doorway, "if you've forgotten my surname, all you need to do is ask." Meg stood just in the study, arms crossed, amused smile playing on her lips.
"Oh." Richard slapped himself on the forehead, as though a light had miraculously gone on somewhere inside. "Ahh. Now I get what you've been going on about for the last few weeks. Will, may I introduce my fiancée Commander Megan Carter. Meg, this is my cousin, William Darcy."
Darcy shook Meg's offered hand numbly, wishing the earth would swallow him whole.
"Oh…hello…"
"Wonderful to see you again too, Will." She gave a predator's grin, just flashing her teeth. It was almost as though she enjoyed watching him squirm.
There was silence, as though no one was willing to say anything in case the embarrassment level in the room rose any further.
It was getting very uncomfortable.
"Well," Richard expelled a large breath and moved towards the door, "now that we have that cleared up, let's go out and enjoy the party," Meg, and then Georgiana followed him out to the garden.
Will collapsed into a convenient chair, head in hands, moaning some mantra that sounded suspiciously like "I'm an idiot, I'm an idiot, I'm an idiot."
Lizzy edged around him cautiously before taking his hands in her own, making him look at her.
"You must think I'm an idiot." He mumbled, before trying to stand up.
"No, you're not." Lizzy shook her head, "You're not the first to be taken in by their little habit of using their surnames. You should have heard what happened the first time Richard took Meg to meet his father and step-mother."
"Oh?" this was one family story he hadn't heard yet.
"I'm not sure I should tell you…but since Meg told me…and thought it was pretty funny…well, the first time Richard wanted to bring Meg home for dinner, she was running late, so, when he got there early, his entire family began to try to convince him to give up his 'alternative' lifestyle."
"Oh?" Darcy began to chuckle. Maybe he wasn't quite as much of an idiot as he felt.
"Very loudly. To the point that they didn't hear the doorbell ring, the butler answer it, and Meg stand at the door to the dining room."
"I suppose I didn't get quite to that stage," Will admitted. Then he sobered. "You must really think I'm an idiot now, though, what with this and the thing with your sister…"
"What with my sister? Lydia?"
"Look, I knew Wickham was bad news from the start. He tried the same thing with Georgiana just over a year ago. I could have at least…"
"Will." Lizzy cut him off decisively, "How could you have known that Lydia was going to listen to George Wickham. I hadn't even heard of him before Lydia ran off. How could you know? I didn't know what kind of a person he was before Meg gave me her curt summary. For someone so intelligent, Will…I have to say this…you're almost charmingly naive about this sort of thing."
"Oh?" This time the single syllable sounded slightly offended.
Lizzy smiled and shook her head "You have too big a conscience. A dangerous thing in a politician." Here they both chuckled. "Things happen. Sometimes they're not anyone's fault, and that's the way things are."
Lizzy straightened up, "Feel up to going back out there?" she asked, motioning to the garden, now beautifully lit up.
"With you, I could go to the ends of the earth." Darcy said sincerely as he stood up. He paused in front of her, and for a second, it seemed that he was about to kiss her, but evidently changed his mind, as then he stood aside and let her go out the door first.
Lizzy wasn't sure what to think.
"You know, your acting's improved," Meg said under her breath as she and Fitzwilliam found a relatively secluded corner of the garden.
Fitzwilliam shrugged, "It's wasn't all acting. I would have thought he'd have figured it out by now."
"Evidently not. Maybe he's one of those with a one-track mind."
"That sounds like him." Richard muttered as they walked towards the drinks table. They were about to round the corner when he stopped suddenly almost causing Meg to run into him.
"What?" she hissed.
"Look" he pointed to two dark shadows intertwined a little out of the glow of the lights. Lizzy and Will were there, otherwise occupied in a passionate embrace.
"Well I never," Meg raised an eyebrow "Drat it, they hold off for another two weeks and I could have won."
"Won?"
"Bet I had going with Wentworth. That Darcy would get into a stable relationship before he did."
"How's he going with what's-her-name, anyway?"
"Anne. They are…hesitant. They certainly weren't like that" she inclined her head towards the two figures still oblivious to their audience.
Richard began to move in to opposite direction "I suppose it means we'll have to take to long way back," he stopped, and gave her a meaningful look.
"Yes, I suppose we must," she answered, before joining him.
Lizzy got out of her car and locked it, moving to the house as quickly as she could. Something was wrong. It wasn't often that Meg sounded as worried and shocked as she had on the phone.
Upon reaching the door, she was surprised (to say the least) to see Will Darcy approaching from the opposite direction. It seemed as though fate drew them together - it had looked like the first evening they were not to spend together since Meg and Richard's housewarming/engagement party.
"Do you know what's going on?" she asked him as they both reached for the doorbell. It was a useless exercise, as the housekeeper opened the door before either of them touched it.
He shook his head "I've heard rumours around…but nothing concrete. It's not often Richard sounds so serious and worried."
They were shown back into the library/study/pigsty where the interesting incident had taken place the previous week.
Richard was pacing around, a worried expression on his face. Meg sat in the chair Will had occupied that evening, in a similar pose, head in hands, not sure what to do. Two untouched glasses of whisky lay on the table.
Lizzy raised an eyebrow at the alcohol. It wasn't often that Meg drank, although she was perfectly capable of drinking seven-foot mammoth sailors under the table, and when she did, it was often for its mind-numbing effects.
"What's the matter?" Will got straight to the point.
"They're sending ground troops in," his cousin answered quietly.
Both Lizzy and Will looked surprised, but not shocked "But that's been floating around for days. What else?"
"Tomorrow afternoon, a bill will be passed making women eligible for any position in the armed forces, including those with active combat, on the same terms as their male counterparts," Meg looked up.
"How come I haven't been told?" Will asked, "I am supposedly in government, you know."
"You'll be told tomorrow morning." Meg answered him. "The day after tomorrow, the Invincible will depart, as will the first lot of troops."
"The Invincible?" Will asked, not sure what she meant.
"The new battleship. Largest ever built, but all but invisible on radar - it's coated with a more sophisticated version of the gunk they put on the F-117's. Capable of serving as a carrier as well - missiles, fighters, bombers, several kitchen sinks. Any larger and they'd have to put a McDonald's on it." she added the last rather sourly.
"And…" Lizzy prompted, not sure if she wanted to hear more.
"I've been asked to command the ground forces," Fitzwilliam answered her, emphasizing the asked as though it was more an order.
Meg stood up and began to pace the room. "You know, my grandfather had a big stake in the arms industry," she observed, seemingly out of the blue. "When he died, I was just beginning to make a career for myself, so I put everything that even remotely dealt with the military away from me, into a trust, let it be run by others. My stake gets smaller every year, as others expand. But I've still got considerable power." She stopped "You know, two words from me and arms production would reduce by 32%." Meg sat down again. "So what do I do? Should I cut production, see both sides lose supplies? On the other hand, is that like putting a lid on a boiling pot - it'll stop the mess for a bit, but eventually boil over? I don't know. I need some non-military brains to bounce this off."
"What's the alternative?" Lizzy was afraid to ask.
"The alternative? I instruct…I mean, indicate to the trustees that they may continue production, arms will continue to flow. And…" she crossed over to the desk and picked up a piece of paper "I accept my promotion, and leave the day after tomorrow, the first woman to captain a battleship."
Part 13
To Lizzy, the following day passed faster than any before. True to her friend's predictions the bill that allowed women into combat was passed, announced to the media and criticised by right-wing conservative groups.
Initially, to most people it had come out of the blue, but the more perceptive soon realised that there was some crisis soon approaching, and the armed forces had at least one woman in mind to send into combat. Why would it have come so quickly and passed so hastily otherwise? There were mutterings of conspiracy, but the prevailing mood seemed to be one of curiosity. What was going to happen?
She and Will had decided to drop in on Richard and Meg again that evening, so they would have some idea of what was going on. Will had seemed slightly peeved that Meg knew more about government policy than he did, but now understood (though he was still pretty peeved), considering that the new bill would affect her more than anyone else. While Lizzy had hoped beyond all hope that her friend would do the highly out-of-character and cut arms production and supply, it looked increasing unlikely. A prominent arms manufacturer had indicated that they were scaling back production of small arms to concentrate on researching and developing 'defensive' weapons, which gave Lizzy no confidence whatsoever.
Except for the sound of packing upstairs, the house was almost eerily silent. The housekeeper seemed almost like a ghost, scaring them yet again by opening the door as they reached for the doorbell before indicating that they should go up the stairs. Evidently, they were expected, judging from the reactions from both Meg and the housekeeper. Lizzy was not going to ask how they knew.
In ordinary circumstances, Lizzy would have stopped to admire the taste and thought that had gone into furnishing the large bedroom. At present, it was scattered with uniforms, papers, but also mundane things like toothbrushes and soap.
Meg gave a grim smile as they entered, "Is it too much to hope that everything's been canceled and it's all right? Thought so," she concluded, before abandoning her packing and walking over to where they stood in the doorway. "Fitz is just in the study organising the last bits and pieces for tomorrow." She met their eyes "He flies out tomorrow, to get there in a day. I set off tomorrow, and we won't get there for about a week. If some bright spark hadn't invented planes, wars would be over before anyone got there. Oh well," she shrugged, "things will now go towards their inevitable conclusion, and there is nothing anyone can do." She seemed resigned as she returned to her packing. Lizzy made as though to assist her, and then stopped dead as she saw that Meg had been sorting a treasure-trove of jewels. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, diamonds, opals, pearls, gold, silver, platinum and almost every other precious gem or metal. There was enough there to make even the most spoiled aristocrat grow green with envy.
Meg had been sorting them according to gem type, colour and the settings. Several finished trays lay on the bed. Lizzy noticed that the hair-clips that Richard had given Meg for her birthday in what seemed like an age ago lying on the tray that held all the other diamond/platinum jewelry. Startled, as she thought Meg would have brought them, if only for sentimental purposes. But, she supposed, Meg still wore the matching engagement ring and…Lizzy had not noticed Meg's hair before, as her friend habitually pinned it up, but Meg's hair had been cropped short.
Also on the bed was a new, dark blue uniform that told her more than anything else her friend's decision. Meg caught her looking at the new insignia and chuckled.
"I wasn't about to ask how they knew my measurements." Meg shook her head as she touched the smooth cloth. "But…" she trailed off as she turned her attention back to the jewels and picked up a tray.
"If I am…how…metabolically changed," Meg endeavoured at last, "these are yours."
Lizzy's jaw dropped as she took in the beautiful garnets and rubies set in gold. "But…"
"I have no intention of letting myself become metabolically different," Meg said deliberately, "but it's an occupational hazard. I also wanted you to see to this, just in case." She picked up an envelope. "It's my will." She answered the unspoken question. "If there's anything wrong with it, tell me, it's always a bit of a bother, not to mention a tad embarrassing being a qualified lawyer and then finding out you've bungled your own stuff."
Lizzy choked back tears "How can you be so…so…I don't know…unaffected?"
Meg shrugged, "Comes with the job. Look, who else do I have to leave my things to? Grandad assumed that I'd leave the Navy, get married, have kiddies and live off the revenue from the companies after he died. It's been nearly ten years since. I have done none of those things…yet. Richard is, if anything, in rather more danger than me in this thing. We don't have kids. I'd rather let someone I actually like and give two *%(&^#s for have the pleasure of them, than they get locked away, to be squabbled over by relatives I wouldn't talk to if my life depended on it. Which it well might, the way things are going."
She and Lizzy hugged, and Lizzy could sense that her friend was not quite as confident as she appeared.
Darcy watched them with a sense of apprehension. From his teenage years with Meg, she was a devil-may-care, look-at-me-I'm-immortal sort of person. She may have matured since, but this sort of calm, accepting, rather pessimistic Meg worried him. And she admitted that Richard would be in more danger than her. What was to become of them all?
"Everything is set. This is a momentous day. We're about to burn our bridges and launch into the biggest offensive action since World War II."
Darcy jumped into the air as he heard his cousin's voice behind him. Where had Fitz learned to walk so quietly? Richard brushed past his cousin as he entered the room, looking slightly harried. He was not running his hand through his hair, his usual nervous habit, mainly because he didn't have much left. That, more than anything else, told Darcy how serious his cousin felt the situations to be. One of Richard's defects (along with being occasionally annoying, a terrible singing voice, and a fondness for telling sick jokes) was that he was slightly vain (come on, how many guys have that much stuff in their bathroom cupboards?). Nothing short of the almost certain prospect of action would have convinced him to submit to the traditional Army-style haircut.
Fitzwilliam caught his cousin looking at his new haircut. "I have the rather dubious honour of being the highest ranking officer who has to physically wade through all that muck. I suppose it'll save on shampoo." The rather weak joke seemed forced, as thought he was going out of his way to become a parody of his normal self.
Silence, as no one could think of what to say.
"Come on," Meg said, at length, locking the trays of jewelry into a heavy trunk that seemed welded to the floor "Let's go. I want to get one last decent pizza before I go and start questioning my mortality." She picked up a set of car keys and herded the rest of them down the stairs and out of the house.
If one discounted the noise of the television, the apartment would have been deathly quiet. The four occupants seemed to be totally focused on the news report, showing the movement of what seemed to be hordes of defence personnel onto planes and ships. It was clear that it was more than a passing interest in current affairs that held their attention. The blonde woman on the couch was leaning on her boyfriend's shoulder, his arm around her in what appeared to be a comforting gesture, though he too, looked as though he was affected by the movement on the screen.
On the floor, the other pair sat just as still, watching the various comments, in various languages, from many disembodied heads. Finally, it was over and the news anchor switched her attention to the rest of the news.
Charles, Jane, Lizzy and Will turned away from the television, but did not seem to relax.
"There's no turning back now." Will observed as he turned around and raised the cup of coffee to his lips. He shuddered slightly and put it back down when he discovered it was almost ice-cold. It had been a very long news report.
"Turning back from what?"
"I don't know. I just hope it's not World War III."
"Captain?"
Meg froze for a second, then relaxed. Her new rank was going to take some getting used to, and not just what people called her. How long has it been since I've been doing 'real' Navy stuff? Deskwork, and before that 'special' missions, and before that flying reconnaissance in the Gulf. I don't think I've 'really' been on a ship for nearly ten years.
She turned around and was pleasantly surprised at who had addressed her.
"Wentworth!" she smiled, then noticed his new insignia "I see they finally noticed you." She observed, "Congrats, Commander."
"Thank you. I just wish that it wasn't in these circumstances."
"Who does?" she shrugged. "I thought you were on one of the destroyers," she continued, as they continued to walk back to the officer's mess (in every sense of the word).
"I will be," he corrected, "I'm going to be relieving the Commander on one of the ships already there, so they thought that I might pick up some of your leadership 'style', because they think it's been the most effective."
"More like they're waiting for me to screw up, and want to have a ready replacement," Meg muttered "how could they know about my 'style' on this scale? This is the first time I haven't been either on my own in a plane or crawling through mud with, at most, five other people."
"Maybe they think those times were a good indication," Wentworth hazarded.
"Maybe." Meg did not sound convinced "But I'm not going to screw up," she said decisively as they walked into the room, buzzing with a hundred conversations. "How's Anne, by the way? I haven't seen her for ages…"
Chapter 14
The cap spun like a frizbee towards the narrow bed, landing precisely in the middle. A sigh, then the sound of a door slamming as the captain of the Invincible entered her small scrap of privacy and began to unbutton her jacket.
That, too, landed on the bed as Megan walked over to what passed as the vanity and paused before the mirror. Her hair, already objecting to its Winona Ryder style pixie crop, was rather stubbornly trying to grow back. She gave a small grin at that I just hope the resistance isn't as stubborn as my hair, she thought wryly as she reached for the one frivolity on the small table, a small bottle of scented hand lotion.
The smell of forests and mountains permeated the room, clearing her head after hours stuck in small, stuffy rooms. She looked at her hands, Not the hands of a sailor, she thought, looking at the long, slender fingers and uncallused palms. Too much soft living, she berated herself, how long was I cooped up pushing papers around a desk? she shook her head, then paused as she encountered the cold metal on her left hand.
The platinum and diamond ring was joined by another - plain platinum, this time, its simplicity both contrasting and complementing the more showy ring.
I suppose I shouldn't have kept the other one on, she thought, but it did seem like a bit of a waste to only wear it for a week. That works out to just over 10 000 a day. Must be the highest rent outside of Ginza, she chuckled to herself, as she went to hang up the jacket and cap in readiness for the next day. She touched the large stone in the centre of the setting Funny, she thought, I've got enough sitting on my finger to feed a Sudanese kid for about 6000 years, give or take a couple of hundred. Who would have thought a bit of carbon would be worth so much? A younger, more idealistic Meg would have protested the injustice of it all, but not now.
She extracted the rather abused magazine from her bag. Was it only just over a month ago that she'd posed for the photos? She shook her head as she flipped through the pages, thinking how much had changed in so short a time. She finally came to her own photo. I look like a vampire, she thought critically Or as though I've been locked in a cellar for twenty years. She continued to flip through the pictures, surprised the difference makeup, lighting and a month made to peoples' appearance. Except Jane Bennet… she thought They would chose the 'faerie' theme for her, all ethereal and delicate. She put the magazine back into the bag of her 'frivolous' things - mainly books and CDs. I've really got to get to sleep, she thought, who knows when I'll get another eight hours of uninterrupted rest.
A dark and stormy night… Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam quashed the phrases almost as soon as it crossed his mind. Blast it, Fitz, must you think in clichés? You certainly made enough of an idiot of yourself regurgitating all that drivel for the reporters - do you have to do it in your head?
He slammed down the clamouring of self-condemnation and looked out the window, at the darkness below, fidgeting with the new, unfamiliar weight of the ring on his left hand. He looked at the plain platinum band. Such a little thing, he thought, taking it off and reading the engraving inside, even though he already knew it R + M Forever.
Such a little thing, and yet it means so much…
"Anne, I'm sure nothing's going to happen to him…" try as she might, Lizzy could not sound as cheerful as she wanted.
"But what if something does?" the other woman was perilously close to tears. "He didn't even tell me he was leaving - I'll never have a chance to tell him…"
"Tell him what?"
"That I love him." Anne said simply.
The soldiers below looked like ants as they teemed over the hastily erected camp. How easy to simply wipe them all out… Richard shuddered. Just as well most of their Air Force is gone. I've got to do something about the accommodations. Living in a tent all winter is not going to do much good. He rolled his shoulders as the plane prepared for its descent.
For country, for justice, for freedom. Then why do I feel like an invader?
"That's certainly one of the last things I'd expected out of those two," Lizzy said, as soon as she got over her surprise.
"That's what his dad and step-mother thought too," Will chuckled at her expression, then corrected himself as he noticed her expression, "No, not like that. They quite like Meg, actually, even if they do think their chances of grandchildren have suddenly gone from 50-50 to nearly zilch. It's just so out of character for both of them."
"Romantic, you mean," Lizzy laughed, "Getting married fifteen minutes before heading over to goodness knows where, not knowing…" she trailed off, as though mentioning it would bring it about.
Will, too, shied away from the thought, "Well, it looks like the family's going to be deprived of the full-on white silk and roses wedding." He sighed melodramatically, hoping to lighten the mood. "Not that they were going to get one in any case," he conceded, "they would have eloped to somewhere unpronounceable and gone sky-diving for their honeymoon anyway."
Lizzy began to laugh.
"What's the matter?"
"I wonder what Anne's boss would say - barely a week after the 'Eligible bachelors' issue comes out two of them get married - to each other!"
"I wonder what he'd say if more followed their example?"
Chapter 15 - And Quick Wind Up
His own breath sounded harsh in his ears as he ran for what appeared to be an eternity. He dodged soldiers, equipment, even the odd prisoner. Finally he reached his destination and shoved his way inside, leaving a few orderlies squawking in his wake.
He grabbed a doctor by the sleeve.
"How is she?" His hazel eyes were free of all good-humour now, now with the rather repulsive iciness of a frozen cesspit.
The doctor stood his ground, meeting icy stare with icy stare. "She'll live." He said at length.
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam allowed the doctor to say no more as he walked further down the corridor, finally stopping when he saw Commander Frederick Wentworth standing in front of one of the rooms, an expression of utter shock and disbelief on his face.
"How did it happen?" Richard's voice was cold and hard.
Wentworth swallowed hard. "We'd just come up to the refugee camp to see where we'd have to start moving them out from. Then, not fifty meters away from the jeeps, all of a sudden she gives a sort of yelp, starts to fall, pulls out a gun and shoots someone, before collapsing in a heap. They found this guy with a rifle and a bullet between his eyes behind one of the tents."
"And now?" Richard's voice was soft.
Frederick gestured inside the room with his chin. "She seems to be all right…but…"
"But what?"
"She's going to be walking with a limp…if she ever walks at all."
Richard, who had just been about to walk into the room, froze in the doorway for a second, before entering.
The room was dark, and there was no noise except for the soft breathing of the single occupant. He edged closer to the bed.
"You don't have to act as though you're in enemy territory," came a familiar, much-loved voice. "I may not be in terribly good shape, but I'm still me..."
He came over to kneel beside her. Meg was lying on her stomach, because of the bullet that had only recently been removed from her back.
"How are you feeling?" he asked cautiously.
"If I wasn't up to my eyebrows in morphine, I would be screaming in agony," Meg replied pleasantly, "how are you?" She said the last with just a hint of sarcasm. "I never have much luck in this part of the world," she complained, "the last time I was here I broke two ribs and an ankle."
"The UN peacekeeping mission in…"
"No. I was fourteen, and I fell off my horse." She smiled at his look of incredulity, "Well, it ended my ballet career. I do…hang on…I did have a relative who died near here…yeah, you could say that my family doesn't have much luck here." She met his eyes "Well, that was in 1389, so maybe I was generalizing a bit. My many-times great-grandfather got beheaded practically down the road from here, and I manage to get myself shot a mere two days after a cease-fire agreement. Oh, I'm rambling," she said in disgust, "I hate it when the morphine does that, don't you." She was beginning to slur the words together near the end. Her eyes closed and she drifted off into sleep.
Richard watched her sleep, the serious lines of her face relax. Was it just him, or had the entire exercise been nothing more than a colossal waste of lives, money and material? He remembered just why he disliked conventional warfare, why he requested a transfer. At least, with the other way, it was so much more efficient. That way, you only did what you needed to do, without harming anyone you didn't have to.
He stood up and gently placed a kiss on her forehead, before returning to his own quarters.
Author's Note: Okay, so here's a brief summary of what happens next…if I ever get around to writing about it.
Meg does recover, but she's never going to get back into peak physical condition (no more 'special' missions) and limps a bit when she's tired. So she retires from the Navy, starts a diplomatic career, and, after a while finds herself (of all things) Ambassador to the UN.
Richard becomes head of Military Intelligence.
They have several children, but their names are classified.
Lizzy/Darcy and Jane/Bingley have to get married, but there will be some more obstacles put in their way. (Just because I don't have them get shot by snipers doesn't mean I'm going to let them have nice, peaceful relationships)
Cara (Caroline) Bingley should wander in and get in the way for a few chapters where no one knows what the heck is going on.
I've also got to work out where I put Lady Catherine, Wickham and Collins.
Have I missed anything?