Beginning, Previous Section, Section XVI, Next Section
"There are still ten minutes before it leaves." Emma took her father's bag and stowed it overhead before settling down in a seat.
"Lovely dress last night Emma, I nearly didn't recognise it as your dinner gown." Knightley finally put his files aside and leant back easily in his seat.
"It's not at all polite to refer to the fact that a lady's dress has been modified from a previous wearing.....though I must admit it is quite amazing what Stephanie can do with forest green flaring silk and embroidary thread."
"Anyone cry at the reception?"
"No, but Bobby Elton was feeling pretty miserable. I do believe your secretary is lonely Mr Knightley." Emma settled her hands, having safely covered her father with a heavy travelling blanket.
"Don't even consider it Emma, Elton is quite capable of dealing with his own affairs, you needn't interfere with them." Knightley gave Emma's innocent look a level stare and then picked up his folders again.
"I wasn't going to interfere." Emma protested with a frown. "I was just going to give him some help."
"Enlighten me as to the difference." Knightley didn't even glance up, and with a sniff Emma settled back.
Darcy swung down from Priest with a wry smile and soon had the saddle and harness off, it never ceased to amaze him how the name had stuck.
"How's Priest this morning?" Nash appeared from around the corner of the house with a handful of sugar cubes.
"You are extravagant Nash." Darcy ran the cloth over the harness and hung them up before returning with the brush in hand.
"Not at all." Nash was rubbing Priest's nose as he fed the cubes to the horse. "Stuff's at least a year or so old, they'd never use it in the kitchen." Nash held out a dark cube which looked like it had been a sugar cube since the beginning of time.
"I'll believe you." Darcy grimaced. "I do not know how Priest can eat them."
"Poor blighter needs something to sweeten his life, you are such a terrible master."
"Oh definitely, now either shut up or lend a hand cleaning him up."
"Shutting up." Nash kept silent for only a few seconds, until he turned and observed Elizabeth standing on the steps. "Greetings Miss Bennet, come to view his nag have you?"
"Well no." Elizabeth looked doubtfully up at the immense horse then glanced at the two men. "I was actually wondering how I might get any mail, ours is all currently going to Lambton."
"Correction, it's coming here." Nash delved around in his pocket and pulled out half an apple.
"When does it come in?" Elizabeth shifted nervously.
"Expecting a letter are you?" Darcy glanced over the top of Priest's back for a moment. "Should be arriving when Hawkins returns in half an hour."
"Thankyou." Elizabeth paused. "I was hoping for a letter from my sister, it's been over a week since I last heard from her and she usually writes twice a week."
"Possibly there's been nothing to write about." Darcy shot Nash a questioning look from behind the horse. Nash responded with a shake of his head.
"I suppose so..." Elizabeth cast another look at Priest.
"Come meet Priest Miss Bennet, he stands 17 and a half hands high, and has a passionate adoration of apples and sugar." Nash grinned at her.
"He'll ruin me yet." Darcy mumbled the remark from behind Priest.
"Who? Nash or Priest?" Elizabeth looked curiously at him, she had never seen Darcy in such disreputable clothing before, though admittedly his current occupation did not encourage the wearing of clean clothes.
"Both." Darcy bit back on a rude remark as Priest wacked him with his tail. "Blast it Nash, come hold his damn tail."
"Yes sir." Nash stolidly took a firm grip on the thick and dirty tail.
"Why Priest?" Elizabeth exchanged a doubtful glance with the horse, the name seemed mighty peculiar to give a horse.
"You really do not wish to know, Miss Elizabeth." Darcy straighten and started cleaning out his brush. "The name is courtesy of Nash and is not the original name." Darcy suddenly marched into the stable to get another brush.
"It's the devil miss." Nash gave a grin as he started working a brush through Priest's tail. "Devil must always travel hand in hand with the Priest.....as it is this time it's arse on back."
"Nash!" Darcy was a trifle red as he came out of the stable, a colour which abated as he saw Elizabeth's amusement.
"I assume Priest was a member of your South African travels." Elizabeth finally gave Priest a gentle rub on the nose.
"Rub 'im with this." Darcy threw a brush to her. "Priest loves it. Yes, Priest's been with me only a year less than Nash has been."
"Oh." Elizabeth gingerly started rubbing Priest's face and soon discovered that Darcy had been speaking the truth, but after a few minutes she threw the brush back to Darcy. "I should get back inside. Thankyou for introducing me to Priest." Elizabeth wiped her hands and hurried back into the house, unaware that two pairs of eyes watched her retreat.
"Waal mebbe she ain't so bad." Nash drawled thoughtfully. "Ne'er seen a person with so little like of horses take so kindly to Priest.....though I has seen a lot who has no fear o' hosses take a dislike to 'im."
"Hmm." Darcy frowned thoughtfully at the now closed door.
"You wonderin' 'bout that letter baas."
"Yes." Darcy picked up his brush and resumed scrubbing. "It is most certainly not like Jane Bennet to break a habit."
"Waal, mebbe there's a problem at where ever."
"That's what I'm worried about." Darcy paused for a second, then resolutely discarding the idea he resumed the exceedingly large task of cleaning Priest.
It was nearly an hour later when Darcy finally let Priest into the loose box, and with a sigh he piled the brushes out in the sun to dry before heading for the house. It had actually been rather stupid to brush Priest before the caked mud had had a chance to dry off, but that was as it may be, Darcy had been deliberately procrastinating because it was much to nice a morning to bury himself in his study with the estate accounts.
"Okay Nash, you have the rest of the day off." Darcy paused at the stable door. "But do tell anyone if you mean to leave the grounds proper."
"You 'spectin' trouble?" Nash looked up from his perch on the mounting block.
"N-o." Darcy's response was slightly hesitant. "Just call it a feeling."
"Well since they're in the habit of bein' sound I will refrain from leaving the main courtyard."
Darcy let himself in by the side door and after a dubious glance at his breeches he turned and headed for the front stairs. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to change his clothing. Darcy had mounted the stairs swiftly and paused on the second landing for a breather when he heard the sound of running footsteps, but before he could move out of the way the runner had charged straight into him.
"Oh.....Mr Darcy.......Please let me go, I must find my aunt and uncle." The latter was the result of the fact that Darcy had grabbed her to keep both of them from falling over.
"What's the matter?......No, let a servant go for your aunt and uncle, you are not well." Darcy was seriously alarmed by her red eyes and miserable expression.
"No." Elizabeth tried to free herself without any success at all, while Darcy called up a footman and sent him after Mr and Mrs Gardiner.
"Can I get you something to drink Miss Elizabeth?" Darcy led her into a nearby sitting room.
"No." Elizabeth sank limply into the first chair she blundered into and buried her face in her hands.
"Bad news from home?" Darcy was rather hesitant about asking questions, but neither was he willing to let things go, she was clearly upset.
"Yes....no.....I don't know." Elizabeth got up and started pacing restlessly. "I was just a bit upset by some news from home.....nothing serious." Elizabeth tripped over some small object in the room and was only saved from falling face first into the coffee table by strong arm.
"Miss Elizabeth....I'm afraid to say that I don't believe you. It cannot be unserious to so upset you." Darcy found himself in an uncomfortable predicament. Certainly he had Elizabeth in his arms, but her arrival had not been voluntary and society demanded that he release her. At the same time Darcy fully realised that if he were to release she would immediately fall over, and he really didn't want to cold-bloodedly deposit her on the sofa.
"It's Lydia." Elizabeth gave a sniff and then looked up abruptly, for when she had mentioned Lydia Mr Darcy's arms had stiffened as if someone had driven a knife into him, and yet when she glanced up his face merely expressed grave concern.
"What's with Lydia?" Darcy calmly closed his other arm around Elizabeth.
"She's......she's run away....eloped......thrown herself into the power of Mr Wickham. He cannot want her, she has no money, she has no position, she has no expectations, no intelligence.....what can he want with her?" Elizabeth gave a choke, then burying her face in Darcy's coat started crying again.
"I'm very sorry to hear that, but is it certain?" Darcy looked down in concern at the top of her head.
"There can be no doubt." Elizabeth suddenly seemed to realise where she was and she started to free herself, Darcy promptly released her and walked to the other side of the sofa. "They left Brighton together and have been traced as far as London. She left a note for her best friend....there can be no doubt." Elizabeth collapsed sobbing onto the sofa, leaving Darcy to pace restlessly, his eyes repeatedly searching for any signs of Mr and Mrs Gardiner on the main courtyard. The fact that Mrs Gardiner was on crutches said they could not go far, but they seemed to be taking an age in returning for Darcy.
"If you'll excuse me Miss Elizabeth, I see your Aunt and Uncle down below." Darcy quickly left the room and descended the stairs as quicky as he could. "First sitting room on the second floor, she's waiting for you. Bad news from Longbourn." Darcy continued his descent leaving a puzzled Mr and Mrs Gardiner to hasten up the stairs to their niece. As Darcy reached the ground floor he sent a footman off after Nash and hurried into his study, grabbing the telephone as soon as he could reach it.
"Lambton exchange." Darcy paced back and forth while Mrs Reynolds connected him through. "Hello to you Mr Harris. London number QAG 1532....thankyou." Darcy dropped into his chair, then stood up again and started pacing once more. "Hello is that Anne?.....thank goodness I got you Anne. Is Parker there?....He's not?" Darcy growled softly. "What have you last heard from Lydia?"
"Nothing since she said she was following him to Brighton." Anne was puzzled, she could hear Darcy cursing fluently, he was clearly annoyed by something.
"She's moved on Anne, you better get people moving fast."
"How do you know?" Anne pulled a pad towards herself and started to write quickly.
"The elder sister received a letter today from the eldest sister saying that Lydia had eloped with Mr George Wickham....and that letter was delayed in the post by bad directions.......From what she said they are still in the metrop but they may not be there for long."
"Right." Anne chewed thoughtfully on her pencil. "I'll get through to Parker and see what we can find. I'll call you back this evening."
"Right." Darcy paused, then hung up the telephone. Two hours later he was watching as the station taxi carried away Elizabeth and the Gardiners, fifteen minutes after that Priest was saddled and headed for the Clenthorn Aerodrome fifteen miles away. Nash was to follow the next morning by transport mode of his own choice.
Author's Note: Just note, a 'bob' is a shilling.
Darcy paused near the entrance of the tube and shrugged somewhat uncomfortably in the uniform he was wearing. As Sergeant Hallins Darcy cut a far from inspiring figure, his pack bulged badly and penny weeklies jagged out from his pockets. After a moments consideration Darcy obtained a locker for his pack before heading out to walk around the streets. Admittedly Darcy had a definite destination for this stroll, namely a small apartment down Cheringham Place, the disguise of Sergeant Hallins was enough to get Darcy into London, but it was more likely to get him into even more trouble then it was to help him once he entered the city.
Darcy had got less than a block from the tube when he heard the wailing begin, and he looked around himself in bewilderment, people were hurrying madly in every direction, most packing straight back into the tube station.
"Hain't ya ne'er heered a squaller afore." A rough hand attached to the cockney voice grabbed Darcy by the arm and hauled him towards the station.
"What?" Darcy blinked at the man in surprise.
"Squallers....dem wailers wot tell us the ruddy 'Un's come fer anudder visit." The man's accent made understanding him somewhat difficult, but even had Darcy not had his suspicions the wail of falling bombs soon settled the matter. With a puffed breath of surprise Darcy shook his head and looked at the girders over his head, he didn't actually like having this much stuff over his head when the ground was shaking in this manner, it felt like being near a mine when a big blast was occuring. Darcy shivered slightly as he remembered the brief glimpse he had of the dirigibles before he had been dragged down into the tube by the general rush. Huge, silent ghosts, they had come drifting silently, only the soft chuff of their engines would have given them away and that was nearly lost in the general noise as it was. Silent death, Darcy shivered at the idea, fortunately there was no silent death on the front, everything made noises. Darcy shook his head and started glancing at the people around him, some of the faces were calm enough, some were a little nervous and some were just plain terrified. As Darcy turned his head he saw something which stopped him dead and made him catch his breath. There, on the otherside of the station stood Lydia Bennet. So great was Darcy's surprise to see her there that he just stared at her, he couldn't believe that she would still be around, but maybe she had escaped. Darcy was on the point of pushing across to her, when suddenly she looked up, directly at him. Lydia held his eyes for a minute, then averted her gaze. Darcy immediately turned his head and went searching for what she was looking at. Darcy soon found it, Wickham was standing very close to her, his eyes nervously studying the ceiling overhead, his expression nearly blind in terror. Then suddenly Wickham's head turned and he was staring straight at Darcy, it was as if a mask had been stripped off, the face which looked up at him was curiously unformed and indefinite. Darcy froze dead, he hoped like anything the horror in his mind was not showing on his face.....that was not Wickham who stood over there, that was no minor underling in one of Nickel's vast schemes. That was Nickel himself! And the one final glance Darcy gave at Lydia showed him that the girl knew that as well, Lydia might act the like a brainless, simpering idiot, but she was not stupid.
'Tell Lizzie I'm sorry.' Lydia's hands flew as she formed the message. 'Lizzie has the key.' Darcy gave a miniscule nod to confirm he had understood, but he was puzzled. Lizzie had the key. What key?...a house key, or a code key?....and did Lizzie know she had this key?
The hours past in painful slowness for Darcy. There, for the entire night, Nickel stood with Lydia, so close, and yet so far away. The minute the all clear siren sounded Darcy started pushing his way towards the exit and five minutes later he was out in the street again, distracted half out of his mind as he desperately searched for an available mode of transport, it was too far to walk from here to Queen Anne's Gate and Darcy had to get there fast.
"Sergeant Hallins!" The call had Darcy turning, he was to much in the habit of responding automatically to a role. But as soon as Darcy turned he wished he hadn't. The APM who stood behind him was a puffed up little man with bold, strutting red tabs on his uniform. "Ahh, just the man I wanted to see. Where is your equipment?" Darcy was caught completely off guard and as a result stuttered badly over his story of where his pack and rifle were. "You lie badly my friend." The APM sniffed arrogantly. "Come with me I have a feeling that we have information on you back at the office." Darcy momentarily turned over the thought of resisting, but it took him only a second to realise that resistance would be useless, it was more likely to delay him even more then already. Besides which they might actually let him use the telephone for a minute. Darcy gave a sigh and duly followed the important little man down the street. Fifteen minutes later Darcy was swearing in a manner which drew silent admiration from a shrivelled looking orderly as he kicked his heels in disgust, awaiting the pleasure of the APM.
An hour after that Darcy finally received the exact information he did not wish too hear. Sergeant Hallins had overdrawn his leave, so not only was Darcy facing charges of incorrect usage of uniform, but he was also facing charges concerning the taking of excessive leave. Darcy kicked the wall in disgust as he came back into the waiting room, and briefly considered kicking the orderly, but it took little for his better self to intervene with that thought and Darcy eventually collapsed onto one of the chairs. The chair promptly collapsed and deposited Darcy on the floor.
"Devil take it." Darcy kicked the remains of the chair into the corner and abruplty walked across to the door and pounded on it.
"What?" The pompous looking APM came out of his office.
"I want to use a telephone?"
"Why?"
"To tell the missus I'll be late for luncheon. Why the devil do you think I want to use the telephone? I have an important message to deliver."
"And so do I. Stop being a nuisance before I double your charge." The APM slammed the door and in disgust Darcy turned back and leant against the wall. It took one look from Darcy to silence the sniggering of the Sergeant and after that silence reigned, until fifteen minutes later when the APM abruptly came into the room, collected his coat and left. A few minutes after that the Sergeant also left, which left the orderly staring morosely at his hands.
"They's gone for food."
"Would you like a bob?" Darcy pushed off the wall.
"Who to?" The orderly looked suspicious.
"Sir John Hacker, of New Scotland Yard. Head of the Bobbies, surely you can't have a problem with that. Just tell him that Darcy can't make it for luncheon."
"But Darcy ain't yer name."
"That you Hacker? Darcy here. Look I got nabbed and currently a skunk of an APM has me tangled up at Cheringham Place. You've got to get me out of here fast. But tell Parker to draw the net. Get all the lairs, you know them. You've got to stop him before he leaves the country." Darcy hung up the telephone and dumped twenty pounds onto the table. "Thanks for your trouble." Darcy had just managed to get back to his corner when the door opened and the APM returned from luncheon.
Ten minutes later a huge skuffle rose in the outer hallway and with complete disregard for the Sergeant and the orderly Darcy plunged out into the hallway where Sir John Hacker was having the time of his life. The pompous APM's red taps now appeared dingy, for Sir John was not sparing his words.
"Ahh, good to see you Darcy." Sir John paused in his tirade for only a second. "Take a good look at this man, for you are probably the only person who has held him against his will. This is Colonel Darcy my friend, and if I were you I would start praying for you may just have caused your country's defeat. Darcy, let's get moving, Parker's expecting us." Without a backward glance at the APM Sir John turned and left the dusty hallway. Darcy paused just long enough to give the APM an appologetic look before he hurried after Sir John.
Fifteen minutes later their taxi deposited them in Queen Anne's Gate, and the two men were jumping up the stairs. Isabelle was waiting by the door and they were inside before Darcy had even started to consider knocking.
"Thankgod you've made it." Parker's hair was standing on end from constantly running his fingers through it.
"Well I must get moving again. Get the man the correct uniform Parker, he nearly gave me a heart attack when he came out in that abomination."
"I'm not surprised. See you when you have answers John." Parker was dragging Darcy to the stairs as Sir John left the house again. "Nash arrived three hours ago. He probably has at least some clothes if not your uniform.....How do you come to be in the uniform of a defaulting Sergeant."
"Long story, I need a change, food and a drink and then you can hear it. Suffice to say I fell foul of the Derbyshire police and had to make a run for it."
"Okay, but you better make it worth my waiting."
"It probably won't be." Darcy started pulling off the coat as he spoke and three minutes later he was back in Parker's study with a plate of food on his lap and a large mug of tea next to him.
"Now I want my story."
"It's not much then I said before. I was going to try and get some pilot to fly me down here, unfortunately I ran foul of the police just short of the aerodrome and had to make a run for it. Fortunately I picked up one of Andrea's old contacts and he supplied me with a change of clothes. Namely the sergeant's uniform you saw me in a few minutes back. That saw me safely to London. But then I was delayed by the air raid last night and then I fell foul of that blasted APM." Darcy paused and frowned. "Why the DEVIL didn't you tell me back last year that Nickel was alive and kicking? I could have avoided the whole past year if you had told me he escaped."
"Oh was that one Nickel? We never knew which was which, I assumed that Nash told you who shot him...."
"Nash only told me after I returned from Turkey and had seen Nickel for myself, and even then I didn't make the connection." Darcy paused again. "Why the bloody hell can't the man leave my family alone? Next time he'll probably turn up as my brother." Darcy moved an irritated hand and sent his mug of tea flying. "Sorry Parker, I'm just annoyed and tired." Darcy rubbed his head and under Parker's stunned look fell asleep.
"Hello Hacker." It was when Darcy issued the greeting that Parker realised one, that Darcy was no longer sleeping, if he ever had been sleeping, and two that Sir John Hacker was now standing by the door.
"Greetings Darcy, Parker." Sir John came into the room and dropped heavily into a nearby chair.
"What's the news?" Parker pushed himself stiffly upright and glanced blearily at the mantle clock. It was two in the morning.
"Bad." Sir John scowled darkly at the wall. "Very bad. He'd been gone for an hour and a half before we got moving. Most innocent, but it showed that we had some fairly grim looking leaks. He's pulled everything, a chairman of one of our aviation boards flew to France this evening.......accompanied by his wife."
"Well that really sinks it." Parker rubbed his head wearily, then looked up as yet another figure came into the room. It was Nash who had entered and he was followed by a slim shadow.
"Sinks what?"
"Hello Count, Nash. Take a seat both of you, we have one hell of a mess." Parker rubbed his head.
"Any news of Lydia?"
"We think she is now with him in France.....Nickel, it was Nickel."
"I suspected it was as soon as I realised that we had lost contact with her."
"When did you realise you'd lost contact?" Darcy looked up sharply.
"When Anne put a call through and said that Lydia had moved." The Count did not take a seat, but remained standing against the wall.
"Unless we can catch Lydia we are back to square one again." Parker rubbed his head wearily.
"No we're not." Darcy stretched slowly. "For every man has a weak spot, a blind spot, a spot at which they have absolutely no control over their actions. I've got two of them myself and I'm very well acquainted with them. We also know that it really is Nickel behind this, and no matter how Nickel distorts himself, I will always know him."
"What's Nickel's weak point?" The Count knitted his brows.
"Being in the hands of fate. It scares the man clean out of his senses if he does not have at least some semblance of control over the situation. The other night we were all stuck in the London tube during that air raid, Nickel was out of control, he had no control over what was happening and he was in blind terror ninety percent of the time."
"Lets you off the hook Darcy, you could hardly have stopped him since you were tied up with that APM at the time."
"I would much prefer he had not left." Darcy's spoke in a flat monotone as he blinked up at the light.
"So we now work on the assumption that we can catch them before they leave Paris, and at the same time we'll assume that we'll have no contact at all between us and Lydia." Parker shook his head.
"You work on finding her in the city, I'll try and find how they intend to get out." The Count pushed off the wall, nodded to the occupants of the room and then slipped silently from the room, within minutes everyone else had left as well. Darcy had blinked slowly at the house across the street, then he had turned very deliberately and did not head back to his hotel.
Captain Ellis McKenna stared over the cockpit coaming and down at the land mass below. All things considered it was not a view he wished to see, for smoke was rolling across the ground. Here he was, twenty miles behind enemy lines, fighting a strong headwind and that bloody escort flight was not to be seen for the love of mud. Mac took another look around the empty sky, but the view was clear blue in all directions, and nothing could have given Mac a nastier feeling. He glanced up at Paige, who just happened to look back at the same time, and it wasn't half obvious that his observer was even more unhappy with the situation then he was....if such a thing was possible. Mac glanced at his altimeter and speedometer, then winced and looked up, he didn't care what the reading was, it was now patently obvious that it was wrong, he most certainly was not travelling at the maximum speed for a Fee, he would have been astounded if he was going half that fast.
"OH HELL!" The very uncharacteristic expletive from Paige had Mac's head up and his eyes scanning, it took him less then half a minute to locate the small dark wedge in the sky near the sun. Just what they needed, no fighter escort and a squadron of Albatrosses.....Mac took another look as he lowered the nose a bit further, it was even worse then he had suspected, Tripehounds, a whole squadron of tri-planar Albatrosses, the timing couldn't have been better, the feeling in Mac's stomach couldn't have been sicker. Tripehounds had definite weaknesses, but they were the devil with acrobatics and acrobatics was going to be the name of this particular game.
"Looks like we're in for a party."
Later Mac was almost willing to bet it was one of the worst landings he had ever made, he had ripped his undercart through the trees which bordered the aerodrome, then slammed clunkily into the ground before bouncing up again, after a few bounces the Fee finally settled down into a relatively steady run and Mac finally risked applying the brakes. It was with a sickening groan that the Fee finally drew up by the hangers and Mac wiped an unsteady hand across his face as he pulled off goggles and mask with the other hand. The sight of his bloodstained hand jerked him upright in his seat and it didn't take him long to realise that he was in more then a slight mess. Blood was running from his lip and a gash across one cheek and there was a tender lump on his jaw where he had apparently banged his head against something. Mac then yanked off his harness and dove forward to pull Paige up as the three Pups came neatly in to land. It took a single look, then Mac let go of Paige and slumped back in his cockpit, anger billowing up inside him and forming a bitter taste in his mouth.
"You okay?" One of the Pup pilots stood by the wing and Mac was suprised to note that the man had obviously been in action before, a faint scar curled up his jaw, the scars from shrapnel were fairly unmistakeable.
"Fine." Mac responded curtly and pushed out of his seat.
"Observer."
"Went west just before you arrived."
"Tough luck." The pilot stopped. "Our M.O.'s on his way out, he'll probably want to stitch you some before you use the telephone."
"Thanks." Mac slid down out of his cockpit and looked vaguely around the aerodrome. Except for the fact that they were Sopwith Pups instead of F.E.2.c.'s Mac could well have believed he was back at 83 Squadron.
"You are a bit of a mess ain't you." The M.O. came up with his ever present little black bag, Mac wondered vaguely if you could be an M.O. without a little black bag for he had certainly never seen one without a black bag. "Now hold still while I have a look at what's happened here." It was three painful minutes later when the M.O. stepped back again and grunted. "Get Ashie to show you my room, that lip needs stitching."
"Yes, sir." Mac had made no sound during the entire operation and in fact he had barely even registered that the M.O. had stopped fiddling with his face, the roaring in his ears was occupying too much of his attention.
"Moggy, I think this chap has more problems then his face." Ashie had been watching silently as Mac's face whitened considerably and the man started to sway unsteadily.
"I'm rapidly thinking you're right, must have taken a hit on the torso."
"There's no blood and its been thirty minutes since he was last fired at."
"Get him into my office, I've got to check the man in the observer's cockpit."
"Okay." Ashie turned aside briefly. "PYRO!" In response to his yell another pilot came running over.
"Yeah?"
"Moggy wants this chap in his office, lend a hand will you."
"Sure." Pyro grabbed an arm and between them they half carried and half dragged Mac across to the room which served as Moggy's office and general doctor's surgery.
"Ummm, Ashie. I think you'd better get Moggy in here fast, this boy's coughing blood."
"Oh damn." Ashie shot out the door and collided with Moggy who was on the point of entering.
"Sorry Moggy, Pyro says he's bleeding from the mouth."
"Any idea who he is?"
"Well he hasn't spoken since he declared himself to be okay, you didn't actually tell us to snoop around for his I.D. disc and I have most certainly never seen him before today, so I'm afraid I can't help."
"Well go dig Denny out and tell him I want the motor out immediately."
"But....." Ashie paused. "The C.O. has forbidden for us to touch the motor since Pete piled it up the other week."
"Then tell the C.O., if he complains, that I gave the order and that he should voice his protests to me."
"Yes, sir." Ashie continued his course away from the room while Moggy came into the room.
"Bleeding is he Pyro?"
"Yes, a bit, and it is not from his lip."
"I was afraid of that." Moggy pulled a large knife from his rack of equipment and handed it across to Pyro. "Get his coat and shirt off but don't move him any more then you really must."
"It's off." Pyro spoke a couple of minutes later, and the remark was followed by a soft whistle. "Take a gander at these bruises."
"I already am." Moggy had winced at the dark red lines which cut across the man's ribcage. There was absolutely no doubt, there was at least one cracked rib in that mess and if the man lived long enough he was going to have some impressive bruising, if it wasn't permanent bruising.
Being driven by Captain Lord James Ashington-Frankston was not, in Moggy's personal opinion, a relaxing thing to do. But for once in his life Moggy was more then happy for Ashie to run the automobile as fast as he could. There was no possible way to make the trip to the hospital comfortable, which only left making the trip fast. And it was a well known fact to Moggy that when it came to the squadron and fast driving, Ashie was the least likely to end up in the ditch. Fifteen minutes later had them skidding into the yard at the 18th mobile unit and they were almost immediately met by a nurse.
"A problem?" Her english was vile, so Ashie responded in french which was only slightly better than her english, and in a matter of a few seconds they were leaving again, knowing they would be updated as soon as anything happened, and that the patient was already in the operating theatre getting hacked open to repair the damaged lungs. Fifteen minutes later and they were once more back at the aerodrome, where they were met by Denny and a rueful grin.
"The C.O.'s in a towering bad temper Ashie."
"Is he?" Ashie gave a faint smile then looked across the tarmac to where the Fee still stood with its grisly load. "'Spose we'll have to do something about that observer."
"Don't bother, he's going to be picked up in about an hour, along with the Fee."
"But it isn't flyable." Ashie had taken a look inside the Fee after it had landed and while the M.O. had been checking out the pilot and the thought of flying such a wreck made him feel ill. Not only were all the instruments shot away, but it looked like half the controls were also shot away.
"That won't disturb 83, most of them have flown with even bigger messes then no instruments. I've watched Mac land with no tail, he had Paige hanging off the back to keep the 'plane level enough."
"83?" Ashie frowned as the name rang a distant bell.
"83rd Squadron, Major Gareshot's the C.O."
"Since you know so much, perhaps you can tell us who we rescued?"
"Well that was Paige who is still crumpled in the observers cockpit, so I think it safe to assume it was Lieutenant Ellis McKenna whom you just went racing to hospital with. I took the liberty of calling through to Gareshot to tell what had happened."
"Can you tell us why they were alone so far over the lines?"
"Escort failed to rendezvous, Garry's currently melting the wires to the guilty squadron trying to find out why."
"Well, McKenna was putting up a pretty impressive fight when we arrived."
"He'd want to be..." Denny stopped short and jerked his head before running for the recording office, faintly they could all hear the telephone bell jangling. Ten minutes later Denny reappeared looking seriously grim.
"What's up Denny?" Such a grim look was rare on the face of the recording officer.
"General warning from 183 Squadron for us, 275, 135, and 72. The Richtofen Circus is back for a visit."
"Sounds like fun." Ashie frowned and rubbed his head. "Who was supplying escort for that flight?"
"183." The response was blunt. "Of five planes only one has got back so far."
"Ouch." Ashie winced then glanced across at the Fee which stood silently on the tarmac. What had been so important that only one plane returned intact from an attempt to reach the rendezvous, and then why had he managed to get passed unscathed? Was it worth the loss of the observer and the potential loss of the pilot?......And where had he heard the name Ellis McKenna from before?
Forty minutes later a Fee glided in and made a smooth, but slightly awkward, landing, and Ashie watched in silence as two men struggled out of the front cockpit.
"This Mac's mess?" It was a burly individual with a large black moustache who came up.
"Hello Way." Denny strolled over and held out a hand.
"Well if it ain't Pip Squeak. You neglected to tell us you got out here again."
"Recording Officer. How's Garry and the rest?"
"Fine, though somewhat anxious until you got through with the information that Mac was still alive."
"He's currently an unknown at mobile 18."
"Will do, we'll call up and see if we can see him tomorrow. Otherwise forward to us everything you hear of him."
"Sure."
"Now who do we thank for the nearly complete rescue?" Way rubbed his head wearily and blinked.
"Ashie over there was the Flight-Leader who was nearly forty miles from where he should have been."
"Well I'm not complaining. Thanks, but in future I suggest you keep to the right part of the sky." Way gave another nod, then yawned and headed back to where the two Fee's were. "Is it going to take off?"
"Should do, but there are no instruments so we better get moving before the light gets too bad. Looks like only basic functions remain as well." Galace scrambled up into the Fee and grimaced. "Geez, I don't think much of my observer. Want to swap Eddie?"
"No thanks." The response came from the other plane just before the engine bellowed into life in response to a hefty swing by Way on the propeller. A few seconds later and the other Fee bellowed into life as well and a few seconds later the two planes were climbing into the ever deepening gloom.
Ashie stood silently on the tarmac, dark had now fallen completely and he was all alone as he stared up at the sky overhead. Once again Ashie found himself wondering why he had come here at all. He had been in command of a good company down in Africa and it had infact since been posted here, and yet he had posted in for a service transfer and come to this down and out Squadron. 'The Cads of the Flying Corps', Ashie smiled slightly bitterly at the name, they were indeed the cads, the lot of them had only just scraped through Flying School, they had the highest fatality rate and a drunk commanding officer who hated Ashie like poison. Not that Ashie was going to say he didn't deserve the dislike, in fact he had called the majority of it on himself by treating a very British officer to Australian army manners. But frankly Ashie had no intention of adapting his ways to suit a commanding officer who was a total fool and a stuffed shirt to boot. Why he hadn't just accepted the initial offer which had been to reinstate him with his former command, Ashie could never say. But now he was nailed out in a totally dead corner.....
"Ashie!" As the yell rang out Ashie dove violently to his right, rolled, and looked back at where he had been standing, he had long since learnt to dive first then ask questions when Denny yelled his name like that. The C.O. was standing there with a large bottle in his hand, standing, but not for long. As Ashie watched the man swayed again before crashing over.
"Oh Lord! I am sorry Ashie." Denny came running up with a contrite expression on his face.
"I'm fine Denny, don't worry about me." Ashie gave a faint smile.
"It was the mobile unit on the telephone and and I didn't see him go."
"Just forget about it Denny, he didn't get me and we had best get him back."
"I hope they shove us a new C.O. damn soon."
"I expect they'll probably break us up if the truth be told." Ashie got to his feet and brushed the dust off his uniform before lending Denny a hand in getting the C.O. back to his office. The wall of alcohol which met them caused Ashie to flinch backwards, that someone would even consider living in such an environment astonished him.
"We better plan to clean this place up soon."
"You're telling me nothing. How's the pilot going?" Ashie closed the office door and propped against the recording office wall.
"Their last report was that he was still breathing and they expect he'll probably come around in about an hour then three weeks and he'll be back flying."
"I wouldn't have believed that when we dragged him into Moggy's office this afternoon."
"Mac's made of tough stuff. You're going to have to transfer if we don't get another C.O. soon Ashie, this is the third time he's gone for you in the past week."
"I can't transfer Denny. I was forcibly transfered to the Australian Army in January of '15 just in time of Gallipoli. They agreed to my transfer to the Flying Corps because I wasn't to go into armed combat in Africa or Turkey again as I would be listed as a spy and shot immediately. Besides which there were people on my side with whom you think twice before annoying them. We both know this Squadron is the ultimate scum of the Flying Corps, they wouldn't even consider a transfer request from this place."
"Ashie, I don't understand you at all. How do you appear so calm about being down here?"
"With great ease Denny. I'm the second son of an Earl. This means I won't ever inherit a penny unless my brother dies, and that is unlikely as he hibernates in Cambridgeshire all year long. Because my father is an Earl I cannot go to a regular university, far too degrading for him. As I'm absolutely lousy at classics this completely rules out university at an appropriate university. I hate the idea of medicine and my father considers the Army and the military in general as degrading, I will admit his opinion is unusual. So what do I have left? A rich wife, dependance on my brother, or both. And frankly neither appeals to me, so I wallow with the scum of society and hope I'll be able to retain my commission when all this is over."
"Suddenly I am exceedingly glad that my father was merely a small country lawyer. What does your father think of your being here?"
"Oh, I'm exiled until I come to my senses." Ashie shoved off the wall and gave a grin. "See you tomorrow Denny."
"Bye Ashie." Denny watched the door close then whistled softly to himself. Suddenly many of Ashie's whims and habits started to make sense and at a guess Denny was willing to bet that Ashie was nowhere near as cool about his position as he tried to make it appear. No wonder Ashie treated the world with the facade of laughter and foolishness, it must grate viciously to be totally useless and have no prospect of becoming useful for the simple reason that he was born into the wrong family. Denny set his mouth firmly and grabbed the telephone, five minutes later he had Squadron 83 on the line. After a brief talk with Freddie Denny was calling Base Hospital 18, Mac was groggy and bad tempered, but issued a curt and precise opinion and offered some advice. Denny then sat back and stared blankly at a far wall before picking up the telephone and sending off a telegram which showed a total disregard for expense. A week later Denny grimaced as he read the response, before carefully shreading the page on which he had written it. The step had now been taken and Denny hoped he had not just made the worst error of his life.
Lord Parker Dellingham went bounding up the stairs two at a time, pausing only every once in a while to catch his breath, until he reached the top floor where he pounded on a door before opening it and entering.
"Forget it Nash, it's just me." Parker didn't need to even consider whether Nash did or didn't have a gun, the man rarely stirred without at least one, and he usually carried two.
"'Ee, how boring. Set the lights again Count." Nash's voice came from a short distance behind and to one side of Parker. There was the scratch of a match being lit and light quickly sprang up as the candelabra was lit.
"You should be more careful Parker." The Count carefully restored the metal box of matches to his pocket before resuming his seat.
"Probably. Has either of you seen Darcy?"
"Darcy?" The Count blinked. "No, I haven't seen Darcy since February...if you don't count last week, last I heard he was supposedly returning to Pemberley House."
"Well he never arrived, that Sister who is supposedly watching him called me to say that she thought he may have been hair-brained enough to come over here."
"Quite like him." Nash grunted as he restored the revolver to his pocket.
"Well have either of you seen him?" Parker stopped short of the window and crossed abruptly to where a tray of drinks sat.
"No is the simple answer." The Count was twisting a small revolver between his fingers.
"Damn." Parker didn't pour a drink, he turned away from the tray and collapsed into his seat. "Well I'm afraid I can't find a trace of them, either of you had better success?"
"No." The Count abruptly restored his revolver to his pocket.
"Which means we now sit back and wait until Darcy shows up." Parker sank back in a chair and stared up at the ceiling.
"Does he know where this place is?" The Count leant forward in his chair.
"No, but Darcy would never let such a minor detail hamper him."
"True." The Count sank back in his seat and the room was sunk in silence for over an hour.
"Damn!" The remark came from the window. Parker loosed an explosive oath, which was drowned by the bark of Nash's revolver. "Put that bloody thing away Nash." The voice had Parker to the window.
"Darcy! What are you doing there?"
"Coming in." Darcy grunted the response as he hauled himself over the windowsill and collapsed into a pile of arms and legs on the floor.
"Are you okay?" Parker looked down in concern at the man.
"No I am not....Infact only twice have I been worse in my life." Darcy wearily untangled himself. "Someone get me a drink. I want to get properly sewn up tonight."
"Any particular reason?" Parker took the glass of Brandy from the Count.
"Not really, I just want to forget." Darcy tipped the entire contents of the glass down his throat and held it out. Nash took it silently, refilled it, returned it, and watched as the second glass went the same way as the first.
"Mind telling us why you came in the window instead of up the stairs?" Parker had returned to his seat and he spoke as Darcy finally crossed the room and sank into one of the many chairs.
"I came in through the window because I had a tail. The man seemed reluctant to follow me when I ascended to the rooftops. I think I shook him off before I entered here."
"You found something?" Parker jerked forward in his seat.
"I found lots of things." Darcy frowned in annoyance at his empty glass, which Nash promptly removed, refilled and returned. "Until half an hour ago Nickel was in a small apartment in the Rue Challon. He had with him one Lydia Bennet. Note to you Count, your communication lines in England and Paris are blown sky high and out of this world."
"I rather gathered that they had run into problems." The Count's tone was dry.
"Other then that....Well Nickel is no longer in Rue Challon, infact he may possibly already have left Paris....but you won't catch him so I wouldn't bother trying yet."
"Why so certain?" The Count rocked forward in his seat.
"Because I know Nickel and Nickel always ensures an escape route."
"What of Lydia?" The Count's question drew a sharp look from Darcy.
"She won't be around. I said that he ensured his escape routes." Darcy suddenly laid his glass aside and frowned up at the ceiling. "I just wish..." Darcy fell silent and shook his head.
"What's up?"
"I just wish I knew which of us he was actually aiming at." Darcy's hand suddenly tightened around his glass and the beginnings of Parker's warning protest were drowned out in the crack of shattering glass. "Damn!" Darcy released his hold on the glass and went fishing through his pockets with one hand, his other hand was dripping blood onto the elegantly carved table top. "Get rid of that glass Nash." Darcy pulled a distinctly grimy handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped it awkwardly around his hand. "I'll be clearing out for a few hours tomorrow."
"I'd much prefer you returned to England Darcy, Sister O'Niell rang a veritable peal over me down the telephone line."
"I could well believe it. Okay, I'll return tomorrow evening, but first I have a job to attend to."
"Darcy...." Parker started, then stopped. It had taken only a single look from Darcy to silence Parker, if looks could kill Parker would have been dead before he had even opened his mouth....possibly even before he had thought of the protest.
"Who fired?" Nash was frowning from his position next to the drinks tray.
"It wasn't Nickel...there's someone else tied up in this, but if he's connected to Nickel you know more than I do." Darcy shifted, whitened considerably, then passed out completely. Nash had sprung forward from his stand next to the drinks stand almost before Darcy had passed out and in seconds he was turning Darcy over with practiced hands and stripping off the coat. Parker winced at the ugly stain which spread across Darcy's shoulders.
"I feared as much." Nash pulled a vicious, wicked looking knife out from under his coat and slashed the shirt with two quick cuts. The gash stretched clear across Darcy's shoulders, deep, but not dangerous....and not deep enough to be stitchable. Nash touched the gash with a nervous finger. "He was shot......entered at the shoulder, it's ripped through the old scar before gashing down and across." Nash traced the path thoughtfully. "Need some powder, any type, just something to dry this out with." Nash touched the edges of the injury, as he had suspected it was deep enough to draw a considerable amount of blood, but it wasn't more then a skin graze really, and fortunately the bullet wasn't lodged. Nash gave a soft sigh as he folded the blood-stained shirt back over the injured back.
"I'll see to getting him a room..." Parker headed to the door as he spoke.
"No." Nash's voice stopped Parker before he reached the door.
"What?"
"No, don't get him a room, it'll draw too much attention." Nash was leaning heavily against the back of Darcy's chair. "Try and get some basilicum powder if you can, but failing that just get a bed sheet. He said he had work to do tomorrow and that is precisely what he will do, so we'd best fix him up while we can."
"How do you tolerate him." Parker frowned darkly.
"Annoying as this habit is, it has distinctly favourable features, particularly when you get into trouble since nothing stops him. I have been in enough tight corners with him to know I would much prefer to live with this, then die in a scrap because he can't totally disregard the fact that he is bleeding like a pig."
"True." Parker gave a slight shrug, then left the room.
"You suspect something?" The Count leant against a nearby chair.
"Why do you ask?" Nash countered warily.
"Because you asked who fired. Everyone knows that Nickel fired.....because he wouldn't be Nickel if he hadn't. More than two shots were fired in the Rue Challon."
"Three shots were fired." Nash dug into one of Darcy's pockets and produced a small pistol, the muzzle was darkened. "Nickel was hit, but not badly. Darcy was hit by Nickel's shot.......but Miss Lydia was hit by the third bullet, and no one knows where that bullet came from, who fired it, or where it was aimed."
"Basilicum powder." The Count flicked the small jar across to Nash as he walked towards the window. "A third bullet....that is most certainly not what we want."
"A third bullet?" Parker returned with a bed sheet in his hand, he was met by the sight of Nash liberally sprinkling Darcy's back. "Bed sheet."
"Good." Five minutes later Darcy was shifted from his chair and onto the floor in the corner.
"Now what was that you said about a third bullet? You need a second bullet before you can mention third bullets, and the last I heard we only had one shot fired."
"Three shots were fired in Rue Challon if you believe friend Nash here." The Count waved a hand.
"What?" Parker looked stunned.
"He was hit by a bullet, but that bullet had a very low exit velocity, had it hit anyone the worst they could possibly have suffered is a bruise.....if it hit them at all. This bullet cut straight across Darcy's shoulders so anyone the bullet later hit would have to be tall....and Miss Lydia would certainly not be in that class of tallness." Nash paused for several minutes and the only sound in the room was Darcy's stertorous breathing, and Nash's rasping wheeze. "Shot two was fired by Darcy, but considering that he was dodging shots himself one can assume that he only inflicted a minor injury on Nickel."
"How can you be certain he hit at all." The Count creased his brows thoughtfully.
"He is a rotten shot with a rifle or shotgun, but he never misses with a pistol...in particular he never misses when using this little critter." Nash suspended the silver edged pistol with one finger through the trigger guard. "We can safely assume that the injury wasn't serious, otherwise he would not have observed that Nickel had left the city." Nash restored the pistol to his pocket. "It is totally safe to assume that he would not have shot Lydia himself, and Darcy will back me up when I say that Nickel would never fire at a woman. Nickel might do many other things, but he won't use a firearm on them."
"Which means there must have been a third shot.....but who?" Parker was looking slightly ill.
"And why." The Count finally sat down again as silence settled on the room.
"Will he be okay Nash?" Parker broke the silence after quite an extended period, he had been staring at Darcy's motionless figure for most of the time.
"Normally I'd say yes." Nash paused and shifted stiffly. "Normally he wouldn't turn a hair at that.......but normally he hasn't been driving himself so hard for anything near such an extended period." Nash gave a slight shrug. "He may be fine or this may be the last straw......but I suspect he'll be fine."
"Why do you say that?" Parker frowned, the remark was somewhat cryptic and Parker had a feeling that there was some underlying meaning in it.
"Well he pulled through that leg of his.....and he had no reason to live. He pulled through the Typhoid with no reason to live.....but now he most certainly has a reason to live.....and I think he has more than one reason."
"Georgiana?" Parker lifted an eyebrow.
"What do you know of that?" Nash looked sharply at Parker.
"Very little." Parker lifted his hands defensively. "Infact nothing beyond the fact that there was some rift after the original affair in '14."
"Yes, Georgiana." Nash responded somewhat curtly.
"Well I'm retiring, if any of you are still here in the morning I'll see you then." Parker rose as he spoke and soon had left the room.
"I need to leave in the morning...though I don't know how early that will be." The Count rose as he spoke. "I need to find out what went wrong with the communication lines.....I also need to set up a new lot."
"I do not envy you." Nash spoke calmly as the Count headed for the door.
"If I wasn't so nearly soaked I would probably be irritated with you." The door had been closed after the Count for a good minute before the observation was made.
"I wondered whether you intended to let them know you were awake." Nash was leaning out the window as he responded.
"Why bother." Darcy scrambled awkwardly to his feet. "Did you really have to mention to the Count about the third bullet?"
"Well I could hardly not let him know for he would have found out about that pistol of yours fast enough and I doubt that he would have believed that you shot yourself."
"Unfortunately it means we have to leave now as opposed to later." Darcy caught his pistol as Nash lobbed it back across the room and quickly reloaded it. "Get that revolver of yours full. There shouldn't be a problem, but I'd prefer to not be caught unprepared." Darcy dumped the pistol back into the pocket of his jacket before he pulled it on.
"Why the hurry?" Nash spoke while he quickly refilled his revolver.
"Because I left something behind that we can't risk anyone else finding.....and there's something else there I want to check before it is found." Darcy went out the window, then reached back in and gave Nash a hand out.
"I wish I wasn't so damnably cheesed by these heights." Nash quickly settled with a near death grip on Darcy's back.
"Be thankful instead that I've got the strength that can manage both of us." Darcy spoke between clamped teeth as he scrambled awkwardly across and down the wall.
"I think I'll instead consider the fact that you've got blood on this collar and it will be an awful job to get it out."
"Who cares, this jacket has more than just blood on it." Darcy gave a mighty heave and leapt for a nearby roof, where he made an awkward landing.
"That's no excuse for mistreating it." Nash dropped off as Darcy regained his feet and soon they were scrambling down a badly rusted fire escape. "How's the leg?"
"Coping." Darcy answered shortly as he lead the way through grimy backstreets.
"How's the head?"
"Pounding like the devil, and before you ask, yes my back is on fire. Now shut up and hurry up." Darcy abruptly turned down another street and was soon leading the way cautiously up a musty set of stairs. Nash frowned slightly when he noticed that the small silver-plated pistol was in Darcy's hand, Darcy was expecting trouble.
"Sounds clear." Nash hissed the information softly, and received a grunt of agreement as an answer and Darcy abruptly entered a nearby door, having first let Nash in to pick the lock.
"All clear, hurry up." Darcy poked his head back out the door and Nash hurriedly followed him into the room. Nash grimaced as he looked around the room, he could hear Darcy relocking the door behind himself, but Nash's attention was held by the somewhat grizzly scene which lay in front of him. Lydia Bennet lay slumped against the wall, one arm thrown up as if to protect herself. There was very little blood near her, which meant that death had been nearly instantaneous, if not instantaneous. But the lack of blood near Lydia was more than made up for by the immense pool which surrounded the second corpse which lay near the middle of the room.
"Oh glory." Nash looked faintly ill as he inspected the corpse in the middle of the room. It was the remains of a small man, his mousey coloured hair had been hidden previously by a french forage cap, and his features were curiously bland and unremarkable.
"Get Miss Lydia's clothes fixed while I get that book." Darcy was already digging around at a corner of carpet. Nash took one last look at the man, then turned his attention to Lydia again, it was at this point that he realised that her clothes were considerably messed around.
"Why?" Nash carefully set to work, he was not actually all that well acquainted with how female attire worked.
"Because we can hardly send her home looking like......that." Darcy continued ripping away at the carpet.
"True." Nash continued his cautious and awkward work.
"Good." Darcy's satisfied grunt caused Nash to look around just in time to see Darcy shoving a slender black book into a front pocket. The carpet was soon returned and Darcy crossed the to mousey man who lay in the middle of the room. "Hardly repossessing......but then I doubt anyone would look nice in such circumstances." Darcy grimaced as he began gingerly working through the man's pockets. "Our friend seems comfortably well off." It was some several minutes later when Darcy spoke again.
"How do you know?" Nash had finally finished sorting out the various strings and ribbons which seemed to be involved in keeping a woman in her clothes, and now all that remained was to tie them up in the right order, a prospect which Nash found daunting in the extreme.
"Because he has nearly a thousand francs in his pocket." Darcy finished his search of the pocket, then restored the money.
"That is more than nothing." Nash had whistled softly at the sum mentioned, and then turned his attention back to tying up the many strings.
"Most of those are just decorative ribbons Nash, they tie on themselves." Darcy crossed to the otherside so he could check the other pockets. "Our friend here seems reluctant to admit his identity."
"Miss Lydia has much too great a liking for frills and fluff." Nash spoke with great feeling as he finally finished tying up the various ribbons and strings.
"Her character had too great a liking for them. Here, lend a hand Nash, I can't lift and search this man."
"Right." Nash quickly did a feel check as Darcy held him off the floor. "He's clean."
"Good." Darcy carefully replaced the man and then slid across and listened for a minute at the door before he unlocked again. "We'll leave identification for Uncle Mac's boys, but right now we have to get back." Nash quickly followed Darcy down the stairs and back out into the street. Twenty minutes later Darcy was scrambling back in the window of the upstairs room with Nash clinging like a limpet to his back.
"For a dead man you are quite active." Parker was smoking calmly in a chair in the corner.
"Who said I was dead." Darcy drove his elbow backwards and into Nash's ribs, and with a whoof Nash let go and dropped to the floor.
"Not you, I will agree." Parker watched in silence as Darcy got himself a fresh glass of brandy. "You're going to have a frightful head in the morning." This remark was added after Darcy consumed his third glass.......or his fifth for the evening.
"Unlikely, I've never had one before." Darcy filled up the glass for the fourth time since returning through the window and was moving somewhat unstably as he crossed the room and took possession of the miserable looking sofa.
"Well you deserve one. Where did you go?"
"Out. Had to do the formalities." Darcy produced his pipe and was soon smoking.
"That pipe can't be too good for you." Parker wrinkled up his nose at the scent of Darcy's pipe, it seemed that Darcy was currently smoking his special brand. Here was hoping that the hotel staff didn't decide it was a gas attack.
"It's probably very bad for me." Darcy agreed equably. "But I'm still going to smoke it. I've had a bad day so I'm going off the deep end."
"So I observe." Parker watched with grim amusement as Darcy quite deliberately drank himself into a drunken stupor. "What on earth has got him?" Parker looked at Nash in surprise. "He never touched spirits in Africa."
"He's touched spirits only twice here." Nash responded grimly as he used far from gentle methods while he arranged Darcy on the sofa.
"And this is the second?"
"Aye." Nash delivered a hefty kick to the sofa and it responded by collapsing. Nash gave a disgusted grunt. "They didn't have such flimsy sofa's down in Africa."
"You've kicked a sofa he was lying on before?"
"Well.....no." Nash sat down and tucked his legs under him.
"What was the first time?" Parker flickered a quick glance at Darcy's comatose figure.
"First time..." Nash paused. "Fust time was when......well night after Miss Darcy woke up....night before he took off after Nickel."
"What's caused it this time?"
"It was Lieutenant Folin Bennet who died saving his life at Loos, now it looks like Miss Lydia Bennet has saved his life at the cost of her own. People like 'im don't like getting saved at the expense of someone else.....and I think it gets 'im even worse that it's Bennets what keep doin' it."
"You're slipping Nash." Parker frowned across at the still figure. "Well there can't be many of them left."
"I think that's what worries him most." Nash curled up into a tighter ball.
"Neither of you make any sense at all. I'll see you when he's slept his potations off."
"That'll be in about six hours."
"Whatever." Parker left the room.
"He don't believe me that six hours will sober you.....and lookin' at you now I'd probably agree." Nash gave a slight shrug, curled up tighter and fell asleep.
Author's note: For those of you who are curious about what Darcy and Nash are up to, let me assure you it is quite harmless. When on a long trip it can be entertaining to ask someone to supply you with a number of unrelated items......your challenge is then to write a 'whodunit' which makes them related. :) - J
"Papa?" Elizabeth crept cautiously into the library and glanced nervously across at the slumped figure of Mr. Bennet. The only change which had been seen since the information had come from Mr. Gardiner that Lydia was found, was that Mr. Bennet now held a page in his slack fingers.
"Lizzie." There was a pause, and then his head rose and he looked across the darkened library to where Elizabeth was standing by the door.
"T-t-there's a man to see you."
"What does he give for a name?" Mr. Bennet stirred restlessly, then with the loud creaking of joints he rose out of his chair.
"H-he says his name is Nickel, and he hopes you will give him audience for a minute or two. He swears it is important!" Elizabeth actually hadn't meant to give the last as a nervous gasp, but never had she seen such a murderous expression in her father's face. "Papa, what is it?"
"Read this I just received from Paris." The letter Mr. Bennet held Elizabeth discovered to be a bloodless, typewritten account. As with the official communications, there was no detail, just facts....but two names this time. "What in hell are we meant to believe Elizabeth?"
"Papa.....could you please see this man....he swears he won't leave until he has seen you."
"I'd sooner call in the police to deal with him." Mr. Bennet grimaced bitterly. "Okay, show him in Lizzie.....and get that locket out of sight, it's too gaudy."
"Sorry Papa." Elizabeth hastily pushed the locket back behind her high collar, before she hurriedly left the room. The man she faced who stood in the hall got a dark look and a curt head jerk. "My father will see you, please follow me."
"I am glad to hear it." He silently followed her into the library, where Mr. Bennet had moved to sit behind his desk. "Colonel Bennet....I suspect my name is familiar to you."
"I would as soon murder you as speak to you." Mr. Bennet's unexpectedly vicious response stopped Elizabeth by the door.
"And in your position I would probably wish to myself as well.....but I'm not in your position so you will have to excuse me if I do not permit me to carry that wish through."
"Take a seat. I assume you came here for a reason, not just to exchange pleasant commentaries."
"Oh I am very good at exchanging pleasant commentaries....you need not concern yourself over my wellbeing, I will leave as I came and no one will catch or see me."
"You seem certain of that." Mr. Bennet probed curiously, and was met in response by a cheerful grin.
"I believe that Colonel Darcy did not go down well when you first met him sir.......but trust me when I say he is currently the second most dangerous man in England."
"You speak as though there is a more dangerous man?"
"Well I'm here."
"I fear you are incorrect, I have met no Colonel Darcy."
"True....he was a Major when you met him, he was in civilian dress and posing as his own brother." The coolness of the response startled Elizabeth.
"I somehow doubt that you came here for that reason." Mr. Bennet's tone remained icey. "Get your reason said before I have a go at killing you."
"I have nine lives, sir." There was a slight pause. "I did not kill your daughter, this is one thing I would like to set straight on the records."
"You need not bother." Mr. Bennet stood up abruptly. "No you did not fire the shot, but it was one of your men who did."
"He is not one of mine." It came as a vicious hiss. "If you think I would even condone such action I am amazed for you have obviously forgotten me."
"I most certainly have not forgotten you, and I'm not likely to forget you any time soon. Now please get out, and stay out of my life."
"Very well, but believe me when I say I was not responsible for her death....except very indirectly."
"He believes you, but I suggest you get moving Nickel.......for I never miss and de Duivel is even less likely to miss." The voice caught everyone in the room by surprise.
"Mr. Nash!" Elizabeth stared at him in amazement, for none of them had seen or heard him enter by the window. Nash stood calmly in the middle of the room a revolver drooping limply from one hand.
"Miss Elizabeth." Nash nodded curtly. "Get moving."
"You wouldn't shoot me.....you couldn't shoot me." Nickel's poise had tensed.
"True." Nash tilted his head. "I would never shoot a rat when ladies were around. You have five minutes to get off this property, and ten hours to get out of England.....after that he'll know that you were here....."
"And may God have mercy on my soul if I'm still around." Nickel gave a soft laugh. "You know I could shoot you here."
"With ladies around.......when I'm a disabled man?.......He wouldn't have hesitated in the Rue Challon had he suspected that you even considered targetting the disabled."
"Relax, I still do not consider it. I bid you good day, Miss Bennet, Colonel Bennet.....Mr. Nash." There was a brief nod and Nickel had slipped out the window and was not to be seen again.
"Who are you?.....and what do you want?" Mr. Bennet turned to Nash as Nickel vanished. "Well as Nickel, and Miss Bennet over there, observed I go by the name of Nash most of the time.....in fact I believe that Nash actually is my name....not that it will help you much. Actually I have a courier delivery to make."
"What sort of delivery?" Mr. Bennet frowned suspiciously. "And why did you come through the window?"
"I came through the window 'cos I saw Nickel's ugerly mug and thought it best to give him the get moving." Nash restored his revolver to a holster inside his coat. "There's a car out the front and I reckon the boys inside would be delighted if you'd take control of the contents. It gives 'em the jitters to 'ave Secret Service stuff in the back of their lorry."
"What are you saying?" Mr. Bennet frowned darkly at Nash.
"Well, kindament it goes this way." Nash paused for a minute, then shrugged. "There's a coffin for you....if you want it. The Foreign Office will deal with it if you don't want it, but it was said that you'd want it."
"They've returned Lydia?" Mr. Bennet looked totally sandbagged, but his frown soon reasserted itself. "And what are we meant to tell our neighbours?"
"Well you could say she died honourably saving the life of a patient."
"And what about the fact that everyone believes her to have eloped?"
"Did you ever confirm it?"
"No."
"So, it's just a fuzz produced by those Forsters.....or perhaps Wickham wanted a bit of publicity."
"Well I'd sooner Wickham copped the rap than the Forsters......But publicity isn't a good enough reason."
"Well he's got a pretty foul name hereabouts.....left a few debts with tradesmen which were later anonymously paid off.....paid off yesterday......perhaps if he actually kidnapped Lydia and demanded a ransom."
"Then that still doesn't explain how she died.......Elizabeth, you are excused."
"Why not have Lydia kidnapped and held ransom.....but Lydia escapes and gets into a Paris hospital. Wickham followed her there and tried to recapture her again, but an officer, who wishes to remain anonymous, interfered and frustrated the attempt. Wickham then draws a gun and fires at the Officer, but Lydia got in the way."
"Where did you get that farradiddle from Elizabeth?" Mr. Bennet stared at his second daughter in undisguised bemusement.
"I believe it is 'Case of the severed toe' ?" Nash looked up curiously from the intense study of his boots.
"Well actually it was a severed finger....but it's the same author and still totally foul."
"It sounds like it comes from a Shilling Shocker." Mr. Bennet hadn't looked away from Elizabeth yet.
"Well it is." Elizabeth gave a sigh. "Why not just tell the truth?"
"We can't." Nash and Mr. Bennet spoke in perfect unison.
"You mean...." Elizabeth stopped her mind went flying back to Camthorne's overgrown rose garden. Was this what Lydia had been referring to then? Elizabeth choked on a sob and promptly fled from the room, leaving Mr. Bennet to blink in surprise, and Nash to suddenly frown and look after her sharply.
"Unfortunately her idea is the best one....even though it does seem sacrilegious to turn it all into such a melodramatic farradiddle." Nash kicked a morose foot into the carpet. "Or would you prefer the boys left again and the Foreign Office get to dispose of her remains as they feel appropriate."
"Their appropriate disposal would probably be to hand her over to a hospital as a carcass for the students to practice their anatomical studies on." Mr. Bennet's expression changed from the stunned surprise to bitter disgust. "Yes, I'll take it. Funeral will be in two days and Elizabeth will be the one who spins the 'truth'."
"Thank you, I had hoped you would accept the remains." Nash paused hesitantly as if disturbed by some thought.
"Mr. Nash can you answer a question?"
"It depends on the question."
"You were in Meryton a year ago as Valet to a certain Mr. Darcy."
"That is true." Nash calmly responded.
"Was he, or was he not also an Officer in mufti?"
"Why would an Officer go posing as a Conscientious Objector?" Nash looked totally blank.
"Okay, I get it." Mr. Bennet paused. "Will you tell Colonel Darcy I wish to speak to him.....possibly before he returns to France."
"I'll pass the request on to Colonel Darcy's man, but no more can I guarantee."
"Thank you." Mr. Bennet had a faint smile dancing across his mouth in a manner which made Nash frown again.
"If you'll be collecting the delivery sir, the lads will be fair hopping by now."
"I do apologize, I had forgotten." Mr. Bennet followed Nash around to the front of the house, and after a bit of negotiating the coffin was removed from the back of the army type truck and stored in the unused front parlour.
"Is Mr. Nash departed?" It was over an hour later when Elizabeth disturbed her father's peace once more.
"About an hour ago. Lydia is installed in the front parlour with the so foul decor."
"I'm sure...." Elizabeth abruptly stopped.
"I quite agree Lizzie, Lydia of old would have fairly been dancing at her importance."
"But Lydia of old wasn't Lydia.....Papa, did you know Lydia?" Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably on the seat where she sat.
"I knew of what she did, because she was still a minor and depended on my sanction for many of her activities....but no, I never knew, and I certainly did not understand her. Possibly this should make me sad, but I'm afraid that I merely view it all with fairly detached disinterest....."
"Yes I know, the lord gives, the lord takes away.....Papa, could you not stop her from doing it?"
"No Lizzie......had I not given my permission Lydia would have 'died'. She wanted to do it Lizzie, and I wasn't about to stop her."
"I see." Elizabeth studied her feet studiously.
"Figurative death Lizzie, we'd have got a pretty coffin from where ever and it would have been loaded with a log or some similar weight. Lydia Bennet would have been dead, but Lydia B. would have drifted around, showing up here and there, light and fluffy headed, no one would have suspected her."
"When did it start?"
"June.....maybe July of '14."
"June or July of '14?" Elizabeth blinked in astonishment.
"Yes. Never really learnt much about it, but it was some Greek man.....didn't think much of him myself, but he had a reputation and a half in those circles. The whole affair was an incredible mess and seemed to revolve entirely around some 'little black book' and in whose possession it lay." Mr. Bennet frowned abruptly. "Did you know that Lydia knew how to pick pockets?"
"Yes." Elizabeth gave a brief nod. "She could also insert things into your pockets without your knowing it....She was most objectionably good at it."
"Ahh." Mr. Bennet paused. "Well I don't actually know the story, just a few odds and ends, but I do know that this particular book spent a little bit over a week in her possession. It puzzled me for a while as to how she got it, but I eventually stumbled on the reason."
"Good God Papa, we might have been murdered."
"Not likely Lizzie." A broad grin abruptly creased Mr. Bennet's face. "Lydia was worth more than her weight in gold to her bosses, and she wouldn't work if she thought there was much risk to the family. With that consideration on their minds her bosses have made certain that we are as safe as gold in the bank of England."
"That actually isn't very reassuring." Elizabeth grumbled softly as she rose to her feet.
"No, but at least Mr. Collins can feel smugly superior now."
"Smugly superior?" Elizabeth looked blank.
"I had a letter from him today." Mr. Bennet paused, then gave a faint grin. "It took him twenty-five pages to inform me that he and Lady Catherine were of the opinion that it would be best for the family if Lydia were to become deceased."
"Well they can talk." Elizabeth was feeling somewhat bitter as she stalked towards the door.
"Dinner in half an hour Lizziekins."
"Papa!" Elizabeth cast a look of annoyance over her shoulder, then left the room with accelerated pace, though she was still grateful for the reminder of the old joke.
September 3rd 1916 -London, England
Every day has twenty-four golden hours, Every hour has sixty silver minutes, Every minute has sixty diamond seconds, And never will you realise the importance of those diamonds until you see them slipping through your fingers.
September 4th 1916-Squadron 83, France
In front of laughter, every fear quails and every task seems minor.
September 15th 1916-Paris, France
They say it's mostly vanity
That writes the plays we act
They tell me that's what everybody knows
There's no such thing as sanity
And that's the sanest fact
That's the way the story goes. - One World, Dire Straits
September 25th 1916 - Longbourn, England
There is nothing quite so good as burial at sea. It is simple, tidy, and not very incriminating. - Alfred Hitchcock
© 1999, 2000, 2001 Copyright held by the author.