Section I, Next Section
Prologue
He stood silently by the window, leaning against it, easing the pain from his aching limbs. He was an old grey man, with a tired but content face.
"If only....." The man paused as the door swung open.
"Uncle Fizz, Uncle Fizz. There are two men to see you. I showed them into the downstairs lounge."
"What are they like Jimmie?"
"Grey, and one of them has a big scar."
"At last!" The man sighed and then stood up. "Come Jimmie." He lead the small boy over to his desk and unlocked it. From it he removed three letters. "Jimmie, in five minutes those men will leave with a large bundle, do not worry about me, but take these letters to your mother." The man walked out of the room and left the small boy staring, three old letters clutched in his hand.
Five minutes later the men left as his Uncle Fizz predicted, carrying a large bundle. Jimmie fled from the house and ran to his home down the street.
"Mamma! Mamma! Uncle Fizz has gone, he told me to give you these." Jimmie handed the letters over to his mother.
Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzjames stared at the letters, Lieutenant Charles Bingley, Elizabeth Fitzjames, and Charles Edward Miller. She then sat down and cried.
"He is gone! At last he will be truly happy. We must get the late paper Jimmie." Elizabeth ran from the house to the post office, where she re-addressed and stamped the other two letters, and posted them.
The late edition 1964:Tragic accident in the tube.
Society figure and War Hero, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and two men plunged to there deaths in a fight in the tube this evening. The other two men are said to be foreign, are they the secret that all London puzzled about in Mr. Darcy's history? Standby for further information. There will be a trial. A passerby said it was a fight, not a suicide.
Chapter 1
The man lay motionlessly, barely breathing, he was watched by a young man of about twenty-two. Who was watching without expression, from the foot of the bed.
"Now remember! You must do your duty, do not forget what you learned."
"But..." The young man began.
"No questions. But remember, emotion will ruin everything." The voice gradually grew weaker, and the older man closed his eyes and quietly passed away. The young man looked at him for a few seconds longer, and then passed out of the room. There was a man standing in the hall.
"You may go in now Hawkins." The young man turned to walk down the passage.
"Gone at last has he?"
"Yes."
"Master Darcy?" The young man spun around.
"I am not Darcy, I have never been and never will be a Darcy. I am Fizz, do not forget."
"No master Fizz. Master Fizz I need to speak to you in private."
"Come to the library then." Fizz vanished around a corner in the corridor, watched sadly by the old retainer and Swordmaster. He turned and looked at the housekeeper.
"That young 'un ain't never bin young, and ee never will be." The housekeeper nodded.
"Old Mr. George was cruel hard on him, it never made sense."
"Well I must be headed, he will have left again by this evening." Hawkins walked off down the corridor and around the bend. The house keeper watched him go, and then returned to her kitchens.
Hawkins entered the library, and saw Fizz immediately. He was seated in a high backed winged chair, reading from a large book.
"Take a seat Hawkins, you said you wanted to speak to me?"
"Yes. It's aboot ye mither." The young man started, his face paling.
"Then you may save your breath."
"I will not master Fizz. Ye must find her, to use yer father's favourite term, it is yer duty, and yer destiny."
"Why?"
"Because she has yer sister."
"Great, I have a sister who is five years younger than me, and caused my mother to desert me, and you say I have to find her?" Fizz's voice was bitter.
"Yer mither did not desert you! Your father removed you."
"Even better. What's the name I look for her under?"
"Elizabeth Fitzjames."
"Okay, I'll see to it when I've dealt with the present problem." Fizz sighed.
"Ye'll do no such damn thing."
"Hawkins!" The outrage was patent.
"Yes." The stolid demeanour cooled the younger man.
"You leave my father out of this."
"Very well, but to deal with anything, ye must find your sister."
"But why?"
"If you saw yourself from the outside and a human point of view you would understand." Fizz frowned at Hawkins.
"Okay, but first I must close the Austrian line, it is in danger. Contact Washington if you have need of me." Fizz stood up and left the room. Hawkins shook his head, and walked off to find the housekeeper.
Fizz had run up the stairs after leaving the library, throwing the household into disorder with his shouted commands.
"Hawkins. Get my bags. Mrs. Hawkins, I need food in ten minutes. Tell the stableman I want my horse immediately. Does anyone know where Dusty is?" Dusty, so called from his favourite remark when he was in a tight situation*, was in actual fact Fizz's cousin Richard Fitzwilliam. Fizz soon left the house, but returned within the hour to eat, pack and leave again.
Hawkins and the housekeeper watched him go from an upper window.
"The estate is in the hands of Mr. Fitzwilliam. He will not return soon, if he returns at all." The housekeeper nodded and they watched till they could no longer see the small figure.
*'Come, come, that's not so Dusty'
Chapter 2:
Twenty miles south of Breque there was a small farm, owned by one Kurt Viedle. Kurt was said to be an innocent, but honest, he was considered harmless. Therefore the village was thrown into shock one day when the local garrison descended on the farm and tore it to pieces, they found nothing. Not even Kurt Viedle. But the garrison would have found him if they had come earlier than two the previous morning.
Kurt was woken by the soft clunk of a small rock landing on his floor, he was up and by his window in seconds.
"Who is it?"
"Fizz, get down quick Dusty, we have to fold the line." Dusty swore and then climbed out the window.
"You need to be more careful Fizz, I nearly plugged you."
"I'll worry about that when it occurs, now quick, move. Mac is coming for you in twenty minutes. These are your instructions. Pass them onto Washington. Radio 52 for three months, then pack it in and forget about me." Fizz vanished into the darkness leaving Dusty with some papers and twenty minutes to travel five miles. He made it.
General George Washington, known to all who knew him as Washington, was a tall, spare man and the communications head of the Darcy Corporation. He was seated in a large arm chair smoking, when Dusty was admitted.
"Greetings to you Dusty, what's up?"
"Fizz is pulling out the Austrian line*. Here are his instructions. The most damn fool idea I've ever heard."
"Which, as you well know, means that it will be successfully carried out. Let's see them?" Dusty handed them over, and Washington grunted when he saw them.
"Well, get your uniform and get moving, you'll be at Radio 52 by tomorrow or I'll eat my shirt. Otherwise I'll deal with this. See you someday Dusty, or I hope I do. By the way, Mike is dead."
"He always was an ass." Dusty left the room, and walked to a small side room.
"Hallo John, fork over one British Radio officers uniform please, I'll become....., I don't know, I'll become myself .... Make it out for Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, complete with nose tag." Dusty left with the uniform under his arm, and retired to the nearest barracks, where he changed. He then went to the nearest airbase and 'acquired' a Fee** to take him over. the next day saw him installed at Radio 52.
*For those that don't know, a 'line in this context referred to an intelligence group that was interconnected near the battle front.**A double seater which had a gunner/observer in the front seat.
Chapter Three:
Fizz came to in a brightly lit room, with heavy stone walls.
"Well done Dr. Elkington, he has come around exactly when you predicted." The voice was low and harsh, with guttural accents. Fizz gently shook his head, trying to clear his vision, but it remained opaque. "Don't bother, you're blindfolded." Fizz relaxed back in his chair, realising that resistance would be useless. "We had better watch this one Elkington. He knows when resistance would be useless." Fizz heard a slight sound behind him. "No Elkington, not yet. We shall let him get a bit hungry first. Welcome to Sanhuzar, we always do our best to make people comfortable. Elkington, put him in D4. Starvation ration for two weeks, then you can test him."
Fizz felt himself pulled to his feet, and led from the room. He shivered slightly. Sanhuzar! No one had left the place sane, if they left it at all. Fizz thought back over the material he had collected over the years on the place. It had originally been set up in the 16th century as a general prison, but as years passed, it became out-dated and unused, until it was returned to operation to deal with political offenders and nuisances. Fizz shivered again. These offenders had not done anything that warranted imprisonment, they had just been temporarily detained, or abducted one night, they always returned, and they were always insane, gibbering wrecks of men, who had an astonishing fear of water. Fizz felt himself shoved into a room, the bonds and blindfold were removed and he heard the door slam behind him.
Fizz looked curiously around the room. It had two tiny windows high up in the wall, against one wall there was a plank, and in the far corner there was an evil smelling hole. Fizz looked once more around the room, then lay down on the plank and went to sleep. With nothing to do, and the prospect of starvation rations, Fizz decided to sleep as much as he could.
Lieutenant Charles Bingley, radio officer in command of Radio 52, looked at his new off-watch man. He had an ugly scar down the right side of his face, which twisted his mouth and eye into a hideous grimace. The man had been apparently just released from hospital, and was taking three months convalescence in a radio hut, before heading back to the front. He said he was Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, known to all as Rick, and Bingley saw no reason to doubt him.
"Okay, you've got the eight - eight day watch, if your caught sleeping you'll probably be murdered, and if your found drunk, you'll be court marshaled. Take a seat and get some sleep or something. You start tomorrow at eight." Dusty sat down on the indicated couch, but continued talking to the officer. So the pattern continued for nearly three months.
Two whole weeks passed before Fizz was released from the room, and taken back into the down stairs room. Considerably weakened by the lack of food, Fizz watched expressionlessly as he saw them filling syringes. They poured a cup of some vile mixture down his throat, then rammed the syringes in, and emptied their contents into him.
"Get him down there, he should be finished in three hours." Fizz was dragged out of the room, and led down a steep flight of stairs, into a large room. The water was ankle deep everywhere, and there were two chairs bolted to the floor. Moisture ran down the walls and steamed from the floor water. the room was very humid and hot. Fizz rubbed his head, and felt himself shoved into one of the chairs and tied to it with chains. The two men then left, taking the light with them. As the darkness fell, Fizz found his equilibrium whirling. The disorientation, and loneliness of his situation hit him like a wall, and made his head swim, but slowly he got himself back under control, after all, he had always been lonely. Fizz, still fighting to regain his sense of equilibrium, suddenly felt the chemicals injected into him, go into action. His limbs felt leaden, and his mind clogged up and stopped working. He then felt the chemicals start tearing, slowly, into his mind. He could almost see his knowledge and sanity being torn out of his head, and given to the winds. Slowly, exhaustion and a lack of motor control caused Fizz's head to sink forwards onto his chest.
"Keep your head up!" The voice seemed to come from everywhere, Fizz's head jerked back into the upright position. "That's right, now keep it there, or you will go mad." The voice rolled and rumbled around the room like thunder.
General Info Not Included In The Story.
Darcy Corporation: Is the name for a totally fictitious company, even in the story. In the first WW there were many private intelligence groups. The Darcy Corporation is one of these intelligence groups. Fizz, after the death of his father, become the active head of the company. Fizz manages contacts, gets people out when they've been discovered, and with the help of Mac, is the transporter of all information back to England.
General George Washington is the passive head. It is Washington that you yell for if you have problems, Washington is the only person who can contact Fizz, and sometimes he can't even do that. Washington is at all times contactable through the intelligence wing.
Sanhuzar: Is actually based on a real prison that was somewhere in Europe, it may still be in use, but probably not for the same activities. It was at the time and before used to deal with political offenders, who could not be imprisoned. They 'borrow' the offender for the night and send him mad with chemicals. They then return the offender to his home. These places went 'relatively' undetected, because the only people who saw them went mad, or were killed.
Well hopefully that will straighten out some of the questions.
Chapter 4
The next couple of hours seemed eternity to Fizz. At irregular intervals the voice would encourage him to keep his head up, or would just talk as if passing the time of day, for which Fizz was thankful. Finally after what seemed an eternity a door creaked and clanged, and a faint glow lit the room. Fizz felt himself unshackled, retied, and dragged up the stairs. The light blinded him and made him reel, but it was nothing to what was to come.
Fizz was dragged into another room, the light was blindingly brilliant, and he cringed back from it, closing his eyes and trying to avert his head.
"Put him in the seat Elkington. These Brits are so interesting, after they've been dosed." Fizz felt himself forced into a chair, and tied to it. His eyes were slowly becoming accustomed to the light, he shook his head gently, trying to clear his vision. "What's this?" The voice became curious, "Elkington, are you sure you gave him the right stuff?"
"Positive, you oversaw the administration yourself!"
"Then why the hell is he still SANE!"
"Is he? Most interesting, most interesting." Dr. Elkington's voice held professional curiosity.
"Don't you have anything else to say?"
"Well no." Elkington sounded apologetic. "Its never happened before, I thought that no one could pass it. It is most interesting. I'll have to look into this." Fizz's vision finally cleared sufficiently, so that he could look around the room. He saw that the voice was, as he thought, Vis, and Elkington was looking at him curiously.
"Get Nikolai! If that old fellow has been tampering again, his hide won't be worth the air his got around him."
"But Vis." Elkington protested, "no one else can deal with the prisoners like he can, you can't do anything to him. Anyway, he doesn't have access to the Chemical cupboards."
"I don't care! Get him." Fizz watched as Elkington shuffled sadly out of the room. "As for you. You're going to be sorry you ever remained sane!" Fizz looked expressionlessly back at the man, then yawned. Vis lost command of his precarious temper, and grabbing a length of rope, he applied it vigorously around Fizz's face. "You will learn that no one treats me with contempt." Fizz continued to look expressionlessly at the man. He could feel blood running down his face.
At this point Elkington returned to the room, followed by a shuffling hulk of a man.
"Nikolai! Have you been near those chemicals again?"
"NO!" It took all Fizz's control to contain his surprise. The voice was the one that had talked to him in the underground room.
"Can you possibly explain to us, why this man is sane?"
"Have you dosed him yet?"
"Yes! We gave him maximum dose three hours ago."
"Then no, I can't explain." The man Nikolai gave Fizz the impression of weathered granite on a see shore. Waves and weather could pound it, but they would not disturb it.
"Okay you can go." The disappointment in Vis' voice would have been hilarious, if the situation hadn't been so dire. Nikolai shuffled out of the room, muttering in Russian. But only Fizz could hear it, and fortunately he could understand it. "Wait five minutes, and we will come." The door closed behind Nikolai with a crash. Once again Fizz was alone with his captors.
"Can we dose him again? Maybe this guy has a biological immunity." Elkington seemed to consider the idea.
"Don't be stupid." Vis was contemptuous, "I'll let some of his blood, then you can dose him." Vis had pulled a large sheathe knife out of his coat pocket, and was testing it carefully.
"You can't do that, Vis!" Elkington was horrified.
"Try and stop me." Vis laid the knife carefully. Just below the ear, in line with the jaw.
"But Vis, you can't do it there, you'll kill him."
"Elkington.....Shut up." Fizz felt the knife move, and creased his brows. Vis was being very careful not to kill him. A sudden scuffle outside caused Vis to remove the knife, Fizz could feel the blood running down his neck and soaking into his clothing.
A loud crash signaled the door giving way, and seconds later men were filling the room. Vis was taken a prisoner, as was Elkington. Fizz felt himself released.
"You look a trifle beat up." Nikolai was looking thoughtfully at Fizz. "Bandages and hat." Fizz felt his neck being bandaged, his collar was then turned up, and a hat stuck on his head to conceal the bandages. "Okay, let's get out of here." Vis and Elkington were left, bound on the floor, and Fizz was hustled out of the room, and out of the castle. He was left on a nearby mountain. Fizz watched as his captors returned the way they had come, Nikolai's words still ringing in his ears. "You have two days to get to safety my friend. Do not worry for us, we have been too long at Sanhuzar."
Chapter 5:
"[static]271432morejerriesat271549[static]advisetheydrop[static]271294[static]gency!" Dusty looked in disgust at the message. Was this Darcy Corporation, or was it regular intelligence. He frowned again, best try both. Dusty reached for the field telephone.
"Hallo, Major MacNiell......Colonel Fitzwilliam here...We just got a rather curious message at Radio 52...No I was hoping you'd pass me through to the Wing Intelligence..It's important sir......but....Thank you.....Hallo, Raymond..... Dusty here......yes..... where are the co-ordinate's on your maps for 271,432..... Right, sorry to bother you... could you possibly put me through to General George. thanks ...... Hallo, George?....Dusty in a hurry.....What've we got at 271,432.....The Australian Cavalry..... We just got a nice note saying that there are Jerries at 271,549... The note advises that these cavalry drop to 271,294....Okay, sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, and apologize to the cavalry for me....Good-bye sir, Oh sir, have we heard anything about Fizz?.....No? Very well, good-bye sir."
Dusty looked at the sleeping Bingley. "Hey, Bingles!" Bingley sat up and looked at Dusty sleepily.
"What's got you Rick?" We've got intelligence personnel arriving in a couple of minutes, thought you might like to prettify yourself."
"Don't be dafter than you must!" Bingley lay back and laughed gently. "I really do feel sorry for your people when you get posted back to them." Dusty grinned.
"Don't feel to sorry for them, feel sorry for me." Bingley cocked a thoughtful eye at Dusty and nodded.
"Very well, if you insist. Why are intelligence coming here?"
"Don't actually know. But perhaps it's to rescue you from me. My convalescence is up." Bingley looked slightly sorry.
"But don't fret, I usually am back in convalescence in a couple of weeks." Bingley grinned, and gravel scrunched as a car pulled up. There was a knock on the door, and on invitation to enter, the door swung open and a slight greying gentleman entered.
"General George Washington, you most certainly do not waste time. Come in and welcome. The silly ass on the couch is Bingles, and the sillier one by the radio is me."
"Thanks for the introduction Dusty. How are you coping with this clown, Bingley?" Bingley looked startled.
"Very well thank you sir. How do you know me?"
"I have my ways, up till now you've been in a very important radio hut." Bingley scratched his head, then nodded in a resigned fashion. Washington turned to Dusty.
"Sorry to say, but you're getting pulled out immediately. Someone needs to take over as active head." Dusty shook his head.
"Not me, I'm no good without Fizz."
"I know that and I'm not stupid. But you know all the men, and probably know who is the best person to take over." Dusty stared flatly back at Washington.
"Where was Fizz last heard of?"
"In Sanhuzar! Now move, we need to get this company running again." Washington walked to the door, followed by a fairly listless Dusty. "Bingley, your replacement watch will arrive in two days. Can you last?" Bingley looked thoughtful, then nodded. "Good." Bingley heard the two men leave arguing.
"But Washington, I know Fizz is still alive. Why am I being pulled out, there is still another two days before Fizz's time limit expires."
"I don't care. That helpful message has caused you to offend Major MacNiell and I decided to pull you out instead of giving him the joy of kicking you out." The gravel scrunched again as the car drove away. Bingley sat staring at the radio set. It was two in the morning.
Bingley sat reading by the radio, he was actually dozing more than he was reading, but as long as he didn't actually fall asleep it didn't matter. Suddenly there was a bunch of hurried footsteps outside. Bingley sat up, his hand reaching for his gun. A man in the uniform of a labour crew suddenly catapulted through the door.
"Sir! We found a man by our works, and we're bringing him in. He's dressed as a Captain, and he's had his throat slit." Bingley stared at the man, and then was galvanized into action. He swept everything off the couch and laid a piece of sheet plastic over it, the plastic was actually to protect it from the rain. He then followed the labourer out of the hut. Sure enough, a small party off men were walking carefully up the road carrying something between them. They arrived at the hut two minutes later, and Bingley directed them to lay the man on the sofa.
Chapter 6
Bingley looked thoughtfully at the man, and flinched.
"Where did you say you found him?"
"Wal, we were kindament early on the job this morning, what with last nights shelling. Least aways, Jock thar dinna e'en go to bed a tall. Ony ways, auld Bill 'er suddenly drew our 'tention to a bloke 'oo was walking kinda strangely up the road. I thought he were probable, just a wee bit tipsy, the inn ower thar and all. He almost get to us when he kinda collapsed. He tried to rise 'gin, but couldna, and then Bill said he warn't tipsy like. So we mambled over like, and fund 'im like this sir. Auld Bill said we'd best bring 'im 'ere, you be'n an officer and all." Bingley nodded, he felt he had seen the man before, but he had to admit the conditions weren't comparable.
"One of you boys hop over to Major MacNiell and see whether he can get hold of a surgeon, this fellow needs stitching." The fellow called Auld Bill nodded and was out the door in a flash. "The rest of you boys get back to work, I'll stand you all a drink this evening." They nodded and hurried out. Bingley looked at the figure, and grimaced. It was covered with blood, both from the roughly bandaged neck injury and from his face, which looked like it had been flogged. Bingley put a ginger hand near the man's mouth, he was still breathing, Bingley sighed in relief and fell back to his contemplation. He suddenly stirred again and removed the man's dog tag. 'Captain Kennedy Fitzjames, B.T. 0-, C.O. Washington.' Bingley looked grimly at the figure.
"Well Captain Fitzjames, you are a trifle worse for wear, and if it weren't that there is no one else to watch you, I can assure you I would have long since left this hut." The figure remained motionless. Bingley looked at the ceiling and the walls, and cursed Rick for getting pulled out two days to early. Gravel scrunched again as the unit's jeep pulled up outside. Bingley walked out to be met by an outraged MacNiell, an apologetic Bill, and an uninterested M.O.
"This had better be good Lieutenant, this is the second time in two days I have had an interruption from this hut."
"Sorry sir, but the labour unit brought this man in, his throat has been cut." MacNiell snorted and stalked into the hut. Bingley followed with the M.O. bringing up the rear.
"Okay where is this guy?" Bingley indicated the figure on the couch. MacNiell took one look, then joined Bingley by the radio. "Jackson, I believe that you will find some to work on that couch." The M.O. glanced at the figure and then at Bingley.
"Lieutenant, if you could possibly aid me. We need to strip him, and clean him before we do more." Bingley nodded and walked over. "Do you have a spare suit of pyjamas sir?" Bingley dug his spare suit out from behind the couch, and handed it to the M.O. "Thank you, sir. Did he have a dog-tag?" Bingley handed over the piece of metal, which the M.O. glanced at before handing it to MacNiell. MacNiell turfed the piece of metal on the table without even glancing at it. Bingley and the M.O. soon had the man stripped, washed and in Bingley's spare pyjama pants. The M.O. then turned his attention to the face.
"Looks like his been flogged with a thin bit of rope, but they seem to be healing nicely. Just keep his face clean. But this neck of his could be nasty." The M.O. inspected the bandages that swathed the man's neck and head, they were blood soaked and grubby. The M.O. carefully worked the knot loose, and began to unwind the bandaging. He raised his eyebrows slightly and pursed his lips. "This fellow is a mess, but this cut was not an accident, see here, the Carotid artery has been carefully avoided. I have the feeling that this was an interrupted job, this fellow was not meant to be killed by this cut." The M.O. worked deftly as he talked. Cutting and cleaning the wound. He chucked a handful of powder over the cut, and began to stitch swiftly. Soon the job was finished and the doctor was repacking his case.
"Is there anything he should be given when he comes round?" Bingley looked worriedly at the motionless figure. The M.O. pulled a small bottle out of his pocket, and uncorked it.
"He's coming round now. Or we'll loose him." The reek of ammonia filled the air, and Bingley watched as the man slowly came round, choking and spluttering and gasping for breathe.
"Where am I?" The voice was thin, and exhausted.
"Radio 52." The man sank back, thankfully.
"Now, sir. Could you tell us your name, rank and division?"
The man blinked cautiously. "I'm a Captain, I'm Kennedy Fitzjames, and I'm not in a division."
"What the?" Major MacNiell came back into the proceedings with a roar. Fitzjames cautiously sat up.
"Could I possibly be given a connection with the intelligence wing."
"What the devil do you mean, you're not in a division?"
"Exactly what I said. Could I please be given a connection with the wing intelligence."
"But your tag says your C.O. is Washington?"
"Washington does not command a division, or even a company. Could I please have a connection with wing intelligence?" MacNiell stood up and stalked out, disgusted with proceedings. Bingley walked over to the radio.
"Hallo, Watty....Radio 52 again, we got a fellow here asking for wing intelligence, could you patch me through?..... Thank you." Bingley turned and looked at Fitzjames. "Who do you want to speak to?" Fitzjames blinked.
"Just ask for Washington, when you get him, quote Fizz and Bubble, then say radio 52 and hang up again." Bingley looked curiously at Fitzjames, but did as bidden.
"He'll be here in twenty minutes." Fitzjames blinked, and looked at the M.O.
"Yes, you're getting some food and drink right now, then I'm afraid I'm going to dose you up with Laudanum."
"No, no." The M.O. looked curious. "I haven't slept very well recently and I've been rather......sick, lately, just food and drink and let me sleep." The M.O. nodded and looked at Bingley, who left in search of food.
Chapter 7
Washington stared morosely at the ceiling, with the official report out that Fizz was dead, panic seemed to be rife in the corporation. He groaned and shifted his gaze to another point on the ceiling, he had been passive head of the Darcy Corporation for almost thirty years, and never had he seen an upset on the scale of this one. The Darcy Corporation needed a new active head, and fast.
Washington had pulled Dusty off radio 52 that evening, and it was time they talked. With a sigh he leaned over and pressed his buzzer.
"Private Jackson, could you please summon Colonel Fitzwilliam to my office. Tell him it's important." Washington leaned back and continued his inspection of the ceiling, when his buzzer disturbed him.
"What is it?"
"It's someone called MacNiell, sir. He says he is the major in charge of the 52nd Battalion." Washington sighed heavily, this was going to be awkward.
"Who's he asking for?"
"A certain General Raymond, sir."
"Okay, put him through." Washington picked up the telephone receiver and listened for a moment. "Good afternoon, Raymond here." Washington's voice became crisp and clear. "Good afternoon Major MacNiell.....Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam?.....Yes I pulled him out because he was needed elsewhere.....Oh I'm sorry to here that...Not at all Major. ...I will see that the complaint is processed and forwarded to the correct department......Washington you say....Thank you, good afternoon....Oh I beg your pardon, I thought you had finished...." Washington sat quietly for the next five minutes, listening to the multiple complaints of one unhappy major, and when the major got off the line he wrote a small memo: 'New connection wires between Wing Intelligence headquarters and battalion 52.' Washington pushed the pad aside and looked across at Dusty, who had entered while the major was on the wire.
"Take a seat Fitzwilliam, and have a look at these reports that just came in." Washington handed over a small pile of paper, which Dusty glanced briefly over.
"That's why I refused the job before you offered it." Washington looked at Dusty thoughtfully.
"Fitzwilliam, you were working with Fizz for many years, why do you feel incapable of taking over."
"Because Fizz has a leadership quality I don't have. Men would willingly die for Fizz, they would not for me." Washington frowned.
"Can you think of anyone who might possibly be able to take over." Dusty frowned thoughtfully, and started to gently shake his head. A motion he abruptly stopped, and he firmly creased his brows. "What is that about."
"There is one person whom the Corporation might, and I stress might, accept."
"Who's that?"
"His sister. You know as well as I do that only a born Darcy can deal with this corporation."
"Who's his sister?"
"I don't actually know, sir. Fizz only knew her name, and only the family retainer, Hawkins, has ever seen her."
"Then you leave in fifteen minutes for England and Hawkins. We must find that girl Dusty, she's our only hope."
"And she was brought up by her mother." Was Dusty's response as he walked out of the room.
Two days later Washington was seated at his desk, he was more asleep than awake, but he wasn't expecting to be disturbed. It was 0630 hours and his staff didn't become active before 0700 hours. Suddenly his buzzer went off.
"What is it?" he groaned softly.
"Unidentified call asking for Washington."
"Put it through." Washington flicked on his radio receiver transmitter. "Hallo, Washington here."
"Fizz and Bubble, radio 52."
"What the..." Washington stopped, the line had gone dead. "Private Jackson!" The young private appeared instantly. "Get through to Colonel Fitzwilliam and request him to suspend activities until further notice. Hang the cost." The private saluted and marched out of the room. Washington ran out after him and was soon gone in the staff car, watched by an astonished staff. A corporal looked at Jackson.
"What was all that about?"
"Hanged if I know, it was an unidentified call and it sounded like drivel." The staff slowly dispersed and returned to their scheduled tasks, and Jackson go busy on radio and telephone.
"Colonel Fitzwilliam......Washington requests you suspend all activities until further notification."
Chapter 8
Bingley was in the back of the radio hut, trying to make breakfast for himself and Jackson, the M.O., when he heard a car roaring down the road. He exchanged a quick glance with Jackson, and the two of them returned to the main part of the hut. The car pulled up in front of the hut with a screech of breaks, and skidded on the loose gravel. The two officers watched silently as the lone occupant jumped out and ran towards them.
"Is this radio 52?" The man looked excited, but worried. Bingley looked suspiciously at the man, then glanced at Jackson. Jackson was staring at the man with creased brows.
"General Raymond! How do you do sir?" The man glanced sharply at the M.O.
"Greetings Jackson. Is this radio 52?" Bingley nodded, cautiously. "Did you just send a message through to Wing Intelligence?" Bingley glanced briefly at Jackson, then nodded again. "Could you explain why you sent the message?" Bingley shrugged.
"That's what the man told me to do."
"Could I please see him?" Jackson shook his head.
"No, he's only just gone back to sleep. He refused the Laudanum*." Washington nodded.
"Okay. By the way, Jackson, if I were you, I'd cut back to camp. MacNiell got me on the car radio, he is not happy." Jackson nodded, and grabbing his bag and his breakfast, he left at a jog. Washington then turned and looked at Bingley.
"Get some sleep, I need to talk to you later."
"What about?"
"Your being sent home, pending re-assignment."
"But why?"
"Because I don't want you to be kicked out of his Majesty's Armed Forces. Now get some sleep. I'll look after the radio until you wake up." Bingley sat down on a pile of blankets and was soon asleep.
Bingley didn't wake until well into the evening, a quick glance around the room showed him that the Captain was still asleep, and that the man was sitting quietly by the radio.
"Good evening, sir."
"Evening Bingley. Pull up a chair. MacNiell called through to fire you two hours ago, but since you were already reassigned he just got niffy and hung up. What do you do for an evening meal?" Bingley walked into the back room, and soon returned with beer, bread rolls and cheese.
"Living like royalty. Okay Bingley, as you are temporarily unoccupied, how would you like to become a member of an Intelligence Sabotage team?" Bingley frowned.
"I don't have much choice, do I?" Washington looked thoughtful, and then nodded.
"Your nearly right, I actually think that you have no choice."
"What will I be doing?"
"You'll start by taking that bag of bones on your couch into Hertfordshire. His present condition is not good, and your going to remedy it."
"Complimentary, sir." Bingley swung his head around at the sound of the voice, and saw that the Captain was sitting up.
"So your awake Fizz. Well it was probably good for you to hear it. You look shocking."
"Thank you. Oh, Washington?" Washington glanced over. "Are my casuals still in that truck of yours?" Washington nodded.
"They're in the car outside. Help yourself, but I advise a high collar."
"Really!" Fizz levered himself to his feet and cautiously walked out of the hut. He returned a couple of minutes later with an armload of clothing. "Washington, I become a gentleman of leisure and a C.O.**, Mr. Kennedy Fitzjames." He walked into the backroom, and was absent for a considerable period of time.
When Fizz returned Washington untangled himself from his seat by the radio and stood up.
"Tomorrow Mac'll come to pick you up. Bingley what size do you.... don't worry I'll get the stuff from your files. Your both gentlemen of leisure, and C.O.'s. You will holiday for three months in Hertfordshire. Sir Edward Hatton has a place there. Fizz, you'll have a pile of paper work to deal with. You were last heard of in Sanhuzar, so the entire Corporation has tried to fold." Washington nodded and left with a squeal of wheels and a scrunch of flying gravel.
*Laudanum: The old name for opium, used a lot as a painkiller and sleeping draught during the war.**C.O.: Conscientious Objector, in this circumstance, it usually stands for Commanding Officer.
Chapter 9
Fizz was seated in a deep bay window, the curtains hiding him from the occupants of the room, when Bingley joined him hurriedly. Fizz stopped his dive for his left wrist when he saw who it was.
"Hallo Bingles, what's the hurry?"
"The shooting party is coming, I met some of the fluffies on the stairs." Fizz sighed, and once again pulled his collar up to conceal his bandages.
"I suppose the translation of that remark is, Fizz get out of your corner and play your part." Bingley grinned.
"Not really, I was actually hoping for an invitation to join you."
"You won't get it. Let's go do our impersonations of C.O.'s complete with Shakespeare sonnets, and something we can criticise for a lack of soul. That book I had yesterday was unreadable. Leacherous Souls is shelved for the duration of our stay. Hand me Homer, and we will discuss your opinion of the worst of those sonnets." Fizz sat in a relaxed manner by the fire, Homer in hand, along with a Greek lexicon. Bingley took the other chair and opened at random the book of sonnets.
Captain Godfrey Smirth, was the son of a tradesman, he had become a clerk in the civil service as young as possible, and had since been trying to penetrate the upper classes. As with all people of his character, when the war came, he thankfully avoided commission with a legitimate excuse, and had since spent his time touring the southern counties, staying in big houses, boasting about what his exploits would have been had he been permitted to sign up, and followed by a retinue of fluffies and other men, whose company he found congenial. Thus, when Smirth entered the library that night, he was surprised to observe that it was occupied by two men. One was reading, or appearing to read, Homer in Greek, and the other was reading Shakespeare, and talking none-stop about its style, or lack there of. Smirth glanced carefully at the two men. The first, the one reading Homer, he thought was Mr. Kennedy Fitzjames, a non-combatant, and suspected C.O.. Mr. Fitzjames was thin and willowy, with a palid face, high pulled collar, and finicky appearance. The other, Shakespeare student, he assumed was therefore Mr. Charles Bingley who had recently retired from the armed forces on a point of morals, another suspected C.O. Bingley was short and burly, with an open, good humoured face.
"Mr.." Smirth looked at Fizz.
"Fitzjames, Bingley is the other fellow."
"Thank you, I am enlightened." The fluffies who had followed him in giggled on cue. "Mr. Fitzjames, would you care to come shooting with us, tomorrow?"
"No thank you." The answer was placid. "I dislike guns, and shooting I abhor. I don't think I even own a gun." Bingley choked at this last statement, Bingley knew that Fizz had at least one revolver concealed on his person, along with two knives and some other objects of which Bingley had never asked the identity. His choke however drew the attention of Smirth.
"Mr. Bingley. Would you care to come shooting tomorrow?" Bingley through a cautious glance at Fizz.
"Sure, I'd love to." Smirth looked surprised.
"Why aren't you on the front being a daring combatant, then?"
"I found the licentious behaviour displayed to be intolerable. I intend to join the civil service."
Beth and her friend Rolly, were hidden from view at the back of the group, and Beth was getting annoyed.
"Rolly, we must get to the front. Their conversation does not hold water." Rolly nodded.
"Charles is my brother, I can get you near that way." Beth nodded.
"Let's go for it, and do remember to be fluffy." Rolly nodded and went into action with a squeal.
"Oh Charlie! Charlie! Why didn't you say you'd come home. I must introduce you to Bethie. Come Bethie, this is my brother Charlie." Rolly had by this stage reached the front of the group, pulling Beth with her. Bingley was looking distinctly embarrassed by this, though Beth's next remark made him blush even more.
"Oh Rolly, you were quite right, he is handsome. Though I think his companion is not comparable, but he is still quite nice." Beth batted her eye-lids at Fizz, and Fizz promptly looked ill. Rolly had continued to paw at her brother, and finally she kissed him on the cheek, before dragging Beth away.
"Please excuse us Charlie, my make-up is a mess." The two girls ran upstairs to their room. Beth shut the door and looked at Rolly.
"Caroline Bingley, that was a performance to be proud of. Mr. Fitzjames looked like he was going to be sick."
"I yes I thought I did a pretty good job, Charles' face didn't give him away did it?" Beth smiled.
"Not at all, hopefully Charles will come here or do what you told him."
"He'll come." Rolly joined Beth on the bed. "Excuse me for a minute, I need to look embarrassed." Rolly duly went a deep red, and looked incredibly embarrassed. "We need to move on soon, Beth. This group is starting to suspect us a bit." Beth smiled again.
"Because though we behave correctly, they have never seen us sleeping around?" Rolly nodded. "Well we'll blow that thoroughly. Though Mr. Fitzjames could be a tough nut to crack, without telling all." Rolly frowned.
"Beth, what is your last name?" Beth looked slightly sad.
"I don't actually know. Though I could recite to you all the people I have been since I was five."
"Why did your mother never tell you?"
"I think it was to protect me from something. Mr. Fitzjames. ... I do not envy you your job. Grantley is suspicious of Mr. Fitzjames, he has appeared too suddenly."
"Well we'll soon find out more, though it is annoying no to be able to pump Charles for information." Beth sighed again.
"Quite."
Mr. Charles Bingley had been somewhat startled when his sister had come forward. She had always been annoying and overly demonstrative, but never to this degree. He was therefore even more stunned when she had told him, while appearing to kiss him, that he was to take Beth as a dinner partner. Bingley decided to find out a bit more before he communicated with Fizz. It was with this in mind that he ran to his sisters room, as soon as he was freed from Smirth and his imagined heroics on the battle field.
Chapter 10
Fizz stood quietly in a corner, and watched thoughtfully while he made friends with Beth, who appeared to be flirting desperately with him. He was therefore surprised when he felt a slight tap on the elbow, and looked down to see Rolly, standing there smiling.
"Oh Mr. Fitzjames, could I possibly talk to you?"
"You can talk to me, but I probably won't answer." Fizz could feel his stitches irritating him, and distracting him.
"....It's about my Beth." Fizz suddenly started listening.
"Miss Bingley, before you go any further, could you tell me why your friend is appearing to flirt madly with Bingley, while holding what seems to be a serious conversation?" Fizz met the surprise in Rolly's gaze, his expression faintly questioning.
"For the same reason I am behaving to you in the same manner. It is fortunate that people are expecting you to give them the cold shoulder." Fizz blinked at this. "Be logical, you looked positively ill after Bethie spoke to/about you this afternoon."
"I felt positively ill, but could you please answer my original question."
"No." Rolly shook her head, smiled in a charming manner and walked swiftly away. She was soon joined by Beth, who never dropped her act for a second.
"What's he like?"
"Cold fish, but hard boiled. He saw through your act?" Beth frowned.
"This, I predict, will not be easy. Your brother knows about as much of him as we do. He actually knows a bit more, but he is not saying." Beth and Rolly then linked arms and strolled around the room, flirting with anything male, including the cat.
Bingley released himself from Beth as soon as he saw Rolly leave Fizz, and went and joined him on the wall.
"'Allo wall flower."
"Hallo Bingles, though I wouldn't call myself much of a flower." Fizz gently rubbed his neck, trying to ease the itch.
"That'll become a habit soon. What was Caroline talking about?"
"Don't actually know, accept that it had something to do with Beth. Why was she appearing to flirt, while talking seriously?"
"I thought she did a very good job."
"She did, it was your expression that gave her away."
"Nice! She was trying to grill me about Mr. Kennedy Fitzjames."
"I thought she was." Fizz took a quick glance around the room. "And I don't think she was pleased with the result."
"Not surprising, I don't actually know anything about Mr. Fitzjames." Fizz rolled him a comforting eye.
"At least you can remember who I am. Most people seem incapable of it."
Bingley sat on the foot of Fizz's bed, watching while Fizz changed his bandages.
"I think they have orders to check you out."
"I know they have. They're in home intelligence, I've appeared from no where and very suddenly. I expect they are merely checking that I'm harmless."
"So do I. You called in yet?"
"No. Hand me the radio." Bingley handed it over. Fizz fiddled with the multitude of dials, when suddenly he found something unexpected.
"Beth and bed calling Grantley."
"Grantley here?"
"Mr. Fitzjames does not respond as a civilian, I would suggest you get through to the Darcy Corporation and see if they know anything about him."
"I already have. Washington reports all unknown, though he admits that Bingley is holidaying there."
"Translation, see what Bingley can tell? We've already tried, he knows almost nothing of Mr. Fitzjames. Will continue tomorrow after shooting. And start finding somewhere else for us to go. We're becoming suspected. Over and out." Fizz creased his eye-brows as he listened.
"Bingley, could you possibly engage your sister and Beth in conversation, for about fifteen minutes." Bingley nodded and left the room, three minutes later, Fizz opened line with Washington.
"Hallo Washington, Fizz and Bubble here."
"What the devil are you doing getting suspected."
"Behaving like C.O.'s, Do you know anything about 'Beth', she seems to work in tandem with Caroline 'Rolly' Bingley?"
"She's 17 and she doesn't even know her own surname. She works for Grantley."
"Great. What was found out about my sister?"
"Five years ago your mother died, your sister lived with her aunt and uncle in London. She just left them one night three years ago. We can find nothing else."
"Okay, over and out." Fizz hung up and stared blankly in front of himself.
*Fluffies were a slang description of girls who followed what they thought was fashion. They were totally brainless, or at any rate that is the impression they gave. They are rather loose morally, and they were used by the home service, to conceal people, to find enemy agents.
Chapter 11
Fizz and Bingley were surprised, to say the least, when Beth came down alone to breakfast.
"Where's Rolly, Beth?" Beth grinned as she sat down.
"She was too eager to see her brother, and coming down the stairs earlier she took a minor tumble, and is now tucked safely in bed with a sore ankle." Beth grinned again, Rolly's minor tumble had been a whole flight and a half of stairs, carefully stage managed. The reason was to give Beth and Rolly a valid excuse to remain behind after there party left, if necessary. Bingley looked concerned.
"Oh dear. I'll go see her after breakfast." Beth glanced covertly at Fizz, and was surprised by the grim, but suspicious frown she saw on his face. Suddenly he raised his eyes from his plate, and lifted his eyebrows, his whole demeanor was one of forbidding arrogance. Beth promptly dropped her eyes, Mr. Fitzjames would pay for that, no one, absolutely no one looked at her like that. The men soon excused themselves, Bingley to prepare for the shooting, and Fizz to retire into the library. Beth followed soon afterwards and sat with Rolly.
"Mr. Fitzjames is suspicious of your accident I think."
"Let him." Rolly was actually more uncomfortable than she was willing to let on. Beth looked at her sharply, than nodded.
"Okay. Charles said he would see you sometime this morning. Be nice to him." Rolly grinned faintly and watched as Beth started to leave the room.
"Oh Bethie?" Beth stuck her head back into the room. "Do be a dear. See if you could get me a book." Beth nodded and vanished again.
Bingley had been fiddling around on the stairs, trying to decide whether he should visit his sister now, or later, when he was surprised by a series of loud bangs. He looked up to the astonishing sight of Beth jumping down the stairs. She was dressed in grey slacks with a green turtle neck sweater.
"Miss Beth. Is something the matter?"
"Not at all Charles. You must go see Rolly, she is just pining for company, but could you direct me to the library?"
"You first saw me in the library."
"Oh I got you. Do you know if there is any Scott?"
"No, I couldn't say. But Kennedy might know, I last saw him headed for the library." Beth nodded and continued her noisy passage down the stairs. Bingley laughed gently and headed towards Rolly's room.
Beth entered the library cautiously, but could see nobody. A careful look convinced her that there was in actual fact nobody in the library. As she could not find anybody to help her, she considered looking for herself, but only briefly. She turned and took another careful tour of the room, then remembered about the back room. The backroom was originally a book room, or private study. Beth swung the door open, and stuck her head in, a motion that was immediately changed into a desperate dive for the floor. She rolled on impact and then glanced furiously at Fizz, who was calmly returning a curious piece of grey metal to his right wrist. His face was expressionless.
"What was that?" Anger and curiosity fought to be uppermost.
"It was a revolver, and I suggest you forget about it." Beth looked at him, turning options over in her head.
"Okay. Do you know if this library holds any Scott books?" Fizz looked at her curiously, then nodded, and winced. Beth looked thoughtful.
"Why do you rarely nod, you usually blink, or say yes." Fizz frowned.
"When I fell down the stairs I pulled a muscle in my neck. Come, I'll show you the Scott books." Fizz ushered her out of the room, closed the door behind himself, then led her to the Scott books. "You like Scott?"
"Not really, it's Rolly who wants them." Beth selected one of the Minstrel books, before nodding to Fizz. Fizz however was very carefully studying the Horace. Beth thanked him, and left the room, steaming at his rudeness.
That evening there was the second dance. Rolly exerted herself enough to get dressed and come downstairs, she and Beth spent most of their time chatting and flirting with anything in range. Except for a period when Fizz came up.
"Miss Beth, would you care for this dance?" Beth glanced quickly round the room, but nothing could help her, even Rolly was occupied with her brother.
"Certainly, Mr. Fitzjames." She smiled flirtatiously, and Fizz rapidly left. Rolly soon came and joined her.
"What did Mr. Fitzjames want Beth?" Beth rubbed her head gently.
"He asked me to dance. I couldn't refuse him."
"But why do you want to Beth. You couldn't ask for a better opportunity to talk to him." Beth rubbed her head again.
"I think he frightens me, and he knows a lot more about us, than we know of him."
"But..." At this point Fizz came up and requested his dance. The dance was of medium pace, but did not last for long, neither Beth nor Fizz spoke a word in the whole exercise.
Beth returned from the dance, her expression slightly shaken. Rolly looked thoughtful.
"Bethie, dear. I feel ill, please come to bed now." Beth nodded and the two left the room. Watched by two concerned men, who soon followed.
Chapter 12:
"What happened Beth, you looked almost terrified when you finished that dance." Beth bit her lower lip cautiously.
"Mr. Fitzjames terrifies me. Grantley will have to put someone else on the job."
"But Beth. You've never dumped a job yet."
"And I've never had a job I have had no clues about either." Beth snapped, the frightened expression coming back into her face.
"Then talk, I need to know what we're dealing with." Beth sighed.
"What is your impression of Mr. Kennedy Fitzjames?" Rolly frowned.
"I'd say for the most part, that he was an affected young man, with pacifistic tendencies."
"Now I drop a bomb shell. How many pacifistic young dandies do you know, carry a knife and a revolver strapped to their forearms at a private dance?" Rolly looked stunned. "And, how many do you know, would be willing to use them."
"But.....how do you know its a revolver?" Beth sighed.
"He pulled it on me when I surprised him in the library."
"Beth!! Now wonder he scares you, ho..." Rolly interrupted herself as she heard footsteps approaching along the corridor. They were soon followed by a soft knock.
"Come in." Bingley poked his head in.
"Are you two all right?" Beth grinned wryly.
"Rolly just started to feel her ankle too much. Nothing more, she didn't want to be alone." Bingley came the rest of the way into the room. He looked carefully at Caroline.
"I'm going to get Fitzjames to look at it." He started to leave.
"But Charles, it's only a sprain!" Bingley looked back.
"Somehow I disagree with you. Now if you'll excuse me." Bingley left the room, and Beth and Rolly glanced at each other.
"Oh Beth. Don't leave."
"Don't worry, I won't." Beth's expression was uncompromising to say the least. "All I'm worried about is that your brother may be right."
Bingley soon returned with Fizz in tow. Fizz had a small black bag in one hand, and a large glass of port in the other. He looked carefully at both Beth and Rolly, before entering the room.
"You are not against my looking?"
"We appear to have little choice. What is the port for?"
"It is merely precautionary. Bingles, buzz off and drift around in the hall, and make sure that no one comes near." Bingley left the room, and Beth and Rolly watched Fizz closely.
"I assume that you two tell each other everything?" Beth glanced sharply at Rolly, then nodded cautiously. "Then I won't work with my coat on." Fizz quickly shrugged his coat off, revealing his two fore-arm sheaths. "Don't worry Miss Bingley, I am trained for this." Rolly watched as Fizz worked, holding tightly to Beth, and wincing occasionally. Fizz soon came up with a diagnosis. "Sorry miss Bingley, your ankle is broken, and I'm going to have to set it." Fizz handed Rolly the glass of port and started to leave the room. "Miss Beth, if you could possibly get her into slacks, or something comfortable. Miss Bingley, I would drink the port, it will help a lot." Fizz left the room temporarily, giving time for the change. When he returned Rolly was in cullots, smiling a trifle muzzily. "Good." He picked up his bag and removed the contents. Beth once again took Rolly's hand. The next five minutes tried Rolly severely, though the port helped, as predicted. "Okay, keep quiet, and your tied in bed for the next week." Fizz repacked his bag and sat down on a chair.
"Why are you remaining?"
"I had the feeling that you two were desirous of asking me some questions?" Beth glanced at Rolly, then back at Fizz.
"Well, we'd like to know who you really are?" Beth glanced at her fingers, then back at Fizz, meeting his gaze squarely.
"I am Fizz, and I know very little more. Very like you in ways." Laughter slowly crept into Beth's eyes.
"I would put your coat on again Mr. Fizz, I am not partial to displayed armoury."
"Neither am I." Fizz pulled his coat on again, and looked at Rolly. He was standing up when Bingley shot into the room.
"Fitzjames! There's a call for you, it's unidentified." Fizz frowned, then glanced at Beth and Rolly.
"Keep company Bingles, I'll be back soon." Fizz left the room on the run, the door slamming behind him.
Fizz took the stairs four at a time, and was met by the butler.
"Mr. Fitzjames, there is a call for you."
"Where do I take it?"
"The phone is in the Drawing room, sir." Fizz flinched slightly, but was soon in the drawing room. Surrounded by Smirth and his companions.
"Hallo, Fitzjames. Who sends you unidentifiable calls." Fizz shrugged and grabbed the phone.
"Fitzjames speaking......Oh greetings to you sir...... no sir, not alone......Smirth and Co, sir..... immediately sir?....But.....Oh....No I'm fine....Bingles too?.....yes sir....excuse me sir." Fizz turned away from the telephone.
"Would you kindly be quiet Smirth, this is a very poor connection, and it is my business manager." Fizz turned back to the phone, Smirth fell silent. "Continue.....Hmmm....No.. ...Grantley sir....yes...Are there any photograph's of my sister?......Ohhh...right...Well come directly....good evening sir." Fizz hung up.
"Do you always call your business manager sir." Fizz looked thoughtful.
"Only when they are my grandfather." Stifled titters were his only response, and Fizz quickly left, taking the stairs on the run, and interrupting Bingley's discussion of Hertfordshire scenery, with Beth.
"Sorry. Bingley, we're leaving immediately." Fizz nodded briefly to Beth and left the room again followed by Bingley.
Chapter 13
Beth rose at six the next morning, and looked across at Rolly, who was finally sleeping in the other bed. Dressing quickly, Beth was soon out of the room and headed downstairs.
The house staff were only recently up, so she would not get any food for at least half an hour. Beth ducked into the library. Her inspection of the books, showed that except for some superficial damage to one of the spines, they were a set in perfect condition. With a sigh, she left the library and headed back to her room and radio.
"Beth and Bed calling Grantley."
"Grantley here. What's up?"
"They left last night after a phone call from London."
"Find anything else since last contact?"
"As with all of them, he wears his weaponry concealed. Could you contact Darcy Corporation and see if Fizz is a registered name?"
"Right. What's up with Rolly?"
"Broken ankle, we'll come up as soon as she can stand."
"Wilco, over and out." Beth turned the radio off, and stared out the window.
Washington looked thoughtfully at Fizz, Bingley and Dusty.
"You up to work yet Fizz?" Fizz nodded cautiously. "Good. The lot of you leave tomorrow for Syria. We're expecting another advance, and we've been requested to make life difficult for the Jerries." Fizz frowned.
"Reservoirs, roads mined, the usual?" Washington nodded and glanced at Bingley and Dusty.
"You two willing?" They nodded. "Okay, I'm going to be horrible. Your doing this job in British uniform."
"Very horrible, sir. But as we're likely to be caught, I'd prefer to do it in uniform. No one else as back up this time?" Washington shook his head.
"No. We can't spare the personnel at present." Fizz nodded and looked relieved.
"We continue to be ourselves?"
"Be whoever you like, just get registered as combatants on the Eastern front." Fizz nodded, and then the three of them rose.
"I'll return for the maps when we are prepared." Washington nodded. The buzzer on his desk sounded.
"Wait a minute boys." He switched over. "What is it Jackson?"
"Grantley wants to talk to you again."
"Put him through......Hallo, Grantley.......Fizz! no, but give me a minute and I'll check the files for you." Washington turned off the speakers and looked at Fizz. "What do you want to be this time?"
"Try a minor operative." Washington grunted and re-opened the lines.
"Hallo, Grantley......yes, he's a minor operative. His line head gave him a temporary boot after he tripped over in an aerodrome....Glad I could help you. Over and out." Washington switched off the radio and looked at Fizz, Bingley and Dusty hastily filed out, it looked like trouble was coming. "Why the hell did you tell them that?" Fizz frowned for a moment.
"You didn't necessarily have to admit that I was part of the Darcy Corporation."
"Oh yes I did. He was ready to list you as hostile."
"Like smoke he was. I know Grantley and I know Beth, I even know Rolly. They do not label people as hostile just because they carry a revolver and a knife, are trained medically, and never answer a question."
"Ok you can go. I'll get back to Grantley." Fizz nodded and left the room. Washington switched the radio on again.
The sun was shining and the heat was causing the scene to shimmer and swirl. A large eagle circled over head, and a long trail of ants wound slowly up a sand dune, heading for a clump of vegetation. Except for a large cement tower, an aerodrome, and a small cluster of sheds, the place was deserted. To the left of the tower, there was a slight movement, and suddenly a man wormed into view. He was covered in dust, and his eyes were always roving. He cautiously approached the tower. A sudden movement caused him to freeze, and then to quickly worm back the way he had come.
"He didn't make it!" Dusty groaned as he lowered the binoculars.
"You sure, this heat distorts the view a lot." Bingley still had his face pressed against.
"Positive, he never passed the crest."
"Damn!" Bingley lowered his binoculars. "What do we do now?" Dusty raised his binoculars again.
"We continue watching. At worst we get the great fun of watching Fizz blow himself up."
"Your joking!" Bingley stared at Dusty, who didn't respond. Bingley raised his binoculars and continued watching.
Once again there was a slight movement. This time it came from the right of the tower. The movement was followed by a slight grunt, and a dull thud. There was another slight movement, and then nothing.
Bingley strained to see through the distortion of the heat.
"What's happening?"
"Not sure, Fizz just took a short trip to the far side of the tower, he has now returned, and is repeating the previous attempt."
"What made him go over there?"
"Couldn't say, but maybe he decided to try from the other slope."
Once again, there was a slight movement on the left side of the tower, and once again, a very sandy man appeared cautiously over the top, and looked around. In the midday heat, the only people who stirred were the guards. Once again a slight noise sent him back the way he had come. But this time he didn't try again, he just dug into some scrub and sat there, staring thoughtfully at the tower. He gently rubbed a large scar under his chin, and frowned at the building. With a sudden grunt, he suddenly left his cover and once again started to approach the tower. It had been two hours since he had penetrated the outer wiring, and it had been two days since he first arrived.
"There he goes again." Bingley sighed and tried to clear the dried sand from his face.
"Did you expect otherwise, you don't lie around in the desert and then fail the job, I'm just hoping I don't see him do what I've seen others do on these missions."
"What's that?"
"Walk to the tower then just detonate the charge."
"Oh." Bingley sank back into silent watching.
"He's over." Bingley turned away from the binoculars for a minute, glanced at the watch. "Four hours inside the enclosure, and he's apparently undetected."
"Start counting, it should go up in ten minutes." Bingley glanced at the watch and then continued watching the tower.
Chapter 14
Beth glared at the radio, then looked across at Rolly.
"You can unpack again, he says he can't change the assignment. I HATE champagne." Rolly laughed at Beth.
"Your just wild because you know more about Mr. Fizz than you've told anyone, and you're well aware that he is having fun getting shot up on the continent. While you're getting bored, and sick, on champagne." Beth laughed.
"True, I do dislike this sitting around waiting. Up with you, dinner in ten minutes." Beth left the room, and Rolly followed soon after.
Dusty watched.
"He's been over ten seconds now, he should be right close.. ..." Dusty watched, almost horrified at the rolling cloud of smoke and debris that rose from the tower hill. The smoke slowly cleared, but most of the hill had vanished, along with the water tower. "I think that that was successful." Dusty lowered his binoculars and glanced at Bingley. Who was unhappily rubbing his nose.
"Do you think?"
"I don't...." A sudden disturbance stopped Dusty mid comment.
"Hands-up, and on your feet." The English was strained and guttural, but the meaning was clear. Bingley and Dusty rose, hands high. A private stepped forward and ran his hands efficiently through their pockets.
"They have nothing, sir." Dusty listened to the German, his expression blank and uncomprehending.
"Tie their hands. We'll take them back to base. A pity the bomber did not survive." Bingley and Dusty had their hands firmly tied, and then were marched back to the small encampment and imprisoned in a small holding building.
"You will be transferred in two days. Have we your parole?"
"NO!" Dusty sat quietly in the corner watching Bingley and the officer.
"Bingles?" Bingley looked around. "Shut up!" Bingley closed his mouth and joined Dusty in the corner. The officer looked blankly at the two men, he then turned and left the hut closing the door behind him.
"Don't talk Bingles. They will try to force us to talk later. Be thankful you don't know anything."
"Do you?"
"Not anything useful. I can teach them to load a gun, cook raspberry tarts, and how to not plant dictaphones well." Bingley stared at Dusty in amazement, but comprehension slowly dawned in his face. Dusty grinned at Bingley's expression, then began to whistle, softly through his teeth. God save the Queen, The Messman's Opera, Hunago, I'll be There Yet My Friend, Loch Lomond. The list was endless, and the irritation of the guard helped pass the time. Bingley had soon joined in. They whistled in rounds, they whistled in different keys, they whistled different tunes at the same time. Danny Boy, waltz music, the latest songs out, Gilbert and Sullivan, tunes from Broadway, Border Ballads, bush tunes the Australians had introduced, and even a few Dusty had heard on a German radio station, Lili Marlene, Heilige Nacht Stille Nacht, then back to the Irish Ballads, and finished with Dusty in solo whistling a mournful air that Bingley had never heard before. They only finished because the commandant of the encampment threatened to flog them if they didn't be quiet.
The next morning Bingley was roused by mournful whistling, Catholic mass tunes, oranges and lemons, Waltzing Mathilda, Le Danse Grande, John Brown's Body, Yankee Doodle Dandy, 10 Green Bottles, Pop Goes The Weazle, Mississippi Reel, Sour Wood Mountain, Froggie Went A Courtin', America The Beautiful, Oh Canada. Then came nonsense songs and Sea shanties. There breakfast came, and the orderly gave them a dirty look. Evening came, along with a visit from the commandant.
"You leave tomorrow morning." Dusty nodded, and repeated himself for the first time. The commandant left, followed by Hunago, De'il's Lair, White Cockade, Ohe Marmont, Onde Vrai Marmont. Then once again came the haunting melody from the evening before, high and eerie, it made Bingley feel incredibly depressed and impatient, then came Polly Wolly Doodle, Dixieland, Clip Go The Shears, Tennessee Wagon Wheel, Auld Lang Syne, Bonnie Charlie, Sprig Of White Heather, more Gilbert and Sullivan, Beethoven's sixth symphony, Beethoven's ninth, Tunes from Mozart's Figaro. Then once again came the haunting melody. Followed by a soft clunk. The door of the hut creaked open, Dusty clapped his hand over Bingley's mouth, and a face appeared around the door, finger to lips. It beckoned, and Dusty quickly dragged Bingley after him.
Chapter 15
"What did you fellows mean, by getting caught? I told you not to. And I expect my orders to be obeyed." Dusty grinned at the characteristic greeting from Fizz.
"We thought you went up with that tower." Dusty glanced at Bingley.
"You thought Bingles, you thought." Bingley blinked but glanced back at Fizz.
"But why didn't you go up with the tower?"
"Because it wasn't the tower I was after. I went over the top, chucked a rock onto their alarm system, a rather noisy alarm I might add, and beat it."
"Do you mean we now have to deal with the real reservoir?" Fizz grinned at the dismay in Bingley's voice, and glanced over his shoulder. A patch of light suddenly rose from near the encampment, followed by a dull roar, and a rushing sound.
"No. We now prepare to walk into Turkey." Bingley stared at Fizz then looked at Dusty, who was laughing, then looked back at where the encampment used to be, he sighed and shook his head.
"Where was the real water tower?" Fizz looked at Dusty, who laughed harder.
"We'll tell you later, we need to move now."
Beth and Rolly glanced at each other dubiously. Kent! at this time of year. Beth had hardly been able to contain her astonishment when Smirth had first announced the idea, and now Grantley was ordering them into Kent. Rolly rolled her eyes, and started packing.
"Did Grantley say anything else?"
"Something about Washington I think, it was muffled and unclear." Rolly nodded. Smirth and his entourage left Netherfield by the midday train.
Commander James Fitzwilliam stared silently into the gloom. The multitude of islands made navigation tricky, but this was the work he enjoyed. Suddenly he tensed, staring intently, then he relaxed again. He cut the engine, and signaled the anchor to be lowered. He then resumed his inspection of the shore. There it was again, a faint furtive blinking. With a quick movement James responded, flicking on and off the coloured navigation lights. Another quick flicker came from the shore, then darkness and stillness returned. James sent for his crew.
"Hallo, Jimms, what's up?"
"Signals came through clear, stand by for surprises." Lieutenant Jermyn Fitzwilliam nodded and vanished into the darkness. Twenty minutes passed with no sound, thirty minutes, forty, then after fifty minutes James heard a faint clunk behind him on the deck. James flicked his torch on in the direction of the sound, he exposed half a face near the gunwale. James turned the torch off again and walked back to give the face a hand.
"How many more of you are there Dusty?" Dusty grinned.
"Only Bingles and Fizz." Dusty started to whistle his mournful tune once again, and James laughed. Five minutes later two more people were standing on the deck.
"Let's get out of here commander, and where are those clothes?"
"Starboard bunk Fizz, and what the hell happened to you boys?" Fizz smiled through the blood and mud on his face.
"A bad tempered sentry tried to interfere with our swimming training, and Bingles is a damned bad shot." Fizz glanced at Dusty and Bingley. "On second thoughts, cancel the retreat for a few minutes." Fizz went back over the side, and after a couple minutes of churning water he returned, considerably cleaned.
"You said that Bingley was a bad shot, why is the blood on you and not him?"
"His such a bad shot that he missed the sentry. For obvious reasons we had to.....eliminate him." James grimaced, he had seen 'eliminations' before. He was also well aware that they never occurred in one of Fizz's missions, unless they were essential, and essential meant that it was a choice between the eliminated one, and one of Fizz's men.
Chapter 16
Author's note: Due to some back reading, I have discovered a few inconsistencies in names. Fizz is actually looking for Elizabeth Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth Fitzjames in the prologue is meant to be E. Fitzwilliam, grandmother of Jimmie. Fizz is actually meant to be Kennedy Fitzwilliam at Netherfield.
Beth lay motionlessly, stretched out along the branch. Five metres away Smirth slowly walked up and down, he was obviously waiting for someone. Further down the river there was a fisherman, Beth watched him critically, not only was he a fisherman, but he was a very bad one. Beth watched both of them carefully.
It was noon before the fisherman packed up, and as he waded up river to find a place to climb the bank, he tripped. Beth frowned, and watched while the fisherman righted himself and approached Smirth.
"Excuse me, sir." Smirth looked impatiently at the man.
"Yes!"
"Could you give me some cigarettes. Mine got wet when I slipped just now." Smirth glared, but pulled out his heavy silver box and offered it to the damp fisherman. "Thank you." The fisherman, quickly mounted the bank and vanished in the direction of Hunsford. Beth continued watching Smirth. She was interested in the fisherman, but her orders were to deal with Smirth. Smirth glanced at his watch, and with a growl of disgust he left, headed for Rosings. Beth waited a minute, then slid down from her perch and followed him.
Beth lost Smirth in the woods west of Rosings. With a curse she gave up, and headed straight for Rosings. She was still approximately a kilometre short of Rosings, when she saw the fisherman again. A quick inspection showed Beth that the fisherman would not fish again, with a quick glance around Beth ran from the clearing. She had no desire what so ever to follow the fisherman's lead.
Lunch at Rosings was, in Beth's opinion, a boring meal. And today was no exception, in fact it reminded Beth of living with her aunt and uncle.
"I think it will rain today!" Stated Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Smirth and Co nodded. "It will not be at all good for the daisies." Smirth and Co nodded again. "But it should be good for the fishing. Captain Smirth, do you fish? Yes I thought you would." Smirth and Co nodded. "Miss Clayton, you may practice the piano in the south drawing room." Miss Clayton nodded, and looked fearful. "I will lend you my husband's tackle Captain, then you may fish after lunch. Such a healthy sport fishing, I'm sure I would have been a great exponent of the art had I been permitted to learn." Smirth and Co nodded, Beth found it hard not to giggle. But then Lady Catherine said something that caught Beth's attention. "My nephews, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam will be arriving this evening." Beth displayed suitable delight, but looked questioningly at Rolly, who shrugged.
That evening Rolly and Beth were alone while they dressed.
"What so shook you up this morning?" Beth frowned.
"I saw a dead man." Rolly shrugged again. "He had been shot, within seconds I arrived, but I did not hear the shot." Rolly nodded, comprehending.
"What do you think of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?"
"If I had not been listening to Lady Catherine's brain-wash, I would have sworn he was probably the head of the Darcy Corporation. As it is, he apparently drives trucks in Syria, considered medically unfit for active duty." Rolly laughed as they walked out of the room, it was her high, tinkley, tinny laugh, the laugh of a fluffy. Beth could outdo Rolly in most forms of role-play, but Beth held that there was no equal to Rolly as a fluffy. They walked downstairs, arms linked, on the look out for something to flirt with. They were passing the library when for some unknown reason, Beth decided to look back at the stairs. A man had slid out of the room at the bottom of the stairs, and was following. Beth met his eyes, he shook his head and held a finger to his lips, Beth nodded and then continued, not looking back again.
In the dining room, Colonel Fitzwilliam stood out, his military uniform at variance with the suits of the men, he was talking to Lady Catherine.
"Look aunt Cat, I told you, Darcy just said that he needed to get something from his room."
"Go get him ....... Darcy, dear boy, come get a hug from aunt Catherine. Fitzwilliam looked over at the door, met Beth's eyes briefly then traveled to the man who was standing behind them.
"Darcy!" Beth heard the man groan as Lady Catherine summoned him again, and he carefully slid passed the two ladies. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was a tall man, his build, was wiry, his dark hair was worn slightly long for the prevailing fashions, and he wore a high collared shirt, though was no surprise as all the other men were to, it was a formality that Lady Catherine insisted on.
"Saint George was lax." Beth mumbled. Rolly raised her eyebrows inquiringly. "He left at least one dragon in England." Rolly tittered and then returned to her inspection of the two men. The family similarities were strong between them. Fitzwilliam was a slightly shorter and thicker edition of Darcy, but he had the advantage of laughing eyes and a ready smile. Both had the strongly marked noses, and square chins. Rolly sighed and looked away.
"They are familiar Bethie. Why is that?" Beth laughed.
"We've seen them before.....in our dreams. I always did prefer a man with a decided nose and chin, I think I'll have to move on soon Rolly dear." Rolly was startled by the sudden change in speech style, but then she realised that another fluffy had joined then.
"Oh Rose-Anne, I do envy you getting to use the Rosings piano. Do you not think that Lady Catherine's nephews are handsome?" Miss Rose-Anne Clayton looked.
"They are not bad, but I preferred your brother Caroline. I much prefer a blonde man." Beth snickered.
"Well we all know that Sophia-Jane doesn't care a snit, just as long as he lets her into his bed."
"Caroline! You know that isn't true." Rose-Anne looked shocked.
"Of course I do deary, but you are so much fun to bait." Rose-Anne stomped away.