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June 1919-London, England

"If the facts don't fit the theory, change the facts." - Albert Einstein

It was an uninspiring tramp steamer which clumped heavily against the wharf. It was an uninspiring group of khaki clad men who tumbled off the steamer. The men went straight to the uninspiring pub which sat on a dingy corner of a dirty street. But one man did not join the group. He stood blinking uncertainly in the crash and collision of noise. The sharp cockney voices rang out and his expression was curiously contented.

"Oi! Watchit matey!" The sharp cockney snapped irritably as only by a deft manoeuvre did he avoid hitting the stationary and solitary figure.

"Sorry." The man moved awkwardly, his eyes still looking in an almost searching manner. He stood slightly crookedly, a large stick was tucked under his arm in the manner of an umbrella and even after two more near collisions he hadn't moved.

"C'mon matey! Move along 'afore ah beltcha."

"You must forgive me. I was rather enjoying being able to understand what was being said around me."

"You bin in Gairmany?"

"Yes." He responded slightly hesitantly.

"You be one of those prisoners?"

"Not really." He paused uncertainly.

"Watcha mean by that?" The figure then hastily raced away as a harsh yell came from nearby.

"I couldn't really say." He responded to himself, well aware that his companion had moved on. Finally he settled his stick onto the ground and moved off slowly with an awkward, lurching gait.

"My Lord." Manningford came into Ashie's smoking room, his expression very distasteful and disapproving. The air in the smoking room was foul and smoked swirled wreathlike around the unshaded lamp.

"What?" It was from under dark brows that Ashie frowned up at Manningford. Yellow fingers drummed restlessly against the arm of the chair, and innumerable cigarette butts still smouldered in the ash-tray.

"You've got....a visitor."

"I do?" Ashie's expression lightened not a whit as he folded the paper to one side and pitched the contents of the ashtray into the fire.

"That is correct, my Lord."

"Name?" Ashie opened the window as he spoke and warm, stuffy air swept into the smoky room like a fresh spring breeze.

"He wouldn't give one actually." Manningford's expression became even stiffer.

"Height?" An untouched glass of Brandy which had merely served to give atmosphere went into the fire as well.

"My Lord!" Manningford was now visibly shocked as well as disapproving.

"His height. About how tall the do you estimate him to be?"

"About five foot five inches, my Lord." The ice was freezing inches thick on Manningford's voice as he spoke.

"Hair colour?" Ashie banged the window shut as the air in the room became sufficiently cleared.

"My Lord..." Manningford began to protest again, but the look Ashie shot him made him think better of the protest. "Hard to say, he's wearing a hat. But I think it's blond."

"Nose?" Ashie returned to his seat and perched his feet back up on the mantelpiece.

"Very, very retrousse."

"Tell my damned cousin either to come in or to at least stop being an idiot." Ashie lowered his feet from the mantelpiece and levered himself from his chair.

"Don't seem to have become a whit politer cousin James." Florrie was awkwardly working into the room as he spoke, his nose wrinkling up slightly in distaste. He shut the door very firmly indeed behind Manningford.

"Wing-Commander Ashington-Frankston. Let's see that peg." Ashie shook hands briefly.

"Nothing easier." Florrie hitched his trouser leg up a couple of inches and revealed the end of a wooden post which was already starting to show signs of wear. "I just replace the post when it gets too tired. Right handy. I hate that valet of yours."

"Can you still fly?"

"I assume so, haven't actually tried."

"Well we'll find out tomorrow. What was Germany like?" Ashie waved Florrie towards a comfortable chair as he dropped back into his own.

"Depressing. All grim, grey and hungry."

"See any familiar faces?"

"A few, not many. Saw Chris."

"Intriguing. Anyone else interesting."

"No. But Chris asked me to give you this. He seemed to think it would explain itself to you." Florrie pulled a small paper wrapped parcel from his pocket and handed it across. "If the Captain had known I was holding that in my mouth when I came on board I seriously doubt I'd have left the ship alive."

"So the paper didn't come with it." Ashie unrolled the paper and glanced for an unwinking moment at the sapphire which rolled out onto his palm.

"No. Does it explain itself?"

"A bit." Ashie rolled the gem back up and lobbed it carefully into a small container on his mantel piece.

"What is it?"

"A Sapphire, called the Empress and worth about 10,000 pounds as is." Ashie gave a yawn. "It came from the Calridgia Mine in South Africa and was last the property of one David Fitzwilliam Darcy."

"That lump of rock is worth 10,000 pounds?" Florrie looked startled.

"It wouldn't have helped the Captain at all. That particular rock is all too well-known for anyone to buy it. It's the second largest flawless sapphire, or something like that."

"If the Major was the last owner of it, how did Chris get it?"

"Only one way. The Major survived that crash."

"You don't look surprised."

"I'm not."

"Why not?"

"There was no charred corpse amidst the wreckage. The fire wasn't hot enough to burn him away to nothing. That was a flash burn, there should have been a big, charred corpse still in the wreckage and there wasn't. Whether he's still alive is debatable, but one assumes he is or Chris wouldn't have bothered handing this on to me....or should I say one assumes he was. Quite possible he's died since you were handed that rock."

"Well if you knew he was alive why didn't you say?" Florrie scratched a puzzled head.

"Do you see Darcy currently in England?"

"No." Florrie was now bewildered.

"Which means he can die yet. As said he's possibly already dead. Do you think it would be fair on Miss Beth to know that her husband is alive, in constant danger and not coming home yet?" Ashie abstractly pulled a half-smoked cigarette from his pocket as he spoke and lit it.

"Hadn't thought of that." Florrie looked slightly chagrinned.

"Don't worry, I've been thinking about it for months and I suspect the Major has as well." Ashi restlessly stubbed out his cigarette and scratched his chin.

"Are you drunk?" Florrie's expression was curious.

"No little cousin I am not drunk. I'm not even remotely tipsy." Ashie paused. "I'm just in a very bad mood."

"What are you going to do with the rock?"

"Nothing." Ashie proffered a cigarette case full of unsmoked cigarettes to Florrie.

"No thanks." Florrie waved them aside. "Why not?"

"What can I do? I'm not going to be the person who breaks this bit of news to Miss Beth. The Major can do his own dirty work when he gets home. Neither do I intend to set out on a crusade to drag him home.....if I did I either won't find him or I'll probably have my neck broken. Oddly enough neither of those options appeals to me."

"Then why did you get the rock at all?" Florrie was looking puzzled.

"Has it ever occurred to you what might happen if Miss Beth married for a second time and then the Major came home?"

"Oh hell." It was very softly spoken, but there was a lot of feeling.

"Not really much of a hell, but I'm not the only person who would prefer that the Major returned sometime. It is going to be a lot of years before Mr. James McKenna Darcy is old enough to administer his estate."

"Mr. WHO?" Florrie's brows had snapped together. "I've never heard of him before."

"Unsurprising, he arrived in September of last year and I didn't even hear about him until December. Mac looked sand-bagged when he heard the name and altogether it was nearly a very embarrassing scene." Ashie gave a slight chuckle. "I've been informed it is going to be a shorter version of the father."

"Well it can't be a bigger one." Florrie was blinking uncertainly and after opening his mouth twice with the obvious intent to speak he gave up. "I must admit I've been sand-bagged as well. But what is all the fuss about? Surely the Fitzwilliams will just administer it until he comes of age."

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh retreated to Rosings after she failed to prove that the marriage was faked." Ashie paused. "She is as yet unaware of the existence of Mr. James. Most of us wait in hourly dread because there is no way they'll manage to keep it out of the papers if Lady Catherine decides to accuse Elizabeth of....sleeping around." Ashie's expression was distasteful.

"Why should it come up?" Florrie was looking puzzled.

"They were married in November. December and Darcy has left the Western Front while Elizabeth remains. March brings the abduction of Elizabeth and the Battle of St. Quentin. April brings Elizabeth on Home Leave and the Major deceased." Ashie idly picked up the stone and flicked it into the air so the light caught its facets. "Do the maths Florrie and you'll realise that a baby in September who is a few weeks premature is rather difficult to explain."

"Hell." There had been several minutes of silence before Florrie spoke. "Hell and damnation take the Devil-cat." The was another pause. "Why doesn't she know already?"

"We only assume she doesn't know. Lady Catherine, thank goodness, is not on visiting terms with the current Mrs. Darcy. With the boy at Pemberley all the time very few people know about him at all. However the boy is getting older and soon people will know about him."

"I am officially confused." Florrie pulled a gloomy looking face.

"Don't worry, so is everyone else. Seems Lady Catherine only discovered four weeks ago that the Major was supposedly deceased. If someone is that selective about the information they receive it wouldn't actually surprise me in the slightest that she doesn't know. However it is a puzzle since Elizabeth was carrying the boy when she met Lady Catherine last year. Everything is all very confusing."

"What was the reference to Anne over?" Florrie abruptly remembered something which had bothered him before.

"Anne de Bourgh is engaged to Conrad Darcy. The wedding is to occur in about a year and a half. If one believes Lady Catherine it is because Anne needs to gather her strength."

"Have you just finished a visit to our worthy second aunt?"

"Bingo old chum. Actually it ended four weeks ago, but that is why I have the facts. Lady Catherine does not like Mrs. Darcy and I will refrain from soiling your beautiful ears by repeating her comments."

"Soiling my ears?" Florrie looked instantly interested. "I never knew Lady Catherine to be anything except excessively helpful."

"Most people do not defeat her soundly when she is telling them they are lying. The lovely Mrs. Darcy spent a mere week pounding Lady Catherine's case beyond recognition. Advice to you cousin. Never accuse someone of marriage fraud when they have over two thousand witnesses who are willing to swear that the marriage was fully legal and religious without a word skipped."

"Thankyou for your words of wisdom.....were either of the Bridesmaid or the Best Man alive still?"

"Manners was the Best Man and though he is unable to walk he was undoubtedly capable of taking on the prosecution."

"Brigadier Mannering.....what did Lady Catherine think of such a high ranking officer as her nephew's best man?"

"She was impressed until he testified against her and she has been utterly scathing of his antecedents ever since."

"Nice to know she's still in good form. I was wondering if I could park on you for the night before I went home to allay the maternal fears that I was irreparably injured."

"I was going to crash at Pyro's actually. But I've no doubt he could find room for you. Otherwise feel free to stay here, but I'm not coming back for a bit, I'm ready to throw Manningford out the window."

"Why don't you just fire him?"

"I can't." Ashie's expression became glum. "It is infinitely better to know who is reporting to my mother as opposed to wondering which street lamp is keeping an eye on me."

"True. Well let's see if Pyro has some corner he can tuck me into. I have no wish to face the Manningford come tomorrow morning."

"Good." Ashie threw the rest of his cigarette into the fire and rose to his feet. "We are departing immediately and we will walk....as far as the cab rank."

"What, not going to risk the Silver Bentley?"

"I bent that a bit too much and it is still being repaired. Only got a black Bentley, but no, I'm not taking any of my wheels down there." Ashie wrinkled his nose up briefly before abruptly yanking the door open to give Manningford an icy eye. The valet had been just that little bit too close to the smoking room door and the pot he was polishing would unlikely ever need another polishing in its life. "You may tell my mother I am going out for a wild night of drunken revelry and if I find you anywhere remotely near my heels you will deeply regret it. Do I make myself clear?"

"I fail to understand your Lordship. Your evening suit is laid out." Manningford's tone was almost as icy as Ashie's.

"My evening suit can go to hell and you with it." Ashie grabbed hat and coat and stalked out the front door with Florrie a few yards behind.

"Hie! Wait up Ashie, I can't run on a peg you know."

"Sorry." Ashie's expression was instantly contrite. "I had forgotten about you in my ill humour."

"I noticed." Florrie was breathing quite heavily as he came up alongside Ashie. "What a couple of crocks we are. How far to the cab rank?"

"Another block."

"Thank goodness." Florrie started walking once more, but at a considerably slower pace than before. "How do you know it is Manningford who is reporting home?"

"Two-three reasons. I heard him one night when I couldn't sleep back in '16. Ger has also let me know in a somewhat roundabout way that I had someone watching me within my household. Third reason is that Manningford is living much better than the salary I pay him allows. Ger confirmed that impression, Manningford gets close on a thousand pounds out of my mother on an annual basis. Not that mother misses a sum like that."

"What are you going to do for now?"

"Nothing." Ashie abruptly reached into his pocket and pulled out the Empress sapphire. "What are you willing to bet I find Manningford's greasy paw prints all over the smoking room mantle piece when I return?"

"Nothing. Though I'm curious to know why you're so certain he's after that."

"Proof. It'd raise one hell of a storm if he could show the rock which came out of Germany and was last the property of General Darcy. He'd make a mint out of the tabloids if he played the cards right."

"I'm being dense tonight. Couldn't he just sell the story?"

"The tabloids won't touch it. They know I'd wallop them with a court case faster than they could blink if they couldn't prove their story."

"Couldn't you just buy Manningford off and have him stop?"

"No thanks, I'm not going to be bled white by my valet."

"That is a definite consideration I had not thought of."

"I had. I've also considered murdering the man and making an immense public scandal at his expense. The biggest problem is that none of the plans will stop my mother, she'll just get someone else to do the job." Ashie gave a shrug and then gave a yawn as he waved to a cab driver. "Something will occur which should enable me to get free, but until then I prefer the devil I know to the devils I don't." Ashie dropped into the cab and gave another yawn before he gave the address.

September 20th 1919-Kingsport, Canada

Elliot March creased his brow more firmly as the doctor's ice cold fingers investigated the scar along his rib cage.

"No problems there March. You certain that your scars are the problem?"

"I never said it was that one which was being a problem. It's the scar on my leg which is causing irritation." Elliot had taken a firm control of his tongue to stop himself from snapping at the Doctor.

"Ah." The Doctor refocused his attention and Elliot shifted so he could watch. The main scar twisted like an angry serpent from near his ankle until it vanished under his shorts. The scar seemed to glow almost luridly, so scarlet was it. Radiating from where his kneecap had once been Elliot dispassionately eyed the complex network of crisscrossed scars, the result of four separate surgeries. As the Doctor's fingers found a reasonably sensitive point Elliot fought back an earnest desire to swear.

"Shouldn't be surprised if you had a touch of sciatica with a scar like that." The doctor stepped back.

"Anything else to say?"

"No."

"Thankyou." Elliot slid off the operating table and quickly regained possession of his shirt and trousers. Less than a minute later Elliot was limping out off the hospital indulging in the string of profanities he had restrained inside the hospital.

"Captain March!" The call had Elliot turning sharply for no one continued walking when Matron Sarah Magnusson called.

"Matron." Elliot nodded coolly.

"I'm not a private, Captain, so how about you just continue swearing. Any news?"

"Not news I didn't actually already know over a year ago."

"Why did you go? Just a curious question."

"Hope that burns ever faithful I guess."

"Meaning you'd actually like to get a night of uninterrupted sleep for once."

"You are much too sharp for your own good Matron." Elliot almost smiled.

"No other cubs ever volunteer for night shift. I've seen you sitting there, white-faced and only half conscious with pain for all too many nights. Why are you doing this Captain? You're ten years older than the rest of those cubs. You're carrying a crucifying load of study and you aren't getting half enough sleep."

"I get sufficient." Elliot shrugged the argument aside. "I have to admit I'm still trying to figure out why I've come here."

"Will you take a Matron's observation?"

"I'll listen, but I don't promise any more."

"Spoken like a true soldier. I'm guessing two things. One, you wish to prove to the world that you can do anything. Two, I think you have hopes that even if you can't get yourself enough sleep you're going to do your level best to get that rest for others."

"And I'm meant to deduce from that?"

"Look at your work. You've utterly bombed at cardiology and obstetrics....trust me, you're not coming within ten miles of any baby of mine. In fact your marks are mediocre to utterly rotten in all fields except Neurology. Why is the man who graduated number one in a class of hundreds doing so lousily at this stuff which is mostly just look and remember. We set a cadaver in front of you and in a very short space of time you can dissect it completely and tag it. You know more about Neurology than half the doctors here."

"So I'm interested in neurology....what's the excitement for?"

"I have a proposition for you. Dump this, dump the scholarship, dump everything. You're never going to make a doctor doing country rounds. You'd be bored stiff and besides which you have about the lousiest bedside manner of anyone."

"So dump this.....you suggesting I go back to teaching a small country school?"

"Good Lord no." The Matron grimaced. "Please spare me from that! Go to England."

"What do you suggest I do in England? Teach schools there?" Elliot's voice hardened abruptly.

"Patience. I haven't told you to run berserk yet so stop trying to. Dr Jermyn Alastair is currently on tour. As you're well aware he's swinging past with two lectures here. No doubt you've carefully cleared your schedule for the lectures or I'm an idiot." The Matron paused to allow herself a second smile. "There's no greater Neurologist currently working than Dr Alastair. You get training with him and you could have your pick of hospitals."

"But...." Elliot hesitated.

"Just think about it. By the way Nurse Hammond is looking for you. A telephone call came through for you."

"Where from? Was a message left or am I meant to call back?"

"Just go find Nurse Hammond." The Matron moved off, leaving Elliot to hesitate uncertainly for a moment before he moved off.

"Captain March!" The call caught Elliot just before he entered the administration wing. Elliot turned to see Nurse Hammond hurrying after him. "You received a call twenty minutes ago."

"Yes, the Matron said you were looking for me. Was there a message or am I meant to call back?"

"Just a message. Call came from Narrow Creek. The speaker didn't wish to speak to you, just wanted you to be told as soon as possible."

"Did the speaker give a name?"

"Abe....or something like that."

"Old Abe...." Elliot grabbed for the wall as his leg seemed on the point of failing him. "What did he say?"

"Bad connection. But I'm afraid it was something about 'Flu and someone called Vicky...." Nurse Hammond stopped speaking and grabbed Elliot as his good leg failed him and he started to fall.

"No." It was barely more than a whisper which came from Elliot. "No....not Vicky."

"A friend?"

"Yes." Elliot shook off the supporting arm as he decided that his leg was strong enough to hold him. "Vicky's a very old friend indeed." Elliot shifted indecisively before quite abruptly he moved off down the corridor.

"Come in." Professor Axelson's voice was deep and reminded Elliot of a man now deceased who had taught him to live with pain.

"Professor." Elliot remained by the door. "It's a bit abrupt, but I was wondering whether I could get leave of absence."

"For how long?"

"I'm not certain, it may only be a week or two, it may be a month or two." Elliot shrugged slightly.

"Someone got 'Flu?"

"Yes, an old friend of mine who stayed with my mother and great-grandmother while I was in France."

"It's most of a day's travel for you to get there."

"I know."

"Dr Alastair arrives the day after tomorrow."

"I know, but I'm afraid that my family is more important to me than anything. At the ultimate worst I want to be able to say goodbye to a dear friend. I'm not at risk since I had the light case last year. Please."

"March.....I don't usually permit students to commit professional suicide like this. However I'm making an exception. You'll have to work over Christmas though.....provided you've returned by then."

"Thank you, sir." Elliot couldn't keep the relief out of his voice.

"March. What is your opinion of England?"

"It rains too much."

"Could you live there?"

"I've done it before so I assume I could do it again." Elliot's brow creased.

"Good. We've been in communication with Dr Alastair for six months on your case and I'd rather not have our work shot to hell because you won't leave Canada."

"You might have told me."

"Why?"

"Dr Alastair and I have met before."

"He did say your name seemed familiar, but he was unable to place it."

"Well ask him when he arrives if he has remembered. If his memory fails just say that I was talking to you about when he nearly amputated the Devil's leg."

"But you haven't been."

"I have now. Alastair will be more than willing to tell the story if you ask him. But for now I'm running for it."

"Good luck, God Speed and I hope all goes well."

"So do I sir." Elliot's voice was tight and he banged the door a bit too firmly behind himself.

"Amputating the Devil's leg......if I didn't know Elliot March better I'd accuse him of inventing stories for our edification." Axelson shook his head as he picked up a nearby file. He hoped that Alastair would still be willing after this.

The Little House was terrifyingly denuded as Elliot cautiously walked into it. Rugs and blankets, pictures, samplers and stitchery, there was not a single trace to be seen in the house. Bare walls and floors greeted the eye. Bare rooms also met the eye. The immense stove stood cold in the corner of the kitchen, Emilie's rocking chair sat vacant next to it.

Elliot stared in bewilderment around the room before he slowly climbed the stairs to the first floor. The first floor was a repeat, bare, denuded walls and rooms. Nothing remained in Mrs. March's room at all. Elliot turned and walked slowly to Emilie's room, but to his relief he found it untouched. There was a mound under the bedding which twitched occasionally.

"Emilie?" Elliot walked uncertainly into the room, his eyes searching warily.

"Elliot?" The tone was of amazement and the mound uncoiled before a pair of dark eyes peered out unwinkingly.

"It's me Emilie."

"Shouldn't be here silly boy, we're quarantined."

"Doesn't effect me." Elliot sat down carefully on the foot of the bed. "I had the 'Flu last year. A very mild case, hence no one was notified. Besides which I frankly couldn't care less whether I was at risk or not. Are you okay?"

"Tired of lying down, but otherwise I'm well."

"Then I'll start Operation Make Emilie Comfortable."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"First, I make the kitchen fire and make a little bit of life down there. Then Emilie gets a bath and a change of clothes before she is ensconced in her rocking chair. Having done that I'll start a meal which she can watch while I inspect further in efforts to make this house habitable again."

"Vicky?" Emilie was sounding a little more active already.

"She's still alive?"

"I don't know." Emilie gave a little shiver.

"Where are the others?"

"They left us for dead." Emilie's voice was bitter.

"What's with the absent furniture?"

"Took it with them....didn't believe they should be uncomfortable."

"Then I'll get it back." Elliot's mouth tightened. "I'll be back in a minute Emilie. I'm going to see what Vicky's like, then I'll light the fire before coming back to discuss a plan of action."

"Move it boy." Emilie had finally straightened up and was leaning against her bedhead. Elliot gave Emilie a quick and gentle hug before he took to the garret stairs. Elliot was puzzled by the fact that his bedroom door was locked, but he wasted barely a second on that, choosing instead to look into Victoria's room.

Victoria's room was in shambles, many things were broken or badly damaged. Victoria lay across her bed as opposed to lying on it, her hair was a knotty mess which spilled off the bed and onto the floor. Elliot nearly shuddered as he looked around the room, the room reeked of stale vomit and faeces, the sheets were a mess, filthy and vile. Elliot stepped cautiously across the room and watched Victoria closely for a minute. It was in relief when he stepped back. He was relieved one because she was still breathing, but he was also relieved to return to slightly fresher air. Elliot carefully crossed the room and opened the window before stepping back to the door and closing it firmly after himself.

Ignoring the protests from his knee Elliot took the stairs in two jumps and came crashing into Emilie's room.

"My room's locked. Why?"

"To keep them out." Emilie's tone was pointed.

"Where's the key?"

"Here." Emilie held out the bronzed key.

"Thanks." Elliot grabbed the key and went jumping back up the stairs. Two minutes later he came bundling back down the stairs with his pack on one shoulder.

"Elliot." Emilie called softly.

"Yes?" Elliot paused. "Sorry, your comfort will have to wait, I'm racing a clock for Vicky and I fear there's not much time left."

"I was merely going to say forget about me until Vicky's comfortable."

"Thanks." Elliot took the stairs to the ground floor even faster. The kitchen fire was lit in record time and the kitchen table was pushed into one corner. Elliot soon had the contents of his pack turned into a thick mat on the floor and a large tub of water was heating on the stove.

Elliot watched the water for a minute longer before he took the stairs at a run once more. From his room Elliot was dragging mats, quilts and blankets down to the kitchen. With the water on the stove nearly at the boil Elliot dragged the immense bathing tub from under the kitchen sink and half-filled it with water. With the jug of water added Elliot quickly checked the temperature before he took to the stairs once more. Elliot's return was considerably hampered by the fact that Victoria was not co-operating with his efforts to keep her in a safe position.

Having stripped Victoria of all clothes and underclothes Elliot proceeded to scrub her ruthlessly. Having satisfied himself that he could get her no cleaner Elliot had her out of the bath and vigorously rubbed her dry before wrapping her up in multiple blankets and bathrobes. It was with slight relief that Elliot noted the redness his vigour had brought to the pale, papery-grey skin. The bath was emptied out the back door and scrubbed ruthlessly before Elliot refilled it again and gave Victoria a second bath which was no gentler than the first.

With Victoria lying next to the fire and the bath emptied and scrubbed once more Elliot shoved some more wood into the stove before reaching for the telephone.

"Kingsport connection." Elliot drummed impatient fingers on the tabletop as he waited for the connection to be made. A few minutes later Elliot had finally got his connection with Professor Axelson.

"What's up?"

"A mess. Can you send some stuff down to me? The locals here treat it like the plague and there is no local chemist."

"What about the local doctor?"

"Died of the 'Flu last week from what I understand."

"What do you need?"

"Carbolics on top of the usual medication. It's Pneumonia as a secondary infection and a touch of pleurisy I think. Still am not certain whether it is double pneumonia or not."

"Stuff'll be on the next train. Do you want any help?"

"I certainly won't refuse some trained help. What ever happens here I can't leave Narrow Creek until the Season has run through its worst."

"That's nice to hear. I'm sending Matron Magnusson, Nurse Hammond and Dr Forth to help you out. They'll come with enough carbolics and medicine to clean the place fifty times over."

"Warn them accommodation may be cramped. Depends on whether I can find anywhere else for them to stay."

"That shouldn't disturb them. Just make sure you meet them so the stuff doesn't sit around."

"No problem. There's a milk train which leaves to come here at midnight, they can catch that and I'll meet them."

"Right."

"Thank you, sir." Elliot terminated the call before he turned his attention to the kitchen which was now becoming quite warm. "Emilie!" Elliot made another quick check on Victoria before he took to the stairs once more.

"How's Vicky?" Emilie was still sitting up in bed.

"Breathing still." Elliot sat down with a heavy sigh. "I hope you don't mind a sponge bath. I can't find any carbolics and I'm not using that bath again until I get some."

"There aren't any in Narrow Creek."

"There'd better be by tomorrow or I'll lose all faith in Professor Axelson and Matron." Elliot gave a yawn and rubbed at his eyes. "Emilie for a bath?"

"Please."

The operation had taken close on fifteen minutes, interrupted eight times by Elliot going to check on Victoria, and ended with Emilie ensconced in her chair by the stove with a blanket up to her neck.

"Do you know where the Harkness' went?" Elliot was vigorously reducing some carrots and potatoes to mush at the bench.

"I think they went to the Hollard Place."

"Well I'll soon find out." Elliot chucked the vegetables into the saucepan before grabbing the telephone receiver again.

"Mary Harkness speaking."

"Elliot March here, I want our furniture back."

"I don't believe it." Mary Harkness' voice took on a catty note.

"Either you have all the furniture you removed from the Little House back at the front gate inside of fifty minutes or I'll give you something to worry about. Is the message clear?"

"Yes, but I still don't believe you."

"Then I'll come collect it myself." Elliot turned his head away from the receiver slightly. "Emilie, Vicky's slumped, can you hold the telephone while I straighten her up?"

"Easily." Emilie took the receiver and listened gravely for a moment while Elliot clumped loudly once or twice.

"Thank you." Elliot had not in fact touched Victoria and he had no intention of disturbing her unless absolutely essential and unavoidable. "Now where were we, Mrs. Harkness?"

"It will be at the gate." The note in Mary Harkness' voice was hysterical.

"Next time I advise you not to steal." Elliot banged the receiver down irritably before returning to stir the pot.

"Why's the furniture so important Elliot?" Emilie was looking puzzled. "We can always get more."

"Principles force me to refuse that course of action. I'm not going to buy furniture when I know where ours has gone. Besides which five tomorrow morning and two nurses and a doctor are descending on us. I won't have them sleeping on the floor."

"Vicky's sleeping there."

"Vicky will die if she isn't very carefully treated. A bed would kill her off unbelievably fast." Elliot rubbed his forehead wearily before he turned his attention to the pantry to inspect its contents.

"You're tired Elliot, you should rest."

"I can't, Vicky needs watching." Elliot for the thousandth time checked Victoria's vitals and listened grim-faced to her wheezing, whistling fight for breath.

"When did you last sleep?" Emilie watched concernedly as Elliot continued to fumble things which normally wouldn't have troubled him at all.

"I last woke to the conscious world..." Elliot paused to inspect his watch. "72 hours ago. I'll get some sleep tomorrow afternoon I hope." Elliot returned his watch to his pocket and tested the tepid water which he had been heating slowly on the edge of the sink. Elliot gave a nod to himself before adding a pinch of salt to the mixture and a spoonful of sugar.

"What's that for?"

"Vicky. Can't give her cold water and she isn't conscious to eat so we hope she'll actually swallow." Elliot cautiously spooned a bit of the mixture into Victoria's mouth before tilting her head cautiously backwards. There was a convulsive swallow and Elliot promptly straight Victoria's head and gave her another spoonful before repeating the tilting process. Four spoonfuls later Elliot finally straightened Victoria's head and moved back to the stove without feeding her anymore.

"She's been delirious." Emilie was watching warily.

"Wouldn't surprise me, she's got a lot of plain garbage in her lungs. I'm hoping she gets delirious again."

"Why the fire so stoked up?"

"The warmer the environment the better her chances. Same goes for dryness, a wet environment is even more deadly than a bed." Elliot returned to the pantry, but soon reappeared frowning grimly. "Onions, what do we have?"

"Not many."

"Damn. Well I hope Vicky lives until they come."

Matron Sarah Magnusson glanced out the window at the countryside and grimaced. She had heard that Elliot March came from the country, but she hadn't realised he had come from this much country. The mountains soared to terrifying peaks and crashed to deep valleys which looked like they would never receive sunlight.

"Looks grim doesn't it?" Dr Forth leant over to peer out the window as well. "Do you think that your idea will actually produce anything, or will we be the only ones going forth so intrepidly?"

"It's a bit of a risk, but necessary. I expect at least some will go."

"Makes you feel like an apostle or something. Going forth to bring wisdom to the masses."

"I'm more worried about Elliot March." Sarah settled back in her seat.

"He's immune isn't he?"

"We think he is. No one actually knows if this is the same 'Flu as last year. It could be a mutant strain or something. Besides which I don't believe anyone is immune to anything when they're dead exhausted and it is now 84 hours since he slept."

"He might have slept coming here." Dr Forth also settled back in his seat.

"Would you have settled back and slept?"

"No." Forth made the admission reluctantly. The towering mountains abruptly flattened out into a small, but wide plain and the train came to a wheezing halt. The two nurses and Dr Forth bundled off the train and raced to supervise the unloading of their equipment.

There was no one in sight, a feature which had them looking worriedly at each other. Even for a small country station there should have been at least the station master.

"You think we came to the wrong place?" Nurse Hammond looked around worriedly.

"Well the sign says Narrow Creek Station so I'd assume we're at Narrow Creek." Sarah pulled her pack up onto her shoulders before turning her attention to the crates which had accompanied them for the whole, uncomfortable trip from Kingsport.

"Sorry to be late." Elliot's voice caught all of them by surprise and they turned sharply to see him leading up a horse and cart. "Lost track of time a bit."

"You look shocking." Sarah Magnusson spoke bluntly as she began helping Elliot and Forth manhandle boxes and crates up into the cart. "Where is everyone."

"Hiding inside." Elliot's tone was grimly ironic. "Not at all trusting these people. Don't actually know if you'll be able to help any for I think they're to afraid to admit that they've got it."

"Surprising that." With the last box loaded they piled quickly into the cart which then moved off slowly.

"I hope you have compress stuff, we've got a bad lung ulcer which is not particularly loose but is causing a lot of trouble."

"Not good. We've got the equivalent of a hospital in those boxes. They'll last a week for fifty people we guess. We're to send for supplies if need be."

"Carbolic?"

"That box is full of the stuff." Sarah waved towards the largest box.

"Good, I've got a house to scrub."

"Why?"

"Because the....." Elliot restrained himself carefully. "People who had been living with my Great-grandmother decided Vicky was dead and departed. Vicky wasn't dead and neither was my Great-grandmother but both were unable to leave their beds for close on a week. The result you can guess. Emilie's pretty knocked up, but fighting fit."

"Vicky?" Sarah prompted cautiously.

"Sick. Not quite dead, but that's only because she won't stop breathing."

"What's your guess?" Forth leant forward.

"'Flu, double pneumonia, lung ulcer, pleurisy, dehydration and pressure sores." Elliot responded flatly.

"That, from you, is very bad news indeed. We'll scrub the house, you need to sleep."

"No. There's too much stuff."

"March, you're going to keel over yourself if you don't rest."

"Alright." Elliot growled unhappily. "But only the lower floors. I'll deal with the garret myself."

"Why?"

"Because it's the worse. Most of the stuff will have to be burnt. Matron, can I trouble you to deal with Vicky's hair." Elliot swung the cart through the gates. "It's too big a mess for me and it needs washing."

"No problem." Sarah nodded briefly. "Nurse Hammond can help me and then we'll do bedrooms. Forth can cover the living rooms and watching the girl and you can scrub your garret. On the understanding that after an hour of work you will rest for at least half an hour."

"Yes Matron." One did not argue with Matron Magnusson when she took control.

Victoria opened her eyes slowly and found herself staring at the heavy, beamed roof of the kitchen. The room was dimly lit by a small lamp and Victoria had the odd feeling that it was some very early hour of the morning. Her position was fairly reclined and Victoria was amazed that she could breathe. Each breath moved easily in and then out, no longer did she have to fight to draw breath. No longer was each breath an activity which demanded every ounce of her concentration and energy. Victoria stared at the ceiling for another while, pondering whether she was alive or dead. Eventually Victoria decided she must be alive since she was feeling uncomfortably warm and rugged up. Victoria rolled her eyes, studying the range of her vision, and at one point she could just see the top of someone's head.

"W-what....time....is...it?" The words were difficult to form, but they came out clearly to Victoria's great joy.

"Two in the morning." The response was muttered and then there came a curious scraping sound and a dark face came and looked into her face hard. "Well you don't look delirious or anything."

"Who....are....you?"

"Me? I'm Dr Forth. You sleep now, more questions will be answered when you wake again."

"Thankyou." Victoria closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep again.

"Well dang it all, had I been told this I wouldn't have believed it." Forth returned to his seat and shook his head.

"Been told what?" Nurse Hammond looked up from a mound of blankets on the other side of the room.

"She just woke up, perfectly lucid. Asked for the time. Asked who I was and then went back to sleep again."

"We'll refrain from starting celebrations until she wakes a second time lucid." Nurse Hammond stretched wearily. "Frankly speaking I would have believed it possible for her to wake."

"Why do you say that?" Forth settled back onto his seat by the table.

"From what I've heard and seen anyone who has been close to Elliot has to be made of iron to survive. Elliot March is a man of creature comforts, it takes a serious jolt for him to change anything. He's satisfied with a situation so it will remain so."

"Sounds odd for someone doing Neurology."

"Not particularly. As I said, a man of creature comforts, unhappy nerves are a very good way to become uncomfortable. You stir up one point of Elliot's life and he anchors even more firmly the rest of his life. Victoria there has always been there and, to be blunt, he takes her for granted, just assumes she'll always be there. With that situation he doesn't mind if his contact with her is merely the odd letter. He's just discovered in the past week that she might not always be there and I suspect he intends to do something about it as soon as possible."

"What if she refuses?"

"She won't."

"Why so confident?"

"Because Elliot March is not the sort of man you say no to. Much too charming by half for starters. Second he's utterly relentless once he starts. She'll either marry him or she'll run away."

"What's up?" Sarah Magnusson came sleepily into the room.

"Why are you up?"

"Couldn't say, I just woke up. Something changed with Vicky?"

"Well she just woke up and she seemed to be perfectly lucid."

"Mmm." The Matron frowned thoughtfully. "Get Elliot down if she wakes again and is lucid. Don't go near him otherwise. Matron turned to go and then stopped as the door slowly pushed open and Elliot came carefully into the room carrying Emilie whom he carefully placed into her chair.

"She's awake isn't she?" It wasn't a question really and the Matron noted that Elliot hadn't even glanced at Victoria, Elliot was looking at her.

"About five minutes ago she woke up, she asked the time, she asked who Forth was and then she went back to sleep."

"Thankyou." Elliot dropped onto one of the kitchen stools and buried his face in his arms as immense sobs shook his frame. Sarah Magnusson looked enquiringly at Emilie, but Emilie's face was utterly blank then quite abruptly she met Sarah's eye and she shook her head firmly.

"Just leave him be, he actually needed this a year ago." Emilie's expression had blanked out and she was staring up at the ceiling.

"What should we do?"

"Either go to bed, or watch Vicky or smoke. Who cares, makes no difference to me or to either of them.

December 13th 1919-Scherkwald, Germany

You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can't fool Mum. - MA Chiavelli

"I really couldn't care less." The words were a low and angry growl and the air in the room was charged to an unbelievable tension.

"So what is your problem?" Chris gave an exasperated sigh.

"It's that bloody fieldman of yours."

"Oh." Chris' expression twitched slightly. "So you're entire problem with what we're doing is that I have a field officer who does not speak."

"He doesn't speak English....he does speak."

"Does he?" Chris looked politely interested.

"Yes, I've seen him and heard him speaking to people over there."

"You can prove it?"

"Why do you say it like that?"

"I suppose I find it interesting that you have managed in less than a month what the Germans couldn't do in seven months. And they knew where to look from the beginning."

"What the devil do you mean by that?"

"You've come here and told me I've got to leave. When I've asked your only objection seems to be that I have a field officer who doesn't speak..."

"It's not that your field officer doesn't speak, it's that he does speak and he doesn't speak English."

"DUIVEL!" Chris leant back in his chair and yelled, less than a minute later the door pushed open and Darcy's head looked around it. "This is Captain Harold Swanson." Darcy glanced across at the Captain and nodded briefly. "Captain Swanson objects to you." Chris glanced back at Darcy just in time to catch the walked inquiry. "He objects to the fact that he says you can talk German without speaking English." There came another finger-walking enquiry. "I'll ask him. Captain Swanson, Duivel wishes to know why you know he can speak?"

"Because I heard him speaking with that damn Walter he spends an awful lot of time with. Even if he could speak it isn't fitting for him to be so friendly with a Hun."

"So because you heard me speaking German with Walter you assumed I could not speak English?" Darcy tilted his head enquiringly.

"Well...." Captain Swanson stuttered somewhat uncertainly.

"And yes, I am aware my accent has become somewhat Germanic, but that is merely the fault of now having spent nearly two years in Germany. As for why I do not speak for the most part, it is just because I did not speak when I first met these people and they would undoubtedly become unfriendly to me if I were to suddenly start speaking." Darcy turned away shortly, made a brief finger-walking to Chris before leaving the room.

"He has work to do." Chris settled back in his chair. "Satisfied now that my staff speak English."

"Who is he?"

"De Duivel....translation is 'The Devil' and annoy him any more than you already have and you'll probably meet that Devil.....it's a very unfriendly Devil indeed."

"Who is he?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm meant to be compiling a list of people who are over here."

"David Seymour, South African Mounted Police 1910 to 1912. He then became a prospector for two years before the War started and he was seconded for Special Services."

"Well if he's Special Services, why hasn't he returned to England?"

"Because he isn't allowed to. January.....January 1916, Times Newspaper, Letter's to the Editor. You will find two efforts by David Seymour, the result of which is that he is persona non grata in the British Commonwealth."

"Oh great, this is going to do wonders for our reputation."

"Don't jump too fast, I'm even more persona non grata than he is. Oddly enough your Special Service people were not looking for clean, old school reputations, they were looking for men with special skills."

"I suppose." Swanson's voice became heavily sarcastic. "That you're now going to say that you're the Chris Angel in the 1912 bank scandal."

"I have to do something and forgery helps pass the time of day." Chris gave an abrupt smile. "You might tell General Mooreson that next time he wishes to thrust a spoke in my wheel it would be in his best interests to do it himself and not to notify anyone in advance."

"What?"

"Three months ago you received a directive direct from General Mooreson stating that he wanted you to investigate certain activities in Southern Germany. There was a side note that if you could force the activities to cease no one would be seriously displeased. Tell him from me that if he interferes with my affairs once more it will be an action he deeply regrets. You may subtly whisper to him that there are some powerful names backing up this particular activity." Chris' entire demeanor had, until he started speaking, been light and flippant. Captain Swanson swallowed awkwardly as he found himself confronted by pitiless, cold, brown eyes and the grimmest mouth he had seen in his life. This was a man who meant business and whom nothing would stop.

"I don't know what you're talking about." But his defense sounded exactly what it was, a feeble, blustering attempt to regain control of the situation.

"Don't be ridiculous." Chris gave a snort of laughter. "But to encourage your memory I'll observe that if you are unwilling I'm sure it can be arranged for your corpse to carry the message back to England. Don't distress you're dear mama by tackling things you don't understand."

"You wouldn't dare!" Swanson was now truly alarmed.

"You watch me. This is a cutthroat game we play in these backwoods and it only takes one blundering idiot to see the end of all of us. I'm terribly partial to my life and I have no intention of losing it to General Mooreson's power games. So, take yourself off and don't forget to tell General Mooreson he will regret interfering with us."

"May one ask how?"

"The Earl of Clarrington still carries a lot of power in the government. The Earl of Clarrington sanctions our activities.....as do quite a few other names which carry weight in English Politics." Chris rose to his feet as the telephone rang. "Hallo?"

"Hier ist Walter. Ich habe ein paar neue Grippefälle gefunden. Eine Holzfällerfamilie." Walter here. I found a couple of new 'Flu cases. A woodcutting family.

"Duivel ist schon unterwegs." Duivel's on his way. Chris hung up the telephone, well aware that Darcy was doing exactly the same in the next room where he had been making an inventory of stores. The past few months had had a serious impact on their supplies and Chris had no difficulty in admitting that when it came to Darcy and inventorying supplies there was no equal. Even a photographic memory had not helped Chris keep track of the innumerable numbers and strands of connected contents. The last time he'd touched the inventory he'd ended up miss-directing nearly a quarter of the supplies.

"You were speaking German." Swanson's tone was accusatory.

"What the hell do you expect? I was speaking to a German." Chris shook his head in disgust and picked up the book Darcy had left on the table and flicked through the contents. Rows of neat numbers met Chris' eyes and with a grimace he laid the book aside. "Now either depart, or make yourself useful. We've got a house to scrub out."

"Why?"

"A family died of the 'Flu there last month and we now need the building for some homeless children." Chris abruptly turned his head. "DUIVEL!"

"Yes?" Darcy's head came around the door.

"We need a goat. What's our goat supply like?"

"One goat left. She's also pregnant and won't be any use for another month at least."

"Any goat which can be shared or anything?"

"The Braun's have two and should be willing to spare some." Darcy had hesitated for less than a second before responding.

"Family of eight....would they take the children?"

"I don't think so." Darcy shook his head. "They've barely sitting room in that house of theirs as it is."

"You able to find Walter?"

"I was just heading out."

"Three hours?"

"Four." Darcy's head withdrew and Chris thoughtfully bit the side of his thumb before glancing irritably at Swanson who stood in the room.

"Are you ever going to leave?"

"I'm not allowed to." Swanson's tone was gloomy.

"Why?"

"I was waylaid outside London and told to give you this." Swanson held out a scrap of paper, curiously sealed and clearly untampered with. "He said I wasn't to leave until I had a response."

"Thank you." Chris had the page opened in seconds and his eyes quickly scanned over the page before he screwed it back up again and carefully threw it into the small fire which kept the room at just habitable temperatures. "You'll be waylaid on your return to London. They'll demand an answer. The answer is 'Thank you'."

"Just that?" Swanson looked chagrinned.

"Just that." Chris unrolled a nearby map and studied it for a moment before recoursing to some nearby folders.

Swanson had hesitated uncertainly for a few minutes before he turned and left the room. For him it was all too bewildering and he had to admit he hoped for the day when he could return to England and actually understand every word of what was being said around him. Give Captain Swanson a straight war any day, all the politics and conspiracy which surrounded him now confused, bewildered and worried him. But Swanson had to admit that he was mostly worried that this man, Chris, whom everyone knew hadn't even appeared in München inside of a year, should know to the letter what was happening in London.

December 24th 1919-Narrow Creek, Canada

Victoria swallowed deeply and then cautiously took her first step outdoors in four months. The air was freezing cold and bit icily into her lungs. Victoria sniffed thoughtfully, it was interesting how cold a smell it was. There were other scents, but Victoria wasn't certain what they were currently.

"You are allowed off the porch."

"I'm just looking." Victoria looked back briefly to where Nurse Hammond was standing. "It's strange, it was still summer when I last stood here. The grass was green, there were flowers in the garden and leaves on the trees. Now it's all gone and white." Victoria shook her head before distractedly pulling the short braids over her shoulders. "What happened with my hair?"

"We had to shorten it." Nurse Hammond smiled slightly. "Even Matron's magic hand couldn't persuade those knots to untangle."

"Did I have bad knots?"

"I think they were worse than knots. Matron thought for a bit she was going to have to shear you off at scalp level, however she managed to save that much."

"Tell her thank you....actually I'll tell her myself next time I see her." Victoria finally walked down the steps and crunched onto the snow.

"Let you out have they finally?" Elliot's voice caught Victoria by surprise and she turned to find him halfway across the yard from her. With hat pulled low and muffled to his eyes Elliot looked like little more than a big blob of material.

"Yes." Victoria kicked at the snow. "It's cold."

"Anyone else around?"

"Nurse Hammond is at the door."

"Tell her I've gone to the kitchen and I don't want anyone in anytime soon."

"Why not?"

"Because, curiosity, I need to wash and change and I don't wish for an audience."

"Sorry." Victoria gave a small giggle. "I think I'm going inside anyway. I'm getting tired again."

"You want any books?"

"Well..." Victoria hesitated, staring at the ceiling was getting boring, yet she didn't feel she had the strength yet to manage a book.

"Better idea I'll come read when I've tidied up."

"Thank you, Ellie." It was little more than a whisper and yet Elliot heard it. Elliot watched in silence as Victoria returned to the house. It was amazing that in five minutes outside Victoria Elliott was exhausted, Victoria who used to be able to walk all day without turning a hair. What was worse was the realisation that this was a major improvement on last week.

Elliot shook his head before he trudged off to the kitchen. Matron Magnusson was standing by the door with some clothes hung over her arm.

"Nurse Hammond said you'd returned. Find anything?"

"No." Elliot shook his head as he slowly started peeling layers away. "I think we've got everyone into the ground. I think we've also had the last case recover." Elliot filled up the pot and dumped it onto the stove, before turning his attention to the bath and the carbolic soap.

"I guess that's it then." Sarah placed the clothes in a pile on the table. "We'll wait a few more days and then we'll pack it in." There was a pause. "Wonder where we'll be in a year's time?"

"I know where I'll be." Elliot stripped off his shirt and tested the water temperature. "I'm going to be right behind Vicky."

"What if she won't have you?"

"Then I'm going to keep trying until she will have me." Elliot stared down at the bathwater for a minute. "I can only hope that that doesn't take forever."

"You think it will?"

"I hope it doesn't." Elliot would vouchsafe no more and soon Sarah retreated so he could bathe in peace.

"You reek of carbolic." Victoria wrinkled her nose up, but still managed to grin.

"Haven't been able to escape it yet." Elliot dropped into a nearby chair, he was meditatively twisting an envelope between his fingers.

"What's that?" Victoria's attention refocused on the envelope.

"I'm not certain." Elliot flipped the envelope across to her. "It could be an answer to my dreams, or it could be a really bad nightmare."

"Camthorne Hospital?" Victoria frowned at the envelope.

"Place in England where I spent a week after I returned from Switzerland."

"Oh." Victoria handed the envelope back to Elliot before chewing meditatively on a finger. "Are you going to open it?"

"Probably should." Elliot finally broke the seals and after a slight hesitation he spread the neat page of typescript out in front of him. "Oh my." Elliot gaped at the page.

"What is it?" Victoria stretched over, trying to read the letter, but it ended in a most ungraceful struggle as she nearly lost balance.

"That was clumsy." Elliot pushed her back into bed and then closed his eyes.

"What is it?" Victoria crossed her arms and pulled a disgusted face.

"They accepted me."

"What! Who?" Victoria shook her head.

"Dr Alastair, Jermyn Alastair, he's the greatest Neurologist currently practicing. He accepted me as an intern and I haven't even finished training." Elliot's tone was dangerously wobbly.

"How wonderful." This time Victoria did lose balance, but it didn't matter because she already had her arms around Elliot.

"You think so?" Elliot looked uncertain for a moment.

"Well if you think I'm going to be a spoil-sport and say that you could do better I'm shocked." Victoria willingly accepted Elliot's offer to help her return to bed. "When do you go?"

"You don't mind? You don't think I should...."

"Elliot March you are a confounded hypocrite. You're utterly thrilled to bits by this but you're too afraid to take the responsibility of it on. I'm delighted for you. You never stuff up so I'm not worried on that score. In fact the only thing which does worry me is the fact that you never write....we're going to miss you.....but it's better to get one letter a year than no letters."

"Vicky." Elliot stopped and grimaced. "Would you come with me?"

"What about Emilie? she won't survive an umpteen thousand kilometre ocean voyage.....she's never even been out of Narrow Creek before."

"Emilie." Elliot paused and took a deep breath. "I'm asking you to marry me Vicky."

"I actually assumed that before....or at least I hoped you didn't view me as a portable housekeeper. What happens if I say no?"

"Nothing. I remain in Narrow Creek or where ever you go until you say yes."

"That is hardly a gentlemanlike proposition."

"I've been a bloody-minded, pig-headed ass for a damn sight too long Vicky. You're my world and it just doesn't work if you're not around."

"That still doesn't solve the problem of Emilie." Victoria had picked up one of Elliot's large hands and was pulling it idly.

"I can wait Vicky. You've waited for me so maybe it's time I had some practise waiting. If you'll just say yes."

"You are a horrible man Elliot March and your timing is utterly repulsive." Victoria buried her head in the pillow.

"I'm sorry Vicky."

"Well stop it." Victoria lifted her head. "I can see one solution currently. I marry you before you leave. You leave for England. I remain here with Emilie and you write without fail once a month."

"Darling Vicky." Elliot pulled his hand back and gently kissed the hand which still clung to it. "You sleep now and I'll take my carbolic-scented self off to air out."

"You do that." Victoria waved a sleepy hand as Elliot retreated before rolling over. Victoria had dreamed of being married. She'd even thought a couple of times who it might be. But one thing she had never considered was the possibility that she'd end up married to a crippled cross-patch she'd known all her life. It was strange how life passed. Victoria had to admit, however sleepily, that cross-patch or not, being married to Elliot would be immeasurably more interesting than marriage with any of her dreamed of men. Rosie Cane would undoubtedly be utterly disgusted.

September 1920-London, England

Miss Caroline Bingley came to a skidding stop on the wet pavement and it was in amazement that her eyes were searching the nearby houses. It was a simple melody played by one hand on the piano. The tune rippled softly through the square, it's already quiet tone further muffled by the closed windows and doors. It was a simple melody which was usually played with a beautiful, but tricky harmony that more than made up for the simplicity of the melody.

Caroline shook her head resolutely and thrust the memories resolutely from her mind as she once more studied the scrap of paper on which Kitty had drawn a very rough map.

"Katherine Bennet did no one teach you to write decipherably?" Caroline shook her head over her friend's deficiency of penmanship. "Well it looks like a seven, but it might also be one or nine. However I will try number seven and see what happens." Caroline returned the scrap of paper to her pocket and lifted her head to frown. The tune had ceased, but it had not reached the end. Most peculiar!

Caroline trod firmly up the steps until she found the small flat she was looking for. Indeed the small card on the door did acknowledge E. Darcy as the owner, but Caroline couldn't shake a feeling of nervousness as she lifted and dropped the knocker sharply.

"Who is it?" The door opened barely a crack and showed nothing of the person on the other side.

"I was looking for Elizabeth Darcy." Caroline didn't actually need to see the person, she knew the voice far too well to be mistaken by it. She now no longer wondered where the tune came from and who played it, for she knew very well.

"She's not here." The response was flat, all too clearly conveying that the owner had recognised her as well. In fact Caroline was pretty certain he had known in advance that she was coming.

"Where is she?"

"Pemberley."

"Has the telephone exchange been repaired in Lambton yet?"

"No."

"Damn it all James, can you utter more than a syllable?"

"No."

"Thank you." Caroline turned and descended the stairs in irritation, only to be stopped by a totally unsavoury individual at the foot of the stairs.

"'Ullo missy." The man's voice reminded Caroline all to well of an encounter in Paris and she promptly wrenched her arm free.

"I am no missy." Caroline spat at him viciously.

"Non-missy's are even more interesting." The man recaught her arm.

"I advise you, Adym, to release the Lady before I feel compelled to the boring necessity of pushing your teeth down your throat." There was such an utter note of boredom to the remark that is clearly took the man a moment to comprehend what was being said.

"You know him?" Caroline turned on Ashie in fury as the man, Adym, released her.

"Of course I do, he was in my Squadron for a week at the end." Ashie's expression was utterly blank and he transferred his attention back to Adym who was making a poor effort at a brave stand. "I told you to keep your hands in your pockets."

"She didn't look much like a Lady." Adym's expression was agrieved.

"Well she is.....just older than they seem to be." Ashie had forestalled Caroline's outraged squawk by the simple means of applying elbow to midriff. "I'll see you this evening. Go get some food and keep your hands in your pockets." Ashie flicked over a handful of coins which Adym caught most easily.

"And why did you do that?" Caroline had held her silence until Ashie had pushed her back into the flat.

"Because I didn't want to have to push Adym's teeth in." Ashie spoke flatly. "Tea?"

"Please." Caroline glowered at Ashie's back. "What are you doing here?"

"Watching a flat." Ashie's voice was slightly muffled by his being in another room.

"Have you seen Elizabeth recently?"

"Last week." Ashie's voice became clearer as he came to lounge against the kitchen door.

"Why would you have needed to hit him?"

"Because if you had squawked he very likely would have said something which would have compelled my response." Ashie's tone was bored disinterest.

"Why's he so important?"

"He isn't, but his teeth stick out and undoubtedly I'd lose the skin of my knuckles if I did hit him."

"I see." Caroline gave a brief nod.

"See what?" Ashie had straightened up abruptly, his expression hardening.

"You're reluctance to hit him. You don't actually give a damn about your skin James and you never have. What you're actually worried about is breaking bones."

"Where did you get that notion from?" Ashie's expression had abruptly relaxed and become slightly amused. "Your language is foul."

"I got it from a letter written by one Elizabeth Bennet, as was, to her sister Katherine Bennet." Caroline was not at all fooled by his assumed amusement.

"How edifying. How am I meant to have risked breaking bones?"

"By being a Turkish Prisoner of War who was questioned." Caroline paused. "I must admit it had never occurred to me that people might still be crucified. Even though it wasn't real crucifixion I'm going to call it that. Not a nice subject to discuss at all so unless you intend to continue dancing around I intend to drop it completely." Caroline gave a small smile.

"And the theory behind this exercise?" Ashie had retreated back into the kitchen to pour the tea.

"That all depends." Caroline accepted her cup of tea. "As for my foul language it was the only way I ever managed to make you listen.....I learnt it all from you."

"That is a monumental lie." Ashie settled into another chair, and though he seemed relaxed his eyes were still watching warily. "You taught me half my vocabulary."

"That is an exaggeration. I merely called you what your brother did."

"and had your mouth washed for your pains. Why this conversation?"

"Because I'm still scared." Caroline spoke bluntly.

"Adym wouldn't have hurt you."

"And I suppose I'm meant to know that?" Caroline glared at Ashie again.

"No, but I thought you'd like to know."

"If he wasn't going to hurt me, why did you threaten to push his teeth in?"

"Because I thought you'd like to retain your purse intact. Not all men grab you to do the dirty and dastardly if you're in the right part of town. Sometimes they merely want money. By the bye before you rake me down over that too Adym knew very well you were a lady, and hence his attention. After all, all ladies carry money."

"Well I don't have any." Caroline bent a hard look at Ashie. "You're holding something back."

"I invariably have secrets." Ashie gave a faint smile, which caused Caroline to glare once more.

"What aren't you telling me about that man?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Why did you respond how you did. I might have been merely expecting him to beat me up and steal my non-existent money?"

"August third nineteen eighteen.....ring any bells for you? Back street in Paris near L'Hopital de Angleterre. You seem to have forgotten that Jim is my first cousin and a former Flight-Leader in my Squadron."

"I had forgotten nothing of the sort." Caroline's response was waspish. "I suppose you were there at the time and laughing."

"Nothing of the sort." Ashie's expression abruptly tightened again. "I heard about it the day after when Florrie reported back to base."

"How did he get home in less than a day when it took me three days to reach the same area?" Caroline was now suspicious.

"Because you nitwit he was flying a Camel."

"I suppose that....red-headed officer was another of your Flight-Leaders."

"Pyro. He was actually my Squadron-Leader." Ashie gave a slight chuckle. "He said you were slightly touched by blood."

"I was nearly swimming in the stuff and I was sick for days after I returned to England." Caroline glared at Ashie once more for Ashie was laughing.

"Poor you." Ashie gave a final chuckle before sobering up.

"It's not funny at all."

"No, I know it isn't." Ashie's expression was just a whisker too straight.

"You are a hypocrite."

"And you still haven't said why you came here seeking Mrs. Darcy." Ashie discarded his empty teacup onto a nearby table which already held a small collection of teacups and an empty wine bottle.

"I thought you'd given up drinking that stuff?" Caroline cast an accusatory glance at the bottle.

"Oh I have." Ashie didn't even glance at the bottle before responding. "I had a few friends over who have a much more impressive resistance to alcohol than I do."

"Why were you locked up last year?"

"A Doctor had the infernal nerve to suggest one that I actually wanted to leave the Air Force. Two, he called me a liar so I hit him. Fortunately the beak agreed that my actions were warranted so I wasn't actually stripped of rank. However I was whacked with a fairly hefty fine for the principle of the matter. But that came afterwards. I was dumped from the Air Force on grounds of ill health, I was up on charge and correspondingly I was in a bad mood so I went and got drunk on the matter and hit a Bobby."

"That's disgraceful."

"I quite agree, but it seemed logical at the time."

"Just like lacing my governess' tea with brandy I suppose."

"Stop avoiding the subject. You quite agreed though at the time. Why were you looking for Mrs. Darcy?"

"Her sister is concerned for her. Kitty couldn't come because her sister and the housekeeper both have 'Flu and her mother is prostrate."

"Mrs. Bennet is invariably prostrate."

"Kitty is concerned because it has been over a fortnight since Elizabeth wrote." Caroline ignored Ashie's impolite interjection.

"You can reassure Miss Kitty that Elizabeth is alive and relatively well." Ashie spoke after a brief hesitation.

"She hasn't been?" Caroline's expression became concerned.

"No." Ashie shook his head. "She had 'Flu and she's currently recovering. Sent her out to Pemberley to get her into fresh air and away from distractions. It was a close shave but she seems fine now."

"Was that why you were playing Mourky?" Caroline had risen to her feet as she spoke and Ashie had risen as well.

"You remembered it? I could barely remember it." Ashie's expression was curious.

"I recognised the melody, I've only just placed the name." Caroline hesitated and then abruptly extended one hand. "Can we call it pax, Ashie?"

"They hadn't told you had they?" Ashie frowned into Caroline's eyes, his gaze questing and searching.

"No. It was as much a surprise to me as it was to you."

"Then why did you tell me you knew?" Ashie's voice became abruptly soft.

"Because I saw an angry friend. Would you have forgiven anyone if you had thought I didn't know?" Caroline met Ashie's look evenly and his mouth twisted wryly.

"Ever right Caro." Ashie shook the hand firmly before pulling her in for a quick hug. "Disgustingly right in fact." Ashie hesitated for a moment. "Oddly enough I think I would have killed myself if I had known the truth. I don't think I have ever been that utterly crazy mad in my life. It was really the last straw having my father actually acknowledge my existence in such a way." Ashie grimaced.

"I'm glad you're willing to be friends again. I've missed my mad friend." Caroline finally freed her hand. "However I need to be going now or I'll miss my train."

"Let me know when you're next in London and I'll set up something to scare you." Ashie gave a grin as he followed Caroline to the door.

"I'm sure you will." Caroline's grimace was speaking as she stepped out the door. "Give my love to Lizzie when you see her again and tell her I hope she's well soon."

"I will." Ashie gave a nod before retreating back inside the flat and closing the door. Caroline smiled to herself as Mourky's simple melody once more began to play. It had been so long since she had heard that piece played and she no longer wondered why the harmony was absent.

Caroline nearly missed her train, but she did catch it. It was a breathless Caroline who sank onto one of the hard carriage seats. A breathless Caroline who found her thoughts far too inclined to travelling down memory lane. Even eleven years after it had all occurred she found herself wondering at the motives which had driven the Early of Deraux to choose that day and that particularly crowded dinner party to make the announcement which no one else present had even known of.

There had been fifty people sitting around the immense table and yet the announcement had brought all sound to a crashing halt. Silence had enveloped the table in a deathly grip for two minutes. The silence had then been broken by a chair which scraped harshly on the floor before it crashed into the wall. The eighteen year-old boy who had been sitting in the chair had jerked to his feet, white-faced and clearly horrified. He glanced once at the girl who sat on his right, it was a questioning glance and was met by a simple nod. Without even looking at anyone else in the entire room he had left the room at a run and the slam of the door behind him echoed throughout the entire house.

"Well." It had been Death Darcy who had broken the silence and his tone was light and teasing. "That was the most romantic marriage proposal it has ever been my displeasure to hear."

"You are excused Death." Mr. George Darcy had turned on his son angrily.

"With pleasure sir." Death's chair had moved back silently and he had stalked from the room. There was less than a second of silence before Fitzwilliam's chair had also scraped backwards.

"Please excuse me as well, sir." Fitzwilliam had in fact not even waited for an answer before standing up. "If I stay any longer I will forget my position." It had taken Fitzwilliam only three steps to reach the door his brother had departed by and it banged loudly behind him causing various Maiden Aunts to jump and flutter. It had been George Arthur who had departed less than a minute later with Peter Fitzwilliam and Edward Fitzwilliam in tow. Jermyn Fitzwilliam had been seated on the wrong side of the table to effect an escape.

Caroline had wanted to leave as well. Caroline wanted to hide her head in shame. Caroline wanted to cry. Most of all Caroline wished the last ten minutes had never occurred. For the first time she had lied to her best friend and she doubted he would ever forgive her. Louisa had been sitting across the table from her and her mouth was still gaping slightly. Margaret Ashington-Frankston hadn't even glanced up from her plate and Caroline noted somewhat dispassionately that Margaret had tears sliding off her lashes and into her dinner. Gerard Ashington-Frankston had exchanged one stunned glance with his wife, Anna, and then become quite focussed on the food in front of him. Caroline wanted to scream at the utter farce the whole situation was, but there were too many people present and Caroline had no intention of letting gossip spread that she had been as unaware of the proposed match as he had been.

"He's not in the house." It was a pale Death who came crashing through the door into the dining room an hour later. George Arthur and the two Fitzwilliam's were right behind him.

"What?" George Darcy turned on his second son and didn't bother hiding his displeasure at this second interruption of the dinner.

"James, he's not in the house."

"How do you know? It takes more than an hour to search from cellar to attics." It was a red-faced Earl who now entered the proceedings.

"No it doesn't." Death's expression was mutinous. "It takes even less time when you realise his blasted Bentley is gone. We traced it as far as the post office. He's sent off a wire to Morgan and left a telegram for David to find when he gets home. David's gone belting off to Oxford to find the telegram."

"Who is Morgan?" The Earl looked liable to explode at any second.

"He's a friend of mine." It was George Arthur who finally spoke up. "Morgan's father runs a trading route into New York. Morgan promised us years ago just to yell if we wanted a ticket to America."

"I think you will find, my Lord, that James has made his yell." For all Death's respectful wording, his accent made the remark an insult.

"You're excused Death." Mr. George Darcy's tone was rigid.

"With pleasure, sir." Death paused at the door. "By the way I'm taking the Daimler with me." The door crashed heavily shut behind Death, and it crashed shut on a room stricken with silence once more.

"It would seem the birds fly with a vengeance.....Death's leaving for India tomorrow isn't he?" George Arthur's expression was wary.

"If you boys value your skins you will depart immediately." George Darcy's expression was only a hair short of murderous.

Caroline shivered in her seat as the train headed north. Eleven years had not even dimmed the memory of that day. Caroline could remember the look on George Darcy's face as he had faced the boys, and it was a look she had only seen once since and it had not been on the face of George Darcy, it had been on the face of his son. It had been on the face of Fitzwilliam Darcy in the Spring of 1916, the evening that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had made such a hurried departure from Derbyshire. Caroline had no wish to remember what she had said to bring that expression to his face, it had been that one look which had caused Caroline to realise that she was using an ancient problem as an excuse for ruining her life. The year following that Dinner Party had been the worst year in Caroline's life.

Caroline had received one letter from Ashie at the six month point, the contents of the letter had been so utterly venomous that Caroline had never finished reading it and had thrown it in the fire. Death Darcy had left for India the next day without seeing anyone, his own family included. Fitzwilliam Darcy had been finishing off his degree which had taken a bit longer than expected. Mr. George Darcy had died four days later. A few months after that George Arthur had died as well and Fitzwilliam Darcy had departed for an unknown destination.

Caroline shivered and once more huddled more deeply into her coat as her memory mercilessly traced through the years which had followed. Four of those years she had utterly wasted living up to the reputation that day had given her without even asking her permission. If the world was going to brand her as a Fortune Hunter willing to marry any man with a bit of money and a good name, then Caroline was going to live it. On her 23rd birthday Charles had lost his temper for the first time in his life and it was a memory which Caroline had no like of remembering. That birthday had ended with her taking a year long tour of France. Caroline had then returned to England, 24 years old and ambitious. In less than half a year Miss Caroline Bingley was a woman whose name alone could make knees tremble. There was no house in London which would not open its doors to Miss Bingley and her wit. Miss Bingley had become a social anomaly, she talked politics, horses and hunting with the men. Only the bravest ever took Miss Bingley on in battle for she had developed a tongue with lethal sharpness. At 26 Miss Bingley retired from society for a second time. The war had brought conversation to the fore which she found extremely distasteful. Miss Bingley had then turned her attention to learning to manage her money instead of leaving it solely in the charge of Charles. It had taken a year for Miss Bingley to learn to control her money and now her sharp tongue found an even greater use, she used it with immensely good effect on the Bank Managers she met who attempted to patronise her.

Miss Caroline Bingley had found her 28th birthday an extremely dreary affair. Apart from family members no one had come to visit, with the exception of Kitty, and Kitty was to all intents and purposes a family member anyway. Then Caroline had received the letter from Elizabeth Darcy. It had never occurred to Caroline before that General Darcy had not left his immense estates in the safe hands of a mixture of solicitors, and overseers. It had in fact thrown Caroline into near panic when she realised that the General had in fact just frozen his funds on departure ten years earlier and not unfrozen them since. Caroline had gone charging up to Pemberley with Kitty in tow and had met a situation that made her feel ill. Miss Anne Marshall's arrival two days later had made work a bit easier, but the end result was still the same. It had taken six months of almost uninterrupted work just to find out where all the Darcy funds were currently located. Elizabeth had observed at one point that Darcy had had most of his paperwork forwarded to France. This had caused Caroline to moan in utter despair for anything which had been in France was now utterly lost. After six months it was decided that they had located where all the Darcy money was and the result had Caroline's eyebrows soaring. The Darcys were worth over two million pounds on paper and there was a further quarter million in actual money stored in a variety of banks. A further four months had then been expended attempting to rearrange the available funds to maximise their use. Two and quarter million pounds did not mean people could live if so little of it was accessible. Caroline had been aware that some manipulations had occurred from a third party who had never even been mentioned. Caroline was now dead certain of who had enabled them to avoid the various legal entanglements set up to trap the unwary who interfered where they had no business.

Caroline meditated peacefully over the stormy decade which had preceded this day. In places it had been exceedingly unhappy. Other places had been points of deep happiness. But all in all the results more than made up for the costs. Caroline had to admit she would have preferred to have retained her old friend through the time. But one could hardly become friends again without ceasing to be friends first. It gave an interesting spice to thought to wonder about what Ashie was going to spring on her when she was next in London. The last time he had done it was back in 1909 when his surprise had been a trip to Cowes, with both their families in tow, and the dubious joy of going sailing in a leaky dinghy in the middle of a storm. The scolding they had both received on their return in no way dimmed the fun they'd had. Though Caroline could honestly admit she had been utterly terrified the whole time until she had returned to shore, at which point it had all become immensely fun. In some ways it was odd. She had had everything until she was eighteen and then in a single day she had lost it all. Now, ten years later, it looked like she was going to get everything back. Friends and fun, with the added bonus that now she had no need to comply with fashion. It was all curiously relieving and though only that morning Caroline had felt depressed and far too old for anything, it now felt like the sun had come out after a big storm. She had money, she had freedom....to a degree, and she had friends. What more could life give?

Continued in Next Section