James? - Section X

    By John

    Previous Section, Section X, Next Section

    Part 32

    Posted on Sunday, 5 September 2004

    September 17th 1941 - Bavaria, Germany

    It is always a matter of perspective.

    Heinrich was annoyed, to state things mildly. Heinrich was feeling sick, exhausted, and now he discovered that his radio was not transmitting. He had actually known it was busted a week ago, but hadn't been able to fix it yet. How long it had been busted for there was no saying and he still had to fix it ... and he had not the faintest idea where to begin when fixing a radio.

    "Heinrich!"

    "Ja?" Heinrich had buried the radio back under his bed before he went to find who his visitor was. "Ah, Christov." Heinrich nodded to the familiar man who stood on the edge of the clearing. Chris was a man of legend if you had the right sort of friends, he was the first of the MAGI and now, well into his sixties he looked much as he had the first time Heinrich had met him after the first war. The only change was that the brown monkey was now a silver-grey monkey with a bald patch and a rather wrinkled countenance.

    "All clear?"

    "Why?"

    "Got a patient for you."

    "Wonderful." Heinrich crossed to where Chris stood and noted with some surprise that there was another form huddled behind Chris' feet. "What's wrong with him?"

    "Probably nothing that sleep and good food won't fix."

    "I can't offer good food to myself ... let alone someone else." Heinrich bent down for a better look at the form. "It's James?"

    "Aye." Chris grabbed an arm and pulled the form to its feet. There was no doubt now but that it was James, and a sicker looking bit of humanity would be hard to find. Heinrich realised that he was actually quite healthy.

    "What happened to him?"

    "Nothing." It was James who responded and his tone was irritated. "Just ... pushed things a bit."

    "Like I said, I think all he needs is food and sleep."

    "Not yet." James pulled his arm free, staggered slightly and then stabilised himself against the tree. "Heinrich, you haven't been on air lately. Radio alright?"

    "No." Heinrich shrugged before grabbing as James started to slide backwards.

    "Let me sleep for three hours." James took a deep breath before freeing himself from the supporting hands once more. "Do not let me sleep any longer."

    "If I do?"

    "You'll have me on your hands with pneumonia." James' expression was grim. "Do not let me sleep for more than three hours."

    "Then?"

    "I'll look at your radio before having another three hours of sleep."

    "Go crash on the bed." Heinrich shifted aside so James could move into the hut. "Nothing is wrong with him?"

    "Who's to know." Chris shrugged briefly. "I found him down near Paris and he refused to leave without first coming past here. I refused and so he just walked out on me and I had the devil of a job catching him again."

    "He'll be troublesome?"

    "No." Chris gave a small shake of his head. "But you'd best adhere to his requests ... not at all stupid that boy and he asks things or states things for a reason."

    "Why is he worried I'm off-air?"

    "Don't ask me, I'm simply existing to try and keep him alive." Chris gave a brief nod. "I'll be back in a week."

    "Mm." Heinrich watched Chris until he disappeared among the trees, then he returned to his hut and the rather intriguing sight of James Darcy flat on his back on the bed, sound asleep, with his leg propped against the head-board. The leg was in fact just a simple peg rather than some fancy prosthetic. Heinrich doubted that anyone would really connect James Darcy with that sad looking aid to movement. Neither would anyone have connected that ancient, crippled and deathly pale skeleton to the man who two years ago was considered England's greatest cricketing hope. Was he really only 23 years old?

    October 18th 1941 - Hertfordshire, England

    Sans peur

    Kitty Bennet was feeling rather old. Knees didn't bend so easily any more and she paid penance today for a day of scrubbing floors yesterday. It seemed like yesterday that she and Caroline had first scrubbed the kitchen at Longbourn, and yet it definitely wasn't yesterday. Jane had a son who was twenty years old. Alistair, whom she'd known as the tiniest baby was now 24. James, Elizabeth's son, was dead having not even seen his twenty-third birthday. When had she got so old?

    It was raining. Not really raining, more of a very heavy mist which discouraged adventures in the outside. It was a day for sitting on a windowsill with a warm fire at the back and a cup of hot chocolate. A good book was also something which would improve the day, though a wireless might pass in a pinch.

    "Kitty?" Jane had come cautiously into the room and Kitty watched her quietly. Jane was one of those people who were beautiful young and now were beautifully middle-aged ... no doubt in another ten years she would become beautifully old-aged.

    "In the window." Kitty spoke just before Jane retreated from the room. Jane and Elizabeth had been a perfectly matched pair, they had brought out the best in each other and provided complimentary contrasts for each other. Jane and Elizabeth, even now one did not think of them singularly ... Elizabeth had been dead for over a decade now.

    "You alright?" Jane settled into a nearby chair.

    "Yes." Kitty gave a faint smile. "I'm enjoying the weather and wondering if I have the energy to find a book."

    "That sounds like something Lord James would say." Jane's expression was slightly concerned.

    "Ashie probably would say it ... Caroline would undoubtedly laugh and tell him to stop thinking and just get the book." Kitty gave a soft chuckle for she could so easily see the scene, for similar scenes were regular occurrences. "Don't worry Janie, I've seen too many people dying to be worried by it now." Kitty gave Jane a slow nod.

    "Was that what you were really thinking about?"

    "No." Kitty gave a faint negative with her head. "I was realising that it's been twenty-five years since Lydia died ... over half my life has passed since I last saw her and yet I still miss her. Twenty-six years since Folin died and Father locked himself in the Library for a day. Twenty-six years since Lieutenant Bingley and his insufferable CO of a friend, Mr. Darcy, entered our lives. Do you remember Mama getting so excited because Mr. Darcy refused to dance with Lizzie?"

    "Lizzie was rather offended by it all."

    "Lydia knew she was in love with him long before I did. Lydia said they'd get married because Lizzie minded what he said. Lizzie never minded what anyone said before that, she knew she was intelligent and pretty."

    "Charles said that Sir David was worried that evening after the dance ... actually asked whether Charles thought that he, Darcy, should appologise for the remark!"

    "Goodness ... when did you hear that?"

    "Charles told me after Lizzie left for France. Charles was worried that Lizzie would be a bad distraction for Sir David."

    "Pot calling the kettle black." Kitty gave a soft laugh as she thought of the idea of Charles worried that anything would have distracted Mr. Darcy. When it came to focus Kitty doubted whether even a bomb could have disturbed an intent Darcy.

    "Being distracted is very bad for health when at war."

    "Don't I know it." Kitty laughed again.

    "How is Caroline coping?"

    "Same way as she has coped with Ashie since she was five years old." Kitty looked back out the window and rubbed at the misted glass. "Why isn't this war as fun as the last war?"

    "Last war was fun?" Jane looked quite surprised.

    "Didn't you enjoy it? The excitement, the worry, the ... the reality of it all?"

    "Oh." Jane seemed to think about the matter. "I'd never ... it was fun in its own way." Jane considered the matter for another long moment. "I think it's because we see more than just our own lives now. Now we can lose our own children and we're not quite so certain that the sacrifice is worth it."

    "Not quite so certain we're right."

    "Who said that?"

    "Caroline ... but she wasn't actually talking about the war, it just happens to be applicable." Kitty rubbed a bit more of the window clear. "Charlie ... she's a friend of Annette and Annie-Bug, she was killed in the bombing the other day."

    "She's not the only person who's dead." Jane spoke softly and Kitty abruptly realised that she had never asked why Jane had been looking for her.

    "Who is it now? Not Ashie."

    "No, I have heard nothing but what you told us." Jane gave a smile. "An indomitable existence that one."

    "Call it pig-headed." Kitty focussed on Jane. "What's happened?"

    "HMS Ebly was torpedoed off the Suez Canal. Charles has confirmation that Annette was on-board. Equally certain is the fact that she is not on the list of survivors."

    "Ouch." Kitty closed her eyes for a moment, then blinked fiercely. "Sorry, just never occured to me to worry about Neddie ... just like James, maybe I'll learn one of these days not to take it for granted that someone will survive."

    "Charles isn't certain whether Glendevie should know."

    "I'll go tell Caroline." Kitty dropped her feet to the floor and then slid off the windowsill. "One great lesson I have learnt from knowing this life ... there is no pain which can possibly equate to the pain of not knowing ... least of all if you find out later that others knew. I'll leave this evening."

    "But Kitty..." Jane stopped her protest almost before she made it. "Oh."

    "Thank you Jane." Kitty paused to hug Jane fiercely. "You're quite right, I'm worried I won't make it up there before Ashie dies ... and he must know."

    October 20th 1941 - London, England

    Happiness is made up of appreciation the little things in life.

    "Brian?" Lucille came into the room where Brian was engaged in introducing Tim and Allan to the intricacies of chess. Lucille watched for a moment and then smiled quietly, Brian was teaching normal chess.

    "You a refugee?" Brian glanced up with a small grin, for Lucille was rather curiously attired in a mixture of curtains and clothes with two children hanging off her.

    "No, a climbing post." Lucille freed one arm and pulled the sheathe of mail from her pocket. "Mail."

    "Wonderful." Brian accepted the letters and considered the two children hanging off Lucille thoughtfully, they were totally naked.

    "We were playing dress-ups, but then Nelli wanted her nightgown back and we don't want to get dressed yet." Lucille nodded in a regal manner and withdrew to the sound of Brian laughing.

    "Well let me know when you've got a minute, Rory has written and I need your opinion on how the devil I'm meant to write and tell him that ... about Neddie."

    "That's easy." Lucille looked back into the room. "Rory, you donk you're meant to be an idiot not capable. You'd better know that Annie's ship sank when she was returning to Africa." Lucille withdrew and then stuck her head back into the room. "Something like that should do the trick."

    "Terribly helpful." Brian shook his head. "I thought the objective would be to break it gently to him."

    "Well, that's nicer than you managed when telling me!" Lucille gave a small smile.

    "Yes, but you're not on the other side of the world." Brian ripped open another letter with a groan. "May I ask when you're going to forgive me for that?"

    "Never." Lucille retreated and slammed the door behind herself.

    "I greatly feared as much." Brian shook his head as he read the next letter.

    "You don't seem overly distressed that she won't forgive you." Tim looked up from the board and scratched his head.

    "I did make a confounded mess of things." Brian shook his head at the letter and then pushed the remaining envelopes into his pocket and returned his attention to the chessboard.

    "How much longer do we have to beat you?" Allan looked up from the board with a concentrated expression.

    "My leave is up tomorrow." Brian smiled quietly as he studied the board. Ashie might have been able to rectify the boys game into a victory, but it would undoubtedly be yet another stalemate between the two boys.

    "I have been sent by the mother." Brian entered the grey parlour where Lucille was knitting and dropped heavily into an armchair.

    "Am I allowed to guess why?" Lucille glanced briefly over her knitting.

    "No." Brian blinked rather sleepily at the fire. "I'm not about to let you steal my thunder."

    "I haven't yet."

    "Well don't even try." Brian creased his brows and glanced across at Lucille. He'd had his doubts, he'd had horrible doubts on occasion. He'd cursed himself and even once begun to write a letter, but thankfully sanity had caught up before he sent it. Sanity or selfishness?

    "You look like you are struggling with deep and difficult thoughts." Lucille pondered her knitting for a thoughtful moment before laying it aside with a sigh. "My knitting has improved out of sight this passed month alone. That," Lucille waved an accusing finger at her knitting. "I an entire hour of error free work."

    "Nice." Brian glanced at the work, it was khaki.

    "Now I know you've got a deep and difficult think on your mind." Lucille rested her chin in her hands and stared across the room.

    "It's..." Brian stopped abruptly and stared at the fire.

    "Is it a war think?"

    "No!" Brian looked almost alarmed as he jumped away from the query.

    "Wonderful." Lucille tucked her legs under herself and then scratched the back of her head. "Are you going to be able to manage a telephone call for my birthday?"

    "Uh." Brian scratched the back of his neck which was turning red as Lucille laughed gleefully.

    "I knew you'd forget." Lucille leapt from her seat and gave a little skip of joy. "I knew it, I knew it, I KNEW IT!"

    "Anyone would think you were glad I'd forgotten." Brian considered the matter thoughtfully.

    "Not at all, but it is comforting to know that I'm not the only person who forgets things like birthdays." Lucille gave a spin before returning to her seat with a small jump.

    "Seventeen." Brian blinked thoughtfully as he murmured the word.

    "Um-hmm." Lucille nodded and picked up her knitting again. "So, expound on the dark and nasty thoughts. You leave tomorrow and I won't have my big, brave airman going out with a troubled mind."

    "Don't you DARE say that to anyone else." Brian was torn between laughter and horror.

    "Oh." Lucille looked decidedly despondent.

    "Devil." Brian slowly relaxed with a sigh. "It's just ... I get ... It's ... I couldn't."

    "Incoherency is supposedly the first sign of true love ... unlike speaking to yourself which is apparently the first sign of madness. I do hope this incoherency is addressed at me ... dreadful to think that you're both mad and ... "

    "You really are picking on me tonight." Brian shook his head in near despair as laughter shook him once more.

    "What else can I do? You come in looking like I'm your dentist and you can't even dream up a decent excuse for it." Lucille came across the room and settled herself on Brian's lap. "Now, spit it out clearly and concisely."

    "First is that Nelli is worried ... about you."

    "Me?" Lucille frowned. "Why?"

    "She thinks I was slightly wanting in sense because of the way I mentioned the sinking of Neddie."

    "Sounds like a Hollywood flick, The Sinking of Neddie, starring etc. etc."

    "Marx Brothers please."

    "Must be if you're writing the script ... definitely reminiscent of Monkey Business."

    "There was also a ship in Night at the Opera."

    "I don't like your singing though."

    "There was singing in Monkey Business."

    "Only at the beginning and that was muffled by barrels."

    "Neither sank."

    "So Nelli's worried because you mentioned in passing that my sister sank on a ship?"

    "So I comprehend."

    "What else were you going to do?"

    "That hasn't been explained." Brian rubbed his nose. "Unless I was meant to tactfully waffle around the point."

    "But Nelli won't waffle around anything."

    "That doesn't mean that she doesn't realise that some people require tactful handling."

    "Oh." Lucille considered the matter. "But how does one tactfully waffle around the point that a sister is believed to be deceased?"

    "There, I have to confess, you have me stumped."

    "That is the matter dealt with then. Comfort Nelli that you have duly waffled around the point and I know my sister is believed to be deceased."

    "I think she wants you to be upset."

    "Oh." Lucille pondered the matter anew. "That's a bit difficult, Annie never spoke to me unless she had to ... we didn't have much in common, I wanted to be a dressmaker and she didn't like sewing."

    "Hmm." Brian rubbed his nose.

    "I'll miss her, but what does one do? There are the kids and Nelli and this war and I really don't believe that going to bed because my sister died will help anything."

    "Cold practicality ... but I quite agree." Brian pulled the end of his nose.

    "Good ... don't get killed and what was the other matter you were sent up to discuss?"

    "I haven't the faintest idea." Brian gave a yawn. "I'll write if I remember."

    "Good." Lucille rose to her feet and stretched slowly. "Bedtime or you'll have to leave without sleep."

    "No comment." Brian rose himself and watched Lucille intently. "You're not sorry you married me?"

    "No."

    "Good." Brian gave a yawn. "Want to go dancing?"

    "Where?"

    "Meurice's ... or the Studio Club."

    "Studio Club." Lucille finally relaxed from her stretch. "I'll wave you off after we've danced."

    "Wonderful idea." Brian held the door as Lucille exited, then followed her. So much for sleep, but who cared, that's what trains were for this day.

    October 25th 1941 - Glendevie, Scotland

    It was a cross-road, and it spread at my feet in trails of silver and stretched to eternity in every direction ... but I could not go back.

    Had anyone been awake at two in the morning they would have been puzzled by the boat, a retired Norwegian Pilot Cutter, which sailed past the harbour and all its lights which would come on for specific signals. The Cutter itself was sailing without lights, and correspondingly with no chart to inspect. The Skipper was clearly no stranger to these waters to risk such a hazardous activity, either that or insane. However the comfort of the Skipper and the sureness of his movements indicated the former, rather than the latter. The Cutter itself would have puzzled many a seasoned seaman, for the boat was rigged for a crew of one instead of the normal crew of at least two. The rigging was designed to enable ease of handling for the sole skipper, though the idea was as hazardous as sailing at night without lights and no chart. Had the wakeful one been able to see the treacherous bay on the far side of the island they would have been even more puzzled to see the Cutter come quickly and unhesitatingly in to ground itself on keel and sea-legs. Whoever was at the wheel of that Cutter was very familiar not just with the waters in the area, but with the coast of Glendevie in particular, for not even local fishermen would use that bay. The skipper was very familiar with the area, very familiar with the Cutter, and also was very intent on avoiding notice of any kind.

    Two anchors were buried well up the shore and the warps on the anchors dropped further out in the small bay were drawn tight. The boat was not going to go anywhere even in the highest of winds provided the warps held. The skipper quickly checked his position before jumping lightly onto the shingle of the shore.

    "Two hours before turn." He took to the narrow path up the cliff with a quick and easy stride. It would be four hours before the cutter ran the risk of stranding until the tide was high again, and four hours was not long when traversing across to the house would take at least an hour and a half.

    Caroline struggled out of bed and into her dressing gown and slippers before she shuffled to the door and glowered at the man who stood outside it.

    "You're meant to be dead."

    "I am." The response was soft. "However I thought I'd better see Ashie ... he's not gone yet is he?"

    "No." Caroline gave him a quick hug before she wrinkled her nose. "You reek of fish, godson mine."

    "It happens when you sail on a fishing boat." The response came with a small smile, a curious smile brim-full of mischief which James somehow acquired, though the smile was Ashie's.

    "You haven't been wasting time have you?"

    "I will admit to a bit of time wasted." The smile hardened into something else. "I was delayed a couple times."

    "Get the box?"

    "Yes." He pulled a small metal box out of his backpack. "Not relevent now, but I thought it best not to leave it lying around ... someone might take some post-war vengeance."

    "You could just come back to life you know."

    "No, thank you." There was a touch of bitterness in the voice.

    "Pemberley?"

    "Precisely ... not too sure who I am these days, but certainly not James Darcy." He gave a yawn before giving Caroline a hug. "Sorry to dig you up at this hour, but the tide was right."

    "Ashie's this way." Caroline knocked on the next door.

    "I hear muttering voices ... deliver unto me the worst of it and open the door yourself." There was a clarity to Ashie's voice which said he had not been asleep. This was not the first night Ashie had proven to be awake at an hour he should have been asleep at.

    "Give a call if you need anything." Caroline stepped away and let James enter the room.

    "Ah, I see you finally got your rotten hide back here ... I was almost afraid that the devil had finally got hold of you. What's the verdict? Hanging? Or do you get away with just being drawn and quartered?"

    "I'll settle for a hanging thanks." James' response was dry as he closed the door and Caroline moved back to her bedroom aware that James would stop off at her room once he had finished his business with Ashie.

    "Still awake?" James entered Caroline's room with a soft-footed tread and a tired expression.

    "No, I always sleep with the light on and writing a letter ... most soothing for the senses." Caroline laid her pen aside and swung her legs off the bed, simultaneously glancing at the clock. "I assume you've left a boat on the far side of the island ... I'm coming to wave you off for I know you're racing the tide and not wanting to waste any time for fear of stranding yourself."

    "You've been around him lately and know his actual strengths ... any point in my considering coming back in a month?"

    "Only if you want to see Tom." Caroline laced up her boots with firm pulls.

    "That's what I thought." James' expression flickered for the briefest of moments. "I'm under orders for the next month or I'd see about staying."

    "No point, like your father, Ashie would prefer to be left alone." Caroline grabbed her coat and rose to her feet.

    "I was actually thinking of you ... not Ashie." James gave a small frown. "I lived with my father long enough to know that occasionally a break is essential."

    "Kitty comes tomorrow." Caroline's expression was serene. "Apart from that Ashie is not your father when he is unwell ... Ashie is only restless when he thinks he's getting better."

    "Were you aware that you are a wonderful woman?" James briefly kissed one smooth cheek before he lead the way downstairs and out a small back door which Caroline had never seen before.

    "What stems this burst of gratitude?"

    "Nothing at all." James handed Caroline a thick stick as he lead the way leftwards towards the other side of the island. "Well ... apart from the realisation that you've put up with Ashie for fifty years and me for twenty-three ... not to mention the twenty-odd years you lived with my father for."

    "I never saw your father in anything but what he referred to as the cream of health."

    "My father would NEVER have referred to cream of health ... regardless of whose health he was talking about."

    "So Ashie called it the cream of health ... no real difference. Doesn't poor old Pyro doesn't count in the list?"

    "Certainly not, Pyro was the stabilising force ... Florrie did make the list though." James gave a grin. "I hope we had our compensations though?"

    "You know perfectly well there were no shortage of compensations. You're fishing for compliments now." Caroline shook her head. "Just keep yourself alive, Jim ... this world needs people who believe in it."

    "Ashie said that Annette's not on the list of survivors from HMS Ebly which went down last month."

    "No." Caroline glanced curiously at the face beside her. "What was the situation there? Ashie was being a bit hard on Neddie because of everything, but I received the impression that everything was rather confused."

    "That is a polite way of phrasing it." James gave a soft chuckle deep in his throat. "That was quite simply a mess ... but I owe her my life and I'm not about to forget that."

    "On your side Jim?"

    "I wish her happiness, no more and no less." James came to a halt on the slight rise and glanced around. "If she's dead than I give thanks I knew her for the little I did ... if she's not, I intend to be part of her life in the future."

    "Ashie said something remarkably similar to that once." Caroline nodded slightly to remind James that he hadn't much time for dawdling. "I'd told him I wouldn't marry him about half a minute earlier ... just one of my warnings to him incase he thought he could get out of trouble with his mother. Ashie said he didn't give a damn but if I thought he'd gracefully bow out of my life he had news for me ... and a lot of it."

    "Sounds like Ashie." James gave a small chuckle before finally moving on again. It was five minutes before James finally spoke again. "He said he was destined to live to a ripe old age ... I just wish this war had ended first."

    "I don't." Caroline took hold of James' arm as she stumbled on a loose rock. "Ashie lives in a world of old-fashioned gentlemen ... and they talk about nuclear weaponries, ten tonne bombs and carpet bombing of civillians. That's not Ashie's world and he never fitted in the world to begin with."

    "If he doesn't fit, what does that make me?" James glanced down curiously.

    "One of Ashie's few hopes that the world will ever recover from the insanity it seems to be succumbing too." Caroline's response was dry. "So, will I get the cold shoulder if I ask what you spoke of other than Annette?"

    "We spoke of things that go bang." James' expression twitched slightly with repressed amusement.

    "Seriously?"

    "Seriously ... dead serious in fact." James lead the way around a rather nasty bog which Caroline had been about to walk into.

    "Things that go bang?"

    "Some department in the Admiralty which might be persuaded to accept my humble person."

    "Jim..." Caroline hesitated.

    "Don't worry godmother." James gave a faint smile. "We have our ways and means of living a peaceful life ... and to be honest I think it will be fun to work as a subordinate to someone for once."

    "If you think you'll spend more than a week as a subordinate you have bats in your belfry."

    "There I disagree, for I still lack the no-how for this job Ashie said I might look at."

    "Just how do you intend to get away in London without being recognised?" Caroline stopped James at the top of the cliff and met his eyes seriously.

    "Very simply." James gave a small smile. "No one outside the family know that I am down a leg, there's also..."

    "Jim!" Caroline consciously closed her mouth and stared at him very firmly. Caroline couldn't believe that James was even considering walking around London as himself. However, the grey eyes stared calmly directly back at her, James was quite serious.

    "Who's going to look for James Darcy in a peg-legged naval uniform? Might even get myself an eyepatch ... always fancied myself as a pirate."

    "Jim."

    "Don't you think so?"

    "No." Caroline shook her head in frustration.

    "Caroline, no one has ever looked at James Darcy ... they all pull-up short and fall face first into the public image and social reputation." James paused. "That's why I'm so good at vanishing."

    "Sorry?" Caroline blinked.

    "People expect to see me dressed in certain clothes, in the company of certain people and in certain places. I've been taken as my own shepherd before ... and I had been introduced to him by name only a minute before. If you take away the clothes, the people and the places I'm no one at all."

    "Well don't forget that to some people you will never be a non-entity." Caroline had noted the tide and realised that time was not there to be wasted in arguement. Caroline did not agree with James' analysis of himself as a non-entity ... but then again she had known him his entire life and like Ashie, he was not someone she was going to let drift off into the ephemeral mists of memory while he lived.

    "Thank you." James abruptly hugged Caroline fiercely. "I'll see you in a month ... and then I'll need to solve the problem of who I tell and who I don't tell."

    "Good luck Jim ... I'll keep my ears open for Neddie."

    "You won't need to listen too hard." James had slid part-way down the cliff before he glanced back up. "Neddie will telegraph you the very first chance she gets for she knows that you'll know her ship has gone down."

    "I disliked her initially, too hard, too judgemental, too ... too ... too unfeminine for want of a better description. Quite frankly I found her an insult to all my senses."

    "So would anyone who didn't see what was hidden behind." James gave a small, flickering smile. "I'm glad you saw it before she left, for I'd be sorry if you didn't like her."

    "Going to marry her?" Caroline glanced at the Cutter which was still tugging at the anchor ropes, not yet aground, but there couldn't be much time left before that occured.

    "Not currently." James slipped the rest of the way down the cliff. "I'll send a postcard."

    Caroline Bingley watched in silence as the anchors were lifted, the boat pushed off, the stern anchors collected and the staysail set all seemingly in the same moment. The boat nosed somewhat gingerly through and over the rocks which separated it from the open sea as James poled carefully over the stern. The tide was dangerously low, and the fact the boat got through at all made Caroline wonder whether James hadn't fiddled with that boat and given it a shallower draught or something. It was a harbour which only James Darcy had landed anything in that Caroline knew of, and the shoals stretched far out to sea at this point making the situation worse than its horrible appearance.

    Dawn was already colouring the sky as the rest of the sails rose and James pulled the pole back in and stowed it. Caroline watched the boat until it was out of sight, then carefully dried her eyes and headed back to the house. It had been very kind of James not to remind her that she had once been exactly like she had just described Annette as having initially been like. Then again James was a Darcy, and that much power that young guaranteed either a first class snob, or someone who was too well acquainted with the importance of looking beyond the surface appearance. Was James serious when he said he had no idea who he was now? It was a matter to consider carefully for many things were changing now.

    Part 33

    Posted on Saturday, 11 September 2004

    1st November 1941 - London, England

    What seems like a curse may be a blessing in three years time. - Indian saying

    Samson Beverage was cursed by three things in his life. The first was an inquisitive nature. The second was his name which had remained in its full glory regardless of innumerable school-yard fights. Samson Beverage he had been baptised, and Samson Beverage he was called by everyone regardless of the situation the calling occured in. The third curse, and by far the worst curse in Samson Beverage's opinion, was the blighting of his career as a journalist.

    Seven months ago Samson Beverage had landed an absolute coup of an interview. Seven months ago Samson Beverage had dared to ascend the imposing front steps of the Darcy Townhouse and beard the owner in his lair. Samson Beverage had had no appointment that day, he had just seen James Darcy ascend the steps and decided that he had nothing to lose in asking. That day had seen Mr. Darcy in a very peaceful and friendly frame of mind, and Samson Beverage had secured an exclusive interview. The date had been set and Samson had been well-prepared when he had mounted the front steps of the Darcy Townhouse for the second time in his life. The ancient and disabled Butler had been all politeness, showing Samson Beverage into a small parlour until Mr. Darcy was ready, for Samson Beverage had arrived early.

    The Butler had never returned that day, instead, to the second of ten minutes later, Mr. Darcy had entered the room with a firm step and a concerned expression. The greeting had been short and Mr. Darcy had got to the point promptly. Mr. Darcy was requesting the interview be delayed. For anyone else Samson Beverage would have assumed it was a polite brush-off and he would have requested the interview regardless. Mr. Darcy though, was known to honour promises and he had promised to call and arrange another interview as soon as things settled down. Samson Beverage had hesitated for a long moment before finally giving a simple nod and agreeing to the delay.

    Such was the luck of Samson Beverage, a single day later James Darcy was killed in a bombing raid and the interview had never occured. Samson Beverage had received the lecture of a lifetime because of that lost interview. Since that day Samson Beverage had not received a single chance to even do an interview. The street beat had been the life of Samson Beverage since that day, and the street beat was one of Samson Beverage's pet hates.

    "For a ghost you seem a touch on the lively side." Commander Charles Goodeve RNVR chucked a battered briefcase aside and stared at the man who sat quietly in the corner. "On the other hand, for a live man you appear exceptionally dead. You come to take over Ashie's work?"

    "Sorry ... no." James Darcy gave the very faintest of faint smiles. "Or perhaps I should say that I honestly wish I could. Nothing like bombs and abelian rings."

    "You have your own unique taste, I will confess that I do not share it. What brings you here?" Goodeve settled into his chair and ignored the sounds outside.

    "I first want to know if I've visited you within the passed half dozen months."

    "Not that I can think of." Goodeve frowned at his pen then shook his head. "No one has mentioned you showing up."

    "Good...don't trust me an inch if I show up again."

    "You came to tell us not to trust you?"

    "No, I actually came about Claude Watson, but it seemed sense to check and warn." James stretched slightly. "Could I possibly borrow Claude for an hour or two?"

    "Probably ... unless you intend to put him on a ship to France or something. Is it too rude to ask why?"

    "I want to be recognised." James rose to his feet with a faint smile.

    "You want to be recognised? You trying to get Canaris on your heels again?" Goodeve blinked in surprise.

    "I am as a matter of fact." James hesitated for a long moment. "I really am sorry not to be joining you, but ... something fishy is in the works and I'm not happy about it."

    "Fishy?" Goodeve had sent someone after Claude Watson and he was frowning darkly. "Canaris Fishy or some other sort of Fishy?"

    "Some other sort of Fishy." James glanced at the door. "Keep it to yourself but be very wary if I ever show up again."

    "Why?"

    "Because I seem to be showing up in places I've never been to."

    "Hence your use of the code even though it is technically rendered useless. Don't forget for you won't get a noodle out of us without it." Goodeve nodded. "Anyone other than us you talked to even while you were a neutral?"

    "No."

    "Then I'll just mention it in passing to the heads not to talk to you without the code...and they're damn well not going to ask for it."

    "Thanks."

    "Why would someone be idiotic enough to try and impersonate you? You've hardly a reputation for nice and open habits."

    "Possibly they think it will pay off." James gave a shrug and then smiled as Claude Watson appeared in the doorway. "Claude and I will depart and hopefully find who I seek before our hour is up."

    "You've an hour and a half." Goodeve had picked up a nearby book and clearly lost interest.

    "Samson Beverage, can we go back yet?" Charles Owens was fifty-five years old, grumpy, but not a bad photographer.

    "I..." Samson Beverage stopped with a jerk, his eyes caught by a person down the street. "Charles, the street, I want a photograph of this street."

    "Object?" Charles was rather perplexed by this demand, Samson Beverage was known for demanding objects photographed, he rarely requested scenes.

    "The people, I want to see as many faces as clearly as possible." Samson didn't dare move his eyes from the target of his fascination until he'd heard the shutter click several times. "Thank you." Samson Beverage shifted his eyes away for a moment before looking back.

    "What is so fascinating?" Charles studied the street himself.

    "There's a man about halfway down, dark hair with a hat, grey suit, quite tall and talking to Claude Watson. He looks like James Darcy and I wanted to study him more closely."

    "You still hoping Young James is not dead?" Charles fiddled with his camera and took another more careful photograph.

    "I didn't say it was him ... if I thought that I'd remind him that he owed me an interview." Samson Beverage hunched one shoulder. "I'd just prefer to study the face ... it would be quite a thing if it was him."

    "True, but he's dead." Charles carefully put away his camera.

    "You can go home now ... tell Bob I didn't manage to garner a button unless he wants an article about smoking ruins and a singed cat."

    "I can tell you now that he doesn't want that." Charles pulled his hat down a bit more firmly around his ears. "I'll leave the photographs on your desk."

    "Thank you." Samson Beverage pulled his coat around himself more closely and wished he was old enough to enlist.

    "Don't forget to keep your eyes peeled, Bob will want something out of you tomorrow or he'll have your ears."

    "Not to worry about." Samson Beverage watched Charles scuffle away before turning himself and slowly walking down the street where he had seen the man. Samson Beverage would not have admitted to anyone that he actually had thought it was James Darcy he had seen. Not only did Samson Beverage think it was James Darcy he had seen, but he was still almost convinced that it was James Darcy he had seen.

    The men in question had moved off now and were moving extremely quickly and with a definite destination in mind. Samson Beverage was not particularly conscious in his decision to follow, and yet he did follow. The streets passed quickly and within ten minutes Samson Beverage was standing outside the Hungaria Restaurant in Lower Regent Street.

    Samson Beverage acquired a cup of tea and settled down to wait. He hoped the wait would not be long, but one could never tell when a person with good connections in the Admiralty ascended to a suite of offices above a restaurant.

    "Hullo Darcy." Commander Richardson was attending to several large sheets of paper pertaining to something. "Any bombs for us?"

    "Sorry, no bombs or abelian rings." James paused to glance at the drawings.

    "Goodeve wanted to know if you found what you wanted."

    "You can reassure him that I did." James wrinkled his nose up and then stepped back. "I found exactly what I wanted and it's waiting downstairs for me to reappear as I speak." James continued to follow Claude to his desk, though he paused to inspect Lane's desk which had a shell reposing in the exact middle of it. Lane was pulling his nose while twirling a hacksaw around one finger, a hammer lay nearby and James gave a slight shake of his head.

    "Wouldn't worry." Claude paused in pulling out paper. "He's been hammering at it all morning." Claude spread the pages out and waved his hand at them somewhat vaguely. "As I was saying, something is missing."

    "So I see." James bent over the pages and pulled thoughtfully at one ear as he slowly worked his way through the pages. Finding the problem would not be easy, but it was bliss to forget the world for a while and all its problems.

    Samson Beverage had waited a half-hour before he entered the restaurant and tackled one of the waiters for information.

    "Them's some Admiralty Department." The waiter was phlegmatic and obviously tired.

    "What Admiralty Department?" Samson Beverage had ordered an outrageously expensive he knew not what in hopes of encouraging more information.

    "I dunno." The Waiter handed across a small looking roll stuffed with something. "But there's a powerful lot of explosives up there..." The Waiter jerked and sent the roll rolling. Samson Beverage himself jumped. There had been a muffled explosion from overhead and thick grey-green vapour was now oozing down from the ceiling.

    "Ahh ... thanks." Samson Beverage bolted for the door, vaguely aware that the Waiter was only half a step behind him.

    Thick grey-green vapour was boiling from every window of the offices above the restaurant. An odd assortment of Naval Uniforms and civillian attire hung from the windows, sillouetted by the baleful glare from within. Many more uniforms and civillians came boiling out of the fire escape. The whole lot were in various degrees of distress and painful gasping was the predominant noise aside from the amazed chatter of the fascinated on-lookers.

    Samson Beverage had no idea what caused the explosion, or even what the vapour was, he was far too concerned that he might have lost his man. A quick inspection of the people erupting from the offices showed a chilling lack of tallish and dark men.

    Samson Beverage searched the faces with growing desperation, until finally he noticed his quarry standing near the restaurant door, fanning the vapour aside with a hand while he talked to the uniform next to him. Samson Beverage heaved a sigh of relief and settled back to being inconspicuous while he watched his quarry.

    The conversation ended not long after and the street began to empty quickly as the vapour was blown away and it became apparent that there were no injuries ... though Samson had a spectacular little something to drop off this evening. It seemed general consensus among the passer-bys that the Navy had actually achieved something at last. Certainly that thick vapour and muffled explosion said that something had worked. There was also something rather baleful about the air and light in the offices the officers had hung out the windows from.

    What a thing for the paper!

    Whoever said that the Admiralty was not working clearly had not been on Lower Regent Street yesterday evening when a mysterious detonation drove the scientific officers of the Navy to evacuate their offices until the vile cloud cle...

    Samson Beverage swore as he noticed only just in time that his quarry was turning the corner two blocks away. The street was almost empty as the officers returned to their offices and the civillians moved on. Samson Beverage sprinted after his target and desperately hoped he'd not lost his target getting distracted like that.

    Samson Beverage had not lost his target and twenty minutes later he found himself standing in a small back-alley blinking at the back door of the Darcy Townhouse. A neat couple of steps ascended to the dark and private little door. Could it possibly had really been James Darcy?

    "Someone wants a word with you." The deep, gravelly voice caused Samson Beverage to leap half out of his skin. Samson Beverage turned to consider running, but a hand the size of a shovel descended and clamped him firmly to the cobbles. "Don't consider running or I'll have to hit you."

    "Oh." Samson Beverage blinked at the massive lump of man with a sickening feeling in his stomach. Samson Beverage had no wish to be hit by a man who was so clearly a big lump of muscle. It would hurt. "Who ... who wants to speak to me?"

    "I'll no' speak 'is name 'ere." The hand pushed Samson Beverage to the small steps the stranger had ascended. "I'm Morris and I'd've hit you while he was talking wif Watson if 'e 'adn't told me not to." Morris pushed Samson Beverage up the stairs and into a dark back corridor.

    It was almost five minutes later when Morris came to a halt, knocked sharply on a dark door and then opened it. Samson Beverage found himself pushed into a room which was clearly a study, lined with books and furnished with brown leather.

    "Have a seat, Mr. Samson Beverage." The voice was calm and Samson Beverage almost fell into the indicated armchair. It was one thing to feel certain yourself that you had seen a dead man walking down a street. It was quite another to be addressed by name and encouraged to take a seat by the same dead man. Samson Beverage stared at the man intently, but all doubt was now erased. How it could be, Samson Beverage had no idea, but the man sitting in the comfortable armchair near the fire was unquestionably James Darcy.

    "Good evening." Samson rearranged himself as he recovered from his shock. "You are well?"

    "For a dead man ... remarkably so." There was a faint hint of laughter to the words.

    "Why did the Will get passed if you wasn't dead?" Samson Beverage considered the point with perplexity.

    "Oh, James Darcy is dead...even got a nice little stone in the family cemetery. I currently have no name, no address, no job and no legal existence. You want to do a job of work for England?"

    "What sort of work?" Samson Beverage frowned at the man, the Darcys were historically prone to ending up in odd situations. There was no telling what the work was.

    "I want you to scribble an article about what you saw this evening."

    "'Bou'tha' bang in Lower Regent Street?" Samson Beverage blinked his astonishment.

    "Yes."

    "I was going to anyway. It's just what the editor likes, proof that the Ministries are actually doing something to end this 'ere war."

    "You're good at keeping your mouth shut...want to do something else?"

    "How so?" Samson Beverage frowned at James, who seemed to have become distracted by the fire.

    "Let's put it this way." There was a pause for the briefest of moments as James looked up from the fire and met Samson Beverage's confused gaze. "What do you think Canaris and his twits would do if they thought I might possibly be alive?"

    "Try an' find you." Samson Beverage responded almost without thinking, then blinked and gaped. "Cor. Yer not seriously fishin' for them Nazzies to chase you is you, sir?"

    "Preferably the Nazis will not chase me ... but it does seem rather a good idea to tie half a dozen of them up with the question of whether or not I actually died."

    "They'd waste 'alf a dozen to determine if you was 'live?" Samson Beverage's jaw dropped.

    "I think they should." The response was rather meditative. "They had three agents tailing me at any given time when I was a neutral ... correction, when they knew where I was they had three agents tailing me. I don't see why I shouldn't warrant a few more if they know I'm not neutral and they don't know where to find me."

    "Was this dying all a..." Samson Beverage hesitated unable to find quite the right words to express his worry.

    "No." James Darcy's response was firm and definite a grimness coming to expression which made Samson Beverage feel a trifle uncomfortable. "It was an accident, I missed my boat and no one knew I was meant to catch it."

    "Yer boat from where?" Samson Beverage gaped again.

    "Norway." James clunked his teeth thoughtfully. "Look, do you think you could bung something into the article about seeing someone remarkably like me chatting to an Admiralty Scientist after the explosion?"

    "Don't see why not as I did see you and I 'spect some others did too." Samson Beverage rubbed his nose. "You serious about this, sir? Seems an awful risk to take."

    "I was asking whether I could give Canaris and his hearties something to think about other than assassinations and information collection."

    "Anybody know I'm in on this?"

    "Morris, you and I." There was a long silence. "Think you can do it?"

    "Don't see why not." Samson Beverage pondered the matter. "Could I write your War Memoirs if we both survive?"

    "They'll be boring ... but fair is fair, I did fail on that interview and I've no intention of giving it now."

    "Thank you, sir." Samson Beverage rose. "Best be getting, sir, or I'll not make the cut for this evening."

    "Thank you...I'll get in touch if I'm London so you can...accidentally see me again if need be."

    "Best of luck to you, sir." Samson Beverage nodded briefly and then followed the immense Morris back to the private black door in the back alley. It didn't take half so long to return as it had taken to arrive.

    Samson Beverage wasted no time hanging around and dreaming in that back alleyway. It was a matter of minutes to run back to the main streets and find a cab to take him back to the offices.

    "Hi-yi!" Samson Beverage shot into the main rooms and skidded onto his desk with its little type-writer. The developed photographs from Charles flew into a draw without even a glance as paper went into the type-writer and Samson Beverage began to type.

    "What did you find, Samson Beverage? Queen Elizabeth helping a fireman?" It was Toby who leaned over and disturbed Samson Beverage at his work.

    "No." Samson Beverage tore the first page free and fed in a second page. "Explosion at the Admiralty Offices in Lower Regent Street. Apparently it's some experimental weapons department and something worked because they all came boiling out onto the street as they filled the restaurant under them with smoke and vapour."

    "Lower Regent Street? Must be the chaps who got shifted from the Northern Block of the Admiralty. Miscellaneous Weapons Development or some such ... heard from Charlie they were to blame for the coal dust on the Thames few months back ... Gawd-awful mess it made of the washing. I heered it was some effort to stop it being a landmark or somesuch. The restaurant must be happy at getting smoked out."

    "Aye." Samson Beverage tore his second page free and studied the contents intently, no spelling errors, good enough setting.

    "Got James Darcy on the brain you has...as if a ghost'd be seen chatting to anyone."

    "It's called news, now let me get this to Bob or he'll have my ears for breakfast...probably straight out of the frypan with no interest in silver service or the likes." Samson Beverage ducked around Toby and dove into the Editor's Office.

    "What now?" Robert Ganting was clearly in a bad mood.

    "Street beat, explosion in weapons development offices on Lower Regent Street, sir. Naval Officers and green smoke all over the place." Samson Beverage handed the pages across.

    "No need to mention your inedible meal or the waiter, Samson Beverage...might as well keep the rest though." Bob threw the pages back. "Type it neat and get it back here in ten minutes or it will miss the press."

    "Yessir." Samson Beverage shot back to his seat and settled to work on a careful copy.

    A spectacular explosion caught the attention of many in Lower Regent Street this evening. Pedestrians and locals alike watched in awe as thick grey-green smoke and vapour billowed from the balefully lit windows of the Offices currently housing an assortment of scientists and specialist recruited into the RNVR and involved in weapons development.

    The Officers who occupy the Offices were seen to hang from the windows and emerge from the fire escape in search of fresh air. The gasping for breath was audible in the street and the Officers who emerged into the street from the fire escape were all rendered in extremis courtesy of the noxious gases. A Lieutenant-Commander was the last to emerge, aided by a civillian whose courage is to be commended. Whether the civillian was in there at the time, or entered from the street after the explosion is unknown, in fact the only fact anyone seemed to know was that the man bore a remarkable resemblance to the late James Darcy.

    A word with the Lieutenant-Commander after he had somewhat recovered from the effects of the gas revealed a reticence about the cause of the explosion. What else is to be expected with a department which deals in experimental weaponry? The Lieutenant-Commander did assure everyone that the gas was harmless in this form. What other form does it come in?

    Samson Beverage smiled as he finished his work and tore it from the typewriter before bounding back into Bob's Office. If this wasn't just what the paper needed, Samson Beverage was a noodle.

    Part 34

    Posted on : Sunday, 26 September 2004

    November 7th 1941 - Deraux Castle, Cambridgeshire

    Further outlook? ... unsettled.

    There were some jobs, necessary parts of life, which Caroline hated. This particular job was a job she had honestly hoped she would never have to do. However, as with many hopes or dreams, it didn't come true and she was now doing it.

    The train had crept out of London at a pace barely above walking. Thankfully it had had a clear run for its creep though and the job had not been delayed by several hours while shoved in a dark siding. The train had then crept slowly across the sodden countryside at a speed which would have caused outrage were the country not at war. But they were at war, and the speed was acceptable ... one was simply relieved that it was actually moving in the right direction and had left at approximately the right time.

    The sodden weather was matching Caroline's mood rather nicely. Ashie was dead. Thirty years after his first death was predicted Lord James Claude Francis Abraham Aristide Clarence Ashington-Frankston had finally agreed with medical dictates. Ashie had finally agreed that he was too sick to continue living and with characteristic quiet determination he had set about dying.

    Two weeks ago Ashie had decided that he didn't feel like returning to the conscious world one morning and had failed to wake up. Caroline had been there when he had closed his eyes for the last time the previous night, and she had not been surprised when the nurse woke her the next morning with the news that he was in a coma. That evening he had been the boy Caroline had once known so well. A boy who had stayed well hidden for most of Ashie's adult life. A pensive and quiet boy, yet bubbling with his own unique charm.

    One week ago Ashie had decided that breathing was not all it was cracked up to be, and so had refrained from practicing the art. He had slid away so unobtrusively that Caroline had known he was dead minutes before the nurse had become aware that there was a problem. There had been no fuss or fanfare in his passing, he had simply stepped from stage to stage, easing himself from the world as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. Many would undoubtedly comment on it being such a uncharacteristic death ... but that was merely proof of their ignorance. Ashie's death had been very characteristic. What was more, it was a death he had chosen.

    Caroline had calmly dealt with everything. Friends and relatives were informed by the simple means of a brief telephone call. The newspapers were notified by a similar means. The funeral was arranged and had occured quietly and with no hitch. The Memorial Service had passed with the usual fuss and bother. Caroline had shaken a very large number of hands and looked appropriately sorrowful in the right places and at the right times. Pyro had stood solidly, his face more bland than ever as he stood over the young Earl of Deraux. Ashie had been Kenneth's somewhat haphazard guardian for the past seven years, the Guardianship had officially passed to James Darcy, though a codicil dated August 1939 specified that Pyro was to be Guardian and Trustee if for any reason James was unable to fulfill his duties. James had been there too, but he'd been rather distant and detached as if his mind were elsewhere. In someway it was as if he didn't know he was Ashie's first choice of Guardian, it just hadn't come up and Pyro had accepted the role.

    The Dowager Countess of Deraux had not been present at either the funeral or the memorial service. Caroline had no illusions at all about this absence, the Dowager Countess might well claim sickness, but Caroline knew far better. Lady Amabel was nothing if not a political creature, it was pique which had caused her to absent herself from the proceedings. Pique that she had not been notified of Ashie's sickness. Pique that she had not been asked to help with the arrangements. Most of all it was pique that Ashie had dared to die at all ... let alone do it without first asking Lady Amabel's permission. Now it was Caroline's far from enjoyable task to deliver the various condolences to the bereaved mother, notify that lady of the many ramifications of Ashie's will, and speak to Ken about those selfsame ramifications. Lady Amabel was not going to be happy and it was with an intense sensation of dread that Caroline viewed the final stages of her journey.

    "Miss Bingley." It was Timmons who greeted Caroline on her descent from the train and Caroline blinked at him in bewilderment.

    "Mr. Timmons." Caroline gave her head a small shake, she could hardly object to the man that it wasn't his place to pick visitors up from the station. Hopefully there would be sufficient reason behind sending him, like that all four footmen, the chauffer and the gardener and his four boys had all abruptly departed the premises. "You are well?"

    "Well enough. Shall I take your bag?"

    "No thank you, there's nearly nothing in it." Caroline followed Timmons to the car. "How is Ken?"

    "I couldn't say, Miss Bingley, he's been in his room since he returned from the funeral."

    "Well he won't remain their much longer. How is Mrs. Butterworth?"

    "Very well, and undoubtedly she has some fudge waiting for you." Timmons carefully ensured that Caroline was settled before driving with equal care from the Station Yard. "Mr. Angel appologised for his lack of appetite when he brought Ken back ... he only ate four slices."

    "I suspect we'll all fall into her dark books for I will never manage even four slices."

    "No Miss Bingley ... but then ladies should never eat too much."

    "Have his rooms been emptied yet?"

    "I couldn't say miss." Timmons seemed to be focussing rather intently on his driving.

    "Timmons?" Caroline looked carefully at the old face.

    "It's all gone miss, all of it ... she even made us take Miss Margaret's drawing from the schoolroom."

    "But ... " Caroline stopped and drew a careful breath. "Thrown away or in storage?"

    "Burnt ... though Reggie managed to save the Major's photograph of the Mess and your old sketch of him."

    "My..." Caroline blinked in astonishment before carefully closing her mouth. "Which sketch ... or should I say, what sketch?"

    "The one of him at the piano ... he seems to be about thirteen and it really is very good." Timmons turned the car into the long drive to the Castle. "She is not happy."

    "She'll be even less happy when she finds out that she probably has to move to Surrey."

    "Lord James finally put his foot down did he?"

    "No, but the death dues are rather high and I doubt her ladyship will be willing to live here on reduced staff."

    "No." Timmons brought the car to a halt at the front door and let Caroline out. "Sam will show you to your room, Miss. You'll have to speak to Mr. Deneby if you wish to see Master Kenneth."

    "Thank you." Caroline ascended the steps as Timmons drove the car around the side of the house. This was not going to be fun.

    Lord Kenneth George Stacy Juliens Ashington-Frankston, eighth Earl of Deraux, was very well versed in the secrets of his ancestral home. From his Uncle he had learnt not only all the secret passage ways, but also that when it came to his own home eavesdropping, spying and covert activities were not impolite, they were essential to survival. The only restrictions were that sabotage was not part of information collection and therefore out. The knowledge of the castle and the Unclish advice had resulted in Ken's current position, crouched in a narrow passage which skirted his grandmother's favourite parlour.

    Ever since his Uncle's death, Ken had been expecting trouble and it hadn't been slow in coming. The first changes had occured before Ken had even returned from the funeral. At eight years of age there was nothing Ken could do about what his grandmother chose to do. Given his own choice Ken would have had James Darcy as his guardian. Pyro was more than nice, but Pyro wouldn't stand up to Lady Deraux. Ken needed someone who would listen to him, someone who would listen and yet was not afraid of his Grandmother ... could such a person exist?

    It was with rage that Ken had viewed the stripped condition of the most comfortable rooms in the castle. However Pyro had observed that a temper-tantrum would solve nothing and Ken's rage had chilled. Ken now prowled the castle by means of servant corridors and secret passages, to survive he had to know what was happening. It may have been stated years ago that servants were only to take orders from Ken, but everyone knew that no servant would ever stand up and refuse an order from Lady Deraux on those grounds.

    "...Dower House..." The words were for the most part inaudible, but Ken had learnt to read his grandmother's faded accents like a book. Lady Deraux was not happy. In fact if anyone had asked Ken he would have said that Lady Deraux was almost beside herself with rage. The next few days, the next week would not be pretty.

    "Ken..." Another word, that was Caroline this time and Kenneth quietly crept back and away from the wall he had leant against. The interview was obviously folding and it wouldn't do not to be in the schoolroom and reading when Caroline came up to see him.

    Kenneth had no illusions about his Uncle's long-term fiancée. Miss Caroline Bingley was one of the few people who could stop Lady Deraux, and like most of them she did not have the time for listening to little boys. Miss Bingley was also very up to scratch about things in general and Ken was not in the mood to see those lips thin in disapproval when she correctly guessed that he had been eavesdropping. If there was any real problem with Miss Bingley it was that she honestly believed that children should respect the privacy of their elders.

    Ken had been settled in a chair by the window for less than a minute when Julian Deneby came into the room. Until Ashie's death Deneby had been almost a friend, but in the past few days it wasn't half clear that Deneby was an ally of his grandmother's. If Julian Deneby had honestly answered an enquiry of his occupation he would have responded gaoler instead of tutor. It was truly fortunate that Deneby did not know where the secret passage accessed the school room. That Deneby suspected there was no question, but suspicion was not proof and Ken was the only person now who knew where that access was to be found.

    "Miss Bingley is here to see your Lordship."

    "Thank you." Ken had not troubled to look up from his book. "Please arrange for tea to come up with Timmons."

    "Very good." Deneby had retreated with an irritated expression for Timmons would guard the hall to the schoolroom after he delivered the tea. With Timmons in the hall, all conversation within the schoolroom was guaranteed to be private for the hall was the only way to access the schoolroom ... unless you were a squirrel or Lord Kenneth Ashington-Frankston. Deneby was not cut out for political games, his face was too expressive and his nature too nervous. Kenneth permitted himself a grim smile as he turned the page in his mathematical reference book, Julian Deneby would regret accepting the orders of Lady Deraux over his Lord's ... one day, he would regret accepting that order.

    "All well, Ken?" Caroline had entered the room and settled on one of the hard, wooden chairs.

    "Timmons will bring tea shortly ... I hope you will have a cup."

    "Thank you." Caroline carefully lay her handbag on the floor and folded her hands neatly in her lap.

    "I trust you had a pleasant journey?" Kenneth laid his book aside neatly, small talk would pass the time until Timmons had delivered the tea and stepped out.

    "It was uninterrupted. I trust you had a pleasant trip yourself."

    "We flew." Kenneth gave a small smile. "I think I will join the Air Force when I am old enough."

    "Not interested in finance?"

    "Not as an occupation." Kenneth responded gravely. "Money is a means to an ends, not a reason to exist." Kenneth rose as Timmons entered with the tea tray. "Fudge! Do thank Mrs. Butterworth, Timmons. If you'll wait in the hall for ten minutes we will be finished with the tray and that will save you a trip to the kitchens."

    "Yes, my Lord." Timmons bowed himself from the room and Caroline accepted a large lump of fudge as Kenneth turned his attention to the tea pot.

    "Possibly I will become a scientist ... I am only eight so I have time to decide." Ken handed Caroline a cup of tea and helped himself to a large lump of fudge. "I have been lead to understand that Uncle James' Will somewhat complicates my existence."

    "It probably will lead to some complications in the future. Ashie's estate is surprisingly large actually and he's dumped the whole lot on you."

    "Death duties are the problem then." Ken frowned, then scratched an ear. "Can the Castle stay in use at all?"

    "Not at full staff, that is for certain."

    "Could I afford a staff of four?"

    "You'll never run a place like this with a staff of four."

    "No, but I can probably find some people willing to work for their room and board. There is only the castle, the gardens and the home wood to manage, all the rest is leased out."

    "You think you're grandmother will allow such people in?"

    "Do you think she'll live here on reduced staff?" Ken lifted his eyebrows, a slightly sarcastic enquiry.

    "You can't live alone."

    "I don't intend to." Ken stared silently at the far wall. "Nelli ... she was in London the last I heard and nicely pensioned off. Would she be willing to become housekeeper here?"

    "Mrs. Butterworth might object."

    "Mrs. Butterworth prefers cooking to accounts." Ken indicated the fudge. "If I had Timmons, Mrs. Butterworth and Nelli I would not be alone and the Castle could at least operate even if most of it is put under dust sheets ... as should have happened years ago. Maggie at least will be glad to be freed so she can join the services."

    "Nelli has a daughter-in-law and several evacuees in her care."

    "I have approximately a hundred bedrooms ... I think if they're willing to work we'll manage." Ken crossed to the window and frowned at the view. "The Dower House will need a Butler, a Cook, a footman and a gardener. With Timmons, Mrs. Butterworth, Thomas and Nelli ... we're still running less staff than currently."

    "Nelli would probably work for her room and board if she can bring Lucille and the kids with her."

    "You make it sound like James describing why it's advantageous that Hitler was so stupid as to invade Russia." Ken leant against the window frame. "I'll discuss the Dower House with Grandmother in the next couple of weeks. The outcome of those negotiations will decide whether I speak to Nelli or not ... though I am not going to say you may not mention the possibility to her." Ken paused for a long moment. "Is James likely to visit me again any time soon?"

    "Not having realised that he'd yet visited you to begin with I must admit that I cannot say. Send him a letter asking him to visit."

    "I think I will." Ken gave a decided little nod. "He usually gives good advice."

    "Usually?" Caroline frowned at the condition which Ken had imposed.

    "I have always had good advice in the past, but that does not ensure it will be good advice now." Ken paused and stared out the window.

    "Why should there be a change? Jim does not give advice easily."

    "No." Ken turned slowly away from the window. "He ... he's ... he seemed different at the memorial service."

    "He was upset."

    "Not that sort of difference." Ken hesitated and then shrugged. "Uncle James always said to trust my instinct ... my instinct says we should not trust Mr. Darcy at the present moment. I mentioned it to Mr. Angel and he said to mention it to you."

    "Very good advice from Pyro. We'll talk about it." Caroline finished her tea and rose to her feet. "You had probably better call Timmons in now. Don't forget you're invited for Christmas as usual."

    "Thank you." Ken gave a nod of thanks before opening the door and inviting Timmons to remove the tea tray. "Give my best wishes to Nelli when you see her."

    "Certainly." Caroline nodded a calm goodbye and then followed Timmons down into the front hall, where she waited calmly while he disposed of the tea tray. Caroline had said goodbye to Lady Deraux earlier and felt no need at all to speak to her again, the interview had been quite as unpleasant as expected. Now she merely hoped for an uninterrupted trip home.

    "You look particularly pensive this evening." Helen O'Neill frowned at the tea-cup she had half filled.

    "Mm." Caroline accepted her cup of tea and chewed on a thoughtful lip. "Ken Ashington-Frankston is one tough little character. He's giving Jim a run for his money for growing up without a childhood."

    "Anyone who lives with that woman is going to be short one childhood." Nelli sat back with a sniff before checking her watch. "Lucille ... do you mind fetching the children in?"

    "No problem." Lucille rose and crossed to the door, pausing only briefly before she opened it and passed out.

    "She's not happy." Caroline had watched Lucille's departure with concern.

    "Who is happy." Nelli sipped her tea calmly, only those well acquainted with her would have thought anything was the matter. "We're at war."

    "Word of Brian?" Caroline applied herself to her tea again.

    "He's up north, White sands or some name like that." Nelli laid her cup aside with a sigh. "The 'plane was a mess apparently. Couldn't even have jumped clear if he'd wanted to ... apparently they had to cut a hole into the cockpit to get him out."

    "At least he's alive. The Joe intact?"

    "No Joe, just a weapons drop one assumes."

    "At least he's alive and intact. You like the idea of moving out to Cambridge shire?"

    "Rooms for let at Deraux Castle are there?"

    "No." Caroline shook her head. "Ken is wondering whether you'd mind taking yourself and Lucille and the kids out there to help keep the castle running with reduced staff."

    "I'm not living with that woman." Nelly's tone was firm.

    "No one is expecting you too." Caroline gave a thin smile. "The invitation is only extended if he can shift her."

    "Good luck to him ... he's more likely to pick up the Rock of Gibraltar than do that." Nelli gave a snort, then smiled as Lucille came back into the room with four young children. "Be nice to work like that again ... though I doubt it will be like Pemberley."

    "Nelli, by your standards nothing could possibly compare to Pemberley." Lucille looked up from helping pull off many pairs of boots. "Some new plot to escape from us?"

    "No, some new plot to get you out of London." Nelli gave a smile. "We'll talk about it if the offer is ever officially made."

    "What fun ... Brian might be able to spend half a day with us while coming south."

    "His Aerodrome is north of here."

    "True, but in his own words: 'Since they sent me via Land's End last time I'm sure they can let me add a little detour into London.'" Lucille gave a grin before picking up the youngest child and heading for the stairs. "Bath-time horrors." The chaos was instant and total and Nelli picked up her tea again with a groan.

    "I can't believe that we're taking those two from down south as well. Those four are orphans, of the other four two are orphans and Lucille adores having the children around."

    "Brian aware that his wife is likely to adopt all these children?" Caroline leant back with a sigh.

    "Brian doesn't care either direction as long as she's happy and everyone is fed." Nelli shook her head. "Courtesy of Jim there's very little chance of any of them going hungry ... even if Lucille does end up with fifty orphans as Brian has said she can have if she cares."

    "Please preserve us." Caroline finished her tea. "Though I will say thank you for taking me at such short notice."

    "Not a worry, we've space to spare these days." Nelli waved a hand over her shoulder. "Though I suspect the evacuation people would be happier if we returned to the country again."

    "Miracles occasionally happen ... Ken might just shift Lady Amabel."

    "That will be a miracle." Nelli's tone was almost sour.

    November 20th 1941 - Weybridge, England

    A dog's nose is never wrong.

    "JUST WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING?" Hope's voice would have stopped a Battalion in its tracks. There wasn't a Battalion to stop, but it proved just as effective for stopping Macs.

    "Out." Mac tried on an innocent expression for size, but it clearly failed.

    "Why that gate?" Hope looked much more convincing with her expression of vague curiosity.

    "Mm. It's a nice little gate."

    "Well, don't pass through it."

    "I can't use it even if I promise not to fly?"

    "No." Hope leant against the fence and spoke flatly. "I don't trust you an inch on an aerodrome and I trust your word a sight less."

    "Have I mentioned to you that I don't like this situation?"

    "Not in the past five minutes." Hope gave a small smile. "You should have stopped crashing sooner."

    "Mm." Mac drew his brows together as he noted something which seemed a trifle odd. "Just a tick. NEMO!"

    "What..." Hope half turned and then frowned as she saw what had distracted Mac. Nemo was sitting on the path preventing the passage of a newcomer.

    "NEMO!" Mac called again and then frowned, for the look Nemo gave was decidedly disdainful.

    "Nemo knows Jim doesn't he?" Hope moved slightly so she could whisper to Mac.

    "That's what disturbs me." Mac rubbed his chin before he finally stepped forward, visitor or not Nemo was clearly testing the bounds again.

    The tussle was brief and decidedly undignified, but Nemo was in his kennel and Mac was at the back door when it officially ended.

    "Do come in ... and you can rest confident I will not leave the house for the rest of the day unless Nemo requires another wrestling match." Mac waved as Hope moved through the gate she had prevented him from using. Tea and cake ... assuming there was some cake left. "Pinch a pew while I retrieve the fodder." Mac busied himself in the kitchen and briefly pondered what his next step should be.

    "What's up?" Pyro pushed the hair out of his face and then pulled his nose.

    "Jim swung past this afternoon and quite subtly attempted to pump me."

    "He get anything?"

    "Of course not." Hope spoke curtly. "Mac's been kept out of everything in some hopes of keeping him from flying."

    "Bet that hasn't worked." Pyro grinned and gave his head a small shake. "Why does this demand I come down here?"

    "Because Nemo had to be chained to his kennel for the whole afternoon."

    "Being obstreperous is he?"

    "No ... he just refused to leave Jim alone."

    "Refused to leave Jim alone?" Pyro stared at Mac with a dropped jaw. "You serious?"

    "I think Ashie would describe that as a look." Hope spoke after a longish silence.

    "Peculiar ... to state things mildly." Pyro rubbed his chin and then pulled his nose again. "It was definitely Jim who came out of Europe..."

    "So Jim really is alive." Mac leant forward. "What the heck happened to him?"

    "Couldn't say." Pyro shrugged. "In fact no one could say, Chris found him rather messed up and packed him home."

    "And then?"

    "One assumes he came home ... but there seems to be remarkable doubt about whether he actually arrived here."

    "Well if that's what I saw then he didn't make it." Mac rubbed his chin. "Think he's actually here at all?"

    "He must be, Ken saw him." Pyro pulled his nose again. "You coming for Christmas?"

    "Assuming Hope isn't given a job." Mac gave a shrug. "Going to find out who this imitating Charlie is?"

    "Got to get hold of the real Jim first and that's proving rather impossible." Pyro stretched awkwardly. "Sorry you weren't warned that we thought there might be a faker strolling around."

    "No problem, Nemo made sure we didn't fall in a heap." Mac rose and followed Pyro to the door. "Thanks for coming and greetings to all."

    "Greetings accepted and don't fail on Christmas." Pyro shoved his hands into his pockets as he descended the stairs and ambled away into the darkness.

    "They think someone is impersonating Jim?" Hope was looking extremely doubtful.

    "It would seem so." Mac returned to his seat and gently rubbed the back of his neck. "Damn stupid stunt, but they must think it will pay off if they're attempting it. Wonder..." Mac stopped and blinked at the wall.

    "Wondering why Jim isn't stopping it or at least clarifying the situation?"

    "M-yes." Mac pulled his own nose and then sniffed before biting his thumb. "Something is afoot. To borrow Ashie's favourite phrase. I think something might even be a hand or possibly a head, but not an ear ... or at least, not yet."

    "Meaning?"

    "It must be a very deep game Jim's playing if even Pyro doesn't know what's happening." Mac bit his thumb once more and then abruptly rose to his feet. "I need to walk the dogs ... coming?"

    December 3rd 1941 - Tack Alley, London

    A day is a day is a day ... and the day that changes will not be a day.

    It's all really very simple.

    In Annette's opinion those words of Ashie's had been the most misleading and understated description he had ever given. Not that Ashie was ever shy of giving an opinion, it was simply that he generally didn't mean them. On this occasion Ashie had seriously meant it, though in Annette's opinion it should have been the most ridiculous one he had ever dreamed up.

    It's like scrambled eggs.

    That had been Ashie's opinion on his files. Annette had agreed on that occasion, however Ashie had never considered his files anything but fine. It was to be noted that he never said his files were ordered or neat, just fine.

    Annette threw another newspaper aside and rubbed her eyes, they felt grainy. Worst of all she needed another dictionary. Not that dictionaries were hard to come by, in fact they were easier to come by than the newspapers.

    It's all really very simple.

    Clearly 'simple' was another word which had a definition only to be found in the Ashie-Darcy Dictionary which had, as far as Annette knew, never been published in any form. Annette rather deeply wished that Ashie had supplied the definition of this word. Better yet he might have actually explained this noble art whereby the secrets of the world were obtained without putting everybody through the third degree.

    Annette scowled at the mound of newspapers, she scowled at the table which had a half eaten slice of toast on it and she scowled at the clock which showed that she was going to be late to work again. Under Ashie it wouldn't have mattered, but she wasn't under Ashie and there might well be trouble.

    "Annie-Bug." Annette gave an abrupt nod and crossed to the telephone. Finding Annie-Bug might be a trick, but she would be found.

    "Hello?" It was twenty minutes later when Annette finally heard the voice she was seeking on the other end of the wire.

    "Stella Darcy?" Annette gave a small shake of her head as she asked the question.

    "Well if you didn't know that how did you find me?" Annie-Bug was sounding just a trifle tart which meant she was probably absolutely wild.

    "I asked for Mrs. Fouchiard ... explained that I had met you during your last leave."

    "Oh." There was a long silence. "Who am I talking to?"

    "It's Button."

    "Button?" Annie-Bug sounded rather stunned. "I'm sorry but ... Button?"

    "You don't seem to believe it's me." Annette frowned across the room at Eoan who was flopped next the door.

    "Well ... if you'll excuse, but who was Susie?"

    "A nasty hairy spider with long legs."

    "It must be you ... but..."

    "Why wouldn't I be me?"

    "HMS Ebly was torpedoed."

    "And?" Annette shook her head to clear it, she was missing something.

    "You were on it and you weren't on the survivor list ... assumptions you can probably guess. How come you're in England?"

    "I never left." Annette shook her head once more. "You mean everyone thinks I'm dead?"

    "Y-yes."

    "Hesitation?" Annette latched onto the hesitation, Annie-Bug was clearly hesitant about something.

    "No ... but ... Caroline said something to Kitty who..."

    "Can't you just say that someone said something which made you think..." Annette left the sentence unfinished.

    "I think Ashie might have been aware that you weren't on the ship."

    "Why no certainty?"

    "Because curiously enough Ashie does hold his tongue on occasion and you somehow managed to become someone he likes. You obviously wanted privacy and Ashie does occasionally respect people if he likes them."

    "Jeroen thinks I'm dead?"

    "Everyone does ... so do be careful when you next visit them."

    "Oh ... why do you think Ashie might have known?"

    "Because he wasn't worried about you ... and Ashie usually worries."

    "Mm. Does Caroline know?"

    "I assume not or she would at least have told Jeroen. Did you want something in particular?"

    "Selfish reason, I was curious about whether you knew how Ashie and Jim could just magically know everything without putting everybody through the third degree?"

    "I asked Jim once and he said it was the noble art of listening ... I can't help any more than that." There was a pause on Annie-Bug's end of the line. "Button, do you think you could chase up Jeroen in the next week?"

    "I also need to find Candy and Lucille if what you say is true ... parents too I guess."

    "You sound thrilled."

    "I didn't realise everyone thought I was dead ... why was it even thought I was on Ebly?"

    "Because Daoud was."

    "I've killed Daoud?" Annette felt her gut knot, she had known that someone was watching and it hadn't occured to her to assume they tailed her.

    "No." Annie-Bug was definite. "Daoud got picked up by some fishing boat or something and a more glum Arab I have never heard in my life."

    "Jim?"

    "Nothing doing ... though there have been some queer rumours drifting around."

    "Very queer rumours." Annette rubbed her head. "So listening is Jim's hint ... here's to my getting the hang of it."

    "Well, don't forget to let people know you're alive."

    "I won't ... but please don't tell anyone."

    "I won't tell before the New Year. That's a warning. I tell everyone on the first of January 1942."

    "That makes me feel old ... but alright, I think I can get in touch with everyone by then." Annette sighed. "Thanks Bug ... and sorry for scaring you."

    "I'll live ... a lot more happily now." There was another brief pause. "What are you doing now?"

    "Secretary stuff." Annette rubbed her eyes again. "I'll send you a letter, but unfortunately I have to flee or I'll get the sack."

    "Have a good day and make certain you do write."

    "You too ... what are you doing in Merseyside?"

    "ATS Predictor operator."

    "That must be a very nice job ... I'll try and join you if I get the sack." Annette smiled to hear Annie-Bug laugh and then hung up before scurrying to get herself out the door. The rest of the month was not going to be any fun at all.

    Continued In Next Section

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