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November 12th 1918-Scherckwald, Germany (cont.)

"Gaah! What happened?" Darcy blinked and tried to bring the world into focus.

"Which time?"

"Any time?"

"Well your wrist is the result, I assume, from a battle with a heavy door."

"Morphia...."

"Yes they pumped rather a lot of something into you a week ago."

"It was morphia......a week ago?" The mere thought made Darcy's head spin.

"Precisely, I thought you'd gone and died a couple of times on me. Fortunately every time after a minute or two you decided to breath again."

"Thoughtful of me." Darcy blinked as a wave of pure agony lanced up his arm. "What are you doing? Trying to kill me?"

"No." Chris cursed softly as once again Darcy jerked his arm free. "I'm still digging your damn watch out of your wrist."

"You're what?"

"I'm digging your watch out of your wrist."

"Why?"

"Because I assume you don't wish to have lumps of watch jutting out of you and hooking on things for the rest of your life."

"But what is my watch doing in my wrist?"

"I told you, you seem to have had a disagreement with a heavy door. Your wrist is pulverised well beyond my skills of repair. I may yet have to hack your whole hand off anyway."

"Why?"

"Because a week has passed and if it weren't that most of the time I'm not allowing blood to flow it would sure as hell still be seeping out of you and dripping onto the floor."

"That does not sound good." Darcy frowned. "Could I please sit up?"

"Why?"

"I want to look at my wrist....also I'm dead tired of lying down."

"Go for it." Chris stepped back as he spoke and watched expressionlessly as Darcy studied his wrist.

"You've been pulling my watch out for a week?" Darcy abruptly looked across at Chris.

"More or less, I lost two days trying to retrieve a fly-wheel which had gone up inside your hand."

"Is it likely it will ever move again?" Darcy returned his attention to his hand.

"The wrist is actually only minimally damaged, which is a miracle and a half by the looks of your watch, it's your forearm which is the problem, and you will not be able to move the fourth and fifth digit."

"Why the different way of saying it?"

"Your fingers will move quite easily.....except that they'll only move if you grab them and bend them. They won't ever move themselves again, the tendons were sliced through."

"Charming." Darcy pondered anew. "Is the pain so minimal because I'm filled to the ears with morphia? Or is it another reason?"

"I couldn't say. Now can I have your hand back, I'd rather like to finish it tonight."

"What else is wrong with me?"

"Why do you ask?" Chris didn't glance up from where he was cautiously investigating around a twisted piece of metal.

"Because it feels like some twit has neglected to remove his saw from my head."

"A kindly soul banged you with a rifle butt.....I will admit I was surprised when I found your skull to be still intact. I think anyone else would be dead from a shattered skull."

"Well if they attempted to knock my brains out I'll assume they also did more damage. What's wrong with me?"

"Abdominal wound which is healing nicely, it was little more than a graze. Your wrist which you can see. I've been rashly assuming those happened together. Your head which you can feel." Chris paused as he attempted to explore a bit deeper.

"And?" Darcy prompted blandly.

"Your left leg is broken in two places.....broken through both bones in both places."

"You set it?"

"As best as I can manage." Chris shrugged dismissively.

"I'll check it a bit later when you're done with my hand."

"You've had experience with breaks other than your right leg?" Chris looked up curiously.

"I'd have called my right leg enough experience for a life time......however yes, I have had other breaks to deal with. South African Police like uncapped bullets. Believe me when I say that you do not continue walking after an uncapped bullet takes you."

"Why uncapped bullets?"

"Much cheaper and easier to manufacture." Darcy paused. "I also had a fair amount of time in the Mines. Shattered limbs and mines are inseparable."

"You break a bone doing it?"

"Only ever a finger." Darcy extended his left hand, the little finger of which was permanently bent.

"I'm guessing you were fortunate."

"Someone's coming." Darcy abruptly lifted his head. Chris took two steps away from Darcy and freed his revolver.

"Sitz, Biz." The voice spoke softly and caused Darcy's brows to snap together in concentration.

"What is it?" Chris cautiously whispered the query as he moved to a better position.

"Voice seems familiar." Darcy seemed to be trying to look up inside his forehead so creased were his brows and upturned his eyes.

"Friendly familiar?"

"Possibly." Darcy drove his hands down on the bed and pulled himself upright as the door slowly opened and a hairy face looked around the door. "No." Darcy's negative was not at all quiet when he saw Chris' hand rising to take aim.

"Bismarck!" The voice outside the door sounded exasperated. "Wer ist da drinnen?" Who's in there?

"Sagen Sie zuerst, wer Sie sind." Who are you first? Chris responded in response to Darcy's frantic signalling.

"Ich heiße Walter...warum fragen Sie?" I am Walter....why do you ask?

"Weil wir....schreckliche, mißtrauische...Männer sind." Because we're....nasty, suspicious......men. Chris had difficulty containing his laughter as he read Darcy's signing.

"Warum?" Why?

"Weil ich wiederhole, was mir jemand anderes signalisiert und er sagt, wie seien schrecklich mißtrauische Männer." Because I'm repeating what someone else is signing to me and he says we're nasty suspicious men.

"Was werden Sie tun, wenn ich hereinkomme?" What will you do if I enter?

"Das hängt davon ab, ob Sie hereinkommen und dabei mit einem Revolver um sich schießen oder nicht." It all depends on whether you enter firing a revolver or not.

"Ich bin unbewaffnet." I am unarmed.

"Dann ist es sehr wahrscheinlich, daß wir Ihnen nichts tun." Then very likely we will do nothing to you.

"Sie ahmen nicht länger jemand anderen nach?" You are no longer copying someone else?

"Nein, er gab mir nur das erste Stück." No, he only gave me the first bit. Chris looked in interest at the man who came warily through the doorway.

"Ah! Es ist der Fingerläufer!" Ah! It is the finger-walker!

"Ach, Sie haben sich bereits kennengelernt." I see you have met. Chris returned his revolver to its holster.

"Vor ein paar Monaten, warum fragen Sie?" A couple of months back, why do you ask?

"Weil sich unser beiderseitiger Freund auf dem Bett nur an soviel erinnert, daß Sie keine unmittelbare Bedrohung darstellen, aber er weiß nicht mehr warum." Because our mutual friend on the bed remembers enough to feel that you are no immediate threat but he does not know why.

"Warum erinnert er sich nicht mehr warum?" Why doesn't he remember why?

"One of the more charming side effects of morphia is that it has a bad effect on the memory unless you go back several years." Darcy pushed himself a bit higher on the bed before he leant forward and began feeling in an exploratory manner around his left leg.

"Warum steht er unter Morphium?" Why's he been on morphia?

"Ein paar von Ihren charmanten Landleuten haben beschlossen, daß er im Weg sei und so meinten sie ihn töten zu müssen, indem sie ihm den Tod eines anderen anlasteten." Some of your charming country men decided he was in the way so the decided to kill him in such a way as to through the blame of the murder on another.

"Ich habe ihm gesagt, daß sie ihn kriegen würden." I told him they'd get him.

"Not for your reasons." Darcy settled back into a more comfortable position. "They had nothing on me, hence they didn't just shoot me. But as they couldn't think of anyone else it might possibly be they grabbed me in hopes of forcing me to admit that I was the person they were after."

"Dann endete dieser Krieg auf sehr geschmacklose Weise und sie sahen sich mit einem Schwerverletzten zurückgelassen, deshalb schaufelten sie ein bißchen Morphium in ihn hinein und hauten ab." Then this war most tastelessly ended and they were stuck with a badly injured man on their hands so they shoved some morphia into him and departed.

"Woher wissen Sie das alles?" How do you know so much? Walter looked at Chris suspiciously.

"Weil ich dem Mord eine Exekution habe folgen lassen. Ich habe durch das Oberlicht geschaut, als sie ihm die Dosis verabreicht haben." Because I responded to murder with an execution. I was watching through that skylight when they dosed him. Chris jerked his thumb upwards as he spoke.

"Sie haben hier offensichtlich nicht den fleckenlosen Ruf ihres Freundes." You clearly don't have your friend's spotless reputation here.

"Ich mache eine andere Arbeit." I'm doing different work. Chris gave a shrug.

"Was machen Sie nun?" What are you doing now?

"Berechnen, wie viel es kosten und wie lange es dauern wird, um es herzubringen." Calculating how much it will cost and how long it will take to bring it.

"Also how to get it." Darcy shifted awkwardly on the bed and abruptly swung his feet off the side.

"Was ist es?" What is it? Walter was looking back and forth between the two of them in puzzlement.

"Das hängt von Ihnen ab, Nahrungsmittel, Medizin, Kleidung, Maschinen, was auch immer gebraucht wird." Your choice, food, medicine, clothing, machinery, whatever is needed.

"Wir haben Handelsbeschränkungen...glauben Sie wirklich, Sie könnten Dinge bewegen?" We've got trade restrictions....you really think you're going to move things?

"Sie haben die Leute gesehen. Sie haben mit ihnen eineinhalb Jahre lang gelebt...denken Sie wirklich, Sie könnten ohne Hilfe leben?" You've seen the people. You've lived with them for a year and a half....you really think you'll live without help?

"Das habe ich niemals in Frage gestellt." I never questioned that. Walter's jaw tightened fractionally. "Ich frage nur, wie Sie dies zu tun beabsichtigen." I'm asking how you intend to do it?

"Ich werde es auf dieselbe Weise machen, wie ich über hundert Gefangene aus Ihren Gefängnissen über die Grenze zurück nach England befördert habe." I'll do it the same way as I removed over one hundred prisoners from your prisons back across the borders to England.

"Don't even bother asking him how he did it because he won't tell." Darcy abruptly grimaced and lifted his right hand cautiously up from the bed and looked at it. "You sort of forgot to tell me that my forearm was broken as well as."

"I sort of thought you'd guess it was broken since I was digging your watch out." Chris shook his head.

"Sie haben Brüche?" You've got breaks?

"Das linke Bein ist an zwei Stellen gebrochen, sein rechter Unterarm ist gebrochen...teilweise eine Grünholz-Fraktur und teilweise ganz durchgebrochen." Left leg is broken in two places, his right fore-arm is broken....partially greensticked and broken fully.

"Wenn es sinnvoll ist, würde ich gerne eine Bemerkung machen. Sollte man ihm nicht einen Arzt besorgen?" Maybe if that made any sense I'd make some comment. Get a doctor for him?

"No." Darcy shook his head.

"But...." Chris stopped and he shook his head. "A doctor could save you an inch of forearm."

"I don't give a damn."

"So be it." Chris gave a sigh and started poking around with his knife again as he spoke.

"Das ist widerlich." That is disgusting. Walter grimaced.

"Damit sagen Sie mir nichts Neues." You are not telling me anything new. Chris finally withdrew his knife and he looked sharply up at the ceiling.

"What's up?" Darcy had been thoughtfully poking around at the bed.

"Nothing." Chris wiped his hands fastidiously. "You definitely don't want a doctor?"

"You bring a doctor in and I'm walking out."

"Mit einem gebrochenen Bein könne Sie nicht hinausgehen." You've got a broken leg, you can't walk out. Walter shifted uncomfortably.

"You want to see me?" The muscles on Darcy's left forearm braced tightly as he prepared to rise.

"Stop it!" Chris abruptly chopped the edge of his hand into the inside of Darcy's elbow. "You get up and I'll hit you over the head and bring a doctor in."

"Er wäre tatsächlich gelaufen?" He actually would have walked? Walter was looking very uncertainly at Darcy who was scowling at his left elbow.

"Dieser Dummkopf hat sechs Wochen damit zugebracht, auf einem zertrümmerten Bein herumzulaufen, also bezweifeln Sie nicht, daß er zum Beweis nochmals läuft." That fatwit spent six months walking on a shattered leg, so don't question him or he'll walk again just to prove it.

"Darf ich etwas fragen?" Can I ask one question?

"Das hängt von der Frage ab." It depends on the question.

"Warum?" Why?

"Ist warum die Frage oder bezieht sich das Warum auf die Beschränkung?" Is why the question or is why the query at the restriction?

"Warum ist die Frage." Why is the question.

"Warum was?" Why what?

"Warum tun Sie dies?" Why are you doing it?

"Ich bin zur Zeit gemeldet, aber normalerweise bin ich es nicht. Duivel hier war niemals gemeldet und er ist seit sechs Wochen hier. Die meiste Zeit leben wir von dem, was die Leute uns zu geben bereit sind." I'm registered currently, but usually I am not. Duivel here has never been registered and he's been here six months. For the most part we live off what people are willing to give us.

"Das ist nicht sehr vernünftig." That is not much of a reason.

"Ich hielt es für sehr vernünftig. Um es noch klarer auszudrücken, wir hatten unseren Krieg, die meisten Kinder leiden unter den Sünden der Regierung. Wir tun das nicht für Berlin oder Deutschland, sondern für Klein-Lothar, der kein Frühstück bekommen hat, weil für ihn nichts zu essen gab. Wir machen das für Sophie, die friert, weil sie ihre Kleider abgetragen hat und keine neuen bekommt. Wir tun es für Frau Schmidt, die sechs kleine Kinder keinen Ehemann und keine andere Unterstützung hat. Wir machen es für die Leute, von denen das Rote Kreuz niemals etwas hören wird, weil sie nicht so weit genug in das Land hinein gehen. Wir kommen nicht als die verteilenden Engel, diese Leute werden niemals wissen woher das Essen kommt, aber sie werden es erhalten. Sie werden nicht wissen, woher die Kleidung und die Arzneien kommen, aber sie werden sie erhalten. Sie werden nicht wissen, woher die Maschinen kommen, aber sie werden sie erhalten. Wir werden nicht die "großzügige Wohltätigkeit" sein, wie das Rote Kreuz. Ich stelle nicht in Frage, ob die Deutschen für ihre Bedürfnisse bezahlen können, aber ich bezweifle daß es wahrscheinlich ist, daß sie die Lieferungen jemals erhalten. Wir lassen Männer herumlaufen, die Mäntel und Decken zurücklassen. Wir arbeiten im Dunkeln, wir bitten um nichts, wir brauchen wenig und wir erwarten nichts. Aber wir haben Schulden gemacht und zahlen sie nun zurück." I'd have thought it a very strong reason. To put it even more bluntly, we've had out war, must our children suffer for the sins of government. We're not doing this for Berlin, we're not doing this for Germany, we're doing this for Little Lothar who had no breakfast because there was nothing for him to eat. We're doing it for Sophie who is cold because she has worn out her clothes and cannot get new ones. We're doing this for Mrs. Smith who has six young children and no husband and no means of support. We're doing this for the people the Red Cross will never hear of because they do not go far enough afield. We're not coming as ministering angels, these people will never know where the food comes from, but they will receive it. They won't know where the clothes and medicine come from, but they will receive it. They're not going to know where their machinery comes from, but they will receive it. We won't be 'giving charity' like the Red Cross. I don't question the ability of the German people to pay for their needs, but I do question the probability that the supplies will ever reach them. We'll have men walking around who leave cloaks behind, blankets behind. We work in the shadows, we ask for nothing, we want little, and we expect nothing. But we have made our debts and now is when we repay them.

"Gibt es viele Leute, die dies zu tun beabsichtigen?" There are many people intending to do this?

"Ich bezweifle das. Die meisten Leute wissen, daß der Krieg vorüber ist und sie nach Hause gehen können. Sie haben ihre Belohnung, was bleibt also übrig? Wir sind selbstsüchtige Leute, wir erleichtern unsere Schuld in dem Wissen, daß wir denjenigen helfen, die wir einst verletzt haben." I doubt it. Most people know the war is over so they are going home. They have their reward so what is left? We are selfish people, we seek to assuage guilt with the knowledge that we are helping others as we once used to hurt them. Chris paused to bite off a piece of thread. "Das Blut der Könige und die Arroganz der Humanität. Behandele einen Waldmensch wie einen König und er wird ein König sein. Behandele einen Waldmenschen wie einen Idioten und er wird ein Idiot sein." Blood of Kings and the arrogance of humanity. Treat a woodsman like a King and he is a King, treat a woodsman like an idiot and he will be an idiot.

"Behandele ebenso jemanden, als ob er Mitleid bräuchte und er wird es verlangen." Likewise treat someone like they deserve pity and they will demand it.

"Eine Überlegung....wir werden diese Leute nicht von uns abhängig machen." A consideration......we will not make these people dependant on us.

"Mit anderen Worten, sie werden weiterhin leiden, aber mit ein wenig Hilfe werden sie vielleicht nicht sterben. Wie schön, sich als Gott zu fühlen." In other words they will still suffer....but with a little help they may not die. How pleasant to feel like a god.

"Wie schrecklich zu wissen, daß die Menschen da draußen bereits sterben, während wir noch sprechen. Duivel, Sie machen den notwendigen Papierkram. Übermorgen will ich Ihre groben Schätzungen, eine Liste von Leuten, die wir wegen der Lieferungen kontaktieren können...ich möchte auch, daß Sie zusehen, was sie tun können, um ein Netzwerk in England aufzubauen." How sickening to know that people are already dying out there and we're still talking. Duivel, you've got the paperwork to run on this. Day after tomorrow I want your rough estimates, a list of people we could contact for supplies.....I also want you to see what you can do about setting up a network in England.

"Was für ein Netzwerk in England?" Why a network in England? Walter had become bewildered again, there was no logic to this.

"Weil wir, wenn eine Verbindung bekannt wird, nur eine kurze Zeitspanne haben, um sie in nicht mehr nachvollziehbare Teile aufzuspalten." Because if a link of this is exposed we have a very short period in which to break it up into untraceable bits. Chris knotted off the bandage firmly and looked enquiringly at Darcy.

"Feels good." Darcy nodded. "I need tonight only and I'll have people for you and the estimates."

"Gut. Walter, ich will Ihre Aufstellung der Bedürftigsten in dieser Gegend. Wenn wir alle eine Liste von hundert Leuten oder Familien aufstellen, die wir als die Bedürftigsten ansehen, dann sollten wir in der Lage sein, einen groben Umriß des Arbeitsgebietes zusammenzustoppeln, das wir brauchen." Good. Walter, I want your analysis of the most needy in this area. If we all create a list of one hundred people, or families, who we view as the most in need we should be able to cobble together a rough outline of the area of work we need.

"Chris, send out a call for Miller. He should be back in England, but I guarantee he'll come immediately and he's the best replacement for me. It'll be several weeks before I'm in action again."

"What about Miss Beth?" Chris looked up from where he had been chewing on a finger.

"That is none of your business." Darcy's voice abruptly dropped to a lethal pitch. "For her I'm dead, and I'm damn well going to remain dead until I once more set foot in England. And if you dare mention her name to me again I swear I will break your neck into a million pieces and feed you to the birds."

"Nun, ich glaube, das ist alles." Well I think that's everything. Chris spoke in a slightly forced tones a few seconds later. "Ich lege los und schlage vor, daß Sie das auch tun, Walter." I'll get moving and I suggest you do to Walter.

"Ich denke, das werde ich." I think I will. Walter rose and followed Chris from the room. "Worum ging es?" What was that about?

"Dummheit meinerseits. Nichts ernstes." Stupidity on my part. Nothing serious.

"Worum ging es?" What was it about?

"De Duivel ist noch hier, weil er meint, er werde hier mehr gebraucht. Wie auch immer, während er hier ist, ist sein Leben in ständiger Gefahr. Deshalb bleibt er tot. Ich denke, er dachte, ich würde ihn erpressen, nach England zurückzukehren." De Duivel is still here because he sees a greater need for him here. However, while he is here his life is in constant danger. Hence he stays dead. I think he thought I was trying to blackmail him into returning to England.

"Haben Sie das nicht?" Weren't you? Walter looked curious. "Sie haben offensichtlich gewußt, daß dies ein wunder Punkt war und er ist sicherlich noch nicht wieder in Bestform." You obviously knew this was a sore point and he's clearly still not operating at his best.

"Ich gebe zu, ich wäre glücklicher...ich würde mich weniger schuldig fühlen...wenn er nach England zurückkehrte." I will admit I would be happier.....I would feel less guilty.....if he returned to England. Chris modified his remark.

"Irgendetwas sollte ihn zurück in England haben?" Something should have him back in England?

"Vieles, aber, wie er sagte, das geht uns nichts an. Genausowenig wird er freundlich zu jedem sein, der ihn unter Druck setzt." A lot of things, but as he said, it's none of our business. Likewise he will not be friendly to anyone who pries.

"In gewisser Hinsicht halte ich Euch für das verwirrendste Volk der Erde und in anderer Hinsicht seid ihr absolut logisch. Ich bezweifle, daß es irgendjemanden gefällt, wenn man sich in seine persönlichen Dinge einmischt." In someways I find you the most bewildering people on earth and in other ways you are perfectly logical. I doubt anyone likes having their personal affairs pried into. Walter gave a polite nod, whistled Bismarck to heel and then moved off as quickly as he could. I do not know a single thing about either of these men, and yet I trust them. Walter pondered the matter as he pegged along. I know both of them could kill without blinking and yet I trust them. Walter paused and glanced back at the small stone house which was now swallowed by the trees. Gustav cannot harm a fly and I do not trust him. Walter resumed his movement, quickly putting several miles between him and the small stone building which many had forgotten ever existed. I pity the man who interferes with de Duivel's private life.....an unusual, but very fitting name. I wonder who he really is? Walter settled down for the night leaning against Bismarck and staring up at the sky.

"Wenn mir irgendwer vor vier Jahren gesagt hätte, daß ich heute abend plane, mit Engländern zusammenzuarbeiten, um Süddeutschland überleben zu lassen, hätte ich ihm ins Gesicht gelacht. Es ist eine verkehrte alte Welt, Biz, und ich muß zugeben, daß ich es heute abend sogar mehr genieße, als damals, als ich der Landesmeister im Tennis und Geschäftsmann war. Wirklich verquere alte Welt." Had anyone told me four years ago that tonight I would be planning to work with some Englishmen to bring survival to Southern Germany I would have laughed in their face. It's a queer old world Biz and I must admit I think I'm liking it even more tonight than when I was the regional Tennis Champion and a businessman. A queer old world indeed.

December 20th 1918-Longbourn, England

"LIZZIE!!" Mrs. Bennet came charging up the stairs, only to cluck disapprovingly. Mrs. Bennet was opening her mouth to resume the endless tirade which she made every time she saw little James McKenna Darcy when Kitty came flying up the stairs.

"Lizzie! Lizzie there is a most frightful bag here demanding to speak to you."

"KITTY!!!!!" Mrs. Bennet's wail drowned out any response Elizabeth might have made, but fortunately Mrs. Bennet left with her wail to find more sympathetic listeners.

"You were saying Kitty?" Elizabeth rose to her feet and tucked James under her arm as she crossed to check her hair.

"There's some person here to see you. She came in a large, old fashioned coach and she's been rude to Hill."

"Oh glory. Okay Kitty, give me a minute to tidy James up and I'll be down to face the old battle axe."

"Thank you." Kitty started to leave, and then stopped. "Do you want me to deal with James while you get your hair fixed?"

"Please." Elizabeth handed the baby across and started pulling the pins from her hair. Five minutes later Elizabeth pushed the last pin back in and tucked James back under her arm again. "You coming Kitty?"

"Guess I should." Kitty followed Elizabeth out of the room and down the stairs.

"So there you are!" Even though Elizabeth had not yet seen the visitor the voice more than answered the question and she promptly rolled her eyes at Kitty before responding.

"Good afternoon Lady Catherine, I hope this day finds you well."

"This day finds me ill. I assume that is your sister?" Lady Catherine was looking imperiously and disgustedly around the small parlour.

"One of them Lady Catherine. Lady Catherine, my sister Katherine. Kitty, Lady Catherine de Bourgh from Rosings Park, Kent."

"And who's that?" Lady Catherine totally ignored Kitty's curtsey and turned back to Elizabeth.

"Who......oh." Elizabeth abruptly realised that she had not handed James over to Mrs. Hill as intended on her way down the stairs. "This is my son, James. Kitty, will you take him back to Mrs. Hill." Elizabeth nearly laughed at the relief in Kitty's face as she fled the room with James.

"I applaud your sense in employing a nurse for the child Miss Bennet."

"I thank you, Lady Catherine, but I fear Mrs. Hill is only our Housekeeper who has a soft spot for children."

"Surely you do not nurse the child yourself?"

"Why should I not, I am not precisely wealthy." Elizabeth's back stiffened.

"I've told her often and enough she should employ a nurse, but she is a stubborn girl." Mrs. Bennet came sailing into the room.

"This I assume is your mother." Lady Catherine's tone was glacial.

"Correct. Mama, permit me to introduce Lady Catherine de Bourgh to you." Elizabeth got a few minutes of rest while Lady Catherine tried unsuccessfully to silence Mrs. Bennet, but eventually she just stood up.

"That is a pretty-ish wilderness you have out there, I believe I should like to take a turn in it." Lady Catherine headed for the door and Elizabeth silently followed. "I believe you will have no doubts as to why I am here." Lady Catherine had barely entered the wilderness before she began to speak.

"I fear I have no idea why you are here, unless you wish to make a donation to the Red Cross Society." Elizabeth could not think of any less possible reason for why Lady Catherine was there.

"No Miss Bennet, can it be you are so lost to reason? Can it be you are so willing...."

"Lady Catherine, I actually have a train to catch, would you please come to the point of this visit?"

"I am most grievously disturbed Miss Bennet, that you can have such a callous......"

"Lady Catherine, the point, or you will have to depart without ever stating your reason for coming." Elizabeth stared straightly back at Lady Catherine's furious stare.

"To think that a young lady could become so sunk. Miss Bennet, are you so beyond the calls of decency that you can spread such lies."

"As I know not yet of that which I am accused I can neither confirm nor deny the accusation."

"Insolent girl. Are you so lost?"

"You seem to believe I am lost, but as of yet I have been given no charges. The point Lady Catherine." Elizabeth felt her back tighten in irritation, she really could not afford to miss that train because Anne was to meet her in London.

"It has grievously disturbed me to hear rumours, spread no doubt by yourself, that claim that you are on the verge of a second marriage, and that marriage to my nephew Mr. Darcy. What have you to say?"

"Only that I contemplate no second marriage."

"Rumours do not begin without basis Miss Bennet. Are you or are you not engaged to my nephew?"

"I am not." Elizabeth had the feeling that this would tickle her amusement later, but right now she was on the verge of boiling with anger.

"Thank you." Lady Catherine gave a sigh. "And will you promise not to enter into such a contract?"

"I will make no such promise Lady Catherine."

"Are you so lost to feeling girl that you........."

"Lady Catherine, you have insulted me in every possible way, and even in some ways I had not believed it possible to be insulted. Though you know that I have had a husband and have a child you persist in referring to my maiden name as if such actions are unclean and dishonourable. You further insulted my entire family, our situation in life, and our characteristics of living within the society of Meryton. You question me about things which are of no concern to you. I am no blood relative of yours Lady Catherine, I owe you nothing, and you have no rights when it comes to me and my concerns and yet you question me. And further you have the temerity of accusing me of having marital designs on a man who is both married and dead. Now if you'll excuse me Lady Catherine, my business is not your business and I will act in a manner which I foresee to have my own best interests at heart...and if that means I marry a dead man, then I'll marry a dead man......though I'd much prefer too marry my husband in that situation." Elizabeth turned and stalked off, she could hear Lady Catherine calling after her, but she was most certainly not going to listen.

Elizabeth slammed the door behind her as she re-entered the house and was startled to find that her legs promptly gave way and dropped her into an ignominious heap on the floor. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her knees as tears welled up in her throat and threatened to burst out. I can't go live around her! It was a panicked thought which swept through Elizabeth and she struggled desperately to her feet just as Mrs. Hill, complete with Baby, came into the back hallway.

"Miss Lizzie!" Mrs. Hill hurried forward and helped Elizabeth completely to her feet. "To bed with you." Mrs. Hill was bustling Elizabeth upstairs when Mrs. Bennet came out of the Parlour.

"And so gracious and Ladylike.....perhaps someday Jane will be like that......She gone already Lizzie? I do hope you were polite? I suppose she just came to tell us about the Collinses....which is of course very nice of her but quite unnecessary. Mrs. Hill why are you holding Lizzie like that? Quite unnecessary, it's not as if Lizzie is sick or anything..."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hill." Elizabeth cautiously freed herself and gingerly tested her legs before holding out her hands. Mrs. Hill immediately handed James across to Elizabeth. "Thank you." Elizabeth tucked James under her arm and continued her progress up the stairs and it was with extreme relief that Elizabeth sank down onto her bed and buried her face in her pillow. Five minutes later James gave a protesting gurgle which caused Elizabeth to straighten up and bury her face into him. "I can't do it little one, I can't live with people like that."

December 24th 1918-London, England

The future is not necessarily a mystery at all times.

It was a prim receptionist who sat behind the desk, her mouth primmed, her spectacles flashing. The desk matched the receptionist and not a page was out of place. Folder's neatly lined one side and trays neatly lined the other. Her pens and pencils were in perfect order, neatly sitting in their wire container.

"Wing-Commander Ashington-Frankston." It was completely without expression which Ashie gave his name. Ashie had no delusions about the outcome of this day, in fact he had a more than minor wager running on the possibility of the medics passing out.

"Squadron-Leader Angel." Pyro collected the requisite pages from the secretary before joining Ashie in the waiting chairs.

"Squadron-Leader McKenna." Mac had soon joined the other two .

"Ashie's laying three pounds he can hit the receptionist with a pip." Pyro murmured behind a hand which seemed to discreetly covered a yawn.

"Tell him it's not the done thing. Not according to Cricket and all that." Mac responded in a similar manner, before pushing Nero's nose aside.

"You are a spoil-sport Mac." Ashie didn't even bother hiding his remark as a yawn before he ejected the pip into his hand and disposed of it into a nearby pot-plant.

"What do you expect?"

"Appropriate respect as due to a superior officer."

"Go to hell." Mac settled more heavily back on his seat.

"Been there for a bit too long already." Ashie gave another wide yawn. The light, flippant humour which had been present when the orders were flown that morning that he was up for a medical examination was now nowhere to be seen.

"Wing-Commander." A nurse appeared down a long wide corridor.

"'At's me." Ashie gave a yawn. "So long chaps, catch you at the other side." Ashie shook his head and distractedly tugged at his uniform as he moved off after the Nurse.

Elizabeth looked up from the book she had been reading when a heavy object collided with the front door. There was a burst of profanity before another loud thump sounded. Peter was frowning in perplexity at the door, but he then turned and looked enquiringly at Elizabeth who had abruptly refocused on Dougal.

"Take a look through the front window Peter. I think it may be a friend."

"Okay." Peter slid into the small room next to the front door. Barely a second later Peter came bundling back into the room. "It's Mac and the others."

"Well let them in." Elizabeth shoved James' cradle behind her chair as Peter cautiously opened the front door.

"Well met Peter." The greeting was followed by a couple of bars of some French song Elizabeth did not wish a translation of. The door was firmly shut behind the trio, a trio who became astoundingly sober the moment the door was shut.

"You got coffee Miss Beth?" Pyro was twitching restlessly.

"Peter." Elizabeth didn't glance up as she gave the order, Peter would make coffee much faster than she could, and much more to the taste of the three men. "What's up?" Elizabeth made the enquiry after Mac studied his watch for the third time.

"It's Ashie." Pyro sank into a chair.

"I actually assumed that since he wasn't with you."

"I think he's gone a trifle off the deep end." It was Denny who responded briefly. "They had Medical Examinations today. Pyro got dismissed on grounds of ill health, Mac was passed as fit but he'll undoubtedly go next month.....They forgot to check his shoulder."

"And Ashie?" Elizabeth made the enquiry after an extended pause.

"Dismissed on grounds of ill-health as well, but he has to turn up in a couple of weeks for a court-martial." Mac gave a faint smile, but there was a grimness about him which indicated no amusement.

"How did he manage that?" Elizabeth made the enquiry hesitantly.

"We're not actually certain." Pyro paused to accept his mug of coffee and to yawn widely. "But it would seem the M.O. was attempting to be smart or something. All we could get out of Ashie was a lot of unrepeatable language and the fact that the Doctor had called him a liar. We then went and had a few drinks because Med. Exams are stupid. Ashie consumed considerably more than any of us and then he objected to a Bobby with the usual results when Ashie is not sober."

"Is the Policeman in Hospital?" Elizabeth looked worried.

"No, we got onto the case fast. The Bobby is sporting a beautiful black eye."

"What's Ashie sporting and where is he?"

"Missing a tooth or two....Mac banged his face into the pavement to persuade him that resistance was unwise."

"So where is he?"

"Bosher Street. Only reason we're not with him is because we helped dissuade him. Also the Bobbies decided it best to just let us go since we were making a major fuss about being locked up."

"Hence your change of behaviour the minute you entered. Having settled that, why are you here?"

"We're cleaned out, Ashie's undoubtedly cleaned out. In fact we were hoping you'd be willing to roll up with us tomorrow morning to bail Ashie out. We'll repay you later."

"No need to pay me back. Ashie can pay me when he finds the time." Elizbeth frowned at the three men. "Have you anywhere to stay?"

"We were going to crash back at Ashie's hole. You'll need to be ready at seven if you're actually coming with us. Otherwise let Peter know how to get the money, or give him the money, so we can duly hand it over to the beak."

"I'll give one hundred to Peter. Bring Ashie back here once you've got him free." Elizabeth abruptly gave a soft laugh. "What a pleasant Christmas.....do you boys want to come for some tomorrow?"

"Christmas Dinner?" Pyro looked questioningly.

"That's it." Elizabeth nodded.

"Consider the offer accepted." Denny gave a quick grin. "Okay, let's go camp for the night."

"I'll catch you later." Mac didn't bother rising to follow the others out of the small flat.

"What's up Mac?"

"Ashie's what's up. Sister Bennet, I suspect you'll have one very unhappy man on your hands tomorrow morning....and it's not because he's going to have one hell of a hangover. I'm not trying to alarm you, but Ashie is one very unhappy person."

"Why?" Elizabeth shifted forward on her chair.

"You've not spoken to any of them since the Armistice?"

"I haven't even seen them." Elizabeth's brow creased worriedly. "What happened?"

"Florrie was shot down on the 11th of November......we still don't know if he's alive. Ashie went after him the moment I told him Florrie had a fight on his hands. Ashie got there inbetween Germans. Florrie sent Ashie away, well aware that his continued existence was more likely in the hands of the Germans. Ashie won't forgive himself for actually leaving Florrie. He may not even forgive himself even if Florrie does return. He definitely won't forgive himself if Florrie doesn't return. Ashie's badly on edge, whatever you do don't look surprised or try to comfort him or anything. We're still hoping to keep him out of too much trouble and pity or comfort really seem to send him wild."

"Why do you tolerate it from him?" Elizabeth looked up enquiringly.

"Because I'm still in the Air Force. I may not be there for long, but I still have occupation. Ashie's been dumped out on a loose end and as a result he's got time to do all the thinking he has been avoiding for years. On top of that his discharge he has taken as a personal insult to the degree that he still won't tell us what happened at his Med Exam."

"What did he do?"

"Once again we don't know, but the doctor had a beautiful black eye so we assume Ashie was making use of his fists to avenge some insult. What insult we don't know."

"Thank you for the warning." Elizabeth watched silently and thoughtfully as Mac let himself out of the house. What had she got herself in for?

January 30th 1919 - Netherfield, England

It was late when the house assembled for breakfast. It was late and none of them looked refreshed or even particularly happy. Elizabeth had hastily shuffled through her breakfast while reading the mail which rested by her plate. One official looking envelope brought a worried frown to Elizabeth's face and after a moment she laid it aside before giving Jane a terribly bland look. It was a look Jane had become familiar with and it warned that questions would not be welcome.

"Lizzie, I think this is for you." Charles fished a stiff, ornately patterned, white envelope from his pile of mail and spun it across the table. Elizabeth caught the envelope and glanced at it. The envelope was addressed to C. Bingley, Netherfield. The envelope was already opened and as Elizabeth tipped it a second envelope of the same type fell out and landed clunkily on the table. Elizabeth picked up the second envelope and glanced at the address, it was addressed to 'Elizabeth' and there was nothing else on it. Elizabeth glanced at Bingley in puzzlement.

"Who's it from?" Jane was watching in bewilderment.

"Ashie." Elizabeth responded distractedly as she ripped open the envelope. A third, and very different envelope, fell out of the envelope and with it a thin sheet of crested paper. Elizabeth glanced at the page.

What a damned bore. I'm hating this paper my mother bought me more by every passing second. Sorry about the method of delivery Miss Beth, but since you won't have anything directed to you accurately I'll also assume that you don't want things addressed to you inaccurately, hence I'm sending this to Bing first. No doubt he'll have the decency to hand it over without nosing any further than inside the first envelope.

This arrived at Pemberley about two days ago and has introduced a lot of discussion as to what should be done with it. I of course suggested they throw it in the fire, but they ignored me. Anyway here it is duly forwarded to you.

Ashie hadn't bothered to sign it, but that was a feature that didn't surprise Elizabeth in the slightest. The Ashington-Frankston family crest was far too visible, and Ashie's scrawl far too personal for it to have been from anyone else.

"It's from Ashie, but he's merely forwarding some things for me." Elizabeth rose as she spoke and pocketed her mail. "I'll have to go to London again tomorrow. Do you mind looking after James again Jane?"

"No problem." Jane watched as Elizabeth left the room. "I wonder what all that was about."

"I think it was delayed post." Charles spoke bluntly. "I think we will refrain from visiting the South Wing today."

"Delayed post?" Jane looked puzzled.

"There is only one type of envelope which has both mud and blood on it, and that is an envelope which was addressed in the trenches of the Western Front. There are only two people who ever wrote to her from that situation."

"Oh." Jane fell silent and resumed eating her breakfast, there was truly nothing else to say.

Elizabeth sank down onto her bed and finally drew from her pocket the letter she had been attempting to ignore. She had delayed opening it for two hours already by fiddling around mundane tasks, but now there were none left and she had no more excuses she could make. The envelope was filthy and the address scribbled there on almost illegible. However the hand which scribbled had once been very familiar. Elizabeth bit her lip and hugged her knees before she finally ripped the envelope open and tipped the three dirty pages which still seemed to smell of the battlefield onto the bed.

April 1st 1918

St.Quentin, France

My dearest Elizabeth,
What to write? Having finally applied pen to paper I find myself at a loss to write. Where to start? There is so much to say and yet I know not how to say it. If you were here I know exactly how I'd say it. But you are not here and I must admit I am thankful.

This is hell, I could think of nothing worse than standing with a decimated Division while the evening cannonade slowly comes to an end. Soon the phosphorous shells will fly, leaving a trail of whiteness up into the sky before they explode like Roman Candles in a brief but blinding flash of light. Like Very Lights they will climb and explode, like Very Lights they will sink slowly earthwards while their light fades before they expire with a sizzle in the mud. The M-G is picking up already, in a macabre way it is like camping in the mountains, bugs whiz and fizz in irritating clouds, a woodpecker is rapping away restlessly. He raps, tat-tat-tat, he then paused to inspect before he raps again Rat-tat-tat. The voices of them men is like a stream, a steady, gurgling flow which meanders for miles across barren countryside.

Carrigan sends you his greetings and best wishes. Carrie has just stopped next to me to hand over the casualty lists. We have been on the move so much lately that I haven't bothered setting up headquarters, I just huddle down with the men in the trenches and if someone wants me they have to find me. This report makes depressing reading. I have no wish to stop writing to you, but this report must be read so I am reading and writing at the same time. I write a sentence and then I read a few tens of names assorting in my mind how they fit. I then write another sentence. I am afraid My Beth, tonight I am afraid, and it is because of my fear that I wish you were here. I have always been afraid, always wondering, worrying, terrified what the Gods will toss my way next. But tonight I am truly afraid, I'm afraid like I have never been afraid in my life. This is not the fear which quickens the blood and heightens the senses. This is the fear which wraps icy, paralysing fingers around the heart and limbs. This is the fear which stagnates thought and cramps the muscles. This is a fear which jeers in a million taunting voices. I wish you were here My Beth. You can always make me laugh at myself and my fears. I just know that if you were near this fear would not even dare show its face.

My Beth, so strong and courageous, why did you marry such a coward? Why can I not face the world with the strong equanimity and confidence that I can hit any ball fate bowls my way. Why can I not face each dawn with a grin, a laugh and the confidence that even if it is pouring torrential rain here the sun is shining somewhere else. My life seems to be almost a black miasma of despair these days except for this beautiful flicker of warm light which is the centre of my life.

I find it amazing how the mere thought of someone can change everything. Somewhere out there you are living, breathing, loving. It only takes the knowledge that somewhere you are out there and it is like this damp little trench is filled with a warm golden light. It is like brandy after a cold swim. It sends quick silver racing through my veins. It is like sitting in front of a bonfire. It is a warm fire at which I thaw frozen, terrified fingers. Are you an Angel sent from high to save me from my insanity? It is a fount of energy which never fails me. Just the thought that you are waiting galvanises aching, leaden limbs into activity and decision. The mere thought of you does this. No wonder I am punch-drunk when I am with you. Do I seem that way to you when I am around? Do I seem like I can barely remember the alphabet? I know for a fact my grammar goes to hell and glory. To know that you are out there living, breathing, loving.

I have sometimes wondered whether I would still feel this warmth if you had not married me? Would I be reveling in this warmth if you had not married me? Or would I be shivering away in this damp little trench with everyone else?

Why did you marry me My Beth? Why did you marry this hulking mass of crippled humanity? There are men ad infinitum you might have married. Men with spotless pasts. Men who have the money and the time to make you the queen you already are. Men who are not crippled and spoiled by life at the extremes. Men who come untainted by cynicism.

What do I offer you My Beth? I have brought you no position. You've already made your friends in your own circles. Most of these friends might well not even know that I exist. Do I make you laugh My Beth? Does the mere knowledge that I exist comfort you? Do I make you feel hopeful when the world seems grey, gloomy, pain-filled and smothered in mud? Can the thought of me bring comfort in this swirling, chaotic mess of a world in which we live?

I saw you a couple of days ago. It was like a dose of salts. I had been feeling like life just wasn't worth the effort we expended to live it. When I left the world still felt horrible. It felt like all the Gods were conspiring to give me the maximum hell in the minimum length of time. But for all this I knew there most certainly was a very good reason to burn every last ounce of my being in the effort to stay alive. I dream My Beth. I dream of a day when I can kneel before you and say 'I did my best'. I dream of peace. I dream of walking around Pemberley with you, knowing that nothing will shatter the peace. I dream of being able to hold you without the fear that in five seconds I will have to let you go, possibly never to see you again. Do you dream My Beth? What are your dreams? The Padre tells us that dreaming is bad, an escape like taking opium to dream. But those dreams and these dreams I know to be different. I often find I cannot face the day without first having a little dream of the future. Dreams are almost like the kinder fear, or your beautiful thought, they instill hope and power of purpose in what used to be a claggy jelly of despair and futility.

My last cigarette is almost dead now, it is burning my fingers as I write. It is much to my regret that my pipe supplies insufficient light to write by. My pipe is so much pleasanter than these tricky little cigarettes which I invariably drop in the mud and then they taste even worse.

I spend tonight in the trenches. The trenches are not my trenches, but in two days they will be my trenches. This is a new place. The trenches are new, many of the people are new. The position is awkward. Tomorrow I will fly over these trenches to see if they look any more safe from the air than they do from the ground. I expect little from the flight, but I will take it in hopes of finding something. In hopes of finding some little aspect which might be exploited to save a couple of my men.

Perhaps I will manage to borrow another five seconds so I can see you once more before you return to England. But I greatly fear that you have already left for your very well earned holiday free of any problems. I think Ashie will be up for some leave while you are, I hope he visits and is nice.

You have a truly horrible husband My Beth, I have wasted all this paper and all my cigarettes on myself and haven't even managed to ask if you are well. I hope you are well. I hope there is nothing serious currently marring your days. I love you my darling. I do try not to hurt you and yet I still do. Can you forgive a husband who tries so hard and yet invariably is unsuccessful? My Beth, I know for a fact I would long since have been dead had you not been around. Thank you for giving me your time, your patience and your love. I hope at least in someway I brought something into your life.

David

Elizabeth bit her lip but within seconds the tears got the upper hand and she rolled over and buried her face in her pillow.

"Elizabeth." It was over two hours later when Charles Bingley knocked softly on the door which was Elizabeth's bedroom.

"What is it?" Elizabeth's voice was thick and groggy.

"Telephone for you."

"I don't want to talk to anyone."

"It's Ashie, he'll visit in person if you don't speak to him."

"He's called once and he's lost patience?" Elizabeth's voice was becoming clearer with every second.

"No, he's called forty-two times and this is the first time when you've actually responded."

"Forty-two times?" There was a pause. "Has he said why he's calling?"

"No."

"Do I have a telephone in this room?"

"No."

"Is there a telephone in this house I can use alone?"

"Only downstairs."

"Thanks." Elizabeth finally opened the door. "Don't worry, I'm fine, just tired. Now where is that telephone."

"In my study." Charles hastily moved off and left as quickly as he could.

"Ashie?" Elizabeth hooked up the telephone.

"What's up?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You sound like you've been crying for hours."

"How do you know how it sounds?"

"That is a story you do not want the answer for. It was my sister ten some years ago."

"Why now?" Elizbeth dropped into her chair.

"Not much choice, he sent it via South Africa and he fully intended to beat it home."

"Could you repeat that?"

"He intended to be home....or at least to have had some home leave before it arrived. He'd been thinking about writing it for months."

"Why did he tell you?"

"He didn't." Ashie responded bluntly.

"Then how do you know?"

"Good question. He told Marie, or rather he asked Marie's advice on whether he should. And before you make a fuss Marie is our housekeeper at Le Chateau de Luminiere. You may remember her from December of 1917 when I used you as an unobservant observer." Ashie paused. "I also happen to know the Major very well and I would have been surprised if he hadn't sent a letter to you via South Africa. I asked Marie yesterday after I forwarded it to you."

"Can you let Nelli know I'll be in London tomorrow?" Elizabeth hesitated. "I'm going to fight Ashie. Even if it kills me I am not going down without a fight."

"I will admit I've been waiting to hear that for a month now. No problem with Nelli, she'll be there herself."

"Why?"

"Because Miss Georgiana Darcy has decided it time she went to London, and as Miss Darcy's companion Mrs. O'Niell goes as well."

"Why's George going to London?"

"A tactless letter on the part of Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

"But...." Elizabeth hesitated.

"Bring the brat with you, Mrs. O'Niell says."

"Nelli's there?"

"Ummm....yes she is."

"Where are you?"

"Currently at the Horse and Hounds.....I really have to agree with Mac, the landlord here is frightful. He's practically licking my boots."

"You shouldn't wave your family crest around so much. You're here in Meryton?"

"Correct."

"Pack your bags and come here immediately."

"But..." Ashie hesitated.

"Forget it. If you don't come I'll come get you."

"Terrifying thought, expect us in the hour."

"Thank you. I'll get some beds made up."

"I warn you, George is feeling a trifle miffed that you haven't been back to Pemberley."

"I've been busy."

"You've been too afraid you mean. However I won't be nasty since I don't blame you at all. It was just a warning."

"Thank you. My love to them....is a cot needed?"

"Yes it is."

"One will be waiting then." Elizabeth spent a few more moments exchanging polite insults with Ashie before finally she hung up and headed up the stairs.

February 13th 1919-Minnehaha, U.S.A.

"Journalism consists largely in saying "Lord Jones died" to people who never knew Lord Jones was alive." - G. K. Chesterton

With the train grinding to a halt, Mr. George Knightley laid his newspaper to one side before carefully folding it up on itself. Mr. Knightley then ducked his head to inspect the snow-smothered countryside. Having finished the inspection Mr. Knightley rose to his feet and removed his suitcase from the overhead rack. With the suitcase resting on the floor Mr. Knightley reached up once more to retrieve his hat, gloves and heavy overcoat from the rack. Mr. Knightley stood next to his suitcase with the heavy overcoat on and his hat and gloves resting under one arm. There was a chime and a tinny voice announced that the station was Minneapolis Grand Central Station. Mr. Knightley picked up his suitcase and moved out into the corridor, not another for the entire length of the carriage stirred.

"The train should be here by two ten Senator, It's been held up by the snow a trifle." The Ticketmaster nodded knowingly and fed Mr. Knightley a ticket.

"Thank you." Mr. Knightley accepted the ticket.

"How was England?"

"Very wet, very grey, very black and very, very dismal. For them life has continued and there is not an excess of food to be shared around."

"Well this ain't the first time I's said it. It just ain't Christian the way they were blowing themselves up. Should be a law against it. Is your brother expecting to return soon?"

"Not for a couple of years yet, the boy isn't old enough to travel yet and his wife is expecting again."

"He would be a sight for sore eyes. Well, best of luck to you Senator."

"And the same to you." Mr. Knightley nodded briefly before he wended his way across to the other platform. It didn't matter how many times he had attempted to correct them, ever since he had first won office the station staff had insisted on calling him Senator. And now he had resigned it seemed that they still called him that. Mr. Knightley shook his head with a quiet laugh and settled down to wait until the train arrived.

There were a bundle of letters awaiting Mr. Knightley as he stepped through his front door, but beyond a cursory glance at the hands which addressed them, he ignored them. The fact that Mr. Knightley ignored his mail was sufficient to concern his housekeeper and she padded after him as he made his way up to his room.

"Is all well with mister John?" She knew better than to follow him into his room.

"Everything seems to be fine. Mrs. John is expecting again and John was about to return to France when I departed."

"Why should he go to France? The war's over."

"However some people still live there. I will admit that I was sore tempted to accompany him, just to see what it was like over there."

"Not regretting coming back?"

"Good grief, no." Mr. Knightley glanced up briefly. "Everything north of Paris is just mud and barbed wire."

"Then why did you observe that you wanted to go?"

"Curiousity, good old-fashioned curiousity which killed this cat many years ago. I'm curious about how the relief systems work. Are they as efficient as the newspapers claim? Are the Red Cross the only relief people in Europe? What is the atmosphere in Germany? Is it as uncomfortable as a lot of the soldiers in England seem to think? Certainly our papers don't paint the same pictures as those soldiers do. Are there really hundreds, thousands, millions of little white crosses to be found in France and Belgium? What are the people thinking? I'm not interested in the governments I'm interested in the people. What are the people thinking? What are the people feeling? Do they regret? rejoice? or are they just numbed into indifference? Are the Germans like we have seen them portrayed for the past few years? Or are they otherwise? Are they a bloodthirsty, bloody-minded race of glory-seekers? Or are they just a nation tired of war?"

"It's no good thinking like that Mr. George. Do you want dinner?"

"No, not yet. I have business to attend to." Mr. Knightley shook off his thoughtful mood and turned resolutely to the task of unpacking his bags and changing into some fresh clothes.

"Have you heard that we've lost Mr. Woodhouse?"

"Yes. Senator Weston wrote me of the matter."

"Lost the Hutchins Family to that awful 'Flu....but come to think of it, you hadn't yet left then."

"No I hadn't."

"Miss Emma's been poorly lately, but the Doctor says it isn't the 'Flu. A mercy and a half in my reckoning, what with her being around so many sick folks and the Bates'."

"What's with the Bates'?"

"Oh naught really. Miss Bates caught 'Flu three weeks back. She ailed only a day. Mrs. Bates has moved in with Miss Woodhouse. Miss Emma's invitation of course. It's getting crowded up there Mrs. Frankk says."

"Who's up there?"

"Well there's Miss Emma and Mrs. Frankk. Then there's Mrs. Bates and that Fylov boy. There's young James Areswick and Milton Tyler....."

"Young James Areswick?"

"Aye, he's Hans Areswick's boy. Hans and his wife died just last month."

"Continue."

"Sarah Vaghn is also up there and Old Clarrie."

"How have that many fitted up there?"

"Miss Emma built a couple of small rooms off the back."

"She built them or she had them built?"

"Oh she built them. Milton Tyler and that Fylov boy helped her."

"Mr. Churchill wasn't around?"

"Oh he was, but Mr. Churchill is not much use in those situations. Took Miss Emma just four days to get those rooms up."

"That is not bad for getting some rooms built."

"No. But Mr. Churchill has been a disappointment."

"Has he?" Mr. Knightley wasn't certain whether he was still interested or not.

"Well it is certainly a disappointment for Senator Weston, and we all feel that it is fortunate that Miss Bates has passed away because she would be most disappointed."

"I fear I am not following."

"Oh, Mr. Frank Churchill eloped with Miss Jane Fairfax last week. They sent a letter to Mr. Weston, most tersely worded, informing him that they were married and would not be returning."

"Seems brief." Mr. Knightley had completely forgotten about his bags. "I'll be back by six."

It was using a very long stride indeed that Mr. Knightley took to the road. By the time he'd covered the two miles to the Woodhouse farm his pace had him less than five minutes behind his University record for the distance. Mr. Knightley paused by the gate. For one he was uncertain of his reception. For a second reason he was all of a sudden questioning why he had ever come. The sight of a woman walking at a very casual and distracted pace across the fields brought the full force of fact home for Mr. Knightley. Mr. Knightley knew exactly why he had dropped, and forgotten, everything to come here on hearing the news of Frank Churchill's marriage.

"Mr. Knightley!" It wasn't until he heard the surprised tones that Mr. Knightley realised he had been staring into infinity for the better part of fifteen minutes, and that the distant figure was now standing directly in front of him looking surprised and a trifle bemused.

"Miss Woodhouse." Mr. Knightley couldn't think of anything to say.

"Forgotten to memorise your speech have you? Dear me. Come in for a cup of tea. Mrs. Bates will be delighted to see you. When did you arrive?" Emma pulled Mr. Knightley through the gate and shut it firmly behind him. "I warn you the house is full, but we seem to survive peaceably enough."

"Yes, my housekeeper said so. I arrived about an hour ago."

"You haven't wasted much time coming to call." Emma's tone was neutral.

"Senator Weston told me your father had died. John and Isabella were concerned and have extended an invitation to you to join them in England."

"Oh and you aren't?" Emma's brows skyrocketed.

"I hadn't actually thought I needed say that since I'm here."

"You've played messenger boy before when the content of the message concerned you not at all."

"You are being obnoxious. How are things for you?"

"Good." Emma nodded. "Been a bit tired lately, but with the rooms up and Grigor Fylov looking after the farm for the next week I should get back on my feet."

"Are you going to accept John and Isabella's offer?"

"And leave the farm?" Emma's brows soared and her expression was slightly shocked.

"I'll take that as a negative." Mr. Knightley gave a soft laugh.

"You take that very correctly indeed. Nothing short of another war is going to shift me."

"Why?" Mr. Knightley rubbed his chin and looked at her enquiringly.

"Well...." There was a helplessness to Emma's shrug and she spread her hands in a bewildered manner. "It's my home, my work....it's my life. I could no more leave here than I could just flap my arms and fly." Emma hesitated again. "It's given me position and prestige at last. I'm Miss Emma from the House, even though we're no bigger than anyone else really. I am welcome at every door. If I speak, people listen. This isn't saying they didn't listen before, but I'm no longer Earl Woodhouse's daughter, they listen to me because I'm Miss Emma. They listen because they know that I won't speak unless I know what I'm talking about. If I don't understand I go find out about it from someone who does understand. I can't leave the people at the House, they like me Mr. Knightley. They like me for who I am. Possibly they even love me. But they like me and they trust me to help them. Grigor's going to the Agricultural College next winter. Sarah Vaghn speaks of doing Household Science and setting up here in Minnehaha. This would provide more employment here which would be good."

"What, no intention to marry someone off?"

"No." Emma shook her head slowly as she almost whispered the words.

"At risk of being impertinent, why?"

"Because I have found that it does more damage than good. It can cause unintentional hurt to many....mostly I guess it's just that the weirdest matches seem to be made. Jane has married Mr. Churchill."

"Though you seem unimpressed it doesn't sound like it was much of a surprise."

"It wasn't.....after I'd thought about it for four hundred badly hammered nails and two hours."

"Explain?"

"I don't think I can. I was angry when I was told. But I wasn't angry because they'd done it. I wasn't angry because I hadn't known and organised it." Emma paused and distractedly started pulling the pins from her hair. "I think I was angry because I had been used. I was being used for petty revenge on an imagined insult against someone whom I have no real opinion on at all. It seems awful that I can't say I like or hate Jane, I must admit that she inspires indifference in me. It somehow seems wrong that a childhood acquaintance brings indifference. I really couldn't care what Jane Churchill does, it just doesn't interest me."

"A big empty void of who-gives-a-damn in fact."

"Precisely." Emma let out a relieved sigh as she freed the last pin and her braided bun unwound into the long golden braid which hung down her back. "Pins are torture, I'm thinking of getting my hair cut."

"Why?" Mr. Knightley studied Emma's face thoughtfully, there was so much more to be seen there now. No crowds would welcome Emma home from her sacrifices. No speeches would be made honouring her efforts during the war. In fact nearly no one would acknowledge she had made any sacrifice at all.

"It's heavy, it's troublesome to keep nice.....I think I just want a change, something so I can say 'the war must be over, look what has changed.'"

"Couldn't you just shorten it?" Mr. Knightley was distractedly twisting the end of the braid between his fingers. "To be terribly frank with you I think you'd look atrocious with short hair."

"That's what Mrs. Bates said as well." Emma twisted her head and pulled her braid out of Mr. Knightley's fingers. "It has been years since you've done that, but it is still every bit as irritating as it was when I was fifteen."

"Sorry, didn't realise I was doing it." Mr. Knightley apologised briefly as he stared out across the field.

"You never did until I deprived you of it." Emma inspected the golden-coloured braid. "Do you think it would be alright to just shorten it?"

"I don't see why not. Half the women look more like men these days and it can be most confusing."

"They do?"

"Half the women seem to be wearing trousers with short hair.....shingled or something they called it. Friend of mine back in England calls it bingled and utterly bungled. Despises the new fashion with a passion."

"Why?"

"Awkward question, I'm not in Milton's mind. It's not very...pretty, having short hair. Though I will admit that it is better for some women. I think it is all a matter of personal preference." Mr. Knightley had captured the end of the braid once more as he frowned at a nearby fence post. Emma glanced at him briefly but then looked away and refrained from pulling her braid free. "I guess I prefer the longer hair because it looks neater. No hair blowing into your face at the slightest breeze. Looks neat for the whole day without constant attention." Mr. Knightley glanced down distractedly at his fingers and gave a slight laugh before dropping the braid. "It also gives me a means to tease you."

"How pleasant to know. I see Sarah waving to us so we'd better go in an have some tea."

"Emma." Mr. Knightley caught her arm as she turned to leave. "Please have a moment of patience with an old friend."

"Why?" Emma returned to the post he was leaning against.

"I have a question to ask you. It's strictly unofficial. More of a curious enquiry I guess. Nothing really important in it....or at least, that's a matter of opinion." Mr. Knightley paused uncomfortably.

"You should get a new speech writer, this one is terribly disjointed in his style." Emma's tone was lightly teasing but her eyes were worried and possibly a bit unhappy.

"Daft actually to ask it."

"If you think it daft to ask it I wonder you began." Emma started to move away again.

"Sorry Emma." Mr. Knightley spoke quietly. "Make my excuses. I'll come visit officially tomorrow." Mr. Knightley turned and started walking for the gate.

"Mr. Knightley." Emma's call stopped him just before he passed through the gate. Mr. Knightley turned slowly back to see Emma hurrying after him. "Please forgive me, that was terribly rude of me. You've listened to my ramblings, but I wouldn't even give yours the time of day. Please forgive me for being so selfish and flippant. Honestly I do wish to hear. It isn't fair to treat an old friend badly and truly you are my oldest friend."

"I know." Mr. Knightley hesitated visibly, a curious mix of emotions Emma couldn't name chasing across his face. "I resigned from my Senate seat last year because I found it no longer had the spice it had before. I felt I was not doing half the job I could do for the people. I also realised that there were many out there who could do a better job than I. I haven't missed leaving the Senate. Certainly there were some advantages to the situation....but something was missing and it had been missing for over a year." Mr. Knightley paused once more and shot a searching look into Emma's face. "We've been friends for more years than I can clearly remember. You were there at my first victory. You've been there for every victory since. You've helped me at countless functions. You were my companion for innumerable dinner parties when I couldn't find someone else to accompany me. In many ways I was probably exceedingly nasty to you for I know you frequently had very little time indeed to prepare, and yet you were always prepared and ready and able."

"That usually took the combined efforts of Izzie and any friends to achieve. It wasn't only one-sided for I was about the most knowing woman at the paper when it came to Political News as a result of that."

"Still it can hardly have been friendly all the time....you were never really the fall-back option. Though I called you that and always called at the last minute in desperation, I don't think I ever really tried to get myself another companion for most of those dinners." Mr. Knightley paused again. "I think I've just had to sack my speech-writer...what was I talking about?"

"I think you were attempting to make me blush by saying you actually liked taking an eighteen year-old brat to Senate, Congressional, and innumerable State Dinner Parties."

"You were only a brat before and after those functions. Never a brat at them. I don't know Emma, you seemed to have an inborn ability to say exactly the right thing at the right time and in the right way. Isabella was always right when she said that no one but a potential President would be good enough for you."

"I don't want to marry a potential President, I don't think I want to marry anyone." Emma's cheeks had become quite pink.

"Oh." Mr. Knightley paused and then abruptly shook his head. "Unfortunately even faced with that I won't stop. We've been friends for years. We've done everything from State Balls to mud fights together. What I'm asking Emma is whether you can see me as anyone but an old friend and a brother-in-law? Could you imagine me as a husband? Or is this a useless idea? If you can't I hope this won't effect our friendship...."

"Mr. Knightley...I fear I cannot call you George, or even Mr. K." Emma took a careful breath. "I must admit it has been some time since I have not wished that I might be able to call you something else. My Mr. Knightley." The last was said more of a sigh than anything else as Emma found a strong pair of arms wrapped around her.

"Emma, you've made me the happiest man alive today. I came home hoping I wasn't too late to supply some comfort for your loss. I never even thought I'd actually ask you. On the few occasions I did think of asking the best result I ever gave myself was you admitting that you might be able to see me otherwise. In my wildest imaginings I never considered that you might accept me outright."

"You've often observed that you never could understand me, let this just be another mystery to my collection." Emma gave a contented smile as she heard the laughter rumble deep in Mr. Knightley's chest. Tomorrow she would consider the rest of the world, but today she just wanted to enjoy herself. Today she just wanted to enjoy knowing that Mr. Knightley was hers.

March 19th 1919-Netherfield, England

Elizabeth rolled over and stared sightlessly across the room for a second, then abruptly her eyes focussed and she stared at the map which hung from the wall, decorated by many, many flags. Flags which ringed nearly every millimetre around the European continent, flags of every colour of the rainbow, flags which specified the year of the battle and which side initiated it. Flags which spelt four and a half years of her life, flags which marked her change from being a young girl with no concerns to a young woman, and then a widow. Elizabeth rolled over abruptly as tears stung her eyes and looked into the small cradle that lay next to her bed, young James McKenna Darcy blinked up at her and waved a hand.

"Hello little one." Elizabeth pulled him out of the cradle and placed him on the pillow next to her. "Who's been good all night." She got a gurgle for her pains.

"Lizzie." Jane's head suddenly appeared around the door.

"Hello Jane, come meet a perfect gentleman. Make your bow James." Elizabeth supported her son who was giggling madly.

"Really Lizzie. Hello James." Jane sat down on the edge of her sister's bed.

"What brings you here at this horrible hour?" Elizabeth snagged her dressing-gown and shrugged into it.

"Lizzie it is ten in the morning."

"Well I have my first holiday, so ten is horribly early." Elizabeth tucked her chuckling son under her arm and marched across to a nearby table.

"Lizzie, please be serious."

"No." The abruptness of Elizabeth's response caused Jane to frown.

"Elizabeth, could you please tell....."

"No Jane. Now please, I need to dress."

"I'm sorry Lizzie." Jane rose to her feet with a sigh, then stopped. "We got an invitation from Georgiana Darcy, there's a dinner in a couple of days to commemorate the anniversary of her brother's passing, she wants your attendance.......she also wants your permission to commemorate to Folin as well."

"Say yes and yes." Elizabeth's voice cracked as she responded and she bit her lip savagely. Jane watched her sister fumbling blindly for a minute, then turned and left the room, Elizabeth clearly wished to be left alone.

"How'd it go?" Charles Bingley caught his wife as she reached the foot of the stairs.

"Say yes and yes." Jane responded primly.

"Well that's a start." Bingley sighed and stared out the window. "I'm sorry we can't do more for Lizzie Jane...."

"We can't even try Charles. Lizzie's too complex....even for herself sometimes. It might have helped if nearly three quarters of the division hadn't been wiped out.....She'll tell us when she's ready, but until then I think we had best respect her privacy."

"What ever you say Jane, but I hate to see her like this....." Bingley died away. "Darcy loved her you know...he'd hate to have seen her like this."

"Well he hasn't seen her like this.......I'm not sure Charles, but I think she's returning at last."

"What do you mean by that?" Bingley stared intently at his wife, he would be the first to admit that his sister-in-law puzzled him most of the time.

"She was crying this morning."

"So?"

"Has she ever cried before when we were in the room?"

"No, but....." Bingley stopped then shrugged. "You'd better go tell Georgiana we'll all be coming."

Elizabeth stared silently through the front windscreen as they spun along the road. In five minutes they would be there. Five minutes and she would be faced with what she had been avoiding for close on a year now.

"Lizzie......are you alright?" Jane leant forward as she asked her question.

"Sure." Elizabeth turned back and gave her sister a grin. "It'll be interesting to see the place again." Elizabeth turned back to the front and suddenly touched the driver on the shoulder. "Could you please put me down?"

"Certainly ma'am." The motor came to a swift halt and Elizabeth descended.

"Lizzie!" Jane was worried.

"We're an hour and a half early Jane. Tell Georgiana I'll be in within the hour, I just feel like taking a walk."

"But what about..."

"He's coming with me. Don't worry Jane." With a hand motion Elizabeth waved the driver on and stepped back, before stepping into the woods with James perched on her shoulders. Elizabeth knew that Peter had also descended from the motor with Dougal, but she also knew that he wouldn't say anything and he would never be within earshot. "Hey little one, how do you like this view of where you might have been living?" Elizabeth had taken less than five minutes to cross through the wood to a small hill which gave a splendid panoramic view of the house and the grounds. A swift walk had carried them to the top, and Elizabeth lowered her son to his unsteady legs as she sank down onto the top of the hill. The motor she had been riding in had drawn up at the front door. "We might have lived here James, now only you will." Elizabeth sat silently as the sun sank slowly over the horizon, cutting swathes of light across the sky, from this perch Elizabeth could easily see why that particular site had been chosen for Pemberley, with the rest of the countryside settling into darkness, the small valley seemed to glow as fingers of light crept up the narrow valley.

"Okay James, time we descended." Elizabeth rose to her feet and restored James to her shoulders as the light really started to fail. With firm steps Elizabeth started to descend, and as she descended she seemed to walk steadily into an ever deepening pool of memories. Folin was perched on a boulder, chewing on a straw and laughing. Mac, Captain McKenna, was lounging nearby, the man who had been with David on that last fateful flight. Denny and Paige were slightly further down the hill with some of the Canadian Officers. People from the hospital in Meryton, people from Camthorne, people from France, they were all there. How many of them were still alive? Elizabeth heard James give a soft chuckling giggle and his fingers dug into her hair. How many of the original combatants had survived? Had any? How many of those who went were now crippled? Was it really worth the price which was paid? Elizabeth suddenly sank down and pulled James down and buried her face in his front.

"Schubert, without doubt this is Schubert weather. Second movement of Death and the Maiden." Folin's voice jerked Elizabeth's head up, in the distance she could hear barking. As Elizabeth looked around she saw that there were only three left, Folin was still on his stone, chewing away on a straw a short distance below him Graf Georg von Nickel was fiddling intently with something.

"I most certainly do not agree Mr. Bennet."

"Bennie." Folin finally rose from his rock.

"Georg." Nickel shook the offered hand and they slowly faded away, leaving Elizabeth to stare blindly out across the valley. They were all there, they were happy. There was Folin, with his serious expression which Elizabeth well knew could dissolve into a lightning quick grin. Georg, George Wickham, was there with his ready laugh and ready smile. And there was David, with his faint smile and wicked sparkle which danced when he was amused. They were Folin from before the war, they were Georg from November of '15, and it was Darcy from Pemberley and France. Slowly the world came back into focus for Elizabeth and she started to laugh, laugh like she hadn't laughed since before the war.

"Oh James." Elizabeth scrambled to her feet and swung James up onto her shoulders again. "Did you know you have a fool for a mother?" Half running, and half sliding Elizabeth descended the hill and headed for the house. Elizabeth didn't have anything to explain what had happened on the hill, but suddenly she was free, she could laugh, it no longer felt like a crime, she felt that she could do it.

"Oh Georgiana, I am glad to see you." Elizabeth gave Georgiana a quick hug as she came into the hall.

"Elizabeth." Georgiana willingly returned the embrace and then frowned. "Is that James on your shoulders?"

"Yes." Elizabeth gave a slightly guilty chuckle. "I sort of forgot him, what a terrible mother I am." Elizabeth swung her son down and tucked him under an arm. "What room are we in? I must hurry or Jane will be annoyed."

"Did you find them too?" Georgiana's voice was soft.

"Yes." Elizabeth knew what Georgiana was referring to.

"I'm so glad.......You're up in David's room. We've got all the women on the third floor and the men are on the second floor. I would have given you your room again, but we have relatives and that would have created talk."

"Right. See you soon Georgiana." Elizabeth grabbed the small bag containing her clothes from where it sat near the door and charged up the stairs. It was a serious and sober event, but for the first time in a year Elizabeth was truly, deeply grateful that she was still alive. Ten minutes later Elizabeth had changed herself and James and was descending the stairs again.

"Dining Room Ma'am."

"Thank you." Elizabeth gladly took the directions from the peglegged footman and hurried into the room in question. Georgiana had warned her that Ashie was to speak, and Elizabeth had to admit to great curiousity to know what Ashie would supply, for there was no question but that Ashie was the most knowing about both men. Elizabeth sank into her seat and found that Ashie was staring at her from across the table. It took Ashie less than a minute to devise a foolproof reason which required him to change seats with the gentleman on Elizabeth's right.

"Miss Beth." Ashie dropped into his new seat.

"Ashie." Elizabeth nodded briefly. "What blackmail did George use to persuade you to speak?"

"Mmm." Ashie shot Elizabeth a lazy look, but then something further down the table caught his attention and he swore softly and with great fluency for the better part of a minute. "But on the other subject she was threatening a piano recital if I didn't."

"Ah, your bail was to supply the content I take it?"

"Yes." Ashie gave a brief grin, but his attention had drifted once more.

"What is it?" Elizabeth glanced in the direction of Ashie's attention, but it was a large cluster of people which held his attention.

"Someone I would have much preferred not to see here. However I didn't write the guest list and all things considered it is unsurprising."

"Who is it?" Elizabeth glanced back at Ashie curiously.

"It happens to be Miss Caroline Bingley. Thankfully her opinion of me is as bad as mine of her so we shouldn't even have to speak to each other."

"My sister says Miss Bingley has improved in the past few years."

"That actually isn't my problem with her." Ashie very carefully refixed his gaze on the tabletop. "Though I quite agree with Kitty, Miss Bingley has improved of late."

"I will assume that it is none of my business so I won't bother asking."

"Most kind of you." Ashie's expression flickered very briefly indeed and then he opened a discussion on the John Buchan book he had just laid his hands on. Had anyone listened to that conversation they would not have believed that less than a minute earlier Ashie had been cursing with a fluency which would have made a Bedouin Camel Driver pale.

"And now we've all gathered, please take your seats." The Butler stared around the room, then departed and shortly food started to enter.

Continued in Next Section