James? - Section XI

    By John

    Previous Section, Section XI, Next Section

    Part 35

    Posted on Sunday, 3 October 2004

    December 24th 1941 - Hampstead, England

    When all else fails, read the book of instructions

    "I will confess that after the last war I didn't believe that man could get any more insane than it had achieved during those four years." Pyro stared silently at the dark red wine in his glass.

    "Welcome to the real world." Caroline was in a less than friendly frame of mind. "The more time progresses the worse the insanity becomes."

    "Rubbish." Pyro swirled his wine thoughtfully and then glanced over it to where Mac was gently rubbing the back of his head. "Headache flyboy?"

    "No." Mac gave a rueful smile. "For once in a million miracles it's just an obnoxious thought."

    "Do share, we're all in foul temper so we might as well share our misery around." Kitty had been scrubbing the kitchen floor for most of the day in an effort to lift her own bad mood, but exhaustion and a clean floor had occured long before the mood even began to lift. The truth was quite simple, neither Ashie, nor Jim, nor Brian was around. It had been three years since they had all shared a Christmas together, and yet it truly felt like this was the first time. In fact the last time they had been together Sir David had also been one of their number. It was depressing at how thoroughly the ranks had been thinned of late...not that James or Brian were deceased, just absent.

    "It's James McKenna Darcy." Mac leant forward with a sigh and glanced across at Hope who was frowning over some work.

    "Even I've thought something odd." Hope glanced up from her work. "For all his being in England we don't see all that much of him."

    "Ken called him Jamie last time they met and he laughed." It was Pyro who spoke and he was staring into his glass.

    "Ken got away with calling Jim ... Jamie?" Caroline voiced the thought which had turned every head in the room.

    "I heard it...he laughed." Pyro gave a small shrug. "Ken said that Jim appologised for not being at the memorial service."

    "That is weird even for James Darcy." Hope laid down her pen and frowned. "Why the dickens does he appologise for an absence he wasn't absent for?"

    "Because he wasn't present." The quiet voice had everyone turning and Hope's comment was not repeatable.

    "How the devil did you get in?" Pyro's expression was as flinty as it ever got.

    "Key?" James held up the big brass effort before flipping it across to Pyro and dropping into a nearby seat with a sigh.

    "Tired?"

    "No." James pushed the hair out of his face with a hand which shook. "Crook."

    "Well excuse me if I question your identity."

    "Go ahead, I'll prove it by observing that the MAGI Headquarters were located in Glendevie and the Silver Devil is to be found in the usual garage in Aberdeen."

    "You pinched Ashie's car when you bolted from Pemberley?" Mac stared at James in disbelief. The Silver Devil was so named for a reason and nobody would voluntarily drive that death trap unless it was Ashie. Even Ashie had assumed it destroyed in the bombing.

    "Why not? Darcy cars are known ... Ashie has far too many for anyone to even attempt keeping track of them."

    "Then you're probably yourself." Pyro gave a yawn. "Wanted to be certain before we relaxed at all."

    "So he's been here too has he?" The look was tired, and Caroline suddenly had the feeling that she was looking at two people. One person was an outer veneer, a bit tired, rather dishevelled and possibly a bit unwell, but really only in need of a few hours sleep. The other person was sick at heart, exhausted and yet driven by a power which he probably wasn't even aware of. What was going on?

    "Mac got pumped by him in Weybridge. Ken's met him at least once...we assume that if it's not you pretending to be an imposter then he's looking for the old aerodrome. He's never actually been to the lair."

    "It's possible." James rubbed a hand across his face and yawned widely. "To be honest I'm not even certain he exists...I just keep meeting people who saw me in places I damn well never visited. It's annoying and worrying...has Annie-Bug and that been warned I'm odd?"

    "She was the first person who met the other you and warned us that there was a James Darcy who wasn't quite right."

    "Good." James gave another sigh and closed his eyes. "Only came by for a minute...'ts Christmas." The last was an indistinct mumble and Caroline was hardly surprised to note that he was asleep almost before he finished.

    "As he said, it's Christmas." Mac rubbed his chin and cast a rueful glance around the room. Hope was bent over a large sheet of paper in the corner. Kitty was knitting what was probably meant to be a balaclava helmet...but it might just have easily been a pair of socks. Caroline was comfortably ensconced in her chair with a forgotten book face down on the arm. Pyro had a forgotten book in his lap, probably one of Ashie's cheap thrillers.

    "Well I doubt Brian and Lucille will arrive at this point so we might as well do something. I'll be very unhappy if we end up mumphing around." Caroline had became rather determined all of a sudden. Mac cast a glance at James Darcy, who might as well have been dead for all the movement he made.

    "Here here." Kitty waved her knitting vigorously. "However, I refuse to play charades."

    "That's old Kitty." Pyro shook his head and pushed his book onto the floor. "You've refused to play ever since Ashie enacted the role of a tub of strawberry jam and managed to keep us up for half a week guessing."

    "I vote we tackle five-hand chess." Hope had laid her pen down and crossed to lay the page she had been working on the table. The work was beautiful and Mac gave a soft, but very impressed, whistle. Five-hand chess had proven itself self-defeating in the past, but this board Hope had produced looked like it might just answer the challenge and make the game viable.

    "Only one way to find out." Pyro was already digging out the chess pieces, and with it came an ancient notebook in very sad condition.

    "What is that?" Kitty inspected the notebook intently as she waited for Pyro and Hope to argue out the positioning of the various pieces.

    "Rule-book." Pyro had reigned triumphant on the fact that the green pieces could not start next to the blue pieces. "Ashie kept it over the years."

    "So that's how he kept the rules straight in his head." Mac comandeered the small notebook.

    "Nope." Pyro paused in the arguement about the Pawn-Queening line to respond. "That's just the sort of stuff that Ashie never forgot."

    "Profound." Mac studied the small notebook intently, marvelling not a little at the effort which had gone into keeping it.

    "That notebook was kept because he knew perfectly well that the rest of us couldn't remember the rules between one game and the next and became inventive if there was no authoritative guide to be abided by." Pyro glared at the board and then conceded to Hope's page and a half of mathematics which proved her point.

    "This proves what?" Mac had comandeered the mathematics as Pyro and Hope moved onto their next point of contention.

    "The probability of a queening with the full board to traverse is less than the chance of queening when playing four-hand on a standard board."

    "But we play that game two pawns down." Kitty came across to the board, pausing briefly to wrinkle her nose at Hope's mathematics.

    "Accounted for." Hope reluctantly conceded that the game would not terminate with the first checkmate. Kitty was relieved since she usually was mated within five minutes of play commencing. Kitty preferred to watch these games after her brief input. The final combatants were invariably Ashie, Pyro and Hope...though this game would undoubtedly end in a fight between Pyro and Hope.

    "Seconds move." Caroline finally rose from her chair and came to the table.

    "Which rule is that one?" Mac was flipping through the rule book.

    "Those rules are numbered." Pyro gave a chuckle. "Seconds move?"

    "It will keep Kitty in the game and give me much less knitting to resurrect later." Caroline began to lay out her regular black pieces.

    "Expound the rule then." Mac laid the rule book aside and began setting up the battered pieces Hope had handed him.

    "When you're check-mated you team to your left sharing turn and turn about."

    "Meaning Hope will have Mac and I'll have you and Kitty." Pyro visibly hesitated before finally nodding.

    "Who knows, I might have a very good game." Caroline gave a small smile which caused Pyro to frown.

    "That's it, we're at war." Pyro assembled his forces and frowned at the board.

    "Well it won't be global chess tonight." Hope handed Kitty a pawn which had escaped. "I'm not in the mood for Germany to win again."

    "You're the one who insisted that Ashie or I play Germany." Pyro frowned darkly at the board as he began to notice all manner of horrible points which exposed his weaker pieces. "We are not playing five-hand trivia chess."

    "Good." Kitty settled her queen and felt rather glum as she inspected the vast number of opposition who could pinch her poor, defenceless pieces. Trivia chess usually disposed of Kitty in the first two rounds.

    "Trivia chess when it's down to two hand?" Caroline abruptly frowned at the board. "You'll have to conserve pieces if this isn't to end in a massive stalemate."

    "If the teams combine their remaining pieces?" Mac chewed his lip is he studied the metal aeroplane which was apparently his rook.

    "Meaning when you get mated your remaining pawns and whatever change allegiance?"

    "Diplomacy?" Mac glanced up and chuckled at Kitty's ferocious head shake.

    "No. You team left and take your pieces ... unless whoever mates you gets the allegiance."

    "That does make more sense." Caroline settled her last piece and studied the board thoughtfully. "It will certainly encourage bloodless mating."

    "Mm." Pyro settled on his knees a bit more comfortably before picking up the rulebook and the pencil and beginning to write quickly. "Rule Fifty-Forty-Two, Seconds move and team left. The conquering side will acquire the piece allegience and intelligence of the defeated opposition if they lie to the conquerors right."

    "Seems to cover it." Caroline frowned as Hope made her first move by depriving Caroline of a pawn. "Not good."

    "No...and don't even think of stealing my corresponding pawn...pinch her pawn." Pyro frowned as Caroline's hand hesitated.

    "When I want your advice I'll take it." Caroline finally moved a central pawn towards the centre of the board.

    "Mm." Pyro hesitated, then jumped his knight across to deprive Caroline of a rook.

    "Me?" Kitty inspected the board warily for a moment. "500c P-K."

    "Damn!" Pyro had the rulebook out and rifled through the pages rapidly. "You shouldn't be able to invoke that rule yet."

    "Nothing says I can't."

    "All right." Pyro glowered at the book for a moment and then nodded before leaning over to whisper in Kitty's ear. Kitty considered for a moment and then nodded.

    "You finished Kitty?" Mac was frowning somewhat darkly.

    "Yes." Kitty settled back and picked up her knitting.

    "You can't resign from the game like that." Caroline frowned.

    "She hasn't resigned, she's just knitting until her turn comes to pass again." Pyro waved Mac to make his move.

    "What did she do?" Hope was frowning at the board.

    "Your turn." Mac had deprived Kitty of a pawn.

    "Wonderful." Hope hesitated briefly before she shifted her pawn to take Caroline's bishop. Caroline was in a decidedly perilous situation already.

    "Very kind of you." Caroline considered the pawn for a long moment before moving her original pawn another square towards the centre.

    "500c K-Q C-K." Pyro tipped his king off the board as he spoke and handed Caroline the rule book.

    "Wha..." Caroline stared at the rulebook in disgust. "As you observed, there's no rule preventing that." Caroline dropped the rulebook and wrinkled her nose at the board before leaning over to whisper some enquiry which received a very brief answer.

    "I want the rule book." Hope held out an imperious hand.

    "Why?"

    "I want to know what rule 500c is."

    "Rule 500c was Ashie's pet rule which he invoked with extreme frequency." Mac spoke as he considered the board. "K-Q was what you moved wasn't it?" Mac looked at Pyro and was rewarded by a nod. "So Caroline is check-mated by Pyro, who was check-mated by Kitty." Mac rubbed his chin and scowled at the board. "As Hope requested, Rule Book!"

    "What is the rule?" Hope had shifted her glare to Mac.

    "It's called Invisible Queen." Mac flipped through the rulebook and studied the relevent rule for a long moment before handing the book on to Hope. "It means that Kitty's Queen, currently in the control of Caroline, who owes allegience to Pyro who owes allegience to Kitty, can go anywhere on the board in a single move without apparently effecting anything until the next move."

    "Hence Pyro knocked his king off the board as he check-mated Caroline." Hope glared at the rulebook for a long moment. "If this book is right that Queen cannot move until Caroline's turn comes around again." Hope glanced up from the rule book.

    "Correct." Pyro spun a dead pawn between his fingers.

    "Can we invoke a rule when it isn't our turn?"

    "No." Mac answered that question as he frowned at the chessboard.

    "Discussion over?" Pyro had handed a scrap of paper to Kitty.

    "Yes." Mac looked more than a little resigned as he spoke.

    "Rule 50." Kitty flicked the little scrap of paper into the fire.

    "Rule what?" Mac stared at Kitty as Hope went for the rule book.

    "Rule 50 ... not a rule Ashie liked at all and correspondingly rarely played."

    "Check block ... No one can be placed in check, or checkmate during the next four rounds of the board." Hope blinked at the book then at the board.

    "Well, that explains why Ashie didn't like it." Mac held out his hand for the rulebook and then looked at Pyro. "There is no current rule which can stop the movement of an invisible queen?"

    "There's one, rule seven-eighty." Pyro paused. "I do not advise using it."

    "N-no." Mac had studied the rule briefly.

    "What is rule seven-eighty?" Hope leant over for a look.

    "Queen demise...it kills every queen on the board. Usually invoked only if you're in check by a queen and have no queen yourself." Mac studied the board, not at all wise to dispose of all the queens at this point in proceedings...but Kitty's invisible Queen had to be stopped.

    "Rule Fifty-forty-three, IQ Fence."

    "Sounds like an intelligence test." Caroline frowned. "What does this fence do?"

    "Restricts invisible queens to straight lines of movement and forces visibility at the pawn line." Mac acknowledged his turn as over as he spoke.

    "Mm." Caroline frowned and then held her hand out for the rule book.

    "Not good." Hope eyed her pawn which was now thoroughly exposed by the disappearance of Caroline's King.

    "Hope, invoke rule eighty-two." James abruptly knelt down next to the board, his colour was starting to improve even after that exceedingly short nap.

    "There's food in the kitchen and your bed should be made." Caroline abruptly rose to her feet. "You are going to bed and sleeping."

    "I leave on the thirty-first." James hesitated a long moment before he abruptly conceded the issue. "But thank you."

    "Just sleep and get a bit better and we'll be perfectly satisfied." Caroline knelt down again and held out her hand for the rulebook. "I've got a nasty feeling about rule eighty-two."

    "You should." James paused in the doorway. "Just look at Pyro's expression."

    "You're not playing." Kitty frowned at James.

    "No ... but for the next three rounds at least it's three on one so it seems fair to rearrange the balance a bit." James disappeared through the door, leaving Kitty to frown at Caroline.

    "What is this rule?"

    "It's a three move rule." Caroline considered the book, then glanced at Pyro who had turned a rather sick colour of grey. "I will confess that I've only ever seen Ashie or James use it with much effect. Very effective when appropriately applied." Caroline paused and then jabbed Pyro in the ribs. "Pyro, Florrie was useless with it as well wasn't he?"

    "Worse than me." Pyro rubbed a hand across his face a took a deep breath. "Damn the boy...now, salvage time."

    "Not yet." Hope was frowning at the board. "I can make two moves yet...wouldn't bother salvaging until you know what I'm up to."

    "Valid point. Kitty, turn on your obscure rule brain and try and think a way out of this mess."

    "Not without rendering eighty-two useless."

    "You can't." Pyro ran a hand through his hair and frowned at the board. "Ashie's kindly act when he originally produced the rule he made it impossible to render ineffective...and don't invoke it yourself or we'll really be in the soup."

    "Can you double invoke it?" Caroline considered the board.

    "No." Hope was still studying the rule book.

    "Ah." Caroline handed the rulebook to Kitty, who had signalled she wanted it. Kitty flipped quickly through the pages until she found the rule she sought and after a thoughtful moment she whispered a query to Pyro.

    "I suppose so." Pyro had hesitated a long moment before responding and Hope shot him a very suspicious look. Pyro then returned the rule book to Caroline and indicated one of the rules.

    Hope's extra moves were soon over and Caroline gave an evil grin as her hand hesitated over the chessboard. Mac immediately sought through his mind for possible meanings and didn't think of the right one ... it had been too long since he'd seen Pyro play one on one with Ashie.

    "Rule 175b." Caroline settled back from the board and watched Hope and Mac intently. Hope went for the rulebook which Caroline had only just laid down. Mac, after the briefest pauses while his mind recalled the rule, swore with sufficient ferocity to make Hope look up from the rulebook with a frown.

    "I think he's unhappy about this rule." Kitty gave a giggle.

    "Well it is valid and there's no defense against it." Pyro pulled his nose with another grin.

    "Very dubious tactics." Hope finally found what she sought and she scowled at the page. "Any move is legal unless it makes Pyro lose? What sort of rule is that?"

    "A very good rule." Pyro hesitated his hand in the air a moment before moving one of his rooks the full length of the board to deprive Hope of a bishop.

    "Mm." Hope pushed back from the board and began flipping more carefully through the rule book.

    "Well, now the battle really begins." Caroline looked up from her hands. "In two rounds the Check Block will lift. When the check block falls, the rule book goes out of circulation."

    "Mm." Hope sounded doubtful in the extreme.

    "We'll get bogged otherwise and we might just as well sit by the fire and throw the rules at each other." Mac watched Kitty shift a pawn, then he took his vengeance and pinched her bishop.

    "I foresee that this will be a very long game indeed." Hope began to consider her next three moves.

    December 30th 1941 - London, England

    Well! I've often seen a cat without a grin, but a grin without a cat! It's the most curious thing I ever saw in my life.
    - Alice (Alice in Wonderland)

    Annette stared at the report which lay in front of her. It was the completed copy of a report which had come from a rather complex debrief. The report had then been cross-verified and Annette had made a little list in the side margin.

    Yves Olivier (from GERAINT): JD where JD never went.
    CLAUDETTE: Password failure
    3 cups coffee
    THIERRY: Poor sense of direction
    South St Canteen
    Communism
    Ask Pyro

    Annette pushed the report away and stared across at the far wall. With the exception of the MAGI connections everyone was now aware that Annette was alive. To ask Pyro was the same as letting the MAGI know that she was alive. Annette had been delaying as long as she possibly could, but this report further demanded action.

    "Problem Neddie?" Bob hung up his coat as he spoke, apparently he'd just collected, or deposited someone.

    "Undecided." Annette hesitated and then glanced at the clock. "You still got a dinner break owing?"

    "I haven't had lunch yet." Bob looked a trifle morose.

    "Then you're coming with me ... at least for the first part."

    "Why?" Bob hesitated, his cap half on its hook.

    "A report which needs verifying before it goes even a step further."

    "Report?"

    "James Darcy ... supposedly dead in the Coventry bombing back in April."

    "That bombing was May."

    "Irrelevent. James Darcy was ostensibly killed, his will went into probate and no fuss was made. With me?"

    "Currently."

    "Good. In November there's a newspaper report which mentions a man who looks remarkably like the late James Darcy. Enquiries are made and it comes to light that there was doubt about whether Mr. Darcy was actually still in the building at the time. More newspaper sightings ... including the memorial service for Wing-Commander Lord James Ashington-Frankston. Yet there is no official announcement that Mr. Darcy is alive. In fact when questioned friends of the family express the same uncertainty as ever."

    "So he might actually be dead?"

    "Possibly. However, Yves Olivier, MAGI courier sent a warning that Mr. Darcy was seen where Mr. Darcy never went. CLAUDETTE was supposed to meet Mr. Darcy, but opted out when he failed to provide the correct password. THIERRY, your escaped pianist, observes in his report that Mr. Darcy, whom he shadowed after CLAUDETTE's failure, had no sense of direction. Finally CLAUDETTE saw him consume three mugs of ersatz coffee. Family friends are adamant Mr. Darcy will not touch coffee...even the genuine commodity, let alone this ersatz garbage."

    "Mr. Darcy seems to have been in France." Bob blinked and frowned.

    "Mr. Darcy was in France intermittently until November of last year. The Agents knew him under a variety of names. For the agents like CLAUDETTE he is a known factor. But his appearances since May ... those agents who knew him say he's weird and often do not use him. The close connections are refusing to say anything beyond he was killed in the bombing." Annette looked up. "Still with me?"

    "I think so." Bob had settled on one of the chairs and was frowning. "You think there are two men claiming to be Mr. Darcy?"

    "I don't know ... one of them might be legit. but the people who could say aren't saying. Something is up ... and I'm nearly positive the problem is they can't definitely pin what's happening down to definites."

    "So why the dinner break?"

    "Mr. Darcy was seen in the South Street Canteen during the evening in late November. I'm risking he'll be there again in the next few nights ... I don't want to go alone."

    "Well I'm finished and I'd be very surprised if you were refused permission to check."

    "I don't want a guard of honour either."

    "Then we just go to dinner. South Street isn't far and the canteen's got a not too poisonous stew."

    "Thank you." Annette neatened her desk, collected her coat and hat before calmly walking to the door. Bob followed her and they escaped undetained.

    "Rafe, you are a fool sometimes." Franz was getting tired of the entire situation. For two months they had got absolutely nowhere and suspicion was definitely building.

    "No." Rafe had two traits, one of which was the most immense ego Franz had ever met in his life. Nothing disturbed Rafe for he so completely believed in his own abilities and the stupidity of the English.

    "What for the next month?"

    "I head north." Rafe looked away from the table and Franz followed the line of his attention with a frown. More arrivals, this time a secretary and her boyfriend. The boyfriend was a joke of mismatched features, but the girl was no strain to watch ... particularly in this hole. Under the heavy coat and severe FANY uniform the girl probably had quite a nice figure, a relief she was so badly dressed or Rafe would be useless for the rest of the evening.

    "Rafe." Franz turned back to the conversation and tried to bring Rafe back as well.

    "You are meant to call me Jim in this dress." Rafe gave Franz a pointed stare which Franz elected to ignore, Rafe could not actually do anything.

    "Rafe we do not have time to waste. Where are you going? What is the contact information?"

    "I will contact you."

    "That's what you said last month and we lost you. Where are you going and what's the information?"

    "Small town near the ruins of Pemberley. Lambton ... call the local inn and ask for Mr. Darcy. I will stay there a week." Rafe's attention had drifted back to the secretary and Franz restrained a great desire to slap the man. The job was dangerous. The risks high. The current return extremely low, and yet all Rafe could think of was a stupid girl on the other side of the canteen.

    "What's with the secretary?" Franz finally decided to pander and find out what was on Rafe's mind.

    "Well apart from having a very attractive backside..." Rafe paused and Franz consciously tightened his grip on the table. Rafe had a way of looking a women which seemed to simply peel the layers away. Rafe called himself a connoisseur. Franz called him a dirty _____. It was enough to put anyone's teeth on edge. "A good girl that one, see the line across the breast. Even through that horrible uniform you can see she is a ripe one. She would be a good wife...but I fear the mind will prevent her ever being much fun." Rafe's attention abruptly shifted to the door where an RAF Officer on a crutch entered with a girl. Rafe's jaw dropped and Franz wasn't very surprised. Rafe's greatest weakness was women, his specialty being the more curvy variety and this woman was...

    "Shut your mouth." Franz hissed his warning fiercely as he noted the RAF Officer, who had his eye on Rafe and it had an unfriendly glint in it.

    "That dress...she knows how to dress that woman." Rafe's voice was almost dreamy as his eyes slowly inspected the girl from head to toe. Not that there was much for Rafe's eye to peel off, but the look was enough to make anyone blush. "Young, but so ready. She would give a man a..."

    "Rafe!" It was an irate hiss Franz gave as he turned away and focussed on his coffee. Such behaviour while on duty and in an official meeting was inexcusable ... though he knew why Rafe was behaving as he was. Rafe was weak about women and easily fell prey to anything in a skirt. Franz was not weak when it came to women. Franz was actually very hard-boiled when it came to women, but she had a way of moving which could be seen in a coffee mug. It was a way of moving which meant the woman could have worn a sack and still been attractive and available. There was no make-up to be found in this appearance, it was a purely animal form of attraction and it would be a very hard-egg who did not respond. The Officer must be proud of himself and he was probably prepared for a fight, for his girl held promise. The woman was not wearing a sack, it was a dress which was designed to drop jaws and lead to what nice people called trouble.

    "You will let us know if you leave this Lambton?" Franz managed to hold Rafe's attention for a moment.

    "Ah." Rafe nodded, his eyes returning to the woman in The Dress. There was no other description for it and Franz didn't even attempt to find one.

    "Don't be late." Franz rose to his feet, settled his bill and left abruptly, he hoped he wouldn't have to fish Rafe out of Bond street for indecent behaviour ... Bond street wasn't right. The courts anyway. Publicity was something they were still meticulously attempting to avoid.

    "Franz!" It was Rafe.

    "Aye?" Franz stopped and looked over his shoulder until Rafe came to a stop beside him. "Important I trust."

    "Yes." Rafe heaved a couple of desperate breaths before his breathing steadying. "The RAF Officer."

    "What about him?"

    "He's ... he's one of the missing ones."

    "What?" Franz stared in complete incomprehension.

    "The pilots. Those pilots we couldn't find and assumed deceased."

    "He's one of them?"

    "I swear he is. Older, browner ... but it is him."

    "I'm surprised you stopped gaping at the girl long enough to see him." Franz spoke with a bit of a sneer, but he was just noticing the bruise, which was blooming beautifully and starting to close Rafe's right eye.

    "I wouldn't have if he hadn't hit me." Rafe didn't even remotely appologetically. "I would have liked to know that girl better ... but I will be good and go north. See you in a month." Rafe moved on down the street and Franz watched for a long and silent moment before he turned and headed for his own rooms. Rafe had charm, but he was tiresome more often then not. Franz almost wished he could send a thank you note to the officer. It must have been a good hit which so completely distracted Rafe from what he considered the necessities of existance. It was a pity that one couldn't pick and choose when it came to finding someone to impersonate another person.

    Annette had sent the taxi first to drop Bob off at his small block of flats where he rented an even smaller room. Bob had seemed a little disbelieving at first when he had realised that the RAF Officer and his girl were Annette's sister and brother-in-law.

    "Sod recognised me." Brian had been sucking his knuckles when he stopped by Annette's table on the way back to his own after hitting the man.

    "They can't do anything about you." Lucille had then joined Brian and tucked her hand through his arm. "Satisfactory distraction Annie?"

    "I will refrain from comment." Annette had been torn between embarrassment and laughter. Where the dress had come from Annette had no idea, but she wouldn't have been very surprised if it was bedroom wear.

    "A master's art is so rarely appreciated." Lucille had sighed and then demanded that Brian surrender his coat. They had barely stayed a minute after that, using Bob to get the taxi.

    "Why did you come in the end?" Brian had not spoken again until Bob had disappeared into his house and the taxi was moving again.

    "I thought it better to get someone there a bit earlier. I was a bit afraid Luce might prove too much for them ... and I was right."

    "Krmrg!" Brian snorted.

    "You said I needed to be distracting." Lucille put her nose in the air, then squeaked and wriggled as Brian pinched her.

    "I didn't say I wanted every thought driven out of their heads." Annette pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. "He looked..."

    "I know precisely how he looked." Lucille snuggled a bit closer to Brian. "NASTY!" Lucille frowned as the taxi pulled up at the Darcy Townhouse.

    "It's called a tactful hint that she doesn't want us witnessing the face off when Caroline finds out that she is neither dead, nor in Africa."

    "It's not my fault I wasn't seen at the memorial."

    "That's because you didn't want to be seen." Lucille stumbled slightly as she descended from the taxi. "You'd better watch Eoan or he'll break someone's neck."

    "You should watch where you put your feet." Annette slipped easily out and gave Lucille a hug. "Thanks for that ... I'm no good at it."

    "You could be." Lucille spoke calmly. "A dress and a new way of walking is all it will take."

    "No thanks." Annette retreated back into the taxi while Lucille laughed. Brian gave a brief wave to the taxi before he picked Lucille off her feet and carried her into the house.

    "Ouch." Lucille rubbed a bruised rib when Brian finally let her down. To be carried up multiple flights of stairs by a man with a crutch was very uncomfortable, not to say painful.

    "Serve you right. Now do get changed." Brian dropped into the other chair with a weary sigh.

    "Why?" Lucille scurried across to crouch next to the chair.

    "Because I will not kiss you while you wear that...that thing!"

    "Not jealous?" Lucille tipped her head curiously, only to find her chin caught and pulled so she had no choice but to meet Brian's eyes directly.

    "No."

    "Why?"

    "That should be obvious." Brian released his grip on Lucille's chin. "Get changed."

    "Why?"

    "Because you'll change whether you want to or not...and you might need that again if we're to catch this blasted double of Jim's."

    "Ah." Lucille gave a quick tug on Brian's hair as she rose and then skipped quickly from the room. Brian closed his eyes and banished the memory of that...sod! It was bad enough anyone looking at Luce with those sort of eyes ... to see them in the face of one who was ... Brian would have been willing to swear that it was Jim. But James would never have answered to Rafe and Annette had been quietly certain that it wasn't.

    "Brian?" Lucille's voice caused Brian to turn his head and all thought evaporated. Only one thought remained and that was that Lucille had promised. This woman was his and he'd tolerate all the eyes in the world if need be ... though he might wish to retreat to a deserted island.

    December 31st 1941 - London, England

    When all else fails be yourself...no one can criticise you for being that.

    Annette paused in the doorway of her office. Geraint Thoms was a bit further down that hall and he was furious about something. Officially Geraint was not supposed to return to France again, he'd done two tours of duty and was known to the Gestapo though they'd not yet managed to catch him. Like any good agent he was working to get himself across again already, he came in almost daily to argue with someone. Today a much patched suit of tweed seemed to be enduring Geraint's fury. It was not a suit Annette was familiar with, though there was more than one man about who was missing a limb. This suit was quite tall, dark-haired, possibly eye-patched and missing a leg, the suit compensated for the loss with crutches.

    "He's been at it for ten minutes now." Bob appeared next to Annette with a faint smile. "However, to go no further than your lovely ear at the present moment they have got another job for him."

    "He'll be delighted." Annette began to enter her office before she stopped abruptly. The tweed suit had turned, his ears shifting as he did so.

    "Desolée." Broad shoulders gave a small shrug before a definitely English bred voice continued in English. "I don't take orders from you." Annette ducked into her office as the man completed his turn and headed for the exit at a quick pace.

    "Bob!" It was Geraint who abruptly stalked into Annette's office.

    "He's next door." Annette would have preferred to avoid the meeting, her wits were thoroughly scrambled.

    "Irrelevent, you can answer just as well. Yves Olivier, French patriot I was just yelling at...is he under our jurisdiction?"

    "No." Annette knew no hesitation there, Yves Olivier would never answer to SOE orders unless he liked them himself. Yves Olivier was MAGI.

    "Damn!" Geraint glowered at the wall before abruptly stalking from the room and yelling for Bob again.

    Annette picked up a file on her desk, but the lines of type made no sense for a face stood between the page and Annette. The ears drawn back, the mouth a trifle thinned and the right thumb flicking against the right index finger. How many men could have exactly those traits when genuinely annoyed. The ears were evidence that he had left simply because his temper could take no more of whatever demand was being made...had the impossible occured again? Who knew. However, until lunch Annette could do nothing except focus on her work.

    Nelli sighed and the rubbed the end of her nose. Overhead Lucille was still giving furious tongue. What the arguement was about no one had yet managed to determine, it had been a recurrent theme since Brian's return at the beginning of the month. Today it had begun early and was still going strong.

    "Mr. James is on the telephone." Peter was looking almost as tired as Nelli felt, the fight was exhausting the house. "He wishes to speak to Mr. Brian."

    "Lucille calls this fun." Nelli rose to her feet tiredly. It seemed impossible that she could ever have been as brimful of energy and as heedless of convention ... and yet she must have been for she remembered many of the scoldings her Brian had given her during their long engagement. One difference between them was that Nelli had never fought back when scolded, she had fled. Lucille fought every time, the battles sometimes raging for days. If days weren't available a temporary peace was made and the fight brought back to life the moment there was a day or two available for it. Experience had taught the staff that interference was not wise, the combatants merely joined forces to repel the interference before resuming exactly where they had left off.

    "Would you be so kind as to notify him?"

    "I can probably manage." Nelli smiled before she headed for the stairs.

    Nelli was halfway to her destination when a door slammed violently and feet came running for the stairs. Nelli drew to one side only just in time as Lucille came down the stairs at a dangerous speed. Nelli paused to watch Lucille complete her descent in safety before she continued to ascend. Lucille had gone into the grey parlour.

    "Brian?" Nelli had paused for a moment before knocking on the door and then entering.

    "Telephone?" Brian was standing by the window.

    "It's Jim ... important I assume."

    "Bound to be." Brian pulled his hands out of his pockets with a sigh and motioned Nelli to lead the way. "Though I am honestly in the dark about my sin this time." Brian hooked up the telephone and carefully blanked his expression as he watched Nelli continue into the kitchens. "Binks here."

    "About time too." It was a curt snap. "Get over here and pronto."

    "Why?"

    "Because I told you to."

    "I happen to be in the middle of a fight."

    "Bring it with you or take this as a blessed excuse. I don't care what is up, just get here."

    "Why?"

    "Tax returns ... unless you want to go out backwards."

    "Will arrive as soon as I can." Brian dropped the receiver with a sigh and rubbed his head. Being rich really wasn't worth the effort. "NELLI!"

    "Problem?" Nelli appeared at the door and Brian couldn't help but shake his head, to employ your own mother was decidedly strange.

    "I'll not be needing lunch and there's a fair chance Luce won't either."

    "Fair chance Luce won't what?" Lucille's expression was mutinous.

    "Want lunch." Brian was already pulling on his coat. "I am under orders to turn up at the current residence of Jim. Something about tax and no excuse was good enough to get me out of turning up."

    "Meaning I don't count?" Lucille looked furious now.

    "No." Brian threw a coat across to Lucille. "Meaning fight or no fight, I am to turn up...bringing to fight with me if I must."

    "He expects you to think about money while fighting with me?" Lucille's mouth had dropped open.

    "He can do it so naturally he assumes the whole world can too. If Jim has a job to do it gets done and the rest of the world can go hang for all he cares."

    "Oh." Lucille pulled the coat on as she followed Brian down the stairs and around to the garage and a couple of bicycles. "Brian."

    "Mm?" Brian paused in untangling his front wheel.

    "Can I at least say thank you for noticing that I was wearing some perfume you'd never sent?"

    "Certainly, and I'll even appologise for blowing up and calling you a sneak without first finding out where it came from." Brian freed his front wheel. "Where did it come from?"

    "Yves Olivier sent it. Said he was terribly sorry, hoped I'd like it and would I forgive him for nearly killing my husband...it was very nice scent, but it wouldn't have been nearly enough if he had killed you. Why did he think he'd almost killed you?"

    "Lord knows." Brian wheeled his bicycle out of the garage. "No doubt Jim will be able to explain more fully why a Frenchman thinks one, he nearly killed me, and two, it's appropriate to sent nice Parisienne scent to my wife by way of appology for the act of the previous thought."

    "May I wear it again?" Lucille wheeled her own bicycle out.

    "How about you keep it for dining out and wowing nasties when there's someone other than me to appreciate it."

    "Alright." Lucille scrambled onto her bicycle and wobbled after Brian. The bicycle was not Lucille's chosen form of transport, but in war, with eight evacuees and five refugees a car was not a viable means of transport and the trains were unreliable at best.

    "Caroline." There was that little something in Kitty's voice which gave Caroline a very good idea of what was coming next.

    "Tell me it is not your knitting." Caroline looked up from the dough she was pounding flat.

    "It's not my knitting." Kitty gave a laugh for Caroline had only that morning finished correcting a mess. Hope had vaguely commented that knitting in the hands of a playful kitten usually looked better than that. It really had been a mess and Kitty did rather agree that it would probably have been easier just to unravel it all and start from scratch. However, the challenge had been laid by Pyro who defied it to be corrected without completely unravelling it, and Caroline had never refused a challenge from Pyro.

    "James can call for himself so it can't be a nasty surprise from him." Caroline pounded the dough some more before looking doubtfully at Kitty. "There's a nasty surprise at the front door?"

    "No." Kitty settled on one of the stools. "I actually thought it a very nice surprise."

    "So it is on the front door step?"

    "No, I put her in the living room." Kitty gave a smile. "Three more guesses before you will have to admit defeat on this one."

    "Rubbish." Caroline thumped the dough again and then frowned at it. "A surprise, not knitting, not nasty and not Jim. Doesn't leave much except for..." Caroline stopped kneading and looked up sharply. "Neddie?"

    "Yes."

    "I wonder ... go upstairs and ask Jim if he has been so calm because he knew she was alive?"

    "He's doing accounts."

    "I don't care. Take him a biscuit or two when you ask."

    "That is highly unlikely to save me." Kitty picked up the biscuit tin. "She wants to speak to you, seems to think the situation important."

    "Wonderful ... tell Jim I'm not mentioning him, so he can either come down or he can remain hidden."

    "He will thank you for that kindly act." Kitty grimaced for there had been a lot of discussion since Jim's abrupt appearance about whether he was going to admit to existing or not. For the most part Jim had stood firm on not existing but Annette's confirmed existance might change that.

    "That's why I have decided to act so." Caroline stepped away from the bench and rubbed her hands clean before removing her overall. It was a very good day for bread. In fact it was a lovely day for cooking and Caroline had been enjoying herself. "We shall meet here to exchange reports shortly." Caroline neatened her hair and then headed for the living room and Annette Fouchiard, who was supposed to be dead.

    Annette had been inspecting her surroundings thoughtfully. It was very strange how much things hadn't changed. Had anyone asked Annette to predict the changes which would occur should Ashie die, she would have predicted that the living room at the Lair would have been cleansed of cricket paraphernalia, aeroplane parts, chess games and cheap thrillers. These were the items Caroline had complained about with great regularity and it would have been safe to assume that they went with the man who seemed to predominantly be at fault for their presence. Curiously enough the room remained much as it had on any other visit. Cricketing paraphernalia was propped in various corners, aeroplane parts battled with chess boards for space and books occupied any other corner of space available. As far as rooms went it was chaotic and not at all the sort of room one would connect with Caroline Bingley and her rigid views on the world. Yet the room belonged to Caroline.

    Annette's attention was caught by a large sheet of paper covered with squares of alternating black and white. Chess pieces were scattered across the page, some standing, others clearly deceased. The game reminded Annette of a game she had witnessed once where Ashie had summarily executed the black king after he'd accidentally killed his own king. The layout of pieces seemed similar ... though if it was a genuine game of chess, it clearly was a modified form.

    "That is Kitty's triumph." Caroline had come quietly into the room and Annette bit her lip so as not to jump.

    "Triumph?" Annette turned carefully to see Caroline for the first time since they'd both been up at Glendevie. At first glance Caroline seemed unchanged...that ageless air, cool, calm and collected as ever. It was the second glance which began to notice the lines which hadn't been apparent at first. The second glance which noticed the tiredness and sadness in the back of the eyes. Annette probably wouldn't have recognised the look except that she had felt it herself.

    "Kitty won that game." Caroline settled onto her usual seat. "Kitty seemed to think it was important."

    "Is ... is James alive?"

    "Why do you ask?"

    "Because he's got a problem if he is alive." Annette settled on a seat herself and took a careful breath.

    "You're confident about this?" A rather concentrated expression grew on Caroline's face.

    "I've been working on it for two months." Annette allowed her tone to be curt. "I wouldn't have come yet but I think it's something James is probably more suited to deal with ... provided he's alive to deal with it."

    "I..." Whatever Caroline had been about to say was interrupted by a crash, a howl and some savage cursing.

    "Eoan!" Annette spun around on her seat and looked at the corner where Eoan had settled down on her arrival. Eoan was not in his corner. Eoan was not even in the room. Annette turned to Caroline with comprehension dawning in her eyes. "He's upstairs I take it."

    "Annette you must realise he is in a very difficult position."

    "Not half the position he thinks he's in." Annette rose to her feet. "If Mr. Darcy can be bothered it might interest him that he has a double floating around England ... due in Derbyshire next week at a small town called Lambton. Eoan does not like this other Mr. Darcy, he drinks coffee and has a ring finger ... he also receives his orders from a man called Franz in the South Street Canteen at the end of every month. He was called Rafe by Franz." Annette picked up her coat. "If Mr. Darcy doesn't want his dog he can see to his return to me at his convenience ... I have no doubt but he knows where I live." Annette pulled her coat on and hurriedly left.

    Annette had walked less than three blocks when she abruptly stopped and sank down on a nearby wall. What madness had possessed her to be so rude? Regardless of all else it was not Caroline's fault what decisions James Darcy made with his life. There was also the question of why she had been so rude? It didn't matter to her if James was alive or not. Why should it matter? He was just an aristocrat and a capitalist with a cold disregard for everything but himself and money.

    Annette dropped her hand down beside her leg and it met thin air. Annette shivered and then laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh, edged and mocking. Annette picked her hand back into her lap and stared at the pavement between her feet. Weeds were growing up through the cracks in the pavement. Weeds and the realisation that she was hurt that James had not been genuine in his offer of friendship.

    "A weedy pavement and a love for someone else's dog ... how sad can a life get." Annette pushed herself viciously to her feet and took a sharp look around before she started to walk. Annette didn't even have the comforting bulk of Eoan to keep her company, and yet she refused to get a taxi. How fitting, a miserable end to a lousy year.

    Part 36

    Posted on Sunday, 10 October 2004

    January 5th 1942 - Leningrad, Russia

    If you always expect the worst you will never be disappointed.

    Thin skeletons passed down the streets. Some of them pushed, or pulled, sleds. Everyone wore all the clothes they possessed, and in many cases even that proved insufficient. There was no acknowledgement of the guns which snarled around the city limits. There was no acknowledgement of the concussive crash as yet another shell tore through another building. People were dying, though not as quickly during the daylight hours. People passed each other without words, every ounce of energy and the whole consciousness of existance was focussed on survival. They were not senseless beasts even if they were silent. One lady stopped to help another pull her sled, but no words passed.

    A man with a shock of white hair, an eye-patch and clothed in what amounted to a series of holes held together by the odd thread in many layers, hobbled down the street. He might genuinely be old, but in these days of war appearance meant little. He might be ninety, but just as likely he was only eighteen years old aged beyond any possible recovery. The fact that the man had all his limbs indicated that he was genuinely old, one of many left behind by a government focussed on survival. Everyone was familiar with this man, Nikolai Gardov, for he always walked the same route. He spoke occasionally with the people he passed, a kindly word, he had a helping hand or a smile for everyone. Not all of them were as friendly as Nikolai, being one of the Dead Men was not a pleasant job. Nikolai was friendly, and he was also suspect. None of the Dead Men were so darkly suspected as Nikolai, yet Nikolai was never taken. Perhaps he did his job too well.

    "Nik." Another Dead Man approached the first, his gait tilted and rough. The man moved awkwardly, his right leg replaced by a rough peg. A crutch might have been considered more economical and comfortable, but the man was also missing his right arm. The age of the man was beyond any guess, his face, neck and remaining hand were destroyed by acid. There was a similarity about these men for all their differences. They were thin, sad and outsiders. Too old, or too infirm, to fight or work in the factories, they were deserted to find their own way to survive until peace came again.

    "Sergei." Nikolai glanced up from his work of separating a small child from the new ice.

    "For you." Sergei handed across a small piece of paper.

    "From where?" Nik looked more than a little surprised as he glanced up from the scrap of paper.

    "Came in with one of the drivers." Sergei hesitated for a long moment. "You're not leaving are you?"

    "Leave?" Nikolai pushed the paper into some hideout in his rags and blinked in confusion. "I've as much chance of that as this one has." Nikolai indicated the child who was still half entombed in the ice.

    "They're talking up at headquarters."

    "They always talk." Nikolai turned back to his work. "I'll worry when they arrest me."

    "You're not ... well..." Sergei hesitated.

    "I am a corpse collector." Nikolai responded sharply as he drove his pick deep into the ice near the child's feet. "I doubt they'll bother hauling me in again ... if they do I'm walking out." Nikolai drove the pick in again. Separating bodies from ice was an art which only practice could teach. To land the pick so the ice split, but did not actually damage the material form was the real trick. All of them had lost time at some stage or other because the ice had split wrong and a foot or hand was left behind. They were not permitted to leave any part behind, for the bodies would cause disease, particularly when spring came and the thaw occured. "No good for nothing but shovelling dirt and corpses ... and barely allowed to do that. Get moving before you're contaminated." Nikolai finally split the child from the ice and he loaded it onto his sled and covered it carefully. Sergei couldn't help but admire the skill with which Nikolai had separated the corpse from the ice. Nikolai was the most skilled of any of them, for he seemed to have an eye and uncanny sense of ice. Sergei had learnt some of his own skills from Nikolai, but he knew that he would never be as good even if he spent his entire life practicing the art. Sergei watched Nikolai shuffle off before he returned to his own beat. What had been in that note? It seemed to have upset Nikolai a bit. It was noted by those with the energy to care that Nikolai spoke to no one that day, smiled at no one, and was less careful with the dirt, though he was always careful with the corpses. Nikolai must be having a bad day.

    It was very late indeed when Nikolai sought his corner in a back alley. Leningrad was not dark for fires burnt freely. In a couple of hours the cold would drive Nikolai from his corner and he would wander around and try to help with the fires. His help was never accepted, but the movement would speed up the blood and keep him alive until morning, when he would again plod the streets and collect those who had not lasted the night. If the corpses still had food Nikolai collected it and redistributed it among the waifs who crouched in corners. The rations available were not enough, and they would decrease still further before they began to increase. Nikolai kept his own food on him at all times, and as he curled up in his corner he pulled the last crust out to nibble on as he read the scrap of paper Sergei had handed him earlier that day. The scrap of paper had a date at the top and a list of numbers. Nikolai shook his head slowly over the numbers before he calmly added the scrap of paper to his bread and ate it. No source of sustenance was to be sneered at, even if it did contain some rather unwelcome news. Nikolai swallowed his last mouthful and curled up into a tighter ball in his corner. There was nothing he could do about that news except hope that Jim was doing something.

    January 20th 1942 - Lambton, Derbyshire

    There is an end for all things.

    Rafe had been drinking coffee and waiting rather impatiently for Franz when his attention was caught by something out the window. Rafe's fingers ceased drumming their endless tattoo on the table top as he gazed out the window. Rafe's coffee grew cold and remained untouched but for the two mouthfuls already consumed. A damp and morose sparrow hopped around on the window ledge and looked hopeful, but Rafe was not aware of it.

    "Rafe." It was Franz's sharp tones which finally drew Rafe's attention from the window.

    "You're late." Rafe downed the cold coffee in three large mouthfuls and then choked violently.

    "The London train is always late." Franz ordered two more coffees. "Some lovely dame?"

    "No." Rafe glanced back out the window at the empty street below and was aware of a distinct sense of sadness. "I think you should go."

    "Why?" Franz frowned and hesitated, Rafe had been acting a trifle oddly for the past month and today he was decidedly off.

    "There is no hope for me ... there may be hope for you." Rafe looked away from the window and then started in his seat. Franz noted Rafe's line of sight past his shoulder and turned sharply. The waiter stood next to the door, no reason for alarm that Franz could see.

    "There is no hope for either of you. A high risk exercise which repaid you poorly for your efforts." The waiter moved slowly away from the door with the coffees on a tray.

    "What now?" Rafe was staring at the waiter like a chicken paralysed by an approaching snake. Franz looked at the waiter again, but could determine nothing other than that the man's lack of uniform was easily excused for a sicker looking specimen of humanity would be hard to come by.

    "Two options." The waiter placed two mugs of coffee on the table before moving back toward the door. "One is a silenced revolver, the other a discreet escort back to the continent."

    "We refuse both." Franz spoke immediately and with force.

    "Two options again ... the Admiralty and MI6 or forcible deportation to the previously mentioned continent."

    "If we refuse those options?" Rafe only just beat Franz's refusal of the options.

    "Then another two options ... MAGI incarceration or the silenced revolver."

    "You've already mentioned the revolver." Franz was frowning at his coffee mug as he tried to co-ordinate his thoughts and comprehend all that was happening. This was no simple capture of enemy agents. Something very funny was occuring.

    "The first revolver was wielded by yourself, the second revolver will be wielded by ... another."

    "Threats." Franz inspected the waiter thoughtfully, tall, thin ... not very strong to all appearances. They were two and he was one. The options were good.

    "Promises." The man shifted his stance slightly and Franz promptly revised his opinion. This waiter might be tall and thin, but he was clearly ready to fight and not alarmed by the prospects of being out-numbered. Such an opponent was to be treated warily.

    "You do realise that there will be trouble if we return to the continent?" Rafe's actions and words proved that he was thinking with a great deal of clarity not usually available to him and it was unnerving for Franz.

    "There will be trouble if you remain here." The waiter gave a small shrug as he responded.

    "How..." Franz stopped in response to a furious look from Rafe. "What?"

    "What your friend is trying tactfully to warn you about is that you haven't really seen my face." The waiter moved towards the window, his face and form easing into a silhouette as he passed between Franz and the light from the window. The very form of the man's face seemed to be changing as he eased into silhouette, and it was not a profile Franz would ever forget. Franz drew a hissing breath as he recognised the man who was now moving back towards the door.

    "Franz will return to Germany." Rafe rose to his feet tiredly. "You promise Franz a safe return and no further trouble ... me, I will pay what ever price you ask for."

    "Franz agrees?" The man glanced enquiringly at Franz and Franz nodded briefly.

    "That is settled then ... why were we unable to get anything?" Rafe was looking weary and slightly bewildered.

    "All a matter of information ... and a Darcy never waits to be told." The waiter, who was not really a waiter, gave a faint smile.

    "Oh." Rafe had been silent for a long moment before he finally responded. "It never occured to me to consider that." Rafe finished his coffee, leant back in his seat and closed his eyes.

    "Gentlemen's agreement." Franz had risen to his feet, slightly annoyed at this lack of fight in Rafe. If Rafe had shown even the slightest interest in escape they might have made it ... but alone Franz had no illusions of the chances.

    "Of course it is a Gentlemen's agreement." The words were accompanied by a thin smile. "This is England and I am a Darcy ... if you want anything else I can assure you that you will be the loser."

    "Why does he understand?" Franz glanced briefly at Rafe, who seemed to have fallen asleep.

    "Because he's been impersonating a Darcy." The words were spoken in a rather dry tone as the door swung open. "He's been impersonating a Darcy ... been treated as a Darcy. To understand what I just said you have to understand at least a bit about Darcys ... Rafe has the first faint inklings of what being a Darcy actually entails and I think he is rather relieved to be able to call the masquerade off. If you will follow me, your car is now waiting at the door."

    "Auf Wiedersehen, Rafe." Franz stepped through the doorway and descended to the yard where an MG stood. Franz noted his luggage was already in the back of the car as he took his seat and if he admitted the truth to himself he was very glad to be leaving England alive. The whole exercise had been a debacle of the first order and Franz was not sorry to see the back of Rafe. Franz couldn't care less what price Rafe was called upon to pay for the past few months. Franz had been the brains in exercise, Rafe knew nothing and was no use for anything except for looking like James Darcy. The English were welcome to him.

    "There goes a man who is not sorry to see the last of England." If any comment were to be made about James Darcy, it would have been that he was leaning rather heavily against the window frame while watching the MG out of sight.

    "They'll have a fit when they find out you let the useful one go." Lord Matlock was feeling every one of his sixty years as he watched his youngest son drive an acknowledged Nazi Agent out of sight.

    "They won't find out unless you tell them." James pushed away from the window. "You tell them and I'll enjoy myself while learning what they thought they were up to allowing my doppelganger run around undisturbed for nine months."

    "What about the doppelganger."

    "You don't want to know." James gave a faint smile before escorting Jermyn downstairs and out another back door to another courtyard. Jermyn had long since lost count of the number of times he'd heard those words spoken in that soft tone and with that faint smile.

    February 8th 1942 - Deraux, Cambridgeshire

    Given time anything can be normal.

    Nelli glanced worriedly up at the clock then across at the door, which swung open as she looked. Lucille entered carrying two of the children, four others were behind her and they were all rather snowy and very wet.

    "Strip!" Nelli shook her head before pushing the group into the bathroom and the laundry, respective of gender and age. "Lucille, you'll have to help me with the water."

    "Coming." Lucille re-emerged in a loose cotton spencer which was decent enough for getting water. The youngest child was in absolutely nothing and clinging like a limpet to Lucille's back.

    "Thank you." Nelli grabbed the buckets as Lucille started to work the massive old pump. The water sloshed forth, icy and slightly brown. Nelli quickly filled the two coppers which stood in the immense fireplace.

    "I'll get clothes for everyone." Lucille had her feet in an immense pair of sandshoes, and Nelli ignored the memory that she had once similarly worn shoes that were many sizes too large.

    "Thank you." Nelli threw more wood onto the fire before throwing towels into the respective rooms for drying and cover until the water was ready.

    "Tim and Allan are visiting Charles at his new house." Lucille returned with an immense armload of clothing and an explanation for the reduced size of her brood. Tim and Allan were the two oldest of the evacuees and they were barely younger than Lucille, being fifteen years of age.

    "Grab a bathrobe before you freeze." Nelli began sorting through the clothes Lucille had brought down.

    "Not cold." Lucille pushed the kettle onto the fire before frowning. "Where's Ken?"

    "No idea." Nelli looked up in slight surprise for she realised abruptly that Ken had been absent all day. "Perhaps a friend visited." Ken had vanished before, always to meet odd friends of Ashie's who seemed exceedingly shy of attention.

    "Mm." Lucille gave an abrupt shiver and crossed to the door. "I'll be back in a moment."

    "Hopefully the water will be a bit warmer then." Nelli crossed to let the towel clad children into the kitchen where they could sit around the fire.

    "Oh!" It was a startled and rather muffled cry which came into the kitchen and Nelli lifted a hesitant head. The cry had undoubtedly come from Lucille. Nelli hesitated momentarily, but the cry was not repeated and there were children to be watched.

    It was almost ten minutes later when Lucille returned, fully clad with Ken and three strangers in tow. Nelli didn't trouble to ask any questions for they had had strangers before. The men and women would only stay one night, moving on to unknown destinations. Nelli had occasionally wondered which direction the strangers were moving, they might have been going to France, but Nelli was inclined to think they were back from France, or had been extracted from France. Last week the strangers had been Poles, three of them, and all they ever asked was when they could go back to Poland. The little ATS girl who was looking after them was driven to distraction by the repetitive question, but Nelli could smile for she remembered many a hospital bed from whence a similar question arose ... except they had wanted to know when they could resume fighting. These three were unaccompanied, but still in need of a change of clothes and food. They joined the line of children awaiting baths and food while Mrs. Butterworth applied herself to producing sufficient food from the available rations. Last week had been a good week for the butcher had had a couple of joints too tough to sell. This week there had been no extra joints, or badly risen bread to bulk out the supplies, and with these three strangers food would be a bit thin.

    Everyone had been bathed, clothed, fed and shown to a bedroom before Nelli finally sat down with a sigh and noticed that Lucille was chewing a thoughtful lip as she stared at the fire. Nelli had had her doubts on occasion about the wisdom of her son marrying this girl. Lucille would never be anything but a girl in Nelli's mind be she ever so formal and elegant. Nelli would never forget the day when Lucille had arrived from collecting the evacuees from school and Nelli had been unable to tell them apart, so thick was the mud which covered them. Lucille had claimed that in the absence of snow they had indulged in a mud fight. Nelli, in the absence of a high pressure hose had indulged in allowing the children and Lucille to wash their own clothes. That was one of many occasions and over the months Nelli had become resigned to the realisation that between this day and the next she would never be able to predict what her daughter-in-law was going to do next. Initially Nelli had been disappointed for Lucille would never be a wife of note in society, she lacked the intelligence and determination to achieve greatness. However, as the war progressed Nelli had to confess that she would have lived with Lucille at her maddest than any number of beautiful society girls. Lucille had a way of making even the worst day pass with laughter and fun. Lucille didn't turn a hair whether she was splitting wood with an axe, weeding the garden or mucking out the hen-run. It had already occured twice that Lucille would give the entire house a thorough spring cleaning ... though it was winter and either raining or snowing heavily. Somehow the entire house had got entangled in this madcap mode of existance and even Nelli had found herself laughing while washing curtains. Lucille might never be a great society figure, but she had a way of making the most insane antics seem perfectly normal and acceptable. It was only after the activity ended and Lucille had gone somewhere else that one wondered whether spring cleaning in winter was practicable.

    "Something troubling you?" Nelli had rarely seen Lucille so clearly concerned about something.

    "It's the mending." Lucille rose abruptly, indicating that Nelli was to follow her. There had been something in Lucille's voice which warned Nelli that something odd was afoot so she was not overly surprised when Lucille lead the way not to the linen cupboards, but upstairs to a wing which Nelli would have said had been untouched in a month now.

    "It's not Brian is it?" Nelli could never quite silence the fear in her heart that something was going to happen to Brian. It was a miracle he had survived this long and he had apparently volunteered against having a three month holiday from flying and working at a nice safe job in an office. Brian continued to fly and Nelli continued to dread that a little telegram would arrive telling her that Brian had died.

    "No." Lucille gave a soft little knock on a door and pushed it open. The room was dim, the curtains drawn and the atmosphere rather musty. "The refugees brought him with them...he's not well." Lucille drew the curtains just sufficiently for Nelli to see the occupant of the small bed.

    "That's putting it mildly." Nelli's voice had caught jaggedly as she responded and there seemed to be a curious buzzing in her ears.

    "Nelli?" Lucille had been quick to find a chair for Nelli.

    "Sorry." Nelli wiped an unsteady hand across her forehead and took a steadying breath. "Just a ... Jim rarely looks like his mother." Nelli took another steadying breath before rising to her feet with determination. "I can remember her lying like this...always heart trouble." Nelli frowned as she touched James' forehead, he was clearly completely unconscious. "I doubt that Jim's got heart trouble. Did the refugees say anything?"

    "No." Lucille shook her head. "Apparently he's a stranger to them and he's been unconscious since he got handed over to them."

    "Is Eoan around?"

    "I left him with Ken." Lucille moved to the door, aware that she was going to be sent on an errand soon.

    "We need a doctor." Nelli hesitated uncertainly. This was an emotion she was unfamiliar with, for she had always been definite since she had become the Housekeeper of Pemberley. As Housekeeper one had to be definite, even if it was to firmly state you did not know and would ask the mistress. Now Nelli was hesitating about what to do, uncertain, and even uncertain about whether she was really uncertain or not. For some reason Nelli had a feeling that the local doctor was not who they wanted. Something was niggling Nelli's memory, something she had forgotten which she needed to have remembered.

    "He should just be left." It was Ken who slipped under Lucille's elbow and entered the room. "The doctor will only make him worse ... he looks very bad this time." Ken had a serious expression as he studied the comatose form on the bed.

    "He's been here recently?"

    "Day before Christmas ... only unconscious for a few hours that time." Ken touched a cheek and frowned. "He doesn't feel warm."

    "No." Nelli wrinkled her nose in exasperation, this was one of the very few times when she actually wished Ashie would turn up. Exasperating, unpredictable and absent-minded though he was, Ashie was never plagued by the uncertainties normal people had when trying to deal with a Darcy. "Caroline." Nelli spoke the name firmly, and then sighed. "Will you sit here until I've spoken to Caroline, Lucille?"

    "I can probably manage it ... if I really try." Lucille settled on a nearby chair which was thoroughly swathed in Holland sheets, her expression positively saintly.

    "She's crazy." Ken spoke with great confidence, looped his fingers through Eoan's collar and resolutely stumped from the room. Eoan was not happy about leaving and after a brief tussle at the doorway, Ken released the collar and continued his departure. Eoan crossed back to the bed and sniffed before pushing his nose under James' chin. The response was totally non-existant and Eoan gave a little whine before dropping at Lucille's feet with a sorry sounding thump. Lucille gave a sigh of her own and then rubbed the bridge of her nose. Why couldn't she think logically and in a reasonable progression? There was something bugging the back of her mind. Something that should be done? Something that someone had said? Lucille couldn't for the life of her remember.

    Caroline replaced the telephone receiver with a thoughtful expression. Possibly she shouldn't have been surprised, but it was odd even for James Darcy to announce an intention to remain in England and yet return from the Continent less than a month later. It was not unusual for James to be unwell. Caroline rubbed her face and tried to think of a time James hadn't been unwell and she came up blank unless she looked prior to August 1939.

    "What was that about?" Kitty had laid aside her knitting and Caroline was a trifle discomforted for Kitty was looking grey and pinched today.

    "Nelli." Caroline began making tea almost without thinking about it. "Jim arrived with a group of escapees from somewhere in Europe."

    "He didn't take a holiday from the war then."

    "No." Caroline pushed the kettle over into the fire and settled back to watch it. "He's apparently also sick."

    "How sick?"

    "They don't know, he's still unconscious." Caroline prodded at the fire. "Was it Ashie's death?"

    "No." Kitty spoke with a quiet confidence which surprised Caroline.

    "He's spoken to you?"

    "No." Kitty picked up her knitting. "But like Lizzie said, James speaks most when he isn't using words."

    "What's driving him like this?"

    "Same thing that drove his father." Kitty frowned over her knitting which didn't seem quite right. "Fear."

    "Fear?" Caroline frowned, the word made no sense, what could James Darcy possibly fear?

    "Fear." Kitty found a stitch she had dropped and pondered how to repair the resultant damage. "Not fear for himself. Feudal spirit burns bright in that bloodline and because he can do something he does it with a total disregard for himself and his future."

    "I thought David had tried to avoid that complication." Caroline stared at Kitty, who had begun cautious repairs on her knitting.

    "David separated James from patriotism, for want of a more apt description...but Jim is a Darcy and the curse of Pemberley is real." Kitty looked up and Caroline felt a centipede in icy boots scurry up her spine, there was something in Kitty's expression which was too...

    "Nelli said that Jim was looking like Lizzie." Caroline barely even registered what she had said, she just wanted to get that expression out of Kitty's face and eyes.

    "He would." Kitty gave an abrupt smile, but it lasted only a second. "Lizzie spoke of that curse only once and I laughed at her ... do you think she knows I'm not laughing now?"

    "Positive." Caroline couldn't explain where her confidence came from, but she would have sworn on the bible without the slightest hesitation that Elizabeth knew Kitty was no longer laughing.

    "What did Nelli want? Seems odd to call to tell us that Jim is there and sick."

    "They're worried because he's..." Caroline abruptly stopped and stared at the wall. "Jim's sick, unconscious, cool to touch ... usually he's in fever. Nelli said she wasn't calling the doctor because she felt certain it wouldn't be the right thing to do...she was looking for some advice I think."

    "Well if he's unconscious he won't be leaving bed and running away." Kitty rubbed her chin and then gave a soft laugh.

    "What is it?" Caroline looked curiously at Kitty, for it had been months since Kitty had last genuinely laughed in pure amusement.

    "I just realised." Kitty sputtered the words around her laughter. "I just realised that I am not even considering asking what Jim was doing in Europe. In three years he's managed to make his activities totally..." Kitty made an expressive gesture with her fingers before succumbing to her laughter again. Caroline frowned for she did not find it at all funny, though it was a relief that Kitty did.

    It was Eoan who sensed the change first. Lucille would have noticed nothing except that Eoan had abruptly scrambled to his feet and padded to the bed. Lucille promptly followed and found herself looking into a pair of dark grey eyes. James had had his eyes shut until this point.

    "Are you awake?" Lucille had noted that Eoan had not reared up onto the bed, so it was possible that James was not really conscious. Lucille had heard that people sometime looked quite awake when in fact they were sound asleep.

    "I believe so." The response was soft when it finally came.

    "That is very nice to know. What is wrong with you?"

    "I have no idea." Again the long pause before the response came. It reminded Lucille of talking long-distance on the telephone, there were delays between question and answer of varying lengths just like now.

    "Do you want anything?"

    "A drink of water and a slice of bread...provided I'm awake when it arrives." The response was quicker this time.

    "I guessed right." Lucille gave a little skip before she shot back across the room to the little water jug and loaf of bread. Lucille poured a quarter glass of water and finally tore a lump off the loaf. Nelli would undoubtedly complain because it would make the loaf difficult to slice, but then again Nelli should have sent up the bread knife.

    "Thank you." James took a careful sip of water before nibbling on the bread. Lucille refilled the glass twice before James laid the partially drunk glass and remains of bread on the bedside table and closed his eyes again.

    Lucille had watched James intently for several minutes after he had put the food aside. To Lucille it didn't seem possible to just fall asleep like that, but clearly James could for he was undoubtedly very asleep. Eoan had retreated back to the seat near the fire where Lucille had been sitting.

    "Mrs. O'Niell wants to know if everything is alright?" It was Paige who slid into the room and looked curiously at the bed.

    "Lovely." Lucille gave a smile, someday she was going to ask how Nelli could so perfectly time things. "He's been conscious, had a drink and a bit of bread and gone back to sleep."

    "Are you coming to put us to bed?"

    "I will." Lucille gave another smile before waving Paige from the room. Paige was not one of the evacuees, or a refugee. Paige was thirteen years old with a mind of a hundred. Where he'd come from nobody knew. His history was completely unknown, for if Paige himself knew it he was telling no one. The name itself had been of his own choosing, he had just said that Paige was a nice name, so Paige he was known. Annette had been adopted by him in a canteen in London where he'd been earning food and shelter by running notes and helping. The canteen had been closing when he'd attached himself to Annette, but Lucille had a far from sneaking suspicion that Paige would have adopted Annette regardless of what the canteen was doing, the closure was just a good excuse. Paige had lived for most of a month with Annette before she'd put her foot down and brought him out to Deraux Castle. Lucille had not minded adding to the collection of people at Deraux, and Paige had proven himself more than useful when it came to gardening, cleaning and running messages all over the Castle.

    "Who was that?" The soft question caused Lucille to realise that James was awake, possibly never actually been asleep.

    "Paige." Lucille gave a small shake of her head.

    "He's been bombed." It was a quiet statement and Lucille blinked as it made sense.

    "That is why he doesn't like being touched by anyone?" It was a doubtful question Lucille asked, she did not herself believe that it was connected.

    "No." James closed his eyes again.

    "Thank you." Lucille moved back to her seat by the fire. James' response was accurate, for Lucille had seen Paige instigate contact...just once. Annette seemed to be the only human Paige liked contact with and he'd held her hand for just a moment before waving her off. It was the animals whom Paige restricted his contact to, Lucille was rather curious to know what Eoan thought of him.

    Part 37

    Posted on Sunday, 17 October 2004

    Author's Note: SAS - Special Air Service, a Commando Regiment founded in November 1941 by David Stirling.

    LRDG - Long Range Desert Group, a reconnaissance force which specialised in Desert Navigation and information collection.

    March 29th 1942 - Kabrit, Africa

    Blessings often come in disguise

    On the rare occasion that Alistair Bennet troubled with introspection and consideration of his life, he usually felt nothing except for mild surprise that he was still alive. Alistair considered himself lucky and nothing else. In Alistair's opinion, when he troubled to consult it, the demi-gods that nothing short of high explosive could kill were represented by his cousin James and the Fitzwilliams. For Alistair's peace of mind it was perhaps fortunate that he did not realise that most of the men he had come into contact with considered him one of the unkillable.

    "BENNET!"

    "Umm?" Alistair pried open a disgusted eye to glare at the owner of the loud and obnoxious voice. It was Baxter, an opinionated wart who also happened to be the primary navigator of the jeep that provided Alistair with transport. Baxter was not SAS, he was LRDG but staying with the SAS until his arm recovered, he'd been idiot enough to have his arm under a jeep when it rolled backwards.

    "Your promotion just came through."

    "Oh." Alistair closed his eye, Baxter wasn't worth an eye. Alistair then re-opened the eye as Baxter's words sank in. "Promotion?"

    "Yes."

    "I'm not interested in becoming a Bombadier." Alistair closed his eye again, a promotion wasn't worth an eye either, though the pay might come in handy after the war...provided the government actually coughed up all the wages they would be arrears in after this all ended.

    "You're not a bombadier." The new voice had Alistair scrambling to his feet, both eyes open and mind immediately alert. It might be excused if one ignored Baxter, but no one ignored Major Stirling unless they were tired of life.

    "Sorry sir, didn't see you."

    "I gathered you hadn't." Stirling's tone was grim but his eyes amused. Major Stirling was not easily overlooked at six foot six inches, but he was possessed of a sound sense of humour and remained undisturbed by anything unless it directly related to appearance or functionality of the SAS.

    "Promotion, sir?" Alistair looked from Stirling to Baxter and then back again. Alistair did not like the idea of a promotion which was not just a simple hike to rank of Bombadier.

    "For the present moment you're acting-Lieutenant ... it'll come through officially in a bit." Stirling turned to leave.

    "Acting-Lieutenant?" It would have been a horrified yelp if Alistair hadn't remembered his dignity in time.

    "Problem ... Lieutenant?" Stirling looked back and the note in his voice was almost menacing.

    "No, sir." Alistair subsided before glaring at Baxter. "This had better not be your doing."

    "No, sir." Baxter sniffed. "I would have recommended myself if I had known a commission was attached."

    "What happened?" Alistair pulled his water container up for a quick drink.

    "Mayne said Stirling wanted to know who I'd have as the reserve driver of our jeep. I said nobody ... though in a real scrunch I'd suffer you. Mayne then departed and I thought that was the end of it."

    "For that, I'll drive you into the Med." Alistair settled back onto the ground and pulled the hat back over his face.

    "We're apparently up for next raid." Baxter sounded almost disconsolate.

    "Going to disturb your love-life?"

    "No...but Mayne asked if I can swim."

    "That is odd." Alistair pushed his hat back to glance at Baxter for a moment. "I suggest you forget about it."

    "Yes, sir." Baxter moved away and Alistair repositioned his hat. Mayne asking whether Baxter could swim should mean nothing, but it actually meant a lot. Bouerat in January, Benghazi in March, both failed ... were they going to hit another harbour in May? Blowing up aeroplanes was significantly more entertaining.

    "BENNET!!!" The voice was loud and penetrating and Alistair took a moment to moan into his hat before he emerged to face a decidedly irate Sergeant-Major.

    "Yes?"

    "I hear from Baxter that you've had the inconceivable gall to start fraternising with the enemy!" Sergeant-Major Jessop was of no worry to anyone when he seemed irate ... trouble arose when he wasn't.

    "Oh?" Alistair blinked and then grinned, it seemed his promotion was general news.

    "Are you driving on the next trip?" Jessop settled down with a thump and took a drink from his water bottle.

    "Damned if I know." Alistair pushed his hat back over his face. "In all probability I'll be left behind to push paper so Q doesn't cheat the next batch of recruits out of chow."

    "You any good at getting stuff out of Q?"

    "Never tried ... don't want to try."

    "Wise, they're biassed against us."

    "Tell Stirling we'll raid Q next then...leave a lot of lovely stickers all over their precious wine glasses and paper piles announcing the fact that they've been blown up."

    "Not a bad idea, pinch a bit more stuff...lord, I can still remember when that MP popped out of the dust when we were raiding the New Zealanders."

    "You're permitted to remember that." Alistair gave a chuckle before groaning again. "____ _____ ____!"

    "What wonderful music mine ears detect. What's up?"

    "I just remembered I'm on a night shoot tonight...but I was only a humble gunner when I heard that. Do you think they'll be sadistic enough to make me take it now they've promoted me?"

    "Probably the reason why they promoted you."

    "____!" Alistair pushed his hat back on his head and sat up before giving his head a gentle shake.

    "Might I remind you that you're still in a private's uniform."

    "Doesn't matter, you probably knew before I did that I was getting fancied up ... though why I get fancied up I have no idea."

    "No university degree?"

    "No."

    "Must be your connections then. How have you been sleeping?"

    "I haven't." Alistair finally gave up on his rest, it wasn't half clear that Jessop was in a sociable mood. "I was trying but everyone seems set on stopping me....which includes you."

    "Ooh, how fierce...sure I'm not a _____ ______ as well?"

    "I took that for granted that you knew that already." Alistair glanced around the dusty camp. It was stinking hot and the only people in sight were the poor sods who were scheduled to be outside. Anyone with half a brain slept through the afternoon.

    "You'll have fun tonight."

    "Why?"

    "Oh, nothing...just sounded like they're planning again."

    "Go to hell." Alistair lay back down again and pulled his hat back over his face. The future held what the future held and he was going to sleep until the future demanded action of him.

    March 31st 1942 - London, England

    An end is but a beginning, and a beginning is but an end. - anonymous

    Something was different. How Annette knew she hadn't the faintest idea, but as she jerked up in bed she would have been willing to wager anything that something had changed since she had fallen asleep. Annette rolled for her torch and watch ... it only felt like ten minutes since she had fallen asleep, but her watch assured her that she had been asleep for two hours. It was three in the morning. Annette rolled back the other direction for her bathrobe and was just starting to pull her feet free of the covers when she realised that she was sliding down the bed. Annette flashed her torch at the foot of her bed and frankly stared, the fact she hadn't realised her feet were impeded to begin with said how deep habits could die. Eoan's large brown eyes stared back rather sleepily from where he lay on Annette's feet.

    "I am getting up." Annette placed a firm hand on Eoan's ribs before she wrenched her feet out from under him. A scuffle and a shuffle got Annette to the door, her bathrobe on, her slippers on and the door fully opened. Eoan fell off the bed with a heavy thump and he ambled over to lick Annette's hand.

    "Where is he?" Annette had checked the living area and the front hall before she queried of Eoan the whereabouts of James Darcy. Annette knew that Eoan had not simply materialised on her bed, therefore James Darcy had delivered the mound of fur at this ungodly hour and the fact that the draught roll was hard against the door said that he hadn't left yet. Why he hadn't left was beyond Annette, but then again, when it came to James Darcy she had long since decided that understanding his mind was something which would take more time than she had to spare. Eoan gave a whining noise and Annette glanced down in astonishment before realising that Eoan was not at her feet. Annette glanced around and blinked in surprise for Eoan was sitting at the kitchen door. Annette had forgotten to check the kitchen because the door was closed.

    The kitchen was slightly lit by a rather evil looking light of bluish tinge which pulsed at about 1 second intervals. The air felt icy, and yet the window was not open...the blackout was still firmly in place. Annette glanced back at Eoan, but he had retreated and his expression was almost comically mournful. Annette closed her eyes for a moment before finally looking at the occupant of the room. James Darcy was sitting on one of the tall kitchen stools, his expression flat and empty, his eyes blind and blank and staring out the window. It was as if the mind behind the face were absent.

    "Mr. Darcy?" Annette hesitated, her hand on the light switch. The source of the light was a thin rod which James mechanically tipped from hand to hand. A small bubble travelled from end to end of the rod as James tipped it and the pulsation was timed to the tips. As far as light sources went it was feeble, but it did the job of ensuring some light without risking a bomb from a marauding Hun. The response to Annette's query was totally non-existant, almost as if he hadn't heard.

    "Ar-uff." It was a queer gurgling bark Eoan gave and Annette turned to look at him in surprise. Eoan shifted on his back feet. "Ar-uff."

    "Eoan?" Annette flicked the light on and stared hard at Eoan. Eoan shifted on his feet again looking more than ever like a kid who was trying to say something.

    "Ar-uff!" Eoan barked once more before abruptly turning and leaving. Annette shot after Eoan and stared in amazement at the sight of him curling up on her bed again.

    "Eoan?" Annette stared at Eoan in astonishment. "What...?"

    "He's tired." James' voice was the very last thing Annette was expecting to hear and she yelped.

    "Wh ... uh ... tired?" Annette turned to gape at James whose attention was on Eoan. Looking at James now made the emptiness of earlier seem but a strange nightmare.

    "Had a bit of a walk today." James bent down to the bed and touched Eoan on the head. "Thoughtless of me ... but I think he will be alright." James pulled gently on one ear before he rose again.

    "A bit of a walk?" Annette looked quiet disbelief at James, she highly doubted that anyone else used the same rating system as James.

    "Twenty ... maybe thirty kilometres." James gave a small shrug and returned to the kitchen.

    "Do you want some tea?" Annette was not certain why she followed James back into the kitchen, but she was not going to sit around in silence.

    "You ask something?" There had been a long silence before James responded, and even then his response was vague and distant. Whatever was on James' mind was very present, for even in the brief moments since he had sat down it had drawn his attention away from the present. As James responded he turned away from the window and the sound of tearing was almost audible as he dragged his mind away from whatever bothered him. Annette couldn't help but watch in fascination as life and animation came back into James' face. It was a definite progression of return and though the deadness and loss were still there they hid far back in the depths of his eyes.

    "I was asking if you wanted a cup of tea." Annette lit the stove and filled the small kettle before turning her attention to trying to remember what she had done with the remains of her tea ration. Annette knew she had not consumed it all, but she also had no idea where she had put it. "Biscuits in the tin in front of you...or at least there should be a couple left." Annette abruptly remembered where she'd stored her tea ration and she went digging through the cutlery draw for the small jar of tea leaves.

    "Tea?" James seemed a trifle confused.

    "You drink it." Annette retrieved the jar and dumped it on the table.

    "Oh, tea." James stowed the glowing rod away in his bag and stared at the tea leaves for a moment. "Yes, please."

    "Milk and sugar?"

    "Make it black and keep them for someone who really wants them." James handed Annette two mugs before retreating back to the stool he'd been sitting on.

    "That will be Luce." Annette frowned at the small kettle which seemed to be resolutely not boiling. "I thought you were out in Cambridgeshire?"

    "I was."

    "Then why are you here?"

    "Eoan seems to go off his food when left with anyone else."

    "You broke into my flat at two o'clock in to deliver unto me your dog?"

    "Three o'clock in the morning and I want to be in Scotland by dawn."

    "Going to walk?" Annette couldn't help the dry sarcasm in her response.

    "I think not ... I didn't even manage to walk from Cambridgeshire." James shifted awkwardly across to the small kettle which was boiling.

    "You tried?" Annette couldn't help but stare at James in astonishment.

    "Should I not?" James looked vaguely surprised as he poured the tea.

    "Most people would consider a peg-leg more than sufficient reason not to try walking the hundred odd kilometres from Cambridgeshire." Annette accepted the tea James handed her with a frown. "When you add the fact that you've only just been passed as clear of danger from a bad case of pneumonia one might consider even attempting it sheer stupidity."

    "Someone has been babbling." James returned to his seat with a slight frown.

    "Hardly babbling that when my sister calls up to discuss private matters she is forced to terminate proceedings abruptly because James Darcy is delirious and teaching Ken to fence. No need to be touchy." Annette took the other stool. "If you insist on doing the insane you should expect to get sick at very regular intervals."

    "You are very annoying at times." James sipped on his tea.

    "Oh?"

    "Very annoying."

    "How profound." Annette sipped her own tea.

    "Of course it is profound, I said it."

    "That is not a recipe for profundity."

    "That sounds like an expression of doubt in my capabilities."

    "I would have said that sounding had nothing to do with it. That was a statement of disagreement."

    "How profound."

    "If you insist." Annette gave a gurgle of laughter into her cup of tea.

    "I don't insist." There was a moment of pause and then James abruptly shook his head, it was a frustrated little movement.

    "He doesn't like my biscuits." Annette had no idea why she made that particular comment and she hadn't thought she could sound so doleful as she did.

    "Eh?" James looked up in clear surprise with a touch of confusion.

    "My biscuits." Annette nodded at the small box. "They're not on par with the Admiralty I will confess, but I didn't think them that bad."

    "You are a witch." James cast a glance of extreme dislike at Annette before offering her one of her own biscuits.

    "Abracadabra." Annette waved her biscuit around before choking on a giggle.

    "No, not abracadabra." James bit into the biscuit he had taken. "Just a mind stealer."

    "I don't like the sound of that. It sounds rather criminal." Annette sampled her own biscuit.

    "Very criminal." James took another bite. "Thoroughly reprehensible in point of fact...man can't even enjoy an old-fashioned sulk with you around."

    "I would have thought that a good thing ... was it just a sulk?"

    "Yes." There was a stubbornness which indicated that James was lying and Annette did not like the way his eyes were drifting back towards the window. What was it about her window which so fascinated him this evening.

    "Why?" Annette was not about to give James even half a chance at drifting off again.

    "I've been thwarted ... and being the filthy capitalist I am I do not appreciate having my will thwarted." It nearly hadn't occured, but the gleam of laughter was back.

    "That has nothing to do with being a capitalist." Annette gave a sniff. "It just happens that filthy capitalists have their will thwarted a lot less often than the rest of the world and therefore are not accustomed to concealing their displeasure when it happens. Who's been thwarting you now?"

    "Life in general." James finished his biscuit. "I had everything planned, right down to a peaceful retirement and it's all been upset."

    "Poor diddums." There was something about James' laughter which was impossible not to respond to. Even if Annette hadn't been deliberately fishing for a laugh from him she would have responded as she did. It was easy to keep things light and fun.

    "Precisely."

    "So what did the retirement plans include? A bit of hunting and fishing?"

    "Landscape painting and fine china collection."

    "What would you want with them?" Annette couldn't help but laugh, it was stereotypical and rather comical to hear from James.

    "Faith, the lady seems as determined as nature to upset my plans. You think I should do something else?" There was a note of challenge in the response.

    "I think you'll probably read books in front of a nice fire and collect first editions." Annette finished off her own biscuit and refilled both mugs. "Failing that you'll probably become one of these people who sit around in cafes watching the world as it wheels past ... you'll probably entertain anyone who will listen by telling them the private lives of everyone who passes."

    "Nasty."

    "Not at all, a private life is not necessarily scandalous ... and for that matter if it is known about it is not private any more. Like you once said, to own a private life is a practice of discretion. If someone knows then you weren't discrete enough and you'll need to try again." Annette paused. "If anything they will not believe you because they do not understand." Annette paused again and blinked at her mug. "In the end you always have the choice about opening your mouth. No one can make a camel drink if it doesn't want to."

    "There is always a choice." James spoke so quietly that Annette looked up in surprise. The words seemed familiar, but Annette couldn't place them.

    "Where..."

    "Ashie in a thoughtful mood." James finished off his tea and rose. "There's always a choice...but usually the alternative is totally unacceptable. Thanks Grouch, you've been more helpful than you could possibly imagine tonight."

    "James..." Annette had risen too uncertain what had just happened, but something had changed.

    "You'll be fine." James touched Annette's cheek with one finger, his eyes sober and steady. "Whatever happens you will be fine." James' hand dropped and he glanced at his watch with a slight frown.

    "James..."

    "I've got to go." James was glancing around the kitchen while checking his pockets and his bag. There was a restlessness in James' movements and Annette realised that he was deliberately not looking at her.

    "Mackle!"

    "I'm sorry, but Brian is going to arrive damn soon and I can't let him catch me this time." James slung the bag onto his back and crossed to place his mug in the sink.

    "Why not?" Annette moved so James couldn't depart.

    "Because I'm going to do something he considers idiotic."

    "What do you think of what you're going to do?"

    "It's pure suicide ... but if I don't do it I'll commit suicide in a year." James grabbed Annette's shoulders to move her aside and Annette braced herself to try and prevent him from getting past. It never happened though, or at least it didn't happen in the way Annette expected. Something weird flashed across James' expression and before Annette could even begin to ask what was on his mind she realised that he had lightly kissed her on the forehead before moving her to one side and stepping through the doorway.

    "Mackle." Annette had just managed to catch his arm and she wasn't even certain why she felt the need to detain him.

    "I've no intention of dying." James half turned, his voice soft and his tone quiet. "Unfortunately my wishes seem to be very unimportant to the world at present. I'm sorry if that offended you, but even if others are confused I honour and respect you too much to..." James hesitated, clearly seeking a word which eluded him.

    "We're friends." Annette spoke firmly for suddenly all the knots and confusion of the past year seemed to sort themselves out and lie flat. It was like a puzzle which had simply been chaos until one crucial piece was placed and then it became obvious. "I don't understand it now and I probably never will, but I can tell you with confidence that you shouldn't worry and I'm glad ... I'm glad you made it clear."

    "Did you ... were you...?" The hesitations were even more vulnerable than the words were and Annette abruptly realised that James was seriously upset and concerned about the situation.

    "Perhaps I might've had I not been who I was when we first met. I am who I am though and I'm not about to change. You never fudged the line of where I stood or where Annie-Bug stood and though I have been badly confused at times it was caused by my trying to comprehend the thoughts and expectations of others."

    "I ... had been concerned. Even Caroline..." James let it drop with a small shrug and Annette couldn't help a grin, it was almost a relief to know that James was confused by some people almost as much as he confused most of the world.

    "What are you going to do?" Annette's mind abruptly swung back to the initial question.

    "Spring fifteen hot prisoners from the tender care of the Gestapo." James looked away slightly as he spoke and Annette realised in astonishment that she knew what was upsetting James. James Darcy was afraid of something, possibly even terrified ... and he had good reason for his fear.

    "Idiotic doesn't even begin to cover it." Annette almost couldn't believe what her ears had heard, if anyone else had said it she wouldn't have believed it. "What's the other choice?"

    "Leaving them to the Gestapo and a guaranteed death." James' hands shook slightly, the tremble spreading. "I can't do it, Grouch. I just can't desert them."

    "No." Annette gave a rueful smile as she reached up to touch one of the thin cheeks, it might make no sense, but it was James. "No, you wouldn't be able to desert them." Annette abruptly rose up on her toes to kiss James on the cheek. "Don't worry about the war, it's got to end some day, and when it does I owe you a dance."

    "You do?" James blinked in clear confusion.

    "A little over a year ago you asked me to dance a second time with you...I was less than polite in my refusal and on departure you very kindly waylaid me and pointed out that nobody refuses a Darcy and I was one dance in your debt."

    "How gallant of me." James gave a faint smile at the memory.

    "Tit for tat, I had been rude. However, if I owe you a dance you're going to have to pay well to get it. I'm thinking of the Savoy, I think. The Savoy, oysters and possibly a slow dance just so the social columns can get all excited in their precious little cotton socks."

    "That will definitely give them something to talk about." James pulled Annette into his arms and held her firmly for a moment before releasing her. "Friends. Nothing real, nothing concrete, just dinner and a dance after the armistice." There was a brief pause during which James stared intently into each of Annette's eyes in turn. "My promise to you that I won't fail." James abruptly pulled the signet ring from his finger and a thin chain from around his neck. Annette watched in surprise as James threaded the signet ring to join the other three rings already on the chain. James then dropped the chain into Annette's hand and closed her fingers around it, it wasn't half clear that he was intending to now depart.

    "Wait here!" Annette abruptly pulled away and raced back into her bedroom. The light was turned on by impatient fingers as Annette wrenched the draw out of her desk. Annette rifled through the draw, pausing briefly at one point to hook the necklace around her neck so she had both hands free. Annette finally seized what her fingers sought and dropped the bundle of letters onto her desk top. Annette then grabbed her pen and began to scribble on the nearest piece of paper she had.

    Mackle,

    I can't explain it because I don't understand it, but I think these might help. Last time I was scared and I had to keep writing. Here's the year you missed. I can't explain it, but something tells me these will help. I don't even know what they'll help. I'm barely even thinking about this so it probably makes no sense. But know this, I'm not scared this time because somehow everything seems to have been neatened up. Do come back.

    Button

    Annette hesitated before signing the note. It had never been so difficult to write, and there were almost more errors then words. Unfortunately Annette knew all too well that if she gave herself anytime she would hide the letters away again. Annette pushed the page under band which held the letters together before walking back into the kitchen where James was investigating his pockets again.

    "It may seem a bit odd, but can you send these back as soon as you've finished with them...I've got a feeling that your future will be rather unhealthy for them." Annette hesitated for a very brief moment before she shoved the bundle into James' hand.

    "Keep safe." James hesitated before carefully pushing the bundle of letters under his jacket. There was a brief and fleeting smile and then James was gone.

    Annette blinked around the empty room in confusion before sinking onto the stool and burying her face in the crook of her arm. There were no tears, for there was neither pain nor happiness, yet for some reason Annette had a feeling that she should be crying. If she were a heroine of fiction she would probably have thrown herself on her bed in a torrent of despair and been utterly inconsolable. As it was James had gone to what was almost undoubtedly going to be his death and Annette was sitting at her kitchen table feeling a complete and utter peace, which surely had no accord with the current world status. It was funny to realise how long and yet how short time was. By the best scenario Annette had known James Darcy personally for about two and a half years, of which a year had been lost when he was 'dead'. Yet, just as with everyone who classed as a friend, James had left behind a legacy of memories and a view of the world which was curiously unique. James would always be special to her, and curiously enough he would always be there even if he died.

    Continued In Next Section

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