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Part 18

Posted on Tuesday, 11 November 2003

February 2nd 1941 - Deraux, Cambridgeshire

I threaten to throw him out the window because he is my friend. - Devil's Cub, Georgette Heyer

Wing-Commander Lord James Ashington-Frankston was in an unbelievably bad mood as he rolled the Gull through slow barrel-rolls. Outside the weather was cloudy, but in Ashie's head it was unquestionably a thunderstorm for his mind was definitely not on his flying and only good luck prevented him from flying clean through the tree he was circling as he rolled. The branch at his wing-tip dissolved into a cloud of splinters and Ashie's mind snapped elastically into focus as he dove, rolled and climbed away from the tree and into clear air. Even twenty years and a very bad mood could not dull the instinctive response to find clear air when attacked.

"Thought that might wake you up." James Darcy's dry tone crackled over the radio just as Ashie located the Hurricane which had disturbed him.

"You might have just called." Ashie rolled again before abruptly putting his nose down.

"I did ... you ignored me."

"Important?" Ashie straightened before landing carefully.

"No." The Hurricane put down neatly behind Ashie and slid its hatch back. "I left Annie-Bug in London and felt like doing a little flying."

"I've got some new night gear to test ... want to help."

"Oh definitely, but I advise continuing this inside. Over and Out."

"Roger, over and out." Ashie snapped off his radio, his expression almost blind as he watched the dark head ease out of the Hurricane cockpit.

"You going to spend all day dreaming in that cockpit?" It was several minutes later when James pulled the door open and looked in curiously.

"I'm not dreaming." Ashie tapped his controls before jerking his head sharply. "Get in, we can do the night gear tests later."

"I thought you were flying a bit off-colour." James hesitated momentarily before hauling himself into the co-pilot's seat.

"I'm not off-colour." Ashie throttled his port engines up while throttling his starboard engines back and wrenched the Gull around.

"Sorry. I noticed you were in a bloody foul mood before I even attempted to catch your attention and decided I'd risk being eaten anyway. What's up?"

"Nothing." Ashie jabbed his pitch to fine before throttling up both engines and engaging the engines. With a savage snarl the Gull took to the air and headed north.

"Yes ... I see ... and Annette Fouchiard agreed to marry me." James shook his head. "Spit it out Ashie, what have I done?"

"Nothing." Ashie slammed the Gull through a stomach wrenching series of rolls.

"Ah." James gave a brief nod before studying Ashie's fixed expression. "Not good." James shook his head and closed his right eye before studying Ashie again. "Just when did you stumble across that?"

"When I stumbled across Lila buttering up Rory Halifax ... he's a weak man, and correspondingly dangerous. Why didn't you tell us?"

"Why should I have? There was nothing you could have done."

"You're still not telling."

"Why should I? You know."

"You're an idiot."

"You've been telling me that for years ... but I'll try to remember." James stared out the windscreen for several long minutes. "Where was Lila buttering up to Rory?"

"Tea-house in Uxbridge."

"Odd for it to have got past Brian."

"I don't think he's realised it's Lila otherwise he would have kicked a fit ... as it is it seems that he's fallen out of Supply's favour because he did say that he thought such an activity was not ... nice."

"I'd break his bloody neck." James frowned at the darkening ground below.

"It might be real." Ashie grinned at the look James gave in response. "Faithless sod, that you are."

"Sorry, I forgot that true love overcomes all barriers." James responded with sardonic dryness before looking out once more. "You do realise that we're going to land in the dark don't you?"

"We're going to try to land in the dark ... no promises, this kit is not the best I've run across I will admit." Ashie looked singularly undisturbed as he pulled the Gull into a steep climb. "Or to term it, we will of course land in the dark ... we might just fail to arrive in one piece."

"Caroline wants her cucumber frame replaced ... she seems to be labouring under the misapprehension that we broke it playing cricket the other day."

"Tell Pyro, he's the one who sat on it."

"I have and he told me to tell Mac as it was Octo who forced him to sit down with such force. Mac told me to tell you since you hit the ball which caused Octo to run."

"I tell you to tell yourself since you bowled the ball which caused all the fuss."

"I'll tell Caroline then since she is the one who told us to stop playing four hand chess and started the cricket game at all." James gave a soft chuckle. "However we will have to replace that chair."

"Not a problem ... can you get something extra to send with the chair?"

"I'll see what I can find next week."

"Good ... you should probably send the bill for the cucumber frame to Goering ... after all we wouldn't have been bored if that air raid hadn't come."

"Ah, but Goering wouldn't have sent the planes if Hitler hadn't told him to pound us ... there is a church ahead."

"How true." Ashie hastily avoided the steeple James had pointed out before resuming flying, his attention on the controls, not out the window. "I suspect that Caroline will not believe us that the demise of her Cucumber Frame is all Hitler's fault ... can we find someone a bit closer to home to blame ... this altimeter is a liability." Ashie lifted his attention to the windscreen and sent the gull climbing. "It's out by yards and that is not good."

"This one is also bad ... but not yards bad, just a foot or two." James gave a slight grin in the blue-light of the cockpit. "No, our closest base is Caroline ... I do not think she will appreciate being told that the Cucumber Frame is her fault ... try Hitler, we can compile the evidence in favour of the charge tonight."

"Good-oh." Ashie had his attention flicking back and forth between the controls and the windscreen so James settled back and stared silently at the blue-light overhead. Deraux airfield had no lights, and with the dodgy instruments Ashie was testing it was just as likely he'd fly straight into the ground attempting to actually bring his wheels into contact with the ground. Pyro had pancaked* from forty feet only the previous week after deeming it too dark to find the ground safely. James himself had made many a pancake night landing at Deraux and also at Pemberley. Twice he had flown into the ground, and times beyond count he had come into land with his wheels feet above the ground. But Ashie had yet to pancake anywhere, regardless of whether he had lights or not, it was a secret which Ashie guarded well, though James was pretty certain that Pyro knew how to work the trick.

It was a smooth jolt which drew James' attention away from the blue light and he grinned at the sight of Deraux Castle racing towards them as Ashie fish-tailed slightly to dispose of speed from a rather quick landing. By Ashie's standards it had been a rough landing, but all things considered the evening would be untroubled by the previous fit of bad temper exacerbated by a bad landing.

"What a Charlie!" Ashie taxied the Gull into an old stable and started ripping the control panel out almost before he had stopped. "Jim I want you to express yourself to the Beaver** in terms of great clarity about how useless this trash is."

"More likely to kill then save a fog-bound pilot ... liability ... Italian trash ... such-like remarks?"

"Thank you. The Beaver seems to have fallen in love with this garbage and Park*** asked me to disabuse his mind."

"I would have thought it wouldn't have got through official testing."

"It didn't get official testing, Beaver's intent on building them because some pal of his designed it and it looks good ... write it in red ink and chuck all the emergency and urgent points on it you can."

"Shall I also include the low flying warnings which you'll find with your bacon tomorrow?"

"Include them ... but they won't be found with my bacon." Ashie handed James a length of wiring and some greasy object of unidentifiable nature and use. "I'll also give you the record from the ruddy altimeter." Ashie abstracted the better part of a mile of wiring and chucked it over his shoulder with a disgusted look. "Waste of space, this circuit could be wired up much more easily and shouldn't use electronics at all."

"Pyro was asking if you'd be free for Cricket in the next couple of months?"

"Not a chance, this bloody bomb-aimer is promising to be a sod."

"I'll pass that on and see you when I get back."

"Get back from where?" Ashie twisted sharply away from the control panel and frowned at James.

"If I don't tell you can't get in trouble for not stopping me." James gave a grin before handing Ashie wire cutters.

"That reassures me that it's stupid and I don't want to know ... also reassures me that I need to find another pilot."

"Use Neddie." James yawned. "I need to get up to Pemberley ... but I'll send something down before I lose the press again."

"Wilco." Ashie took back the wiring and the greasy object he had handed James. "Remember to send me a copy of that letter and send the brief to Caroline on why we shouldn't have to pay for the frame ... she'll probably be sufficiently relieved if you return alive that she'll not eat you alive."

"An encouraging thought ... Annie-Bug will visit in the next bit but I've no idea how quick or slow I'll be."

"You go alone?"

"No, Daoud will come."

"I'll try to find out what's going on in Uxbridge."

"Don't bother ... just ignore it unless ... just ignore it."

"Wilco." Ashie gave a brief nod before watching in silence as James returned to his Hurricane and took off into the dark night. "What are you up to?" Ashie returned to cleaning out the offending instruments with a vigour which would have scarified the inventor's soul. "What are you up to ... and what's more, why?" Ashie knew some of what was going on, but it was a very small part and made little sense against the overall picture.

* Pancake (or pancaked) Landing: when an aircraft is pulled into a low speed stall and permitted to slide tail-first into the ground. Often used for an emergency landing in a confined area as the space need be no larger than the aeroplane itself to effect this type of landing. Pancakes reduce the likelihood of pilot injury though the plane is usually totally wrecked.

**The Beaver, more formally Lord Beaverbrook in charge of the Ministry of Aircraft Production (MAP)

*** Air-Marshall Keith Park, a New Zealander and head of Fighter Command in 11 Group.

February 10th 1941 - Sherkwald, Germany

"Appearance can be deceiving, my dear." - The Scarlet Pimpernel, Baroness Orczy

Heinrich watched in silence as the laughing group laboured past in the snow below his eyrie, oblivious to his presence up there. Wandervögel, a youth group of which he was becoming quite familiar with the members. Emil, the Leader and seventeen with a powerful father and many secrets. Emil would be fighting this time next year ... probably already dead. Hilde, who looked like a wood elf, but was as ambitious, vicious and malicious as the legendary Agrippina. Hilde was beautiful and she knew it. Hilde wielded her beauty as a weapon with great success and finesse. Next came Walter, seventeen as well and heading to war next month. Rikard and Paul were twins and sixteen. Marie, the laughing, sweet-voiced Marie who was no Hilde and by far the nicest member of the group. Marie was the 'Little Sister' of the group ... but next month she would be working in a Hospital. Karl would undoubtedly be the leader if this group returned next year with replacements, but for now he was a sullen face at the back and a dissenting voice. Eduard of the consumptive habit had returned home, his place taken by two strangers. One of the strangers was well past conscription age, his inactive status easily explained by a missing leg, and his silence easily interpreted for he was dark of hair and darkly tanned by the sun, this was no idle youth, but a highly experienced and travelled man. The other stranger was even darker, his hair blue-black in sheen and curling, his skin olive ... an Arab if Heinrich had ever seen one, and an Arab in western attire speaking very bad German at that.

Heinrich watched and lay in the snow until the group had passed from earshot, he then rose and brushed himself off before heading slowly back towards the small and long forgotten cabin he had been haunting for the past few months. Heinrich had been discharged from active service within two days of his having spoken to Ignatz, and now he lived a nomad existence in the foothills ... tolerated, but ignored unless someone became lost.

Heinrich carefully shook the snow from his coat and boots as he stood on the doorstep of the hut. From Walter and long summers trekking through the forests and foothills of Bavaria Heinrich had learnt much ... but anyone would have realised that there were visitors in the hut, and Heinrich hadn't quite decided whether to enter or not.

"Do enter, damnably cold out tonight." The door had swung open just before these friendly and English words were spoken and Heinrich just stared at the man who leant against the door, it was the one-legged stranger who had been with the Wandervögels and he was certainly not a stranger.

"James!"

"As you see. Do come in."

"You're speaking English."

"So are you ... though admittedly not as well as you have."

"Blast it all man, this is Bavaria!"

"Oh ... I thought it was Hawaii."

"Oh shut up!" Heinrich finally stepped through the door and slammed it shut before hanging his coat on a hook. "What brings you here?"

"I couldn't find you last year." James had settled on the foot of Heinrich's bed and rested his elbow on his knee. "Decided to take a punt and hope you'd come here."

"You never take punts." Heinrich was more than a little distracted as he stared at the other man who stood by the window ... it was at the Arab.

"Meet Daoud." James waved his free hand before using it to smother a yawn. "Terribly sorry but snow is tiring."

"Snow is tiring for anyone, James." Heinrich turned back to stare at the thin, hatchet face which he had not seen in five years. Heinrich's mind compared the reality with the memory and sick fear welled up in his stomach for he had never seen someone so changed in his life. There had been almost no visible similarities between the father and son before, Jim sharing more with his godfather than his father when it came to appearance and giving much food to the scandals which still made regular appearances. Before the only similarities had been in the mind, but now it was almost like seeing a ghost, a thinner, more hatchet-featured ghost, but a ghost none the less. It was the eyes that got Heinrich the most, those pale grey eyes which had no right being in the face of a twenty-two year-old man. Those grey eyes had seen too much, endured too much and sought too much to be in such a young body. Could a man who had changed so drastically in such a short space of time be trusted to continue sound judgement? "I cannot think of anyone who would even attempt to travel through it on crutches." Heinrich frowned as ancient memory pinged in the back of his mind. "Have you really lost that leg, or is it folded underneath you again?"

"Lost it." James was clearly disinterested in his absent limb. "Tuberculosis? Berlin seem to think your case serious ... it doesn't look bad."

"It is only bad when I leave these mountains ... my medicals are in Berlin and I cannot afford to catch the train."

"Ah." James gave a profound nod before shaking his head gently. "I'm sorry about Walter ... I hope you are otherwise well."

"I am all well now ... which is more than you can say." Heinrich gave a smile. "You look very ill."

"Just tired." James rubbed his head. "I'm probably sheet white under this paint and Caroline would be shaking her head if she could see me. But such is life, I was a trifle concerned you might be in trouble."

"No ... but I would like to get into trouble." Heinrich spoke calmly, realising abruptly that old eyes or not, James was still the boy he had known and if any man could help him it was the man sitting on the foot of his bed.

"What sort of trouble?"

"Trouble which will guarantee my death while still helping Germany."

"Tricky." James scratched the tip of one ear thoughtfully. "Very, very tricky."

"You expect me to believe that you can't arrange it?"

"Wish ... not expect." James rubbed his head before yawning again. "Do you know what the Nazis wanted from you?"

"From my father they wanted a map of all the Darcy lands in Europe ... I assume they wanted the same from me."

"No." James shook his head, his expression rather grim. "They'd got their map ... that's why your father was allowed to die."

"They got their map?"

"Well ... " James hesitated before giving a small grin. "They got a slightly amended map ... this place and a few others are not mentioned."

"You gave them that information?" Heinrich was becoming progressively more unhappy.

"Do you think Walter wanted to live?"

"He couldn't live after what those ... " Heinrich choked before staring down at the floor, even now he felt more than ill when he thought of his father's last few weeks of life.

"They would not have let him die until they got that information ... and unfortunately we could not risk them suspecting that the information was ... edited." James paused. "We made one error though, we thought as you thought that you were being held for the maps as well."

"Why was I being held?"

"They laboured under the delusion that I was running an intelligence system here in Germany ... they considered you the most likely point of contact. The biggest fish in the German part of the net for want of better phraseology. They wanted my contacts and time schedule from you. Radio frequencies, landing sights, codes ... the stuff that intelligence networks require."

"You're not running one though." Heinrich was frowning now, his attention distracted from his sickness.

"The Nazis still don't believe that ... I don't think they ever will."

"Well what are you doing?"

"I quite honestly don't know." Amusement and mischief lit up the grey eyes and completely changed the face, it was the former James sitting on the bed now.

"You're in Bavaria and you don't know what you're doing?" Heinrich's jaw dropped slightly in disbelief.

"Not a sausage old soul ... not the foggiest either ... just seemed like a fun idea."

"Oh shut-up!" Heinrich finally sat down. "I do not need you doing your noble imitation of that idiot friend of your father's."

"Ashie is my friend now as well." The amusement vanished from James' expression in a flash, the former passivity and age returning and a little something extra Heinrich had no intention of even attempting to interpret.

"Can you get me my trouble?" Heinrich had hesitated before opting to pointedly change the subject, but in the end he decided it the wisest option.

"Of course I can." The little extra had vanished like a non-existent memory as the usual small grin graced the face of James Darcy. "Emil will come see you tomorrow evening."

"That Wandervögel Leader you were wandering around with?" Heinrich's brows rose. "That Emil is the path to trouble?"

"Emil's father is powerful in the Nazi party and next week he goes to Berlin before receiving a posting to England as an Agent." James spoke softly. "Emil goes because he considers that he can do more for Germany alive than he can if he is dead. However Emil will need to leave someone behind ... someone who has a good reason for being here, and a mind not agreeable to the Nazi regime."

"Emil is not pro-England?"

"Emil has his own beliefs of what is good for his country, he does not believe in Nazism, neither does he believe in Monarchy or even the much vaunted Democracy of the United States of America ... and that is also true for communism or any other form of government currently up for selection. Emil wants what is best for Germany and her people, and he is willing to spend his entire life searching for it ... unfortunately his life is not likely to be much longer than it currently is. The Nazi movement has had good aspects to it ... some aspects are very good and might well be noted by other countries. It is the current path that the Nazi movement treads which is a problem. There is no supreme race of mankind and no one has a god-given right to rule and pass judgement ... least of all while using fear to govern."

"Odd thing for one of the English Aristocracy to say." Heinrich had creased his brows.

"If I had given myself my position then it might well seem strange. As it is I do not consider my position a god-given right, possibly a curse, but not a right and certainly not something to rejoice in." James gave his head a small shake. "More likely to be killed by some idiotic scheme than if I was John Citizen of no fixed address."

"You rate your chances of survival as James Darcy as lower than the chances of survival of some John Citizen of no fixed address?"

"Certainly. John Citizen holds no real value to either side and provided he exerts some degree of effort to the task of staying alive there is a small chance he will see peace after this war."

"Are you saying that James Darcy is guaranteed not to see peace?"

"Who knows ... Blessed are the winds of fate, which blow my ship both east and west." James frowned out the window, now dark and eerie. "I've completely forgotten who wrote that but it seems singularly apt."

"You know precisely who wrote it and you are hedging." Heinrich shook his head wearily. "I've known you since you were four years old James Darcy so don't even attempt to fool me that you are an idiot. You never forget anything unless you are attempting to turn a conversation to different paths. I conclude that I am not meant to know that you rate John Citizen with a higher chance of continued existence than you rate yourself." Heinrich met the grey eyes evenly, after Buchenwald the world held no fears at all for him. "You find me my trouble and I will successfully forget that I even saw you here, let alone heard you say that John Citizen might live to see the dawn of peace."

"You're no longer afraid of me." James tilted his head slightly, his expression enquiring.

"In Buchenwald there are two types of men, men who show no fear and men who show only fear ... like yourself, no matter how much fear I feel now it will never show." Heinrich gave a small smile. "Like yourself I have faced death and realised that there is nothing to fear in this world." Heinrich glanced away, following James' line of sight out the window. "You used to scare me because you were something beyond my comprehension of man. You were an unknown quantity, impossible to judge against normal standards so I feared you. Now I realise that you are only a man, a trifle out of the ordinary run admittedly, but still just a man."

"I pray God you know what you are speaking of Heinrich." James grabbed his crutches and settled the bands at his elbows before hauling to his feet. "This time I know that I send you to your doom ... but unless you order me otherwise now I am off to let Emil know where to find you."

"You do not send me to my doom." Heinrich followed James to the door, feeling happiness flood through himself as he did so. "I ask to go ... I ask to go and you are kind enough to supply the means for me to attain my chosen destination with the greatest safety."

"Then I pray that after this madness we may meet again in peace and laugh at the melodrama of war." James gave a brief nod before hunching his shoulders to the task of traversing the snow on crutches. Daoud slipped silently past Heinrich, his steps crunching with surprisingly little noise as he caught up with James.

"Then I pray that after this madness we may meet again in peace and laugh at the melodrama of war." Heinrich softly repeated James' words to the freezing night. Walter had once said words remarkably similar to those, and Heinrich couldn't shake the feeling that history might be on the verge of repeating itself ... the only real question that remained was which part of history might repeat.

February 13rd 1941 - London, England

When you have ten paces to take and have made nine of them, only then can you say you have passed half-way. - Michel

Annette rubbed at her sticky eyes, trying to force away her need to sleep for just a couple more minutes. There were only three more pages of the 'note' left to type. Three more pages and two months of near suicidal activity would be over ... unless Ashie took another insane idea in hand. Not that Annette had even the faintest hope that Ashie wouldn't for he'd been muttering over a slide-rule for the past two days and would probably still be muttering over it if Caroline had not turned up and ordered him off to bed.

Annette took a deep breath and applied herself to the last three pages of the note. With a little luck she might get some sleep before Ashie had more notes for typing.

"Neddie." It was Caroline's voice

"Ah." Annette waved a frantic hand. "Three pages ... I don't want to hear about it if it has anything to do with work."

"Very well." Caroline settled on a nearby chair as Annette returned to typing.

"The note has now been typed." It was twenty minutes later when Annette dropped the handful of paper which provided translations for one of Ashie's more obscure languages and leant back with a sigh. "Does he intentionally make my life difficult?"

"No." Caroline rose from her seat with a smile. "He actually re-wrote an entire page because he realised you did not have a means of translating some points of it."

"I think that was more saving himself trouble because he knew I'd disturb him for the translation." Annette stretched and gave a yawn. "What caused you to enter this room?"

"Ashie has another job."

"I want a weekend off first, I haven't seen Rory for months now and I've barely even spoken to him."

"Consider next week free. Can you fly an aeroplane?"

"No."

"You'll learn when you return."

"Why can't Ashie fly it?"

"Because he needs to fiddle with the experiments in the back and the auto-pilot will not be sufficiently stable."

"Wouldn't it be easier just to borrow a real pilot?"

"That comes later ... besides which he seemed to think you'd find it a nice break from typewriters and manuscripts."

"It actually makes me deeply suspicious of what he's up to."

"Very wise of you. I have to admit that I cannot alleviate your suspicions, though."

"Well you can tell Ashie with my blessings that I am deeply suspicious of what he is planning."

"And Ashie will respond that that is very wise of you and he really doesn't care." Ashie appeared from the inner office glowering over a file. Annette cast one glance at Caroline Bingley and then very wisely inserted her fingers into her ears.

"JAMES ASHINGTON-FRANKSTON! What the DEVIL are you doing out of bed?"

"Radio call, Yves hasn't got through for three days now ... Yves hadn't got through on the previous three nights." Ashie glanced somewhat disinterestedly up from his file and Annette unplugged her ears, satisfied that no storm would break on this occasion of dereliction by Ashie.

"You're meant to be in bed."

"Yves had not got through and I do not let anyone take the courier calls."

"That's no excuse for not being back in your bed by now."

"The S.O.E. also paid a call." Ashie's glower deepened into a dark scowl, before that abruptly lifted and he gave a rueful grin. "This won't kill me ... though I'll probably be sick as a horse soon."

"What of Annette? You'll never tangle with the S.O.E. by yourself."

"Annette can make her decision before I declare war tomorrow morning ... but I'll be damned if one of my boys gets fired."

"Fired?" Caroline looked startled.

"Fired ... and they don't even know where he is." Ashie dropped into a nearby chair and buried his face in his hands. "They don't know where his is and they have no idea what he's doing ... they're just going to broadcast it in plain English, French, German, Spanish and Italian that Yves Olivier is no friend of an ally of England."

"This same Yves as called in this evening?"

"Yes. The S.O.E. have ordered me to fire my best courier for no other reason than because he pinched a pianist* they didn't want."

"Ashie, an unwanted pianist in France is a mythical object ... they usually want three for every one there actually is."

"Thierry Douce was an unwanted pianist." Ashie's jaw hardened. "A more arrogant and egotistical son of a ... kr-hmm would be impossible to find. He firmly believes that he is god's gift to mankind and electronics and it is only when he is thinking of electronics that he is not thinking solely of himself ... there was a time when he was that way, he's got a second distraction now." Ashie amended his remark precisely and then shook his head. "What can I do? I don't want to fight S.O.E. again but I've got stall that broadcast at least until Yves has got out of Europe ... preferably they'll retract it."

"Yves is in Europe? But ..." Caroline abruptly stopped.

"Precisely." Ashie's tone was dry. "As I said, S.O.E. don't know where he is or what he's doing ... worst, they don't even care."

"Breach your beloved security and they'd retract real quick."

"Breach my beloved security, as you call it, and I might just as well reserve a few bits of straw in Buchenwald for him. Don't be hair-witted, even if S.O.E. does broadcast he will get out ... it'll just take much longer and be a lot more difficult than it would have been otherwise. If I doubt everything else, I do not for a second doubt Yves' ingenuity and ability to get himself out of any hole he falls into."

"Is Yves MAGI or regular?" Annette finally decided to straighten a few points out for herself. Ashie frequently got into his version of a rage over the most curious things, though a bit of questioning invariably revealed that they related back to the MAGI. The only thing that had not become clear through any amount of questioning was what the MAGI really were. The MAGI seemed to be everywhere, but at the same time they never seemed to do anything.

"MAGI courier and by far our best." Ashie gave a sigh. "No good sending him to the Americas or Asia and he's far too well known in Africa. S.O.E. will start screaming if he goes to Scandinavia or Russia for they know it's only a hop, skip and jump to return to Europe."

"What is he? A Forger?" Annette looked quizzically at Ashie.

"Among other things." Ashie turned back to the file. "He's currently in Austria ... I think."

"Which means you've no way of telling how he's going to leave unless Thierry plays another concert**." Caroline was frowning. "You did not speak tonight?"

"They expressed concern of being pin-pointed so just rattled off the report and then turned off. We managed to determine they were east of Switzerland and north of Greece."

"I conclude I get no leave after all." Annette pushed her chair back and crossed to a small filing cabinet, shortly returning with a small blue file. "Not certain what I'll tell Rory ... probably the truth, that I have no leave in the foreseeable future."

"The truth is always best and I'll tactfully refrain from saying what I said last time."

"What did he say last time?" Caroline looked curiously at Annette, who had reddened slightly.

"He observed that it would be easiest for everyone if I discontinued my relationship."

"Meddling Ashie?" Caroline glanced at Ashie with an unreadable expression.

"Proffering unwanted advice ... not meddling." Ashie moved his head slightly, but did not look up. "Jim says I should, but I lack his talent for meddling and as a result do not meddle."

"Jim intends to meddle?"

"Doubt it, not one to court a bloody-nose ... not one a-tall to go a'courtin' the spoutin' snout."

"Ashie." Caroline wrinkled her nose.

"Yves Olivier, courier extraordinaire and political nitwit." Annette had read the first sentence out loud and was not at all surprised to note Caroline promptly stifling laughter. "Who writes these files?"

"I believe that General Darcy wrote that particular one." Caroline stood up and prepared to depart. "Don't stay up too late planning strategy. In the worst scenario you'll merely have to wait a month or so before you get those passes and cards."

"I would prefer that Yves remained fully operational."

"I suspect Yves would prefer that as well. Breakfast will be served at six-forty and I shall send Manningford if you are late."

"Why haven't I sacked that man yet?" Ashie looked exceedingly unimpressed.

"You've sacked him thirty-two times ... you can't sack him any more because you don't hire him. Perhaps you should persuade your mother to fire him."

"Perhaps I should just try a solo, non-stop round the world swimming trip."

"You do have a point ... don't be late." Caroline carefully settled her hat and retied her coat. "Don't keep Neddie too late either, Annie-Bug is waiting with the car downstairs."

"Take Annie-Bug home with you, I'll run Neddie home when we're done." Ashie had taken command of Annette's file and was waving his pencil gently in the air, a warning that some dictation was imminent.

* Pianist: Actually a Radio-Operator, not a musician.

** playing a concert: also known as making a broadcast.

Part 19

Posted on Tuesday, 18 November 2003

April 30th 1941 - Uxbridge, England

Magic to an observer is uncanny ... to a magician it is merely another day at the office.

Squadron-Leader Brian O'Niell felt, to put things politely, like hell. What he most wanted in the world was a pint and some conversation which did not revolve around the recent casualties, targets and fishing. The Angel was a reasonable pub for both of those things and the barman was used to Brian.

"Some cheery has been asking about you." Arnold slid the pint across and jerked his head towards a back corner.

"Asking about me?" Brian blinked first at the shadowy form and then back at Arnold.

"Aye, been pumping everyone who comes in. No one's said much though."

"Thanks." Brian frowned at his pint before giving a sharp nod. "Thanks Arnold, I'll find out what he wants."

"Want me to watch?"

"No." Brian lifted his pint and headed across the room to the dark, shadowy figure. "Greetings, heard you've been asking about me."

"Just making enquiries." The figure shifted, pushing hair from his face and leaning back.

"Why?" Brian frowned at the familiar features of James Darcy ... a James Darcy who was rather grey and exceedingly tired and not really looking like himself.

"Rory's bit of fluff. Seems you've had a fall from grace."

"You might call it that." Brian settled into a nearby chair and shook his head slowly. "What about the fluff? I've never seen her I will admit, but Rory seems utterly enamoured."

"Lila Thompson."

"What about her?"

"Rory's bit of fluff is Lila Thompson."

"Change of style for her." Brian drew his brows together. "You certain?"

"I got sent these by Charles ... Reuters." A small photograph slid across the table. "Emerson ... London Times. Jarmen, Harris and Marmont." More photographs slid across the table as the names flowed.

"The Benefit Ball?" Brian stared at the photographs, only long training kept his expression flat.

"I assume so. Juliette seemed of the opinion that she had some plan to revenge or something ... Charles was kind enough to send me a tentative outline of how it's felt the line will run ... for the first time I come out not as the Devil's twin."

"Rory hasn't told Annette has he?" Brian carefully laid the photographs back on the benchtop and took another drink.

"If he has she isn't telling anyone ... I suspect you'll hear as soon as anyone. However I've tied things down for about a month and with a bit of luck we may manage to squelch it. Unfortunately only Rory can and his attitude does not encourage me to think he will even want to squelch it ... I pity the poor sod." James carefully gathered the photographs back up and they vanished under his jacket.

"Jim ... what are you doing to yourself? You look worse than I feel!"

"I went to Germany and walked around in circles for a month or so and came back via Norway ... the snow is rather deep and things got a bit sticky. Just tired and rather dis ... disenchanted with the current situation."

"When do we get told what happened?" Brian's frown deepened.

"Just ... drop it, please. There's nothing to tell and nothing happened. Likewise nothing has happened."

"You realise Ashie will figure it all out soon."

"He won't because there is nothing to figure." James shook his head as he pushed to his feet. "I need to get moving or I won't reach Edinburgh in time. Anything for your mother?"

"No point sending it with you unless you want my mother to rumble that what the press report is not at all accurate ... and you'd better get a haircut before she sees you."

"Really?" James rolled his eyes and finally moved off.

"Lila Thompson ... Lila Thompson and Rory Halifax. What has happened in this world?"

"Problem?" Arnold appeared magically with another pint. "On the house."

"Thanks ... not really. Just a former friend who's being a bit bizarre."

"Bizarre?"

"He was meant to go to Greenland. There's a Weather Station on the southern end which needed manning by some ... special types and he was going to be put in command. Then a lot of really strange things happened and he's now ... a pacifist for want of a better name."

"Greenland? He'd been there?"

"Aye ... Hackin-White expedition 1936."

"He'll know the Darcy Boy then ... like 'im or what?"

"Couldn't say, we've never discussed Mr. Darcy."

"Weird how bad that boy's gone. Supply and his girl were in here the other day and he sounds like a fair heel."

"Good cricketer though."

"Aye, he was that. That late cut of his was a work of art and I doubt I'll ever forget that double century of his against Harrow."

"Well, can't worry about now." Brian drained the tankard. "Didn't mean to leave this soon, but talking cricket reminded me that the Matlock team is arriving next week and we don't want to be thrashed."

"Best of luck to you boys and don't forget to bomb the bloody hun."

"That we won't." Brian gave a grin before heading out the door, but it was a grin he wasn't feeling for he was feeling very mortal and not at all invincible. Another trip to Little Gaddesden would not be at all astray and sounded like a perfect remedy for his dismals.

March 9th 1941 - Deraux, England

I asked for a miracle ... and had another birthday.

The Honourable Lord Kenneth George Stacy Juliens Ashington-Frankston, Earl of Deraux, was excited and the entire household from his grandmother to the fourth scullery maid knew it. Ken was excited because it was his birthday and his Uncle was coming to see him. Ken often heard his uncle, who also happened to be his guardian, but rarely saw him ... today was an exception.

"Your studies, my Lord." Julian Deneby was Ken's private tutor, a young man of nervous habit and high scholarship. Normally Ken would have obliged such a reminder and attended his books at least for half an hour, but today was an exception.

"Ashie's coming." Ken bounced on his seat, knocking his books to the floor for the umpteenth time that hour.

"Yes, your Lordship's Uncle is due to arrive sometime today." Deneby was not a little perplexed, for he had met the Honourable Lord James Ashington-Frankston and had been inspired by nothing but extreme dislike. Deneby didn't mind his young charge, but he failed to comprehend why the arrival of a dandified and dissolute guardian could possible raise such unreasoning excitement in his charge.

"I'll study extra hard tomorrow ... please let me go." Ken's expression would have been angelic had his eyes not blazed with such excitement and hope.

"Tomorrow is your essay assignment ... surely you would prefer to prepare." Deneby was fighting a losing battle and he knew it.

"No." Ken had no doubts on this topic at all, an essay could never cast even a faint shadow on the excitement of an Uncle's arrival.

"Very well, your Lordship we will abandon study for pleasure this morning ... though to satisfy your mother I suggest we turn our attention to natural history and investigate the inhabitants of the front lawn."

"Grandmother says such an effort is useless as there are no in ... inv ... bugs on the front lawn." Ken lifted his head in delight. "But the aerodrome also has short grass we can ... search."

"Then I hope his lordship arrives before luncheon." Deneby pulled on his coat and ruefully resigned himself to grass-stained knees and seeded socks, but at least Ken would apply his mind to something until the uncle arrived.

"I was informed by the Butler that I would find you investigating invertebrates to be found on the aerodrome ... much success?" The soft voice had Deneby scrambling to his feet. Deneby knew that voice almost as well as he knew his own. That voice had belonged to a firstie who had proved himself more knowing than his third-year mentor and any effort to depress such pretension was easily thwarted.

"Uncle Jim." Ken hurled himself at the young man who stood on the edge of the grass.

"Ashie not arrived yet?" James Darcy easily swung Ken into the air, pivoting as he did so to absorb the momentum.

"I am afraid he seems to be late." Deneby responded stiffly.

"Hardly your fault so I wouldn't bother. Found anything?"

"Ants." Deneby was dusting off his trousers.

"Crickets ... big beetles." Ken displayed part of his hoard, a rather mashed looking beetle now far beyond any hope of identification.

"Good Lord, don't show Ashie that one, you horror." James closed Ken's fist again and deposited the boy somewhat roughly on the ground. "Bit early for entomology isn't it?"

"I got a butterfly too!" Ken revealed his other treasure, which was in even worse condition.

"Undoubtedly a cabbage moth." James firmly closed Ken's other fist. "You need to treat specimens with greater care if you want to do anything with them."

"Well Mr. Deneby stepped on my beetle!" Ken glowered accusingly.

"That is no excuse." James scuffed a small hole in the ground. "Bury them with honours, brat, and we'll see if we can find some recogniseable specimens."

"When would you expect his Lordship to arrive?" Deneby spoke with careful precision.

"No idea. In fact I don't even know how he's getting here." James helped Ken refill the small grave before pulling off the heavy driving coat he had been wearing and revealing a pair of flannel trousers and a blazer which were an embarrassment to the name. "Ken, you like the idea of a bit of fishing?"

"Guddling?" Ken looked excited.

"You won't catch a thing." Deneby looked doubtful.

"That is utterly irrelevant ... we wouldn't catch a thing even if there really was something to catch. Better to do it now than disturb the season later." James rolled his coat into a bundle before nodding politely to Deneby. "Tell the Butler I've taken Ken down to the brook."

"What am I meant to do?"

"Take the rest of the day off, Ashie will settle things if a fuss is kicked up." James nodded and then moved off with Ken bounding around him. Deneby stared after the retreating back in a mixture of amazement and immense irritation, James Darcy still made him feel like a cheap imitation, even though he was now a graduate with a job and James Darcy was definitely nothing at all.

" ... Taken him to the brook?" Ashie's voice was clearly audible to Deneby, who was reading in the Library, and he made haste to reach the main doors. Ashie, resplendent in dress uniform and medals, was frowning at the butler who was attempting to discreetly take his hat.

"Yes, my Lord." Deneby stepped calmly forward. "We were studying entomology until Mr. Darcy arrived and I have not seen his Lordship since."

"That isn't what concerns me." Ashie waved a dismissive hand before realising he still held his hat and overcoat. "Sorry Timmons." Ashie surrendered the items and then frowned at Deneby. "When did he arrive?"

"Before luncheon."

"They've been fishing for five hours?"

"They have not returned to the house yet, I would not care to say whether they are fishing or not."

"Blast!" Ashie tugged at the fingers of his gloves before abruptly heading for the stairs. "Timmons, have my boots found I lost them last year and I want them now."

"Very good, my Lord." Timmons disappeared into the nether regions of the house as Ashie took the stairs three at a time. Deneby blinked in confusion for this resplendent and military figure had few similarities with the dimwit who had interviewed him a year and a half earlier for the post of tutor to the young Earl of Deraux. Deneby was still blinking when Ashie returned, taking the stairs four at a time and dressed in a suit of tweeds which were much darned and had had the elbows releathered far too many times.

"TIMMONS!" Ashie had begun rummaging through a large chest, but lifted his head and yelled for the butler.

"Your boots, my lord." Timmons seemed to materialise out of nowhere, a pair of ancient and bashed boots in hand.

"Thank you ... but my hat! I need my hat." Ashie pushed an absolute armload of hats from any imaginable era onto the floor as he dug towards the bottom of the chest.

"Her ladyship objected and it was removed to your study, my Lord."

"Much obliged." Ashie had one boot on and was wrenching the other on as he hopped towards the stairs again, the laces trailing in a sickly manner. The second boot slid on, and with complete disregard for safety Ashie headed up the stairs once more. Half a minute late Ashie returned, his laces tied and a truly disreputable and exceedingly battered looking hat reposing on the back of his head. Ashie pulled it forward over his forehead at the same time as he checked the fastenings of a pair of leathern gloves. "And I am off, much obliged to you Timmons and Deneby you have the rest of the day and all of tonight off ... go get drunk or something!"

"My Lord." Timmons stately tones stopped Ashie in the doorway.

"If it's my mother I'll be damned if I speak to her." Ashie looked back.

"No my Lord, Mrs. Butterford has some fudge she asked me to mention."

"Thank you!" Ashie turned and headed for the back part of the house. "Which reminds me that I do need to greet her ... a job well done Timmons, remind me to give you a holiday."

"Very good, my Lord." Timmons watched in silence as Ashie vanished into the back of the house, then turned and began carefully restoring the hats to the chest. Deneby watched Timmons for a long and silent moment, then headed for the library again, he had given up on comprehending the Aristocracy, for that shamefully dressed individual had been every bit the dimwit dandy that the Air Force Officer had not been. It made no sense and Deneby felt he would probably resign in the near future. A bad heart kept him out of the armed forces, but it would not keep him out of that Masters Degree at Oxford which Lord James had expressed a willingness to sponsor some months ago ... though Deneby did have his doubts whether Lord James actually understood what a Masters degree was.

"One observes the miracle of endurance called a small child who is intent upon some object." Ashie sank into an armchair and settled his feet on a nearby windowsill. "Take a seat, Jim, take a seat ... time I enacted my noble imitation of a Godfather again and gave what is supposed to be a word from the wise."

"What happens if I choose not to listen?" James lifted enquiring eyebrows as he sank into the opposite armchair and similarly disposed of his feet.

"Oh, I merely hand the whole lot to someone else with a great deal of relief and let them speak to you."

"Then I'll at least imitate a listening man." James gave a faint smile in response to Ashie's look of irritation. "Proceed, dear chump, proceed ... I am all ears, with a little brain and brawn to balance it with."

"So I see." Ashie stared at his feet and a long silence developed. "I spoke to General Mallery today."

"I hope you found him in passable health."

"He was drinking scotch and looking exceedingly annoyed." Ashie cast James a rather lazy glance from under lowered lids and was satisfied to note the total lack of expression in the countenance of the other.

"Oh dear." James might as well have observed that the weather was nice for all the emotion there was in his voice.

"Had a very interesting chat with him actually ... you might better find a way to ensure his silence if you want to continue as you have."

"No point." James blinked at his feet almost sleepily. "What he says are merely words and they need proof ... which they have yet to obtain."

"Meaning they know?"

"Oh, undoubtedly they know ... they've known since before you wriggled your way into the Department of Fisheries and Agriculture." James finally reached for the teapot and supplied Ashie with a mug of the contents, which though never named was undoubtedly not tea. "However, knowledge is no help in this situation if they cannot prove it."

"Mightn't they just blow your head off?"

"Apart from the fact that their loss would be almost as great as our loss, I do take a certain degree of precaution against such an outcome." James sniffed the contents of the mug he had poured himself and after a moment drank. "Besides which they have a nasty suspicion that if something does happen to me, the equivalent of my ghost will wreak some dreadful revenge ... a correct suspicion I will admit."

"Hitler would be wise to keep you alive and in good health then?"

"Unquestionably, and fortunately he knows that ... though not necessarily consciously. The same applies to Churchill ... and as a result neither side trust me with perfectly good reason. Was your word to the wise warning that Mallery could be persuaded to talk?"

"No." Ashie pondered his socks again. "My word to the wise is that a double game is a very difficult game to play."

"As it happens I do not play a double game ... but I comprehend your meaning and will behave myself for the next few whiles ... no reason not to after all."

"Would you object if I did some nosing around?"

"Not at all." James lowered his feet from the windowsill. "In fact I'd be obliged if you would ... I'm rather curious to know if anyone can piece the puzzle together."

"What will happen if you just vanish?"

"The entailment has ended, my father's will prevents the estate reverting to an indirect relative and I currently have no will."

"Lady Catherine will contest." Ashie frowned.

"She may contest with my blessing, but she cannot by any wile or way overset the crown if I die intestate ... She's already tried to contest my father's will twice without success so I feel certain she can make no gain there."

"I heard Annie-Bug has publicly announced you are just a friend and she is engaged to another."

"You seem to have forgotten the existence of Juliette." James blinked rather sleepily. "Aunt Catherine always did prefer the idea of Juliette marrying me ... Annie-Bug's entanglement with Jeroen gained her an unreliable and flighty reputation, but the fact that I was more friendly to Annie-Bug than Juliette filled her with faint hope that I would see and do my duty."

"Juliette?" Ashie's brows shot skywards. "She has even the faintest of ephemeral hopes that you will marry Juliette?"

"Oh, she knows that I will never voluntarily marry Juliette ... but she also knows that I am a Darcy, educated at Eton and totally allergic to the media ... she merely hopes that Juliette will devise a way by which I may be entrapped into marriage." James drew his brows together slightly. "I would advise you to avoid Juliette and Lila if you ever see them together ... to the world they present a united face, in private they resemble alley cats with a fish-head at stake."

"You don't look much like a fish-head ... sure it isn't a nicely roasted chicken at stake?"

"Quite certain, if I was a chicken they would assume some form of poison and avoid me."

"Then I advise you practice being a chicken or you'll never survive Easter." Ashie finished his drink. "I have no idea what you plan between now and Easter ... but do remember I need those photographs before the press publish them."

"Certainly." James rose to his feet. "I'll send them by courier along with the predicted path of articles which are suspected to result."

"Thank you." Ashie waved a limp hand as James headed for the door. "Best of luck and don't forget to radio in if you can."

"Will-do." James nodded briefly before departing, leaving Ashie to sink down in his chair and frown at the ceiling.

The puzzle was two-fold, the first part was the actual puzzle and the question of what James Darcy was up to. The second part was why, after over a year of stubborn silence and politely veiled threats, James was now stepping back. Something had changed quite recently, something subtle and intangible ... a choice had been made, but the choice was known only to the chooser. Ashie suspected that to solve the puzzle the choice had to be found and the path followed ... It was now very apparent to Ashie that his unaccountable godson was not playing a double game, very likely it wasn't even so tame as a triple game. However, at the same time Ashie was equally certain that James was practicing no deception ... and therein lay the deception itself because the brain did not take kindly to the consideration that there was no deception. Ashie had tangled with many webs of deception over the years ... but he'd never faced a web of truth, and it looked like it would make a deception web very boring indeed.

March 13th 1941 - London, England

It is not for us to chose what time we are born into, it is a question of what we intend to do with the time given to us. - Gandalf, Lord of the Ring (movies)

A Button possessed of Wings ... I could have warned you that what Ashie had planned would be intensely boring. It had to be or he'd have just found someone else to do the experiments. However take comfort in the knowledge that whatever it is, it is useful for otherwise Ashie would not trouble with it. With aeroplanes Ashie becomes an utter fanatic about use and effort, not wasting a second on anything that isn't useful. My father used to tell a wonderful story about Ashie in the last war. 1917 rings a bell for the date and Ashie and his fellow die-hard Cads (all meant literally, the Jerries and the Brass-hats had apparently been doing their best for a year to kill them, however no luck for either side though for all three came through the war relatively intact even if they were promptly decommissioned on the grounds of ill-health) were on their first leave as RFC faithfuls. Six weeks home leave was their sentence but they came back a week and a half early claiming that flying was safer than the English Country house. They were apparently grounded for the following week, but their CO gave up after Ashie scared the wits out of some General Staff Officer by chasing him down the road with his wheels just touching the roof of the car. When matted Ashie explained that he hadn't been flying, just touring as he tested the habits of his Camel (not the aeroplane he had taken on leave, rather the replacement he had flown back which was actually set up to Factory specifics, not Ashie specifics. Ashie specifics means any aeroplane in any condition which he can know the position of to the sixteenth of an inch in relation to anything.) This touring claim was based on the technicality that his wheels were in contact with the ground, even if only a secondary form of contact.

That is really Ashie in a nutshell, he behaves like an idiot, but he's got a mind like a razor. Since he's taking you flying it wouldn't surprise me if you don't start finding your workload increasing and changing. I am outside of Paris right now, it's curfew and I am writing this in an old tunnel by light of a candle which reeks. I don't like Paris during war ... I don't like any place during war ... I don't even have a home these days, I just lodge even when I am visiting my own house. The Radio isn't working so we are failing to meet our schedule which is somewhat worrying and it is raining again ... which is part of the problem with the radio. I have discovered that this tunnel leaks and I remember one of the letters my father sent my mother while he was fighting in France ... it's amazing how homesick one can feel even when deprived of any home. I almost wish I was fighting in this war, but the truth is that I am a loner and a crippled one at that. I know that Elliot will be furious when he finds out how I've been treating myself, but I have to do what I can, even though all I seem to do is walk around in circles and rust my bearings.

I have discovered that despondency of mind is like an all-pervasive fog, insidious and encroaching and all together too like my Great-Aunt's pacifist preacher who has always made me feel vilely ill. The preacher means well, but he's absolutely brainless, his wife was a friend of my mother's and as a result had a kindness for my person. I will admit that well-meaning or not, they drive me insane. I never cease to rain thanks on the wisdom of my mother in refusing to marry that man for all my grandmother's encouragement. Not that I speak ill of my grandmother, though she is a bird-witted female, such are the concerns of parents when war arises. Though I will admit to the suspicion that even if the war hadn't been around my grandmother would still have wished my mother married.

I am tired tonight, tired at heart and filled with doubt. Perhaps I should not be writing this, for I should hate for this pervasive fog to spread to another. But I take a risk in the hopes that the feeling of communication will disperse this fog even for a second, I'd even settle for only a part of a second. All I ask is for a little ray of hope, something to remind me why I'm fighting in this bleak wilderness I have the temerity to call a life. Usually things are not this grim, but I am tired tonight and nothing is working for the radio still does not work. I leave this and go to fiddle with the radio, we need to fix it soon.

A few months ago I met a girl who was ... in so many ways she just was ... it was like seeing light and hope come to life and it was terrifying. Yet at the same time she was just herself, living her own life and enjoying it. Even on my darkest days when I felt deserted and alone she just ... It's like being in a bog when a hand comes and leads you out. I never realised how accustomed I'd grown to this hopeless wilderness, in act I never even realised I was in it. She dragged me out of that wilderness again and again and showed me a world I have only the vaguest memories of. Now I have to learn how to escape myself for I doubt I'll ever see her again in my life and I cannot stand the thought of spending the rest of my life in this wilderness. It makes one question the fairness of this existence which tantalizes us with things which might well be impossible dreams. Why disturb the contented with the impossible? I may have been lost in a hellish wilderness, but at least it was a hellish wilderness I was making the best of. Now I have seen how hellish this wilderness is and I hate it ... but I fear I will spend my entire life in it.

I think I begin to understand my father now, and if I could cry I would cry for him as I would cry for this insane hell we've turned our world into. Is there any end to this tortuous insanity? Will there ever be a time when bombers do not fly and bombs cease to fall? Will there be a time when most of our time is not occupied with attempting to stay a couple steps ahead of death? There must be, even though I cannot see it, for I cannot believe that we are here simply to annihilate ourselves from the surface of this planet.

I have written this over the space of a couple of exceedingly bad days. I will admit to you Button that for myself I cannot see even the faintest glimmer of hope, but for you and the rest of the world there is always hope. Please believe me when I write this. Though I may write doom and gloom it is not what I see for the world, for of late I do not count myself as part of the world. My Great-Aunt calls me a cursed existence, and though our reasoning is different, our conclusion is the same. Not for anything would I have been born into a different life, but neither is this a life I would curse on another.

I thank you Button, you've been a wonderful letter friend and what you've given me I could never repay even if I had all the ages of the earth to pay it in. Certain things have no comprehensible value and what you've given me is one of those things. I wish you well in your future and hope you find great happiness.

Mackle

Annette re-read the last paragraph in utter disbelief. Having re-read it once, she proceeded to re-read it more times than she could count with the same disbelief as the first time. Having memorised the paragraph Annette leant back in her chair and stared at the ceiling where the words and letters danced themselves into a jumble. Even jumbled Annette couldn't believe what had been written and with a disgusted snarl she yelled for Ashie.

"Something up?" Ashie came into the small room which was serving as Annette's office, his expression politely curious even though he looked rather like a vampire in a cheap flick at the cinema.

"You're going to bed." Annette shook her head in irritated disbelief, it seemed that everyone was trying to kill themselves.

"Got work to do."

"Well forget about it and go to bed ... or I'll call Caroline."

"Neddie..." Ashie hesitated and frowned. "I'll sleep tonight, but for now I must finish this work."

"I'll be back at five and you'd better be in bed by then." Annette stood up and shoved her chair in. "I have a very rude letter to write and it needs to be handwritten and written outside of London."

"I wish you luck getting back by five then." Ashie spoke dryly as he stepped aside. "What's Jeroen done?"

"Nothing ... except for not writing." Annette finished packing her bag and she grabbed her coat. "It's another idiot who needs to be called an idiot or he'll probably kill himself."

"Jim?"

"Why on earth would I write to him? Provided that is I even knew what to do with a letter I had written to him."

"Rory?"

"No." Annette shook her head briefly, though mentally noting at the same time that she needed to do some serious thinking about the situation with Rory. Rory had been a trifle distant during her visit several weeks earlier, and though it might just have been that she had visited at a bad time for casualties, Annette couldn't shake the feeling that it was something else.

"Do I know the idiot?"

"I don't know." Annette hesitated as she abruptly realised that Ashie wasn't going to let her go until he knew. "You can read the last page for yourself ... you certainly knew his father if the first page is to be believed." Annette hesitated another moment before she finally handed over the page which she had crumpled rather sadly.

"Good god!" Ashie practically dropped the page as he finished it, pushing it back towards Annette with almost unseemly haste. "What is this madness?"

"Madness?" Annette eyed Ashie curiously.

"Sorry." Ashie shook his head sharply and gave a twisted smile. "Yes, I know the little Mackerel ... but he is mad if he thinks you'll let him off the hook so easily ... give him hell with my blessing."

"Does his great-aunt really consider him a cursed existence?" Annette hesitated at the door.

"That is probably the nicest thing she has ever called him, she has a deep and unreasoned hatred of his very existence and would shed no tears if he did die. Remind me to tell you a horror story after you get a response to calling him an idiot, it might help you should you meet him again."

"Again?"

"Just write your response and forget about it for now ... I'm too tired and I need to know his response before I go any further."

"Afraid of unleashing the devils of hell?"

"Something remarkably like that ... and do wash your mouth out before you see Caroline again, she would not like me for having taught you how to swear."

"Remember to go to bed at least for tonight." Annette swung her bag onto her back and finally left, leaving Ashie to close his eyes against something he had no wish to acknowledge.

"What are you doing Jim? What are you doing and why?" Ashie shook his head again and retreated back to his small office and a large glass of water before he bent back over his notes and slide rule.

Part 20

Posted on Tuesday, 25 November 2003

March 23rd 1941 - London, England

I thought that was a storm ... but then I was caught in a real storm.

"No ... no ... no ... no ... no ... NO, NO, NO!" Ashie shook his head irritably. "Is it sufficiently clear that the answer is no?" Ashie listened for half a moment longer before hanging up with a very firm hand. "NEDDIE!!!!"

"A report due last year?" Annette's expression was rather resigned when she came into the room.

"No ... was one due last year?" Ashie blinked and then frowned.

"Yes."

"Oh." Ashie shook his head slightly. "No, not about a report at all. Lord Eaton is going out to Africa and wants a secretary ... are you interested?"

"I was under the impression that I was available to no one." Annette paused. "Annie-Bug says that apparently I'm under quarantine ... what am I suffering from?"

"Me ... but they don't need to know that." Ashie waved a dismissive hand. "A bit of a mess has arisen which all things considered would make it advantageous if you bugged out of the country."

"What about all this?"

"All this, as you refer to it, is in the process of folding." Ashie leant back and then relaxed with a sigh. "Considering I think it would be to your advantage to take a holiday from England, it really couldn't all be coming to a head at a better time."

"Why do you think I need a holiday?"

"Well the primary holiday is just out of London ... we watch from a discreet distance and by May we'll know if things are really as bad as predicted. If the predictions hold true, then you get a holiday to anywhere in the world for a minimum of six months and a job if one is available."

"What. has. happened?" Annette annunciated each word clearly.

"Well it all started when you danced with James Darcy at the Netherfield Benefit Ball..."

"I didn't want to dance with him and that was four months ago."

"Jim's branded as a Nazi for an ill-considered remark he made a year before the war began ... and it's not the whole remark anyway, just the bit which smells a bit of nazi-ism. The press don't care, Neddie, and they care less when it concerns James Darcy."

"Well surely this would have all broken four months ago if it concerned the ball..."

"Oh it doesn't ... well, not directly." Ashie gave a small yawn and then frowned. "In truth it actually concerns dear old Lila Thompson."

"I haven't seen her since the Ball." Annette frowned, verifying what her instinctive memory said.

"No, she's not been in London since about the day after it." Ashie responded without much interest. "Rather an interesting situation and speaking without any prejudice whatsoever your boyfriend is a conceited, egotistical ass."

"What has Rory got to do with anything?" Annette frowned but didn't bother to retaliate for Ashie never listened when the subject of Rory was around.

"Rory is everything." Ashie responded curtly. "Rory is the whole reason you have to take a holiday."

"I don't want a holiday." Annette shook her head.

"Dashed pity that, you're taking one ... if you don't take it voluntarily, it will occur forcefully."

"You'll abduct me?" Annette couldn't believe her ears.

"No." Ashie responded calmly. "Jim will arrange things ... he's infinitely better at making things happen without causing a fuss."

"Why?"

"Because we need to scotch this blasted scandal as fast as possible and if you're to be found, the press will find you and the scandal won't scotch."

"But why?" Annette finally gave into her frustration and lifted her voice. "You mention the fact that I danced with Mr Darcy unwillingly four months ago in relation to the press. You mention Lila Thompson with no apparent connection to anything. You call Rory names and then tell me that if I don't voluntarily take a holiday to a secluded place, I'll be abducted. I am not a cryptographer and I can only read your writing ... I CAN'T READ YOUR MIND!!!" Annette took a deep and careful breath. "Now, in plain English tell me what the devil is happening and why."

"Lila Thompson wants Jim's money and power ... she sees you as a threat and so she eliminates you." Ashie's eye's were hooded, his expression totally passive. "There are two ways of eliminating a person, you can have them disposed of ... not possible in this situation, I don't let my secretaries get bumped off by up-starts. The other option is to socially destroy them. Lila has settled for social destruction and unless we scotch it real quick she will succeed." With a miniscule flick of his fingers Ashie waved Annette to be seated. "Lila Thompson also wishes to marry Jim ... and she's painfully aware that he doesn't even register her appearance on the radar, except as a nuisance to be avoided. Lila therefore concocts a 'plan' which will socially destroy you and hopefully ... erm ... ignite the latent passions of Jim's nature ... or something like that. Jim has the whole quote and it's more than a little amusing when one considers that it concerns him ... however irrelevant at the present moment." Ashie paused and considered his gloves. "The plan is very simple, she turns you into a power-hungry money-grubber and herself into a saint. You get suitably shunned by society and Jim falls wildly in love with her angelic nature."

"How does she intend to show that I am a ... power-hungry money-grubber?" Annette drew her brows together.

"This article will be printed in Sunday's newspaper. We've pulled every subtle string we could, but the one person who could stop this from ever breaking is proving ... unco-operative." Ashie retrieved a sheet of paper from under one of the many piles on his desk and pushed it across.

It is to be noticed how war changes people. Not only does war change people, but it changes our view of people. Two years ago the Darcys, the Matlocks and their tight little clique of friends and relatives were as untouchable by scandal as the Royal Family. Today a mire of filth threatens to engulf them all as the word Nazi is connect to them in many minds.

The word power is an ugly one, but humanity seems to suffer it almost willingly in all its grossness. Power the Darcys have in abundance. Power through connection, power through money and power through their own name. A simple study of English history reveals a Darcy or Fitzwilliam at any point of interest. The Darcys more discreet in their involvements than the Fitzwilliams, but both families ever-present and reliable.

But the last of the Darcy's now lives at Pemberley, a cold and distant man, unpopular with his contemporaries and sought merely for his power and money. Unlike his father, James Darcy has not taken a commission in any military service, he keeps his distance and watches ... what he sees he troubles to communicate with none. It seems all too likely that to continue the Darcy bloodline James will have to marry one of the many women who seek him solely for his money. But even these are beginning to drift away. Lila Thompson has for years been considered one of the most likely candidates to fill the position of Mistress of Pemberley, was sighted in Uxbridge with an RAF Lieutenant. When questioned she insisted that they were merely friends. Has Lila Thompson exchanged power for patriotism?

"And?" Annette finished the article and looked enquiring. "I can see that there may be a problem for Mr Darcy, but what has this to do with me."

"There's a photograph which rather graphically illustrates why the newspaper does not consider Miss Thompson and her Lieutenant as merely friends." Ashie responded briefly.

"So Lila was photographed canoodling with a Lieutenant in Uxbridge ... I really do not see what the connection is."

"I suspect you will when you've seen the photograph." Ashie responded dryly and held out an inverted photographic flimsy. "Lila Thompson is a very clever woman and what she wants she usually gets."

"Cryptic." Annette held the flimsy but had yet to turn it over, for some reason she really didn't wish to.

"Take a weak mind and slowly introduce it to worship, then the mind becomes addicted ... if you do it properly you will end up with a pawn." Ashie leant back in his seat and closed his eyes with a sigh. "James Darcy does not have a weak mind and he has no time for worship ... Rory Halifax does have a weak mind, and to him worship is like opium." Ashie flipped Annette's hand then rose and crossed to the window while she stared at the photograph of Lila Thompson and her RAF Lieutenant in a passionate embrace. "Perhaps if you had actually been married to him, or at least living in the neighbourhood you might have been able to save him ... but I doubt it. His life is ruined now, the RAF does not tolerate things of this magnitude. Lila has finished with him and will consequently discard him, she keeps nothing which has no immediate use. Perhaps he will build himself another life ... but I doubt that too, for Lila is nothing but thorough and when she drops him, he will fall a long way. He has been honest with no one for months now, and I doubt he has the courage to face what honesty will demand of him ... he hadn't even the courage to face you and say he would never marry you."

"You've known for a while." It wasn't a question the way Annette asked it, her voice unbelievably calm though her mouth felt dry and her throat blocked.

"Since the beginning of February." Ashie spoke quietly. "Brian knew half a month before that ... he knew Rory was seeing another girl but he didn't know who ... Lila can be very discreet when she wishes. Jim knows as well ... but I don't know how long for."

"Why wasn't I told sooner that Rory was seeing another girl?"

"For me the matter is quite simple, I hate meddling and I was hoping Rory would actually have the spine to tell you himself." Ashie turned away from the window finally. "Brian didn't say anything because he's too busy getting shot up and it's not the sort of news you tell over the telephone ... besides which you're on Darcy property which means he can't visit."

"And Mr Darcy?"

"Would you have believed him?" Ashie's brows lifted in fleeting enquiry. "Ask whether you'd have even believed me if the photograph wasn't to be seen."

"Proffering unwanted advice." Annette carefully laid the photograph down and rose to her feet. "Why does Rory's defection result in me requiring a holiday?"

"Because that is the way Lila intends to play the media ... I'm afraid that on this point you are just going to have to trust me." Ashie retrieved the photograph and carefully returned it to a folder. "Don't expect Rory to appologise, he firmly believes that you jilted him for James Darcy months ago."

"If I jilted him may I ask why I continued to write and occasionally see him?"

"I told you, he's an egotist." Ashie pushed the file into a nearby cabinet and banged it shut. "Probably doesn't occur to him that you can live without your hand being held ... and everyone knows that James Darcy is no hand-holder or ladies-helper."

"Surely that doesn't copy ... why on Earth wouldn't he tell me to scat?"

"Oh dear, I have had a disastrous effect on your English. To be better at something than James Darcy is a nice little ego-stroke, and your continued presence is proof that James Darcy is not perfect for all his money and power."

"Ack!" Annette wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "You have a sick mind and I am going for a walk."

"Well don't walk under a bus and don't lie to yourself." Ashie picked up a folder. "And do remember that Lord Eaton wants a secretary and Africa is a pretty nice place ... though a bit hot."

"I won't bother answering to that." Annette turned and departed, pausing only to collect her hat and coat before she left the building.

"Misery loves company ... and you look downright miserable." It was Annie-Bug who dropped into the seat opposite Annette and helped herself to a cup of tea. "Ashie seemed to think you might like to interrogate me on a few things."

"How can you tolerate living with them? Your life just a pawn in their games." Annette abruptly dropped her cup of tea.

"Well ... They're also pawns in my games ... except that neither they nor I are pawns."

"I'm so glad to hear you say that." It was almost a snarl and Annette stared morosely at her cup of tea.

"You should be." Annie-Bug carefully picked up a biscuit. "Because you are not a pawn either."

"Then why wasn't I told sooner?"

"Why should you be? Rory might have grown a spine and saved them the trouble of telling you. Lila might have botched it and let Rory go. Besides which, as you perfectly well know, you wouldn't have believed a word of it except that there was photographic evidence that Rory was a heel."

"That doesn't change the fact that they're fiddling with my life."

"Only James fiddled with your life." Annie-Bug gave a small frown. "Acquit Ashie, he never fiddles and almost never proffers unwanted advice."

"How can you be certain?"

"He says so." Annie-Bug gave a small smile. "The last time Ashie fiddled was 1917 apparently and I believe he still hasn't forgiven himself."

"What did he do?"

"That I can't actually say." Annie-Bug frowned before biting her biscuit. "I don't know ... I think Ashie's probably the only person left alive who does know what happened."

"Only person ... "

"Well he obviously knows, and Jim says that both his parents knew ... Peter James says that Miles knew, but I think that's it."

"Miles? But..."

"Not Jim's cousin, some friend of my Uncle Darcy ... died at St. Quentin. I suspect the Miles you know was named after him, but I really don't know."

"That doesn't acquit Mr Darcy."

"Oh, but Jim wouldn't want to be acquitted ... he'd probably say he has nothing to be acquitted of."

"But ... " Annette frowned.

"Jim makes his own decisions and lives with the consequences. He has a reason for acting as he has and he really doesn't care what you think."

"It's my life."

"Throw that one at him and I can promise you that all he'll give in return is the enquiry of why you didn't find out yourself. People are only human ... even James Darcy. I trust Jim totally, but I'm also well aware that his agenda is very different from mine and when choosing between me and the agenda the agenda invariably wins unless he has promised otherwise. Jim might have spoken sooner, but he undoubtedly has private reasons for not. He might even have been able to prevent it from happening." Annie-Bug wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. "Probably intends to turn it into a handle he can use on Lila."

"Why would he want a 'handle', as you refer to it, on Lila? He's filthy rich and can do anything."

"Who knows?" Annie-Bug gave a shrug before giving a small chortle of satisfaction. "Holloway, Brigadier Miles Holloway."

"Who?"

"The Miles who Peter James said knew what Ashie had done."

"Thank you, I am now officially confused." Annette stared at her tea for a moment and then slowly looked up. "Where's this going Annie-Bug? Why do I need to take a holiday?"

"Jim's contacts in Reuters admit that the rags are already chasing Rory as hard as they can. Who is this patriotic lieutenant who caught the interest of Lila Thompson? They also want to know how and when he met Lila ... what has been his life?" Annie-Bug paused and gave a small shrug. "If Jim is right, and he's never yet been wrong when it comes to the press, they'll have your name published within a week and it will take them less than a day to connect your name with the Netherfield Benefit. Lila will have kept Rory good and sore about that dance of yours ... the press will know that you had a wonderful relationship with Rory until you began this crazy obsession with James Darcy. You first heard of him as a cricketer and always defended him and spoke of him and were utterly devastated when he retired. Then you got this London job and suddenly James Darcy was every second word you uttered. Then you were dancing with him ... The tragedy, a man who believed in a shallow social climber."

"But..." Annette stopped abruptly because there was something in Annie-Bug's expression.

"Jeroen and I didn't help you. Jim managed to scotch that scandal at the time but someone is bound to remember my 'entanglement' with an RAF Officer. My dancing with him at the ball won't have helped things either. If they don't remember by themselves, my grandmother will remind them. If she reminds them he'll be an encroaching climber as well. Please Button, if for no other reason than because I ask, will you take that holiday. I know what these people can do and I don't want you to take the full brunt of it."

"That implies I'll hear plenty regardless of taking the holiday."

"You will, it's unavoidable ... but a holiday will make it grow old faster than if you're there."

"But if I'm there surely they'll realise it's not true."

"They're not interested in truth, Button, they're interested in a sensational story." Annie-Bug abruptly rose. "I know what I'm talking about because I've lived with it for my entire life. Trust me, they don't care about the truth and if you protest they'll use it to feed the fuss ... Ashie wasn't joking by the way when he said Jim would abduct you if you refused to leave. I've refused before and I've been abducted and then you will discover exactly what happens to pawns under James Darcy ... It's not fun and that's no threat, it's the truth. The paper didn't tell the truth when they said the Darcys were scandal free until two years ago ... we're riddled with scandal through and through but until two years ago money kept most of it out of the press ... that and the fact that my Uncle Darcy would sue at even the faintest intimation of provocation. For his own reasons Jim opts against suing every newspaper into bankruptcy, I've got my doubts about whether his methods work though." Annie-Bug turned to go.

"Why me?" Annette hastily cast money for her tea on the table and bolted after Annie-Bug. "Why me?"

"You didn't kow-tow to Lila and do it her way ... the result she's going to bring you down. You can be a victim and let her bring you down and let her ruin your life ... or you can beat a temporary and strategic retreat before taking the fight back to her ... just try not to utilise her methods when you do so." Annie-Bug held the door before nodding Annette towards her car. "You made the mess, Jim's just capitalising from it and he'll probably help squelch it in the end ... and if he does it will squelch a damn sight faster than if anyone else tried to squelch it." Annie-Bug started the car before casting Annette an apologetic glance. "Sorry for swearing but I'm not all that happy today ... I got fired again."

"You're a volunteer, Annie-Bug."

"A reporter turned up and refused to leave until I spoke to him ... so I got fired as it was the only way I would be free to speak to him and I refused to resign."

"That mean you're coming on my holiday as well?"

"Undoubtedly ... we leave tonight."

"Lovely." Annette settled back in her seat with a sigh. "Sorry for being a beast."

"Wouldn't bother apologizing, you're in a rather impossible corner. So, shall we burn Ashie for tea?"

"Certainly." Annette settled back with a small smile, anyone else would just have said they were invited for tea, but not Annie-Bug.

March 29th 1941 - Rosings, Kent

The best concealment is to be found in the most obvious place.

After long consideration Annette had reached the conclusion that Brian had been correct in his statement that James Darcy and his great-aunt had a lot in common. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was the most egotistical, bigoted and insufferable witch that Annette had ever met. Lady Catherine had an opinion on any and every subject, and it was the 'right' opinion and invaluable to the auditor. Annette had also decided after nearly no consideration at all that Annie-Bug had few to no similarities with her Grandmother. On the same subject was the fact that Juliette de Bourgh Darcy was merely a younger version of her grandmother. Annette was rather of the opinion that Juliette de Bourgh Darcy would make an admirable wife for James Darcy, they were both silent, cold and indifferent to the world. If there was anything Annette could say in favour of James Darcy it was that his indifference sprang purely from preoccupation and had nothing to do with his company, where as Juliette was indifferent because she believed most of the world to be beneath her attention.

Annette finally shoved her chair back and rose to her feet, aware that Eoan was also scrambling to his feet. This was not a morning for manuscripts, or reports, she wanted to take a walk ... and the longer the better. Breakfast that morning had been excessively boring, as it had been for the past two days as Juliette could speak of nothing except the pending arrival of Mr James Darcy, who was meant to have arrived the previous day but had not.

"Going for a walk Button?" Annie-Bug caught Annette as she entered the gardens and dropped into step beside her.

"Leaving the house at any rate." Annette gave a slightly rueful grin. "Your grandmother has informed me that I must walk about the garden at regular intervals with deep-breathing unless I wish to harm my health ... she accredits her own longevity to this healthful exercise."

"Where's Ashie?"

"No idea, left directly after breakfast with the remark that his business would take only the day if he had any say in the matter."

"He does know how to manage my grandmother." Annie-Bug gave a grin. "He even managed to make it sound like the business really should take more than a day ... shall we walk around the park?"

"Lady Catherine will undoubtedly specify such an excess of activity as wasteful."

"I will then look terribly guilty and admit that I made it impossible for you to refuse by waxing lyrical on the beauties of the park and with a bit of luck she will merely talk roses and trees for the rest of the meal." Annie-Bug gave a small skip before jerking to a halt and frowning at a cat which was sitting on a nearby bench and sunning itself luxuriously.

"I didn't think Lady Catherine approved of cats." Annette eyed the cat thoughtfully. It was a black cat, thickly furred and definitely not a purebred. A rather unprepossessing cat actually, for one ear was brutally jagged and a hairless and nasty looking scar screwed up one side of its face.

"Oh, she doesn't ... she positively detests Diemos though which makes me wonder what possessed Jim to bring him down."

"That cat is Mr Darcy's?" Annette stared at the cat in disbelief before drawing her brows sharply together, Eoan had ambled across and was now sniffing the cat. Eoan did not really look like an animal Mr Darcy would own, but Diemos looked even less probable.

"Has been for ... five or six years I think." Annie-Bug creased her brows in thought. "Must be seven years actually because Jim had Diemos when my Uncle Darcy walked across Canada and that was in '35 the year before Greenland."

"General Darcy went to Greenland?" Annette finally looked away from the cat, which had opened one brilliant green eye for perhaps half a second in acknowledgment of Eoan.

"No, Jim did. Uncle Darcy did Canada while Jim completed sixth form and then Jim went to Greenland because he'd had a blazing row with his father and said he'd be damned if he summered at Pemberley and then went to Oxford. Those were the only times when they travelled apart."

"This would imply that Mr Darcy has arrived then ... if you would like I can walk around by myself while you go find him."

"No lady-like shrieks from Juliette yet, he's probably visiting Charlotte and being well-mannered so we won't see him before supper." Annie-Bug looked supremely indifferent as she finally turned from the cat and lead the way out into the park.

"Charlotte?"

"Collins, she was the wife of my grandmother's rector and actually a pensioner now because the Reverend Collins died ... Jim very rudely says that he died of Lady Catherine, but he actually died of apoplexy. Charlotte was a friend of my Aunt Elizabeth's and is rather tedious if truth be told ... but she does have a kindness for Jim and she enjoys it when he visits."

"Seems to imply that Mr Darcy doesn't enjoy the visits."

"Who's to say, you'll never fault Jim on correct behaviour."

"Can we change the subject?"

"Certainly ... what too?"

"That has to be the most damping way of stopping conversation that I can think of." Annette spoke several minutes later before abruptly sighing and frowning. "Does that cat usually ride on Eoan's back?"

"I couldn't say, I've never seen them together." Annie-Bug followed Annette's exasperated gaze and saw the rather peculiar sight of Eoan plodding along a bit behind them with Diemos perched on his broad back.

"Well if Mr Darcy wants to know why his dog is all scratched up you can assure him it was none of my doing."

"Doubt Eoan's scratched at all, he has very thick fur and an equally tough hide underneath that." Annie-Bug frowned before turning down yet another path. "But..." Eoan abruptly whined loudly and both girls turned just in time to see Diemos' tail vanishing under some rhododendrons. "Jim is at the parsonage." Annie-Bug shook her head. "Do you mind waiting here for a moment while I go say hullo to him?"

"No problem." Annette found a nearby branch at a comfortable height and settled down as Annie-Bug took a small side path into the rhododendrons.

" ... thank you for stopping in Jim." Charlotte Collins' soft tones stopped Annette near the sitting room windows, answering her questions about whether she hadn't just been wrong in her assumptions.

"No problem, I'll drop the stuff tomorrow sometime ... and let Ashie know that I'm looking for him." The window swung wide and Annie-Bug only just managed to find cover before James dropped somewhat awkwardly into the garden beneath it.

"Not as graceful as you used to be." Charlotte Collins' greyed and smiling head poked out underneath the sash as James picked himself and brushed himself vigorously.

"Surprise, surprise." James' dry response drew a laugh from Charlotte before she withdrew and closed the window. James fished some garden mould from the collar of his shirt before giving himself a vigorous shake. "Diemos!" The sharp call brought the black cat streaking from the undergrowth and with a powerful leap and a brief scramble the cat was perched on James' shoulder while he swore and sucked a badly clawed hand. "Come on Annie-Bug, no need to eavesdrop any longer."

"I wasn't." Annie-Bug came out from her cover with a disgusted face.

"Not intentionally I have no doubt, but you were eavesdropping." James gave his hand a small shake before resuming sucking it. "That'll teach me to call Diemos when I'm not wearing leather gloves."

"You are a pig."

"No doubt. Now 'fess up, what did you hear?" James hadn't even glanced at Annie-Bug as he moved towards the back shed at the parsonage.

"Nothing, just Charlotte saying goodbye and you asking her to tell Ashie you were looking for him ... then you fell out the window."

"Well forget I was even there if you can." James swung the door open and stepped back as a huge chestnut came out of the shed. "I arrive tomorrow morning, so be nice and surprised." James caught the mane and swung himself up as the horse passed, cursing yet again as he did so, Diemos apparently had sought to tighten his grip.

"They may know you're in the vicinity, Diemos was sunning himself at Rosings."

"Then obviously I'll have to try and arrive tonight." James brought the horse around in a tight circle and finally looked at Annie-Bug. "I'm serious about this Mouse, forget I was ever here."

"D.S.A." Annie-Bug sighed and then nodded. "Do arrive tonight, Juliette is being insufferable."

"That's more of an incentive not to come." James pushed the door shut before casting a quick and sharp glance around. "I'll see what I can do ... and when you see Ashie let him know I want his head for breakfast."

"What's he done?" Annie-Bug was startled for there was real anger under those soft words and real anger was something she had never heard from James in her life.

"None of your business." James turned the horse once more before pushing his way through the hedge and vanishing. Annie-Bug watched the hedge for several minutes before finally turning back towards the rhododendrons, she knew she was crying and she also knew she had to tidy herself before she saw Annette again.

"Annie-Bug!" Annette's horrified exclamation broke on Annie-Bug's ears almost before she'd finished the previous thought and she wiped her face fiercely, wishing that tears could magically vanish, or be concealed at least. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Annie-Bug wrenched free of the hand which took her arm. "Nothing happened." It was a patent lie which was accentuated by Annie-Bug wiping her face again.

"D.S.A.?" Annette didn't bother trying to touch Annie-Bug again.

"Why do you ask?" Annie-Bug cleared her eyes before looking suspiciously at Annette.

"Eoan." Annette nodded at the very forlorn dog.

"Oh." Annie-Bug paused before nodding briefly.

"Then I won't ask." Annette handed Annie-Bug a handkerchief before pushing her gently back towards the path. "The rhododendrons are really impressive..." Annette kept up an easy ramble of comments on the local flora, ignoring Annie-Bug as she pulled herself back together and cheered herself up.

"Thanks Button." Annie-Bug was her usual self by the time they reached the main gardens and with a quick laugh she danced quickly into the house. Annette stared after Annie-Bug until the door closed before turning slowly and heading back out into the garden.

Annette hesitated only slightly before she selected her direction of movement, and with decisive steps she headed back out into the park. Ever since Ashie had sprung the news on her that Rory had been lying to her the thing that had amazed Annette most was the lack of emotion his defection caused. A year ago Annette knew she would have been utterly devastated to know that Rory had been lying to her, but now was not a year ago and it was almost as if she had been expecting the trouble. It was almost as if she had lost the ability to feel emotion. She felt a faint streak of anger that James Darcy had caused Annie-Bug to cry like that, but it was nothing like the murderous rage she wanted to feel. It was a similar faint streak which provided emotion for the fact that no one had considered mentioning Rory's behaviour more than one day before the news broke. Rory's defection was of faint disappointment. Ashie had once driven her to frustrated rages multiple times a day, and it had been months since he's even disturbed her if one disregarded when he'd broken the news about Rory. It was almost as long since she had genuinely laughed. It was almost as if the world was drawing away from her, she could watch and sense others, but not feel for herself. What had happened?

"Button, are you coming into dinner?" It was Annie-Bug's voice which broke in on Annette's reverie and caused her to realise that it was now dark and she was quite cold.

"Yes ... sorry ... I mean..." Annette abruptly shook her head in frustration. "Thank you, Annie-Bug, I'll be in a moment."

"You alright?"

"Fine." Annette scraped a smile from she knew not where and utilised it. "Just been ... thinking. I think I'll go to Lord Eaton's staff. Africa would be nice."

"It's dinner time, stop thinking and come eat."

"I'll be in a minute." Annette glanced down at her slacks and grimaced. "I need to change or your grandmother will faint."

"Just a warning, Stephen and Jim arrived about an hour ago and Ashie has called in to say he won't be back for a couple of days." Annie-Bug gave a rueful grin. "Apparently a 'complication' has arisen."

"I bet it has." Annette shook her head. "Stephen?"

"Fitzwilliam, my Army cousin who intends to become a General."

"Wonderful." Annette shook her head before rising to her feet. "I shall change and then be with you ... and I'll even behave and refrain from arguing."

"Very kind of you." Annie-Bug gave a final small smile before returning to the house. Annette watched her go and gave Eoan's head a scratch before rising to her feet.

"James Darcy is in that building and you are still sitting with me ... very odd. However I'm glad you did stay." Annette pulled an ear and finally walked back to the house, entering by a side door and hastening to her room while resigning herself to a dreadful evening of the combined forces of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Juliette de Bourgh Darcy and James Darcy ... she rather wondered whether she'd survive.

Continued In Next Section