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Part 14

Posted on Wednesday, 10 September 2003

September 20th 1940 - London, England

I have discovered that no matter what happens, life tends to continue regardless of whether you want it too or not.

Annette had been awake and staring at her ceiling for several minutes before she finally decided to free her feet. Eoan had found his feet within days of his arrival, even if those feet deserted him within a couple of steps. For some reason totally beyond either Annette or Annie-Bug Eoan had apparently decided that Annette required his constant attention so far as his strength would permit.

Within a week of his arrival Eoan had appropriated the foot of Annette's bed and basically encased her feet in hot cement and totally prevented any cold leaks from getting in at the foot of her bed. However, extricating her feet in the morning frequently proved to be a considerable task as all too frequently the simple act of pulling her feet towards herself merely resulted in her sliding down the bed and getting laughed at by Eoan.

Once Annette had closed the door when she went to bed and the result had been a deafening racket and ruckus when Eoan decided he wanted in at two in the morning. Once it had been decided that Eoan would move to live with Ashie in his improved health, but efforts to remove him had merely reduced Annie-Bug to hysterical laughter and Annette to extreme frustration. Even Ashie himself in person had failed to persuade the dog to change to a different abode. By unanimous vote it was decided that Annette would suffer hot feet until they were relieved of Eoan's presence ... also known as the day James Darcy returned to England and collected his dog.

Within a fortnight Annette had discovered why Eoan had not been left behind when James Darcy had gone to the continent. Eoan was not a dog who was ever left behind, a fact he proved by following Annette to the office. On the first day Annette had left him at the front doors, but the result had been some doleful howls which would have done an air-raid siren proud and within five minutes Annette found herself facing an irate security guard and Eoan being issued with the appropriate passes to let him into Annette's office and the pit.

"Neddie!" The intercom spat once more in irritation and Annette rolled her eyes before grabbing the files that Ashie undoubtedly wanted and headed for the small double offices.

"The Jefferson Application to double their trout stock." Annette dropped the file onto Ashie's desk. "Did you want anything else?"

"No ... but you may wish to swear."

"Why?"

"James Darcy is back in England, but he has no intention of taking Eoan of your hands."

"Why?" Annette had paused to inspect the dog which had settled in the doorway before asking the question.

"He wouldn't say, merely requested I extend his appologies but he will not be taking Eoan away for at least a month."

"Meaning I'll be deprived of my private heater just when I actually start wanting to want one." Annette glanced back at Eoan once more. "I'll let Annie-Bug know this evening."

"Good." Ashie picked up his pencil before abruptly dropping it and shrugging. "Scat, you've got the rest of today off because I want you to come in tonight."

"Eight o'clock?"

"Eight o'clock." Ashie nodded his confirmation before picking up his pencil once more and pulling towards him a book which was unquestionably not work.

"Hullo, Button." Annie-Bug looked up from her book as Annette let herself into the house.

"Annie-Bug." Annette dropped into a chair with a sigh before groaning as Eoan settled on her feet. "Any mail for me from yesterday?"

"Mackle wrote again ... seems pretty thin though." Annie-Bug flicked the envelope across. "Also Jeroen ... but he might as well have sent a telegram by the feel."

"That's usual." Annette ripped open Jeroen's letter and glanced over it very briefly before pocketing it. Jeroen basically stated that he was alive and relatively intact. Mackle's letter was also uncharacteristically brief, only a page in length.

The City of Benares was sunk three days ago and I reside in a house with thirteen evacuees of which five either knew someone, or had kin, on that ship. The lists have not come in yet, but does one try to comfort the child by swearing the respective number is bound to have survived? Or does one merely sit and hope while we await the news.

We've been digging air-raid shelters, not because they are needed, but because it gives us something to do other than worry and wonder. We had a Great Bake yesterday, and spent most of this morning delivering the bread and cakes around the tenant farms and the local town. We've also been digging air-raid shelters for anyone who does actually need one. Tomorrow we start the harvest and prepare some winter crops. Busy, busy time upcoming for next week I am back up to Scotland to arrange for the winter culling since there was no hunting season and the estate up there is too heavily populated to survive.

Allan's sister was on the City of Benares. I cannot understand why children are separated from their families. I will take Allan with me to Scotland, and hopefully he will forget at least for a second that his sister is either in Canada or dead. I must admit that in my heart I greatly fear that she is dead, but I will not tell Allan. The North Atlantic is cold, always cold and the weather was bad that night. I've been into the North Atlantic in a wetsuit and five minutes is more than enough. These people have no wetsuits and are exposed for several hours in the best of circumstances.

I trust you have not been overly disturbed by the bombings. I was in Portsmouth about a week ago and at midnight it looked like one of Dante's Circles of Hell. There is something truly unearthly and terrifying about a major fire ... I am glad I was not alive when the Great London Fire occurred back in the 1600s. Though I must admit to a not so small suspicion that in truth what the Hun does on a nightly basis is probably worse, than that great fire.

I saw your sister Candy as promised and she told me to reassure you that she was well and due for a transfer to Liverpool within the next three months. I suspect she means that to sound comforting, and I do know that the Wren Quarters in Liverpool are not near the bombing zones. I have a somewhat distant cousin working at Liverpool and Candy promised to say hello from me if they met.

I had meant to write more, but this letter must be sent today and I am off to the fifth farm where a baby is in the process of arriving prematurely and disregarding the fact that the harvest has started and the farmer actually would prefer to be harvesting rather than rushing his wife to hospital. Helen is already over there and she will go to the hospital with them while I run the harvest until the farmer feels he can leave his wife.

May God keep you safe,

Mackle.

"So ends another letter and another benediction. He's worried about us isn't he?" Annette looked across at Annie-Bug as she spoke.

"Of course he is, we live in a city which is being bombed by night and fought over by day. Our chances of surviving are technically very slim." Annie-Bug blinked and then yawned. Last night had been very disturbed by raid alarms and they had spent much of the night running between the basement which served as a bomb shelter and their beds which the used as often as possible.

"Where is he? He mentions farm work and harvest but never said where."

"Either Matlock or Pemberley. You'll get next week off for Ashie has to see to his own Estates which means he'll go to Cambridgeshire. I'll be off to Rosings likely unless Uncle Jermyn successfully persuades my grandmother that he requires my presence at Matlock." Annie-Bug frowned thoughtfully. "Does he mention any names about where he is?"

"There's reference to an evacuee called Allan, and someone else called Helen who is helping with a premature baby."

"He's at Pemberley ... I do hope Mrs. Owens and the baby will be okay, it's less than a month premature."

"How do you know he's at Pemberley?"

"Helen ... also known as Nelli or Mrs. O'Niell. She's Brian's mum and the Housekeeper at Pemberley." Annie-Bug gave another polite little yawn. "Which reminds me that I'm going out tonight."

"Oh?"

"Jim's in town and faced with a boring bank affair and asked me to keep him from dying of boredom."

"No problem, Ashie wants me back at the office by eight anyway."

"Hence your presence here at this present moment. How's Jeroen?"

"He's alive, but suffering from a fractured finger. I am assured that even if the littlest finger seems unimportant and useless, it is in fact most inconvenient to have if put out of action."

"Well comfort him with the fact that he still has it." Annie-Bug frowned. "How'd it fracture?"

"He doesn't actually say, but he bewails a spit which was written off in a tusse with a Heinkel so it wouldn't surprise me if it was fractured in that fight." Annette yawned herself and then rose, a move which drew a muted complaint from Eoan. "Oh, your cousin Jim is not relieving us of Eoan for at least a month and sent his appologies via Ashie."

"Typical." Annie-Bug wrinkled her nose and then waved as Annette headed for her room. "Sleep well and have fun tonight."

"Your words are ones of endless comfort." Annette pulled her bedroom door shut behind herself and Eoan, the last time Ashie had called her into the office at night she had not got away before five in the morning and then had been required for the regular day of work.

September 25th 1940 - London, England

The greatest disguise I have ever discovered is that of no disguise at all.

"Well, well, well Blessings of Angels upon us and will wonders never cease." Ashie abruptly straightened up from the file Annette had just managed to anchor his attention on.

"Wonders never began Ashie." The dry voice brought every head up for it was a voice never heard in the pit before. "Except perhaps the wonder that you actually know how to work on occasion."

"How long are you in London for?" Ashie shook his head almost irritably.

"A few days ... a week." He was a tall man, easily clearing six foot and thin in a wiry way with broad shoulders and thin, restless fingers. It might have been a year since James Darcy had really been heard of, but those thin, restless fingers would always give him away if his hatchet-face didn't betray him first.

"Well don't forget to pay your regards to your Great-Aunt, she's been asking after you."

"Let her ask." He shifted minutely. "I'll see you later tonight." He then turned and was gone.

"That was James Darcy." It was one of the efficient secretaries who spoke.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Ashie's head lifted sharply.

"Only registered personnel should get up here and he is not registered." The secretary had a list of registered personnel which she had obviously been consulting.

"I knew he was coming and asked them to let him through." Ashie responded curtly as he returned his attention to the pages in front of him.

"You ... you..." The secretary was practically gobbling.

"I didn't get much choice so just be quiet about it. James Darcy will do exactly as he likes and I would prefer he did not disturb Churchill over something so minor as getting into this department so he could let me know he had arrived in London." Ashie turned sharply and vanished back into his small and dusty office.

"Awfully rude wasn't he." It was the girl at the desk next to Annette who spoke, Lila had left a fortnight earlier, much to Annette's relief.

"Which are you talking about?" Annette inspected the girl curiously, she had been in the pit since before Annette had come, but they had never spoken before now.

"Mr. Darcy ... Old Ashie's not too bad, but telling him it's a wonder he even knows how to work is awfully rough."

"I thought you were raining curses on his head yesterday." Annette spoke dryly and the response was a quick grin.

"That's because he'd forgotten a mountain of paperwork and gave it to us to do so it wouldn't be late. He's not bad usually because he doesn't raise a fuss and blame you for anything and everything which might go slightly wrong. He also doesn't kick up a ruckus if you're half a second late in the morning and he always asks one so nicely if we'll work late. He's pretty limp I will agree, but at least he's limp in a nice way. There was no need to be nasty like that."

"True ... but then again that was a Darcy and he has a reputation as a care for nobody." Annette picked up her pencil and scowled at the page, her mind drifting back to the lunch hour.

"Well, well, well, what slimy lump of primeval sludge is this?" The man at the next table had risen as he called the comment. He was fair, with friendly eyes, a square and open face and what was obviously a ready grin.

"A lump capable of walking out again. I have a message from your mama, Miles." The newcomer, who took a seat was the polar opposite, dark-haired, hatchet-faced, pale and of a closed and passive countenance. Undoubtedly Lucille would have considered him a romantic hero.

"Drat!" The open-faced man, Miles, subsided back into his seat. "Well spill."

"She wants you to write, little coz."

"I wrote last month."

"She wants you to write a little more often than once every six months."

"Bother. You down for long?"

"Week or two." The tone was bored and disinterested.

"Going out tonight, want to come?"

"No."

"Oh, come on, Jim." Miles shook his head. "Lighten up, have a bit of fun."

"Fun? You call going out to a place with loud music, too many people and too much smoke fun?"

"Finicky, finicky. It's fun ... park your brain with your bowler and loosen up."

"No thank you. You park your brain with your bowler ... if you've got one."

"You are in a nasty mood ... go flirt with the girl on the next table."

"No thank you, not pretty enough."

"Jim ... do bite your tongue when you make remarks like that, she could probably hear you."

"Do I look worried. Now, tea?"

"Thanks. Scones also look nice at this joint."

"They'll do." The man shook his head in obvious disinterest as they laid their order. Their conversation had then turned to cars and civilian aeroplanes.

"Neddie, my sweet. You can undoubtedly do this for me can't you?" Ashie came bouncing out of his office, an immense file resting in his hand.

"That looks like..."

"It is my sweet." Ashie interrupted Annette unceremoniously. "But you get this done and I promise I won't call you until after midnight."

"Wonderful." Annette took the file. "You owe me dinner if you mean that like you meant two library books."

"Right." Ashie vanished and reappeared a few minutes later. "Here's the advance payment." Ashie dumped an envelope on the desk before vanishing back into his office.

"What does he mean by that?" It was the girl at the next desk who spoke again.

"It's just his idea of a joke." Annette had glanced at the contents of the envelope before hastily stuffing it into an inside pocket of her jacket. The envelope contained a hundred pounds ... nearly more than what Annette earned in an entire year.

"You're still going to do the files?"

"No choice really." Annette cracked a smile she didn't feel. "If I don't do them, they'll never get done."

"How do you continue working? He fired eight secretaries in the first week ... and it basically became a pattern before you came. No one stayed more than a day until you came ... and now you've been here for seven months."

"Well, what else am I going to do?" Annette shrugged easily. "This is a job which pays and hopefully will give me some references when this is over."

"But you end up doing most of the stuff he's meant to be doing."

"And I've a legal document signed by him and half a dozen witnesses that he will credit me with this extra work. He is undoubtedly an idiot and he is also lazy, but he is not a skin-flint or at all selfish for appearance."

"That does make a difference. I'm Sarah."

"Annette ... but here I'm just Neddie."

"Neddie's nice. You going out for dinner?"

"I wasn't intending too."

"A couple of us juniors go to Meurice's and take a table on the balcony."

"That would be fun." Annette hesitated, her mind skittering uncertainly around the issue. "My flat-mate..."

"If it's a her, bring her and the more the merrier." Sarah gave another smile.

"Thanks, I'll invite her. When and where?" Annette had never mentioned it out loud to anyone, but it did somewhat concern her that the only people Annie-Bug seemed to associate with were family members. Just as all roads lead to Rome, did all Annie-Bug's activities lead to James Darcy.

"Eight o'clock at the bar ... dress up a bit, it's a mix of the pub and the Savoy."

"Button!" Annie-Bug came flying into the room in a cloud of loose hair and some curious garment of eastern appearance and rather colourful design. "Oh, ignore the robe." Annie-Bug grinned at Annette's rather fixed expression. "Present from James a couple of years back ... gives most people a headache but it is so comfortable. What should I wear?"

"Ah." Annette blinked and glanced briefly to one side. "Something simple I would suggest."

"Well there's my blue party dress with the silver and gold trim ... would that be alright?"

"Put it on and come back and we'll see." Experience had taught Annette caution when it came to Annie-Bug and clothes, for a 'simple' party dress might possibly be some creation which would have absorbed Annette's income for years.

"Alright?" It was several minutes later when Annie-Bug waltzed back into the room in a pretty little dress which was just simple enough to prove that it had cost a fortune.

"Mm." Annette circled Annie-Bug and tugged at the dress in a few places. "Where have you been hiding this?"

"Oh, I haven't." Annie-Bug spun, twirling the deceptively full skirt out and displaying the most possible leg without being indecent. "This was a present ... Jim seemed to think it necessary."

"Is Jim a connoisseur of fashion?"

"Not ... not by most standards." Annie-Bug spun again. "But he does tend to give presents which make one feel happy, or pretty, or commanding, or ... or ... you should see my deb dress. That dress was just dying to be danced in ... I danced with Jeroen in it." Annie-Bug shook her head violently. "Sorry, I promised last year that I would stop getting moppish on that subject." Annie-Bug spun for a third time. "Do you like it?"

"It's nice ... really, really nice." Annette watched as the lights glinted off the silver and gold trimming and started the fabric shimmering. Not a cheap dress, but such a good dress for Annie-Bug. James Darcy might be many things, but he clearly liked to make Annie-Bug laugh.

"I like it too." Annie-Bug settled carefully on the bed and began fiddling with her hair. "I had hoped you'd like it because I so wanted to wear it tonight. What are you wearing?"

"My yellow dress." Annette pulled the dress out of her wardrobe. The original dress would now have been old, but Lucille had stolen it the previous summer and refused to surrender it until Annette had promised to let her copy it. Annette had promised with extreme reluctance, but been enchanted with Lucille's final production, which was nicer than the original in all truth.

"Oh, pretty!" Annie-Bug pounced on the dress and held it out. "This colour always looks foul on me, but ... ooh! Pretty!" Annie-Bug fingered the double layered skirt and inspected the exquisite embroidery. "Where did you get it?"

"Lucille copied it from an older dress."

"Lucille is brilliant." Annie-Bug expertly fanned the skirt out. "Do you think she'd make a dress for me?"

"I couldn't say." Annette took her dress back and quickly began to change into it. "This took her all summer and she asked to do it ... I've never known her to successfully do anything on request."

"Well, I might ask her when we meet." Annie-Bug had produced a good coat and was now merely waiting for Annette to finish getting ready.

"Have you called a taxi?"

"No." Annie-Bug swung on her seat. "I called my cousin Miles and he has promised to drop us off ... Jim might be there as well."

"Right." Annette refrained from mentioning the conversation she had overheard at lunch, she hadn't realised it was James Darcy then, but the office had more than answered that later. "And now we just await his arrival."

"Neddie!" Sarah was waiting out the front as Annette and Annie-Bug approached.

"Sarah." Annette smiled and emitted a silent sigh of relief. "This is Anneliese, my flatmate."

"Can I call you Annie? We're all short named here."

"Annie is fine." Annie-Bug followed Sarah and Annette into Meurice's and they soon settled at a small table on the balcony. Below the floor was a sea of dancers with tables making a perimeter.

"Girls, meet Neddie and Annie." Sarah caught the attention of the others who were already at the table. "Neddie, you know Charlie, and the others are May, Laura, June and Thelma."

"Charlie!" Annette pounced on Charlie in glee. "How is everyone? When did you arrive? What have you been doing and have you seen Jeroen?"

"True Neddie style." Charlie gave a chuckle. "Everyone seems to be fine and even Teddie has accepted the fact he'll be a mechanic for the war. I arrived this morning and am hiding with Mel, who would be here except that she had a family dinner to attend. I've been down in Portsmouth doing hush-hush stuff which consists entirely of driving all sorts of people all over the place for no apparent reason that I can determine. No I haven't seen your wretched brother since he was last in London ... I haven't even received a letter from him, so do tick him off when you next write."

"Wonderful, he's not written to me in a couple of months either ... except for a health update stating that he was alive. I was hoping you'd have heard something." Annette subsided. "People, this is Annie who is my flatmate."

"Ooh!" It was June who produced the unexpected interlude a few minutes after the general discussion of new arrivals mixing with old-timers had settled down. "Mary's Man has arrived!"

"Mary's Man?" Charlie asked the question which was on the tip of Annette's tongue.

"Oh, we have no idea who he really is. He spilled a drink on Mary last month and after appologising profusely and helping her tidy up in a most unhelpful way he invited her to dance."

"Can you show us who he is?" Annette studied the knot of young men who stood in the doorway. Miles of the tea shop she could identify, and the same went for Alastair Bennet who had attended Eton in Jeroen's time. There were three strangers and there was James Darcy, who was talking to a flimsy and pale individual who barely reached his shoulder and both seemed to be attempting to avoid attention. Two of the strangers were within an inch of James Darcy's height and probably related.

"He's the flimsy and pale one talking to James Darcy." It was Laura who supplied the information. "Did anyone know that James Darcy had returned?"

"Yes." Annette and Sarah spoke in resigned unison, but Sarah continued when Annette stopped. "He turned up at the Pit and was really quite rude to Ashie."

"They're always rude to each other." Annie-Bug was studying the floor below. "That's Claude Watson ... he's a mathematician."

"You know them?"

"Yes." Annie-Bug gave her head a small shake. "James Darcy you obviously know, Claude Watson is the one you call Mary's Man. Alastair Bennet is the one next to Claude, then there's Miles Bingley and Captain Phillip Gardiner ... he must have finally got a day of leave." Annie-Bug frowned for a moment. "Joseph Fitzwilliam and his brother Stephen are the other two ... but they also seem to be on the verge of leaving."

"Can you name anyone else on the floor?" May spoke for the first time.

"Umm." Annie-Bug inspected the floor. "Lord James Ashington-Frankston is down there with Lord James Forsythe ... they seem ... ah, Mac, of course."

"Who?"

"Wing-Commander McKenna, obviously just an Old Boys stunt for Uncle Edward is also joining them." Annie-Bug studied the floor for several more minutes. "Captain Carrigan and Brigadier Mannering ... oh, Jermyn Alastair. Probably should say hullo to him later. They'll be off to their club before ten." Annie-Bug paused. "Neddie, Jeroen's down there ... he's hiding behind James currently." Annie-Bug paused again, obviously confused by some private thought. "Oh, no wonder." Annie-Bug's expression cleared. "Lila Thompson is also down there with Eleanor Smythe. I'm surprised Miles even got Jim through the door, let alone to keep him through it with her around."

"Why do you know so many?" Charlie was frowning at Annie-Bug, recognition warring with uncertainty.

"I know them because I'm related to most of them. I am still Anneliese Darcy, second cousin of the Pemberley Darcys." Anneliese spoke resignedly.

"Eeks, I just called Anneliese Darcy Annie." May was looking almost scared.

"Phooey!" Annie-Bug wrinkled her nose. "I'm going down to be polite since Jim has seen me. You can send Annette down when you've decided whether my family will stop us from being friendly." Annie-Bug left her chair and quickly skittered down the stairs.

"She wants to be friendly?" Laura looked at Annette in amazement.

"Of course." Annette responded shortly, her eyes following Annie-Bug as she crossed to James Darcy and his knot of friends. Jeroen had expertly excused himself and vanished before she was even half-way to the group. "Why wouldn't she?"

"But what does she do?"

"Currently nothing." Annette turned back to the table. "But she's been looking after some bedfast cousin. Why wouldn't she want to be friendly?"

"But..." Laura hesitated a moment too long and Charlie finally plunged into the fray.

"Anneliese Darcy is a perfectly normal nineteen year-old young lady who enjoys tennis, rock-climbing, swimming, dancing and dressing up in pretty dresses. Yes, Annie does ... Jeroen." Charlie abruptly jumped to her feet. "Reassure these timid ladies that Annie-Bug will not sneer at them and desert them just because she's related to the Pemberley Darcys."

"Annie-Bug sneer?" Jeroen's brows shot up before he briefly hugged Charlie and kissed Annette by way of greeting. "Nice of you to bring her along with you Button." Jeroen settled in Annie-Bug's former chair.

"She seems totally alone except for family." Annette handed Jeroen a small biscuit.

"As I said, nice of you to bring her. Forget her family, she's just Annie who you've met. Do you want her to be a friend?"

"Oh yes." It was Thelma who spoke up emphatically. "She makes me want to laugh and she knows everybody!"

"She undoubtedly knows everybody." Jeroen rose quickly. "Enjoy your evening ... and Charlie, both you and Button owe me a dance."

"You owe me a letter." Charlie nodded briefly and glanced over the railing for a veritable crowd was drifting towards the stairs.

"Neddie." It was Thelma who spoke with great decision. "You may invite Annie back to our table and tell her we'd be delighted to count her as one of our group, and we're sorry for being awkward ... you are also welcome to become a permanent member."

"Good." Annette left her seat and headed for the stairs.

"Neddie!" It was Charlie who called Annette back.

"Yes?"

"You may also inform her that Anneliese Darcy may consider herself one of the Harem if she so chooses."

"The Harem?"

"That's Jeroen's rather inelegant way of refering to us ... infinitely preferable to 'The Gaggle' or 'The Clutch' or 'The Herd'."

"I feel no inclination to argue with that." Annette shook her head and returned to descending the stairs.

"So, is she inducted into the Harem?" Jeroen met Annette at the bottom of the stairs.

"She will be if she wants to be." Annette accepted the arm Jeroen offered. "Do get me through this crush, they seem to magically part for you."

"Ask Annie-Bug for lessons."

"She teach you?"

"Yep." Jeroen tapped a nearby shoulder, dropped Annette's arm and retreated, leaving Annette to face the laughing brown eyes which turned and studied her from a rather large height. The man was one of the group which had arrived with James Darcy and Annie-Bug had referred to him as a Fitzwilliam, but Annette had no idea which.

"Annette Fouchiard I presume."

"You have the advantage of me." Annette responded to the laughter in the eyes with a neat little curtsey.

"No! Do I?"

"Yes. I have no name for you ... and I also do not know why my brother surrendered me here."

"He did so, I suspect, so you could access Annie-Bug this year without breaking the laws."

"Laws?"

"Oh, they're ancient, but Jeroen Fouchiard is not permitted within speaking distance of Annie-Bug. Forget why they were ever introduced, but I do remember the reason was really good." The man offered an arm. "Stephen Fitzwilliam is the name I am supposed to respond to, and I shall now take you to Annie-Bug ... though I'd like a dance if you could spare me one."

"Certainly." Annette took the arm and discovered that Stephen Fitzwilliam was, if anything, even more skilled at getting through a crowd without pause.

"Annie-Bug, one of The Harem has come for you. You had best go before they abduct you." Stephen had somewhat unceremoniously yanked Annie-Bug out of her conversation with James Darcy and Miles Bingley.

"You, Stephen, can finish my conversation with James and Miles." Annie-Bug grabbed Annette's arm and in moments they were in an isolated corner of the room.

"They invite you back to the table and tell me to tell you they'll be delighted to induct you into The Harem ... that invitation is not only for Annie, but also for Anneliese Darcy."

"Oh! Thank you!" Annie-Bug hugged Annette soundly before dragging her back out into the crowd and heading for the stairs.

Part 15

Posted on Monday, 15 September 2003

October 14th 1940 - Denmark Strait, East of Greenland

"What happened?" - St Quentin, 1918

Squadron-Leader Brian O'Niell brought his Wellington Bomber around in yet another curve as he studied the small vessel twenty thousand feet below him.

"Mick ... what do you make of it?" Brian finally turned to the intercom in annoyance.

"Trawler of some type." Mick O'Rourke came forward into the cockpit to give his response.

"Think it's one of ours?"

"Possibly."

"Think it's fishing?"

"No."

"That's rather what I thought." Brian wheeled the Wimpy again before abruptly standing it on one wing split seconds before a dull explosion sounded behind them.

"What the ... " Mick occupied himself for several desperate seconds in finding a secure handhold and footing before he turned to look out of the cockpit windows.

"We're approaching the water awfully quick." Almost half a minute passed before Mick spoke, and he spoke somewhat hesitantly.

"Check on Forster." Brian didn't even look up as he snapped the order, his grip white-knuckled on the wheel.

"Righ..." Mick didn't go any further than the hatch access to the rest of the plane. "How is he?"

"Franz is with him." It was Joseph who spoke from his braced position near the R/T station.

"Radio okay?"

"Seems to be ... though I will admit that I haven't touched it."

"Sorry Mick ... let the Captain know that he has no rear gunner." Franz emerged from the shadows at the back of the plane.

"How is he?"

"He..." Franz stopped and snatched at a nearby grip as the bomber lurched again and swung wildly out of its dive. "I think he must be dead."

"You're not certain?" Mick frowned in confusion, Franz was a fully qualified doctor even if his qualifications were not recognised outside of Denmark. Franz would know whether someone was alive or not.

"The whole ... it is gone. I would have been back sooner except ... the drag."

"You mean we are totally vulnerable and we have a bloody big whole in our backside?"

"Ja."

"The Captain is going to love this." Mick turned, snatched frantically at the hatch as the Wimpy lurched wildly onto a new heading, and then dove back into the cockpit as the Wimpy changed direction yet again. "CHRIST!" The exclamation was torn from Mick as he found his footing in the cockpit.

"We're two metres about the water." Brian didn't stir from his attention out the windows. "What news?"

"We're missing both gun and gunner. Franz reports that the whole lot have shifted base."

"Charming." Brian swung well clear of the small trawler they had been watching, distracting his attention for only a moment to scrutinise the boat before finally changing heading and beginning to climb a trifle. "Tell the boys to buckle in, there's a Focke-Wulf out there somewhere and he happens to have all his guns and an intense dislike of our presence here."

"Right." Mick retreated once more, conscientiously ignoring the dryness of his mouth and the sickness in his stomach.

"What's happening?"

"Focke-Wulf who is apparently irritated about our being here." Mick dove through the hatch and grabbed a nearby handhold as the Wimpy swung onto a new heading to the chorus of rattling machine-guns.

"Right." Joseph was bent over the R/T set as he responded and Mick noticed that Franz was no longer in the main part of the fuselage.

"Where's Franz?"

"Front gun." Joseph cursed as the Wimpy swung again.

"I think ... .someone should ... tell the captain ... that this is not ... a fighter!" Mick joined Joseph at the radio in a series of clumsy lunges as the Bomber heeled and wheeled.

"Gzchzz!" It was a harsh, but muted noise which came from Joseph and Mick spun to find him gripping his upper arm.

"Bad?" Mick took a grip on Joseph as the plane spun again.

"No." Joseph took a slow breath and gently attempted to move his left hand and blood flowed easily through his fingers. "Just tie it up."

"Fractured?"

"By the feels." Joseph tried again to shift his fingers again, then shook his head. "Can you tie it up?"

"Well I'll try." Mick had his doubts about whether he could even apply a band aid in the current conditions, let alone splint a fractured humorous.

"Creeps!" Joseph pulled himself awkwardly off the wall where he had been flung by a wild lunge on the part of the bomber. "Get it tied, I'll never be able to hold if I have no left hand at all."

"Consider it tied." Mick gave up even the vaguest attempt of gentleness and just finished as a line of bullets stitched a series of holes through the metal above his head.

"I somehow think everything is a bit unhealthy." Joseph was back at the radio.

"I'm going forward." Mick suited his words with actions and lunged forward into the cockpit.

"Joe got the base yet?"

"Well they have our approximate position and know we're in trouble and that there's some small trawler in our near vicinity."

"Have they any knowledge that one of ours is meant to be here?"

"No..."

"Sink it!" Joseph came through into the cockpit as Brian stood the Wellington on its ear.

"What?"

"Orders from base that trawler is to be sunk. Norfolk is steaming this way in case we need to be fished out of the drink."

"Move it." Brian brought the bomber around in a tight turn. "You heard that Franz?"

"Aye." Franz's response was punctuated by a chattering crash of machine-gun fire. "Better warn the boys that things'll get warm with our..." Another burst of gunfire terminated Franz's words.

"Mick! Check Franz!"

"He's already back down with us and Joseph is patching him up." Mick came in as he yelled and took a squint through the windows.

"What happened?"

"Couple of bullets grazed his head and cleaned out his headset."

"Does the gun still work?"

"No." Mick finally sighted the trawler. "What do we drop?"

"Half the load!" Brian wrenched the bomber around as bullets shattered his windscreen. "Clear that mess."

"Done." It was a moment later when Mick finished disposing of the shattered and starred glass. "Christ it's cold! What sort of nitwits are they to voluntarily exist exposed to this?"

"The sort of nitwits who man a listening post."

"Ah." Mick peered anew at the trawler before shaking his head. "You'll have to count me in Cap. We're not stable enough and you got my windscreen wet."

"Right." Brian wrenched the bomber around yet again. "Two of the sods, just our luck."

"Your lucky number Cap. Catch you after we've lost them."

"Mm." Brian stood the Wellington on its ear again and pulled out just before he connected with the waves, a move which slammed Mick rather heavily into the hatch as he struggled back to his position at the bomb sights.

"We're a bit low for bombs aren't we?" Franz peered through the bomb sights at the water which was disconcertingly close.

"About two hundred feet too low." Mick responded somewhat disinterestedly as he settled his headset and arranged himself over the bombsight.

"What are we dropping?"

"Half, means we can take a second run if we damn well miss!" Mick had few illusions, least of all about bombing boats at sea. They'd probably only swamp the thing, but that was just as good since no electronics like water and a lot of electronics are needed for a listening post.

"Climbing Mick."

"Copy Cap." Mick resettled himself and prayed that neither of the Focke-Wulf pilots would be so stupid as to take a shot at the under-side of the Wellington. If anything made that close water comforting it was that the bottom of the bomber could not be hit by any bullet unless the bullet knew how to turn corners!

"Counting five ... four ... three ... break!" The cancellation was hardly needed for the bomber had lurched onto its ear and Mick had a white-knuckled grip on the hatch to keep from falling.

"Cap, can you give a two count?"

"I'll give a prep two one and we'll see what happens."

"Copy prep two one, Cap ... Can I have some coffee?"

"Sugar and milk with that?"

"Yes please."

"Coming up. Prep ... two ... one."

"Bombs away!" Mick couldn't restrain the gleeful howl as the Wellington turned away and dove for the water again.

"Nice ... very nice."

"Do we go again?"

"Negative, there are some very wet ghosts on that listening post."

"What of the Focke-Wulfs?"

"I'm deliberately not thinking of them Micky-boy. Hunker down back there and prepare to fly, this tank is headed for home."

"Good, we've only an hour of fuel left."

"Do we have any operational arms aboard?"

"One revolver and Charlie has just headed for the for'ard turret."

"Well see what can be catter-rigged, if anything, there's a major shortage of cloud-cover."

"I had noticed." Mick finally retreated from the bomb-sight and glanced up as Charlie, the engineer came scrambling back down from the guns shaking his head in disgust.

"What's the gun report?"

"We have a revolver."

"Wonderful." A violent shimmy shook the Wellington and it abruptly plunged away. "Get us a fix and a new direction Mick! We've got a minimum of 20 degree starboard list."

"Damn!" Mick relayed the request to Joseph and ripped his charts out of their hidey-holes. The 20 degree list guaranteed that flying directly east they would be 36 miles further south than they should be after a hundred miles. This calculation didn't even begin to account for the wind direction and any minor drag which might have resulted from the loss of the two gun turrets and the smashed cockpit window.

"Current heading 070 degrees with two tails. We also need a fuel check on whether it wouldn't just be smarter to bail out now."

"We're onto it Cap. Want a coffee?"

"Give me a moment to think about it."

"Fuel just came in, on our current heading we'll hit the Icelandic coast with about ten minutes of fuel left ... provided this gauge is not being temperamental."

"And if they are?"

"We could run out of fuel within the next few seconds or we could fly the whole way to England. Charlie's coming forward to check out the wings."

"I'll skip on the coffee Mick ... save it until closer to the coast when the weight may actually make a difference."

"Right. Location fix has just come in and I'll get busy on the course."

"Gerkin sends good luck to Tiddles."

"What?" Mick turned to stare at Joseph.

"It just came. Gerkin sends good luck to Tiddles."

"What is JD doing at the Bomber Base in Iceland?"

"Who is JD and how do you know it's him?" Joseph looked up in surprise.

"Tiddles. We're T for Tom to all except for JD who dubbed this boat T for Tiddles just before we got posted up here."

"Well tell him to undub us so we can get back to Uxbridge."

"Have they given us a position yet?" Brian's voice abruptly came over the intercom.

"Negative."

"What's going on back there? Have I got a course yet?"

"Negative, we still haven't got our position."

"Well get a move on or at least yell for some support, we've got two flaming Focke-Wulfs trying to shoot us out of the sky here."

"I'll stand you free drinks for a month if you keep us alive Cap. Gerkin sends luck to Tiddles."

"Well thank him kindly and tell him that right now the only sort of luck I need or want comes in the form of a couple of fighters ... or at least an operational gun so these sods will back off."

"I didn't realise that JD was call-sign Gerkin."

"He isn't so shut up."

"Well who is Gerkin?"

"That is none of your business. Tell Gerkin thanks!"

"Gerkin tells us to look south in twenty minutes."

"Now that is welcome news ... I just wish it was twenty minutes now." The Wellington shook violently as a series of rounds crashed home.

"Jesus!" Charlie spoke for all as he picked himself painfully off the floor. "What the hell was that?"

"Sorry boys, didn't move fast enough ... any daylight back there?"

"Just a touch." Mick looked gloomily at the gaping hole in the side of the fuselage as he responded. "Better be a bit gentler Cap or we'll lose the tail."

"We're going down, let them know ... particularly Gerkin. We're going down to the wave tops and then we're just going to pray and hope."

"Copy that Cap." Mick finally took his eyes off the hole and glanced at the rest of the crew as he discarded his headset. "That's it chaps, just a question of time."

"Garbage." It was Charlie who snorted his disgust.

"Come again?" Mick looked enquiringly at the Engineer.

"Garbage I said and Garbage I meant. That Cap hasn't given up on anything and he certainly has no intention of letting the Hun tuck us into the deep, blue and briny. Dunno why we've gone down to the wave tops, but I've no doubt he has a reason."

"Gerkin radios in that the wave tops sound lovely but to watch out for the wolf."

"Watch out for the what?" Charlie turned to stare at Joseph.

"Watch out for the wolf."

"Cap, Gerkin says the waves sound wonderful, but watch out for the wolf."

"Ask where the wolf is, I'm tempted to deliver it a love-letter."

"Half a mo ... the wolf is somewhere within thirty miles, heading uncertain but assumed to be towards the trawler you sank."

"Damn, I was hoping for a clear position reading." The Wellington shimmied again before lunging badly left.

"All okay up there?"

"No complaints to make, but I still need a heading."

"We're working on it. 27W 66N is our current position." Mick was bent over his charts scribbling furiously. "New heading true 130 ... heading 110 should be fine. Intercept with Gerkin's surprise in five minutes."

"A record Mick, tell them I want fixes to take less than fifteen minutes in future."

"They appologise but apparently the antenna was iced and needed cleaning for an accurate reading."

"Does Gerkin send that?"

"No, JD sends the icing message."

"Thank them for their care ... and send Gerkin a sighted message."

"Why?" Mick had deserted the fuselage for the cockpit and he blinked as he worked to a position near Brian.

"Look south, angels 15."

"Grh." Mick stared in disbelief at the flight of Spitfires which were already angling down. "That explains why the Condors are bugging out real quick."

"Doesn't it just." Brian frowned over the compass again. "Might as well get back, Mick."

"I'll pass on the nice news." Mick cast one last glance at the spits which had settled in formation above them before he retreated back to the fuselage. Now all that remained was for Brian to get this crippled hulk back to the aerodrome.

"And London tells us that the Focke-Wulf's are hardly armed." A heavily rugged figure approached as the crew descended from the Bomber.

"London speaks in terms of a bombing raid on Berlin, those birds only carry two machine-guns and four 250 pound bombs as well as long-range tanks. They're meant just to watch and radio things back home." Brian nodded his crew curtly towards the debriefing shed.

"Gerkin said they bugged out real fast."

"They haven't the speed to deal with Spits and they certainly hadn't the armoury left as they'd been chasing me all over the sky and used six of their eight bombs."

"Why bomb you?"

"Rash hope of decomissioning us. I want to be posted back to Uxbridge."

"You will be ... when Gerkin and the others finish this little job. We just came up to pull you back to the Orkneys."

"Why not just radio?"

"Radio comes through tonight summoning you back to Uxbridge ... you're going no further than Bressay before next week."

"Why?"

"You need to carry fuel for the Spits, the Admiralty want a picture to verify that Bismarck is behaving. Crash at Bressay and make sure it's minor ... also don't do it before nine in the morning."

"Why?"

"Anti-invasion measures, you could make a real mess of the Wimpy. Make the crash minor because you need to be able to fly over to Bergen and back again."

"We won't be going anywhere soon if we go at all. They hear of this mess and we'll probably just be sent back on a boat."

"Then you'll find a Wimpy waiting for you in the Orkneys and will be pulled off the ship. The admiralty want these photos and they'll ruffle the whole country if that's what it take to get them."

"Right, I've got all my orders now ... what are you doing here?"

"Trying to incite Ashie so he'll murder me."

"Could have sworn you were just trying to catch pneumonia. You're a fool Jim and I've no hesitation in so calling you."

"Yeah, well save it."

"Why you anyway? Couldn't they just have sent some naval tough?"

"No."

"So what else do I do other than carry fuel?"

"There should be a couple of passengers to cram in the back on your return. Old Haraldsen will give you the details when you hit Bressay. Whatever happens, those passengers are not to enter the air base ... even if you have to throw them out with a brolly each. They're two of ours and we can't risk them being debriefed by the RAF."

"I am RAF, Jim."

"Well suffer a touch of blindness when they arrive. They only need to be got to Bressay and you are utterly forbidden to let them set foot at Hatston."

"What of my crew? I'm not flying without them."

"Never thought you would. Spin a lie."

"And if I'm found out? Jim, I happen to like being here."

"I realise that. It's simple Brian, either you take a risk for me or you might as well kiss good-bye that nice Wellington which I flew up here for you to take back to England. If you refuse I promise you I have no hesitation about stealing that bloody bomber and running the raid for myself ... you might find it a bit difficult explaining to Harris how that Wimpy got pinched by the Navy. We're trying to keep this clean and right now you are not helping."

"Who are they? Do I know who I'm picking up?"

"Yes. It's Chris, Mac and a little Norwegian Engineer who will be killed if it leaks out that he wasn't actually lost in the mountains for a week. Mac was meant to haul them out, but he got nabbed by the flack at Norsk Hydro and they can't get out currently. I give you my word this is clean Brian, but we need to speak to that Engineer ... or more exactly Gordon needs to speak to that Engineer and we can't fly Gordon out there for a week."

"How's the Engineer getting back?"

"None of your business actually, we just can't pull them out that way."

"Dammit!" Brian looked back over his shoulder at the slumping Wellington Bomber which had got them home with about a minute of fuel to spare. "Does my Mum know you're up here?"

"Do I look that stupid? She thinks I'm in Scotland."

"How'd you get here?"

"Ashie's two-seater Gull."

"Does Ashie know you've nabbed his Gull?"

"Of course he does, I needed the old Atlantic Tanks refitted!"

"Is there a Wimpy I could use at Hatston?"

"Yes!"

"Can you get a crew together for it?"

"Yes."

"Then get moving! I'll let Mick fly this Wimpy back to Uxbridge and ostensibly catch the boat. You'd better let someone know that I require all the papers to prove I sailed and landed. You get me to Bressay in the Gull and I'll take a Wimpy across for you."

"Mick comes."

"Hoya Cap." Mick came up at a jog as Brian turned to face him.

"What?"

"We've got a new Wimpy to fly back to Uxbridge."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"What about Tiddles?"

"Erks report that the spine is wrecked and old Halifax would have a fit if we turned up wanting that wreck repaired."

"You want to fly it back?"

"No." Mick shook his head. "They've a delivery pilot kicking his heels who'd love to take it back and you're going nowhere without me Cap ... even if it does get me kicked out of the RAF!"

"Why do you seem to think I'm up to anything?"

"Because it's you and you're standing on a freezing tarmac talking to JD. It's bloody obvious you're up to something and your crew aren't about to let you do it alone!"

"Bloody hell!" Brian shook his head. "I don't need this Mick! I'm being asked to be a fuelling depot because the Admiralty wants a squint at a fifty thousand tonne battleship in Germany and I'm meant to accidentally pick up some agents on the way back. Those agents are to be pitched out at Bressay in the Orkneys. I have no intention of risking the lot of you in this highly dubious affair."

"We're asking to come and if you don't believe me I'll bring the whole lot of them out here. We don't trust any other crew to keep you alive Cap and we also don't trust anyone else to keep us alive. So if you don't mind you'll not go hairing off to Norway without us!"

"Bloody Hell!" Brian shook his head again in exasperation. "Alright, tell them to be ready to fly out within the hour and disappoint the delivery pilot."

"What about the rear gunner?"

"JD can swing his usual magic and find us a good one complete with RAF stripes."

"Take the delivery pilot as your gunner to the Orkneys, he'll be high-jacked by Hatston unless you whip off a real quick negative to Haraldsen on your crash. Appleby will fly up to meet you and act as gunner until your return to Uxbridge."

"Can we keep him after we reach Uxbridge?"

"Not my department. I'll see you in London in a week or so."

"I'm sure you will." Brian watched with a dark frown as James headed for the silver gull which was being rolled out onto the tarmac.

"When did he lose a foot?" Mick had been frowning after the figure for a good minute before he finally yelled the question.

"He hasn't!" Brian watched as the Gull taxied and left, a small white plane in a big grey sky.

"But..."

"He's lost the whole leg and you'll forget you ever found that out if you know what's good for you." Brian turned away as he lost the sight of the small plane.

"He's being called a Nazi because he's not an officer in some force or other and shows no real interest in this war. They'd change they're tunes real fast if they knew he was disabled."

"He's not very interested in what the riggers think of him, Mick, and you might be surprised at how much their tune doesn't change. Bader is missing both of his legs and there are a few others who have a stiff peg or such like. The fact is that he's quite simply a Darcy and the world in general can't seem to get it through their nut that unlike his father Jim is not a leader of men destined for glory. Now we need to move it or we're going to miss this rather narrow landing window we have in Bressay."

"I'll keep my mouth shut about this little exchange I think ... you don't mind if I think about it do you?"

"As long as the thinking stays in your nut and you never get caught by the Hun I have no problem with your thinking about it at all. Hang around me too long and you'll probably be forced to find out more about it." Brian finally entered the debriefing room and shook the accumulated ice off his coat. "It's freezing out there and that little trawler is occupied by some very wet ghosts ... you've probably got a week before they've replaced it."

"Nice work and I'm sorry about your rear gunner. You've got a Wimpy to take home with you."

"Thank you. Can we take the delivery pilot as a rear gunner?"

"No problem for me ... but you'll probably find him useless as a gunner."

"Well hopefully he won't even have to fire the gun. Other than the trawler and the two Focke-Wulf Condors we saw nary a thing ... not even the Norfolk."

"Moderately good to know. Have a good flight back to England."

"Thank you." Brian nodded briefly and left the debriefing room, they could make Bressay before the window closed if they left immediately, but Brian wasn't certain whether he shouldn't just put everything on hold for twenty-four hours. It had been close out there in the Denmark Strait and all things considered he should take a couple of hours sleep before doing anything.

"Cap?" Mick was standing at the door as Brian exited.

"Worried about something, Mick?"

"No ... but you are."

"Not worried, just a little curious. Crew ready to fly?"

"Aye."

"Good, we're going as soon as possible."

"What's bugging you?"

"Just a question of duty and loyalty." Brian glanced out at sway-backed Tiddles with a grin which quickly gave way to laughter. "Oh Hell! Duty, Tiddles and a pack of wet ghosts ... we are definitely leaving now, even if I do have to hand the bird over to you for a bit and catch a bit of shut-eye. I really hate Iceland!"

"You're actually amused." Mick eyed Brian curiously. "You are genuinely amused by this all."

"I'd want to be." Brian gave a jaw-splitting yawn as he finished laughing. "Can't be many people who wreck a Wimpy, sink a trawler, have an argument with a childhood friend and have their crew come up trumps and basically say they'll go to hell to remain with their captain. I'd want to be amused."

"Well when you put it that way." Mick shook his head in wry amusement of his own. "Shift it Cap, I'll fly the mid leg if you get too tired and you can give us the gen. when we hit Bressay."

"Hit is the right word." Brian readjusted his parachute. "Let's get heading."

Part 15

Posted on Monday, 22 September 2003

November 7th 1940 - London, England

If all else fails, blame it on the weather.

It was two in the morning when Annette finally made it home. London was blazing as wave after wave of bombers had come toddling over and deposited their eggs. Ashie had finally driven her home between two waves, a somewhat circuitous route to keep away from the fire-fighters and bomb-disposal squads, before apparently heading for his own bed. Annette no longer had any idea where Ashie lived, for all she knew he probably just lived permanently in that small office for he certainly was in there whenever Annette looked in. The small apartment block where Ashie had lived in Cherningham Place had been blown out of existence a week earlier and fortunately it had been in a somewhat rare condition of totally devoid of any inhabitants at the time. The flats next door had not been so fortunate, even though they had been only partially destroyed.

"Oh." Annie-Bug was looking particularly groggy as she peered at Annette from her bedroom door. "Aunt Gardiner says we needn't evacuate to the basement for the raids anymore ... apparently we're safer in our own beds."

"Who's the visitor?" Annette waved vaguely at the highly polished shoes which stood near the door.

"Jim, he's on his way to Pemberley but got caught so he came here. He's on the couch and try not to disturb him."

"Eoan does not seem interested."

"Eoan has not been invited to approach." Annie-Bug smothered an immense yawn. "Jeroen is coming tomorrow for a two day breather and I'll be at Hampstead with Caroline unless there's a problem."

"None that I can think of." Annette yawned herself and then shook her head. "I'm going to sleep, I need to be in early tomorrow."

"Sleep well." Annie-Bug vanished back into her room as Annette continued to her own bedroom. Annette stopped in the living room for several minutes to stare at the feet which protruded from the end of the couch. For the life of her Annette could not understand why he did not take his dog back.

"Would you kindly either go to your room or at least stop staring at my feet, I'm trying to sleep."

"Come Eoan." Annette shook free of her thoughts and continued on into her room, somewhat surprised to realise that Eoan had indeed followed her and not even glanced at the reclining figure on the couch.

Annette spent perhaps a minute staring indecisively at her bed, but then easily came to her solution and simply fell onto it, pulling the covers somewhat haphazardly over herself and groaning softly as Eoan arrived with a heavy thump on her feet which made the entire bed vibrate. Nothing short of a bomb next to her head was likely to wake Annette, and even that wouldn't wake her as death is not a state of wakefulness. Yet the training of the past months held good and at exactly six-thirty Annette rolled over with a groan, turned her alarm off before it rang and pulled her feet out from under Eoan before reaching for her slippers and scuffling for the bathroom. It would take her precisely five minutes and a cold shower to wake-up, leaving an hour and twenty minutes to dress, have breakfast and reach the office.

"No." The soft observation stopped Annette on her return to her room and she turned to see James Darcy waving Eoan off. Eoan had sat next to the prone figure on the floor, his expression somewhat hopeful. Eoan remained for perhaps a second longer before rising and moving to sit again at Annette's feet, his head hung and he looked thoroughly despondent.

"He only wanted to say hullo." Annette glanced in irritation at the man on the floor.

"I don't want, or need, him to say hullo, as you put it ... and I'll thank you not to encourage him." The eyes which rose from a small notebook were grey, almost silver, and so cold that Annette was tempted to shiver.

"I wasn't encouraging him, as you put it, I just don't see why you can't say hullo to your dog who survived even though he was not expected to ... even you didn't expect him to last."

"If he wasn't such a stupid idiot to begin with he would never have got sick. You'll be late if you don't get moving. You can tell Ashie that his ideas are useless, idiotic and totally impossible ... you can also tell him I'll be damned if I waste money of them."

"Why not just expend the energy and tell him yourself, I am not a messenger or a servant." Annette left as she finished and couldn't quite quash the sense of satisfaction that she had made rather a good exit.

When Annette re-entered the living room, the only sign that there even had been a visitor was a small sheet of paper tacked rather prominently to the kitchen door.

Bugs,
I'll pick you up at three.
Jim

There was one other bit of evidence, and that was that Eoan flopped down in the middle of the living room floor with a disconsolate little huff.

"Eoan?" Annette hesitated at the kitchen door, uncertain of how to proceed with this sad lump of dog.

"Just go Button, he'll follow." Annie-Bug was still almost comatose as she came into the living room and flopped down in an armchair. "Don't give him time or he'll get worse and then Jim will get cross."

"He was cross enough this morning and Eoan only wanted to say a brief hullo."

"Eoan never gives Jim a brief hullo, he was just testing to see whether he could say hullo. I wouldn't worry, Eoan won't do it again."

"Toast?"

"Please."

"I'll try not to burn it." Annette headed for the kitchen, somewhat relieved to hear Eoan rattle after her, and muttered some rather rude thoughts concerning Darcys and their treatment of dogs to the cruets stand. As was to be expected, being a good cricketer did not necessarily make James Darcy a good person ... and of late he hadn't even been a good cricketer.

"Brian's coming with Jeroen." Annie-Bug was looking slightly more awake as she came into the kitchen. "You'd best see if Eoan will stay with Ashie for he is not overly fond of Brian."

"Is there anyone Eoan likes other than James Darcy and myself?"

"I must admit that I can't think of anyone." Annie-Bug yawned before accepting the toast Annette handed her. "I'll get Jim to leave you some notes on how to shut Eoan up if he gets too noisy ... Ashie says it's as easy as playing Rachmaninoff."

"..." Twice Annette opened her mouth but both times she closed it again without speaking a word. "Why isn't he in the military?"

"Who? Jim? Doesn't want to be." Annie-Bug gave a shrug. "Says he doesn't see the point of dying for a country he's spent less than half his life in and doesn't like anyway."

"Where has he been?"

"Only he knows that." Annie-Bug was clearly not very interested in the migrations of her cousin. "Ashie probably has a reasonable idea and Uncle Darcy knows a fair bit, but otherwise you'll only hear bits and pieces from other people. I think he's currently rather preoccupied with keeping his estates running as he's lost a lot of his workforce to the military and has been haring up and down the country as if he's in training for the ... oh, twenty-four hour race somewhere over in France."

"Le Mans." Annette piled the last of the toast on a plate and headed back to the living room. "He seems to think he's picking you up a three so I won't expect to feed you tonight. Give my greetings to Caroline and Kitty."

"I will, have a good day." Annie-Bug waved rather distractedly as Annette hustled the rest of her things together and headed out to greet the day and more work.

"Sorry Button, we arrived early and so let ourselves in." Jeroen was sprawled in the armchair and looked rather like he'd been drawn through hell backwards. Milk-white was his colouring except for the dark circles around his eyes and an angry gash across his right temple.

"Bit short of sleep?"

"A touch." Jeroen smiled wryly. "We've just got in and we've had about two hours sleep in the past week. I'm afraid Brian stole Annie-Bug's bed, he's an even worse mess than I am."

"Derbyshire got decimated last week ... middle-order collapsed in a truly spectacular manner which gave Sussex a hat-trick."

"Oh dear." Jeroen shook his head. "I'm glad I wasn't able to answer a telephone for Dolly would have been devastated."

"Teddie drowned his sorrows and spent the evening trying to prove to us that he was a poet."

"Who else rallied round?"

"Charlie came up for the day, Mel was here as was Suds and Edwin ... Bill hasn't been heard of so they think he might still be on the run."

"Negative, he's a prisoner ... which reminds me you'd better dispose of Eoan at some point so you can bid Rory a tearful farewell."

"Why?"

"He doesn't yet know it but he's being posted to Eastern Scotland ... probably Lossiemouth. Brian's spilling the beans to Mitre tonight and there's an off-chance that the posting may be reversed ... but I wouldn't fancy the chances."

"Tea?"

"Oh, yes please!"

"Sugar?"

"As much as you can spare or I'll fall asleep on you."

"Have you got any leave up-coming?"

"Technically I am on leave, but if an emergency arises I just drop everything and run." Jeroen blinked and cracked his jaw before shaking his head vigorously. "Just off one emergency and my pessimistic streak says there'll be another inside a week."

"Why don't you get real leave?"

"It's part of the job, just like your working at two in the morning. I'm given leave, but really emergencies aren't in the habit of structuring themselves for my convenience."

"If they did that they wouldn't be emergencies ... is that tea I smell?" Brian emerged from Annie-Bug's room, his countenance decorated by a generous distribution of sticking-plaster.

"It arrives in about a minute ... what happened? That does not look like a slip while shaving."

"I wish." Brian's expression, what little of it that could be seen, was wry. "Stuka shot a couple of holes in my windscreen and it fell on my face."

"Out for long?"

"I'll be back in the air tomorrow." Brian stretched and dropped into the other armchair. "Heard you made the acquaintance of James Darcy."

"I met his feet last night and got growled at this morning."

"Good to know he's in his usual ebullient and cheerful mood." Brian gave a much wider grin.

"He was in the devil of a bad temper yesterday." Jeroen frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "Hitler turned some farm of his into a Concentration Camp and even his recent trip to Germany couldn't get it restored to being a leased property."

"The fact that he still holds the free-hold, even if Hitler is using it without paying rent, says something." Brian gave a chuckle. "Chris is still trying to find out how he managed it."

"What of the Estates in Poland?"

"Chris' are safely property of the Nazi Party now. Got no idea about Jim's, but I've no doubt at all but that they're still in his hands. Did you know the RAF wanted Pemberley for a Bomber Squadron?"

"I bet that went down well." Jeroen shook his head before accepting the mug of tea Annette handed him.

"Let's say that a Vice Air-Marshall got ripped wide open and was later heard to admit that he'd sooner face a squadron of Stuka's in a birdcage than James Darcy."

"A birdcage?" Annette had finally settled in her own seat after handing Brian tea and was looking very confused.

"A 'plane which was a trainer in 1914, top speed about twenty miles an hour and frail, didn't fly at all if the wind was over about ten knots." Jeroen frowned for a moment. "There was one out at that airshow the other year."

"Oh." Annette gave a nod even though she was only slightly more enlightened than before.

"Time for a subject change ... did Miles say he was coming?" Jeroen looked across at Brian.

"Yes, and he's also bringing dinner and a reservation at the Locarno."

"That doesn't require reservations." Jeroen frowned.

"You try telling Miles that."

"Well how did he wrangle a reservation then?"

"Jim could reserve dinner at the docks if he felt so inclined. You just tell them you want to make a reservation and it's a rare idiot who says they don't do reservations. Besides which his mother does not understand this no reservations stuff."

"Don't tell me he's bringing his parents?"

"Only to the Locarno, the Lieutenant has a hankering to see what the current service-types get up too."

"The Lieutenant?"

"Sorry." Brian grimaced slightly. "Lieutenant Charles Bingley, his wife Jane ... Jim's maternal Aunt."

"Oh." Annette nodded her comprehension. "What's at the Locarno tonight?"

"Nothing special." Brian shook his head. "Heard Derbyshire had a rather bad match last week."

"Middle-order collapse which yielded a hat-trick."

"Ouch." Brian winced. "No, I think Jim can find that out for himself ... no, I forgot to ask. Dashed pity, I'll try to remember if I see her again."

"Just say the weather made you forget."

"Jim'll believe that one just as much as he'll believe that I met the love of my life this afternoon."

"Where?"

"Somewhere north of London where I landed to clear the old plugs out so we could arrive safely. She came from some shop with several mugs, a pot of tea and some chocolate cake."

"Creampot love, Gibbous, creampot love. Wouldn't go looking for her, she's undoubtedly buck-toothed, hair-lipped and has a big hairy wart on her nose."

"No to all three ... I can say that with confidence and the latter two Mick can also back up."

"Why...?" Annette abruptly stopped and stared at the ceiling while Jeroen indulged in a fit of rather unseemly laughter.

"Okay, she might have all three ... but I defy you to find them, even with a microscope." Brian finished his tea. "And Mick will defy you to detect them at the range of two metres ... which was as close as he got."

"I concede the lack of them ... does she squint?"

"No. Lovely brown eyes which laugh and smile ... and don't even attempt to say I don't know what I'm talking about, you reckoned you fell in love with Annie-Bug from 20,000 feet and all she had was a tractor and mud on her face."

"I still reckon that so you never know, Jim might believe you in four years time."

"I'll marry her within a year."

"I thought you said you didn't know where you landed?"

"I still don't, but there's no way I won't find that girl again."

"She might be married."

"Doesn't wear any rings and didn't object at all."

"Don't wrinkle your nose like that Button, you've been kissing Rory for ages and you're still not engaged. Brian considers himself engaged for the next year so there's nothing improper about it." Jeroen had mostly recovered from his laughter. "Well ... please don't tell him until I'm out of the country again."

"Oh, no point telling him at all until I've found her again and I doubt I'll have more than a day of leave for months." Brian stretched his legs out and yawned. "Annie-Bug cooking anything but eggs yet?"

"She can get a better meal than I can courtesy of Caroline and Mrs. Gardiner upstairs."

"She went to Caroline?" Brian jerked upright with a thoroughly startled look.

"Why shouldn't she?"

"Because Caroline is a fanatic in the kitchen, trained in Paris and able to produce five course meals from thin air." Brian slowly settled back, then blinked and shook his head before rising. "Wake me when Miles arrives with dinner."

"Oh boy, has Gibbous got it bad or what!" Jeroen shook his head and swirled his now cold tea around in his mug. "Sorry about the comment about Rory, Button. It was rude and wrong."

"Doesn't matter." Annette shook her head. "Why's he sometimes called Gibbous?"

"Probably his plane at some stage or other, Bombers are a rather different field to us."

"Gibbous?"

"Probably G George actually, but George is boring and with some lubrication undoubtedly can be turned into Gibbous. So how's the office?"

November 23rd 1940 - London, England

I have never managed to decide whether it's the person which makes the house, or the house which makes the person.

A harsh, metallic tang flavoured the air, vaguely smokey in flavour and rather muggy. There was also a curious dusty taste, the dust of misuse, rather than the dust of a well-used library. The ceiling overhead was white and no light fixture marred it. All things considered Jeroen was of the opinion that he was in London, though how he had got there he had no idea.

"I detect the unmistakable signs of one returning somewhat painfully to the conscious world ... kind of you to join us." It was Ashie's voice which spoke from somewhere nearby.

"What ... what happened?" Jeroen briefly attempted to turn his head before giving it up as a bad idea.

"The ground leapt up and savagely assaulted your aircraft ... otherwise known as you crashed somewhat thoroughly and are in remarkably good condition for having gone through it."

"So what is my condition?"

"Concussion, a broken ankle, a broken nose, a possible crack in a couple of ribs and lots of bruises and abrasions to round things out nicely. Don't worry though, internally you're as sound as a bell and you'll be back on your feet within a fortnight ... though the medic types advise you to fly with your foot in a splint for at least a couple more weeks."

"Where am I?"

"You are currently residing in Mr. James Darcy's Formal London Residence ... the second spare bedroom."

"What?" Jeroen cracked a small smile. "I don't warrant the first spare bedroom?"

"Definitely not. We never inflict that room on people we like." There was a brief pause. "I'll let them know you've woken up and are clearly recovering ... do you want Neddie informed?"

"She hasn't been?"

"That was only in case of your death, not in case of your crashing."

"I'll give you a note to send her later." Jeroen gave another small smile. "How long have I been down for?"

"A few hours ... long enough to crash, be found, hospitalised, rescued and slept here for a couple of hours."

"You mean I've been out for at least half a day." Jeroen cautiously shifted his limbs, he could feel the heavy cast on his foot, but otherwise he merely felt stiff.

"Something like that, but Neddie was not expecting anything any time soon."

"Well get me some writing implements." Jeroen gave up attempting to move his head, it just wasn't going to move.

Annette couldn't help but gulp as she faced the immense front door of the Darcy Town House. The doors were immense and black, a silver knocker rested at a reasonably comfortable height. Her knock sounded puny and useless, but obviously someone was waiting or watching for the door swung open almost immediately. The ancient man turned without speaking, pushing the front door closed again as Annette stepped through. Whoever it was it was not someone Annette had the courage to speak to.

"Neddie! Wonderfully kind of you to turn up." Ashie emerged from a nearby room as Annette came into the front hall.

"Goodness." Annette couldn't help herself as she looked around the hall. The decor was plain, and yet very intimidating.

"Oh, ignore this place, looks exactly like a mausoleum." Ashie was leading the way up a wide staircase. "No one has really lived here for years, so we do appologise if it gives you the creeps."

"It only successfully manages to stun me rather." Annette blinked and looked around again. The wood-work was dark and heavy, and even though it was undoubtedly an elegant building, it was unquestionably a male domain. Annette was actually quite conscious of the fact that she was fortunate that the house was so unused, she was pretty certain that this house polished up and in use would undoubtedly have frowned at her slacks and jumper. As it was Annette couldn't shake the feeling that the house approved of her distinctly casual appearance.

"It is rather intimidating to people who are not used to such elegance." The woman at the top of the stairs was beautiful, not just in her classical appearance, but also in the way she wore her highly fashionable clothes. The woman rather clashed with the house, but Annette was certain that she would have fitted with the house perfectly if the house had not been wrapped up in Holland covers. In fact the woman looked, and seemed, exactly what Annette had expected Annie-Bug to be like.

"Annette, this is Miss Lila Thompson. Miss Thompson, this is Miss Annette Fouchiard." Ashie spoke briefly, a chilled formality replacing his usual cheerful rambling.

"Miss Thompson." Annette nodded politely, conscious of the fact that she had not recognised her former fellow secretary and that Lila Thompson had prepared for this meeting.

"You're the sister of this pilot are you?"

"Yes, Jeroen is my brother." Annette responded calmly. "Your connection is?"

"Oh, I'm just visiting old friends."

"I see." Annette gave a small smile in response to Lila's trill of silvery laughter, which was still as irritating as ever. "If you'll excuse me, I should like to see my brother."

"Why of course Miss Fouchiard, you must be concerned for him. I do appologise for the delay."

"He's another flight up, in the spare bedrooms." Ashie finally moved again, leading the way to the next flight of stairs. Annette gave a polite nod to Lila before following Ashie up the next flight of stairs.

"An old friend?" Annette looked enquiringly at Ashie when he finally halted outside a small door.

"Not of mine." Ashie responded flatly. "Sorry about that Neddie, however there's not much any of us can do unless Jim cares to give her marching orders."

"The house doesn't like her." Annette couldn't explain what prompted her to say that.

"Interesting." Ashie subjected Annette to a sharp look. "Do you think that house likes you?"

"I think the house is withholding judgement on me." Annette hesitated. "You do not seem to think me insane."

"How could I? All the Darcy houses pass judgement on any person who passes within their doors. This is the second spare bedroom since the first spare bedroom happens to be State Apartments which only Lady Catherine ever even wanted to be in ... though I do recall that they're wonderful for playing in." Ashie turned as he finished, already heading back towards the stairs.

"Right." Annette took a deep breath, then briefly knocked and pushed into Jeroen's room.

"Hullo Button, come to nurse me in my wretched ailment?" Jeroen grinned from a bed which was quite simply immense.

"No." Annette responded bluntly. "Just come to verify you're not dead."

"Well I am, so you'd better ask for some clothes to be sent." Jeroen responded cheerfully.

"Right." Annette settled on the end of the bed. "And your next fib will be?"

"No fib at all, I'll be dead of boredom if you desert me in this mausoleum!"

"That is a different matter all together." Annette shook her head. "James Darcy not talking cricket?"

"You've seen more of him than I have."

"I haven't seen him since he stole our couch." Annette scratched her head in perplexity.

"Well, if I have met all the people in this house, then there aren't many. There's a Housekeeper called Nelli who has a beautiful brogue which she turns on and off at regular intervals. There's Ashie, who let you enter this room. There's a doctor who looks about a hundred and is all nose. Otherwise I'd say there's no one else in this mausoleum."

"Well there's some young lady called Miss Lila Thompson who is visiting 'old friends', but Ashie observes cannot be kicked out unless Mr. Darcy gives her marching orders."

"It's not ... oh." Jeroen frowned slightly and shook his head. "Well, will you deign to comfort my boredom in this mausoleum?"

"I'm not invited." Annette was actually somewhat torn because Jeroen looked seriously unwell, but she most certainly did not wish to stay in this house. She jumped though when Jeroen pulled on a thoroughly embroidered rope which hung near his bed.

"One of the reasons I was dumped in this room." Jeroen settled more comfortably. "Bell-pull, let's someone know that I'm in need of succour."

"No, he was fine a moment ago." It was Ashie's voice which was faintly audible through the door, then the door swung open slightly and Ashie's head came around the door. "You dying Gerkin? Or do you require some other sort of succour?"

"I require an invitation for Annette to stay and alleviate my boredom."

"Ah, good point. I'll go persuade the owner of this Mausoleum to issue an invitation." Ashie's head withdrew and the door banged.

"Jeroen!" Annette couldn't believe what was happening and was thoroughly embarrassed, for he was behaving remarkably like Lucille.

"I'm being practical Button, nothing happens in this place unless you ask ... I think that it's just expected that you know this place and it's obscure rules."

"No, but they assume that either you know or you are capable of asking." The woman who entered was grey-haired and quite middle-aged. "James is coming up."

"Why?"

"You wanted your sister invited and James has been trying to find a good excuse to come up here since yesterday."

"But ... " Annette stopped as a frown creased up her forehead. "Couldn't he just come up?"

"You've met Lila Neddie, she's not perched on those stairs for comfort. Jim needs a dashed good excuse or he'll never get off the stairs again." Ashie had kicked the door open as he spoke and leant against the frame.

"You exaggerate, Ashie." James Darcy ducked into the room as he spoke and leant against the door. "Gerkin, I hear you call this a boring mausoleum."

"Rubbish. Ashie called it a Mausoleum and I'm hardly going to disagree with him. Otherwise I merely observed that I required an invitation for Annette to stay and alleviate my boredom."

"Does that not lay blame on the house for your boredom?"

"Certainly not." Jeroen's tone was disdainful. "I haven't seen enough of it to make judgement since your foul medical type has ordered me at least another three days in bed."

"That never stopped me as I recall." James frowned thoughtfully. "But then I've never suffered concussion either..."

"Yes, you most certainly have!" Jeroen shifted carefully. "You fell off the Warden's Roof, cracked three ribs, your arm and your nut in 193 ... 4 I think."

"Did I?" The brows rose slightly.

"You forgot falling off the Warden's Roof?" Ashie frowned darkly.

"Of course not! I got the record back, I also remember the ribs and arm ... I just didn't remember cracking my head. Rather a wonder I got back to dorm undetected all things considered. Miss Fouchiard, consider yourself invited to stay as long as you want. Annie-Bug's bringing some stuff down for you and should arrive within the hour." James nodded briefly and rolled off the door and out of the room.

"Hi!?" Jeroen's yell brought James back into the room with curiously lifted eyebrows.

"Something else?"

"Yes, what happened to Alpha?"

"Why ask?"

"Because he was gibbering in terror when I sent him through the hatch."

"Ah." Ashie studied his feet thoughtfully for a moment. "He wasn't accustomed to parachute jumps ... though he is currently alive..."

"Alpha landed in a tree and thoroughly smashed both his legs, the doctors say he will never run again even if they do save his legs." James calmly overlaid Ashie's hesitations with the cold facts.

"Would he have lived if I hadn't kicked him out?"

"No." Ashie responded this time without even momentary hesitation. "Kicking him out was the only possible way you could have saved him. It's not your fault he's an idiot who never did a parachute training course. Any other questions?"

"Not that I can think of right now."

"Good." James rolled off the door once more and vanished into the hall.

"Dinner will be at eight if you would care to join us." Nelli nodded politely before removing herself from the room.

"And I will now depart and prepare to extricate Jim from the clutches of Lila." Ashie shook his head and departed, quietly closing the door behind himself.

"So James Darcy is truly back in England." Jeroen wore an expression which Annette couldn't understand at all. "James Darcy is back and Lila currently resides here. Tricky. Very, very, tricky."

Annette had no idea what had disturbed her. The blackout shades were firmly in place and there wasn't a scrap of light to be seen anyway. The slightly ajar door was the vaguest of vague shadows in the almost impenetrable blackness of the room and the hall outside. The bombs were still falling, but they were not close, and certainly not the source of the disturbance. Something had changed, something in her room was different ... almost as if someone had only just left the room. Annette reached out for her torch and as she did so realised what change had woken her. A quick and exploratory kick confirmed the realisation, Eoan was not on the foot of her bed and he certainly had been when she had fallen asleep.

Annette was out of her bed in seconds snatching at her bathrobe and slippers as she scuffled for the door. Eoan can only have just left which meant there was an off chance she might intercept him before he got into serious trouble. Two corridors later Annette realised she had no idea where she was and also that she had no idea what her bedroom door looked like. This caused a dilemma because it meant either she'd have to find someone who knew the house, or she'd have to wait until the next morning to return to her room. Annette eventually continued trying to find Eoan, there was an off chance that he might be able to get her back to her room since he seemed very well acquainted with the house and equally good at understanding where people wanted to go and what pace he should set when guiding.

Ten minutes search finally located Eoan, he was leaning over a shadow which sat on the lower steps of the main staircase and leant against the banister. Annette froze on the landing, uncertain whether to continue or beat a hasty retreat.

"You are a light sleeper." The shadow stirred and rose, removing all the doubts Annette didn't have about its identity. "Eoan has only just arrived himself."

"He's a not inconsiderable weight and decidedly difficult to overlook."

"Point ... Would you mind helping Eoan disturb Ashie? I'm not going to make it to my room unaided and I won't ask it of Daoud."

"Why Ashie?" Annette nodded briefly as she noted the other shadow which stood next to the front door, presumably Daoud.

"Because Nelli will have my head for breakfast if she knew I'd been out and no one else could lift me."

"Sorry." Annette had just noticed something and she turned without hesitation and grabbed Eoan's collar as he came up the stairs. The pace Eoan set was a shade faster than a walk, but not so fast that Annette couldn't keep quiet.

"Ashie!" Annette tapped lightly on the door Eoan had come to a halt outside.

"Hell!" Ashie stuck a disgusted head out of the room and looked at Annette. "Is he drunk?"

"No." Annette took a slightly firmer grip on Eoan's collar. "Well, he could be but I don't think that's why he wants you. He's looking quite wet and it's not been raining."

"Which side?" Ashie reached behind the door and was soon in some robe or other with a tin box in his other hand.

"Left ... the shoulder is a bit messed up." Annette followed as Ashie headed for the stairs.

"Is Daoud with him?"

"I think so, he certainly was accompanied though the other shadow didn't speak."

"Good." Ashie had reached the first landing and switched on a powerful torch as he began the final descent. The torch found James almost instantly, he was leaning against the banister again, his left arm loosely cradled on his knees. Annette's suspicions were thoroughly confirmed for the left hand was caked in blood as was the handkerchief which was bound somewhat haphazardly around the upper arm. The torch swung out and found Daoud standing next to the front door. "What got him?"

"We haven't taken the time to look." Daoud pushed off the wall and approached the foot of the stairs. "It was a bomb I think, not a big one."

"You need tidying up yourself a bit." The torch finally left Daoud and refocussed on James.

"No stitches for me though." Daoud pulled James up from his seat on the stairs and wrapped a careful arm around James before pulling the good right arm over his own shoulders. "We need better light than that torch."

"I can walk for myself." James stiffened as Daoud started up the stairs.

"Not before tomorrow unless you want to be hit." Daoud responded evenly.

"The study has no windows." Ashie focussed the torch for a second on the gory mess which was James' shoulder and they both ignored the unintelligible murmur which James made, Annette suspected it was very rude. "Eoan, kitchen. Annette, we need tea-towels, hot water and a dishcloth or three."

"Right." Annette followed Eoan back into the darkness of the lower floor and was eventually delivered to an immense kitchen which particularly resistent to supplying the requested items, though within ten minutes Eoan had lead her to the study. The room was without windows as Ashie had observed, but it was also equipped with some of the most powerful lights Annette had seen in her life. The heat they threw out could be physically felt and the shadows on the floor were easily comparable to the shadows daylight provided.

"Good." Ashie dumped one of the dishcloths into a bowl of cold water he had acquired from somewhere before handing it to James. "Wipe, Idiot ... can we get the shirt off yet?"

"No." Daoud was bent over the shoulder with tweezers and a bloody cloth. A plate of bloody fragments lay on the table and one jagged piece of curved and coloured glass rested proudly in the centre of it.

"Twit!" Ashie shook his head in irritation before relieving Annette of the rest of the items. "Thanks Neddie, might as well let Eoan take you back to bed now."

"You're certain I can do nothing else?"

"Positive." It was James who spoke. "Daoud will do all the work, all Ashie's going to do is swear at me and you cramp his style. Eoan, go."

"But..." Annette resisted Eoan's pushing for perhaps a second before casting a look of extreme irritation at James and departing.

When Annette actually got back into her bed she had to admit that she was in fact not at all sorry that she wasn't needed down in that study. Eoan settled with a heavy clump on her feet and she gave his head a brief scratch before settling down and letting sleep take her once more. Something tweaked her conscious mind just before she fell asleep, but Annette was too close to sleep to do any more than make a mental note to try and find the thought the next morning.

Continued In Next Section