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Part 61

December 31st 1943 - San Vito, Italy

The greatest riddles usually have the most simple answers.

"You have mail." Rory made the announcement with the air of one announcing the arrival of royalty. Annette glanced up from the tin of indeterminate mush which she was trying to persuade into an edible mush sufficient for three. Supposedly they had access to one of the military messes, but with that over five miles from where they were camped it found little favour. Mallern also looked up, but he equally promptly looked down again until a heavy envelope took him on the side of the head. "Infact everyone has mails except for me!"

"Poor diddums." Mallern tore his own letter open and began feasting on eight pages of news from the outside world.

"You should write more if you want mail." Annette ripped open the first of her three letters. It was from Jeroen, and as usual it was singularly uninformative about anything, except a vague mention of bombers hitting Berlin...as if the whole world didn't happen to already know about that, and the fact that he'd flipped on landing and now had a dashing scar over one eyebrow. Annette lifted her eyebrow slightly at that, but made no comment. The second letter was from Lucille and after a brief glance at it Annette handed it to Rory. "Here, this can be your mail."

"Oh, thankyou ever so much." Rory glowered at Lucille's miniscule fist. His tone might be sarcastic, but the truth was that Lucille's letters could be a relieving breath of fresh air since they contained nothing but the mundane and amusing aspects of life. Rory settled down to reading of hens, children, cheese and the Dowager Countess of Deraux, who seemed to be making a right nuisance of herself.

"The baby is born and bears the name of Owen...Owen Charles if I am reading this correctly."

"Fortunate brat...and Tiddles is in Australia."

"Where abouts?"

"Uhhh...North...north-east...he says something about leave in Brisbane so it must be somewhere in Queensland. Playing MO to a Catalina Squadron apparently and after writing about a couple sea rescues he took part in he says you'd not catch him dead in one of those things."

"Sounds like he's enjoying himself almost as much as he was when we first reached Imphal." Rory returned his attention to his letter, then frowned and looked at Annette who'd moved just as he'd returned his attention to Lucille's letter. The move had been the rotation of several pages of paper by ninety degrees. Rory watched in quiet amusement as Annette's expression darkened still further and she rotated the letter back one hundred and eighty degrees. There was a brief pause and then Annette turned the pages completely upside down, though equally they may have been upside down to begin with and she was simply righting them.

"Blast!" Annette's irritated exclamation brought Mallern's attention to her as well as Rory's and she abruptly glared at both of them. "The idiot is not content with writing in unusual languages, but it must seems that he sees fit to write complete gibberish as well."

"Mind if I see?" Rory held out a hand and blinked as he inspected the four pages which were handed over. Either this was some sort of joke, or the author was completely smashed when they'd been constructed. The first page was a map...or at least a five year old might have viewed it as a map. The page was filled with squiggles and squirrels and a very large and red X.

"It seems to consider itself related to mountains." Mallern had puckered his brows together.

"I had gathered that much." Annette spoke rather dryly. "Also every line happens to be arabic script in an assortment of orientations. It is a map of a mountain complete with detailed directions of how to get up said mountain. You start by the small tarn next to the goat path."

"Handy."

"Very, particularly since there is no mention of where the mountain is found...let alone the tarn and its attached goat path."

"Oh." Mallern studied the page again. "What else is there?"

"A thoroughly banal letter yattering on about an early blossoming of edelweiss, the quality of Herr Brackkmann's hams and the fact that the roof needs to be thatched on the summer cottage before we visit it. There is also a page worth of mathematical calculations. The last page is a thoroughly ancient photograph of the Matterhorn."

"Are you sure the letter was meant for you?" Mallern was blinking at the address, that of one Edouard Trevier and mailed from Stuttgart.

"Quite." Annette took the pages back and scowled at them.

"What's the problem?"

"If Ashie were here he'd simply glance at the mathematics and say precisely what they meant. He'd also know the..." Annette stopped and frowned. "What's the minimum number of points to navigational triangulation."

"Umm...two or three. Depends if you're one of the points or not." Rory hesitated. "Two is the minimum and the greater the distance between them the better."

"Wonderful, now I simply need a map, a mathematician and the location of Herr Brackkmann's ham shop."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Can't be too important or he'd have taken more care to conceal intent." Mallern was frowning, but then he started for Annette was viewing him with an odd grin.

"Trust me Mr Mallern, I can hand this whole lot over to you and you will find absolutely nothing about the co-ordinates which I am assuming lie hidden within these pages. A lack of care is the very last thing anyone could accuse Mackle of...he's just sending it in a format which will not cause too much distress to the postal censors. If you read the letter you will find that Christoph has begun school and is progressing well, see product of recent open day. Hermann has been accepted into the Marineschule and is studying gunnery and navigation. The mathematics are his demonstration of how far he has progressed in his studies and supposedly the concern how to get from Kiel to the Thames river by the shortest route, where to anchor and what elevations to use on various armaments to hit Buckingham Palace, Whitehall and Trafalgar Square...I assume the latter is a joke and the equivalent of a thumbing of the nose rather then a target of any particular merit. The photograph was an old one found in the attic and do I remember our honeymoon house. Unless you know how to use these scraps of information they are nothing more than they appear on the surface."

"Oh." Mallern hesitated and then moved away.

"Surely they could just find someone who reads arabic?" Rory was studying the map curiously.

"No." Annette carefully gathered the pages back together and restored them to the envelope. "I've got a very bad feeling about this Rory and I hope he's not expecting any action any time soon...I'm not Ashie and I'm not certain I'll ever be able to fully solve this."

"Why can't an arabic reader read it?"

"It may be written in the arabic script, but I never said that what was written was arabic."

"Hell." Rory grimaced and wrinkled his nose at the map. "I presume you won't tell me what language it is and I shall carefully forget what you just said...but if Ashie can solve it then I'm quite certain that given enough time we can solve it." Rory dug a notebook out of his pack and began to scribble. "You keep the letter and I'll keep the notebook. Without both no one will be able to find out what we know, and even with both they must clearly be searching for it if they find them."

"True." Annette hesitated and then pulled some writing paper and a pencil from her own bag. The letters to Jeroen and Lucille were fairly easily written and after some thought Annette also scribbled a brief note to Annie-Bug which she included in Jeroen's letter. It had been months since she'd heard from Annie-Bug and Annette was rather reluctant to lose touch with her friends. The final letter was a difficult to write and after much pencil chewing and a bit of lunch chewing Annette managed to get writing.

Chere Mackle,

In the time honoured traditions of so many letters which have travelled these paths, I write from a dirty hole in the ground. It is infact a very dirty hole in the ground and though at this immediate moment we are not in imminent peril of being shot to hell, it has happened a couple of times already and we had to leave our last hole rather expeditiously after someone found range on it. If there is anything of merit to mention about this dirty hole in the ground, it is that it is surprisingly dry for this time of year.

I hope by the time this letter reaches you that you will have found alternative accomodations more salubrious than those which you wrote from. I cannot help being of the opinion that they must have been by far worse than my own current accomodations. I will concede that I am making assumptions about the accomodations when you wrote...but quite frankly I'm certain I'm right about them. This is where I terminate the polite banalities so read no further if you have a headache.

You confounded chump! Where HAVE you been? Do you realise that it has been over a year since I received anything from you? Then when you finally DID write you send the cryptic crossword clues for a Torquemada Crossword without having the decency to include the solution grid! You had better not expect me to solve it ANY time soon! I am NOT happy! Infact I might possibly even go so far as to say I am furious...possibly even in a rage. Except I do not think I am. Always open to debate on that.

I still have MIKE by the way. I hope you haven't been looking for it, but you didn't tell me what to do with it and it has helped while away many a very boring hour on boat, aeroplane, or four-wheeled vehicle. I refer to them as four-wheeled vehicles because I dare not call them anything else. Supply seems to be of the opinion that they're held together by string and a miracle. Tom says rust and two miracles. All else apart I do not advise it as a mode of travel, particularly since quite regularly it is faster to walk...except we are not allowed to walk because we are registered as travelling in such and so a vehicle until a specified destination.

Happy New Year by the way.

Rats, this is going to remain short because they've just found us and we depart. I'll send this when I can and don't forget that dance!

Button

January 5th 1944 - Pemberley, England

Dreams can be turned into reality...or forgotten.

Nelli had been investigating her new surroundings much in the manner of a cat who has been moved very much against its will. Nelli did not particularly like her new surroundings, they reminded her far, far, FAR too much of France, circa 1916 and that was a year she completely wanted to forget. That beastly year had included war, unsurprisingly, the death of Brian and the arrival of then Colonel...or at least she was pretty certain he was a Colonel at that point, he hadn't become a Brigadier until later...Darcy. He had been the worst patient Nelli had ever had to Nurse. His son was admittedly even worse, but equally James had never 'officially' been her business to worry about. One just did it because there was nothing else to do. The cottages were admittedly quite nice cottages, they were sound in structure, had good windows and nice window boxes with what promised to be a pleasant assortment of bulbs contained within. Though Nelli had lived at Pemberley for almost twenty-five years she had never actually been into either of these two small cottages near the chapel. Her memory stated that the chaplain and the head gardener had resided in these accomodations. The cottages were simply in structure, a large living area and small kitchen with adjoining and absolutely miniscule scullery made up the ground floor. The 'second' floor, which was simply the space between the eaves and the ridgepole, was split into two identically sized bedrooms, and no where was there sufficient height for anyone over the age of eleven to stand upright. Neither man had had any family at all and it showed, though the gardener had clearly taken pride in both gardens which were available in the back of the little cottages. The worst job had been stripping the bookshelves out of the main living areas and the second bedrooms. The bookshelves had then been refashioned into beds. Nelli trusted those beds not at all and was thankful that she'd brought her own bed.

"Nelli?" It was Lucille and Nelli was aware of a sudden flare of anger against the girl.

"Is there anything you require?"

"No, I was just wondering if you'd seen Brian and whether he has Owen?"

"I couldn't say." Nelli turned back to the original task she'd been distracted from, that of overseeing the older children in the garden.

"Thankyou and sorry for the disturbance." Lucille carefully left the second cottage, made a head count of all the children she could see and came to the conclusion that five were missing, of which one was Elspeth who always had Owen. Lucille headed swiftly for the first cottage because as she remembered Elspeth and Sandy were supposedly engaged in cushion construction. Owen was indeed bundled up with a handful of dolls in a cot which had materialised from goodness knew where in the past two days.

"Lucy!" Elspeth held up a sad knot of threads.

"Oh dear." Lucille knelt down and began carefully sorting the mess as quickly as she could. "Will you continue to mind Owen for me?"

"Oh please...and Mr Brian asked us to tell you that Allan and Tom have gone for the shopping."

"Thankyou." Lucille concentrated totally on the mess and had it sorted a few moments later. "I'm now going to have my half hour away from you horrible brats...do tell the others if they ask."

"Yes." The two girls bent back over their work as Lucille carefully got to her feet. Lucille thought for a longish moment as she stood in the doorway of the cottage and then very deliberately she began walking towards the main house.

The main house, Pemberley itself, was strictly out of bounds to all parties. A bomb-shattered ruin, fire-damaged and unstable, the walls constantly dropping bits of themselves to the peril of any who might pass underneath. The rule had been stated and promises gathered before they'd been allowed to roam the gardens. As with any rule it had been tested, but the test had been expected and Brian had intercepted the attempt before it reached the actual walls. The rules within the household were few, but the punishment for breaking them was utterly merciless. Three sad and tender boys had gone without dinner that night and were grounded to the vegetable gardens for a month. Brian had also read the entire household a very stern lecture on why the rule stood and why any further breaches would result in immediate departure back to Deraux. For future offenders a simple caning, dinner deprivation and grounding would not be the punishment, it was exile. For the children the gravel drive was a more impenetrable barrier than a brick wall. Balls that crossed that barrier remained lost.

"What are you doing here?" Brian seemed to emerge from thin air as Lucille reached the edge of the gravel.

"I might ask the same." Lucille frowned slightly as she looked up at the sad ruin. "You're still thinking about it."

"Yes." Brian let out an abrupt sigh. "It's a big job though and I don't..." It hung in the air, there were far too many unknowns which might be under reference, and as Brian said it would be a very big job.

"Would you even be able to get the labour?"

"I doubt it...provided I could get hold of anyone with the know-how...It's just..." Brian stopped again and sighed. "The valley doesn't feel right without the house."

"So, go to London find James and get the authority to do it...or to at least begin to do it."

"I can't get anything out of James...I didn't even get this."

"Don't be a fool." Lucille frowned rather darkly at the gravel underfoot. "All James ever said was that he wasn't going to rent the place. If I know anything about James Darcy by now it's that he always chooses his words with care...probably realised that we couldn't possibly even dream of actually affording the real rent. If he didn't leave you and spend a batch of time racking his brains to find a way around the mess you can call me a ninny." Lucille gave a sudden sniff. "Also, if you won't try and tackle James all I can suggest is going and digging up your contracts for employment as Steward and everything else...repairing the bloody house might just happen to be within your jurisdiction...and for all you know James might well be taking it for granted that you are going to move heaven and earth to repair the place. It's no use like this and it is your business to maximise the earnings of this place."

"Doing something about this will consume any earnings for quite a time to come." Brian slowly turned away from the ruin and dropped an arm around Lucille's shoulders. "The farms and gardens are enough work for us for now."

"As you say." Lucille allowed herself to be pulled away, but just as she left her thoughts with that desolate ruin, she knew that continuing to leave the house was tearing the heart out of Brian. Pemberley could not be left much longer. Lucille made a small promise to herself as they moved across the turf, in a month and a half she got a week all to herself, her own private holiday where she went away and left the world to fend for itself...if nothing else it made them very rapturous in welcoming her home afterwards, and made her very thankful to be back. In a month and a half she was going to track James Darcy down and find out just what could be done about the house...and whether he wanted anything done about it.

January 24th 1944 - Cassino, Italy

"I take a simple view of life: Keep your eyes open and get on with it." - Laurence Olivier

"Will you two stop bickering." Mallern had his fingers in his ears and his expression was dark.

"We're not bickering." Rory glanced up with a frown from the folder they'd been working on all evening.

"You were...like a pair of fishwives." Mallern had removed his fingers from his ears, but was now rubbing his temples. "Bad tempered fishwives at that."

"Oh, we grew up finally." Annette stretched out, placed the muffled light on the rough bench top and then yawned. "Last time we were bickering like two year-olds."

"I would prefer to be a two year-old than a fishwife." Rory continued to frown, but his attention was returned to the file. "That simply isn't possible, the numbers don't allow."

"I never said it was likely, I simply said it was a possibility...neither did I say that that is what happened to all of them."

"Then what happened to the rest? Two hundred prisoners is rather too many to simply shrug about and file as 'lost'."

"I never said..."

"You're doing it again already!"

"No we're not!" The response was simultaneous and the glares were equally dark. Mallern sighed and closed his folder.

"Fine, you stay here and don't bicker, I'll go out and draw...but next time you leave."

"Fine." Rory bent back over the file again. "What happened to them?"

"Don't look at me, you're the one who's meant to breakfast on statistics." Annette picked up a different file. "Take a look at the transfer files...maybe they were sent away."

"Definitely, to some posh place on the coast so they could sea-bathe and make..." Rory caught himself just in time and sighed. "Don't bother leaving, Tom...I'm going out anyway."

"Well take Eoan." Annette turned back to her typewriter. "He might save you from getting mugged again. I feel damn silly fishing you out of hospitals."

"I wasn't mugged." Rory scowled and rubbed the side of his face gently. "I merely asked a question and it was misunderstood."

"Your questions are always misunderstood." Annette gave a grin over her shoulder. "You can take Diemos too if you want."

"That will do wonders for my reputation." Rory glanced at the cat currently draped over the back of a something or other they'd never got a name for, though general consensus was that either it was a chair, or a medieval torture rack. Diemos was very, very moth-eaten these days, and not for the first time Rory wondered how old the cat actually was. "Ta-ra."

"You're letting him go?" Mallern didn't speak until the door had closed behind Rory and his footsteps had become lost in the general noise of the place.

"You expect me to even attempt to stop him?" Annette blinked rather blankly for a moment and then smiled. "There's an off chance he'll simply watch and keep his mouth shut this way...if it's just his brain working he's unlikely to offend anyone that badly."

"Your funeral, I'm not going with you next time."

"Didn't expect you would...and you need to find out where you're meant to be going tomorrow so I can draw the map."

"Thankyou." Mallern's response was rather sour as he bent back over his papers, their last trip had been a shambles for though Annette had not been permitted to come with them, she'd ended up going simply because no one else seemed able to find them...they hadn't even been able to find themselves. It had been rather embarrassing for all parties, and none of them had yet worked up the courage to ask how Annette had found them, for they'd been almost fifty miles from where they were meant to be.

"...difficulties..."

"The forty-sixth are said to..."

"...no, moved to the port I believe."

"The US Forces..."

"Oh, surely not, I heard the old..."

Rory had known as soon as he set foot in the bar that there would be much to hear, and he'd been nursing his drink for the better part of two hours now. Rory settled more comfortably into his corner as he garnered what news he could of the fronts. There had been talk of a landing somewhere when Rory had last been in and he was hoping to hear where it had occured tonight. He also hoped to hear how it was going since it surely had to have something to do with trying to capture Rome this summer.

"You Halifax?" The man who dropped into the next seat was sufficiently intimidating that Rory was aware of a feeling that was closer to a plumet than a sinking feeling.

"Y-es." Rory had only responded after satisfying himself that he had no chance of escaping.

"I've been told to tell you to tell Neddie that I was told by le Deuxieme to tell you to tell Neddie that the Grouch was to be told that the blue files are to be found under Nelson's Column."

"..." Rory closed his mouth and took a very close and very hard look at the other man. Rory then took a doubly hard look at his glass for he knew he had no head for strange beer, which is why he only ever drank the single pint, but the glass looked much as it had looked all evening and its level was where he expected to find it. Rory then looked back at the man and scratched his head. "Come again?"

"You being funny?"

"Yes." Rory shook his head. "Do you matter in the process of the message?"

"Probably not, but that's how the message was passed to me."

"Fun." Rory took a mouthful of beer and glanced around the bar.

"How'd you know to find me here?"

"We didn't, there's more than me looking for you."

"Oh." Rory frowned. "What happens if one of you finds Neddie? Won't be any point to me passing the message on then."

"We don't know who Neddie is or even where he might be found. All we know about Neddie is that he knows who the Grouch is."

"Ah." Rory twisted on his stool for a moment hesitating over his choices until the man rose to leave. "How did you know me?"

"Brown-haired English Lieutenant with a bloody big black dog. I'd call that a bloody big black dog and you're English, a lieutenant and brown-haired. Question answered?"

"Admirably and I wish you a pleasant end to your evening."

"Absolutely guaranteed." The man departed, leaving Rory to his drink and the conversation which continued to swirl.

"You're back early." Annette's expression was more than slightly surprised as she carefully looked Rory over for possible injury. "Get thrown out?"

"No." Rory dropped into a chair with a soft groan and watched as Eoan dropped with a heavy, and slightly dusty thump in the corner. "Heard what there was to be heard and came home."

"What's the news?"

"Anzio landing was not all apples, but they've managed to hold their ground and continue to fight, though I believe the sand was on the soft side and the heavies have been sent to the port."

"Good, anything else?"

"Not really, just mud, annoyance and an earnest desire to kick the Hun a smart one in the pants." Rory grabbed a garishly covered novel from a nearby table. "Apparently pulverising Cassino was not the most sensible thing HQ have permitted the Yanks to do. The Hun now has an almost limitles supply of nasty stone for traps, and there's only one thig better than a mine...that's a mine in loose, shattered stone."

"Why'd they do it at all?" Mallern was still sporting a bandage resulting from the bombing, he'd chosen his cover poorly.

"Stop the hun using the Monastery and town for cover and surveilance purposes." Rory shrugged. "I presume the monks got away, but I think there's more than one furious tommy or anzac cursing HQ at the present moment."

"Well, just so long as you don't get blown up again I couldn't care less."

"Well, I'm going to bed, and I'll thankyou to keep any fights you feel are essential to a soft pianissimo." Mallern folded his things away and rolled up on the bench where he sat.

"Relax, I'm taking her out since there's no question but that it's going to be a while before we come back again...particularly since we're only back now because no one else could find us."

"Good." Mallern pulled his blanket over his head as Rory retrieved Annette's coat.

"You're taking me out? On what money?" Annette stopped when they reached the side of the road and lifted an eyebrow.

"Well..." Rory twiddled his thumbs for a moment and then shrugged in turn. "We have enough for a meal...just...if you want it."

"I'll pass on the meal since I've already eaten, however I won't pass on letting you say why you chose that excuse to get us out of the house."

"One of your batty..." Rory fluttered a hand hesitantly and then shrugged. "Acquaintances delivered an even more batty than usual message."

"Oh?"

"I'm to tell Neddie...are you the only Neddie there is?"

"So far as I know...and how do you know I was Neddie?"

"I can't think." Rory growled rather sourly. "Lord Fuzz himself always used it, Gibbous regularly used it and even...what's-'is-name called you that once in my hearing."

"I didn't think I ever saw him when you were around." Annette had stopped again.

"You didn't, but I saw you once and left in a huff because of it."

"So intelligent of you." Annette began walking again with a small shake of her head. "As far as I know I was the only Neddie."

"Good, because I was told to tell Neddie to tell the Grouch that le Deuxieme had told someone else to tell me to tell Neddie that the Grouch was to be told that the Blue Files were under Nelson's Column."

"Uh." Annette gave a small splutter.

"Le Deuxieme said that Neddie was to tell the Grouch that the Blue Files were under Nelson's Column."

"That is undoubtedly more clear than your original mess." Annette rubbed her forehead.

"Please don't tell me you have no idea who the Grouch is." Rory stopped their progress that time.

"Oh, no, that's not the confusion."

"Please don't tell me you're about to charge to the ends of the earth after this Grouch."

"No." Annette made a rather dry noise. "My problems have nothing to do with the location or the identity of the Grouch...the question has a lot more to do with the twaff about Nelson's Column." Annette's frown deepened. "I'd also like to know how le Deuxieme ever knew about the Grouch. I..." Annette stopped and frowned, her attention firmly anchored on her feet.

"What's up?"

"There's only one person in the world who called me Grouch. That person was not le Deuxieme, of that I am certain. He would only have mentioned the matter to one other person...and yet..." Annette gave a small shrug. "If James Darcy told you that something was under Nelson's Column, what would you think?"

"That he's lost his marbles."

"And after that?"

"That the City of London's Council is unlikely to allow you to dig the Nelson Column up."

"After that?"

"That they probably wouldn't allow even a Darcy to dig it up."

"So where does that leave us?"

"With that...erm, letter he sent you."

"Which?"

"That idiotic one you said was sent for a reason...which we still haven't figured out."

"I don't agr..." Annette scowled darkly and scratched an ear. "What did that munitions man say about those equations?"

"That they were written by an inexperienced fool who hadn't checked his numbers as he progressed with the calculations."

"If there was no error?"

"Some as yet undeveloped ballistic of phenomenal range...but the maths is standard shell calculations."

"Umm." Annette tugged on her ear as she tried to remember the page of mathematics.

"Said it was a common error of inexperience, a decimal place had been transposed."

"How many people do you know would have the mathematical shnous to know of the effect of that error?"

"I have no friends who have the time for pushing through such calculations. I have no comment to make on their capacity for such an act."

"That's what I thought." Annette nibbled her lip as she considered the situation, she was tactfully refraining from the accurate observation that at the present moment Rory's friends could be counted on one hand and none of them were at all partial to mathematics. The mathematical capabilities of James Darcy were completely unknown to Annette, but she had a faint feeling of memory that he'd proved at some point to simply enjoy messing around with numbers in a remarkably skillful manner. Something Ashie had said, or done, had given Annette the memory and it bothered her that it was so faint. If the memory was correct than it was highly unlikely that the errors were accidental, which meant they were deliberate. Deliberate errors which would appear to be the accidental errors of the incompletely trained unless the mind of the receiving party knew the sending party and was suspicious.

"Hullo?" Rory was looking bothered.

"Mm?" Annette looked up rather distractedly.

"I want your brain as well as your eyes."

"Oh." Annette finished searching for the memory, without success, and brought her attention back to the here and now. She'd never used to get distracted in this manner and she had a nasty feeling that Rory had been right when he'd accused Ashie of causing her weirdness. "Why?"

"Because we are skint, woman in my life, and I am rather hungry."

"You're always hungry...and you'd better not have meant that as if you think I'm magically going to produce both money and food."

"Your habit of producing food does seem little short of the magical...but no, I wanted your opinion on the identity of that piece of paper I've just noticed in the ditch."

"What about it?" In Annette's opinion it was simply a grubby fragment of paper and not even vaguely interesting.

"Well my hungry, and delusional eyes seem to think that it is a note...as in money."

"Ah." Annette bent for a closer look and she came to the conclusion that Rory's eyes were not too delusional. "Dinner...a movie...possibly a little left over for the proverbial rainy day."

"That is what I was hoping for." Rory carefully extracted the dirty note, cleaned it on his handkerchief and then pocketed it with extreme care. "A mere year since we were last able to afford a movie."

"And you were cross as crabs because I paid." Annette gave a sniff.

"Well, neither of us have an excuse this time since the money belongs to neither of us...except possibly under the law of finders-keepers." Rory wrapped an arm around Annette's shoulders. "I may even manage to appologise for being cross the last time...but not this year."

"Thank goodness, I was almost worried." Annette spoke dryly and Rory gave a tight grin before abruptly dragging her into the ditch. Annette had her mouth less than half open to complain when the car shot past with no lights.

"Would have been too dreadful to let the note die like that." Rory extracted both of them from the ditch, which was best described as clinging.

"Then why grab me?" Annette shook her skirts out. "You had the note after all."

"The note is for use for two...and I trust you wouldn't expect me to waste it on Mallern...got a friend called Tiddles he has, medical type last heard of saving my life in Burma. Definitely not movie and dinner material."

"Fine, I permit you your noble gesture in benefit of the note...do we tell Mallern we'll be late?"

"Mallern would be delighted if we were." Rory led the way directly into town and rather prayed that the movie options were going to be alright, for the past several months not having the cash for movies had been no strain since by and large they were ghastly, in italian, or both. Dinner would be fun though. Dinner somewhere other than the cheapest source of nourishment to be found.

Part 62

February 1944 - Rosings, England

It is not clear that inteligence has any long-term survival value. - S. W. Hawking

"Dear God!" It had been the sound of bells and bass drums from a distant marching band which had dragged him to the surface of consciousness. Or at least he had thought it was a marching band which was giving him a headache. Conscious assessment of the situation revealed the irritating fact that the entertainment was contained within his skull. Clearly he had been asleep for well over his usual six hours of required repose. Equally clearly he must have somehow got sick again since he only ever overslept when he was sick.

"Awake are you?" There was a faint creak from nearby as someone stirred in a seat.

"Yes." Against the advice of his already pounding head James responded and opened his eyes. The view answered all questions about the hows and wherefores of Juliette being even remotely near him. The room he was in was the third spare bedroom at Rosings, a room he had a particular dislike for since he was invariably sick when he ended up in it. James rubbed his eyes, grimaced at the gummy encrustations he found and then attempted, but failed miserably, to push up on one elbow.

"You'd best resign yourself to staying put for a while." Juliette came into his field of view with a couple of large pillows.

"I was that sick?"

"Jim, you have been in raving delirium for the better part of a week." Juliette pulled him off his one squashed pillow and pushed two more behind him before easing him back. "Pneumonia...again. Both lungs affected and one quite badly abscessed. What have you been doing?"

"Nothing...or at least nothing that comes to mind." James wrinkled his brows up and then sighed. "How did I get here?"

"I believe I'm correct in saying that you and Alistair Bennet were taking a relaxing day off with Jeroen Fouchiard. Fishing was, I think, the intended activity before interruptions occured. You apparently said something about feeling a bit odd and then completely passed out on them. Much effort and no success later they brought you here in a blue funk of panic."

"Why here?"

"Because you've successfully persuaded the entire family that if anyone finds you your life will be terminated immediately."

"It works doesn't it."

"You could try commonsense and simply say that you're sick of the media, the military and the government and save them from arriving on my doorstep in a blue funk when the Mayor is visiting."

"You must have been delighted."

"JAMES!" It exploded forth, empowered by exhaustion, exasperation and irritation. There was a moment of dead silence and Juliette whirled around to face the wall. James lay for a moment listening as Juliette softly counted her way to a hundred, in Romish.

"So, again, why bring me here?" James had waited patiently for over a minute before bringing forward the question once more.

"Apparently it was the closest possible safe haven." Juliette turned back and moved across to her seat. To all appearances the explosion had never occured. "They still haven't left since they seem to think I'm a vampire in my spare time."

"Alistair wouldn't have mentioned where he picked me up from would he?" James ignored the faint note of bitterness in Juliette's voice, why she couldn't figure out for herself why people didn't trust her was quite beyond him...particularly in his current mental condition.

"Yarmouth."

"Oh." James wrinkled his brows again but his memory remained depressingly blank. "I didn't go to France."

"I didn't think for a moment that you did." Juliette returned to her chair and picked up some stitchery. "However, I won't believe you if you similarly claim no interest in Belgium, the Netherlands or Germany."

"N-no, I wouldn't believe myself under those circumstances." James grimaced rather wryly and drew in a careful breath. "I trust my memories will surface."

"They won't if you fell sick before you actually left England to go wherever." Juliette responded rather dryly and then frowned slightly. "I'm not Ashie and I'm not going to start raving at you because you do the most idiotic things imaginable...but permit me to observe that he was not the only person off-put by your apparent determination to kill yourself in the most agonising manner possible."

"I'm not going to die." James flipped a tired hand which would probably have been irritated if he could have summoned up the energy. "By-the-bye, Al may be doing some nosing around in what he considers a subtle manner...he knows that Hilde tried to blackmail me."

"Wrong tense, he already has been nosing around and he caught no joy because as you know perfectly well none of us know what she was attempting to blackmail you over."

"What month is it?"

"February."

"Oh." James closed his eyes and sighed. "I must have been..." The sentance lapsed into a thoughtful silence which then dragged on and died in a faint buzz. Juliette lifted her brows just faintly and then continued with her stitchery. Dr Alasdair would be happy to hear that James had surfaced and been coherent. Joseph would be positively rapt with the news, particularly if she remembered to mention that he'd shown no discomfort with breathing. Caroline would probably agree to return to London now, as would Kitty. Juliette rose to her feet and studied her shoes for a thoughtful moment. It seemed that she had become too accustomed to her isolation at Rosings, all these people irritated her.

"Awake yet?" It was Joseph who was waiting out in the hall.

"Awake, coherent, suffering from a touch of involuntary amnesia and asleep again." Juliette gave a small shrug. "No difficulty with breathing from what I can see and a stated assurance that he won't die."

"How kind of him." Joseph's tone was almost sour as he pushed off the wall. "Well I'll take Alasdair back to London and get back to St. Mary's myself. You may tell him, with my blessing, that he's an idiot."

"No thankyou, it will reduce the chances of my getting a cow out of him."

"Why do you want a cow out of him?"

"Because Daisy isn't co-operating on the milk producing front."

"Ah." Joseph had looked distinctly puzzled for a moment, but he gave a short and comprehending nod as he fitted the information together. "I suppose you would not consider it judicious to call him an idiot under those circumstances. What happened?"

"A Junky or some name like that."

"Junker JU 87 Dive-bomber?"

"Probably, it dug up the potatoes and broke some windows." Juliette gave a small shrug and then frowned for Dr Jermyn Alasdair was limping down the hallway. "He woke up, was coherent and has now gone back to sleep again."

"Wonderful." Dr Alasdair came to a halt. "Think you could get the answer to a question for me?"

"Possibly."

"Find out why he was breathing pure oxygen under pressure for an extended period of time."

"Lieutenant Bennet did pick him up from Yarmouth...he may have been diving."

"Joseph, go pull some ears in the Wavy Navy. I want to know whether they sent a man with damaged bronchii on a pressure dive."

"They're not going to like answering that question one little bit." Joseph's mouth twisted into a grimacing grin.

"Well I'm not happy that a rather long term patient who requires no encouragement at all to come down with pneumonia has ended up back on my hands with an ulcerated lung and mechanically induced pneumonia."

"There I do not blame you...but I think I will simply inquire whether the wavies requested he make any dives in the past six months."

"You'd better make it clear that you're making the inquiries for purely academic reasons...he won't thank you if you enable them to pull him back into harness." Juliette was looking rather grim. "You chat with the Navy, I'll chat with Jim and Dr Alasdair can go catch up on sleep."

"Splendid."

It was dark when James opened his eyes for a second time. His head still hurt and his eyes were gummed up yet again, but neither were quite so bad as before. A cautiously exploratory hand found first a light switch and then a water bottle. James blinked painfully against the light, but gulped the water in relief. He was still at Rosings, for only Rosings had well water which tasted quite like that. James pushed the water bottle back onto the bedside table and then cautiously rubbed his eyes clean.

"He's awake."

"As you so accurately perceive." James carefully turned to look at Juliette, who was reading with the aid of a shaded lamp. "What time is it?"

"About a quarter to three in the morning."

"Umm." James blinked at the ceiling as he carefully sorted through his muggy thoughts. "How long since I was last awake?"

"Eight hours...maybe nine."

"Ahh." James blinked again and then fumbled for the water bottle. "Anything interesting happening?"

"Well, we're still at war. Brian's at Pemberley. Neddie and her 'friends' are in Italy. Jeroen is flying fighters somewhere, having just finished a three month stint flying a desk. I believe Annie-Bug is to be found somewhere in his vicinity playing wife and providing edible food to a large number of pilots who regularly get sick of squadron food. Hope McKenna has produced some utterly revolutionary idea which is apparently going to do wonderful things to bombers. Mac has another litter and has put in an appeal for you to spend your convalescence helping him...so no, nothing interesting is happening."

"Good." James blinked yet again and let out a cautious huff. "Any inquisitions to pass on?"

"Only Dr Alasdair wanting to know why you breathed pressurised oxygen when you already had bronchitis."

"Couldn't say." James rubbed his eyes and then frowned as he attempted to delve into his memories. "I really couldn't say since I seem to run out of memories about the day after the Netherfield Benefit at this point...did you get cross at me for threatening you up in Denmark?"

"No." Juliette rose to her feet and carefully put her book down. "I undoubtedly would have got annoyed if you had threatened me, but your revolver was dripping sea water from the barrel."

"Ah." James gave a soft chuckle which dissolved into a hacking cough.

"Drink."

"Thanks." James gasped the word out after his second mouthful of water, his brows creasing as he fought to control his breathing. "Damn that's starting to hurt."

"I'm only interested if it stops you from being an idiot."

"You're not usually this kind to me." James' tone was dry, but it was humour which was wasted because he was using both arms to nurse his ribs.

"What now?"

"I'll be a good boy for a couple of months and convalesce." James pulled a face as Juliette lowered him back onto his pillows. "I take it this is why you are to be found in this room at three in the morning?"

"Charlotte Collins sits with you during the afternoon and evening until midnight. I read between midnight and six. A six Daoud comes into the room and watches you until three in the afternoon, when Charlotte returns."

"Then why were you here when I woke before?"

"Charlotte had a parishioner to speak to."

"She's not the minister's wife any more."

"You try telling that to the people in these parts."

"So you do the short shift but are on twenty-four hour call in case they have other things to do?"

"I do live here after all."

"Daoud isn't?"

"No."

"Then why is he in on this?" James drew his brows together but they snapped apart in response to a short sentance from the door. Juliette turned to notice Daoud standing in the shadows. There was a moment of silence and then Daoud spoke again. Juliette turned back to her book, for though she spoke many languages, the arabic tongues were not among them. James had finally responded to whatever Daoud had said and the words were flying rapidly. Juliette would have liked to have some idea what was being said, but both faces were blank and both voices were untinged by any emotion.

"Sorry about that." James' brows were creased as he settled back down again. Juliette didn't even bother looking up from her book, James knew she didn't speak arabic and if he'd wanted her to understand he'd have made Daoud speak English, he certainly wouldn't explain now.

"Your mail." Daoud had returned, a battered box in one hand and his coat in the other.

"Are you going to be gone for long?"

"I was only asked to watch while he was unconscious and help when he was delirious." Daoud had placed the box on James' bed and returned to the door. "Now he is neither and there are things I wish to do."

"Good luck with them." Juliette gave a small smile, nodded her thanks for his past help and let him depart as he so clearly desperately wanted to do. Juliette then turned her gaze, and her suspicions, back to James. Daoud had expressed no intent to go anywhere before he'd held that coversation with James, and now he was gone. James seemed oblivious to her attention, his attention focussed on rifling the contents of the box. The letters were being divided into two separate piles, with the exception of the occasional one which he tore open, read and then lodged inside a nearby book. Juliette glanced at the piles with a moment of confusion and then nodded as she comprehended the contents of the piles. One pile was purely social, the endless flow of invitations, appeals, circulars and reminders. The second pile was best termed as Estate matters. Juliette returned to her sewing with a nod of understanding, the letters he read were undoubtedly the personal and private letters he received from other people.

It was laughter which caused Juliette to look up again. Laughter of the sort which she hadn't heard in years. Laughter indicative of pure entertainment. It was rather unfortunate that such a sordid matter as personal health interferred with such a wonderful sound. Such is life though, the sound had barely registered before it dissolved into a wracking, tearing hack which seemed bent on rending its host body to pieces. Juliette got across the room in a flash, expertly levering James upright and forward, and supplying him with a basin in case he had the temerity to find anything in his lungs which he might be able to spit up.

"Damn!" It was a thread of a whisper which James gave after the coughing had subsided and he'd swallowed some water. Juliette eased him back onto his pillows, but gave him a very pointed look before she eased herself off the bed. "See for yourself." James held the letter which had so entertained him out for Juliette to take. "Far too good not to laugh at, and so nice to really laugh."

"And such a pity it has such a rotten effect on you." Juliette rather hesitantly took the letter, but she gave a comprehending nod as she recognised the handwriting. "What did you send her to draw that?"

"One of Ashie's riddles."

"Oh." Juliette stared at James for a full minute before giving a tiny shake of her head. "Why?"

"No idea...thought she'd appreciate it."

"You've probably given her a month of sundays worth of migraines and insomnia."

"If that's all she gets from it she'll have done better than I did with that riddle." James took the letter back and stashed it in another book. "Oh, and you'd best prepare for squalls unless you think you can persuade Joe to release me into convalescence within the next week. Brian thinks you're a bad influence for me."

"Me?" Juliette's expression was faintly outraged, she knew from James' expression that there was more to come on the subject and she'd best hold some outrage in reserve. "He considers me to be the bad influence?!"

"So I deduce from the comments within this screed."

"I thought he couldn't see to write."

"He can't, but his wife can."

"Ahh." Juliette scowled suddenly. "Won't I half fry his ears next time I see him. I was even polite last time we met."

"Your polite behaviour would frighten a the devil himself into reforming his way of life."

"I couldn't give a hoot about the devil and his reformations." Juliette abruptly retreated back to her seat in the corner. "You need to let yourself go back to sleep."

"Yes mum." James' expression was so saintly that after a moment of thought Juliette settled for simply glaring at him, anything else by way of response would be by far too undignified.

March 19th 1944 - Cassino, Italy

Battles are only understood by those with the right sort of mind.

For Rory battles were only ever scenes of extreme confusion. Men seemed to move in every direction. Machines seemed to move in every direction. Thomas moved all over the place at a high-speed scurry, and by some miracle had not yet stopped a bullet or bit of shell, even though they seemed to fizz around like wasps at a midsummer picnic. Rory had a couple of small scars, but nothing worthy of mention. Pages fluttered everywhere and Rory systematically gathered them up as they fluttered, clipping them together and pushing them into the sack on his back.

"Get down!" The ground seemed to leap up into Rory's face and he was painfully aware of a mouthful of grit and something heavy and sharp-edged resting in the small of his back. Then Rory forgot his mouthful of dirt as the ground beneath him literally heaved.

"Come on." Someone dragged the weight off Rory and he twisted nervously to see Mallern pulling a largish rock away with the help of some infantry tommy who seemed to be watching the ground to the north rather intently. "Can you move?"

"Just." Rory wriggled awkwardly back and lifted his head a trifle to see what was holding the Tommy so fascinated. To the left of them was a cross-roads with a fair amount of traffic on it. Shells were raining down on the cross-roads and adjoining land like hail in a storm. There was one crater too deep to have been caused by a shell and Rory indicated it. "What happened?"

"Ammo truck and they hit it for once." The Tommy spat into a nearby ditch and then wriggled away. Rory blinked and then followed Mallern back into some nearby cover.

"I wish they'd warn me if they're intending to bomb an intersection they know I'm near."

"Tain't the ammo they want." The newcomer was a signaller by his stripes and he seemed more interested in the outside. "Twas you. Cheer-oh and sink a pot for me when you get leave." The signaller was gone with a wriggle and a twist.

"Well, for that he can go down in history." Mallern's pencil was flying and Rory took a cautious look out of the cover.

"They've nabbed another ammo truck."

"Then there's probably fifty trying to get through." Mallern handed Rory the page as he came forward for a look. Rory grinned at the boots vanishing over the edge of the cover. Definitely not a sketch of dead boots.

"No caption?"

"You supply one."

"A pot in Naples?"

"Nope, I have to draw that later." Mallern settled back and put his pencil back in action. "Pity I didn't see his face or I could really have set him down in history."

"Unknown boots making their escape, Cassino, Italy."

"Wonderful...except I'll call them signalling boots and give them a little aerial and receiving set." Mallern took the sketch back, finished it quickly and then handed it back to Rory. "Seems comfortable here...but so did our last hideout."

"Be nice to know the objective of all this."

"That's simple." Mallern was working quickly. "We want Rome and they want to stop us."

"I think we want all of Italy."

"Y'know, they're always early in HQ. Seems the Gen. told them whoever was first in the office could decide if the windows were open or shut for the day and no one's allowed to touch them without his permission."

"Would have thought anyone would want the windows open."

"Not the Americans. Leads to much conflict, so now everyone's early to work in hopes of getting the window condition they want."

"Better than here, no windows at all." Rory ducked down as a shell fell short of the cross-roads and sent a mass of dirt into their cover.

"Better here, no glass to shatter in an explosion." Mallern chewed on his pencil for a moment and then flicked the dirt from his page before continuing.

"When are we going back for a bit?"

"No idea, hopefully a couple of days next week."

"Nice." Rory crouched down again and then took a quick look over the edge again. "Whoo-hoo are they giving the cross-roads a pounding."

"Well fortunately it is not us who is being pounded." Mallern had moved to work on another view. Perhaps they should not be so far forward, but so far no landmines, or bullets had revealed the fact that they were possible a bit further forward than most would expect.

March 23rd 1944 - Oxford, England

Secrecy has its merits.

Sarah would have been willing to swear on the bible itself that the woman who had just entered was Anneliese Darcy Fouchiard, more commonly known as Annie-Bug, wife of Squadron-Leader Jeroen Fouchiard, sister-in-law to Annette and a short-term member of the Harem. Short-term because she'd barely arrived before the activities of fate tore that little group asunder and scattered its components to the four winds. Several them were even further afield than the four winds could possibly reach, but that was simply part of life and the war was not solely responsible.

"Good morning, how may I help you?" Sarah had been on the verge of shrieking with delight and racing to hug the woman when she had noticed two small irregularities. The first was that the woman had not recognised her. The second was that Annie-Bug would never have worn quite that expression of distant disdain.

"Juliette de Bourgh Darcy, I have an appointment."

"If you'll please take a seat." Sarah gestured to a nearby chair with one hand, simultaneously picking up a telephone receiver with the other. "A Julie..." Sarah got no further with her enquiry before the voice at the other end quacked abruptly that it was sending someone down. Sarah noted with sardonic amusement the look Juliette de Bourgh Darcy cast the indicated chair before quite deliberately turning her back on it.

"Miss Darcy." The uniform who came down was quite high ranking, in fact it was the man himself in person.

"I have refrained from objecting to the fact that you read all the mail I send and receive." Juliette turned to the man with a frown. "I must, however, object to unceremonious demands placed on my personal time."

"I appologise if our request seemed to be both unceremonious and a demand." He paused slightly and was clearly chosing his words with care. "We were simply concerned by some mail you received and were hoping you would clarify matters for us."

"You read the financial report?"

"Attempted to read, Miss. We've had a couple of accountants, a banker and a financier at work on them as well." He paused again. "As things stand it's being filed as a coded document purporting to be something it is not."

"I can assure you it is not purporting to be anything but what it is, though I have to concede that it probably does classify as coded for you. Those financial reports are precisely what they appear to be, financial reports...though if you're making this much hay over my financial reports I have to wonder what you make of..." Juliette came to a halt. "I do appologise, I believe you wished this to be private."

"Yes, Miss." The man lead her away and Sarah returned her attention to the reports which lay in front of her. Tomorrow Sarah would be rotated back out into the files department, but today she was a receptionist and a rather bored one at that. But with boredom came memories, and one memory was very clear...and also very painful because Charlie was now listed among the deceased.

"What! No NAAFI biscuits? I refuse to eat here." Charlie had been studying the menu intently ever since she sat down and Sarah couldn't help the giggle which escaped her.

"Sorry Charlie...but there is cake."

"You can't drink tea with cake." It was June who spoke up at this point.

"Alright for you military types to carry on like this, but..." May stopped and frowned. "Are the two Annies coming?"

"No." It was Sarah who spoke.

"Why not?" Charlie frowned, all interest in banter had deserted her. "You said that this was a Harem thing and they are part of it...I thought we were all agreed."

"I think we are too." Sarah tried to think her way though the confrontation which was rapidly developing.

"Definitely." The consensus was general.

"I..." Sarah stopped and then shrugged. "I'll go give them a ring, they only get a little less notice than any of you got." Sarah eased out of her seat and left behind a very confused table.

"Sary." It was Charlie who stopped Sarah as she left the phone booths.

"They can't come." Sarah hesitated and then leant against the wall with a sigh. "Or at least not for a few hours, I got their landlady who said they're off doing something for the mighty Ashie somewhere."

"Then I should be thankful I wasn't called in myself." Charlie leant against the wall herself. "Spill sister."

"You sound like one of those ghastly westerns Bill's so attached to."

"Sorry, but the request still remains."

"Annie-Bug...some sister called Juliette...Mr Darcy...they're all suspect. Mail checked. Movements watched, contacts watched...we could get into an awful lot of trouble simply because we're seen with them."

"Sary, we've all long since agreed not to ask about anyone's job...but I think you're getting paranoid." Charlie was frowning slightly. "At risk of sounding unpatriotic and all the rest, I don't want to fight if it's going to mean we can't make friends. Of course they're watched, you've got the only son of a very high profile General refusing point blank to do anything for the war. Of course he and all his relatives are suspicious. What I have yet to hear is that any of them have acted in a suspicious or unpatriotic manner...certainly I do not believe for a second that Annie-Bug is involved in anything underhand. I'd sooner doubt Neddie...and quite frankly Ashie has a suspicious sort of mind which puts anything our government can put together to shade. Suspected Annie-Bug might be, but I'll eat dirt if we ever get even questioned about her activities."

"Guess I was getting a trifle paranoid."

Sarah had smiled and let things go at that point. Their lunch had been successful, and continued being successful when Annie-Bug and Neddie had turned up from where ever they'd been. Charlie had never mentioned what Sarah had said to anyone. Sarah had kept her fears to herself and to date they remained unfounded. Now Sarah had seen the sister she understood Charlie's utter confidence in Annie-Bug. Before Annie-Bug's presence endangered anyone that snobbish sister would have to unbutton sufficiently to act. Sarah was still smiling over the old memories of many lunches when the intercom spat at her.

"Sarah! I want the de Bourgh Darcy files immediately."

"Very good sir." Sarah turned and sent the request through to the files department. Tasha would come with the files in question and sign them over to Sarah. Sarah would then take them up while Tasha minded the desk. Sarah would not return until the files were finished with and it would be noted who viewed them in that time.

"Take a seat, Sarah, I need you to take notes." He took the file and waved a hand to a nearby chair.

"Why?" Sarah took the seat with an expression of perplexity.

"He's protecting his interests." The voice was cool, calm and chilly enough to freeze dry the washing. Sarah looked at the woman in stunned amazement, somehow she made that totally insane comment seem quite reasonable.

"Protecting his interests?"

"Mr Darcy objects to having his relatives discommoded by objectionable governmental officials." There was a brief, momentary silence. "He objects to idiotic military officials even more vigorously." The voice was as calm, cool and polite as if the topic had been the weather. "Shall we proceed with this objectionable interference with my private affairs?"

"Do you want me to write that down?" Sarah just managed to refrain from gaping.

"Why should I have said it if I had no wish for it to be recorded when I am perfectly well aware that all aspects of this meeting are being recorded."

"Miss Baker, will you please oblige us by making a record of this interview." He looked up from the file in his hands with a faintly exasperated expression. "She is quite capable of keeping this idiotic behaviour up until my next interview arrives, and it is with the intention of ensuring that the matter she is here to discuss is not discussed."

"How..."

"Because she has done it three times to us already." He shook his cuffs out and opened the file to a specific page. "Would you please explain this letter, Miss Darcy?"

"No." Juliette barely even glanced at the letter. "Miss Baker can probably explain it better than I can."

"Really." He handed the pages to Sarah and then relaxed back in his seat. Sarah glanced at Juliette in a half horrified manner and then reluctantly dropped her eyes to the page.

Hugh,
I cannot help but admire such staunch patriotism that you continue your residence in that ghastly country, the weather is absolutely appalling and I defy you to defend it. I'm just back from a fortnight on the back boundary, and fortunately I got the poddies back to the old bore before they got out of hand. Weston will have to go begging for my poddies this year, for I intend to police the boundary most rigorously. Should you ever become sufficiently disillusioned that you consider coming back here, I invite you to visit and offer the southern boundary as temptation.

"It sounds like some bizarre code to me." Sarah looked up from the letter in bewilderment.

"It is a letter written by a...farmer in Outback Australia about the things which are of interest to him. He writes a small amount about the local news down there, expresses relief that the Japanese are no longer bombing them and mentions the relief of Singapore. He then returns to the matters of his station and writes some eight pages in sum total, mentioning to finish that he'll send the letter after the autumn muster. For an unspecified reason he clearly posted the letter off well in advance of the autumn muster. I am acquainted with the contents of the letter since I knew you would drag me in here yet again. Possibly you will someday allow me to handle the actual envelope the letter arrived in and then there is an off chance that I will be able to remember whether the sender is one of my managers, or Mr Darcy's. There is no reason for the sender to have my address otherwise and I can assure you, as I have done so every other time, that there is a mistake in the addressing of the letter. I've little doubt but that somewhere in the world Hugh is cursing for he has received an annual assessment of cattle in place of his letter."

"Regrettably enough for you we finally managed to track down the Hugh the letter supposedly refers to...he has not been getting annual cattle assessments."

"I do appologise for my rash assumption, though it was a cattle station the author was writing from so don't even attempt to tell me it's a fish assessment."

"How do you know it's a cattle station?" Sarah was frowning over the notes she had made.

"The reference to poddies notifies me that it was a cattle station." Juliette handed the letter back to Sarah. "What has Hugh been receiving?"

"Financial statements."

"I suppose they're not the financial statements for the station which the letter comes from. Just how tangled is this web of messed up mail?"

"Very and we've yet to fully straighten it out. Do we have your permission to send this letter and the others on to the actual party?"

"Do it with my blessing, but I'd like the mail which was actually meant for me as soon as possible, it's one part of my current hassles with the inland revenue department."

"How can an Australian Property have anything to do with your inland revenue?"

"Since the company which supports that property is an English one and held accountable for its assets."

"Thankyou for your time and patience and we do appologise for any discomfort caused by this matter, we are grateful for you help and understanding." He showed her out the door and into the hands of someone who would take her downstairs, then turned back into the room looking remarkably like he'd just swallowed something which wriggled when it had got about halfway down. The comment he made as he resumed his seat caused Sarah to blush and stare at her knees.

"An interesting experience." Sarah studied her notes with a slight frown. There was nothing to be found in any word, and yet Sarah was quite certain that Miss Juliette de Bourgh Darcy had been absolutely livid at being dragged into Oxford. It made no sense. "Has she really been here on three other occasions?"

"Much closer to twenty." He sank back in his seat and frowned. "It is only on three occasions that she has made an effort to avoid discussing her mail...and always in regards to these letters to Hugh. We're pretty certain there's something behind them, but have yet to figure it out. She gets the weirdest mail on occasion, chess games, mathematics, literature in other languages. Why she even attempts to make herself out as a brainless, money-grubbing socialite is quite beyond me for she corresponds with some quite notable minds in a manner which indicates she knows what she is talking about. Weirdest of all is some rather distant cousin, a policeman in Edinburgh of all places, with whom she exchanges hypothetical conspiracy theories...he apparently writes murder mysteries in his spare time and considers her to be a brilliant source of the twisted. Why we continue to do what amounts to nothing about her has me rather puzzled, she has access to the finest radio receiver in England outside of our jurisdiction and that we know of."

"Honestly puzzled or one of your sarcastic puzzles?"

"Sarcastic puzzles." He straightened in his chair and reached for his in box. "Just as we know Mr James Darcy is up to funny business, we know she's also involved somehow...we just can't prove anything."

"What about her sister?"

"Miss Anneliese? Nothing doing and definitely not involved in the family secrets. No reflection on her mind or abilities, but I'm inclined to the opinion that she is one of the unfortunates who can't keep a secret to save their life and as such is excluded from all matters where secrecy is wanted. I cannot speak with such assurance of either her husband or her sister-in-law who used to work for Ashie. Of those two I have plenty of suspicion, but as with anyone who is involved in anything which has some connection to Mr James Darcy there is no proof we can take action on...or to be precise there is one person we could take action against...except he's not been in the country since the incident occured."

"Shall I get these notes typed up and into the file?"

"Yes thankyou." There was a long silence as Sarah gathered her things. "A question."

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you aware of there being any unusual means of communication available to Darcys?"

"Sir?"

"You worked in the same office as Annette Fouchiard, you were friends with her and her flatmate. I was hoping that you might have heard if they communicated by some means other than the regulation mail channels."

"I couldn't say, sir." Sarah finished gathering the last of her things and the file. "They were rather prone to talking oddly, but it just seems to be who they were. I don't think there is anything." Sarah doubted he'd have liked to hear that Ashie had undoubtedly found out more about MI5 from Annette than she'd ever have learnt about Ashie from Annette. Charlie's policy about knowing nothing about anybody else's job was utterly devine really, for she could say with perfect honesty that she didn't know.

It was the clicking of the lock which startled Juliette out of her reverie and she spun around in alarm, though her mind coolly noted that there was nothing she could do if there was cause for alarm. The door swung open quietly and James stepped into the room, blinking in the new light as he closed the door again.

"So this is where you are?" James looked around the room curiously, it was remarkably messy when compared to any other room in Rosings.

"I thought you promised not to leave bed." Juliette had checked her hair before she turned back to close the lid on the typewriter.

"I lied." James picked up a copy of Great Events of History and flicked through the pages. "Have you any idea how nauseatingly boring that room can be?"

"A very good idea." Juliette dropped a folder into a draw of the desk and then locked it. "Did you come for any other reason than to complain about the decor of the third spare bedroom?"

"I don't think so." James replaced the book he held and attached himself to a slender volume which rested on the edge of the desk. Juliette frowned at this move, but made no comment as she lead the way out of the room.

"I hadn't realised you were in the habit of picking locks for entertainment." Juliette lifted a faint eyebrow and James had the grace to redden slightly.

"You'd been gone for a day and a half and I wanted to be certain everything was...fine." There was a slight hesitation and James grimaced as he proferred the last word. Juliette's eyebrow rose slightly higher and there was a long and rather uncomfortable silence.

"They wished to make further enquiries about Hugh." Juliette spoke rather curtly when she finally broke the silence. "Nothing new, nothing dangerous...just tiresome."

"Sorry." James turned away, hesitated and then turned back. "I worry when I cannot know and at present I know nothing. You vanished without a word for a day and a half and I have no means available to find out why. I'm not happy that I'm here, particularly since it is undoubtedly my current presence which has them all excited again. If they're getting excited then other people are getting excited, and Rosings is most certainly not a place to withstand a seige. I also feel no desire to battle with yet another scandal, which they will undoubtedly create due to the fact that I am not going to marry you before I depart."

"I forgot I was bent of blackmailing you into marrying me." Juliette lit two candles in the kitchen, stirred up the fire and put the kettle on its hook. "They were interested, but there's been no apparent media attention yet...possibly because Stan is impersonating you somewhere else. I would advise giving him some sort of present when this war is over."

"Anything I offer him after the war he is more likely to consider torture of the most acute form." James settled on a nearby stool and blinked wearily.

"You do have a notable talent for overdoing things." Juliette poured out tea and pushed a large mug across to him. "What were you up to when you just happened to notice my light?"

"I did nothing."

"I didn't ask what you did I asked what you were up to."

"Nothing."

"Nothing isn't an answer with you. What?"

"Just drop it." James abruptly gulped the rest of his tea and stood up to pack the fire down for the night again.

"You need to do something about Hugh." Juliette finished her own tea and stood up as well, leading the way out of the kitchen.

"Why?"

"Because if I was using it as a serious means of communication I would change it after an interview like that one, any good spy would."

"You mean any bad spy would." James rested his head against the wall and sighed. "I shall endeavour to think of something."

"James!" It was a growl and the response was a faint smile.

"Peace, Tiger."

"Good night." Juliette stepped into her bedroom and there was more than the hint of a slam in the way she closed the door.

"I don't think your grandmother would have approved of that." James leant against the wall for a moment and gave a quiet smile. "Bye-the-bye, as to what I was up to...well you'll find out in the morning."

"Not again!" Juliette stuck her head back out and frowned. "Just keep your promise for once that you'll let yourself recover once before trying to kill yourself again."

"I never made that promise, ever...to anyone."

"Anneliese certainly thinks you made all manner of promises."

"Annie-Bug is rather prone impressions and I only promised father to minimise the impressions I permitted her to acquire from my words, I never promised anyone I'd never do it again."

"Well is it fact or impression that I will not be compelled to suffer your company until after this confounded war is over?"

"Fact...provided I have any say in the matter." James lifted a vague hand and drifted off. Juliette withdrew back into her room with a sigh and a small shake off her head.

Continued In Next Section