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Prelude

Authors note: I shall be prompt in my thanks, THANKYOU to all you lovely volunteers (and those who got volunteered:), this would never have got a quarter of the way if it weren't for you and your martyred patience with my abominable spelling and e-mail habits. Okay, I've integrated Pride and Prejudice, and Emma (it was Persuasion, but due to internal plot difficulties it had to change) into this....epic of mine. To the best of my ability I have stayed rigidly to the timelines of this conflict, though I have been unable to cover it in its entirety (the thought of even attempting to cover five fronts plus the sea terrifies me). Unlike WWII, WWI was a very messy, diplomatic affair, so before I start, I'll give you a whole mass of background information, in hopes that you'll get hopelessly lost. :) Actually I hope you can understand it.

On 28th of June 1914 the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, Crown Prince of the Austro-Hungarian Empire was assassinated with his wife in Sarajevo by Gavrilo Princip. Princip was one of seven men who made an attempt (Princip was the last and the only successful one, though one other managed to kill some guards). The Archduke was at the time making an inspection of the Austrian Army, it was also his 14th wedding anniversary. The response of the Austro-Hungarian Empire was in the form of an ultimatum, delivered to the Prime Minister of Serbia, Nikola Pasic, whom they believed to be behind the plot. The reply must come within 48 hours. The instructions received by the Austro-Hungarian ambassador, Baron Vladimir von Giesl, in Serbia, was that no response made by the Serbian government to that ultimatum would be acceptable, officials in Austria wanted war. The Serbian reply conceded on nearly all points, but the ambassador had his orders. the Austro-Hungarian Empire severed all diplomatic relations with Nikola Pasic and Serbia, and the Austrian Legation departed on the 6:30pm train on the 25th of July.

The Ultimatum was delivered on the 23rd of July at 6:00pm, nearly an entire month after the Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated. The reason for this delay was because at the time of the assassination the French President, Raymond Poincare, and the Prime Minister, Rene Viviani, were soon to be in St. Petersburg on an official tour which was to end on the 23rd of July, the tour started on the 15th of July. The Austrian Officials were well aware that to have Russia and France close together when they effected their crisis would not be at all good for their cause.

While waiting for the French President and Prime Minister to leave Russia, the Austrian officials spent their time gaining complete support in the Austrian parliament and strengthening the treaty with The Prussian Empire, the Germanic Empire formed by Frederick the Great. On the 5th of July 1914 the Austrian government got their 'Blank Cheque' from Prussia, Prussia had agreed to support Austria, no matter what action was taken against Serbia. On the 6th of July Kaiser Wilhelm II departed on his annual cruise in the North Sea, it would give rise to suspicion if he suddenly cancelled the annual event.

On the 10th of July Friedrich von Wiesner was dispatched to Serbia to report on the findings of the inquest into the death of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand. On the 13th of July von Wiesner telegraphed the results back to the Austrian Foreign Minister, Count Leopold von Berchtold, the inquest had come up clean, the Serbian government was not involved in the assassination. The telegraph never left the Foreign Office. With the Hungarian Prime Minister, Count Istvan Tisza, finally in reluctant agreement, Berchtold and General Conrad von Hotzendorff, the Chief of Staff of the Austrian Army, finally had the war they wanted. The Hungarian Prime Minister had been drawn into the war party by Berchtold who made promises that no territorial demands were to be placed on Serbia, these promises were all lies for Serbia had already been partitioned on paper. The Hungarian Prime Minister had sent several letters to The Austro-Hungarian Emperor, Franz Joseph, pleading for leniency in dealing with Serbia but, as with many other letters and telegrams, these letters never reached the emperor, Berchtold had them intercepted.

On the 16th of July both the Italian and the Russian Ambassadors warned the Russian government in St. Petersburg that Austria was considering decisive action against Serbia. Word of the planned action had now reached the diplomatic circuit, and Britain realised that serious trouble was coming. On the 19th of July the Austrian Ministerial Council met in secret and made the decision, Conrad von Hotzendorff was to be given his chance and Serbia was to be 'beaten to earth', at the same time the ultimatum to Serbia was drafted. On the 20th of July the Emperor Franz Joseph viewed the ultimatum. On the 21st of July Berchtold went to Bad Ischl, where the Emperor was staying, and finessed approval out of the Emperor's responses. On the same day the Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Sazonov warned the Prussian Ambassador, Count Friedrich von Pourtales, that Russia would not permit Austria to take any military action against Serbia. Now all that remained was for the French President and Prime Minister to depart from Russia and for the Ultimatum to be delivered.

With the non-acceptance of their response to the ultimatum, and the realisation before hand that no response would be accepted, Serbia officially mobilised on the 25th July at 3:00pm, war with the Austro-Hungarian Empire was now unavoidable. War was considered at this point to be unavoidable for mobilisation (where the army was activated) was considered to be an irreversible process. The Empire mobilised at 7:23pm on the same day, after Berchtold informed Franz Joseph that the Serbians had already attacked.

With the declaration of war by the Empire, Russia, the patron of all Balkan states, entered the pre-mobilisation state on the 26th July.

On the 27th of July Kaiser Wilhelm II terminated his cruise in the North Sea and returned to Potsdam. The British fleet, having just completed their summer maneuvers, were sent to their war stations, instead of resumption peace duties, by Winston Churchill. The French Army was put into stand-by mobilisation, and a petition was sent to St. Petersburg through the French Military Attaché, requesting that should a war break out, that Russia would immediately take the offensive in East Prussia.

On the 28th of July The Empire declared a state of war on Serbia, the declaration was sent via the telegraph service and officials in Belgrade took it for a hoax, and the first shots were fired. But Austria did not notify the Prussian Government when they went to war. The German Chancellor, Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg, offers his resignation to Kaiser Wilhelm in the result of what has happened, Kaiser Wilhelm refuses, 'You have made this broth, now you will eat it.'

With the Empire officially declaring war on Serbia, Russia entered a state of pre-mobilisation on the 26th of July, only to call it off when requested by Kaiser Wilhelm II, a cousin of Tsar Nickolas', who claimed that he was doing all in his power to persuade the Empire to cease this destructive road. This started the famous Willy-Nicky telegrams. Then on the 29th of July Russia proceeded with a partial mobilisation, in the military districts of Moscow, Kiev, Odessa, and Kazan, Tsar Nickolas claimed that with Austria mobilised he would not leave the country in an unmobilised state. Prussia demanded that Russia demobilised immediately. The Tsar then calls of the mobilisation, against Prussia. On the 30th July the Tsar Nicholas changed his mind for the third time and Russia entered the state of total mobilisation. As Russia entered total mobilisation, she signed a treaty with France, the point of which was that if the Prussian Empire declared war on Russia, then France would declare war on Prussia. The French were quite willing for this, they had been defeated in 1870 and lost the rich province of Alsace-Lorraine to the Prussians.

On the 31st of July, with the mobilisation of Russia and the treaty between her and France Prussia declared a state of Kriegsgefahr Zustand, danger of war, a state of premobilisation. The Prussians then delivered an ultimatum to France, demanding that France declare neutrality and hand over the frontier forts of Liege and Namur, in response France mobilised at 5:15pm. On the same day the Prussians sent an ultimatum to Russia, demobilise fully within 18 hours or Prussia would mobilise and declare war on Russia. On the 1st of August, Russia had still not demobilised, despite the demands from Germany, so Germany declared war on Russia.

On the 2nd of August the Prussian Empire they signed a secret treaty with Turkey, and requested free passage through Belgium. Italy, the third country in the 'Triple Alliance', also declared her neutrality on the 2nd of August. She claimed that the actions of the Austrians had to be classed as an act of aggression, and as they were consulted at no point in the proceedings, it was obvious that they were not expected to take part in the forthcoming conflict, particularly since it was detrimental to the interests of Italy.

On the 3rd of August the Prussian Empire declared war on France, on the same day the refusal of free passage came to them from King Albert of Belgium.

On the 4th of August the Prussian Army violated Belgium neutrality as the Schlieffen Plan was put into motion, the invasion of France had begun. On the same day England issued an ultimatum that if the Prussians did not withdraw all troops from Belgian soil by midnight, war would be declared. The Prussians never responded to the ultimatum, and England was at war.

So that's all the political background, about as compacted as I can get it, so sit back and hopefully enjoy the story that is following :)

23rd August 1910 - Longbourn, England

Shadowed by oak and willow, an ivy clad manor of medium size sits among semi-formal gardens, in the distance can be heard the clack of hay cutters, mixed with the high, plaintive cries of sheep. Laughter rings clear and joyful from the stream that cuts past the edge of the gardens, then there is a loud shriek almost simultaneously followed by a splash, there is more laughter, then another splash, and shortly there after two damp figures scramble up the far side of the stream, well protected from view of the house.

"Folin Kirth Bennet that was mean!" She was laughing while she tried vainly to wring water from her hair and dress, on the grass nearby was a limp piece of material which had once been a bit of fancy stitching.

"What else do you expect when you sit in the willow fork?"

"That you be the gentleman mama claims you to be."

"To much to expect from me today." Folin pushed a damp clump of hair out of his eyes. "Besides which a lady would never pull her rescuer in when he lends her a hand to get out."

"The rescuer shouldn't have pushed her in in the first place." Elizabeth dug around the waist of her dress and produced a comb. "Besides which, I have it on mama's great authority that I am not a lady." Elizabeth untied her plaits and set to work combing the knots out of her hair.

"Can I lend a hand Beth?"

"NO!" Elizabeth's response left no room for doubt. "Last time you lent a hand you practically pulled all my hair out."

"Beth that was three years ago."

"And it took three years for my head to recover."

"You are in a bad mood today. Say did you know that Netherfield has been let at last?"

"No, where did you get that from?"

"Old Tom up in fourth field told me yesterday. Apparently the place has been rented by some Londoner, old codger by the name of Bingley, no wife, three kids, none of whom come with him."

"Where does old Tom get all this news from, and what would mama say if she heard your language Ben, Codger indeed."

"Well he is, I saw him arrive, looks as if he's four hundred years old and totters around on a massive stick."

"Hmmph, I highly doubt he is four hundred years old, you'll probably find that he is just unwell. London sounds like a very dangerous place, everyone seems to get sick there." Elizabeth finished straightening her hair and swiftly replaited it.

"Your dress is still very wet." Folin observed, only to receive a very old-fashioned look from Elizabeth. "Dashing Beth." Folin hurridly fastened the bib of his overalls as Elizabeth reappeared. "I'm sure mama would approve."

"I quite agree with you." Elizabeth's tone was sarcastic as she inspected her faded overalls and shirt. "And as I agree with you, we had best do something until that dress of mine dries."

"Let's visit old Tom."

"I bet I beat you this time!"

"Bet away!" Folin took of after his twin, quite well aware that he could easily catch her before they reached the fourth field.

3rd July 1913-Narrow Creek, Canada

They crowded onto the platform for the yearly ritual that had now happened nearly every year for eight years. The Scholars were coming home for the summer and tomorow was the night of the first dance at the Elliotts. Elliot March, whom all the old folk had known since he was in short skirts, was the first to go, Redmond College, it had a glamour and mysteriousness that pulled at the imagination. But Elliot March had graduated in '10 and had been teaching in 'foreign' parts for three years, but now he had returned and taken the offer to teach at Narrow Creek school. The wonder of it, a B.A. was going to teach at Narrow Creek. Then Victoria Elliott and Charles Crawford had gone, Victoria Elliott, a girl, and with that much book learning, many of the old folk shook their heads, this just wasn't done. As for Charles Crawford, what else was to be expected, his pa was a right snob, and now it looked like Ed Kent and Frank Edwards were also going to go, for they were returning from 'Academy' entrance exams.

Victoria was the first off the train after it steamed wearily into the station, her hair flashing and gleaming in the sunlight like a small sun itself. Charles Crawford was the next off, and he shuffled away to the Crawford group looking very like a Crawford. Then came Ed and Frank, they paused on the steps joking and laughing about their importance, but that never mattered, what else could you expect from them, they had just returned from their first entrance exams. Ed and Frank were swallowed into their respective family groups, and the crowd stirred lightly as no one else appeared. Had Elliot March not come after all, but then that would not be Elliot, for even Old Emilie was on the platform, Emilie who had not walked in nearly twenty years. Then Victoria's laughter rang clear and she climbed back onto the train, soon to reappear dragging Elliot by the hand. Elliot who was smothering a yawn with his suitcase, his ever present book jutting out of one pocket. Elliot grimaced when he saw the crowd, then he stopped Victoria and whispered something to her, Victoria's response was to drop his hand, flush and hit him on the arm, she then ran over to complain audibly and animatedly to mrs March. Elliot dropped his suitcase to clutch dramatically at his arm, he then grinned and waved, before recovering his suitcase and walked over to his mother. Victoria promptly left off complaining and returned to her Aunt and Uncle, the Old Frank Elliotts, Victoria Elliott had no shortage of relatives in Narrow Creek.

"Oh, and Elliot, Vicky and her father are coming for supper tonight. So do be nice."

"Yes mama."

"Elliot!" Mrs March frowned at her son's angelic expression. "What did you actually say to Vicky? Neither of you have yet actually told."

"I would be misbehaving if I told you." Elliot jumped out of the cart, and wrestled his trunk to the front porch.

"He probably asked her whether he could kiss her.....Just so the old biddies could get excited." Emilie winked knowingly at her Great-grandson, then permitted him to lift her out of the cart.

"What an impolite suggestion Emilie, as if I would suggest such a thing." Elliot put Emilie down on the front steps, and turned to his mother. "Need any help?"

"No thanks Elliot. With suggestions like that, you really shouldn't complain about Mrs Becky trying to set you up."

"The problem with Mrs Becky is that she is plain, old-fashioned nosey." Elliot picked Emilie up again and walked into the house, leaving Mrs March to laugh and lead the horse and cart round the back.

"Elliot, you're still up in the garret, do you want me to get Abe in to give a hand with your trunk?" Mrs March came back into the kitchen, and went directly to her cooking.

"No thanks, I'm sure I can manage." Elliot's tone was dry, causing Emilie to laugh softly, there was no love lost between Elliot and his cousins. Elliot then left the room and retrieved his trunk from the front porch, before man-handling it up the stairs to the garret, a small yet spacious room that was well lit. Elliot left his trunk at the foot of his bed and walked over to the window, abstractly pulling the book from his pocket as he went. The view from 'The Little House' garret it well worth mention as it was by far the best view in Narrow Creek, it gave the viewer a clear view of Narrow Creek township, clear across to the 'Mountain'.

"Elliot?" Mrs March finally spoke up from the doorway, where she had been watching her son as he stared blankly out the window.

"Sorry, do you want something?" He jolted out of his reverie and turned to look across at her.

"Only to talk for a bit, Emilie is watching dinner for us."

"And watching is all she will do, take a seat mother." Elliot sat down on the window sill, and watched in silence as his mother sat down on his bed.

"Elliot...." Mrs March started, then stopped and she stared quietly across the room. "Elliot, what is the matter?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. Why do you ask?" Elliot studiously inspected his feet, refusing to meet his mother's gaze.

"Elliot, look at me." She waited silently 'til he looked up. "Now, what is the matter?" She sighed as Elliot immediately dropped the eye contact and looked back to his feet. "Elliot."

"Could we possibly drop this subject?" Elliot looked pleadingly at her.

"Elliot, you have a lot of people here worried, I'm worried, Emilie is worried....and Vicky is worried. What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

"You're lying to me Elliot."

"Alright, I'll amend it, there is nothing the matter that you can help me with." Elliot ran an annoyed hand through his hair.

"Elliot, trust me. Whether I can help or not, you are going to have to tell someone....Or leave Narrow Creek." Mrs March met his startled gaze calmly, there were times when Elliot was so like her father that it frightened her.

"In otherwords, spill it or leave." Elliot stared back out the window. "Trust me little mother, NO ONE can help me right now. My problem is not like that."

"Then we're going to have to think up a suitable excuse....Vicky won't sit back and accept nothing as an excuse, neither is she going to be passed off with some flippant remark....and I won't let it happen." Mrs March watched as Elliot flinched away from the remark. "Elliot, what upset you?"

"Please, can we leave this?"

"Elliot, neither of us is going to leave this room until you have spilled the beans, and all of them. Even if that means that Vicky and her father only have Emilie for company, though that will create a lot of gossip. How did Vicky get such a gossip-monger for a father? But I side-tracked." Mrs March caught herself and returned to the task in hand, to get information out of Elliot was usually harder than opening clams with bare hands, especially if the information was personal. Whatever the problem was here, it was definitely personal, which meant she was going to have to drive him to the very edge of frustration to get it, and as much as she disliked doing it, it HAD to be done.

"Well at least his method of gossip is of the amusing and interesting type, unlike others."

"Elliot."

"Sorry." He grinned guiltily, they both knew what he had been trying to do, it had happened all to frequently before.

"Now Elliot, what is wrong?"

"Nothing." Elliot ran his fingers through his hair again, ruffling it wildly up on end.

"Elliot!" She got absolutely no response, and rolled her eyes as she considered fresh tactics to get a response. "Elliot, are you in love?" It was a wild stab in the dark, and she was actually only trying to get an response out of him, but the silence that followed more than answered the question. Now she an entirely unexpected and unknown problem on her hands, Elliot had definite limits and Mrs March had no intention of crossing them. "Elliot?"

"Little mother." He looked quietly back at her.

"Are you running away from it Ellie?"

"I'm not running away, for I have no hope. She is only a friend." Elliot turned and looked back out the window, leaving Mrs March to her thoughts.

"Only a friend." She spoke softly to herself as she filed through the friends Elliot had, to say the least, they were few in number.

"The Elliotts have just come through the gate, you'd best get down mother."

"Elliot.." Mrs March quietly approached her son where he sat by the window, and both stared down at the two figures who slowly climbed the long drive. "Twenty-one. I won't raise your hopes Ellie, but neither do I intend to destroy them."

"I don't have any." Elliot's tone was dry and slightly bored in sound.

"Do you want to call sick for the evening?"

"No." Elliot pushed off the window sill and led his mother back downstairs to the kitchen, before walking to the front porch to greet the visitors.

December 25th 1913-Paris, France

Giselle held the pose as the curtain finally fell, she did not like to go out in this manner. Infact she would have prefered to continue for a couple more years, but continueing was not possible. For the company would not, or could not, get her another partner, and Giselle had no intention of continueing to dance with Georges.

Giselle hurridly freed herself from Georges embrace as the curtain fell and hurried off the stage, the second curtain was already descending.

"Giselle, wait a minute!" Georges voice came softly to her.

"Georges, I must change. Please excuse me." Giselle try to push past her partner, but he wasn't letting her past.

"Giselle why are you doing this?"

"Because I am tired Georges. Because Aristide has been waiting four years now. Because my father is old now. Because my mother died last year and I was not there to help. Please Georges, let me go."

"But Giselle...."

"Georges if you do not get out of my way immediately I will scream and let the whole theatre know that my partner would not permit me to change for my curtain call." Giselle hurridly pushed past her stunned partner and hurried into her small dressing room. Thanks to Georges detaining her she had even less time then usual to change and refresh. Faintly she could hear the music playing, and in desperation she released her feet from her pointe shoes and hurridly rebound them in a fresh pair. With practiced fingers she checked her hair was still neat, then after a quick glance to verify that her attire was straight she hurried out of her dressingroom and back onto the stage. Georges was waiting by the edge of the curtain, and all but dragged her around to the centre front as the final call before them was made.

"Gently Georges bruised arms will impress nobody, least of all me." Now it was their turn, and as Georges relaxed his grip on her arm they went forward to acknowledge the audience. Once again the curtain fell, but the thunderous applause abated not a wit. After a brief pause the curtain rose again and Giselle was bowing once more with Georges. The curtains fell again, they were given their flowers, the curtains rose again, then fell. The cast and Georges retreated, the curtain rose again.

"Thankyou!" Giselle cried as loudly as she could, and finally eased up on the mental block she had put on herself, permitting a few tears to roll down her face. The applause roared louder as the curtain started to descend again. The curtain hit the floor, hesitated but very briefly and went up again, flowers, cards and even small presents were now raining down onto the stage. The applause, if such a feat was possible, became even louder and turning Giselle saw that the company had come to stand behind her. With one final wave, and one final thankyou Giselle Vernard left the stage, but it was Nathalie Bonnard who entered the dressing room to change.

As she had told Georges, she was tired, Giselle had had a good run, Giselle had been a success, but Giselle was now over, it was time to remember Nathalie. Nathalie who was to marry Aristide Beausoliel and Nathalie who was a trained nurse.

"Giselle?" Georges voice came from the doorway.

"My name is not Giselle." Nathalie pulled the twist out of her and tied it back in the simple style she always wore when she had nursed.

"You will always be Giselle for me."

"No Georges, I cannot be Giselle."

"Giselle!" Georges voice was pained to the point of agony as she pushed past him and walked quietly for the exit. The pain in his voice would have upset her more if it had not come from an entirely selfish motive. Georges Wickée's career relied entirely on Giselle Vernard, with Giselle gone he could not last long now.

January 3rd 1914-Washington D.C., U.S.A.

Emma Woodhouse, 21 years of age and a society columnist at the D.C. Times, scowled morosely out over the roof tops before hurling her pad and paper across the room in disgust.

"You okay Em?" John Knightley stuck his head into her small cramped office, which she shared with four others, all of whom were currently absent.

"Of course I'm fine." Emma scowled at him, then went and retrieved her notebook. "This column won't write, they gave Jake Andrews the Trinity Search, and now I have just spilt coffee on my skirt. As you can see, a perfectly normal day with everything sunny and shiney. Blue birds are positively waltzing around my room."

"Well how about you take my column and we switch, I'll try to fascinate all with my social annecdotes, and you can bore the lot witless with the latest archeological finds."

"You really are doing well today, John. What good news did you just receive?" Emma had not the slightest interest in what might, or might not, be happening in his world, but he was one of the senior columnists and it was always best to humour them.

"It was rotten news actually, but seeing how bad your temper was, it suddenly became okay. How the devil did Jake Andrews get the Trinity Search?"

"Don't ask me, I'm not one of the senior Editors!" Emma scowled even more darkly for a moment, then like magic if vanished into a slight smile and Emma grabbed her pencil and started to scribble industriously. John watched her in silence for a moment, then returned to his equally small office, which he shared with two other columnists. As he had said, his news was not good, infact for most people the news would have been catastrophic, but John Knightley was said to be one queer bird. It was a thin telegraph slip that he twisted idly between long thin fingers, his expression was bitter and his eyes were distant, as he considered the situation.

"Hello John! You look like someone just ran over your favourite sparrow."

"Shut up George!" John stalked from the room, leaving a very bewildered elder brother and visitor behind him.

"Emma, do you know what's bitten John?" Knightley stuck his head into one of the ajoining offices where he saw Emma Woodhouse seated.

"He said something about bad news." Emma shrugged and returned to her pad leaving Knightley to sit down at his brother's desk and consider the entire situation in bewiderment. Knightley's thoughts were disrupted by a merry whistle which approached the room, but it passed by and soon faded into the background noise, and Knightley returned to his thoughts.

"Izzy, you here?" Emma keyed into the flat and called to see if her sister had returned yet. No such luck, with a scowl Emma headed for the kitchen, if there was something she totally despised, it was cooking. The shrill of the doorbell had her flying out of the kitchen, with luck Isabella would be home before she had finished with the caller so dinner would be edible.

"Emma." Knightley walked camly into her flat.

"What do you want Mr Knightley? I saw you only an hour ago in the office."

"Cool it Emma, I'm not going to elope with you and spoil your beautiful dreams. Where the hell is John?"

"As in your brother? I wouldn't have the slightest idea." Emma paused. "Why should I know where he was?"

"Because you were the last person he spoke to...other than telling me to shut up a few minutes after that."

"Well why is that something to get excited about, he probably went home."

"He didn't."

"Well go check my bedroom if you insist, but let me promise you that I haven't the faintest idea where your brother is, and neither do I want to."

"Emma he is my own brother, you were the last person he spoke to, and you are practically the only person he ever speaks to voluntarily at the paper. You must know something!" Knightley scratched the back of his neck in annoyance.

"Well I don't. I'm not his watch dog! All he told me was that he had bad news, which now seemed good seeings how mad I was and then left the room. I don't even know how his bad news arrived."

"Alright, calm down, I'm sorry and good-bye. I appologise for coming to ask, it is just that he seems to have vanished off the face of this earth in a manner which is not at all like him." Knightley turned and left the flat then jumped aside so as not to crash into Isabella Woodhouse, Emma's sister and flatmate. "Hi Isabella, how's work?"

"Fine thanks. Do be sweet and hold the door." Isabella maneuvered her box through the door and waved good-bye to Knightley, before closing the door. "What was George here about?"

"Panicking because apparently his brother has vanished. Didn't come home from work or something." Emma shrugged and took Isabella's box. "He arrived before I started cooking." The phone started to ring as she reached the door and with a groan she dumped the box on a chair and lifted the receiver. "Woodhouse speaking."

"Em, that you?"

"No, it's George Washington. What do you want John?"

"George's phone number."

"Why on earth should I have that? What do you Knightley's think I am, a public information centre on each other?"

"Not in the slightest, but no one else is answering their telephones."

"Not surprising, both of you seem to have forgotten that tonight is the annual dinner."

"Skipping again are you Em?"

"Of course not. Where are you?"

"On the moon." He hung up.

"Darn it!" Emma swore as she heard the dial tone then hung up the telephone and glared at the wall. "Izzy, I'm going out. See you later!"

"Well if it is your Annual Dinner I'm coming with you." Isabella appeared from the kitchen. "We haven't a bread crumb left in the flat."

April 1914 - North Scotland, United Kingdom

Captain Pepel Fordingham pushed his peaked cap back on his head and took a look at the awe inspiring climb made by the ship he stood beside. To think that after all these years he was actually in sole command of one of these monsters, no longer was he the Commander who had to report to the Captain......he was the Captain. As Pepel stared up at the monster he felt a strange wave of emotion like he had not felt since he had first seen one of these monsters. With a gulp Pepel realised he was afraid, to be in sole command..... Pepel shot a quick glance over his shoulder, but the station taxi had already departed, faced with the four mile walk back to the station Pepel abruptly decided that the ship wasn't as terrifying as it had first appeared and with resolution he shouldered his pack.

"Good afternoon sir." The Lieutenant who stood by the gangway had the ramrod rigidness of one who was not actually in the habit of saluting at every turn. Pepel nearly laughed as he recognised the result of his friend's fairly lax habits of ettiquette when shipboard.

"Afternoon Lieutenant." Pepel nodded gravely at the man, he had the weathered appearance which was not like Pepel normally connected with sailors. "And you are?"

"Lieutenant Pieter de Smet, sir, Number One on duty."

"How do you do?"

"Very well sir." The Lieutenant had barely twitched from his rigid posture.

"Good to hear." Pepel nodded and continued to stand there, it rather interested him how long this would continue for.

"Hey Dakota!" A burly midshipman came sprinting up, only to skid to a confused stop. "Oh, do beg your pardon sir." The man caught his salute sharply, but this did not improve the matter that there was a broad splash of grey paint across his uniform.

"Problem?" Pepel looked at the man curiously.

"Umm." The man clearly hesitated.

"What is it Matty?" The Lieutenant finally relaxed and turned away.

"Bill upset the paint again and we were going to ask what we should do about it."

"Can you rescue any?"

"Well we've rescued about half of it, but can't get the rest of it." The midshipman was speaking to the Lieutenant, but he was keeping a nervous eye on Pepel.

"Where is the paint?" Dakota cast a nervous glance at the Captain who was standing behind him, there could be all manner of trouble from this.

"Gun deck." Matty was looking even more nervous.

"Of all places to dump it you choose the one place that doesn't need painting." Dakota grumbled to himself for a minute, and then he gave a shrug. "You know the process, paint it over smoothly and stick up the wet paint signs."

"Yes sir." Matty saluted again and hurried away, leaving Dakota to turn and face the Captain who was still standing at the top of the gangway.

"Morgan!" Dakota had stared at the Captain for a minute and then he came to an internal decision and he turned away and yelled.

"Yeah?" A sleepy looking Quarter-Master came out of the bridge door. "Oh, sorry sir." Three quick tugs and the rumpled uniform became neat and tidy and a stiff Quarter-Master came bucketing down the stairs and across to the gangway. "Your name and papers." With a wave the Quarter-Master dismissed Dakota.

"Captain Pepel Fordingham, my papers." Pepel handed across the papers which had been sitting in his pocket since the previous day.

"Ahh so you're the new Captain." The Quarter-Master gravely inspected the pages and took a quick look at the Captain. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant de Smet will show you your cabin. I'm the Quarter-Master, Lieutenant John Morgan."

"How do you do." Pepel nodded gravely.

"Hi! Dakota!" Morgan had turned his head aside and yelled.

"Yep?"

"Our new Captain, Captain Pepel Fordingham. He needs a Cabin and a tour of the ship."

"How do you do." Dakota saluted stiffly again. "If you'll follow me sir." Dakota then turned and marched stiffly away. Pepel paused just long enough to shoulder his pack and then followed the Lieutenant across and down the stairs. The stairs were tight and cramped, but the passages weren't much better. Infact Pepel wouldn't have been at all surprised if his cabin had been the size of the broom cupboard back home, as it was he was pleasantly surprised by its spaciousness....or spaciousness compared to the set out of the rest of the ship. The bed took up all but one foot of one wall, and that extra foot was occupied by the tin shelves which served as a cupboard, there was then a two foot space between the bed and the desk, which took up a half of the other wall, which left just enough space to open the door without hitting anything.

"Why Dakota?" Pepel dumped his pack on the bed and frowned at it, before glancing back at the Lieutenant.

"Why not Dakota, de Smet is an awful mouthful."

"And Dakota isn't?"

"No, for it is a single word."

"But where did it come from, as far as I know it's part of the name of two States in the United States."

"Oh is it?" Dakota looked interested. "Some Yank was shipboard a year or so back and he was the one who called me that....it sort of stuck."

"Which do you prefer, de Smet or Dakota?"

"Well I have to admit that shipboard I prefer Dakota. I stand out enough as it is Sir, I have no need to accentuate my differences."

"Okay Dakota, you will remain as such." Pepel abruptly smothered a yawn. "Which reminds me, de Smet rings a bell as a town or city in South Dakota, though I'll be blowed if I remember more."

"Do you want a tour of the ship now sir, or do you wish to leave it until after dinner?" Dakota looked at the obviously wearied Captain.

"Do it now, for there's bound to be something else demanding my attention come this evening and I'm actually fond of my sleep." Pepel gave another yawn and walked towards the door, where he waited for the laughing Dakota to pass. "'Tis not polite to laugh at your Captain."

"Of course not sir, but neither is it polite to yawn....here we have officers quarters." Dakota indicated a series of shut doors, before leading the way threw the main mess, the ward room, the gun room and the engine room. This brought them to the crews quarters the kitchen proper, and then down into the magazine and storage spaces. Dakota then lead the way back up the back stairs, which were even more cramped and twisted than the forward stairs.

"What's in there?" Pepel indicated the wall beside which the stairs climbed, as many rooms as they had passed there was going to be quite a space behind that wall and it interested Pepel.

"Lifts." Dakota's response was brief. "Abnormally far back I admit, but it was going to make too great a mess of the old Asp if we had put the ammo lifts in the middle, so we put them to the back."

"Not a bad idea." Pepel's head was whirling, Jack the cook, Billy from the engine room, Bill the Gun, Jim the Gun, Jerry the Navigator, Sam the wireless, Bob this, Fred that and Ed the other, infact Pepel knew that except for Dakota and Morgan the Quarter -Master he remembered not a single one of them and certainly could not attach a face to any name. Here was to the future and a clear head. Pepel sank onto his narrow bed and wearily kicked his shoes off, he would sleep until supper and then once more attempt to attach names and faces together.

May 4th 1914-Banbridge,Ireland

Nelli ran as fast as her skirts would permit her, her hands were pressed hard to her hot cheeks and her thoughts were in turmoil. How could he do that, how could he talk like that? Nelli flew along the twisting path, her hair whipped by the wind, and mud splattering her skirts. She may have been affianced to him while she was still in her cradle, but that didn't give him the right to talk to her like that.

"Nelli!" His voice came fom behind her, but Nelli only ran faster. "Nelli! Wait up!" He was catching up to her very quickly. "Nelli!" His hand landed on her shoulder, stopping her and spinning her around to face him.

"Leave me alone." Nelli spat her reply at him before wriggling free and running again, this time leaving the path in an effort to lose him.

"Nelli!" This time he took a firm grip on both her shoulders, whether she liked it or not, he could run a lot faster than she could.

"Brian O'Niell, if you had the slightest particle of decency left in you, you would leave me alone. Now let go of me!"

"Nelli!" Brian's tone was exasperated.

"You may be affianced to me, but that does not give you leave to treat me in that fashion."

"Nelli! Think of the spectacle you make of yourself. And don't say another word 'til you have thought!"

"But..." Nelli stopped as she met Brian's eyes, if there was one advantage of knowing the man you were to marry since day one it was the fact that you learnt to read him very well. From Brian's expression Nelli knew she would get exactly no where unless she at least appeared to consider the matter for a moment. And the annoying thing was that Nelli knew Brian to be right, not that that knowledge helped her at all.

"Remember this Nelli, if you behave like that again I will take you out the back and make up for all the punishments your father and grandfather never gave you. Remember this to, you are not the only one who was affianced without being consulted." And as suddenly as he had caught her, he let her go, turning to walk quietly away. With a gasp Nelli sat down on a nearby stump, to fume, but then she heard his last remark and leaping to her feet she ran flat out after him.

"Brian!" He stopped immediately on her call and looked back, waiting 'til she stopped next to him.

"Nelli."

"What did you mean by that last remark?" She looked curiously up at him.

"I meant exactly what I said." His tone was even but his expression was not.

"Don't you like me?"

"I am affianced to you, of course I like you." Brian turned and continued out of sight, leaving Nelli to frown in bewilderment. His last remark had not comforted or reassured her in the slightest, infact it made her feel a little lost and Nelli had not the slightest idea why.

August 4th 1914-Narrow Creek, Canada

Mrs March frowned down at the heavily laden table, she was frowning in particularly at a plate of biscuits, which spoiled the entire look of the table.

"What's up mother?" Elliot walked over to stand next to her, they were still the only people in the room.

"This plate of biscuits are ruining the whole appearance of the table."

"Stick 'em on the edge then, they'll be on the floor with in five seconds of the first arrivals."

"Not an option I'm afraid."

"They look like Mrs Becky's. Hand them here and I'll be clumsy carrying them in."

"Oh go away Elliot." Mrs March waved a tea towel at him. "Go find Vicky, she might at least have some useful suggestions."

"Your order is mine to obey."

"Maybe you should follow that more often." Mrs March flapped her tea towel at him again and returned to frowning at her table. Elliot turned and left the hall with long strides, Vicky would still be in the kitchens and with luck he might not actually have to risk entering the room in question.

"Mr March!"

"Bill." Elliot nodded as he saw the student.

"Miss Elliott was a-lookin' for you."

"Thanks, where is she?"

"Kitchens." Bill turned and continued on his way, while Elliot resumed his trip to the kitchens.

"Oh there you are Elliot. Where's your mother?" Victoria was bustling between several large pans.

"Begging for your company in the hall. She didn't like my suggestions." Elliot pulled a hangdog expression.

"Poor you. Now out of the kitchen, I'd suggest you watched these pots while I'm gone, but you'll probably ruin the contents." Victoria whipped off her apron and shoved him out the door before taking his arm and walking with him towards the hall.

"Most unkind, I don't ruin everything I look at."

"Just about." Victoria waved a cheery hand to him as she vanished into the hall, Elliot hesitated briefly, then turned and sat down on a nearby mounting block and pulled out his book.

"Hello Mrs March, Elliot said you wanted me." Victoria walked quickly over to the table.

"Vicky, this plate of biscuits is all wrong." Mrs March waved a distracted hand as she tried the plate in another position.

"That plate is definitely all wrong. Throw it in the bin."

"Vicky! You are worse than Elliot, at least his suggestions would make it look like an accident."

"Well just forget to put them out then." Victoria cast a glance around the room. "Actually I have a better idea, hand them to me." Vicky took the plate of biscuits and frowned once around the hall, then hurried across and placed them on a small corner table surrounded by flowers, she then came back and selected a couple of other plates of dubious taste and placed them on other small tables around the room.

"A good idea Vicky, now help me re-order the table." Mrs March hurridly set about repositioning the remaining plates with the help of Victoria.

They were a merry crowd in the Narrow Creek hall, the big dance of the summer, for in one month the scholars would be leaving again and the autumn harvest would be beginning.

"Meg!" Mrs Becky came up. "Meg, how could you be so careless with my biscuits?"

"I beg your pardon." Mrs March looked startled.

"My biscuits, Meg. You placed them on a small corner table, I have only just found them." Mrs Becky Hughes was the relict of Geoffrey Hughes, who had been a farmer on the southern slopes of the 'Mountain', she was a robust matron with stringy blonde curls and a robust personality.

"We thought it best not to have the biscuits all on one table, several other plates of biscuits have been placed on tables around the room as well."

"Meg, you put my biscuits in the corner, not a single one has been eaten, and they were such good biscuits."

"Becky..." Mrs March was getting very bewildered, for how could one tell Mrs Becky that her biscuits were totally inedible.

"Not only were they hidden away in a corner, but someone sat on them.

"Then it is hardly surprising that none have been eaten. I wonder who can have been so careless?" Mrs March cast a desperate look around the room, but couldn't see either Elliot or Victoria.

"Meg you are not listening."

"Yes she is Becky, but she is also tired. Mother, I'll take over here for a bit, you go rest." Elliot's voice came from directly behind her and almost caused her to jump out of her skin. The look of gratitude she gave him had little to do with his telling her to take a break.

"Hmmph, you know nothing about it. So what are you going to do next year Elliot?" Mrs Becky didn't even wait 'til Mrs March had gone.

"I expect I will finish my contract with the school, then possibly consider another one, but maybe I'll try to get a professorship at Coldstone."

"Hmmph! There is no place like Narrow Creek, best stay here. You going to get married anytime soon?"

"Who to?" Elliot deadpanned his expression and took a firm grip on his temper.

"Why Vicky of course. I really don't know why you haven't married her yet, such a sweet girl."

"Vicky still has a year left at Redmond, and she wants to teach some more."

"Rubbish, a girl teaching is senseless."

"Why is it senseless?" Victoria's voice came in curious query from behind Elliot.

"It isn't proper. So much book learning isn't proper. I was married by the time I was eighteen. You are twenty-one Vicky, soon you'll be to old."

"Maybe I don't wish to marry, besides which, I'm twenty-two. Elliot, do hand me those biscuits. Mrs Ryan has been asking after them."

"Hmmph! Mrs Ryan would do well not to eat her own biscuits, it shows arrogance."

"Rubbish, Mrs Becky. Here you take them, she was trying to find out the latest news, but I'm afraid I've been a bit too busy lately." Victoria handed her the plate, then promptly re-ordered the table. After a muttered complaint Mrs Becky vanished with the plate into the seething crowd.

"I somehow feel that Mrs Ryan's biscuits will not reach her."

"I know, so I sent Mrs Becky's second plate instead. You seem to have got off lightly this evening?"

"Her tactics are getting more like a sledge-hammer each day. Marry me Vicky, even if it's only to make her become silent."

"No thanks Ellie, I intend to marry for love, not to silence Mrs Becky. Besides which she probably won't be silenced, she'll probably crow about how right she was. Actually I don't think I want to get married at all. Now do take Mrs Ryan her biscuits, your mother is returning now."

"Well it was worth a try." Elliot took the plate of biscuits and smiled at her before vanishing into the crowd.

"Hello Vicky, thanks for rescuing Elliot."

"No problem, it rescues me as well. Score one, I'm sorry Mrs Becky came to you with her complaints."

"Who sat on them?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." Victoria smiled angelically.

"Marry him, you'd make a perfect couple and probably even manage to silence Becky."

"No thanks, I don't want to marry yet."

"Oh Vicky I adore you." Mrs March gave the bewildered girl a quick hug and turned her attention to the biscuit plates.

It was an hour later when James Elliott appeared suddenly in the doorway, his pale, wrinkled face, with the kindly eyes was an unusual sight at these events, so silence fell swiftly upon the room.

"What is it?" The fearful whisper fled around the room, and suddenly everyone remembered the tension of the passed few days. The papers all sold out within five minutes, and could be resold after the first person was finished with it. Dr Edwards, unshaven and bleary eyed, running madly from one case to the next and inbetween fearfully watching his only son and only living relative. The fearful eyes of mothers on their sons, the tension and fear that had slowly engulfed the small township, so slowly had it come that until now, none of them realised how afraid they had been.

"Ask him!" It fled around the room as James Elliott continued to stand silently in the doorway, his breathing visibly laboured. Mrs March looked around the room, Elliot was standing on the stairs talking with Victoria and Frank Edwards, the doctor's son.

"England has declared war on Germany. The wire just came through from Kingsport." With James' announcement total silence struck the room for a minute, fear ran like lightening through the crowd, then with a whoop Frank Edwards leapt down the stairs and grabbed Loretta Gray and whirled her out to dance, with Frank's yell the room suddenly came alive again conversation flew again. Mrs March frowned as James Elliott hobbled over to get some biscuits.

"You do love bad news don't you."

"Depends whose view point you take. For Frank Edwards I have just delivered fabulous news."

"Old gossip-monger."

"I have little else to do." James smiled then hobbled away again, and Mrs March looked back to see what had happened to Elliot. He was now argueing with Charles Crawford, and had Victoria crying into his shoulder. What was their world coming to?

"Sorry Elliot." Victoria removed her face from his shoulder and wiped her face on her arm.

"Use this." Elliot handed her his handkerchief. "I'm only here to be a crying post. I disagree Charles, I do not view it like that at all. This war will not be finished by christmas. This is going to be the bloodiest war in history, Europe has been in preparation for twenty years now."

"You exagerate Elliot. England will see that it is brief."

"You're wrong, this war won't cease 'til everyone has felt it."

"Get out of it." Charles turned and jumped down the stairs laughing, leaving Victoria to look seriously up at Elliot.

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes. Kitchener predicts three-four years, and that is fairly optimistic."

"You are a merry character tonight Elliot. Well bye, I'm going to forget about this horrid war if I can."

"I wish I could." Elliot spoke softly as he watched Victoria hurry down the stairs, only to be swung into a dance with Frank Edwards. "I wish I could."

Author's note: My thanks to Joanna who translated this garbage.

August 5th 1914-Poland

He stood silently, motionless except for his eyes which roved from face to face of the men who had invaded his country, his estate and now his home, his expression was that of detached disgust. He stood there, tall, and slim with neat dark hair and eyes, he looked exactly what he was, a powerful Polish politician and aristocrat. At his feet lay the corpse of a boy who had been approximately fifteen years of age and, had the features still been distinguishable, had the appearance of the man who now stood over him some twenty years younger. It was with difficulty that Hauptmann Hans Schimdt attempted to meet that detached and inhuman gaze which roved back and forth across them, but it was great ease and deliberate intent that he never once looked at the corpse which lay between them.

"Ich möchte eine Erklärung dieses Verbrechens."The voice was calm and unemotional, as if the topic he was asking about was what he was to have for dinner.I would like an explanation for this outrage.

"Wir haben Befehle, wie man mit der Resistanz sich behandelt. Ihre Leute haben sich widergesetzt. Wir folgten unsere Befehle."We have orders on how to deal with any resistance we meet. Your people resisted, we acted accordingly.

"Verzeihen Sie, bitte, aber ich habe immer gedacht, dass die Arme von Prussien, eine Arme der Gentlemans war."Forgive me, I had been led to believe that the Prussian Imperial Army was an army of gentlemen.

"Und so ist es!"Hauptmann Schmidt felt his temper rise, but this did not enable him to meet that cool gaze.And so it is!

"Dann sieht es, als ob ich die prussische Interpretazion des Worts "Gentleman" missverstanden habe, weil so gut wie ich weiss, die Gentlemans mit Frauen, Kindern und elteren Leuten keinen Krieg führen." He didn't even wait for an answer before turning and walking from the room. Then it appears that I have been mislead as to the Prussian interpretation of a gentleman. For as far as I have always believed gentlemen did not wage war on women, children, or the elderly. A single bullet was fired as the Count approached the doorway, and it buried itself into the woodwork. He paused momentarily in his departure to look back over his shoulder. "Es war ein schlechter Schütze." He then walked out of the room.That was a very bad shot. With a muffled curse a subaltern sprang forward and followed the Count into the hallway, but it was totally devoid of life. After a brief search the subaltern returned to the room he had so hastily left.

"Zufrieden, Leutnent? In der Zukunft, vergissen Sie nicht, dass man feurt, wenn da ein Befehle ist!" Satisfied Lieutenant? In future remember that you fire only when instructed to do so! Schmidt's scowl caused the subaltern to cower back. "Darf ich fragen, wie finden wir ihm jetzt?" Schmidt asked the question generally of the room and, as expected, he received no answer.How, may I ask, are we meant to find him now?

August 30th 1914 - Longbourn, England

Folin stared gravely back at his father, with the semester starting shortly he had to either go now, or wait 'til next year.

"I have no say on the subject Folin, but unless Elizabeth says yes, you are not permitted to go." Mr Bennet stared up at his only son who stood on the other side of the desk.

"Very good father. I thankyou."

"You have nothing to thank me for, if anything you should curse me."

"For saying I must have Beth's permission? I think not father." Folin nodded walked quickly out of the room, and climbed the stairs to the attic. Five minutes later he was lying on the ridge pole of the roof, his legs and torso hanging down one side, his arms hanging down the other, and below him in a spectacular panorama spread the county, or as much as he could see of it, of Hertfordshire.

"Ben!" Elizabeth's call came to him clearly.

"On the roof Beth." Folin didn't even bother to glance up 'til Elizabeth lay down beside him. "You changed fast." His brief glance showed her to be in overalls and a shirt, her expression was that of a dark frown.

"Couldn't come up here in a skirt and well you know it. Aunt Phillips told mama."

"Did she, I suppose that means that I'll have an interview with mother before I leave tonight....unless father tells, which I doubt."

"Tell Ben?" The fear was a faint echo in Elizabeth's voice.

"I'm enlisting Beth, or I am if you give me permission to go." He stared back at her, almost pleadingly.

"Why Ben?"

"The Mother has called and it is my duty to go."

"Do you think you'll enjoy it?"

"Not in the slightest, but it is a duty that needs to be done." There was a slight catch in Folin's throat as he saw Elizabeth's eyes fill, then well over. "I'm sorry Beth, I won't go."

"You're going." Elizabeth's voice was an angry snap, "just don't expect me to be brave and smile until tomorrow, right now I want to cry." Elizabeth buried her face in her arms and proceeded to weep bitterly. Folin watched her for a minute, then looked away, Beth would thank him not in the slightest if he tried to comfort her now, he would just have to wait 'til she was finished.

September 3rd 1914-Kent, England.

"Anne!" Anne laid her book down as Marie appeared in the doorway.

"What is it Marie?"

"You have a visitor." Marie's expression was disapproving.

"A visitor?" Anne looked surprised. So far she hadn't volunteered to do anything, and the few friends she had outside of the Maitlands were all in London.

"Yes, he is waiting in the bookroom."

"Thankyou." Anne stood up with a thoughtful frown on her forehead and went slowly to the bookroom. She had a minor enigma on her hands, she had a visitor whom she was neither expecting or acquainted with, this same visitor Marie disapproved of, and the only way to settle the matter was to meet the visitor.

"Miss Anne Marshall?" He stood quietly by the main table, and it did not take long for Anne to understand why Marie had disapproved of him, without a doubt the man was a jew.

"Yes."

"My name is Uncle Mac."

"Will you please take a seat Uncle Mac?" Anne herself sat down quietly in the chair she usually used when aiding with the accounts.

"Thankyou, I will." Uncle Mac sat down and stared restlessly around the room. The silence slowly dragged out into a painful and uncomfortable silence.

"You wished to speak to me?" Anne broke the silence when she realised that this strange man was not going to break it himself.

"Yes. Do you know a certain Lord Parker Dellingham?"

"I am acquainted with Lord Parker, yes."

"You like literature?"

"I certainly read a good deal, so I suppose that yes I do like literature."

"What is your knowledge of politics?"

"May I ask where these questions are headed?"

"Patience my lady, they do have a reason."

"I can understand and follow most political conversations. I am not a Lady, my father is a Baronet, not a Baron."

"I appologise Miss Marshall."

"I am Miss Anne, I am the second daughter."

"I do appologise once more. Would you please read this letter from my Lord Parker?" He held out the heavily sealed envelope in a diffident style. Anne took it and inspected it briefly, the seals were undisturbed and the handwriting was definitely that of Lord Parker. With a slight shrug Anne broke the seals and spread the pages out on her lap.

Miss Anne Marshall, Chatsworth, Kent.

Dear Anne,
My appologies for not delivering this letter in person but matters have arisen that prevent me from leaving the capital at this present moment in time. This letter should be delivered to you by a man who calls himself Uncle Mac, don't ask me his real name for no one seems to know it and he probably has a reason for wishing to conceal it. Infact, given the current state of the country, I am sure many of us wish to conceal our names and occupations from the general populace.

But a discussion on the subject of names and reasons for them is not why I'm writing this letter, I am actually writing it in hopes that I may trespass on your very important time and request you to come up to London, I have a matter of importance to discuss with you.

Isabelle has just informed me that you are not to even consider coming unless you stay with us, and I'm going to back her up. You are formally invited to spend your visit with us in Dellingham House. Here's hoping we see you.

Sincerely,
Parker Dellingham, 8th Earl of Dellingham.

"Do you know the contents of this letter?" Anne looked thoughtfully across at her visitor.

"I am certainly acquainted with the majority of the contents, but that is only because I was there at the time."

"When does Lord Parker expect me?"

"I think he was hoping you would return with me."

"I see." Anne frowned thoughtfully down at the letter as she refolded it and returned it to its envelope. Then with a decided nod of her head Anne stood up. "The next train leaves for London in two hours. We shall catch it, unless you drove down."

"No, I came down by train."

"Very well, now if you'll excuse me, I must pack." Anne left the room with a slightly perplexed frown on her face and went in search of Marie, she obviously couldn't tell Marie the whole truth, but she must tell Marie something before she left. She found Marie reclining on her usual sofa. "Oh Marie, I find I need to go to London."

"Why Anne? Oh my head ache's so, I'm sure I must have the fever again. You can't go Anne, I need you."

"I'm sorry Marie but I must, it is concerned with a bit of business I transacted earlier this year."

"That horrible man, I wish I'd never let him in."

"I however am relieved that you did."

"Well if you really must go." Marie's tone was pettish. "Well please send for the nurse, the boys are making my headache worse."

"Goodbye Marie, I should be back soon." Anne left the room with a soft sigh of relief, getting away from Marie had not been as difficult as she had anticipated. With a brief detour, in which she sent the nurse to relieve Marie of her sons, Anne went to her room and packed swiftly.

It was evening when Anne finally reached Dellingham House, in Queen Anne's Gate, and the sigh she gave as she climbed the stairs to knock was a mixture of relief and tiredness.

"Anne!" Anne had not even lifted her hand to knock when Lady Isabelle Dellingham came flying out of the house to greet her.

"Hello Isabelle."

"Come inside. Driver, take the cases around to the back. Davids, stop looking stuffy." The last was addressed to the butler who was frowning his disapproval. "One cannot have a butler always letting friends into the bookroom." Isabelle grabbed Anne's hand and dragged her into the house. "Parker is still out, so we are going to have a nice cosy evening meal in the parlour, and you are going to tell me all about life outside of Chatsworth." Anne permitted herself to be dragged and ordered around, it was interesting to be given direct orders instead of Marie's pointed complaints and emotional blackmail. A ten Anne retired for the night, Parker had still to arrive and Isabelle had been discussing with the cook how many more hours the roast would survive before it became completely inedible. It was at six the next morning when a maid came in to shake her by the shoulder.

"Miss Anne?"

"What is it?" Anne blinked and rubbed her eyes sleepily as she sat up.

"My Lord Parker wishes to speak to you before he goes out."

"What time is it?"

"It is just after six, miss."

"Thankyou." Anne slid out of the bed and dressed quickly, before descending to the library. Years of acquaintance with Lord Parker had told her that he had only summond her now because he was probably on the verge of departing the house again.

"Anne, I'm sorry to have got you up this early." Parker was sunk in a large armchair, and his appearance shocked Anne more than a little.

"It was no trouble. Have you been sleeping enough?"

"Not at all." His eyes gleamed laughingly. "I'm glad you could make it up, as I said I have a matter of importance to discuss with you." At this point Isabelle entered the room, a disapproving frown on her face and a large cup of coffee in her hands.

"Parker, you should be in bed."

"I haven't the time, and well you know it. Thanks for the coffee." Parker said no more until she had left the room, he just sat and quietly sipped his coffee. "Anne, do you remember three summers ago, when I introduced you to a man called Mavis?"

"I remember Mavis, he lived just south of London."

"Mavis is looking for people who can hold rational conversations on a wide variety of subjects."

"Would it be too impolitic if I were to ask why?"

"You can ask as much as you like, and whoever you like, but I doubt you would ever receive an answer."

"Well can I ask you as a friend? I will need to have some idea of what I am doing so I can give suitable reasons to Marie."

"Hmmm." Parker stared at the heavy, enamelled mug in silence for a moment. "You will be talking politics or literature, or perhaps another topic with a number of people, young and old, male or female, I know not which."

"In otherwords this is a test of the versatility of the people in question."

"Correct. Can we count you in?"

"I suppose so."

"Well discuss the matter with Isabelle today and see if you can come up with suitable reasons to silence Marie and still manage to get to London." Parker placed his cup carefully on a small table and stood up. "With luck I might see you for supper tonight, but I can guarantee nothing. It has been very nice of you to come up and humour me like that." Parker nodded and strode swiftly from the room leaving Anne to her thoughts.

"Anne, do you know anyway by which I could claim precedence over your sister Marie?" Isabelle sat down next to her friend.

"Not unless it concerned money, or something of social importance."

"So we need something that both gets money and is socially important. What can you do Anne?"

"Not much. I've dealt with the accounts at Chatsworth for years now, I spent a week as a secretary for a family friend. Other than that there is really nothing I can do that might not be done by anyone else."

"Secretary and can keep accounts for a fair sized estate." Isabelle stared blankly up at the ceiling for a minute, then nodded decidedly. "Would you mind actually working?"

"I'd prefer it actually."

"Good." With another decided nod Isabelle hurried over to a small writing table and produced a pen and paper. After chewing her pen for a minute, Isabelle scribbled something hurridly on the page, blotted it and struck the handbell. "Davids, see that this is delivered immediately to the Earl of Dellingham in his office."

"Very good m'Lady." Davids bowed then left the room.

"Now, let us have some tea until the reply comes." Isabelle returned to her seat and rang the bell. "Such a good placement of the bell-pull in this room." Isabelle sat down. "Tea, Davids." The butler bowed again and left, soon to reappear with the ingredients for making multiple cups of tea. "Thankyou Davids, that will be all." The butler bowed once more then left, and Isabelle attended to the teapot making light conversation as she did so.

"M'Lady." It was an two hours later when Davids appeared by her elbow, on the silver salver he held reposed a small fold of paper. Isabelle pounced on it, and dismissed Davids before opening it. As she read it she gave a brief crow of delight.

"Anne, you just became Parker's private secretary."

"Doesn't he already have one?" Anne looked stunned.

"Not at all, the tiresome man enlisted and Parker hasn't found a suitable replacement since. You can do all the work down in Kent except for regular visits to London. You start on a wage of five hundred pounds per annum to cover travel expenses and clothing."

"That should be more than sufficient." Anne sounded very dazed.

"Good! Parker will be home for lunch to discuss the matter. And no we are not being generous, his last secretary had a wage of nearly one thousand pounds per annum. So unless you suddenly decide that you're worth more than five hundred a year it is actually to our advantage. " With another nod Isabelle returned to light conversation and small talk, leaving Anne quite free to consider her very confused thoughts. The one small fact that Anne hung onto was that now she had an income, a regular excuse to escape from the Maitlands, and a very good excuse for not joining her father and sister in Bath.

September 23rd 1914-Banbridge, Ireland

Nelli frowned in bewilderment as she watched the tall form of her fianceé stride down the drive and out onto the road. This had to be nearly the first time he had called to visit and not even seen her, infact the only reason she knew he had visited was because she saw him before he entered the house, it had been somewhat to her surprise that she had not been summoned.

"Lady Helen." Brian had just vanished when the servant came into the room.

"Yes Bains?"

"My Lord your grandfather wishes to speak to you in the library."

"Thankyou Bains." Nelli pushed off the window seat and, pausing momentarily to straighten her gown, she descended the stairs to the library. Her grandfather was pacing slowly by the window at the far end.

"Come in Helen. Please be seated." He stopped his pacing and came to sit tiredly behind the desk. "My dear, there are many things I have done in my life, some have been good, others have been bad." He paused and shrugged in a helpless manner, the age he was showing made Nelli want to cry.

"Why was Brian here?" Nelli hurridly turned the topic in hopes of preventing herself from crying.

"Brian...." He died away and stared blankly out the window. "Nelli, what is your true opinion of Brian O'Niell?"

"Why do you ask?" Nelli was bewildered by the apparent lack of direction in this conversation.

"I just want to know what you think of Brian O'Niell. The truth, not what you think I want to hear."

"You mean just as a person, not as my fianceé?"

"Exactly. I want you to forget you've been engaged to him since you were a year old, I just want to know what you think of him."

"But..." Nelli stopped, what did she think of Brian O'Niell? In surprise Nelli realised she had never thought of Brian, he had been there all the time, and she had taken him for granted. "I don't know what I think of him."

"Then you'd better find out soon, Brian is leaving in three hours."

"Leaving? Where?"

"He enlisted." Lord Dominic O'Brien winced as he saw Nelli pale. "Or he's going to, the French Foreign Legion."

"Three hours?" Nelli closed her eyes and found her thoughts in a whirling maelstrom, a soft click told her that her grandfather had left the room. Brian had enlisted? Why had he done that? Unbidden the memories started to flow. There had been their formal introduction to each other, she had been ten years of age, but they had been playing together for years before that. Infact her engagement had not disturbed Nelli at all until she was eighteen, precisely one year earlier, and she had been introduced society. An engaged woman, no matter how wealthy she was, was never very popular at the balls unless she had been in society for about a year before she became engaged. But Nelli had entered society as an engaged woman and as a result spent most of her time dancing with Brian, not that Brian was a bad dancer, in fact he was actually a very good dancer. But did she love him? Nelli stood up and started to pace the room. Did Brian love her? Nelli shook her head. He lay motionlessly, blood from several wounds had stained his khaki uniform, and he was very pale against the dark mud.

"Nelli!" A hand slapped her roughly across the face, breaking the scene and returning her to the library. "Snap out of it Nelli!"

"Brian!" with a gasp she buried her face in his shirt front. "You were dead......lying there bleeding to death."

"Shhh Nelli." Brian pulled her close and held her while she settled down again.

"You have a very loud heart Brian."

"Well at least it's beating."

"I didn't say I disliked it, I merely said it was loud. I wonder why it sounds so loud?"

"I couldn't say, ask a doctor."

"No." Nelli shook her head definitely. "I will do nursing and find out that way if possible."

"Nursing Nelli?"

"You disapprove?" Nelli glanced worriedly up at him for a minute.

"Certainly not, I'm actually impressed."

"Have you really enlisted?"

"Yes." Brian paused, hesitating and just a bit unsure. "Will you marry me before I go Nelli?"

"Why should I?" Nelli glanced up at him again and with relief Brian recognised a teasing sparkle in the back of her eyes.

"Well I can offer you three separate reasons. First, you could marry me for my money and position. Second you might choose to marry me for the freedom you would gain, no more in need of a constant companion when alone with gentlemen. Or third you could marry me for love."

"I have sufficient wealth and position already, so wicket one falls. Freedom?" Nelli glanced briefly 'round the room. "Well considering my current situation, I reckon I'm pretty free already. Wicket two has fallen. Do people marry for love Brian?"

"I don't know, I'm afraid I've never done it before."

"Oh dear. Neither have I. Well I assume I must love you, because otherwise I can't marry you."

"Then you shall marry me for love."

"Very well Brian." Nelli lifted her face so Brian could seal the agreement. Two hours later Lady Helen O'Brien became Lady Helen O'Niell, married by special licence. Twenty minutes after that Lord Brian O'Niell caught the train for Dublin.

October 18th 1914-Cambridgeshire, England

It was a massive grey stone edifice which dominated the heavy autumn skyline. Rain splattered and trickled ceaselessly down the dark frontage, pounding relentlessly against the multitude of small windows. Inside the noise of the storm was minimal, except for the wind which howled mournfully down the numerous chimneys and whistled dolefully through the intricate succession of small, twisting and turning passageways which networked the multitude of rooms together. The grey parlour, situated on the second floor, was currently occupied by two ladies who were huddled around the small fire which was giving out considerably more smoke than warmth. The first lady was somewhere in the region of forty years of age, she was dressed in the sober garments of the Victorian era and in appearance and character she was about as colourless as a person could get, she was the mistress of the house. Her companion was still less than twenty, and on her lap lay some disregarded stitchery and a small ginger kitten, which was ruthlessly assaulting the end of the long braid which tormented it. She was the daughter of the house and took much of her appearance and character from her father, the Earl of Deraux.

"Must we wait much longer mama?" Margaret retrieved her braid from the kitten and flicked it to join the other braid that ran down her back.

"I know not Margaret. Attend to thy stitchery." Lady Amabel didn't even glance up as she replied to her daughter.

"But mama, 'tis not fair. T'was as much my fault as it was James', I was the one who suggested it to him."

"And James was foolish enough to listen. Attend to thy stitchery or my Lord will attend to thee next." The voice remained soft and tonally dull, but Margaret flushed and hastened from the room, her wide skirts rustling loudly over the floor. Margaret paused briefly outside the door, unsure of where she would go next, but the pause was only brief, for the hallways and passageways of Deraux Castle were cold enough to desuade any form of loitering. Margaret paced hastily down hallways, choosing her turns at random and ignoring everything around herself.

"Margaret!" The yell came from her eldest brother, a man who was as colourless as their mother and would be easily overlooked and forgotten about if it were not for his immense proportions.

"Gerard." She greeted him politely as he approached, but the greeting lacked warmth for there was more than thirteen years between them.

"Father wishes to speak to you in his study." Gerard then turned and continued down the passageway.

"But...." Margaret stopped as she realised that Gerard was totally ignoring her. Margaret then turned and walked swiftly for her father's study, which was situated on the ground floor. The Earl of Deraux was a massive man, his expression was harsh and uncompromising, and he positively dwarfed his second son who stood by the door.

"Take a seat, Lady Margaret. There is much to be discussed, not the least of which is thy brother's preposterous request."

"Father." Margaret sat down cautiously on a nearby stool after casting a look of enquiry at her brother James, who returned a blank look. "Surely James' business has nothing to do with me?"

"This current bit of foolishness most certainly does. He seeks to destroy our entire family and drag us into the mud."

"Don't be melodramatic father! I am considering nothing of the sort, I am merely requesting that I be permitted to go to university."

"Melodramtic!" The Earl of Deraux rose most of the way out of his chair. "Are you accusing me of being melodramatic? Let me tell thee that thy requests are insane! The son of the Earl of Deraux to go to a common university?"

"Well at least it is not as expensive as going to Cambridge or Oxford!"

"But there are MANY more places much more fitting than that place for the son of the Earl of Deraux to attend."

"But none of them run the courses I am interested in!"

"Father, you said you had another matter to discuss with me?" Margaret warily waded into the fight, which occured all too frequently between father and son.

"Oh, it's about your marriage. Viscount Caudly will come and propose to you next week, you will accept him."

"But father."

"Don't 'but father' me young lady. Caudly is a good match and possibly his connection to our family might persuade your brother to drop some of his hair-brained schemes. Next he'll probably enlist and go to war!"

"I never thought of that, what a topping good idea!"

"James?" Margaret stared fearfully at her brother who was smiling quietly to himself.

"I don't even have to ask permission to go." James' expression was positively angelic, while the Earl's expression challenged the storm cloud outside for darkness.

"Let this be a warning to thee James, if thou goest to that war thou shalt never cross this doorstep again!"

"Oh that's fine with me, I'll only visit the rest of the house. Besides which I'll probably die in the first couple of days so you can forget all about me. Trust me Margaret, the poition of younger son is hell, you don't inherit anything and neither are you permitted to do anything." And with that, James Claude Francis Abraham Aristide Clarence Ashington-Frankston turned and left the room. His father and sister were the last and only people to see him that day, and his father and sister never saw him again.

November 14th 1914-London, England

Lord Parker cursed roundly as he tripped and fell heavily onto the pavement. With care Parker climbed back to his feet and turned to inspect what had caused his tumble to the pavement. He found, much to his amazement, that he had literally stumbled over an old friend of his. Slowly pushing up from his reclined position on the damp pavement Mr Christopher Angel, attired in the most disreputable suit Parker had ever seen, eyed the person who had so rudely kicked him in the ribs with dislike.

"Parker, permit me to inform you that one, your feet are still too big, and two, that your shoes are damnably hard."

"Flash Harris today?" Parker eyed his friend with a pained look.

"Not at all, we were burgled while I was in quod and since James never knew what I did or didn't have, he never knew what went missing, and so replaced nothing."

"Are you trying to tell me that in the four months you have been free you have not even managed to replenish your wadrobe?"

"Of course not, I was in Northumberland. And the suits available there would have horrified your sensitive soul even more than this one does. Now buzz of to your nice comfortable club and leave me to do what I was doing before."

"What were you doing Chris?"

"Nothing, I was doing absolutely nothing and enjoying it." Chris straightened his attire and brushed a bit of mud off it.

"You were lying on the footpath on a damp, rainy, november afternoon doing nothing and enjoying it?"

"Correct."

"Come see me this evening and try to find something more appropriate." Parker then continued hastily along to his club and vanished inside. Leaving Chris to thoughtfully look around himself, and then deliberately lie back down again on the pavement again. As he had told Lord Parker, and as he would tell everyone who asked him, he was lying there doing nothing, at least nothing beyond observing the reactions his presence caused. It would appear that a man fully reclined on the pavement on a damp november afternoon did not come into the category of a common sight.

Continued in Next Section