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March 24th 1916-London, England

Lord Parker Dellingham stormed through the long passageways, with complete disregard for any possible traffic he crossed the road and headed for Queen Anne's Gate.

"Lord Parker." The voice stopped him when he was halfway home and he spun around in search of the voice and saw Anne sitting in a nearby taxi.

"Oh hello Anne." Parker approached and poked his head into the window to greet her.

"Why not enter?"

"If I'm welcome." Parker opened the door and entered.

"Of course you are." Anne moved over as he entered. "What's got you so annoyed?"

"Germany, what else?"

"Then who has so thoroughly annoyed you?"

"The same place. The damn fools have reopened their submarine warfare, anyone would think they wanted to force the United States out of their neutrality. They got the 'Sussex' off Dieppe, they killed a couple of U.S. passengers and a Spaniard. I expect that Spain will probably have something to say on the matter." Parker growled in annoyance, then abruptly paid off the Taxi and left it, completely ignoring the outraged howl from the driver.

"Parker!" Anne quickly skidded out of the taxi having paused briefly to appologise to the driver.

"I overpaid him." Parker waved a dismissive hand.

"Parker, that is not the point." Anne hurried along behind him. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" The latter was added as Anne only just stopped him from walking in front of a loaded omnibus.

"Of course not."

"Then stop trying." Anne grabbed him just before he walked in front of a taxi, Anne used her other hand to flag the taxi and she promptly bundled Parker into it. "Queen Anne's Gate please." Anne settled back for the brief ride.

"What on earth is up?" Isabelle came down the stairs as an annoyed Anne chased Parker up the stairs before turning to enter negotiations with the numerous people who had followed the taxi.

"He's just annoyed and tired, get him to bed." Anne brushed some hair out of her face and descended the steps. "Quiet!" Anne waved her hands for quiet and with a deep breath she turned to the first man. No one was more surprised than Anne when the crowd actually fell silent. It was a good half-hour before Anne wearily let herself back into the house.

"Poor Anne, cup of tea?"

"Please." Anne sank down into a chair and wearily rubbed her forehead before flexing her fingers stiffly. Isabelle winced as the knuckles cracked and the tendons visibly strained with the move.

"What happened which so irritated Parker?" Isabelle handed the fragile cup across, then only just managed to catch it as Anne's hands failed to retain their hold.

"Oh sorry." Anne hastily mopped up the mess with her handkerchief and with care she retrieved her cup from Isabelle and placed it on the small table next to her chair. "It seems the Germans are reopening their submarine warfare tactics, seems to have been armed merchant and transport ships, but they took out an unarmed merchant off Dieppe, seems it was carrying passengers.

"Ouch." Isabelle settled back with a wince. "Parker's upstairs and sleeping from what I last heard. Oakley, or whatever that elderly valet of his is called is keeping watch."

"That is probably for the best." Anne rubbed her forehead again, then frowned as she realised that she still had spilt tea on her fingers and had now wiped it on her face.

"You go see Alastair tomorrow." Isabelle had been watching the moves with concern.

"Nothing he can do." Anne smiled slightly and carefully wiped her fingers clean with stiff fingers. "They did all they could, it's now up to me to keep them going. Don't worry Isabelle, I'll be fine tomorrow, but right now I am more then a little tired. Parker seemed determined to walk in front of everything which moved."

"Lucky Anne." Isabelle smiled and finished off her tea. "Why don't you go to bed as well, Parker will have mountains of work for you tomorrow."

"Oh what bliss." Anne rolled her eyes. "I'll send Mary a delaying telegram and spend the winter here. After all I am meant to go to Bath the day after I return."

"Well you are most certainly welcome, an extra and new face is always welcome at Red Cross meetings." Isabelle yawned then waved a hand to order Anne to precede her out of the room.

Author's Note: Okay, adventures of Darcy's brother are a sort of edited version of a story John Buchan wrote back in 1890 something. The book's called 'The Half-hearted' and a good story in my opinion...though admittedly the story is set nearly a double decade, if not more than a double decade, before this one.

April 4th 1916-Camthorne Hospital, Kent

Elizabeth sat silently behind the desk her eyes looking blankly out the window, she had no love of being on telephone duty.

"Good Lord, it's de Duivel!" The sudden yell jerked Elizabeth's focus back from her daydreams and she frowned as she looked out at the Naval Lieutenant who was staring in astonishment at something that Elizabeth could not see.

"What are you drivelling about Dakota?" The Captain who stood next to him gave his subordinate officer a hard look.

"I just thought I saw someone who was familiar, but it wasn't him." The Lieutenant was looking slightly shame faced. "He wasn't tall enough."

"De Duivel?" There was audible doubt in the voice and the Captain was looking doubtfully after whatever had caught the Lieutenant's interest.

"Yes, South African Mounted Police, scared the lives out of the natives and got the name from Magreeta."

"Are you sure?" Wentworth gave Dakota an even more doubtful look. "I didn't think people got that large to begin with.

"Of course I'm sure of who HE was. Captain David Seymour was a name to treat with a lot of respect by the time he pulled out of the business. But I was wrong, he wasn't actually de Duivel, even though Nash was with him." Dakota scowled morosely at Wentworth. "And if you use your eyes you will see that they do indeed get that big."

"Alright, no need to explode. Tell more."

"Nothing really to tell, he was just one phenomenally good officer and member of the Mounted Police. He got given the name sometime during his first year after he frustrated two consecutive uprisings from Magreeta's Kraal, he just always seemed to turn up at the critical moment and that annoyed and frightened Magreeta so Magreeta named him de Duivel. He was actually a bit of a cold-blooded devil though, met him a few times, savagely intelligent and ruthless. Strange one too, rumour has it that he's aristocracy, but I never heard it backed up and he certainly never seemed to behave as the majority of the aristocracy do. Come on, the man became a policeman and guard for some really low scum. You should meet his valet if you want to meet a real character, Nash is old South African stock, half white, half god knows what, except for murder there is probably not a single crime he hasn't committed at least once. Specialized in salting mines and the inside of African Prisons, what he doesn't know about salting a mine isn't worth it. He got caught in 1911 and was attached to Seymour as a prisoner...also known as 'lose Seymour and your life is forfeit'. A very effective way of keeping a person out of trouble. He'd have been shot on sight had Seymour ever given the order. The deal in itself was two sided, Nash had a vested interest in keeping Seymour alive as he got protection from the local chiefs who held more awe for Seymour then they had wish to murder Nash, and Seymour as a result got one of the most dedicated guards and helps you could wish. Strange to say that Nash stayed on after Seymour left the force and after his term expired, and I think both occurred almost simultaneously."

"You seem to have met some interesting people Dakota, now move it, we need to check on Hawkins, then get out of here. We're already late and I don't want to miss that train...AGAIN!"

"Odd." Elizabeth blinked as the two men moved off her mind considering what she had heard...it made absolutely no sense.

"Lizzie." Sister Clare came hurrying up while she smothered a yawn.

"Yes?"

"Dr Alastair wants you in ward A."

"Do you know why?"

"No, he sent me to take over the telephone until you return."

"Enjoy it, such a talkative object, hasn't been silent since I sat down."

"The truth is not in you Lizzie." Sister Clare choked on a giggle.

"I know, and it is such a depressing realization." Elizabeth gave a grin then walked quickly away.

"There you are Elizabeth." Alastair didn't even look up from the patient he was leaning over as Elizabeth approached.

"Sister Clare said you wanted to see me."

"Correct, I have a check up to do and I want your help in distracting the poor blighter."

"A mess?"

"He was." Alastair finished with what he was doing and led the way into a small side room.

"Well if it ain't Miss Elizabeth. How do Miss?" It was Nash who was lounging on one of the uncomfortable and straight backed chairs.

"Quite well thank you, and yourself?"

"Never better, but HE," Nash jabbed an expressive thumb, "won't agree with me."

"Surprise, surprise. You know Sister Bennet Nash?"

"Yep, met her in Meryton last year. Only person who's ever been polite to me. Shucks, she even called me Mr. Nash." Nash gave a cheerful grin.

"I'm sure that was a mistake on her part." Alastair pulled up a second chair and produced a stethoscope. "Shirt off my friend. Elizabeth, keep him talking to you so his rude remarks don't distract me."

"Very good doctor." Elizabeth couldn't help a flinch as the shirt came off. Angry red and blue scars criss-crossed in a tangled web across the chest, a plain purple bruise like mark covered half of one side, a cobweb of white scar tissue made the finishing touch.

"Beautiful ain't it." Nash gave a slight grin at Elizabeth's expression. "Reminds me of the rainbow."

"Deep a breath as you can manage Nash." Alastair rolled his eyes at Elizabeth.

"That stethy of yours is mighty nippy doc, you wouldn't consider warming it a trifle would you?" Nash had screwed his face up.

"Yes I would." There was a moment of silence. "How's Darcy?"

"Well enough, merely reporting that your idea didn't work." Nash suddenly gave Elizabeth a hard look, and Elizabeth hurriedly removed her grimace of dislike.

"How long did he try for?"

"A week, by which time he was so bad tempered that I dosed him up."

"Bad tempered?" Elizabeth was surprised, from what she had seen of Darcy she would never have listed him as bad-tempered. Morose, yes, proud, yes, arrogant, yes, insensitive, yes, but not bad tempered.

"Yep, as crusty as they come, ripping the head off anyone who came near. Not that I blame him, most of us like more then two hours sleep in an entire week."

"Why did he run it that long if he had so little sleep?" Alastair looked up sharply.

"His theory was that at worst he'd fall asleep from sheer exhaustion." Nash gave a cheerful grin at Alastair's black expression.

"Damn the man and his insane theories. Hold still Nash." Alastair growled the last as once again Nash moved with sufficient vigour to lose the reading.

"Your stethy's mighty nippy and as numb as that is it does register the cold." Nash indicated his side. "I don't blame him. You leeches are the utter pits."

"Stop complaining. Elizabeth scribble 62 on a piece of paper will you." Alastair scowled down at his hands then shoved the stethoscope into a pocket. "Darcy here now?"

"Nope, he got recalled and caught the boat last week, was the Colonel who brought me in. Darcy's countin' on the change in atmosphere to fix things up."

"Well tell him when you next see him that he's totally insane...if you ever see him again." Alastair stood up. "Nothing more that can be done for you so you needn't come back again unless your use of that motor suddenly climbs."

"Thank you kindly Alastair. Miss Bennet if you will kindly hand me my shirt I will get dressed again." Nash pulled his shirt on while Alastair left the room. "Read that letter Miss Bennet, please, I as well as the Colonel can vouch for the contents."

"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth stared at Nash in amazement.

"The letter he gave you in Hunsford, please read it, it is the truth. Or read it again, your face clearly showed that you hadn't read it. Please Miss Bennet, he is the only man who dealt squarely with me, I would hate someone to misunderstand things."

"Mr. Nash that is not any of your business." Elizabeth was totally stunned, everything was making no sense today. First that Naval Officer had introduced David Seymour as a member of the South African Mounted Police, and surely there had not been two Seymours and two Nashs in South Africa. And now Nash seemed to think that he got a fair deal from Darcy! It was enough to make anyone's head spin.

"That's what Darcy told me as well. Oh well, I tried." Nash paused at the door. "I hope you survive this war, Miss Bennet." Nash closed the door behind himself, and by the time Elizabeth got to it and had it opened he was no longer in sight.

Elizabeth made her way slowly back to the office where Sister Clare was lounging by the telephone in a very bored looking manner.

"Really Sister, such a display hardly fitting for a VAD."

"Lizzie, one day I swear you will be sorry for that." Sister Clare righted the chair she had sent flying when she scrambled to her feet, as she made the good-naturedly grumbled threat.

"I wonder if I will?"

"Don't worry you will...either you will or you'll become a head sister, I don't know which."

"I don't either, now go back to bed, Alastair has finished with me."

"What was it, emergency brain surgery on someone missing the top of their head?"

"Not quite that bad, just checking up some civilian who had stopped a shotgun blast about a year or so ago."

"Sounds charming. See you at dinner Lizzie." Sister Clare let herself out of the room leaving Elizabeth to resume her blank staring out of the window with her ear listening for the telephone's ring. Her shift ended at four o'clock, giving her a two hour break before she'd be back on duty for the evening ambulance wave. Elizabeth walked swiftly to her cot as soon as her shift was over, after a moments hesitation she rifled around in her trunk for a minute before pulling out the thickish envelope. She had not seen it since she had thrown it into her trunk in disgust the morning after she had been given it by Mr. Darcy, and now she thought about it she wondered slightly why she had just thrown it into her trunk, she had been annoyed enough to throw it into the fire when she had returned to the hospital, and yet for some reason she had merely thrown it into her trunk.

The hand was perfect copperplate, the type that Ben had spent years trying to learn without success. Without waiting a second longer Elizabeth snapped the two seals on the back and opened the letter.

Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes, which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort which the formation, and perusal of this letter must occasion, should have been spared, had not my character required it to be written and read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.

The offences of such varied nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, which you last night laid to my charge must be confronted. The first mentioned was, that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Lieutenant Bingley from your sister, another, that I had, in defiance of various claims, in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity, and blasted the prospects of two young men and destroyed my only sister's happiness. Willfully and wantonly to have thrown off the companions of my youth, one the acknowledged favourite of my father, a young man who had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage, and who had been brought up to expect it exertion, would be a depravity, to which the separation of two young persons, whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear no comparison. The other a blood relative and engaged to my sister. There were other circumstances which you referred to as well. But from the severity of that blame which was last night so liberally bestowed, respecting the circumstances, I shall hope to be in future secured, when the following account of my actions and their motives has been read. If in the explanation of them which is due to myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which may be offensive to yours, I can only say that I am sorry. The necessity must be obeyed and farther apology would be absurd.

I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bing preferred your eldest sister, to any other young woman in the country. But it was not until the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. I had often seen him in love before, it is the lot of a commanding officer with young men below him in a foreign country. At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas's accidental information, that Bing's attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event, of which time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend's behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him before. Your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful and as engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evenings scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment. If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been at error. Your superior knowledge of your sister makes the latter much more probable. If it be so, and if I have been led astray by such an error and inflict such pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. But nevertheless I will assert that the general serenity and even temperedness of your sister would have caused an even more acute observer than I to mistake her feelings. On top of this there was the recent loss in your family, a loss which you yourself confirmed upset the stability of your conditions, a situation which has caused more then one young lady to accept the first man who had suitable means who showed interest. I had no intention of paining either person more then necessary, and had my understanding been correct it was Lieutenant Bingley who suffered the most from the situation. Lieutenant Bingley is one of the best officers I have ever met when it came to the platoon ranks, he is a man who works best in the more personal contact situation, he cannot divorce himself from his surroundings. Such an officer I could not see ruined by an imprudent marriage for an imprudent marriage would most certainly ruin him and good officers are one thing you never waste.

Elizabeth seethed for a moment, how dare he so insult Jane. And who was he to make judgements as to the abilities of Bingley as an officer, by the way he was writing one would assume he was the company officer or something. Elizabeth considered throwing the letter in the fire for a moment, then with a sigh she turned back to it, she had promised herself she would read it the whole way through, and she wasn't going to stop now.

Having re-read that I observe that it looks very much like an insult to your sister, so I think I had better clarify the matter further. When in France most of the time is spent in a male only society, unless you are in hospital or have gone deliberately looking for non-male society when you are back from the front. The result of this is that a very high number of the men will fall madly in love with the first woman they meet and believe that she is all things sweet and good. This is a reaction against what is seen in France, they go for something which will make them forget what they have seen, they go for stability, something they feel to be stable and reliable. To a degree this is also a desire to have someone 'carry-on' the family line. I appologise if such frankness offends you, but I can think of no better way to word the matter without clouding the issue. In this situation, Lieutenant Charles Bingley is no different than any other man, I have seen him declaring himself wildly in love no fewer then sixteen times since April of 1915. Primarily his love has been the local bartender's daughter or aide of where ever we are stationed, but a few times he has selected other girls. To be frank, separating him from them is a tiresome business. Please do not throw this into the fire, primary reason for separation is because those are our orders, and on top of that the girls usually 'loved' most of the other officers as well as Bing. Bing invariably forgot about them the minute he returned to the front, and I doubt you would wish your sister to be married to a man who forgot she even existed as soon as he had left England. Or to be more pointed about the matter, though I had my doubts about the affection your sister held for Lieutenant Bingley, I had even more doubt in Bing's ability to remember her existence as soon as he left England and though her marrying him would possibly supply your family with financial stability, I certainly have believed that it was not in you to wish your sister into such a situation.

Elizabeth muttered darkly to herself, then wrinkled her brow as she considered a few points before flushing slightly. He might well appologise for writing such things. Though she had to agree with him on the latter points, she would certainly not wish Jane into such a situation as he described, but that didn't make it his business to interfere. Elizabeth growled then turned her attention back to the letter, at this rate it would be dinner time before she managed to finish it.

Concerning George Wickham, and what he has accused me of I am unaware and I am not particularly interested in knowing. Though at a guess I will say they are entirely accurate except for a few minor but critical points. Admittedly that does seem odd, but it is the case, I cannot see someone like Mr. Wickham fabricating a story which cannot be at least born out in part. It would not carry at all with who he is, what he does, why he does it, and the success he has had if he did tell stories which he could not back up sufficiently to prove true to any jury.

Mr. Arthur Wickham was my father's steward until his death in 1908, he served in the capacity of steward for some fifteen years to my father and a more trustworthy steward is a rare find indeed. Mr. Wickham had a wife, the former Rosanne Sharp, and a son born in 1889. The son was George Arthur Wickham and an undeniable favourite of my father, he had a freedom of manner and cheerfulness of spirit which in our world was not particularly common unless specifically developed and suffice to say but my brother and I never cared to develop the style. George Arthur Wickham was five years old when his family became permanent residents on our home estate, I was just turned seven and my brother was six. From the beginning it was made clear that master George Arthur Wickham was to be treated as a Darcy, he was essentially an adopted brother. George Arthur had the same tutor as we had, he attended the same preparatory school, he also attended the same public school as we did, and later he attended Oxford with me. All of this at the expense of my father since Mrs. Wickham did not have a strong sense of economy.

To say that my brother and I held no grudges against George Arthur would be a lie, for we had many, and not the least of which was the freedom he had when it came to our father. George Arthur grew up with all the possible advantages that could be had, he had everything my brother and I had, but he did not have the same traditional stiffness that came with being a Darcy. He was treated as a Darcy but he was not as restricted, as a Darcy it is frowned upon if you descend to talk to the servants, as George Arthur Wickham he was given the same respect, but it was entirely permissible for him to gossip with the gardener and stablehands if he felt like it and none would disapprove. As a favourite of our father, he actually had more access to our father then we did, to say the least this caused us to duck George Arthur more then once while fishing, we also kept a distance from him. This distance was not solely because he was our father's favourite, by the time I was thirteen neither I nor my brother could have cared less if he was best friends with the King of England, there was also little we had in common. George was outgoing and cheerful, he enjoyed tennis, golf and pretty much any sociable game going, my brother and I on the other hand were introverted and fairly cold-blooded when it comes to other people, we preferred Cricket, Sailing and Fencing, sports which did not necessitate a sociable disposition and minimised contact with others. The description of ourselves I will admit does not sound good, but it is the truth. We were independent in the true sense of the word, we cared for none and expected none to care for us. This is not to say that we were not well looked after at home, in fact that is probably the only reason that we have any social skills to speak of at all, but having topped six foot by the time you are twelve you tend to be considered a bit of a freak show by the locals, and to say the least when you are considered a freak by the locals it does not help you develop a kindly and outgoing attitude. But back to George Arthur as this letter was not to go into an in-depth self analysis, this as to set the records straight to the best of my ability.

Elizabeth scrunched up her nose and frowned at the page, this was most bewildering, so far Darcy had merely backed up Wickham's story, and to be honest she had expected something more along the lines of some equivalent story which fired all the blame back at Wickham. The result of this, was that she now had not the faintest idea about what she thought.

By the time we finished sixth form George Arthur was as aristocratic as you care, he could shrug in and out of his characters like we shrug in and out of a coat. If it suited him he would appear to be one of the upper middle class, or he would be of the higher aristocracy. With the end of public school there came a massive change in general circumstances. My brother, a premature birth, nearly died as a result of a case of double pneumonia, which he caught while fishing in a thunderstorm (Yes we did it frequently as it was the only weather in which we were not expected to take George Arthur with us), and when he recovered he was basically informed that he would be dead within a year unless he kept out of cities entirely. So my brother was offered farming our Australian properties or a position of commissioned officer in the army. My brother chose the position of commissioned officer, a career he had always wanted to take. With this change my brother automatically would not come with me to Oxford, so I went to Oxford and a year later George also came to Oxford. With the loss of my brother to the army my relations with George Wickham became somewhat better, when at a university you tend to keep a firm grip on whatever connects you to the familiar. University passed as it usually passes, I spent most of my evenings around midnight kicking drunk undergraduates out of our dormitory or escorting them back to their residences, the rest of the time was spent in classes and lectures. During my last year at Oxford several things occurred, the first was the death of my father, the second was the departure of my brother for India, the third was the destabilization of the Darcy finances, and the fourth was the death of George Arthur Wickham, son of Arthur and Rosanne Wickham, he died of Typhoid Fever and suspected kidney failure from certain complications which arose while he was sick. George Arthur was buried by request of my father in the family plot at Pemberley, the request was part of the will which stated that he was to be buried there whenever he died. I highly doubt that my father expected George Arthur to follow so soon afterwards.

Of the George Wickham we both met in Meryton I have little to say, but though he might well be George Arthur's identical twin brother he is not George Arthur Wickham, son of Arthur and Rosanne Wickham. Exactly who he is, and what he is doing is currently a question the War Office is looking into, I advise you to leave the matter at that.

Elizabeth frankly gaped at the page, she certainly did not believe her eyes, he had to be lying.

Lieutenant Peter Fitzwilliam however is a totally different matter, and as before, I do not know what you have heard on this subject and I am not particularly interested. Though I make the assumption that your source was George Wickham of Meryton and that your information is generally accurate with the exception of a few critical details. Though I will here make an interested note that if it was him from whom you received your information, I am more then a little curious as to why he told you about that matter, I can see no way by which the relation of it might help him.

Lieutenant Peter Fitzwilliam, son of Commodore Howard Fitzwilliam, son of Admiral Sir Peter 'Peperu' Fitzwilliam, was by birth my cousin twice removed, he is also by that Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam's cousin twice removed as well, but that is a useless piece of trivia. As was the way things happened the entire Darcy-Fitzwilliam family would gather at Pemberley on a twice yearly basis. There was always a gathering a Christmas, but the other gathering was variable, though it usually occurred in the spring. As a result of these gatherings I would be lying if I were to claim I did not know Lieutenant Peter Fitzwilliam very well. He was in fact a fairly close friend, though admittedly he was more of George Arthur's friend then mine or my brother's.

As you are probably aware, and no this is not a distraction even though it may seem unconnected, I went to South Africa in 1909. The reason for my trip was a desperate bid to try and stabilize our family finances, a bid that was successful but did not come without its expenses. For the space of three months I was in South Africa analysing the problem, then I suddenly received a communication from Jermyn Fitzwilliam (Colonel Fitzwilliam's elder brother), who was managing the English Estates. The basis of the communication was the information that my brother had defected from the army in India. Now this I will admit puzzled me at the time, for after the Darcy family the next most important thing to him was country. My brother would sooner die then betray the country and this I can say with confidence. On an impulse I caught the boat to India to look into the matter, I went to satisfy myself on the situation, there was a remarkable lack of information to be got about his departure. Besides which I wished to see if I could find where he had gone, after all I was more then willing to have some help when it came to keeping the Estate working while things were stabilized. I arrived in India and immediately headed North to where my brother had been stationed. This was some six months after I received news of his supposed defection, and that news had arrived three months after the actual event, and yet native riots which had begun about the day he vanished were still happening, nine months later. I found my brother's commanding officer and asked a few questions, but all I met was a blank wall of stubborn non-information. In annoyance I travelled some twenty to thirty miles west to where Captain Edward Fitzwilliam was stationed. From Ned I got much of the information I wanted, apparently my brother had been making himself unpopular for several months before his disappearance with claims of a native uprising and an attack through a certain chain of mountains. Now the high command of that sector knew as well as anyone that only a skilled mountaineer could get through those mountains, no attack would come that way, or even could come that way. They wrote it off as scare mongering and ran my brother through the charges tribunal as a warning. But this apparently had little or no effect on my brother, in fact one might almost say it had the reverse effect for after the incident his appeals became even more desperate and frequent. On the day he vanished my brother was supposed to face the charges tribunal again, this information is readily available if you care to look in the right places. The rest of this story is to be found with a leader of the natives that live in that chain of mountains my brother was so worried about. The Leader, a man with a name I cannot spell, was crazy when I met him, he had been on the run for nine months and he was mentally very unstable, unfortunately he had the evidence to back up his story.

In January of 1909 (or so I assume, he gave a native dating system which made little sense, but the lunar cycles seem to line up) a man had been caught, this tribe had been preparing, with some foreign aid, to invade Northern India for some six years now. The man was taken prisoner because he was found too close to their pass through the mountains, the man was released again some five hours later, why he was released is unclear but he was certainly released. I now have to go back to Captain Fitzwilliam who was running the third border fort at the time. Ned says that at six one morning when he was whiling away some time trying out his mountain climbing skills he was stunned by the appearance of my brother at the top of the cliff. My brother apparently came down the slope in a rush and begged Ned to get through to the other garrisons because an invasion was coming through this region, my brother specified an unexplored region. Ned was reluctant just to go and call up the garrisons for the simple reason that he didn't wish to leave my brother behind. But my brother claimed weariness and said he would get some sleep. Finally Ned agreed and headed as fast as he could for the nearest telegraph station some three miles off leaving my brother to watch his equipment. This was the last time my brother was seen alive. The invasion from the north, if you believe the Leader, was delayed by a good hour due to the presence of a man in their pass, that one hour let the frontier awaken and thwarted the invasion. The Leader claimed to have seen the man who defeated their dreams of glory, I quite calmly didn't believe him as I had my doubts about his credibility, so he responded by pulling out a signet ring from among his attire. The ring itself was bent and much damaged but there was only one man who would have a ring like that, and he would have to be dead for him to let it be removed, and this man claimed to have removed it from the corpse. It was my brother's ring that that crazy man showed me and it was a sight I would never have seen if the high command had not decided he was scare mongering as opposed to telling the truth. Once I had the truth I returned to South Africa, our financial situation was still unstable, and not only did I have no wish to remain in India, but I lacked the funds to return to England. I landed in Cape Town with very little money, the clothes I had on my back, and a bitter dislike for the British army. As this situation was unsatisfactory I immediately joined the South African Mounted Police, not a very elegant job, nor, as I was later to find, a very high paying job. The one thing that was high on the other hand was risk. For the next two years and a half I became about as familiar with the geography of South Africa and the surrounds that I could have gone nearly anywhere. It was during this period that I became first acquainted with Nash, on the occasion of our first meeting he was snuffing candles in a church with a revolver, the second time we met was in a court, he was up for charges concerning the salting of diamond and gold mines (basically he'd pull a nice rock out of his pocket at the table and try and persuade the rich man that he could buy it and the land it came from for such and so a sum, prices range from 1,000 pounds through to 1,000,000 pounds (Nash also would offer shares in the properties and that ran at much lower prices anything from 1 pound upward). Having persuaded him to take a look you took him out to the supposed site where some friend had been scattering diamond off-cuts from other mines, if the buyer was suitable he'd hand over the cash and it wouldn't be a month or more before he's discover he's been taken for a fool. By which time Nash and his accomplices would have gone underground.) as a result of this meeting he was assigned to me. This meant that if he were to escape from my control his life was automatically forfeit. With a single word I could make it so Nash was shot on sight. It was in his personal interests to keep close to me and not annoy me and as a result I gained what was probably one of the best personal servants and bodyguards in South Africa, however there were certain advantages for him in this deal, namely that most of the local chiefs decided to take him of their death lists. This method of making prisoners was because South African gaols are not particularly safe or solid places, in fact anyone with a bit of determination could get out without much difficulty (you could bribe your way out with a bit tobacco), this way kept many criminals out of a lot of trouble. When I finally retired from the mounted police I was starting to make a reasonable success in the prospecting racket (admittedly the prospecting racket was even more riskier than the mounted police, but the rewards were much greater). Nash's term of sentence was over, but we had become accustomed to each other so he remained with me, for which I more then once had a lot of reason to be thankful for. Except for the bushmen themselves I doubt there was a better stalker in South Africa and he was invaluable when it came to valuing whether a property was salted or not.

Elizabeth scratched her head and cast a nervous glance at the clock, it looked like she would have time, but frankly she was starting to wonder whether Mr. Darcy wasn't a raving lunatic, maybe an escapee from a shell shock hospital. As if someone of his temperament and habits when it came to dressing would do anything nearly so degrading as associating with criminals.

While prospecting I made the acquaintance of a Russian Prince, Mikhael Golgerov by name, he was actually a General and it didn't take me long to find out that he was the very General who was ordered through the Gantor Pass in India. This was the man who lead the troops who were delayed by a single man for nearly an hour and which spelt the difference between the victory and defeat of our forces in India. Mikhael at the time I met him was running for his life, literally. He had been prospecting in the German South-West when he had stumbled across a bit of information which he really shouldn't have found (he had been discredited after the affair of Gantor Pass and was only re-instated to his position in the Russian Military at the beginning of this war. No one can claim he is not brilliant when it comes to battlefield strategy.), and when the men involved found out what he had found out they decided that he had lived long enough and set about terminating his existence. Hence at midnight one night I was woken by a decidedly heavy object tripping over my feet, a brief investigation revealed to me that it was a man in the later stages of dehydration and decidedly unfed. A bit of food and a good drink does a miracle to a hungry man and before long I had the whole story out of him. As soon as I heard his story I packed up my camp and legged it for Magreeta's Kraal. Magreeta at that stage had decided that I would be someone to encourage to have hang around. Unfortunately some of his men thought otherwise, but that is another story. Having ensured that Mikhael would be looked after and protected until my return I headed out again to inspect the matter of Mikhael's story, this was still early in my prospecting days and most people still connected me with the Mounted Police which made some things easier and other things a lot harder. This was the first time I met Georg, Graf von Nickel. The story in itself is not much, it was merely a plot for occupying the British Territory in Africa, the plan was simple, the execution would have been simple, except it was required that no one knew about it. While interfering with this matter I soon discovered that there were two faces to this type of business, there was the visible face and the invisible face. Or the group which appeared to pull the strings and make the decisions, and the group which actually pulled the strings and made the decisions. Graf Georg von Nickel was the number one man in the second group, the group which actually pulled the strings. Had my cousin (Colonel Fitzwilliam's elder brother Jermyn) not made a timely interference into my affairs Nickel would already be dead, and I must admit, I wish he was. My reason for that wish will, I hope, come clear in what follows. Someone might have a dislike for me, and that I do not mind or care about, but I do object when they drag other people who have done nothing but been related to me into it and make them pay for what they know, or think, I have done.

By March of 1914 I had managed to stabilize and somewhat improve our financial situation, the money lost in a crashed mine had been recouped and was invested in other ways and a few other investments were made. And with this stabilization I started preparing to come home, it had been four to five years since I had been in England, my sister had been 12 at the time. It was also in March when I received a letter from Lieutenant Peter Fitzwilliam asking whether he could make his addresses to my sister Georgiana. I had no problems with this, in fact I was quite happy with the idea, so I sent back a positive response and somewhat accelerated my departure plans. I was back in London by early June and within two days of my arrival at Pemberley I wished I had never come. There is one man in the world you need only see once in your life and yet remember his face forever, that is the face of the man who has tried to murder you. So it was with Graf von Nickel. The man who had written the letter was Lieutenant Peter Fitzwilliam, but the man who was at Pemberley when I arrived was not Lieutenant Peter Fitzwilliam, though I would defy anyone to say he was not Lieutenant Peter Fitzwilliam, but I knew, from the first moment I saw him that this was not Lieutenant Peter Fitzwilliam whom I had grown up with, whom had been the friend of George Arthur, whom was the son of Commodore Howard Fitzwilliam, he was Graf von Nickel hiding behind a facade, playing to perfection the part of someone else. I automatically forced that the engagement was broken off, there was no way I was going to let that man marry my sister. In hindsight I must admit that it was the biggest error I could possibly have made. He left quietly enough and I assumed that the matter was over. Not so. Within a week my sister was abducted, this was his big error. My error was the fact that I alerted him to the fact that I knew he was not who he was claiming to be. His error was the fact that he made the matter personal. Had he just left, then that would probably have been the end of the affair, but he miscalculated and assumed I would be coming after him, so he took Georgiana so he could cover himself. He went further and posed as a friend of mine when he abducted her, a certain Mr. Halby, Halby himself had actually died some months before I returned from Africa. Nickel actually credited me with a greater understanding of his way of life and 'business' then I actually had, quite a compliment in itself, but all it lead to was that I indeed was made acquainted with his way of life and 'business'. As soon as Georgiana was taken the matter became personal, no longer was this an affair which would be permitted to drift quietly away, one of us would die before it was over. Simultaneously the police became interested in me for the first time, as a criminal that is, so not only did I have a sister who had been abducted to find, but I also had the police chasing me on the matter of a far from minor forgery. This charge made it impossible for me to seek the aide of the police, and as I had no proof to back me up, and it is highly unlikely that the police would take Nash as a witness, neither could I clear my name so I could seek aide. In fact if you really disliked me all you need do is point the police in my direction and you could gather in a comfortable reward, see the nice sight of me being hung, and read all about the brains and bravery of the British police for the next month.

Elizabeth scrunched up her nose even further, and calmly ignored the dinner bell which was clanging mournfully, this was bewildering to say the least. Elizabeth then stopped dead and frowned, there was something suspicious about this, no one would so willingly make it possible for them to die. Elizabeth re-read it again and frowned, why on earth had they not tracked Darcy before, surely he couldn't be that difficult to catch, he was a Conscientious Objector and his profile was certainly not small, which was the case for anyone who had more then five pennies to make up their worldly worth, there had to be some hook in the matter.

Over the next two weeks I lead a life which belonged between the covers of a shilling shocker, Nash and I spent that fortnight careering the length and breadth of England, we broke nearly every petty law there was, we got shot at, we got knifed, we were captured and escaped a couple of times, we had the police chasing us over the hills of the borders, and as a grand finale I blew myself up with lentonite (an incident you should be aware of since it occurred at 'Owl Close' Meryton). All these antics however were not wasted we managed to get Georgiana back, or most of her back. Graf von Nickel had exacted his price on her minutes before we arrived, he clubbed in the back of her head. Nickel had known he could not get safely away unless he distracted us for a few hours if not a day or so, so he made the best use of his resources and gave himself a good day to ensure his escape. Your nursing has probably given you a reasonable knowledge of the structure of the human head, suffice to say he struck her on the Occipital Lobes. It was a medium to severe contusion and we were very fortunate to save her at all. It took eight hours of surgery and an eighteen-hour wait for her to regain consciousness for us to know whether she would live or die. My sister is alive, but she is also blind, she demands her privacy and outside of family members and now yourself, no one knows that she does not see. This includes the Bingleys among the unknowing ones, I would prefer it if this information does not go beyond yourself, or at very most your elder sister. Oh, also the doctor who dealt with her case knows of this, Dr Jermyn Alastair. Having satisfied myself that Georgiana would survive I left again and continued my pursuit of Graf von Nickel. We managed to interfere with many of his plans and plots, then the war intervened. As undercover 'cloak-and-dagger' affairs go, I am a singularly inappropriate person, so I pulled out of the matter and enlisted in the New Army, of the affair of Graf von Nickel I heard little more. In November of 1914 they found the body of Lieutenant Peter Fitzwilliam in a river in north England, identification was positive, there could be no doubts of who he was, but though he was found in the river the police surgeon is of the opinion that Peter had been dead for more then six months and that he had not been in the water for more then a few days before he was found. But as seems to be the case, the police invariably know better then their surgeons and so you can be totally assured of my demise if you indicate me to the police, for as you observe I am wanted for murder as well as for forgery, though the murder charge still remains in the polite inquiries zone. The doctor assumed that Peter was kept in 'cold-storage' between the death and his arrival in the river, but for obvious reasons this is merely assumption and unproved. After the discovery of Peter I heard no more on the matter, except for a single letter from Pemberley informing me that Nash had had an 'accident' in January of 1915. That was a failed attempt to capture Nickel, and to escape he had to once more leave his mark, this time he left it with a shotgun blast which disabled Nash. Dr Alastair can back up this last as I was out of the country at the time of the incident and he was called in by the Pemberley Staff and my sister to deal with him. Nothing more do I know of the situation, though I expect he will appear again, he is that type of man and he has sworn to kill me. I had actually assumed when he was imprisoned back in August of '14 that he was executed, I have since learnt much to my annoyance that such is not the truth. I assumed it was someone else who originally shot Nash, it was Nash himself who put me straight on the matter, I have since seen Nickel for myself and there is no question of his continued existence.

This is a faithful account of all the events which have past, and though your dislike of me may cause you to disbelieve what I say, I do not believe it to also prejudice you in regards to Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam who knows some of what is accounted above and that which he does know has not come from me. Now all that remains is for me to hand this over to you and so:
I have said it before and I will write it this time, you are a brave woman Miss Bennet, your brother would indeed be proud of you. And now may God bless you and keep you safe through this war .

D. Fitzwilliam Darcy
Lieutenant-Colonel

Elizabeth stared sightlessly at the sheets of paper for a moment then with a snort of disbelief she went back to the beginning. All lies, all lies, it had to be, certainly when one considered that he had the gall to sign himself as a Lieutenant-Colonel, they had to be lies. He had to be lying, such could not possibly be the truth. But he mentioned too many sources of information, there was something about it, and Elizabeth knew as she finished reading it for the third time that it had to be the truth, surely he could not tell such a lie about his sister. But where did that leave her? And who in HELL was George Wickham? Then Elizabeth froze, there was one definite way she could find out the truth of that matter. Elizabeth hastily buried the letter back into her trunk and locked it again before descending the stairs again, she found Dr Alastair sitting in his cramped office with his feet resting on the desk.

"Afternoon Sister Bennet. How can I help you?"

"You assume a lot in assuming that you can help me." Elizabeth plunked down in the seat she was indicated to take, it was not a ladylike move, but she was too tired and bewildered to be ladylike.

"I make the assumption because I can think of no other reason why you might have come to my office." Alastair gave a slight smile and produced from somewhere near his desk two large mugs of coffee as if by magic and offered one to Elizabeth.

"True, do you remember much of July of 1914?" Elizabeth took one of the mugs and took a sip, she was going to need the coffee to last the night, but she really wished it didn't taste so bitter. But then, neither had she tasted any coffee other than Alastair's and he referred to his as a specifically developed brew to keep one awake. And Elizabeth had to agree, sleep was near impossible after you drank it, the after taste could last for hours.

"You're asking after Georgiana Darcy aren't you?" Alastair tilted his head, then smiled slightly as Elizabeth coloured.

"How do you know?" Elizabeth decided that it wasn't worthwhile trying to be discreet, she wanted answers and Alastair was remarkably good at beating around the bush.

"Nash, the man has his head screwed on straight even if his lungs are a mess."

"What happened to him?"

"He got shot with a shotgun just over a year ago, January in 1915 was when I got called up to Pemberley to try and save him. He's given me the reputation of a miracle worker."

"Oh. What happened to Georgiana Darcy?" Elizabeth decided to press on with the matter. Alastair had at least confirmed the month and year of Nash's accident anyway so it seemed that Darcy might possibly not be guilty of that.

"Now that's a story and a half...here, have some more coffee."

"Why?" Elizabeth held out her mug automatically.

"Why coffee? Because you'll need it. Why it's a story and a half...well settle back and you can judge for yourself." Alastair filled up her mug. "But remember not a syllable of this is to ever pass your lips." Alastair met Elizabeth's puzzled look blandly. "Highly classified information is what it is, you're about to learn why the police have never landed him for the forgery charge and haven't been very energetic about the murder charge." Alastair settled back with his feet up on the desk and proceeded to give Elizabeth a reasonably detailed account which filled in many gaps Darcy had left in his letter...in particular the gap which was left as to what Nickel's business was, and why the Police were fairly relaxed about nailing Darcy.

"How do you know this?" Elizabeth paused just before she left the room. "Did he tell you?"

"Not voluntarily." Alastair was frowning at his coffee mug. "But I can vouch for the truth of it, for no delirious person ever lied intentionally and I've had a few talks with a few of the people involved and that has backed it all up."

"Thank you for telling me." Elizabeth quickly left the room and hurried to her dormitory. To say she was ashamed of herself would have been an understatement. Ben had warned her about her rash decision making before, and here she had been hating the man whom her brother had been able to bestow nothing but the highest praise on and she had been hating him for months, she had been hating the man her brother had willingly given his life to save. As Lieutenant Bingley had said, Folin had not been honour-bound to go and retrieve the 'Major' but nevertheless he had.

April 25th 1916 - Scapa Flow, North Scotland

"Sir!" The yell was sudden and it was loud, and as a result Fordingham lost his precarious grip on the stern rail and crashed down into the dark water below.

"MAN OVER BOARD!" The yell rang out.

"Oh shut up and throw me a rope." Fordingham was kicking vigorously in the cold water.

"Yes sir." The rope came flying down and Fordingham dove just before it hit him on the head. Fordingham surfaced and grabbed the rope, quickly hauling himself up until he scrambled over the rail.

"The wireless officer reports an incoming message sir." Dakota had his teeth clamped firmly over his bottom lip in an effort not to laugh at his damp superior.

"Does he? Tell him I'll be there in five minutes." Fordingham squelched damply across to the companion way and scrambled down the ladder, leaving Dakota to turn slowly back to the bridge. Dakota as not looking forward to telling the wireless officer that Captain Fordingham would not be arriving for five minutes.

Dakota took precisely three minutes to reach the bridge, and Fordingham came skidding up behind him in a fresh uniform as he opened the door.

"Good evening sir."

"Be quiet Dakota." Fordingham pushed quickly into the bridge and across to where the wireless officer was frowning at his note pad. "Something up?"

"Lowestoft and Yarmouth were bombed earlier today. Jellicoe has ordered the fifth battle squadron down to augment Beatty in Rosyth."

"Why tell me? We're not the fifth battle squadron."

"The instructions were that all captains were to be notified of the change."

"Thank you very much. Send the acknowledgement that it was received if you feel that to be appropriate."

"Yes sir."

"Dakota." Fordingham turned on his heel as the wireless officer bent over his transmitter.

"Yes sir."

"We have work to do."

"Very good sir." Dakota trailed Fordingham out of the bridge, well aware that he would now pay for Fordingham's swim.

May 20th 1916 - Base Hospital 18, France

"Yes I know she is currently on shift, I'm asking whether she could possibly be given leave for the rest of the day." Brian ran his hand through his hair in frustration as once again the nursing sister returned the same answer that Sister O'Niell was currently on shift.

"We have certain regulations sir."

"To hell with your regulations, I'm going back to the front tomorrow and I want to know if I can see my wife for the rest of today. I cannot tell you the reason because it is both private and extremely personal."

"I'm sorry sir, but we can only give short notice leave for commiseration reasons." The sister started to close the door again, but Brian wedged a foot into the gap.

"Look, please, her Grandfather died just over a week ago, it is the only family she had left."

"Brian...where'd you come from?" Nelli's familiar voice had Brian spinning around.

"Nelli! We got back last week but with certain internal problems with the platoon I was unable to get away until now." Brian waved an annoyed hand.

"Sarah, it's alright." Brian got a brief glimpse of an intimidating matron who appeared briefly behind the nursing sister.

"Yes Sister." Sarah gave a brief semi-curtsey and withdrew.

"Nelli, you have until tomorrow evening, don't be late." The Matron stared at Nelli for a second then turned and left.

"Yes Sister." Nelli grabbed Brian's hand immediately and led the way back to her tent. "Sorry about that Brian, but we've been somewhat swamped of late with overflow from Verdun."

"Must be fun." Brian stood silently outside the small tent as Nelli scrambled some effects together.

"Not really, it's just the minor injuries we get sent." Nelli came out of the tent, then abruptly dropped the small bag she was carrying and dove into Brian's arms with a choked sob.

"Hey up Nelli." Brian gave her a brief hug and glanced warily over her shoulder.

"Take me away from here Brian...please!"

"We're leaving immediately." Brian grabbed her bag and swung it up onto his shoulder and lead the way out of the yard. "What's got you so upset?" Brian looked down at her in concern as he handed across a large handkerchief.

"Grandfather." Nelli choked over the words.

"Ahh." Brian responded with a profound noise and scratched his head. "As bad as it may sound, Nelli, I think he was actually glad to go."

"Yes...but to go that way?" Nelli looked very doubtful.

"Died for his people. Definitely your grandfather's style. I wonder whether he was really involved in the uprising?"

"He wasn't!" It was a violent and tear-choked declaration.

"Hey!" Brian lifted his hands defensively. "No need to eat me."

"Why does everyone seem to think he did it? Now they'll probably come after me...obviously, I'm his granddaughter, I was obviously involved."

"Don't be ridiculous Nelli." Brian gave a sigh of exasperation. "One you are a woman and two you've been in France for a year or so. They're a damn sight more likely to come after me."

"They wouldn't?!" It was an alarmed expression which Nelli gave him.

"Oh please, get some equilibrium back Nell." Brian gave her a sound kiss. "They're not going to come after me...as if I'd have anything to do with uprising back in Ireland when I've been in France for two years. They're only interested in people who are on the spot, it would probably have been my father had he not died last year. Now please, stop behaving like the sixteen year-old brat I frequently wished to spank."

"Am I really looking like that much of a fool?"

"Definitely." Brian dropped an arm around her shoulders. "So much so that I'm on the point of kissing you again, which would be most improper since we are still walking down the road."

"You wouldn't?" Nelli was startled.

"Watch me."

"No, please don't, people will talk." Nelli hastily backtracked, it was certainly not out of character for Brian to do it for the simple reason that she doubted whether he would.

"What? Afraid of people talking Nelli?" To say Brian was startled was an understatement, certainly what people might say had never hampered Nelli before, in fact it usually inspired her to go ahead and do just that.

"Well it draws attention, and I'd rather not have any attention." Nelli glanced up nervously.

"Okay, let's get moving, we have until tomorrow afternoon and we have a lot of ground to cover."

"Ground?" Nelli was puzzled by the remark, she hadn't thought they were going to go far.

"Yes, we have a large number of things to discuss. Now speed up a bit, I've got a nice room waiting for us in the town."

"People won't notice me?"

"Heavens Nell." Brian grabbed an arm and turned her to face him. "Forget about it, they're not going to come for you, they're not going to come for me. They are not vindictive, but they are trying to keep peace on the home front since they have a war going on this front...though I will admit that I would never have considered executing Lord Dominic O'Brien a way to preserve peace in Banbridge, but that is a side issue."

"I'm sorry Brian, you must think me an awful fool." Nelli gave a valiant sniff.

"Not in the slightest, quite logical conclusions to draw actually, probably would draw them myself if I didn't know what I do about politics. Now we are going to officially shelve all serious conversation until we reach that room, I've had enough seriousness for now. And we'll have plenty of it to come, I don't want to waste now."

"Besides which you're starting to get embarrassed by the fact that we're holding this particular conversation on the road and a farm cart is approaching." Nelli gave a grin.

"For being so terribly well acquainted with me you may just get kissed again."

"No thanks." Nelli grabbed his hand and they headed towards the small town.

May 30th 1916 - Scapa Flow, North Scotland

Fordingham blinked blearily at the roof over his head, then rolled a weary eye to look at his alarm clock, he had precisely three minutes in which to get to the bridge. Fordingham was out of his bed and crashing around his cabin as he scrambled into his uniform and two minutes later he was scrambling up the steep ladder towards the bridge. Halfway up the ladder Fordingham came to an abrupt halt, his head tilted to one side as he listened. The engine pitch had changed, they were moving...but where were they going? Fordingham completed his trip to the bridge in near record time.

"Ahhh, looks like we won't have to send Dakota for you after all sir." Commander Tarlington made the remark between shouting instructions down the intraship communicator and listening to shouts from the wireless officer.

"What's going on?" Fordingham glanced out the window and his brows rose slowly as he realised that the entire Grand Fleet was moving.

"Intercept of German transmission, the Hun are apparently finally coming out, so we're going to meet them."

"Good." Fordingham dismissed Tarlington, whose watch was over and settled himself into the chair. Fordingham went quickly through the pile of transmission pages, everything from line up information, to warnings of temporary difficulties and a polite message from Captain Harrison in the Cleud asking whether Fordingham wanted a head start. "Dakota."

"Yes sir?"

"Get through to semaphore, have them send Cleud the message 'We're more likely to stay at half power so you can keep up.'"

"Very good sir." Dakota dove through the doorway and returned five minutes later. "The response was 'Dream on Fordingham.'"

"Thank you." Fordingham frowned out the front window for a minute. "Respond that dreamers make great men...and even greater sailors'."

"Very good sir." Dakota left again and Fordingham turned his attention totally to the task of getting the ship battle ready and running smoothly.

"Do you think this will be another useless sweep?" A Petty Officer was leaning against the intraship communicator.

"We probably won't know for quite a while yet. See what the engine room reports." Fordingham frowned down at a rather illegible scribble. "Wireless will you please write this message again." Fordingham sent the sheet of paper back to the wireless officer.

"Sorry sir, that wasn't meant to be in the pile at all, I had problems with my pen and had to get it working again."

"No wonder I couldn't read it. Jim, see what delays Dakota."

"Nothing delays Dakota sir." Dakota came flying back into the room with the remark.

"Glad to hear it. Anything to report?"

"Clyde told us to shut up."

"I'm sure the Commodore did not use those words. Dakota see what the munitions mob are complaining about."

"Yes sir." Dakota shot out of the room again.

"We're out of line. Port!" Fordingham stared fixedly ahead as they slowly turned. "Okay, straighten up." Fordingham studied their course for another minute or so before returning his attention to the stream of reports from all parts of the ship.

"Sir, munitions reports difficulty with the starboard gun."

"Tell them to fix it then."

"Yes sir." Dakota left the bridge again.

"ENEMY IN SIGHT!"

The holler rose from the wireless table at 2:20pm the next day.

"What was that?" Fordingham rolled an annoyed eye at the officer in question.

"Galatea reports a sighting of the enemy."

"Galatea's with Beatty, how far off are we?"

"Uhhh...seems we're about 65 miles to the north."

"Anything from Jellicoe?"

"Yes, we're headed south."

"Right." Fordingham could actually already see the fleet turning to steam south. "Keep us as informed as possible."

"Yes sir." The order in itself had been totally needless as the wireless officer had kept a running commentary on everything that came on which didn't require the work of a pencil and paper.

"3:20pm confirmed sighting by the rest of Admiral Beatty's group, they are currently manouvering."

"I hope this damn fight isn't over before we get there." Fordingham was now firmly anchored in his seat, Commander Tarlington would not be on watch until any possibility of battle was over.

"The Lutzow has opened fire." This report came at approximately 3:50pm and there followed a tense twenty minutes while the Grand Fleet continued to steam south at maximum speed.

"Oh HELL!" The emphatic remark followed the radio report that the 'Indefatigable' had capsized and sunk after being caught in a double salvo from 'Van der Tann'. That added to the repeated hits taken by 'Lion', 'Princess Royal', and 'Tiger' made the British losses high to begin with.

"Fifth Battle Squadron has finally caught up and they appear to be leaving their mark on the Germans. Report comes that a destroyer screen is being brought forward."

"Any more casualties?" Fordingham drummed his fingers restlessly on the table top.

"Uhhhh." There was a pause as the wireless officer scribbled something on his page. "Queen Mary has exploded sir, something about the main magazine, I think it got hit."

"I see." Fordingham glanced out at the other five lines of ships who were steadily steaming south.

"The High Seas Fleet is there. This is no hoax sir." The wireless Officer let out a whoop some minutes later.

"So what, settle down." Fordingham frowned out the window at the ships. "Is that certain?"

"Confirmed sighting from Commodore Goodenough of the 2nd Light cruisers."

"Nothing else?" Fordingham was puzzled by the total inactivity of the fleet.

"No, just that it is sighted. Calculated distance we're still forty miles north of Beatty."

"Jellicoe won't do anything until we know where the fleet is and where it's headed." Fordingham spoke partially to himself as he frowned out the window.

"Beatty in sight sir!" It was six in the evening when the wireless officer spoke again, almost an hour and a half of silence preceded it, or as much silence as there could be on a battle ship heading at maximum speed. "He's got the 3rd under Hood with him."

"Interesting." Fordingham listened silently as the wireless chattered and beeped in its corner.

"Jellicoe calls for a port wing division deployment." Bells rang through the ship almost immediately and orders flew.

"I can see them." The deployment had just been completed when the midshipman came running up to the bridge with the warning. The midshipman promptly retreated under the eyes of Fordingham, his warning had been useless because everybody could see the High Seas Fleet. The order to fire came, and with it a deafening din as guns barked and rumbled. The High Seas Fleet had come down the centre of the Grand Fleet deployment formation and were getting pounded.

"Invincible has exploded sir."

"What the...!" It was 6:30pm when Fordingham jerked forward in his seat, the mixture of smoke and cloud made visibility atrocious, and the sudden thickening startled nearly everyone.

"Why are they making use of a smoke screen?" Dakota scratched his ear and silence fell quickly as the guns ceased firing.

"I don't know what he's done, but we're still between them and home." Fordingham was staring out the window.

It was just past seven when the order to fire came again and the din resumed and Fordingham chewed his lip thoughtlessly as he saw the compact formation of the German ships.

"What the HELL!" Fordingham dove for the intraship communicator and gave a holler down it. They needed more forward fire power and they needed it fast, a destroyer was headed straight for them and showed no intention of stopping.

"We're turning sir!" The Wireless Officer yelled from across the bridge while struggling to separate two signals that were coming in simultaneously. A quick glance showed Fordingham that that was precisely what they were doing. There was a brief scuffle while the Asp was turned and the gun crews came active to the rear.

"Why have we turned?" A midshipmen looked at Dakota in bewilderment.

"Probably because Jellicoe doesn't want the lot of us to catch a torpedo and take a trip to the bottom. This war is sunk if we lose control of the sea. And the Hun likes to follow destroyer charges with a nice collection of torpedoes"

"Nice adjective Dakota." Fordingham was frowning out the door at the back of the bridge, then suddenly he jumped out of it and vanished into the gloom and for the space of a few minutes the sound of firing picked up from the back of the boat, then just as suddenly it died off and Fordingham reappeared at the door. "Not a blessed thing to be seen out there." Fordingham crashed back into his seat.

The rest of the night passed without sight or sound of the High Seas Fleet, come dawn the search turned northwards towards the minefields.

"Sir!" The search orders had just come out when the panicked midshipman came flying into the bridge.

"What is it?" Fordingham turned a cold eye on the man. The man visibly fought for a semblance of confidence.

"We're open to the sea on the port side."

"How serious?" Fordingham snapped the question back.

"Shell hole just above to on the water line. The Engineering Officer said we would have to turn back or risk sinking, we won't be able to keep pace with the others and risk sinking anyway."

"Thank you." Fordingham waited until the midshipman had left the bridge then turned to the wireless officer with a frown. "Get through to the Commodore and see what he says, I'm going to check on the damage." Fordingham left the bridge as he spoke and soon he was down inside the ship frowning at a long narrow gash which travelled a good quarter length of the ship and in through which water sloshed at regular intervals.

"I'm of the opinion that if we turned immediately and kept our speed to a minimum that we could make it back without sinking. The pumps should be able to at least keep this under control."

"We'll see what the Commodore says." Fordingham gave a sudden frown. "Why was I not notified of this earlier, it can hardly have just happened?"

"No, sir, but as may be observed the actual entrance point of the shell is well behind the engines. The hole is high enough that little water entered and it wasn't until this morning that it actually started to spread." The engineering officer was looking exceedingly nervous and with good reason. "It was thought to be uncritical when compared with the other matters."

"I see." Fordingham stared thoughtfully at the gash, as the officer had observed it was awkwardly positioned, little water would have entered by it before it began to spread, and it was only really visible because of the light it was now admitting into the room. Fordingham then gave a brief nod and climbed once more to the upper decks. Dakota met him at the bridge door.

"Commodore says to return to England if possible, otherwise we're to scatter ourselves evenly through the Squadron."

"Tell Wireless to tell the Commodore that Engineering say we can make it."

"Right." Dakota jumped back into the bridge and orders were soon flying.

The return to England was slow, tedious, boring, and potentially dangerous. The flow from the intraship communicator was almost endless as all sections kept continuous flow of information on how everything was.

"Everyone above deck." Fordingham reluctantly gave the order as Engineering finally announced that the engines must be turned off or risk an explosion. With the engines off and the mass of water they were carrying Fordingham realised it was only a matter of time before the Asp sank. Fordingham allowed himself a faint smile as he watched the orderly retreat of the men into the small life boats, so much for the dramatic screams and hollers as men flung themselves from the deck into the sea as he had seen on his last leave in a moving picture. The head count was quickly conducted in each boat before they shoved off, and taken into account was the death of the sailor the previous night. Satisfied that the count was complete and that everyone except himself and Dakota were off the boat Fordingham finally waved Dakota to descend the rope into the last remaining boat before sliding quickly down after him. As they rowed away Fordingham could easily see that Asp had already acquired a very pronounced list and half an hour later, with a minor explosion and little other fuss at all the 'Asp' slid quietly below the waves. The whistles then rang out and the little boats began congregating, but Fordingham sat silently, he had never thought that it would hurt like this to see the Asp sink. He had spent the last two years complaining at regular intervals to Sophie about the inconvenience of such a boat, he supposed he should be happy that no lives had been lost, but still. Fordingham shook his head and set about organising the group so they could get to shore as quickly as possible, they were only a few miles out to sea and given no problems they should be ashore within three hours.

June 4th 1916-Narrow Creek, Canada

Emilie March blinked thoughtfully as the golden fingers of dawn finally crept into her room, and as they came the silence of the house was shattered by a sudden clatter from overhead. Emilie smiled gently to herself as she heard the familiar sounds of Victoria departing her bed and dressing, before descending to Emilie's room, having paused first to make two cups of tea. It was a ritual now, even though a ritual of only brief standing.

"How's Emilie this morning?" Victoria came edging her way into the small room with the immense tray.

"Quite well, how's Vicky?"

"Delighted to be on holidays!" Victoria spoke emphatically as she gently placed the tray on Emilie's legs, before finally taking her seat at the foot of the bed.

"Holidays?" Emilie's brows rose teasingly. "I'd have sooner called it just a minor change in routine."

"Any change in a routine becomes a holiday." Victoria sipped her tea and blinked as the fingers of light crept across the ceiling.

"I wonder whether Elliot would agree?" Emilie wrinkled her nose slightly as she sipped at the black and unsweetened tea.

"By the sounds of his last letter I think he'd prefer to be able to set up a routine...if only with the people he is around." Victoria paused. "Am I strange Emilie? Everyone is tearingly nervous and worried about whether Verdun will fall, but I really couldn't care."

"Neither could I...but I suspect my reasons are different to yours." Emilie hesitated, finally broaching a subject which had been preying on her mind for many months, but she had been reluctant to bring up. "What will you do if something happens to Elliot?"

"You mean do I intend to leave if Elliot dies?" Victoria swallowed convulsively before shaking her head. "No Emilie, I'm not here just because Elliot asked me to. You and Mrs. March were the parents I never had. Maybe if this war had never begun and Elliot had remained I might have gone...but only because I couldn't remain." Victoria paused uncertainly.

"That is one thing that has me puzzled." Emilie frowned slightly. "Why? with all the relatives you have in Narrow Creek, have you always called us Marches, the most distant of your relatives, the family you never had?"

"Because you were always there." Victoria paused, wrestling with the tenuous material and trying to form a definite reason. "I was only ever Vicky for you, you encouraged me when the rest of the world censured me. You were shoulders to cry on when father fell sick, you told me off when I got into bad habits. You were just the family I never had."

"You could hardly say that Elliot even tried to be polite to you."

"No, but neither did I have to explain out a joke to him. He may have been rude, but he was always honest, he never tried to persuade me that my job was to stay at home bent over the stove."

"I think he liked you because he couldn't bully or charm you Vicky.....or if he could you had the strength of mind to call him names and walk away."

"He could both bully and charm me, but I was too bloody-minded to let him get the upper hand...never meant him to get the upper hand on me after I spelled him down in his last year at Narrow Creek."

"Did you? He must have made some very rude remarks about it."

"Something along the lines that the teacher always had a soft spot for the daughter of the man who boarded him." Victoria shrugged. "He then asked me to spell some word I had not even heard of and claimed final victory because I couldn't answer."

"That sounds very like Elliot." Mrs. March's voice came from the doorway. "How about I take the tray Vicky, and you can bring Emilie."

"Well that sounds to be the best method. Was Mrs. Becky intending to call today?" Victoria handed the tray across to Mrs. March before approaching the task of getting Emilie out of bed and down the stairs and into her chair by the fire.

"I don't kno...yes she was, something about linen for more sheets."

"Then if you'll excuse me after breakfast, I feel positive that my Uncle requires my assistance."

"Oh he didn't!" Mrs. March laid the tray on the table.

"Oh yes. Johnny Hughes could hardly have done any worse at all."

"Yes...Loretta White was also asking whether you'd call. Something about her Sunday school class."

"Right. See Uncle, see Loretta, speak to Danny on subject of the fence, and remember to check the coast is clear before returning." Victoria gave a grin as she settled down to her porridge. "Oh and there's also the matter that I may have to take a quick run up to Kingsport. But that is not pressing."

"How's the Sunday school?"

"Well unless we get another teacher as of next week we're going to have to start staggering the Sunday school classes." Victoria frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll see if Janice is yet persuadable to taking a class. Most annoying that Hannah went and joined the Kingsport Red Cross. Maybe Billy could be trusted with the junior boys?" Victoria wrinkled her nose doubtfully.

"Maybe not." Emilie gave a chuckle. "You're more likely to get old Thomas to take the class."

"Really Emilie!" Victoria was choking on laughter as she went to dump her bowl into the sink, but Emilie had a point, for the junior boys would certainly much prefer the acidic old Thomas to Billy, who was ineffectual in Victoria's opinion, even though old Thomas had sworn fifty years earlier never to cross the threshold of the church again and smoked a foul pipe.

Continued in Next Section