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Part 15

Posted on Monday, 29 September 2003

November 24th 1940 - London, England

Assumptions, those things we treat like a long-jump World Record.

Annette pushed the blackout blind aside and squinted out at the view which showed much as any view in the city would show. Smoke clung heavily to the capital, clearly more than one fire was still burning. An early morning mist also seemed to increase the thickness of the smoke. Annette let the blind dropped and rubbed Eoan's head before she headed next to see Jeroen.

"Hullo, Button." Jeroen was awake, but very groggy.

"You're usually not this sleepy in the morning." Annette eyed him curiously.

"I don't usually get slipped Mickey Finns to keep me out of trouble."

"Sorry?" Annette blinked and looked at Jeroen even more firmly.

"Button, I'm carrying a couple of broken bones and they hurt, particularly at night. I got thoroughly sedated last night and had Helen watching over me until I woke up five minutes ago just to ensure I had no adverse reactions to the dosage. The concussion had them treading rather warily."

"Helen?"

"Nelli ... the housekeeper. She's Nelli as the Housekeeper but Helen when she's doing her nursing stint ... and yes she is a fully qualified nurse ... just as Jermyn Alastair is a fully qualified Doctor even if he is getting a bit long in the tooth. Sorry Button, everything is starting to hurt again. I heard you got your night disturbed."

"Not for long." Annette wrinkled her brows. "Who did you hear it from?"

"Some lump of humanity who is apparently going to bring me breakfast. Goes by the name of Peter James and apparently arrived during the late watches of the night because Nelli was surprised to see him."

"Oh." Annette hesitated. "Well, I'll come back later after we've both eaten."

"Thanks ... but only if Ashie can spare you."

"Ashie can spare me just fine ... and at worst he can arrange for a desk to arrive in this room so I can keep you entertained and get my work done." Annette couldn't help but give a small grin at Jeroen's startled expression. "Well you've said it yourself, Ashie never does anything in a common way. As if Ashie couldn't pack his entire office up with half a second warning and ship it to the other side of the world."

"Actually he wouldn't even need half a second." James Darcy's voice startled Annette and she gave a small noise as she spun. "Gerkin you're about to be moved to the grey parlour on the second floor, much better heating and no blackout shades. Ashie's already deposited some work for Neddie."

"Who is Peter James?" Jeroen shifted in his bed.

"Family retainer ... Not too against your tastes, I hope? He can talk military and politics until he's blue in the face of given a bit of encouragement. That also goes for any other subject I can think of ... .with the exception of DSA." James had turned cold eyes on Annette as he added the last bit and Jeroen coughed violently.

"When does breakfast occur in this house?" Annette had briefly considered getting offended at such obvious distrust, but in the end decided the act would not be wise, James Darcy could take her to pieces without blinking an eye.

"Whenever, it just sits in the dining room in warming pans until nine o'clock." James turned to leave, hesitated and then looked back. "I hope you like porridge and black tea because that's all that's on the menu until lunch."

"Mumph! I was expecting caviar and lobster at the very least."

"Sorry, not this week." The response was dry as James continued his departure.

"Ow!" Jeroen shook his head as he nursed his ribs. "Caviar and lobster ... Button, what possesses thine soul?"

"Nothing at all." Annette shrugged. "But there was no need for him to be so rude."

"True ... well try not to bait him too much little sister, he is a very powerful man for all the fact he's only two years older than you. I should not like you to get into serious trouble because you couldn't resist baiting him."

"He shouldn't misuse power on petty revenge."

"I never said he would, others can do it for him. Most people believe that the General and Ashie were at odds for most of their life. That particular rumour started because a Lieutenant hoped for a promotion which Ashie was in line for. These things are spread by the skirts of power, Button. I've learnt a lot about power lately and it's nasty stuff. The initial rumour is laid and then other people remember old rumours and other things ... some people even invent things just to prove that they know. You don't have to like him ... you don't even have to talk to him except when essential ... but do be civil when other people are around." Jeroen paused. "It's not even sucking up to the power, it's just plain good manners. You are a visitor in his house, Button, and I'd rather you didn't get punted onto the street."

"The newspapers would love that." Annette was feeling just a touch of bitterness, mostly because she had to admit that Jeroen's reprimand was well deserved.

"No Button, if you got the punt and sold it to the papers I would not hesitate to tell the newspapers that you lie. No, I do not know what James Darcy is up to. For all I know James Darcy could well be a Nazi, a Fascist or both at once. I actually don't care what he is unless he's engaged in spying for the enemy ... which he is not. No one deserves to have their life splashed across the newspapers of the world without their permission."

"How do you know he's not?"

"Because I'm still alive. I know because I'm still alive, Ashie's still alive, Mac, Hope and Pyro are all still alive ... you are alive. If James was an enemy agent he wouldn't sit silent about our activities and Germany would most certainly stop us if they could get their hands on us." Jeroen paused and took a slow and careful breath, easing back into his pillows.

"Now I have to say sorry. Sorry both for riling you and for getting out of line." Annette wrinkled her nose. "I didn't mean it about the papers, that was just a bit of disgruntled talk because I knew your reprimand was deserved."

"In a way I think I actually knew that ... just scared you might actually mean it." Jeroen sighed and shifted. "Don't crack a rib Button, they just aren't comfortable."

"How did you?"

"Well, Ashie says that the ground leapt up and assaulted my aircraft."

"Ashie would put it like that." Annette shook her head before rising quickly as the door swung open. The man who entered was quite small and thin, his movements rather stiff and awkward, his expression very weary.

"Hullo Peter." Jeroen rubbed his face as Peter James carefully settled the large tray he carried.

"I assume this is Neddie." Peter straightened up and inspected Annette gravely. "How do you do? I am Peter James."

"Very well thank you." Annette returned the grave inspection. "You have been here long?"

"I flew in from Canada last night ... but I have been with the Darcys since 1917."

"Oh, you're that man." Jeroen looked up from his porridge. "Did you really get caught by the Germans?"

"Ypres, 1917 ... though I barely count it as a capture they only held us for two hours."

"Why only two hours?" Annette frowned.

"They released us and showed us how to get back to our own lines ... I think there might have been a slight prisoner exchange involved in our release." Peter settled carefully on a nearby chair. "That was while the General was posted to the Scottish Seaforths ... and they didn't like us at all."

"Why was he posted to a Scottish regiment?"

"General MacNiell got run over by a tank and they needed someone who knew the terrain." Jeroen answered Annette's query before focussing on Peter again. "When do I get moved?"

"When you have finished your breakfast."

"Jim at all likely to be seen?"

"Not unless you specifically ask for him. Mr. Darcy has ... some work to do today which cannot really be delayed."

The grey parlour startled Annette not a little. The room was so different from all the other rooms of the house that it was strange, it was a private room and lacked the somewhat soulless formality of the other rooms. The fire, quite a small one, was working well and the heat it threw out was savage. Annette skipped quickly to the large desk which sat at one wall and inspected the papers which rested on it, they were very much the boring, run of the mill papers which she spent nearly all her time rescuing Ashie from.

"Thanks." Jeroen had been deposited on a chaise longue, smothered in a blanket and handed a file of somewhat intimidating proportions by Ashie.

"What's the file?" Annette came across as Ashie, Daoud and Peter removed themselves.

"Preliminary crash findings." Jeroen dumped the file on the floor with a groan. "Slightly different system to the RAF with this lot. I know my planes from tip to tail and top to bottom ... which means as well that there is undoubtedly some items in the crash findings which make sense to me, but not to our Engineer who rarely flies them. Hence Hope turns the plane inside out and reduces it to atomic shards of metal scribbling every scrap of information found in the process. I then read her reports, get horribly confused by all the mathematics and technicalities and yell for Ashie who reduces the entire report to plain English and then we conclude that I was either shot down, or I did something damn stupid."

"I'll leave you to it then and get the report on trout health reduced to a length so Ashie will actually deign to view it." Annette returned to the desk.

"I wish you luck."

"Thank you." Annette rolled her eyes and inspected the immense file which required reducing to a maximum length of one page, she had a sinking feeling that in a very short space of time indeed she was going to become very distracted.

"Button." It was perhaps twenty minutes later when Jeroen looked up from his reading.

"Mm-hmm?" Annette's response was rather distracted.

"Can you tell me the stress limit duralumin?"

"What?" Annette looked up sharply, her attention successfully caught.

"I asked the stress limit of duralumin ... but that wasn't actually why I wanted your attention, that was just to get your attention since you were clearly absorbed."

"Well what did you want?"

"Where's Eoan?"

"Whe..." Annette leapt to her feet and made a rather unladylike observation before heading for the door. "Mr. Darcy and I need to come to some agreement about this dog."

"What is the current situation?"

"Annie-Bug was supposed to look after Eoan, but he adopted me and never left me alone for even a minute until Mr. Darcy returned. Now, though Mr. Darcy persistently tells him to go away and is generally rude and unfeeling to him, Eoan seems to take off at all sorts of moments in search of him."

"Odd." Jeroen frowned before abruptly lifting his head in warning as the door began to open. Annette skipped easily aside and was back at the desk when the man Peter came into the room keeping a cautious distance from Eoan.

"Mr. Darcy's kindest regards, he returns Eoan to your care."

"You seem to treat that dog with caution Peter."

"Certainly." Peter returned to the door as Eoan settled on Annette's feet. "Eoan does not like me and I have no intention of risking his wrath."

"Is he a descendent of Dougal?" Jeroen looked more than a little curious.

"No." Peter nodded to a small picture on the wall. "That is General Darcy with Dougal. Dougal came from South Africa and his descendents are rougher of fur and not quite so heavily built. Mug-Lump, one of Dougal's offspring, is Eoan's age and for pace and stamina they are much of a muchness ... however Eoan is a cold-weather dog, while Mug-Lump is more for the southern hemisphere. Eoan is one of Reyk's offspring. Reyk was a Siberian Husky crossed with a ... Arctic Wolf crossed with Siberian Husky. Eoan's mother was a Newfoundland ... but the Arctic Wolf strain is what makes him so damn loyal and unsociable. Amundsen's dog Baltic was the same as Reyk. Jim bred Reyk with ... a Newfoundland to get a dog who could take the heat without being too miserable. The result is Eoan, a dog who has ignored everyone except Jim until he met Annette ... now he seems slightly torn."

"Why doesn't Mr. Darcy want his dog?"

"He does." Peter gave a small shrug. "However currently it is not convenient that Eoan be with him ... Eoan is far too recogniseable. I think that Jim will relieve you of Eoan within the month if he is too troublesome ... but I think Eoan and everyone else would be happier if you would not mind continuing to look after him."

"Well, why does he keep running off?" Annette glanced briefly down at Eoan who seemed totally content and settled now.

"Oh, he only runs if Jim wants him. The first time Eoan was merely testing if he could welcome Jim, if Eoan leaves you now it is because Jim needs his services for a moment and he will not get into trouble for coming. Jim will give you some instructions on obedience later, which means you can leave Eoan at the door of a room without him having a fit ... but don't stay away for more than ten minutes without checking back with him or letting him in to join you."

"Meaning I can stop him at the door long enough to verify that it is okay for him to enter."

"Precisely." Peter gave another shrug. "Do you want me to remind Mr. Darcy of the requirement or will you broach the matter yourself?"

"You may broach the matter with Mr. Darcy." Annette watched Peter's departure before wrinkling her nose. "I suspect that nothing will result ... but why must he instruct me on the matter of obedience?"

"Because I wouldn't be surprised if Eoan's obedience instructions occur in a language other than English ... It really depends on how long Jim had Eoan before he left Greenland." Jeroen creased his brows thoughtfully.

"What does Greenland have to do with anything?" Annette was now thoroughly confused.

"Precisely what I keep asking." Ashie came into the room with an appologetic expression.

"Another file or something you want?" Annette eyed Ashie with misgiving.

"Neither, I've come to be sociable."

"Sociable?" If anything Annette became even more skeptical.

"Hope wants the report back?" Jeroen looked tired.

"No ... but she's on her way up to add to it. Been having a little chat with Alpha to find out how he managed to so mess up his landing ... seems that the Gull was not really designed for parachute escapes."

"I thought you said the Gull had been tested?"

"It had been." Ashie sank tiredly into a nearby chair. "Problem was that you were down by half a wing and the tail wasn't in the right place. The Gull passed fine provided it was intact, it doesn't pass if the controls are damaged ... and the controls were a total wreck when you threw Alpha out. Alpha then opened his parachute far too soon and ripped a hole in it on the tail as you slewed around and landed at a speed a touch on the quick side for safe landings."

"I didn't hit the house did I?"

"No ... you just flew into the hill while avoiding the house."

"Ahh." Jeroen nodded in satisfaction. "Remembered a bit ago that I had been lined up with the house when I pitched Alpha out and I didn't really wish to go down in the Darcy Annuals of History as the clunch who flew an aeroplane into the master bedroom or some such."

"Wrong end of the house, you'd have gone down as the clunch who flew through the State Apartments."

"Even better." Jeroen responded dryly then frowned darkly. "Wait a minute, my approach was from the east, how ... ?"

"You flew in from the south, dodged the house and hit the hill on the other side. If you'd left Alpha in for half a second more he would have landed in the lake."

"But ... " Jeroen dug into the file he held and scowled at some page in a dark manner for several minutes. "Thought it was a bloody miracle I got her back ... obviously a bloody miracle I even found England ... Hope mentioned anything about the compass yet?"

"She hadn't reached the cockpit when I last spoke to her."

"Well call her up and tell her to take a squiz at that thing. I want to be told that it's jammed."

"Considering you had no altimeter it's probably safe to assume that even if it wasn't jammed, it was undoubtedly addled." Ashie abruptly twisted to look at Annette. "You're off for the rest of the day ... possibly the rest of the week."

"Why?" Annette looked at Ashie in confusion, he had never given her that much free time before.

"I got fired and it will take a while to find me a new hole in that nasty machine of beauracracy."

"You got fired?" Annette stared at Ashie in disbelief.

"They wanted my office for something else ... be happy, whatever we return to it won't be fish."

"But..."

"And don't worry about your wage, you'll have two new manuscripts arriving tomorrow, one paper and not to mention your usual salary from me."

"Ashie, you promised to stop doing that."

"I didn't do that."

"You did James, stop being childish." Caroline came into the room. "Jim has finally agreed to let you into his room ... better go before he changes his mind."

"How magnanimous of him, did you need to resort to the usual blackmail that I'm the only one who can help or was he actually reasonable?"

"Daoud has a revolver on him ... so no, he's not being at all reasonable about anything." Caroline had remained standing by the door.

"What happened to him?" Jeroen moved cautiously so he could study Caroline intently.

"A shell caught him coming home and ripped his shoulder open ... frankly it's something of a miracle it didn't rip his head off. Daoud tidied it up last night, but he's pulled his highly-bred aristocrat trick and produced a fine fever."

"No hospital?"

"Not yet, they're overloaded anyway and for the present moment Daoud and his revolver seem to induce some form of lucidity."

"I'll fly him if things get that bad." Jeroen had a worried crease between his brows.

"Thanks, but we fully intend to get him back on his feet within two days." Caroline turned as Ashie passed her and followed him out of the room, closing the door very firmly behind them.

"Which leaves us with the updated version of the Preliminary Crash Findings and Leave it to Psmith." Jeroen dropped the file on the floor. "Forget your fish Button and prepare to read. Since Jim has managed yet again to throw his entire staff into turmoil we shall likely to be left to fend for ourselves for much of today and I'd like to associate with slightly less intelligent people then Ashie at the current moment."

"But..."

"Don't even try to tell me that Ashie is an idiot. If Ashie is an idiot then I am a brain-dead clam ... and since I think relatively well of my mental capacity I'll thank you to just agree that Ashie has at least a modicum of intelligence and start reading."

"At the open window of the great library of Blandings Castle, drooping like a wet sock, as was his habit when he had nothing to prop his spine against, the Earl of Emsworth, that amiable and boneheaded peer, stood gazing out over his domain." Annette elected not to enter into a discussion on the mental qualities of Ashie and proceeded to read. By tomorrow she would undoubtedly require another book, but no doubt Jeroen would find it just as he had found this one. Annette had briefly considered the library which was undoubtedly to be found somewhere in this immense house, but soon wrote that off, Wodehouse was not the sort of author likely to grace the shelves of a Darcy library.

November 29th 1940 - Berlin, Germany

All we are going is waiting for the Green Light.

It had now been over a year since Heinrich had last seen his father. They had come the day after England had declared war on the Dritte Reich, and they had talked for hours behind closed doors. It had begun politely enough, but Heinrich knew that stubborn look which had been on his father's face that day and knew it would not remain polite. It hadn't remained polite and Heinrich had spent six months in prison for a reason which had never been explained, either by his father, or by the guards at Buchenwald. Heinrich had been forced to watch his father's execution and had been repeatedly questioned for months before his release. Heinrich's release had come with a commission in the Luftwaffe, and having proved to the satisfaction of all that he could not fly Heinrich had been demoted and was now a mechanic who could on a good day actually supply a spanner when asked for a spanner.

"Heinrich!" The sharp call came from the window.

"Ja?" Heinrich cautiously stuck his head out the window and looked for the summoner. "Ah, Nazi!" Heinrich extended a hand and pulled his old friend through the window.

"I heard you had returned to us so I thought I would come and see." Ignatz Ernst was an Austrian who had lived upstairs for all of Heinrich's memories. Ignatz was three months older than Heinrich and they had always been friends since the first day Ignatz had climbed through Heinrich's window in 1910.

"Just for a week." Heinrich closed the window and resumed the dusting he had been attempting to do for most of the day. The apartment had been empty for a year and it looked it.

"Boris said you were in Buchenwald."

"I would rather not talk about it." Heinrich went to the kitchen to clean his rag.

"Why were you taken?" Ignatz followed, a concerned frown creasing his forehead.

"I do not know." Heinrich handed a second rag to Ignatz. "All I know is that my father would not tell them what they wanted to know and that they hoped I would know and tell."

"Did you know?"

"No. They executed him, Nazi, and I had to watch as he screamed himself out of this life. Now I am a very bad mechanic and a disillusioned Nazi."

"Such talk is dangerous Heinrich." Ignatz looked almost scared now.

"I know, but I have nothing to los..." Heinrich froze mid-sentence.

"Heinrich?" Ignatz shook one of the stiff shoulders hard.

"Sorry." Heinrich took a deep and shaky breath as he slowly sank down onto the floor. "Do you know what happened to Agathe?"

"She committed suicide the day after you were taken."

"Committed suicide or was murdered and it made to look like suicide?"

"It was suicide Heinrich, she seemed certain that you would never return."

"So I was right, I have nothing left lose."

"You have a life to lose, Heinrich."

"Is it of any value, Ignatz? I serve the men who killed my father and were causative in the suicide of my wife. I serve the men who will undoubtedly cause my life to end before very long. There is nothing left in my life."

"You could make something with your life."

"I will not sell my country to England no matter how insane we are."

"No, you wouldn't ... just as I can't." Ignatz paused. "Listen to the radio tonight ... there are people there who have more courage than I. There are people to be heard whom I think you would like to meet and work with." Ignatz carefully laid his rag aside.

"You are going now?" Heinrich's expression was flat and empty.

"I think I should ... you look like you want to be alone with your grief."

"Thank you." Heinrich followed Ignatz to the window and opened it carefully. "I have remembered something which I am willing to believe is what the Gestapo wanted ... they will not leave me in peace for long. I wish you well Ignatz and it is not that I distrust you, but in this case ignorance is your only possible safeguard. My love to Hilde and Ellen." Heinrich closed the window carefully before picking up his dusting rag once more.

"...stood in a tunnel. To the person in the tunnel there is no world outside, just the tunnel. You feel the sides and they are solid so you say that this is good. But so much rests on what cannot be seen. A tunnel in quicksand, no matter how strong and solid is not safe. A tunnel balanced on a point is equally unsafe, yet the inhabitants would not know the danger for it cannot be seen ... or at least it can be ignored. I would prefer a tambourwork house on good solid ground than the most solid pipe in the world, for then at least I know what the frailties of my house were. Good-night Germany."

"People I would like to meet Ignatz?" Heinrich carefully turned the small radio set off and settled back on his heels to stare at the now silent box. "One would suspect that you knew of the report in my pocket and what will happen when the official copy is connected with my file within the next couple of days." Heinrich glanced away from the radio and down at the neatly folded report which he had pulled from his pocket. Heinrich looked back towards the radio with a thoughtful frown before glancing across to his father's former room. "We never did go back for you and I would be surprised if the old crystal set couldn't find this lot." Heinrich rose carefully, his decision made. Heinrich's decision was simple, he would not make any decision at all for three months. After three months whatever decision he did make had to be the right decision for the time.

December 5th 1940 - London, England

One can never truely escape from anything for the world is round and a problem left behind is soon a problem ahead.

It was a soft and fairly rhythmic thump which pulled Annette from her partial doze. Thump ... thump ... thump. Three thumps to each group, the first considerably louder than the last. There was a slightly longer pause between each group than between the thumps. Annette was vaguely conscious of the fact that the thumps were not usual to the house, and also that they had been sounding for a considerable period before they had penetrated her dozy mind.

"Button, do thine ears detect a noise not common to this house?" Jeroen, having actually hobbled downstairs for breakfast, had been reclining on the chaise since with 'The Case of the Pink Elephant' to encourage recovery.

"Something is going thump." Annette yawned and glanced at Eoan. "Can't be too strange, Eoan isn't even twitching an eyelash."

"Well go find out what it is."

"What? No strawberries?" Annette glanced across at Jeroen with lifted eyebrows and he had the grace too look appologetic.

"Pretty-please, Button, will you satiate my curiosity by finding out what that thumping is?"

"It's just Jim smashing a cricket ball against a wall down in the cellars." Ashie entered the room at this somewhat fortuitous moment. "Recovering well?"

"Martin is currently tied up, suspended over a vat of vitriol and within a building which is going to explode in a very short space of time ... I'm ailing somewhat terribly Ashie." Jeroen looked up from the book with a grin.

"Oh, no cracked ribs to impede his escape efforts this time?"

"Doesn't seem to have any." Jeroen flicked through a couple of pages, skimming them briefly. "Just a bad headache as you might expect from the fumes."

"Ah yes. Remind me to give you the Case of the Perfumed Lupin next."

"Why?"

"He's strapped to a rocket with a broken leg, cracked ribs and a very bad headache ... he has to escape the rocket and disable it before it reaches its target ... Buckingham Palace if I remember correctly."

"Oh, nice." Jeroen gave a chuckle and laid his book aside. "Why's Jim smashing a ball around?"

"Internal contretemps ... also known as he's had a rousing good fight with Brian concerning Brian's connections to the RAF and us. Brian responded by blowing us a rasberry and he states he's being more useful to England in the RAF then with us ... also known as we're now down our Bomber Pilot and Jim knows I'm going to have him for breakfast at the first opportunity."

"Why?"

"Why the fight with Brian?" Ashie's brows rose. "Dead obvious old boy, he wanted Brian out of the RAF and in civvy street but it backfired badly ... come in Lila, join the party." Ashie's invitation drew a sniff from Lila who reluctantly came into the room and took one of the upright chairs, clearly disapproving of Ashie's slouched posture in one of the armchairs.

"I was looking for James." Lila looked uncomfortable.

"Oh, I wouldn't bother, he's otherwise occupied at the present moment working off a very bad mood on a cricket ball."

"Why are you intending to have him for breakfast?" Jeroen turned the conversation back to its previous course.

"Why do I say I'm going to have him for breakfast at the earliest opportunity? Why because I know the opportunity will never arise so I can sound tough and authoritative without having to act." Ashie gave a faint smile before pulling his feet in and rising with a wide yawn. "Reminds me Gerkin, you're due out at Deraux day after tomorrow for a bird."

"Why?"

"I'll be damned if I fly in my replacement for my plane which you wrecked."

"Ah, good point." Jeroen gave a nod and sank back into the Case of the Pink Elephant as Ashie retreated from the parlour.

"What do you do now that Ashie has been fired?" Lila had folded her hands neatly in her lap as she looked across at Annette.

"I edit manuscripts and continue as Ashie's private secretary."

"You receive much work from him?"

"Mostly letters to be sent to bank managers or estate agents telling one lot to see the other concerning the afore-mentioned matter." Annette gave a shrug. "Occasionally an order for one lot to comply with the requests of the other. There's also his social engagements which he runs through me so he doesn't forget them. I had thought you working somewhere else?"

"No." Lila gave her tinkling laugh. "I was trying to do my part for the war, but then realised that I was most useful arranging fundraising events. Are you coming to the Netherfield Benefit next week?"

"Certainly." Jeroen broke in on the conversation. "Jim told me this morning that we were invited but that Annie-Bug still had the invitations."

"Netherfield Benefit?" Annette looked curiously at Jeroen.

"The Lieutenant's Estate of Netherfield lies in Hertfordshire, it passed into Darcy hands some years ago and last year finally became ... a refugee residence or some such. This will be the third Benefit that's been thrown together to support the refugees who go there."

"No refugees there now, the whole lot got shifted a couple of months ago." Brian O'Niell had entered the room.

"Heard you had a spat with your former boss."

"Oh is that what Ashie is calling it?" Brian's brows rose. "If I am seen on Darcy property as of eleven-thirty any means may be used to eject me ... or words to that effect. The big boss is not happy with yours truly and I can apparently kiss goodbye any hopes of being steward of Pemberley."

"What did you do?"

"That is what I'd like to know." Brian rolled his neck and then yawned. "I was going to say see you at the benefit ... but I think I'll simply send a small monetary donation this time. No point risking a public raking down from his Royal Highness and getting in trouble with the Big White Chiefs in the Air Board ... devilish uncomfortable flying in the arctic and I doubt my crew would stay long if I got us all posted up there."

"Considering they regularly follow you into Germany I doubt they'd complain overly loud about anything." Jeroen gave a yawn. "Totally off their nuts the lot of them ... and that includes you."

"Smarter then flying a tiddly little fighter. Heard you were returning to regular duty."

"Aye." Jeroen gave a grin. "Flight-Lieutenant Fouchiard will report for duty as of the second of February to give his all for king and country."

"And die of boredom in a morass of rules and regulations I have no doubt ... which reminds me we've managed to reverse Halifax's posting so you needn't say good-bye to him after all." Brian glanced across at Annette and nodded briefly. "Absolute saint of a Supply officer now he's learnt not to yell back when we come and holler about our missing sticky-tape and pudding. But I'll swear he's memorised the regs for he keeps quoting the damn things."

"Well at least he knows them." Annette shook her head, over the past few months she had heard a lot from both sides of that particular fence and both men knew it. It wasn't the first time that Annette had suspected that the two men actually enjoyed the situation and their arguments.

"Rubbish, he makes them up on the fly and makes them sound right." Brian abruptly jerked right as he spoke then shrugged appologetically. "See you when I see you." Brian turned sharply and left the room, revealing that James Darcy was leaning against the wall in the hallway.

"Do remember that the Gardiners apartment block is also Darcy property." The soft words only just carried into the parlour as the two men walked away. "You will leave my cousin alone, O'Niell."

"Hee-hee!" Jeroen whistled softly through his teeth. "What a mess a Darcy can make when he chooses to deny this war. Button, remind Ashie that I need that paperwork before I join the RAF." Jeroen returned his attention to his book as Lila moved swiftly, but elegantly after the two men.

"When was I going to be told you were taking up general service?" Annette looked at Jeroen's bent head.

"Probably this evening, it was only confirmed this morning that they'd take me if I passed a physical."

"Father is going to be delighted."

"I'm an experienced pilot and I can help. I fought through August on loan to the RAF, all that's happening is that I have official support and friends now. Father really shouldn't complain, I'm not making war, I'm just defending my country."

"Sorry, Jeroen, I didn't mean it like that ... they just worry about you. I worry about you ... too many people have died already."

"Without wanting to sound too depressing, not half the people are dead who will be before this war ends ... and considering this bombing there is just as much chance I'll be killed if I go back to the office as if I go flying. At least if I'm flying I'll take a couple of the sods with me before I go ... I'll even get a sod or two for you and Annie-Bug."

"But..." Annette stopped, realising the stupidity of what she had been about to say. As Jeroen had just observed it was almost as dangerous to be a civilian as it would be to be a soldier. The civilian casualty lists were quite frequently longer than the military casualty lists these days. "Thank you."

"No prob. You keep slaving away for Ashie, he's a wily old fox who hides an intimidating degree of intelligence under an idiotic exterior ... he is definitely up to something."

"Next you'll say James Darcy is up to something as well." Annette couldn't quite smother the slightly sour note in her voice. Her visit had not been precisely boring as more than one evening had developed into a ferocious debate which usually ended in the library using one of many books to prove a point. Neither side had yet conceded on any subject and more than one debate had flared into fresh vigour on the next meeting. Only one point had remained clear and untouched, and that was the fact that James Darcy was totally uninterested in the war and lethal in his decimation of anyone who brought the subject up in his presence.

"Ahh." Jeroen coughed gently and gave a small grin. "No, you're safe there little one, James Darcy for whatever obscure reason I cannot comprehend is having nothing to do with this war, other than renting properties and keeping his various interests solvent and producing."

"Which could equally be the actions of a business man who knows that losing this war would not be good for his future prospects of wealth."

"I've no doubt that that is a fairly major factor ... he certainly isn't a patriot willing to do anything for England." Jeroen scratched his head and then shook it firmly. "The whims of the wealthy, one assumes, but he does not work against us at least."

"I'm afraid that I see his power and I get furious that he doesn't help. Neutrality doesn't count as helping us, though as you observe it is better than him working against us. But why? His father was a General and it isn't half obvious that he's not stupid. Why? He could do almost anything even if he doesn't want to fight as a duty soldier. Why?" Annette sank back into her seat and shook her head irritably. "It just gets me, he barely even attends the social benefits and things and yet he has so much power. You've said it yourself, he's a man you'd follow to hell, and yet he barely even stirs over his front doorstep."

"Well considering the last time he stirred outside he stopped a lump of shell and a large quantity of someone's wall I really couldn't blame him for his preference for inaction ... say hullo to Annie-Bug for me will you and wish her a merry Christmas ... though you can also assure her she is sacrificing at least one dance at the Netherfield Benefit too my two left feet."

"You're being ridiculous ... but I will tell her." Annette rose rather quickly for Annie-Bug would be waiting already.

"There departs Button." Jeroen frowned at the door which had been jerked firmly shut behind Annette's departure. "But I worry for you Button ... you are just a little too riled by James Darcy for my comfort."

Part 16

Posted on Monday, 6 October 2003

December 16th 1940 - London, England

"Mr. Darcy you promised me a dance!" - Lydia Bennet, TSNP - 1915

The Netherfield Benefit Ball, only two years old but already a compulsory part of any socialite's agenda, was famed for two reasons. The first reason was that anyone one who was anyone went to it. The second, and more important reason from a socialite's point of view, was the fact that it was the only event which drew the entirety of the Bennet, Bingley, Darcy and Fitzwilliam Families out at one time when they would not leave early. The first two were not quite as important as the last two, for a marriage in either of those families merely supplied good connections ... but with a Darcy or Fitzwilliam there was money as well as connections and almost all were now at the prime age for marriage. This particularly went for James Darcy who at 22 was in complete control of his immense wealth and power. Also in James' favour was the fact that his father, who was almost a good enough reason for a girl not to marry a Darcy, had apparently vanished and showed no signs of ever returning. It was of course a pity to lose a great General on the eve of war, but everyone new that General Darcy had been ill and he was more than a little terrifying even for the boldest socialite. James had fortunately not inherited his father's immense form, perhaps a few inches taller and broader than most men, but not so much so as to make a woman look ridiculously tiny ... with the exception of his cousin Anneliese who really was tiny when compared to any man.

There were a couple of events on the social calendar when the Fitzwilliams did not leave early, but it had been over a decade since any other event had held the Darcys for more than a couple of minutes. James Darcy was a delightfully high-profiled mystery and a tempting bait for any woman who sought a good marriage. Not that anyone would even dream of sneering at a Fitzwilliam connection, but it wasn't a Darcy. Last year had been of immense disappointment as not a single Darcy had appeared, not even the de Bourgh Darcys. But this year it was already promised that James Darcy would be present ... and he would dance at least three dances.

"What do you mean I can't wear this?" Annette stared at Annie-Bug in frustration, it was the third time Annie-Bug had shaken her head and informed Annette that the dress she had wouldn't do.

"Precisely what I said. You. can't. wear. that. dress." Annie-Bug wrinkled her nose.

"Well I can't pay for anything else." Annette had to admit that she wasn't precisely sold on the dress herself, but it was as expensive as she dared to go and a good deal more expensive than she usually chose to go.

"Who said anything about paying?" Annie-Bug looked genuinely surprised. "This is Ashie's end of year present to you so you might as well make him bleed for it since he's getting a very satisfactory secretary at a very low price currently. You can always re-sell the dress and if you dance with the right sort of people you can likely sell it for more than you bought it."

"Where are you getting your dress?" Annette had changed back into her street clothes before she lifted the question.

"Oh, that was settled months ago. Ashie's pet dressmaker is making my dress and Jim is paying for it."

"What's the excuse this time?" Annette lifted curious brows, she well-knew that Annie-Bug always had a reason when she chose to charge something to James Darcy.

"Because I've been very nice and patient with him this year, and I've learnt how to cook and clean." Annie-Bug nodded firmly before giving a small chuckle. "But you have to see it, I want your opinion on whether it will knock your thick-headed brother for six?"

"Jeroen is not thick ... .and quite frankly you'd probably knock him for six in an ash-sack."

"Depressingly true ... however he's not back in the RAF yet so I really don't see why Jim can't twist things and allow us a dance or two at a nice and public benefit."

"I refrain from comment and await to see this dress."

"It's even better than the dress I had the first year." Annie-Bug was walking very quickly, threading through the streets towards the more quiet areas of the shops. "Marguerite is Ashie's very well kept secret, but I believe his sister was the person who discovered her."

"Ashie has a sister?" Annette stared at Annie-Bug in confusion, she was positive that Annie-Bug had never mentioned a sister before. Brother? Yes. Nephew? Yes. Two sister's-in-law? Yes. Parents? Yes. Innumerable other relatives? Yes. Sister? No.

"Oh, she died years and years ago. Lady Margaret Ashington-Frankston apparently looked quite like Ashie, but she died back at the beginning of the last war and except for Ashie and Caroline I don't believe anyone is still alive who remembers her ... though Uncle Bingley might."

"I thought your Uncle Darcy was closer to that family?"

"Oh he was, but he's not alive."

"..." Annette opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before she finally spoke. "Let me get this straight, General Darcy was alive in February wasn't he?"

"Oh, he only died last month. We had a terrible time persuading Jim to come to this Benefit and I still have no idea what threat Ashie held over his head to drag that promise of dances out of him. However, we can't let Jim sulk at a time like this so we really had no other option than to persuade him to come."

"You mean General Darcy died while Jeroen was sick?"

"About the day you arrived or some such. Peter brought the news and the body as far as Pemberley, before bringing the news down to London. Jim then did a night trip to Pemberley for the burial so the press wouldn't make a fanfare and fuss over it all. If anyone cared to actually visit the Darcy Graveyard they would know that he is dead ... he lies next to Elizabeth now, sheltered by Comgerrie and watching his valley. Sometimes makes me wild." Annie-Bug angrily wiped the tears from her cheeks. "My dress." It was an obvious change of subject and after a moment Annette obliged.

"What colour?"

"It's blue with a silver trim." Annie-Bug was slow at first but soon gained animation as she pushed her grief behind and focussed on her dress. A year ago Annette would have considered it a disgusting display of shallowness, but now she knew it to be rigorous training and a defence against hurt.

"Sorry?" Annette realised she had failed to hear what Annie-Bug had just said.

"I just observed that Marguerite might have a dress which suits you ... she's definitely got some lovely pins which will really suit your hair and Jim can buy for you since he still hasn't taken Eoan off your hands." Annie-Bug glanced briefly back at the immense dog who trailed behind them in a way which ensured that no one dared to approach and many people crossed the road to avoid them.

"But ... " Annette attempted to object before she threw her hands up in disgust, this was one of those days when Annie-Bug was not going to listen to objections.

"Ah ... .right ... um!" Jeroen scratched his neck while turning an interesting shade of red. "You better have spoken to James about this."

"Hmph!" Annie-Bug shook her head in disgust at Jeroen. "As if I didn't clear it months ago! I even double checked it every day for this past week so James is ready to swear at me and has written a note to give Grandma should she actually deign to appear. James has also promised to deal with Grandma should we end up in the picture papers and she make a fuss about it."

"That is fortunate." Jeroen slowly settled back into his seat watching Annie-Bug from under partially closed eye-lids. "There should be a law against you looking that good."

"You haven't seen anything yet." Annie-Bug settled carefully on the arm of Jeroen's chair before grinning at his wary expression. "I'm betting anything that my careful cousin dances with a non-family member for the first time in his life."

"Annie-Bug, you shouldn't meddle."

"I'm not." Annie-Bug looked more than a trifle indignant. "James has one free dance and I am determined he will not dance it with one of us. Besides it only occured to me afterwards."

"I'm very suspicious now." Jeroen's brows rose slightly. "Rory has not been invited to this bash, Annie-Bug."

"Well if he wasn't so stuffy and disapproving he could have taken Brian's invitation and no one would have twitched an eyelash." Annie-Bug sniffed and extended a slipper so she could inspect it. "He doesn't like me, thinks I'm fast and flighty."

"Aren't you?" Jeroen's brows lifted a fraction further.

"Not in the way he thinks."

"Very true." Jeroen glanced down at his own shoes. "You'd better go see what's holding Button."

"Nothing is holding her, but her hair takes a bit longer."

"Great!" Jeroen shifted his attention to the small fire.

"What's wrong?" Annie-Bug frowned abruptly at Jeroen.

"Give me a break, Bug. I've got the hang of you in tweeds and I can be quite decently sensible in your vicinity. However, right now there's considerably more Bug than usual and unless you want to miss this altogether I advise you to shift away at least for a bit."

"Sorry." Annie-Bug skipped quickly to settle in the other chair. "It's going to be fun this year."

"So certain?" Jeroen glanced away from the fire.

"Mm-hmm." Annie-Bug nodded. "I'm going to dance with you at least once and I won't get in trouble for it. We do not live in a Nazi state and your sister is in an incredible dress."

"What's so special about it?" Jeroen couldn't help the dread which grew quickly in his stomach.

"Not really anything." Annie-Bug looked thoughtful. "It's just a dress that ... it looks better on her than it would on anyone else I can think of. It's like my dancing dress, it just wants to go to this benefit with Button."

"Mm." Jeroen glanced blankly back at the fire before looking up sharply as a door opened. Jeroen later couldn't actually explain how he'd kept his jaw from falling, but he had managed it. Annette was no longer his little kid sister in that dress, and yet she was still undoubtedly Annette. It was something intangible and elusive which had changed, and Jeroen couldn't shake the feeling that the change, whatever it was, was a permanent one. Annette's hair was twisted up neatly, little different from her usual style, but things winked and flashed just frequently enough to catch attention but not so often as to be disregardable. The flashes were also well hidden for Jeroen could not even determine what caused the flashes.

"The hair was Button's idea and I must admit I wished my hair would do it." Annie-Bug rose with a nod.

"What does it?" Jeroen took the opportunity for a closer look, but remained foiled.

"No, that would be telling." Annette could not help but laugh, to anyone else she could not explain it, but she was happy tonight.

"Jeroen! You return to us ... for long?" The man doing the greeting at the door was undoubtedly of Ashie's generation and the very last thing he could be possibly accused of was a lack of enthusiasm.

"I'm afraid not Lieutenant." Jeroen shook a vigorous left hand. "Once off visit, I'm joining the RAF again."

"Ah, Flyboy! I had forgotten. Join the army, much more sensible."

"Yeah, always wanted to have an arm blown off." Jeroen rolled his eyes to the great entertainment of the other before turning towards Annette. "Annette, this is the Lieutenant, Mr. Charles Bingley. Lieutenant, my sister Annette Fouchiard."

"A pleasure. Sorry about giving you a left-hand, but a nasty hun shell stole my right arm many, many moons ago." The Lieutenant vigorously shook Annette's hand. "I hope you enjoy yourself this evening, we're aiming for a Battleship as well as the usual refugee aide tonight, Jim's presence will undoubtedly loosen the old purse strings further than they'd otherwise go ... My wife Jane and my oldest son, Miles." Charles Bingley handed Annette on to a woman who was not only elegantly dressed, but had the face of an angel.

"How do you do."

"Very well. A good evening?"

"Looks like it currently. It remains to be seen whether we can get the battleship." Jane Bingley handed Annette on to Miles who promptly sent both her and Jeroen across the room to here Annie-Bug and James Darcy were to be seen doing the polite and nice to a mix of high profile names.

"They've got it!" It was not even ten when Annie-Bug dragged Annette to one side with the delighted whisper.

"Got what?" Annette was still trying to free her brain from the tedious ramblings of the Duke of Westminster, a very pro-Nazi, anti-Semitic man who had too much money.

"The Battleship, also enough for a cruiser, a squadron of spitfires and a twenty-thousand pound research grant."

"What ... ?" Annette choked violently, swallowed convulsively and then gaped at Annie-Bug. "That's in the order of a million pounds raised!"

"More actually." Annie-Bug gave a gleeful little skip. "Oh, Uncle Bingley is going to be so happy and Churchill is apparently going to turn up for a few minutes later, and we may get even more before the night ends."

"How did it get so high?"

"Don't ask me, Jim's been in a beastly temper for the whole night and refused Westminster's offer of 100,000 pounds. Not that I like Westminster or really want his money, but 100,000 pounds is not to be sneered at. Ashie turned on some charm and dragged 70,000 from the Countess, but I've got no idea what happened to get the total so high. The Fitzwilliam Ball only raised 40,000 all told ... but Uncle Matlock says that has a lot to do with the fact that Jim wasn't there. Though what difference his presence makes I have no idea since he hasn't donated a penny."

"It's called financial persuasion ... or fear, depending on how you look at it. The total is so high because the papers have banded together and found 200,000 pounds." James Darcy's cool tones broke in and Annette spun to find him standing directly behind them. "Miss Fouchiard, may I have the next dance?"

"Err." Annette gave an indeterminate gurgle before realising that she had no possible excuse for getting out of it. "Certainly."

"Thank you." James turned and was gone, leaving Annette to mutter some very rude words under her breath.

"He's not a bad dancer, Button."

"Rory is going to never shut up. He's rich, he's an aristocrat and he's not fighting ... I'll never hear the end of it! What's so funny?" Annette looked sharply at Annie-Bug who was nursing her ribs in silent laughter.

"You." Annie-Bug carefully wiped her eyes as she resumed a placid exterior. "The number of girls who would do anything to dance with my cousin is immense, and you're worried about what Rory's going to say. Just enjoy yourself and forget Rory ... you can always blame it on me if he gets too bad."

"But..." Annette shook her head in exasperation before sighing as James Darcy approached to claim his dance. "Consider yourself blamed Annie-Bug, I'll never live this down!"

"You are too despondent Neddie, we'll have cake at Ivy's tomorrow."

"Oh dear." Jeroen stopped next to Annie-Bug as Annette and James joined the formation taking up on the floor. "How did you do it?"

"I didn't." Annie-Bug gave a smile before leaning against Jeroen's arm with a tired sigh. "Jim did it all by himself and we have had a very, very good night."

"Rather an impressive figure the papers coughed up between them."

"I know and it has me worried." Annie-Bug shook her head gently, her eyes watching the dance floor. "I don't know him any more Jeroen, and it scares me."

"Don't know him?" Jeroen glanced down at Annie-Bug with a thoughtful frown. "He seemed much as he ever was."

"No." Annie-Bug shook her head. "He was always quiet, but now ... It's a different quiet, Jeroen and it's getting worse. He still hasn't taken Eoan back, and ... he just doesn't care. Doesn't care about anything. It's not Daoud..."

"Where is Daoud? I haven't seen him all night."

"Upstairs, next to the pillar above the band and well back in the shadows. Morris is at the other end, similarly pillared and shadowed. Both Daoud and Morris are worried about him ... I think even Ashie is watching him, and nothing worries Ashie."

"War worries that man ... worries any man ... possibly he's just worried about the war and the death of his father."

"How did you know?" Annie-Bug looked up curiously at Jeroen. "Button didn't."

"Peter turned up to the surprise of all and started call James Mr. Darcy. For Peter, Jim was always Master James, not Mr. Darcy."

"Good point." Annie-Bug gave another little sigh. "Do you think he'll ever be happy again?"

"Not for mere mortals like us to decide, or even think about. May I get you a drink?"

"Yes please." Annie-Bug followed Jeroen across to the drinks buffet and soon had a glass of punch in her hand. "Lila was talking to Annette earlier ... were you near enough to hear?"

"No ... but Lila was not satisfied with the outcome. Not too surprising, Button can hold her own against James as we've seen ... a tough little biscuit who has now actually managed to start a conversation. Here's merely hoping it's a neutral topic."

"Pleasant dance with Annette?" Ashie propped himself against the study doorframe and studied the occupants of that room with a somewhat sleepy gaze.

"Depends on your classification of pleasant." James responded somewhat dryly, shifting uncomfortably as Dr Jermyn Alastair poked and prodded at the bloody stump of his right leg. "Have done, Alastair, it doesn't need stitches."

"No, it doesn't ... but that's bloody good luck and nothing else." Alastair finally finished wiping the mess clean and settled back with a glare. "You're using crutches for the next fortnight unless you want to end up back in hospital."

"How was I to know the ruddy thing was dented?"

"Logic. They aren't actually designed to dig holes in you." Alastair bent back over his bandaging. "How I'm meant to explain that you need another one already I really don't know."

"Don't bother explaining, just ask for another one." James waved Alastair off as he finished his bandaging. "Now take off and grab your beauty sleep, Ashie apparently wants me for something and I still have to pack and be gone before sunrise."

"Stupid as his father." Alastair shook his head as he rose. "I'll be damned if you haul me up to Pemberley because you've messed yourself up!"

"So will I. Sleep well." James re-settled himself as Ashie came into the room and the door closed behind Alastair. "Depends on your classification of pleasant."

"Why?"

"She's a good dancer and not too bad at inconsequential small talk."

"But?"

"Seem's to have decided I'm a nasty man with reprehensible habits and an overbearing nature."

"Well she's right, that dog of yours really is the limit."

"Which dog?"

"All of them, but Eoan in particular."

"He likes her and for all her complaints I think she actually likes him."

"There'll be trouble with Lila."

"Of course there will be, that was a foregone given and unavoidable for the simple reason that I actually attended. But there will be more trouble because I danced with Annette, but not with her." James bit a pensive thumb. "I only hope that Lila doesn't take some of this out on Annette."

"She looked very nice in that dress."

"True." James closed his eyes, then opened them a fraction and glanced across at Ashie. "Trying to issue a concerned godparently warning about the dangers involved in falling in love?"

"No." Ashie spoke shortly as he headed back towards the door. "You're lying to everyone about something Jim. What I do not know ... but you're lying about something and that makes associating with you rather difficult."

"Thank you for your kindly warning." James' eyes closed fully again as he sank back on the cushions.

"Have a good trip to Pemberley." The door closed behind Ashie in a far from gentle manner.

"And so it shatters." James' eyes opened and he frowned at the ceiling overhead. "Where have I heard that before?"

"I couldn't say." Peter came out of the corner finally and eased James up into a sitting position. "Crutches sir?"

"Thank you." James accepted the proffered props and swung up onto his foot. "You can follow us next week after this place has shut down again."

"Trouble?"

"Only the usual media storm. Ashie can look after the others, but I want Annie-Bug as far away as possible."

"Pemberley?"

"Glendevie."

"You should get a bit of peace up there ... but Anneliese may not wish to go."

"She'll go and without a word of protest." The grey eyes lifted and Peter lost interest in the discussion as he helped collect the contents of James' desk into a couple of medium-sized bags.

December 24th 1940 - Glendevie, Scotland

Power is what you know, not necessarily what you have.

Annie-Bug hesitated, her fingers resting lightly on the door handle. Even though she had not done more than touch the door handle Annie-Bug was perfectly well aware that James already knew that not only was someone standing outside, but he also knew exactly who was standing there ... he probably even knew why. Annie-Bug carefully folded the fingers of her free hand around a necklace she had only just started wearing again and felt renewed determination and confidence flow through her. Annie-Bug released the doorhandle, knocked sharply before resolutely entering the room.

Annie-Bug knew, courtesy of Ashie, that the radio equipment in this subterranean room was second to none. Anyone could have guessed that the map which occupied a 30m length of the wall was special, for it was certainly not a quick job. Below the map lay three tables on which billiards could easily have been played with space to spare. One table split the map above into continents, or parts of continents around water, and increased the amplification. The second table dealt solely with major cities at an amplification which gave every street. The third table, and the only one not supplied with a complex map roll at either end, was covered in aerial photographs of varying sizes and shapes.

"Need something Annie-Bug?" James had laid aside a pair of headphones when she had entered and watched in silence as Annie-Bug inspected the room.

"Not if you really are busy." Annie-Bug hesitated as she noted the wheels spinning on the recorder.

"Nothing I can't watch later after people go to bed." James gave a small shrug.

"Why are you so determined to persuade everyone that you're neutral?"

"No persuasion in it, I am a neutral."

"Right." Annie-Bug cast a speaking look around the room.

"I'm neutral Annie-Bug, not an idiot ... and only an idiot wouldn't keep a close eye on the war." James leant back in his chair as Annie-Bug began to poke around the room, a clear indication that something was on her mind.

"Did you really say that the written word should be abolished?"

"Not precisely that wording and certainly not in the context which those newspapers use it. But yes, I did observe once that the written word was the root of much evil ... and I'm still of that opinion."

"Why do you let the newspapers print it wrong then?"

"The newspapers would not agree with you that I let them print anything ... but we have reached a ... satisfactory agreement where they can print their articles without worrying about being sued for libel."

"Ashie was quite right, you are lying to us."

"Note to self, sue Wing-Commander Lord James Ashington-Frankston for slander."

"He merely asked whether I thought you were being honest with us ... that is not slander."

"Well he accused me of it the night we came up so you'll forgive me for suspecting him guilty of gossiping." James watched Annie-Bug for a long, silent and expressionless moment. "You're still minnying around the reason why you came here, Annie-Bug."

"I want to know what's going on."

"Africa sits upon a blunt knife-edge." James rose and drifted across to the first table, spinning the map case in an expert manner which brought the North African coast and the Mediterranean onto the table top. "Italy holds Libya and for the present moment one might be forgiven for suspecting their grip to be strong there." James used his finger to outline a small U around the Suez Canal. "It isn't, for nothing in the desert is strong. That is where they were when England really got moving and reserves arrived to help the men who stand regular duty in that region." James shoved three pins into the map. "Bardia ... Tobruk ... El Gazala, or Benghazi if you are more interested in politics than defence. These are what Italy holds now, and this is why all Libya is said to be in their control. Tobruk is the big one, the main sea port where convoys can dock. Strategically very important and we will hold it by March if Hitler keeps his nose out of the Med. Bardia and El Gazala protect Tobruk. The second AIF are almost battle ready ... and unless I'm much mistaken they fully intend to make the Italians bleed at any point of contact regardless of the outcome." James frowned at the map. "Ask Ashie about the first AIF ... even after he left them he kept an eye on them and I have little doubt but he's still in touch with some of his old friends. As long as Hitler feels the Italians are okay, we will continue to hold the Med. We proved we held it when we pounded the Italian Navy at Taranto. If Hitler lends a hand we will lose the Med ... though the forces he would have to divert would be a breathing space for England proper." James carefully removed the three pins from the map.

"Which is more preferable?"

"Breathing space for England ... unless Japan decides to conquer the world as well. So far they've restricted their activities to China and Russia and therefore are of minimal interest, but I believe that's as far as they go as much as I'd believe someone who told me that Hitler liked Jews. While we hold Singapore Australasia has no need of any worry at all as no force could survive and hold an attack on them. However, if Japan branches out again and takes Singapore we may have a very serious problem ... particularly if the American population continue their neutrality."

"The whole country isn't neutral?"

"No." James rubbed his nose as he frowned at North Africa. "If Hitler could prove the traffic of information between Roosevelt and Churchill all hell would break loose. As it is great care is being taken and in all probability either Germany or Japan will throw a shell at them and bring them into the war on our side. Hopefully not Germany as that will mean we have fallen ... not a situation I really care for. Switzerland, Spain and Portugal are the only neutrals left in Europe ... and I have my doubts about whether Spain and Portugal actually can claim to be neutral ... place is absolutely hotching with agents and they're predominantly German ... at least in Switzerland it's a fairly even balance." James spun the map again and frowned at Europe, which was fairly riddled with small silver marks. Thin red lines radiated around the German borders of the 1918 treaty, dates written in a minuscule hand. Green lines radiated around Northern Italy and reached across into Greece, dated as the red lines were. Blue lines radiated from the Russian borders, reaching into Poland and Finland, and once more dated in the minuscule hand.

"What is the worth of even one of these maps?" Annie-Bug frowned uncertainly at the map.

"If you're looking at only the map ... well Churchill would probably sacrifice a cruiser or two for it. Hitler would probably cough over a cruiser just for the English part of it." James frowned and touched a small hieroglyphic on the edge of Germany. "If the map comes complete with code book and analysis notes ... frankly I don't think there is a comprehensible worth."

"Who did it?"

"My father ... with the help of ... friends." James spun the map back to south-eastern Asia where it had been and moved away from it. "The original idea really came from my mother who kept a map of the first war ... but it was only after she died that the work really began on this." James picked up a pencil and spun it between his fingers as he settled back in his former chair. "It was quite fun actually ... except for South Africa."

"South Africa?" Annie-Bug wrinkled her brows.

"1932 ... the year that blood clot moved."

"Oh." Annie-Bug nodded quick comprehension as she remembered those dark days when it was thought the General would die, it had been the first of many bad scares. "Has the media been as bad a you feared?"

"No." James gave a wry smile. "Apparently I have competition for your hand and I'm advised to marry you before I'm cut out."

"That is tame of them." Annie-Bug blinked. "Last time..."

"Yes, yes, yes." James cut Annie-Bug off hurriedly, though his eyes danced with laughter, which then abruptly sobered. "I also have a charming little letter from your grandmother."

"Spare me the agony I beg of you." Annie-Bug abruptly dropped her face into her hands.

"I'm thinking a little walk is called for." James rose and tapped Annie-Bug on the shoulder. "Come on Old Thing, she's just a bag with a bad temper."

"But James, you're family and she wants me to marry you ... why can't she be civil?"

"She doesn't want you to marry me." James locked the door carefully behind them before leading the way up the stairs. "She wants you to marry my money ... and only that because all her other efforts have failed. I wouldn't worry, she'll probably be equally rude to you in a couple of years. By-the-bye, on the other subject you may reassure Ashie that just because I do not tell him every teensy-weensy detail of my existence does not make me a liar."

"Teensy-weensy detail?" Annie-Bug's brows rose sharply. "Right and I couldn't find England with a microscope."

"You probable couldn't such that you'd recognise it, scale's all wrong." James gave another grin before giving a sharp whistle. "Care for a ride?"

"Probably should." Annie-Bug hesitated while the horses arrived. "You..."

"Trust me on this one Annie-Bug." James swung easily onto the back of one of the horses. "I find your company more than sufficient compensation for the barbs of your sweet old grannie. Now jump up and let's see if I really do need this leg to ride bareback."

"As you didn't know the answer to that already." Annie-Bug mounted herself, filing away the comments in the radio-room for later consideration. James rarely to never gave a direct answer, but if inspected correctly his answer could always be found in the connected conversation.

December 31st 1940 - Uxbridge, England

Like a thunderhead, my fate builds on the horizon before racing in for the kill.

Lila turned sharply as she stood in front of the mirror, watching in satisfaction as the skirt swirled around her legs. She was going out to dinner tonight and she needed to look just right. The dress was simple, and certainly not a dress she would have been seen in near London. However this was not London and Lila knew the dress was perfect for what she wanted.

For a fortnight now Lila had studied her target, noting his weaknesses and insecurities. She had also noted his interests and the people he liked. If there was any possible point where a hitch might develop, it was the presence of Brian O'Niell and the curious camaraderie which developed at these aerodromes between the old hands. Lila had spent many hours determining her mode of attack and how best to approach the situation and she was determined that nothing would throw this off.

"Halifax ... would you kill me if I gave you some requests?" Brian cautiously stuck his head into the supply office where the radio spoke softy.

... It is one man who, against the Crown and Royal Family of Italy, against the Pope and all the authority of the Vatican...*

"Not if they were requests for sticky-tape or bed-linen." Rory looked up with a wry smile from his folder as he silenced the radio.

"Bed-linen?" Brian blinked and actually came into the office.

"For you to wave at the Hun when you get tired of flying."

"Right." It was a choking snort which Brian gave in response. "No I was actually going to ask if you could get hold of some woollen scarves."

"Some what?" Rory shook his head and then looked anew at Brian.

"Woollen scarves."

"That is certainly the weirdest request yet."

"Well can you get them?"

"Haven't the faintest idea ... can I tell you tomorrow?"

"Can't think why not so I'll say yes. Not meeting Neddie tonight are you?"

"No." Rory scribbled a brief note to himself concerning the scarves. "I have no idea what is happening up there in London, but the one time I've called she's said hullo, good-bye and then handed me to her flat-mate who explained most kindly that Ashie was waiting at the door. I assume the idiot has managed to land another job finally, but it seems to be working Annie seven days a week and twenty-four hours a day. It's been over a month since she last wrote."

"Might as well write and remind her of that interesting piece of information ... I'd lay you anything you'll get a big long letter in response, loaded to the gills with apologies and excuses."

"So would I ... but I'm hoping she'll write within the next week without needing to be reminded." Rory gave a tired and wry smile.

"Well, best of luck over it and enjoy your drink ... the Cat has some really super apple pie."

"Thanks for the tip ... Jeroen has transferred back into the RAF and general duty."

"How did you know that?"

"He wrote to me and suggested a bash the night before he joins if I can get off ... you think you could be caught dead associating with a Fighter Pilot and a Supply Officer at the Ace of Spades?"

"I might be able to manage if we're not flying." Brian gave a yawn before grinning. "Have fun tonight and eat some pie for me."

"Only if you pay for it."

"Go hang, I'll eat my own pie." Brian shook his head as he retreated, before looking back. "Also the usual requests for spares ... and a wing."

"A wing?" Rory looked up suspiciously.

"A Apple picked up a PAC** fired by an enthusiastic and stupid Air-Commodore."

"Crew alright?"

"Rattled and bruised, but they'll be fine to fly when they get their new wing."

"Just a bit cautious in their approach. Anything else?"

"Two new airscrews and radio spares."

"How tame." Rory accepted the requisition orders which he had to type up anyway, they would easily wait until his wake-up at six tomorrow morning. It wasn't the first time that a visiting official had fired off the PACs at the returning Bombers, but this time was the first time there hadn't been a casualty as a result. The danger however was willingly taken by the pilots since the PACs had also disposed of a couple of Bombers who had tried to dispose of the runway.

Rory glanced one final time at his watch before meticulously closing his files and the office. It was Rory's night off and he was quite determined that nothing would disturb it ... or at least not until he'd had his pie and beer. Tomorrow he had little doubt but that all hell would break loose, but tonight was his night, and even though everyone knew there was yet another supply problem they would keep their mouths shut until nine o'clock tomorrow. Rory picked up his hat and carefully placed it on his head before going to retrieve his bicycle, a wonderfully unreliable machine which no one would even contemplate borrowing.

* Winston S. Churchill in a radio broadcast Dec. 31st 1941

** Parachute and Cable, a device initially designed by the RAF for Airfield Defence before being adapted for Naval use by DMWD. It consisted of a rocket which trailed a long wire and parachute on deployment, providing the equivalent of a balloon barrage at an airfield under attack. It was one of the simplest and most deadly weapons developed for defence against aircraft. So simple the German's denied its existence for months.

Part 17

Posted on Tuesday, 14 October 2003

January 3rd 1941 - Little Gaddesden, England

Sometimes the unlikely works well.

Lucille Fouchiard gently stroked the soft lace which lay on the cutting table. This was the last lace in the shop and Lucille had been saving for months, desperately racing to purchase the lace before it became too small. Lucille had only to close her eyes and she could see this lace as the dress it should be. This lace would be no fashionable ensemble, it was going to be a wedding dress which would bring out all that was wonderful in the wearer. It would accentuate the grace and fineness of form, drawing out the lines and elegance. It would give confidence to the wearer, a confidence which would be needed. Lucille ran her fingers over the lace once more before abruptly stumbling backwards onto her chair and burying her face in her hands.

The hand came almost before the tears did, gentle and yet imperative, pulling her towards the small couch out in the main shop. From anyone else Lucille would have torn herself free and fled so she could enjoy her grief by herself, angry that anyone dare presume she needed comfort or help. But the man who owned that hand was not just anybody and Lucille never felt embarrassed or angry if she cried in his presence. Neither did she feel his actions to be presumptive, even when he pushed her around without first obtaining her permission. The hand had easily settled her before an imperative little motion pulled her in against his shoulder, and Lucille resettled, her hands dropping from her face as she buried it in the rough serge of his tunic.

Lucille knew he had been there, though tonight she had not heard his arrival. His comings and goings were always quiet and vague. It was rarely that Lucille heard either arrival or departure, he just appeared and then disappeared, with no rhyme or apparent reason behind his actions, beyond the fact that he only ever appeared when Lucille was alone and working late ... something which had become almost common in the past month. Sometimes entire visits passed without a word being spoken by either party. Usually Lucille talked with the odd laugh or grunt from him, occasionally he spoke himself. Lucille liked his laugh and she had to admit that she quite often talked with the deliberate intention of making him laugh. But tonight was not a night for laughter, for either of them, and through her own sorrow Lucille could feel the tension in him.

They sat there in silence for many minutes, Lucille could feel his chin resting on the top of her head and the warmth of his arm across her back, it was infinitely comforting that silence.

"I forgot to blow the lamp out." The quiet remark caught Lucille by surprise and a giggle abruptly bubbled out of her. It was one of those infectious little giggles which just grow and spread. Lucille's giggles were soon joined by his soft chuckle. It was several minutes before the laughter stopped. "Very true, it was not at all an appropriate remark to make." He gave a small sigh which ended with another soft chuckle.

"Nice though ... I like laughing." Lucille finally removed her face from his shoulder and settled more comfortably for both of them.

"Another officious upstart came and breathed hot love down your collar?"

"It was just Allan, he's received call-up in the Army and he wanted me to marry him before he left." Lucille closed her eyes as the tears stung behind them. "He knows he doesn't love me, but he wants to be married before he goes."

"He's an idiot." The remark was calm. "Don't worry about him, he'll find a girl at his first posting and at his second posting ... and they'll give him things which he'll probably remember all his life. Allan's going to meet the world and without insult to you he will be thankful you said no within two weeks of arriving."

"I might have been offended had I wanted to be a military wife ... but I don't."

"That rather sinks me doesn't it." The response came with another soft chuckle and Lucille pushed her fist against him before sighing and pulling his arm a bit further around her.

"I'm worried about Annie." Lucille stirred several minutes later. "She's barely writing any more ... I think she's having trouble."

"You said she's met James Darcy and she's working for the infamous Ashie ... with her clearly professed opinions it should be taken for granted that she is having trouble."

"No, it's not Rory this time, I think it's Annette who's having problems with herself. I don't think ... I..." Lucille stopped and shifted uncomfortably. "I think she's heading headlong for serious trouble which could hurt her badly. I don't want her to be hurt but..."

"You think her trouble involves Darcy?" The lift in his eyebrows was audible. "That could be messy. Very, very, messy."

"Well ... I don't think Mr. Darcy is actually part of it, though it does involve him. Annie reads a lot and correspondingly has theories. Though thankfully they are not theories like Patrice has theories. Rory is one of Annie's theories because he is exactly the sort of man she feels she ought to marry. They will never marry, for which I am thankful, for Rory is never going to have the courage to come up to scratch and actually set the date and Annie won't ask him for it wouldn't be right."

"She doesn't strike me as having such antiquated notions."

"Her notions of courtship and the rest are antiquated, but Annie isn't at all antiquated. Annie won't propose to Rory because while she holds her rather antiquated ideas it isn't proper for her to propose ... and if she gets rid of the antiquated notions she's going to give him the boot in no time flat." Lucille gave a giggle as accompaniment to his soft chuckle. "Nasty thing to say I know but it is true. Now Annie's out in what you care to call the world and I think some of her theories are being shaken loose, particularly her theories about people and relationships. With Annie-Bug and Ashie and a few others she's discovered that the face shown to the world is not necessarily the person. She's also met people who do fit her theories ... but then there's James Darcy and I don't know what happened there but she really, really dislikes him. I asked Jeroen about it when he was home and he admitted that Mr. Darcy seems to have discovered exactly how to infuriate Annie. It seems that when she was visiting him while Jeroen was getting well it was just a series of arguments and debates which usually ended in a draw over some immense tome or other in the Darcy Library ... which sounds like a room Annie would love to have free run of. But Jeroen and I both had noted one thing and that is that for all her dislike of Mr. Darcy she trusts him implicitly. She's curious as about him, curious as, prejudiced against and irritated by him ... but if he tells her that such and so is none of her concern she backs off and drops it without complaint, wonder or argument. I mean it's not that she's not fighting or strong or anything ... she's certainly not afraid of him, but she trusts him that if he says something is none of her business, then it is none of her business. I think it is best to say that she trusts him and respects his intelligence ... what worries me is that I think she might have fallen in love with him and it's really going to hurt her if she ever realises that."

"Jim will never fit one of her theories, so I should think that in itself will be a rough enough lesson. Otherwise I would be more worried if the press or a 'friend' of Mr. Darcy gets hold of that thought. Mr. Darcy can control what is printed about himself, but not about anyone else ... and he has many 'friends' who are ruthless, ambitious and would sell their souls to the Devil if it got them even the smallest sniff of his wealth and power."

"You seem confident that Mr. Darcy himself is not a worry." Lucille twisted slightly and looked up.

"He isn't. If Jim has one weakness it is the fact that he will betray no one to the press for any reason. I have evidence of my own for this for I am banished from Darcy property for the rest of his life. Jim and I had a ... difference of opinion a couple of months back. If Jim wanted he could have forced me out of the RAF and out of any possible life in England. Instead I am merely banished from Darcy Property and it will be a leery bird indeed who ever notices that Jim and I are never seen even near each other. I could get any job I wanted and Jim will not say a word. Annie could do anything she liked and the only reason the press might get hold of it is if she is indiscreet. James Darcy will never be a danger to your sister ... except a danger to her peace of mind."

"I have just realised it bad of me to speak so of Annie ... I trust you much the same as she trusts Mr. Darcy, because it does not occur to me to doubt your judgement. However I would still like to meet him to form my own opinions, for if I believed all that you and Candy and Jeroen and Annie say I would be very confused ... particularly if I paid any attention to Annie's grumbles and complaints."

"I have every certainty that you will meet him ... someday, for he made me a promise years ago which will easily outweigh my banishment. That is one other thing you may be confident of, Jim will never break a promise unless it is humanly impossible to keep it ... he's certainly kept a couple most would consider humanly impossible to keep."

"I think I had better put my lace away and prepare to leave." Lucille straightened and returned to the back room where her lace still lay. "So pretty." Lucille gently touched the lace, aware that she had not been followed into the back room. Lucille carefully put the lace away and said a silent prayer for Brian's safety before she blew out the lamp and headed for the Lodge. With Brian she could be serious and sensible, but everywhere else she was just flighty Lucille Fouchiard and it was an anomaly she did not care to consider, for when it might be considered she had other things to think about.

January 17th 1941 - London, England

Not all puzzles have an obvious first piece.

"NEDDIE!" Ashie came stalking from his inner office, expression utterly outraged as he waved an immense file in the air. "How did this abomination get even near my inbox? You are failing abysmally in your sworn duty to protect me from the nasty world!"

"Having not seen it myself you'll have to let me see it before I confirm or deny that particular accusation." Annette rolled her eyes as she extended a hand for the file.

"See it with my blessing ... you may even burn it with my blessing ... in fact I think you should ... maybe I will!" Ashie turned and Annette left her desk at high-speed and just managed to prevent the file from going into the fire.

"Go away." Annette handed Ashie the thin file she had carefully lost in her manuscripts for most of the morning. "That came up from downstairs and apparently it is some petition or other."

"Ah." Ashie glanced at the file for precisely five seconds before throwing it into the fire. "Barnaby wants me fired again."

"Shall I send him your 'gentle' reminder of why you should be left to 'work' in peace?"

"No, send him a bottle of the Noyeau."

"..." Annette carefully closed her mouth before looking sharply at Ashie. "What is wrong with that Noyeau?"

"Not a thing beyond being rather old. My father had it laid down back in '86." Ashie gave an evil little grin. "Oh, and the fact that if not shaken the first glass will contain a lethal dose of hydrocyanic acid."

"Hydro-what?"

"Bitter almond essence was used to improve that wine and it separates over time ... cyanide is the more common name, favoured substance of poisoners and what-nots." Ashie vanished back into his office leaving Annette to inspect the offending file.

Ruislip Running Sheds Conversion

Formerly Ministry of Supply, housing Underground Carriages for the London Passenger Transport Board, cleared as of October 1940 in favour of the Admiralty claim for DAS and Oerlikon Production factory.

"Ashie!" It took just that one sentence for Annette to know that this file was not meant to be near her desk ... it probably wasn't even meant to be near anyone's desk.

"What?" Ashie emerged with a dark scowl on his face. "I'm getting chewed out by Jim, if you don't mind."

"This file isn't meant to be on my desk."

"I don't care, the first sentence is far too long and the entire file is unreadable. Give me the usual page summary."

"I'll see what I can do." Annette shook her head as Ashie retreated then picked up her pen.

Ruislip Running Shed Conversion,
Given to the Admiralty as a factory for Oerlikon production by the Ministry of Supply September 1940.

Annette eyed her new version of the sentence which still took up a line and with a sigh wrote it again.

Ruislip Sheds given to Adm. for Oerlikon Factory by MoS, Sep. 1940

Down to half a line and no other contractions or abbreviations she could really thing of. Annette turned back to the file her pencil resting on the pad so she might note any relevant sentences which should be condensed and added to the summary.

Oerlikon Barrels through Kendall at Grantham, Lord Beaverbrook paying for labour, though MAP steel not utilised. Trouble at Ruislip over machining of Barrels. Shadow factories???

Annette frowned, for the Shadow Factories remark had been underlined, circled and highlighted in almost every imaginable way. She had in fact written the words down without really reading them they were so heavily attentioned. What was so interesting about the shadow factories? Ruislip was uncomfortably close to London, there would have to be Shadow Factories in case the place got bombed ... which it hadn't yet. Annette deserted her reading and flipped into the file. There were two Ruislip reports and a couple of staff assessments, Communist problems had abounded by the looks but been settled and dealt with before any real damage occurred. The rest of the file was concerned with an absolutely immense correspondence which concerned the possible placement of shadow factories.

Projected production, first gun built and tested by Feb. 1941. Com. C. Goodeve.
Labour assessments, Communist issues and construction barrels.

Letters concerning placement of shadow factories. Thirteen letters written in red explaining very precisely why Darcy Neutrality prevents use of thirteen possible places, no explanation why Darcy Neutrality exists. One hundred and fifty-two letters hammering out problems and conflicts and general occurrences behind determining placement of shadow factories and staffing of them ... I do not think this file was meant to be seen by me.

Annette pondered the file briefly before she closed it and carefully placed her very large French dictionary on top of it. Annette then picked up her pen and began transcribing her notes into a formal summary. Whether Ashie wanted it or not that file was returning with the Summary, Annette had no intention of remaining responsible for a file like that for a second more than was necessary.

"Were you aware that thirteen thousand civillians have died in London alone since August?" Jeroen was flipping through a rather immense ledger when Annette came into the flat, ink and a bored expression on his face.

"You got those figures from where?" Annette settled in a nearby chair with a sigh of relief and eyed Jeroen warily.

"Oh, just heard it mentioned and I find it funny because it is just a number ... too big to attach emotion to it I think." Jeroen pushed the ledger aside and sighed wearily before ginning. "I think Eoan is hungry."

"Wha..." Annette twisted to see Eoan patiently seated next to the kitchen door. "Hideous dog, not yet."

"I'll swear that dog does comprehend speech." Jeroen spoke as Eoan settled down with a huff behind the couch.

"What are all those ledgers for?" Annette frowned at the immense pile which rested beside Jeroen's seat.

"These are not half of it." Jeroen gave a chuckle. "James Darcy swung by to see me this morning, apparently his accountant stopped a bomb and so is in no position to ensure the audit goes in for tax purposes ... so I have the great joy of auditing the Darcy Estates and Holdings in the Northern Hemisphere." Jeroen waved a distracted hand at the mountain of ledgers. "Fortunately someone else is doing the Southern Hemisphere Estates and Holdings, there's hardly a pie he doesn't have at least a finger in and his correspondence is absolutely immense. To audit the Darcy Estate is a very good way to learn a lot about being rich. The ledgers in the kitchen are apparently from the last couple of years since there are a couple of devaluating items to be found which need calculating ... sorry, but I couldn't think of anywhere else to put them without making this place look cluttered."

"No problem." Annette hunched a little lower in her seat. "Why does James Darcy refuse to allow property he holds be used unless it is taken by force? It seems to waste so much time and cause so much trouble."

"He undoubtedly has his reasons and all undoubtedly lead back to his neutrality."

"Well he's an idiot because he isn't a neutral, he's a British citizen and correspondingly at war since his government went."

"I think he actually holds himself to be a multi-national, he certainly holds citizenship in a couple of countries not in the Commonwealth and has had some wonderful fights to retain all those citizenships. I think he's currently claiming to be Swiss and accordingly neutral ... but I could be wrong."

"Oh, so he's Swiss is he? Why hasn't that reached the papers yet?"

"Too depressing by half, Public would not like to hear that the General's son has renounced his English citizenship because his Swiss neutrality was breached ... either that or because he's told them not to print it." Jeroen pulled the ledger he had discarded back and frowned at it. "Jim's got censorship of the press which would make Hitler green with envy. Correction, he has the censorship but it only pertains to his own person as they're tired of him successfully suing them for libel."

"Well I think it's a flagrant abuse of power ... can I do anything to help?"

"Sure." Jeroen used his foot to push two ledgers and a file across to Annette. "Check the numbers in the ledgers match the numbers in that file."

"Ooh, exciting."

"It will get you the next two weeks of rent paid so don't grumble."

"Why is he paying that much?" Annette looked up sharply.

"Because he wants it done fast and wants the auditors to forget it afterwards ... that costs money and he's got more than enough of it." Jeroen stirred his tea with his pen before swearing softly and throwing his teaspoon across the room. "That is the third time I've tried to write with a teaspoon dipped in tea ... take it from me Button, it doesn't work at all well."

"Shall I get you a lemon?"

"No thank you." Jeroen gave an appreciative grin at the reminder of pranks played with the greatest success on gullible little sisters. "Ugh!"

"What is the problem?"

"Five thousand pounds. Once a month for the whole of the past financial year five thousand pounds has gone missing ... that's sixty thousand pounds I can't account for in the basic bank account and though they are recorded debits there is no explanation."

"Call Ashie." Annette bent back over her calculations.

"Is his number near the telephone?"

"On the sheet next to the telephone."

"Thanks." Jeroen left his seat, returning five minutes later with a perplexed frown. "Ashie's on his way over with Caroline, Mac and Jim."

"Please don't tell me Octo is coming." Annette was on her feet for Eoan and Octo did not even tolerate each other's society.

"Fear not, jelly-kneed Sis, James Darcy does not tolerate dog-fights in his vicinity." Jeroen gave a chuckle. "Caroline comes to take you and Eoan away to a feast at her current hideaway ... I wish you joy."

"She terrifies me." Annette subsided with a sigh. "Why are they all turning up? Surely they can just tell you."

"Well they can't." Jeroen shook his head with a chuckle. "My enquiry caused a raging dispute which was still going when I hung up. Ashie reckons Jim's being blackmailed and Jim denies it and Pyro is casting stacks of nasty aspersions to keep things burning nicely while Mac suggests things which Jim is highly unlikely to purchase."

"What? Corsets?"

"Umm." Jeroen studied his ledger with intent fascination.

"Well I'll refrain from enquiring further ... but how can he lose five thousand pounds a month and not know it?"

"Those two ledgers you have are Pemberley. There are fifteen other ledgers dealing with Darcy properties in England alone ... when you've read those numbers you might know why he can lose five thousand a month and not recall precisely where it went. He hasn't lost it, it's just in four possible regions and he needs to see the ledgers to jog his memory of when to think."

"Great." Annette frowned somewhat pensively. "I need to change."

"Not too dressy Button, I have it on Jim's authority that it's not a dressy feast ... in fact he advised slacks and a jumper or you'd be over-dressed and ostentatious."

"He is a tiresome and obnoxious man." Annette stalked to her bedroom and slammed the door after herself. Jeroen was none too surprised to note that Annette was wearing black slacks with an emerald jumper when she returned, her hair pulled simply black and a pair of sensible black shoes on her feet.

"Nice." Jeroen scribbled another note before slamming his ledger with a satisfied bang and grabbing for the next one. "Written to Rory recently?"

"Umm." Annette studied her shoes intently.

"Mackle?"

"Yes." Annette looked up with a frown. "You trying to say something?"

"Not trying to say anything, but Brian was muttering about a lack of mail for Rory the other day and it's not much of a way to treat a fellow you seem to want to marry."

"He hasn't responded to my last letter and I'm busy."

"Relax, Button, it wasn't a criticism ... just curiosity on my part."

"I'll write tomorrow." Annette responded shortly, rising in response to a firm pounding on the front door and when she opened it she was relieved to see that the crowd was obviously arriving in shifts, for only Ashie and Caroline stood outside.

"Jim brings the rest as well as supplies." Ashie shrugged out of a decidedly decrepit blazer which would have embarrassed a tramp before grabbing the ledger Jeroen was holding up and dropping onto the floor next to the fire, his flannel cricketing whites were not white at all and would have caused an uproar if he had gone near a cricket field. "Caroline, I need her in the office by eight to deal with a horrible Admiral so do go to bed before two."

"The worst is that he is quite serious." Caroline settled into the driver's seat having settled Eoan in the back. "Doesn't occur to him that the rest of the world actually does retire before two as a rule."

"What ... why was he in such an ancient blazer?"

"Ah, private business I'm afraid ... they were playing cricket when the call came through and I'm afraid that cricket which doesn't occur on an official pitch has about as many similarities to cricket as their chess has to real chess."

"Does the mighty James Darcy deign to play Tip-and-Run?"

"Certainly not." Caroline gave a sniff. "Far too simple and boring, they play tippity-non-stop-autowick style cricket."

"Uh." Annette blinked.

"Tippity is just the usual tip and run, you touch the ball and you've got to run regardless of where it goes. Non-stop ... if the bowler has the ball he can bowl without regard for whether the batsman is in the crease and ready or not. Autowick, or automatic wicketkeeper means that if the ball goes behind on the full it is caught, regardless of where behind it is and how high above the ground it is ... can lead to very acrimonious debates. I've no doubt that Jeroen can fill you in since he has undoubtedly played all styles while he was at school ... I will admit that my education on the subject is somewhat sketchy and mostly acquired from risking to ask what they're babbling about."

"It's dark." Annette cast a speaking glance at the surrounding darkness.

"That would never stop these people from playing cricket, you just soak the ball in a rather interesting solution with some very bad habits, leave it under a bright light for a couple of minutes and the dark is no longer an issue. Dose the wickets, the crease and the shirt in the same solution and all problems are solved ... and the blackout law isn't harmed unless the Bombers are flying at about five feet to begin with. If you had actually turned off your hall light as you're meant to you would probably have got a nasty shock when you opened the door."

"Ah." Annette settled again. "But why were they playing?"

"Bored." Caroline responded calmly as she eased the car quickly against the curb and killed the lights as the Air Raid Sirens wailed their warnings. "I'll start again when my eyes have adjusted ... either that or we'll be heading for cover because they've got too close. I hope you don't mind the floor too much, I've yet to buy more than a couple of armchairs and kitchen equipment, I've borrowed a mountain of blankets and such-like so you will be comfortable."

"Sounds fine. Where are we going?"

"Hampstead is our current lurking ground when on leave ... this weekend just happened to forgather everyone but Annie-Bug who went to pay a visit to her grandmother and so cricket occured. We have some hopes of getting a bit of time before we lose this house as well. I hear by the grapevine that some General or other has been petitioning for you to be sent to SOE Cairo."

"Not likely to accept anytime soon, Ashie says he can ensure I don't get nabbed unless I want to go."

"Rare change, Macey has been tearing her hair trying to get to Africa ... but then Macey really is useless at anything except looking nice ... which I will admit she is good at." Caroline finally turned the engine on as it was clear that the Bombers were keeping to the east and the docks and crept out and along the road.

January 21st 1941 - Uxbridge, England

Even excitement can become mundane if sufficiently long-lasting.

"Supply bust up with his London girl?" Mitre dropped into the chair opposite Brian and bit his sandwich tiredly.

"Not that I know of." Brian frowned at the map on his knees, not really attending to what had been said. "Why?"

"Saw him with some bit of golden fluff in civvies and wondered if you'd heard anything."

"Not a scrap ... but maybe there has been a scrap, Supply has been a bit short with us of late." Brian finally looked away from his map. "They're not going to waste us on Berlin again are they?"

"I hope not." Mitre gave a disgusted grunt, the squadron had suffered some heavy losses recently while attempting to punch through to Berlin.

"Guess we'll just have to wait and hope." Brian turfed his map aside and leant back. "What's this I hear of inter-squadron cricket?"

"Nothing." Mitre gave a grin. "But it came down from upstairs that Matlock is donating two thousand pounds to the war effort for every time his team is defeated ... he's also donating a thousand pounds if they win."

"Well we win either way." Brian settled his boots on a nearby chair. "James Darcy better not be on that team."

"Negative." Mitre gave another grin. "Your dreaded pal continues to keep the world at a distance ... also known as no one has any idea where he's vanished to, or when he's returning. The boys reckon he's involved in the intelligence corps."

"I can certainly see him there." Brian snorted shortly. "Definitely, his Royal Highness creeping along with a blackened face and notebook as he counts tanks."

"Well, when you put it like that it does seem a trifle unlikely." Mitre shook his head slowly, the neatly precise and well-noted figure of James Darcy certainly did not lend itself to any thought like that. In fact the man really seemed to fit nowhere except for where he was, ex-cricketer, estate holder and social figure-head. "What happened? If it's not too rude to ask."

"Nothing, we just had another fight about his politics and future intentions ... he then threw me out of his house with a warning never to be seen on Darcy property and swore I would never be Steward of Pemberley ... a position his father had promised me."

"Nothing written?"

"Precisely, nothing written." Brian gave a twisted smile. "So who's on the Matlock Team?"

"The usual crowd that get in the news for flattening school teams and having a decent tussle with the County chaps ... well, the usual lot minus James Darcy." Mitre frowned. "They've requested you fill in as a fourth bat when they come here."

"Pity, does the Service win this fight?"

"No way we're giving our Captain to Matlock's team." Mitre bared his teeth slightly. "They can have Supply unless he stops being unbearable."

"He does seem to have deteriorated of late." Brian shook his head again before rising. "Well, best be moving, Sir, need to test the new guns."

"Good luck ... and maybe that will teach you to have both turrets destroyed without losing your gunners."

"I'll attempt to save the turrets next time." Brian headed out into the sunshine towards the hanger where his Wimpy was finally in a whole condition again.

Continued In Next Section