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December 3rd 1920-Camthorne Hospital, Kent

"The frowns I like are the ones where eyebrows meet over the nose and start to knit a jumper." - Aunt Theodore

Elliot March was shifting around restlessly. He took a few steps to the left before turning and taking a few steps to the right. Occasionally he stepped backwards of forwards, but usually this was just to correct his balance. They were small little steps of the variety which begin as amusing but rapidly pall and become highly irritating.

"You're going to regret it tonight." Anne Marshall spoke quietly from her seat on the other side of the room.

"Who cares?"

"Possibly the boy you're operating on tomorrow?"

"Alastair cancelled that this morning, something about complications."

"It might have helped if you'd actually listened." Anne's voice was slightly tarter than she had intended.

"He was running down the corridor when he told me."

"Then I'll excuse your uncertainty." Anne returned her attention to the page in front of her, but soon it drifted back to the restless figure. Captain Elliot March was one of the most awkward people she had met. In fact he was the most awkward person she had met. He was not awkward in the physical sense, he had the best pair of hands Anne had seen in her entire career and considering his disabilities he managed to move with a speed and silence which was astonishing. Elliot March was an awkward man to be around, he was forgetful as they came and even though he knew that his current antics would deprive him of a week of sleep unless he sedated himself, he still walked. Anne shook her head slowly, she had once thought that patients could not get worse than General Darcy, this cross-grained Canadian had set her right on that score.

"March!" A sandy-haired runner came flying into the room where the two doctors were resting.

"What?" Elliot came to a halt.

"Ward 3 surgery. Alastair's given it to you. Marshall is to oversee the operation."

"Which case?" Anne was on her feet, hastily winding her hair back up as she spoke.

"It's that man from Scotland." Elliot knew exactly who was in question. "Shell fragments lodged behind the frontal lobe. He went critical this morning, but was too unstable to touch."

"So he's stabilised a bit. This the one we're meant to be removing the shell fragments from?"

"No." Elliot was moving at top speed down the stone passage.

"So he's that one." Anne's expression was speaking.

"Yes." Elliot shot into the ready-room and Anne followed with a grim smile, they both knew that Elliot would be working without break until well into tomorrow morning, and Elliot had not been pacing for exercise.

Anne Marshall sank into one of the available chairs with a heartfelt sigh and started to massage some strength back into her hands. The operation had been an eight-hour marathon with the patient going critical and forcing two agonising delays while he was stabilised.

"Coffee?" The quiet question made Anne aware that she was not alone.

"Please." Anne glanced at the woman who was pouring coffee from a small thermos. The woman was just what Anne had once wished to be. Long hair, casually plaited back for the time being, of pure gold. Even plaited back the slight wave to the hair was apparent. The woman's face was looking tired, but it was one of those faces which was classically proportioned. A woman who was stunningly beautiful, and as Anne met the tired eyes she realised that this woman was also extremely intelligent. The two in combination were unusual, and this woman was made even more unusual by the fact that she was wearing a fashion which had died out long before the war. Even though the dress was old, it didn't look that old.

"Sorry if it's bitter, I've only just remembered it and it was made a day ago."

"I doubt it will be bitter." Anne took a careful sip, the coffee was actually quite weak compared to what she was used to. "No coffee is bitter after you become accustomed to the regulation brew produced here, the spoon nearly stands upright in it."

"Ugh." The woman wrinkled her nose and Anne was amused to note that the woman clearly found the coffee too strong. "I will avoid your stuff then."

"Wise idea." Anne looked wonderingly at the woman. "You have a brother here?"

"No." The head shook slowly. "In fact I...I'm not even certain whether I'm at the right here."

"Well if you're looking for Camthorne Hospital I can assure you that you have found it."

"You're one of the doctors?"

"Dr Anne Marshall, I'm actually more of an overseer for the interns than a doctor, but yes I am a doctor here."

"I'm in the right place." The expression of relief made the woman's face seem years younger. "This place is all too confusing, you might be speaking a completely different language for all the good this does me."

"I beg your pardon?" Anne blinked in utter astonishment.

"Place names....colloquial differences....accents.....half the time I seem able to understand only one in ten words and it makes travel terribly difficult."

"I could believe that." Anne studied the woman thoughtfully, finally accent, face and confusion seemed to be forming up in her exhausted mind. "You wouldn't happen to be Vicky would you?"

"I certainly am a Vicky." The response was wary.

"Elliot's been wearing holes in the carpet here every break he has." Anne gave a gentle laugh.

"Sorry....wearing holes?" Victoria's expression was confused.

"Pacing a lot, never standing still."

"He always does when he's worried......why do you seem to be expecting me? But with no specific time?"

"Telegram came from Professor Axelson. Elliot had been worried because you were silent for an extended time so he sent off a telegram which bounced. A second telegram to Professor Axelson brought the response that the farm was sold and 'Yon Vicky had gone off a-gallivanting' which was apparently a direct quote. Elliot wouldn't say who the source was, but the source was named and Elliot swore."

"Goodness." Victoria clapped a hand to her mouth. "I completely forgot to tell Ellie I was coming. I'll never hear the end of this now." Victoria's despair was near comical.

"For the time being he'll probably be too relieved you've arrived to say anything..." Anne rose to her feet abruptly. "Here comes Elliot, I'll have to take over watch of the patient. Thanks for the coffee and it was lovely to meet you." Anne flitted out the door, leaving Victoria to nervously re-pack the thermos as she listened to the dragging step which drew closer. The steps stopped for a moment and then finally reached the room.

"Idiot." Elliot's tone was blunt as he came across the room and pulled Victoria into a hug. "Lovely little idiot. Who's the ninny-hammer now who forgot to notify others of travel plans."

"I told Dr Marshall I'd never hear the end of it." Victoria grumbled her response into his shoulder.

"What else can you expect?" Elliot's voice teased.

"Decency maybe. I was in a hurry and distracted." Victoria's voice was quite muffled.

"Ahh, so I'm not distracted when I forget things?"

"No fair." Victoria's voice grumbled, but she finished with a shiver. "Sorry Ellie, about to make a fool of myself."

"Not a fool, you've had a couple of rough months." Elliot's arms tightened around Victoria as the first of many sobs shook her. "You got a very good price for the farm before you left. You remembered everything and carried out everything to the last letter of perfection...which is an 'n' by the way. Had someone told me you could arrange and have a funeral, sell a house and farm and prepare everything for shipping across the Atlantic in two months I frankly wouldn't have believed it." Elliot gave a slight frown. "Hold firm a tick Vicky, I need to move slightly."

"Why?" Victoria asked her question after Elliot had effected his millimetric movement.

"Too much weight on the old bad leg, I was about to lose balance and crumple in a heap on the floor."

"I see." Victoria gave a final sniff and started digging into her pocket after a handkerchief.

"Use this one." Elliot handed his over and then promptly shifted again, his expression a dark, introspective frown which deepened until his brows met over his nose.

"Sorry." Victoria's voice was thick and muffled as she violently blew her nose and wiped her eyes dry. "Made a mess of your coat."

"No matter." Elliot's tone was distracted and he was starting to pale.

"What is it Elliot?" Victoria caught his right arm worriedly and then dropped it in near terror as Elliot became dead white and started to sway on his feet.

"Just get me to a chair.....and don't touch my right side." Elliot's voice didn't even make the grade to agonised whisper and Victoria winced as his fingers bit deeply into her shoulder.

"This way." Victoria set her teeth before she closed her hand over the top of Elliot's hand and started towards the seats by the window.

The journey was travelled quickly and Elliot let himself fall heavily into one of the seats while his breath escaped in an explosive hiss of pain. Victoria watched worriedly, for Elliot was still a dead white and perspiration was forming large beads on his face and neck before slowly trickling down his collar into his white duck.

"Is there anything I can do Ellie?" Victoria hadn't even touched Elliot since he had released her to drop into the chair.

"No." Elliot's grip on the arms of the chair turned his knuckles ivory white and his arms trembled with the sheer force he was exerting through them. Elliot had switched to breathing through his mouth and each breath was an irregular, pain-filled, hissing gasp which had Victoria's stomach in knots.

Victoria cautiously took the other seat and started to gently wipe the perspiration from Elliot's face and neck. It was an unequal battle, but Victoria couldn't just sit there.

"Are you certain there's nothing I could do?" Victoria was deeply worried.

"Yes." The response came as a hiss. "Though feel free to pray that Anne of Dr. Alastair comes in here soon."

"Why?" Victoria wasn't certain whether to feel relieved or not, for Elliot had finally regained the faintest thread of colour, though his breathing had relaxed not a whit.

"Because they might help." Elliot's words came out laboured.

"Couldn't I go look?"

"NO!" It was almost explosive and Victoria instinctively retreated slightly. "Sorry Vicky." Elliot whitened once more. "Didn't mean to bite. Both up in surgery. Only staff can get there." Elliot was saving words at the expense on his grammar.

"What is it Ellie?"

"Sciatica.....just a touch." Elliot's breath abruptly whistled as he clamped his teeth together. "Damn sorry....you had to witness this. Doesn't usually get near this bad in the afternoons..." Elliot trailed off and he gave another whistle.

"Not usually this bad?" It was in shock that Victoria resumed wiping Elliot's face, whatever the problem it was not a once off, that was very clear indeed.

"No." Elliot abruptly wiped his own face on the back of his sleeve. "Usually quite within toleration limits."

"It's worse at other times?"

"Usually starts to bite about eleven in the evening when things start to wind down." Elliot's breath whistled again. "Take a look out the door and see if you can see someone."

"No one in sight." It was a few seconds later when Victoria returned from her inspection.

"Damn." Elliot abruptly leaned over and rested his head on Victoria's shoulder. "I'm sorry Vicky but I'm devilishly uncomfortable and quite likely to pass out."

"Don't you dare." But there was no anger in Victoria's voice, only worry as she reached up and gently touched Elliot's head, a gentle stroke.

"Nice Vicky." For the first time Elliot's voice was not a hiss of pain as he spoke. "Probably shouldn't have tied you up to old cripple me, I'm much too selfish."

"Maybe I like being tied up to old cripple you." Victoria continued to stroke Elliot's head, a vague memory was tinkling dimly in the background, for Victoria could feel the muscles in Elliot's neck tightening almost rhythmically against the pain which emanated from his leg.

"Too good to be true, most likely wake up soon back in a trench or something....maybe that would be good, then I wouldn't be about to..." Elliot didn't finish his sentence as abruptly his breath whistled out from between clenched teeth. "Sorry about this Vicky, can't be all that pleasant for you, but honestly I can't help it." Elliot gave another sharp whistle of pain and turned his face into Victoria's shoulder.

"Elliot are you certain nothing can be done?" Victoria dropped her hand from his head to catch his hand which was restlessly digging at the arm of the chair.

"Only one thing can help." Elliot gave a hiss of pain. "Damn it all." Elliot abruptly straightened up, banging the back of his head against the wall, it was a hard connection but he didn't even wince. "Go out the door Vicky and walk straight down the passage. You'll pass at one point a green door. It is a very green door, like spring grass. Knock on it hard. If someone answers ask for Dr. Alastair. If no one answers come back and I'll give you further directions."

"Right." Victoria raced from the room and down the passage. As Elliot said the door was very green indeed and Victoria stopped and blinked in astonishment before she knocked on it. The door swung open a few seconds later and a lanky man with sandy-grey hair looked out.

"Problem?"

"I'm looking for Dr Alastair?"

"Standing in front of you."

"Oh." Victoria paused for Elliot had given her no further instructions on what to do. "It's Elliot March....."

"You've explained everything." The door was pulled smartly shut behind Alastair as he pulled Victoria after him down the hall. "What's he look like?"

"Awful."

"White as a sheet or has he been out cold?"

"Just white....has he been out before?"

"Out cold quite frequently actually." Alastair shoved the door open on the small room where Elliot was still seated. "Greetings ugly, why didn't you grab the stuff before you sat down?"

"It hit me before I sat down." Elliot's response was a hiss.

"I'll assume you were helped to your current seat then. I don't want to see your ugly face for three days, and if I hear of you doing anything I'll fire you."

"No you won't, but I'll take the leave offer."

"Good." Alastair had fired up the burner in the corner of the room, while Victoria settled down next to Elliot again. "Who's the lady?" Alastair had barely twitched an eyebrow at Elliot's slumping on Victoria's shoulder.

"My wife, Vicky."

"So you're the famous Victoria March." Alastair held out his hand. "About time you showed up, your husband talks about you far too much for us to have gone this long without meeting you."

"Never mind him Vicky." Elliot accepted the brimming cup with a grimace and straightened himself up again before hastily drinking the contents. "He's known for his rudeness."

"Rudeness yourself." Alastair released Victoria's hand and retrieved the mug from Elliot. "Never mind if he falls asleep, there'll be a stretcher-party in shortly to take him home."

"What was it?" Victoria watched in surprise as in less than a minute Elliot had floated off and fallen asleep.

"Morphia, and a very strong dose too." Alastair was washing up in the small sink in the corner.

"That doesn't just happen, does it?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's because of his knee that he has the problem isn't it?"

"Yes." Alastair nodded, his eyes watchful and slightly puzzled.

"So the problem comes from when his knee went?"

"Yes." Alastair became even more hesitant and puzzled.

"Idiot!" Victoria was speaking to Elliot and she rapped his head with her knuckles as she spoke. "Stupid, stupid, arrogant idiot."

"What earns him that?" Alastair looked curious and uncomfortable at the same time, he was uncomfortable because Victoria was crying.

"Because he is an idiot." Victoria dried her eyes carefully. "When he returned to Canada everyone knew he didn't sleep. Initially this was blamed on the fact that he was 'readjusting' to civillian life. He continued not to sleep and we found out that he suffered from nightmares. That was about six months after he returned home. None of us were doctors, it never occurred to us that.....something like that might be the problem." Victoria moved her hands uncertainly.

"It's sciatica. I can tell you it hurts like hell most of the time. Most times Sciatica's because either the spine has been damaged near the base, or because the leg has been injured. It's rather common currently because everyone who ever stopped a bit of shell with his leg has at least a touch of sciatica now and then. For most people it's just a dull ache and a slowness to reaction in the foot, the nerve has become insensitive where the pressure or disruption is. Those people have occasional twinges which make them wish to yell. It's rather like having a red-hot skewer or something running down the side of your leg when the sciatic nerve twinges. Elliot here, has a problem that the nerve is not irritated by injury to the bone or spine. Elliot's problem is that some tomfool of a doctor fused his knee without first ensuring that the nerve was free. Elliot's got his sciatic nerve coming out of about the middle-front of his knee, it emerges from solid bone. I'm not telling you this to make you sick, I'm telling you so you can understand and hopefully learn to live with him. It's a major problem for him, Mrs. March, and I'm not joking when I say it may well shorten his life by years, if not decades. He's in pain constantly, and very frequently he is in more pain then you or I would like to dream of....possibly more pain than we could dream of. Most people have the relief of knowing that in a few years the nerve will deaden and die and the pain will recede. We've operated on Elliot six times since he returned from Switzerland. Twice before we let him return to Canada, four times in the past year while he's been studying here. We've removed bone chips from the tissue around the nerve, and from the nerve itself. We've somewhat riskily filed the edges smooth around where the nerve enters and exits his knee. We've once explored the possibility of re-breaking his knee and freeing the nerve. The problem with re-breaking is that there is a thousand to one or so chance that the break will be in exactly the right place, and if we do re-break the knee he'll be bed-fast for at least a year while his bones heal and the operation won't free him from pain anyway. There is also the possibility that we'll end up breaking the nerve at the same time as we break the knee. The result you can see, we haven't actually tried it."

"So what you're saying is that he'll be in pain for the rest of his life, whether he works here or lounges about doing nothing. That's fine with me, I'm not going to demand he leaves off this because then he'll become bad-tempered and bored as opposed to just being bad-tempered." Victoria took a slow breath. "Thank you for telling me, it is unlikely Elliot would have and it makes me understand a lot more where the problem comes from and why." Victoria rose to her feet and took another careful breath. "Is there anything he shouldn't do?"

"Run or walk more than absolutely essential. He'll be hit worst in the evening, and it will be most evenings, it's when he starts to relax. If you think about it, evening is when you're most conscious of your various bumps and bruises. Evening comes, Elliot starts to relax and that nerve starts to raise hell as it objects to the strains it has been put under for the day. Elliot only takes morphia when there is no other option. I have no arguement with his reluctance, morphia is a very nasty drug for all its uses, it's highly addictive and it has other side effects as well. Whisky and rum, one or the other, don't mix them. Those two are also exceedingly good pain-killers and they aren't as bad as morphia....however if he has had morphia, don't even consider the alcohol, and if he's had alcohol he's got to wade through eight hours before he can touch the morphia. If you value his life you will ensure he does not mix."

"Right." Victoria blinked rapidly as she tucked the information away in her head.

"Warmth, if he's starting to get uncomfortable get the room temperature up. Warmth can ease discomfort. If, for whatever reason, the heater is off and not coming on fill a bathtub of water, make sure the water is so hot you can barely stand to keep fingers in there for a minute. I'm talking of water one step short of scalding. If he gets uncomfortable his muscles will cramp up and the more cramped his muscles are the more uncomfortable and unhappy his leg gets, warmth relaxes muscles. If he's not too uncomfortable, try massaging along the path of the nerve....Elliot can easily show you where it lies. You'll improve the circulation and hopefully reduce any scar tissue building along its length. Whatever you do, do not touch his knee, you'll send him through the roof with even a gentle brush."

"Through the roof?" Victoria glanced up worriedly.

"Sorry, you'll put him in instant agony to the degree that he really just wants to roll around howling. He won't, because he's a sensible man who knows it won't help a whit. If he passes out on you there's a fair chance he's bumped his knee against something. Another bit of advice, if Elliot is in the same room as you, make sure nothing breakable is in your hands. If he bumps that knee he usually yells. If he yells I almost promise you will drop whatever you are holding."

"If it's this bad, why did he manage to hide it from us? He only seemed abnormally bad-tempered for the most part."

"He also spent about four hours out of every twenty-four in the house. You need to watch him if he's utterly exhausted because he can actually hurt himself quite badly and not notice it. He's too tired if he is dropping or fumbling small things and his step is a shuffle instead of a drag." Dr Alastair paused for a moment. "Don't baby him....though I suspect you don't need to be told that. I'm telling you this so you understand and can act appropriately in case of an emergency. Elliot should instruct you on how to use morphia in the next couple of days, if he doesn't, tell me and I won't let him back into the hospital until he does."

"Thank you very much." Victoria had the feeling it was going to take her days to fully digest and understand what she had been told.

"You're welcome, I don't like the idea of seeing him burn out through mismanagement of himself, he's far too good a neurologist. I'm pleased to have met you, we have wondered before who could live with Elliot March without running out the door screaming. I can see how you've survived, ma'am. If you ever want to become a nurse, just tell me and I'll pay for your training and I'll hire you the second it's finished. The nurses aren't as bad as they were, but most of them are still pretty useless during surgery."

"No thank you, I have no wish to become a nurse." Victoria gave a laugh.

"At least I tried." Alastair's voice had a note of whimsical laughter to it as well. "He'll probably wake around six in the evening and he'll undoubtedly have a bad headache.....he'll always have a bad headache after morphia and he'll frequently be even more bad-tempered and out of tune with the world than he usually is. If you've got a problem, ask him first. Failing Elliot come bang on my beautiful green door and ask me."

"Thank you." Victoria carefully picked up her few belongings she had brought into the hospital as a stretcher team came in and loaded Elliot onto a small stretcher.

"Mrs. March, you have my full permission to run screaming at any moment. What I see ahead for you makes me feel very ill indeed."

"I'll take it as it comes." Victoria hesitated. "Do you know anyone whom I might be able to make an acquaintanceship with? I know no one in England and I don't think Elliot knows too many people either."

"Elliot doesn't. If you want people between forty and twenty-five with intelligence, a good taste in wine and tea, good music sense and always good conversation I would advise you to meet Lord Parker and his sister, Isabelle Dellingham. Dr Marshall lives with them when she's up in London. The Dellinghams know everyone and there is no better shoulder to cry on than Isabelle Dellingham's I am told. Isabelle may seem flighty when you first meet, but ignore that, Isabelle is invariably flighty to listen to because it is a well-known fact that any proper young lady thinks of nothing, speaks of nothing and is generally utterly insipid. Isabelle is not very flighty and she is one of the truest and most faithful women I have ever met."

"I'll take note of that." Victoria gave a nod. "Is Dr Marshall likely to be available any time soon?"

"Anne will be off shift about five this evening. I'll let her know you'd like to speak to her so she'll just turn up on your doorstep."

"Thank you." Victoria hastily shook hands with Dr Alastair for a second time before she hurried after the stretcher. Victoria didn't need anyone to tell her that her wardrobe was terribly dated, but she did need to be told where she could get some new dresses without paying a fortune. New shoes wouldn't go astray either. Victoria raced after the stretcher while considering what information she needed. How did one get food in England? Was it still rationed? Should she consider getting a car and a licence, or would that be rash? Clothing. Where could clothes be acquired? Did many people do mending or did you have repairs done by a tailor or dressmaker? Victoria had the feeling that most of her questions were ridiculous, but they were questions that needed answers or she could well make a serious fool of herself. Victoria did not wish to make a fool of herself, but she did wish for some friends who were not three weeks away by mail and uncontactable by telephone. How did the telephones work? Was it regional line, or were there numbers? Did she have a telephone at all? Victoria was feeling terribly ignorant as the questions mounted in her mind, but Victoria also knew that Dr Anne Marshall was probably the only person who could answer them. Elliot most certainly wouldn't and Victoria had the feeling that Dr Alastair was just as bad, if not worse than Elliot. Dr Marshall looked nice.....I hope she likes me.....It will be lonely if she doesn't. Victoria had few illusions and one thing she knew very well was that interesting though men were, they could never replace another woman to talk to, even if it was only an occasional talk.

December 14th 1920-London, England

Lord James Ashington-Frankston was warbling both loudly and very unmusically as he had his morning bath when the entire operation was interrupted by a discreet tap on the door.

"What?" Ashie's tone was unwelcoming to say the least as he hauled himself out of the tub and into one of many psychedelic bathrobes before opening the door.

"There is a Captain Angel to see you sir." Manningford, Ashie's stiff valet-cum-butler, nearly managed to conceal his dislike of Ashie's robe.

"Tell him he can go to the devil." Ashie banged the door shut and yanked the plug from the tub before retreating through the other door into his bedroom.

"The day I go to the devil is the day you fly without an aeroplane."

"I already have." Ashie didn't even glance up from his morose study of a selection of suits as Pyro came crashing into the room.

"What? Flown without a 'plane?"

"Yes....the Major threw me out the window."

"Must have been fun....well I went to the devil years ago so it makes no difference.....In fact right now I feel like the devil."

"Hangover?" Ashie's glance was far from commiserating as he finally dragged cricketing whites and his old blazer out of the wardrobe.

"Nothing of the kind, stop insulting me."

"True, I forgot you were a working man......unlike lovely wastrel me.......remind me to remind Manningford to remind my brother that I have a thousand pounds owing to somewhere.....I'm sure Manningford will know where.....damn the man he is far too efficient...."

"Seen today's paper?"

"Of course I haven't."

"Then ask Manningford for it."

"I'm not meant to be awake for another three hours yet......he won't let me see it."

"Sack him then." Pyro abruptly pulled a newspaper from under his arm. "I hope you're in a situation to drop everything and run, there is someone whom I suspect would love to see your face." Pyro spun the paper expertly across the room.

"Uh-huh." Ashie somewhat awkwardly retrieved the paper.

"Front page, it explains itself.......do you know Lady Catherine de Bourgh?"

"Unfortunately yes, she meets us a couple of times in the family tree and correspondingly demands I call her Aunt.....I'd sooner call her Ant like the Yanks do."

"I doubt Ant is good eno...." Pyro didn't bother finishing his remark as Ashie's brows snapped together.

"MANNINGFORD!" The yell fairly bounced off the walls and within split seconds it produced a disapproving manservant.

"Sir." Manningford's voice dripped with ice and disapproval.

"I want a newspaper."

"Sir, I would not recommend....."

"You're fired!"

"But sir...."

"Manningford are you deaf or something. You are fired as of a month ago."

"But sir....."

"Damn it all! Give me the telephone Pyro I have had enough of this bloody farce."

"Very good sir." Pyro mimicked Manningford's voice perfectly as he handed the telephone across and for his pains he received a dirty look.

"....Yes Jenkins, I would like to speak to Lady Amabel.....yes, the Dowager Countess of Deraux." Ashie rolled his eyes in irritation and then gazed despairingly at the ceiling.

"Deraux speaking." It was some minutes later when the silence at the other end of the telephone was broken by Gerard's voice.

"Greeting's Ger, but actually I wanted the mother."

"What, no need of money this time?"

"Don't be ridiculous Ger, you know as well as I do that I'm in need of a thousand but that is really irrelevant since you already know it."

"True....though I don't know why or how?"

"How do you think, I trashed my aeroplane and need another one."

"Oh, well certainly, certainly, certainly......have you ever managed three months without utterly wrecking a 'plane James?"

"Aeroplane....and yes I have!" Ashie frowned briefly. "Now why can't I speak to mother."

"For the simple reason that you know as well as I do that you don't want to. We both know perfectly well that mother will take you on a guilt trip which reduces you to impotent rage and Manningford will continue to torment your life. So why don't you just let it go as is and I'll deliver the news to her that Manningford has been sacked?"

"Because I'm annoyed right now."

"Ahhh, so it is the Captain of Cricket's wife who has fallen foul of dear old Aunt Catherine. James dear boy, tell your friends that Catherine is not a wise person to pick a fight with."

"She didn't pick a fight, in fact I suspect the first she'll hear about it is the newspaper. If you want a why Ger the answer is to be found in Conrad Darcy."

"What has that wastrel got to do with anything?" There was no love at all lost between Gerard Ashington-Frankston and his seventh cousin, Conrad Darcy.

"Married Anne de Bourgh three months back. Admittedly he's not close to the direct Darcy line, but he inherits all if the Fitzwilliams don't press claim.....and everyone knows they won't press claim. Georgiana is not fit for ownership by the laws of the state because not only is she still a minor, but she's also disabled. Conrad Darcy is third in line after the young gentleman this entire fuss is about and the Fitzwilliams."

"You make it sound like a six penny thriller James. Why might Aunt Catherine possibly wish for the Darcy money, she's got more than enough of her own."

"Nothing would give Aunt Catherine greater pleasure than to cut out Mrs. Darcy and get a couple million pounds of share portfolio into the bargain......it will also get her access to Danning's VIP list and you know what a friendly list that is when it comes to worthwhile shares."

"Aunt Catherine knows Mrs. Darcy?"

"Far as I know they met back in 1916, they met again at the end of 1918 when I believe Aunt Catherine tried to blackmail her into admitting that she never married Darcy. Unfortunately for Aunt Catherine there were a good thousand or so eye witnesses of the event still living so she retreated. Now we have the final round......I hope. But it will be hellishly messy and terribly public.....Is Macky available?"

"Sir Malcolm Horace is not available little brother, the King's Council does occasionally actually work.....unlike some people."

"Kind comment. Well if Macky's not available I'm damned if I can think of someone up to a mess of this proportion."

"What about Lord Harman."

"Are you telling me that old Harry's still practicing and not actually snowed under?"

"He is still practicing and he is probably snowed under, but frankly speaking Ashie this is just the sort of legal battle he likes......it'll probably offend him if you don't ask......give him something to really chew on, as opposed to the egg and water cases you've given him for years fishing you out of Bosher Street."

"Fair enough, fair enough. I'll give him a buzz while I dress and see what he's up to....other than Salmon fishing and poaching the odd deer......you've got to love an ex-Attorney-General, now K.C. who poaches. Cheerio Ger, my love to mother and tell her that Manningford has resigned and I'm leaving town for an unspecified length of time for an unspecified destination."

"Quite diplomatic of you James. I'll see you when you surface again."

"Thank you." Ashie returned the receiver to Pyro and hastily finished dressing before starting to throw things into a couple of suitcases dragged from under his bed.

"How precisely do you intend to fire Manningford?"

"I stop payments, I fail to tell him where I'm going and I end the lease on this far from comfortable and terribly expensive room."

"Fair enough. Can't he run legal action on you?"

"I'd like to see him, he's getting a stunning letter of recommendation out of me and three months in advance. Everyone knows I'm terribly fussy about valets so it will be no surprise to any that he's resigned with a little encouragement.....I'll lay you three thousand pounds Lord Mantrey hires him before the week is out. During which time I'm going to find Harry and get up to Derbyshire....coming?"

"Might as well." Pyro gave a shrug.

"Good-oh, I'll pick you up in an hour if you like and we'll fly up....damn sight quicker than driving."

"Then I'm getting going or you'll be picking me up before I've even got a fresh shirt packed." Pyro waved an airy hand as he strolled from the room.

"Lizzie." Nellie peered cautiously into the darkened room.

"Yes?" A torch beam lanced out from near the cot and rest briefly on Nellie's face before snapping off.

"They asleep?"

"Finally.....or at least they seem to be." Elizabeth rubbed a weary hand across her forehead as she closed the door behind her. "What's happened? More Journalists?"

"No. Their stubbornness in demanding entry puts the Journalist Corps to shame."

"Who is it then?"

"The ever so worthy Wing-Commander Lord James Ashington-Frankston and Squadron-Leader James Angel.....they've also got a third party who is utterly unrecogniseable under a large number of layers."

"No wonder they put the Journalists to shame. Let them in Nelli or they'll enter without permission and then we'll have to try and throw them out."

"I think throwing them out would be an impressive feat."

"So do I, hence the request to let them in." Elizabeth gave a laugh, but there was no amusement in the sound. "Besides which if we're lucky they'll maybe be able to give us some worthwhile advice."

While Nelli went to admit Ashie and Co. Elizabeth descended to the Music room and sank into a chair.

"You'll probably find her in here." Nelli's voice sounded outside the door, but then her footsteps moved away and more than one set accompanied her.

"Safe for me to enter?" Ashie's dark head peered quizzically around the door.

"Well as long as I don't fall asleep on you it should be fine." Elizabeth rose to her feet before waving Ashie to a nearby chair. "Nice and soft, you'll never get out of it."

"I know that chair well and let me promise you that I won't get out of it before midnight....and that gives me over four hours to give you hell." Ashie dropped into his seat with a grin.

"It in fact gives you six hours Ashie.....Do you think you could give me six hours of hell."

"Don't tempt me." Ashie gave a wide yawn. "How's life....provided you don't count this morning."

"Why can't I count this morning? Why should this morning be any different from others?" Elizabeth looked up enquiringly.

"You're going to tell me that it is customary for no telephone calls to be received? That no one is allowed past the main gates and that all Ground staff are permitted to use any methods they feel necessary to eject unwanted visitors?" Ashie lifted an enquiring eyebrow.

"Well...." Elizabeth's mouth twisted wryly. "It could be something which has been going for a while."

"That would surprise me." Ashie paused before abruptly grinning. "But then maybe Madame Darcy's stunning looks do make a great draw which can fill the hotels for close on twenty miles around with members of the Media."

"Thank you, Ashie." Elizabeth finally returned to her seat. "Have you anything useful to say?"

"I might. It all depends on what you consider useful. No I have no idea on how you might persuade Lady Catherine de Bourgh to drop this case. She firmly believes that if you and the boy can be removed from the equation Conrad Darcy will inherit all."

"Who is Conrad Darcy and what is he to Lady Catherine de Bourgh?"

"Conrad Darcy is the husband of the former Anne de Bourgh. Conrad Darcy is.....about a third cousin or something like that. He's actually related through his mother and Darcy is not his real name, though ninety percent of the population doesn't realise that. Okay it is his real name, but only because his grandmother was an old battle-axe and demanded that his grandfather take the Darcy name."

"Does Lady Catherine have anything backing up her claims.....do you know?"

"Nothing hard." Ashie hesitated and scratched a thoughtful chin. "Biggest problem is that you don't have anything hard either.....Legally speaking. Your biggest problem is your sister Lydia. You know the truth of your sister.....but you're not permitted to speak, and truth be told you don't want to speak on that subject either. Most women in that line of work do not have salubrious characters."

"Thank you, Ashie." Elizabeth abruptly rolled her eyes and pulled her feet up onto her chair. "What do you think is the best way to handle this?"

"The best way to handle this is to wait a couple of hours until Harry's recovered from his air sickness and then let him rule the roost."

"Harry?" Elizabeth looked at Ashie doubtfully.

"Lord Harold Harman, K.C., he's the ex-attorney-general. You got a family scandal on your hands he's by far the best person to look towards. Unfortunately he travels very badly indeed so he's currently not fit for anything."

"Why are you flying the ex-attorney-general around the country?"

"Because I smiled nicely and he came running." Ashie scratched his head. "Actually I had the feeling that most likely you hand been staring at the papers feeling slightly sandbagged for the better part of the morning. On top of that the Darcy family lawyer doesn't know a single thing about Family law, Inheritance, and Proof-of-identity. The chap's actually a finance lawyer who's been paid nearly as much as he has ever saved for the Darcy Family. Frankly I don't know much about them either, but I have a vague idea on the subject and I can assure you that Harry's top of the business."

"Ashie?" Pyro's head came around the door.

"Yar." Ashie twisted in his seat.

"Old Harry is raining curses on your head, he demands a scotch and says he'll be with you ten minutes after he's had it."

"Does Mrs. O'Niell know where the scotch is to be found?"

"Yes." Pyro hesitated. "But she doesn't know where the key is."

"Tell Harry he'll have his scotch in half a minute....then remind him that he is among ladies and he should bite his tongue." Ashie levered himself up awkwardly as he spoke and with a brief look of apology to Elizabeth he ducked out of the room.

Twelve minutes of silence passed in the music room before the door creaked open and a head looked in. Elizabeth guessed the head to be somewhere in the region of sixty years of age. It was an interesting face, highly intelligent, but very stubborn. A prominent hawk-like nose, thick eyebrows and a neatly trimmed moustache finished off the face.

"Sorry ma'am." The head looked at her for a minute and looked vaguely apologetic. "Thought James was in here."

"He left for scotch about twelve minutes ago."

"I got it eleven minutes ago. I had assumed he would have returned."

"Not yet. Elizabeth Darcy."

"I know, I've seen you before." Finally the head moved and the rest of the body joined it and he closed the door precisely behind himself. "Lord Harman......but known as Harry here."

"Why?" Elizabeth waved him to a chair.

"I can't answer that one. I just acquired it some fifteen odd years ago and it has stuck ever since."

"Who started it?" Elizabeth was surprised when Lord Harman briefly inspected her from under knit brows.

"It was started by a man who passed himself off as a sixth former when he was in fact only a second-former. Major-General D.F. Darcy was the man who started it all."

"You met him when he was only in third form?" Elizabeth made a brief calculation, that put Darcy at about thirteen years of age.

"Amazing the precautions which some people will take. I'd actually met him two years earlier when he was first enrolled in Eton. Nothing like watching boys. The Darcys, and later Lord James all managed to give me a lot of grey hairs.....but correspondingly they never had a gambling debt or anything to worry about."

"Why grey hairs then?"

"Because I never quite knew when I was going to be summoned to a Hospital either to identify, or defend a smashed pile of humanity who had most likely fallen off the school roof."

"That must have been fun."

"Oh indeed it was. Now Lord James has lead me to believe that you're one of the numbers in this horrible mess."

"He would have lead you correctly to that conclusion."

"In that case my advice is to expect the worst. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's lawyer has a very nasty mind and undoubtedly they'll find a way of proving that the child can't possibly be Darcy's. Correspondingly we have to prove it is."

"Lady Catherine's current line of attack is that the child is illegitimate and this is an attempt to make it legitimate." Ashie came back into the room abruptly.

"And how does that work?" Harry looked up sharply as Ashie dropped into his chair.

"She looks for a possible substitute father. Someone whom has at one point in his life looked at least remotely like Darcy. Someone who had contact with Mrs. Darcy during the months in question. Also someone who has a fair chance of the accusation being absorbed without direct scandal."

"Also known as she's aiming for a man with a strong family who has a reputation as a rake. How did you get hold of Lady Catherine's case?"

"I have a....friend, in the office of Lady Catherine's lawyer and he just wired the outline of the current case up to me. Admittedly as soon as this is protested against we'll be sent a rough outline of their case. But it never hurts to be prepared in advance."

"Why the hesitation of calling him a friend?" Harry's expression jibbed warningly.

"Because he's actually Darcy's." Ashie fished a thick folder out from under his blazer and handed it across to Harry.

Lord Harman had perused the folder's contents for a couple of minutes before he abruptly laid it aside and stared hard at Ashie.

"Are you sure?"

"Dead certain." Ashie's expression was passive.

"Hell." It was soft, but it said an infinite quantity.

"What's the problem?" Elizabeth glanced back and forth between the two men.

"The main problem appears to be mathematics." Harry returned his attention to the folder and Ashie stared up at the ceiling.

"Mathematics?" Elizabeth was now confused.

"Save the questions until Harry's finished his reading and has digested it for a bit."

"What is the main line of attack?"

"That you were unfaithful to Darcy." Ashie's tone was blunt. "It's no good getting fighting mad over this, we're still trying to figure it out. So sit back Miss Beth and stare at the ceiling or anything.....just refrain from questions for now."

"How kind of you." Elizabeth's voice snarled, but she did sit back and she did stare at the ceiling for the hour and a half it took Lord Harman to read and digest the contents of the folders.

"Are there pictures to back these remarks up?"

"An acquaintance of Pyro's got a copy for me." Ashie handed over two small pieces of paper.

"This is not good James." Harry's voice became very grim indeed. "In fact this is very bad." Harry pulled a gloomy face. "In fact it is all too likely that this case will drag on for years, possibly even decades."

"If we could bend red tape we might manage to foreshorten it." Ashie's tone was still blank.

"Can one, or both, of you explain to me what the problem is?" Elizabeth had moved back forward on her chair.

"Well." Harry hesitated. "The very blunt version is the accusation that Darcy is not the father of this child.....and that he is." Harry jerked a very laconic thumb in Ashie's direction.

"How in hell does that work?" Elizabeth's expression was a mix of horror and disgust, but clearly she was still in control.

"Let's look at their timeline. And please forgive any lack of delicacy but time is something we'll never have in abundance. You married Darcy in November of 1917. In December of 1917 Darcy officially returns to England to fill a temporary vacancy in a Training Camp. This position was by way of giving him some leave without actually giving it to him. Remember we speak officially here and it has nothing to do with the truth. Darcy remains in England until the 18th of March. You have remained in France working in your capacity as a VAD. You had a trip to Paris with an injured man on the 1st of March and you remained in Paris for nearly ten days before returning to take a post at the Anglo-American Hospital near Amiens. 18th March 1918 and Darcy returns to France just in time for the Battle of St. Quentin. Darcy marches back on the night of the 29th March. He sees you on the 1st of April. He is back up at the line on the night of the 1st of April, and he dies in an accident on the 4th of April." Lord Harman paused and glanced at Elizabeth. "Is that correct?"

"By official records it is correct." Elizabeth nodded perfunctorily.

"Now by the real records. Darcy was in France until the middle to end of December at which point he assumed the name of Josef and went to Switzerland. Correct?"

"Yes." Elizabeth nodded.

"In the last days of February Darcy left his position in Switzerland and escaped to Italy by climbing over the Alps.....very, VERY like him in my opinion." Lord Harman paused. "On the 1st of May you were abducted by the person who had caused Darcy's rapid retreat over the Alps. It was the 17th of March before Darcy heard of your abduction and within 24 hours he had seen to your retrieval and returned to France. Just in time for the above information of the battle. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Which brings us to the maths problem. For the boy to be legitimate we have to find time and contact at the right time. He was born in September a couple of weeks premature but not really worth noting. By the dates we know this means he has to have been conceived at the end of January, early February."

"Correct." Elizabeth nodded briefly, her expression flat.

"Problem which Lady Catherine has latched onto is that Darcy wasn't in France within a month of that region. Neither have you left France at that area. In fact the only thing you did around there was get two days leave in Paris. You and a fellow VAD lived in a reasonable sized hotel which housed a large number of officers. Among that number is found Wing-Commander Ashington-Frankston. Your name is an abominable mouthful James. You should have just stayed a Major, at least you weren't doubly hyphenated then."

"I serve to irritate."

"I'll say." Harry growled. "Lady Catherine's problem is she can't prove you met James while you were there."

"We didn't." Elizabeth shook her head briefly.

"I'll back that one up to." Ashie nodded. "I knew she was there, but we did not meet."

"You realise you're going to have to give a reason."

"No problem at all. Sister Darcy sleeps at night while I sleep during the day."

"Any particular reason?"

"I find Moulin Rouge, Jol-de-la-Follies, and innumerably other night clubs a positively splendid reason for not sleeping at night." Ashie's tone was blunt. "I had many old friends to look up."

"Well provided they actually allow you to state that, they'll probably accept the excuse as valid."

"General Darcy was in Paris for the night of the 24th and the day of the 25th of January 1918. He arrived just before midnight on the 24th and I had breakfast with him the next morning." Elizabeth paused. "Lord Parker Dellingham, if he can be made to speak at all will confirm that statement since Darcy was there to speak to him."

"I'll get busy on Parker then and see what he will admit. If need be we'll conjure up some fib to explain why Darcy was in Paris without actually telling the truth." Harry paused again and gave a sigh. "Mrs. Darcy, are you willing to fight? We are talking about potentially years where people are constantly nibbling at you, where you'll have to prove yourself at every step. This could very likely make this War just finished pale into a minor distraction. Without meaning to offend I have no interest in entering this mess unless you're in for the whole ride."

"I don't have much choice." Elizabeth's tone was bitter. "If they win this case I may as well just kill myself and James because there wouldn't be a damn thing left worth living for. No one would hire me, no one will marry me and I've no intention of living off my family."

"Ouch." Ashie's expression was slightly pained but then he gave a faint smile. "Whichever way it goes Miss Beth I do not suggest you take your life. Such a waste."

"Are you holding something back Ashie?" Elizabeth looked at him hard.

"Darling, I always hold things back. Now, are you in for the long haul?"

"I said I didn't have a choice."

"You'd be amazed."

"Yes I am going to fight. I won't have that....." Elizabeth took a deep and careful breath. "Branding my son and myself for a crime most certainly not committed."

"Good." Harry rose. "I'll get back to London then and start proceedings of objection. I think I'll also haul in a few of those newspapers as well. Absolutely water-tight cases for defamation of character and I must live." Harry carefully folded the folder into his bag and then crossed to Elizabeth. "If I never say it again, and though I may in the next few months abuse you to kingdom come rest assured it's just because I'm irritated. You're a very impressive Lady Mrs. Darcy and I'm exceedingly pleased to have made your acquaintance....I'll just hope that we can meet again and continue this acquaintance when this whole mess has blown over. Most disgraceful, but such is life and I must earn my bread and water. So long, Mrs. Darcy. James, you may forget about your aeroplane taking me back to London, you are going to borrow one of the Darcy cars and you are going to drive me back to London."

"You trust his driving?" Elizabeth was sounding extremely doubtful.

"Infinitely more than his flying. At least I don't get sick if he drives." Harry gave another nod before poking Ashie with an umbrella. "On your feet, I want to be in London for breakfast."

"Is there a black Diamler in the stables?" Ashie turned to Elizabeth.

"Yes."

"Do you know if it is full of gas?"

"I believe it is. Peter was rambling on about it yesterday."

"Then I'm borrowing it." Ashie picked up his coat. "Let your gate people know I'm coming because I have no intention of even easing off the accelerator as I approach those main gates. If they're not open I'll go through and that will be bad for both the gates and the car."

"I expect they'll be open." Elizabeth spoke dryly as she watched the two men depart.

"Pyro is going to stand guard and all that......though truth of the matter is I'll probably fly back with some friends tomorrow and I can't fly myself. Keep good health Miss Beth, we'll defeat the wicked witch yet. Trust in Uncle Merlin."

"Move it." Elizabeth gave a short laugh and shook her head. Five minutes later she heard gravel fly and a quick glance out the window showed the black Diamler flying down the road towards the main gates.

April 1921-Berlin, Germany

"Don't look back -- something might be gaining on you." - Satchel Paige

"Well that's it." The man who sank onto the rough planking seat blinked wearily and then yawned, it was the yawn of one who was inutterably weary, and yet at the same time utterly satisfied. The man settled back into a semi-doze, a doze from which he was rudely awoken by the shrilling of the telephone. "Ja?" The man listened in silence for several minutes while the receiver spoke in brief, curt sentences. "Ja.....look Duivel, I know things are bad, but they should look up soon." The receiver quacked away again for several minutes. "Embargoes been lifted, supplies are already coming into the country......look are the Red Cross down there yet?" There was further quacking. "That bad hey....well I'll see what stirring I can do up here but I promise nothing." He laid the receiver down and gave another sigh. Frankly Chris couldn't give a damn if they hadn't got the supplies down there in a month. The lot of them could burn in hell for all he actually cared, he'd commandeer a train and cart the foodstuffs down.....Anything to get Darcy out of there and back to safety.

"Hello." The grave greeting nearly had Chris jumping out of his skin, but instead he chose to turn slowly.

"What are you doing here Duivel?"

"About the same as last time, sitting."

"I thought you weren't coming back until food got down there."

"So, food got down there, so, I came back." Darcy gave a shrug and then rubbed at the leather straps on his right fore arm. "You got anything holding you?" Darcy frowned briefly at his arm and unlaced the leather straps, pulling his hand free of the holding block which kept his fingers from falling loosely and rubbed it vigorously.

"Nothing has held me since you called a week ago." Chris pulled off his coat and headed over to the small stove in the corner, soon water was boiling gently and tea was nearly prepared.

"What's your interest in returning to England?" Darcy was strapping the holding block back on as he spoke.

"Very high....for the rest of summer anyway."

"Then let's get out of here."

"No more for you to do?" Chris looked curious.

"No." Darcy shook his head in a firm negative.

"Why the sudden keeness to return to England?" Chris was still curious.

"I'm an Englishman and my home is England. I can be exiled but that doesn't stop me dreaming. My work is done here and correspondingly I wish to wait no longer."

"Does Miss Beth have anything to do with it?" Chris' expression became grave.

"No." Darcy shook his head slowly. "David Seymour is returning to England. If it is allowed General Darcy will live again, but I have no intention of forcing my return."

"In other words you don't know if she's remarried or not and you don't wish to cause trouble." Chris paused. "I'm afraid I can't answer that one. she's been in the news a lot lately, but they've been using her maiden name."

"Why's she been in the news?"

"Not actually certain. Some scuffle or other over defamation of character currently. Seems the press got a bit out of line in December and they called on Lord Harman to squash the matter."

"Hell." Darcy sighed wearily as he rubbed his eyes. "Oh well, I've got to go back at least for a month."

"We'll leave day after tomorrow then." Chris handed Darcy a cup of tea.

"Right." Darcy sipped abstractly at the watery brew. "Do you think we could have real tea in England?"

"I couldn't say, but I assume so. I can't see anyone compromising their tea back home, even if that meant they just had to drink less."

"True." Darcy nodded, but it was a distracted nod and his thoughts were miles away.

May 13th 1921-Cheringham Place, England

Ashie studied the front door of 14 Cheringham Place with a rueful expression. There was nothing visibly amiss with the door. In fact there was nothing wrong with the door at all, except that it wasn't locked and was slightly ajar. Ashie looked at the door for another moment before finally he applied two fingers to it and it swung silently open.

The front entry was completely devoid of life. Ashie carefully shut and latched the door behind him before he continued further into the flat. The two bedrooms, the kitchen and the main living room were empty. The small room behind the kitchen which could house a servant was empty. With a final shrug Ashie strolled across and tapped quietly on the smoking room door.

"A first." The door swung open. "Ashie knocks. Come in."

"When did you arrive?" Ashie dumped wearily into the armchair he habitually used and glanced unwinkingly across at Darcy who had returned to his seat on the couch.

"Four hours ago. Where have you been?"

"I'll return to that in a moment." Ashie rubbed his face and blinked again, he was tired today in a way which the war had never made him tired. He was tired in a way he had never been tired in his life. "Germany I assume?"

"Correct." Darcy paused. "Any squash in the house?"

"Kitchen." Ashie was vaguely aware of Darcy leaving the room, but he was mostly aware of the fact that he was currently three quarters asleep.

"Drink." Darcy wrapped Ashie's fingers around an ice-cold glass of squash before returning to his seat.

"Where's Pyro?"

"Still with Harry. We've been frantically trying to gap patch a big mess."

"What's Harry doing?"

"General work, stopped being the attorney-general, as you well know, near the beginning of the war."

"What's wrong?"

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh is what is wrong." Ashie drank back the squash with a grimace. Lemon squash was not his favourite type.

"What has she done now?" Darcy's tone was resigned.

"What have you heard?"

"Well I heard of a slight scuffle in December of 1918 when she tried to make Elizabeth deny her marriage to me but that was soon settled. Since then I have to admit I haven't heard a thing."

"Unsurprising, Chris only watches the politics, not the social spreads. Well it all starts in December of 1920.....well actually October when the social spread announced the marriage of Miss Anne de Bourgh to Conrad Darcy. December of 1920 brought a front page spread in four separate newspapers. 'Wife of General a fraud'. I quote them direct. Admittedly they were slightly less than the Times. But they still have a wide spread of people. We got Old Harry busy and we've gathered several apologies and several thousand pounds for having suffered the mental distress over the past five months. I went belting up to Pemberley when Pyro brought the papers to my attention only to find the place practically in a state of siege and every Hotel booked out for close on twenty miles. The Ground Staff had orders to use any means they felt necessary to keep the grounds clear. No telephone calls were received. The Main Gates were locked at all times." Ashie shrugged slightly.

"Why?" There had been a moment of silence before Darcy spoke and his expression was perplexed. "Not only does Elizabeth have the paperwork but the rest of the Division will vouch for her and there's over two thousand of them left to do that."

"The attack is not against your wife Major." Ashie paused then tilted his head. "Okay, yes it is against her, but not directly. Lady Catherine has acknowledged that your wife is unquestionably married to you by everything both legal and religious. The question lies against you son who is a couple months short of his third birthday."

"My son?" Darcy looked at Ashie stunned disbelief.

"Exactly." Ashie paused. "He was born in September of 1918 and all medics say he was only a week or two short of full term......If he was at full term this says late January, early February.....and everyone knows that General Darcy wasn't near his wife between December of 1917 and March of 1918, the middle of March and then not really for a day." Ashie hesitated. "Frankly I have no doubt on the subject, and neither does anyone who actually knows Elizabeth.......but with you dead your Aunt is going all out to get the Darcy Estate for Conrad Darcy."

"Conrad Darcy wouldn't recognise an account book if you hit him over the head with it." Darcy snorted briefly in disgust. "It's May."

"Correct." Ashie was watching Darcy very closely indeed.

"I assume Harry has some game plan. You'd better get through to him and get him over here. And while he's coming you'd better catch me up to speed on this subject. Though I'd like to charge off and murder my dear, sweet Aunt Catherine, I have to admit that I see no point to it." Darcy rocked back in his chair and abruptly wrapped his arms around himself, staring blindly off into the middle distance.

Lord Harman was looking more than a little tired when he and Pyro came into the smoking room of 14 Cheringham Place. Because he was more than a little tired he was also correspondingly more than a little irritated.

"You'd better have a very good reason for....." Lord Harman got not further as he saw the figure sitting on the couch. Lord Harman's eyebrows headed north at great speed. "Where in HELL did you spring from?"

"Germany." Darcy rose to his feet. "Officially I was released last week, one of many unidentified prisoners."

"How they never identified you I'll never know." Harry's tone was sour. "Okay James, you're off the hook.....this time. This does indeed warrant dragging me over at this hour. What does he know?"

"Pretty much everything. Drink anyone?"

"Tea." Harry dumped into a chair. "What's with the fancy hand-brace?"

"I shut my hand in a door." Darcy unstrapped it as he spoke and pitched it onto the chair beside him.

"A big door?" Harry looked curious.

"To be honest I haven't the faintest idea. I was nabbed the next day and they beat the bloody hell out of me."

"Kind of them.....how many?"

"Ten." Darcy's expression was morose. "Came to a week later just before they tried to finish me more permanently."

"When was that?" Ashie's expression darkened.

"November....12th of November I think Chris said the day was, but frankly I have no idea. Last day I clearly remember was the 1st of November."

"Charming." Ashie finally handed around the cups of tea.

"Okay business." Harman paused. "Ashie, get me a telephone, I must attempt to inform the prosecution of this development."

An hour later and a basic game plan had been laid down. An hour after that the prosecution were still not answering their telephone and precise details were coming to light. By five in the morning all details had been thrashed out and four men finally succumbed to sleep for a couple of hours.

Elizabeth sighed heavily as she dropped into the seat she had been occupying for over a week now as hundreds of different people were filed through the dock. Elizabeth had been up four times herself and she was due for a fifth turn this morning.

"'Mornin' Miss Beth." Ashie dropped heavily into the seat next to her and Elizabeth blinked in surprise at his shocking condition.

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

"'Nhour er two." Ashie buried his face into his hands with a heartfelt groan. "God what a head I have....and I didn't even get drunk first."

"What happened?"

"A couple of unexpected developments." Ashie's voice was steadily clearing and becoming more defined. "I hope I'm not first up or they'll undoubtedly bring me in as drunk and that would be embarrassing."

"Caroline here today?"

"She went back to Netherfield yesterday evening. Something about Charles needing help or something like that."

"Well I hope it isn't a serious problem." Elizabeth gave a sigh before greeting Harry, Florrie, Pyro and several other people who turned up.

"No, I think Bing's just getting too distracted to manage his books."

"Fair enough. He was fairly panicked when I saw him last month. Have to admit I don't understand why he doesn't just relax and trust Jane not to botch up supplying him with a baby."

"Bing's sensitive Miss Beth. He does not like to see his wife sick like that."

"Well he'd better get used to it for Jane has decided she wants four."

"What if they're all girls?"

"She still wants four. There can't be an uneven number or someone ends up being left out." Elizabeth gave a smile which developed into a near laugh as she saw Florrie grimacing. "Florrie doesn't appreciate the topic of conversation."

"You can't really blame him, he's only 24." Ashie response brought a protesting gurgle from Florrie. With the banging of the Judge's gavel he could make no greater verbal response.

It was eleven thirty when Elizabeth was finally called to the stand and in great reluctance she rose and was sworn in once more. There were three worried pairs of eyes in the room. Lord Harman and Florrie were watching Elizabeth worriedly because she looked dead tired. Miss Caroline Bingley, who had not gone to Netherfield, was alternately watching Ashie and Elizabeth and she was equally concerned for both. Both of them looked like they were going to be sick any moment and Ashie looked like he had the mother of all heads even though he hadn't touched alcohol inside nearly three years.

It was a cool draft which caused Caroline to glance behind herself towards the door. Subconsciously Caroline noted that no one else had turned to look, but it was very subconscious for she could only gape at the person who was discreetly peering around the door. His eyes searched the room for a minute or two and then he withdrew and closed the door once more. Caroline turned her attention back to the front of the room wondering whether she was hallucinating. But what Caroline saw assured her that if she were hallucinating Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy was hallucinating right along with her.

In a way it was truly terrifying to watch for it happened so slowly. The first had been a slight catch of breath and a pause in speech. This had been followed by a very faint 'please excuse...' and then with aching slowness Elizabeth had first slumped heavily forward onto the edge of the witness box before slowly sliding back and subsiding onto the floor of the box in a dead faint. The uproar was immediate and it was only after several minutes of gavel pounding that anything remotely near order was restored by the judge and the usher. With enough order restored that he could be heard the Judge called for a fifteen minute recess.

Caroline had dodged into the crowd and with the skill of long practise it had only taken her a minute to reach the cramped little box where various people were frantically trying to revive Elizabeth.

"Take her to a side room. It was probably the heat." Caroline hurried the people only to find Ashie had grabbed her by the arm.

"It was nothing of the bloody kind. Why aren't you at Netherfield? Did you see who it was? I only saw the door close."

"Who do you think it was? He didn't see her so you'd better go find him. Why you didn't tell her last night I'll never know. I'm not at Netherfield because I decided I was more use here. Charles will probably find his accounts a welcome distraction in a day or two."

"He wouldn't have it. He's dead terrified of what reception he's going to receive. No real surprise considering Georgiana's habits, but he wants to do a bit of sounding now."

"Well he won't get to sound now." Caroline snapped in a furious whisper. "You're going to have to drag him right to the forefront just to explain her fainting. Lady Catherine's probably already persuaded it's because she's with child."

"Ugh!" Ashie grimaced. "Get moving and see how Elizabeth is. Try and clear the room she's in."

"I doubt I'll manage, but I'll try." Caroline slipped into the crowd and seconds later she had reached the small room where they had taken Elizabeth. Elizabeth was fully conscious now and seemed to have taken cover behind copious amounts of tears. Caroline had to admit that this ability of Elizabeth's to cry whenever she felt like was quite an advantage in this situation.

"Caro." Elizabeth had leapt to her feet and grabbed hold of Caroline. "Make them go away."

"Get away." Caroline cursed foully at a busy dame who was attempting to peer into the room. It took another minute or two for Caroline to clear the room. "Dry your eyes." Caroline dropped heavily into a nearby seat. "And before you ask. No it was not a dream or your imagination. It was him and I saw him. He arrived last night and that is why Ashie and the rest are in such terrible condition this morning, they've spent the entire night trying to repair the case first because of that bombshell about Ashie's past which no one is meant to know about. Then Darcy turned up and they had to practically re-write their mode of approach..." Caroline died off as Ashie slipped into the room.

"Good, she's awake. Miss Beth are you able to take to the dock again?"

"Yes." Elizabeth rose to her feet and made quick use off a handkerchief to repair the damage her fit of tears had caused her face.

"Good. If they ask you about the fainting, tell them the truth."

"About seeing...." Elizabeth hesitated.

"Yes." Ashie paused. "I promise you Miss Beth, he's actually here, he is alive. He arrived in England yesterday afternoon and reached London in the early evening. We've been up the whole night trying to find a way to save this mess....he practically blew it looking in like that, but thank goodness no one else seemed to see him. Or if they did he wasn't recognised." Ashie paused again. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes I am." Elizabeth's tone was perfectly calm and composed. "But if I'm asked more than three more times if I am I promise you I will lose it completely."

"Then we won't ask and we'll do our level best to make sure no one else does. Come on." Ashie quickly lead the way back into the courtroom where Elizabeth was immediately called back into the stand.

"Why did you faint?" The Prosecution were onto the matter immediately.

"Objection." Lord Harman was on his feet immediately, he had no intention of letting the Prosecuting attorney get into stride, and nothing was more distracting than an objection.

"Why?" The Judge turned to Harry.

"Unrelated to the case."

"Objection over-ruled. The question asked at the time was very related."

"Could you please repeat the question?" Elizabeth was keeping her eyes on the Prosecuting Attorney, the Judge and Lord Harman.

"Why did you faint?"

"My eye had strayed while I was speaking. It seemed to be that the door at the back of the room had opened. A man looked in and I thought he was my husband."

"Thank you." The Prosecuting Attorney looked shaken.

"Any more questions?"

"No, your Honour."

"Does the prosecution wish to call another witness?"

"Please. We would like to call Wing-Commander Lord James Ashington-Frankston to the stand."

"Amazing he didn't trip over his own tongue with that one." Elizabeth muttered the remark to Ashie as they passed.

"Impressive wasn't it." Ashie's eyes were alight with mischief as he took the stand and was sworn in.

"What passed between you and the accused while mounting?" The Prosecuting Attorney missed nothing and it was only Ashie's quick handswipe which prevented Harry from objecting.

"The accused observed her admiration for someone who could say my name and rank without stumbling once. I agreed with her, the double hyphenation frequently causes problem." Ashie's response drew a laugh from the courtroom and caused the Prosecuting Attorney to redden slightly. Harry had shaken his head in amusement.

"Why didn't you object?" Elizabeth leant across to whisper to Harry.

"Ashie's a past master at breaking up a cross-examination. Much better than me in some ways. Give Ashie the right sort of mood and he could persuade the entire court that this is entirely due to the Prosecution's licentious behaviour."

"I will refrain from asking further." Elizabeth settled back to watch the proceedings in interest, Ashie's general demeanour seemed to imply he was having fun.

"If the Judge and Jury will bear with me, I wish to make some enquiries which though seemingly unattached do bear weight."

"Permission provided the Defence does not object."

"Thank you, your Honour, gentlemen of the Jury." The Prosecuting Attorney rose to his feet. "Do you prefer Lord James, or Wing-Commander?"

"I prefer Wing-Commander." Ashie responded gravely.

"Wing-Commander, on the 4th April 1918 there was a wreck in German-Belgium which you went and took several photographs of. These photographs which have already been displayed."

"That is correct." Ashie's expression remained flat, his bearing very military indeed.

"When the photographs were produced you made an observation along the lines that you found them quite interesting."

"That is correct."

"Would you explain this interest to the Court?"

"With pleasure." Ashie scratched his ear. "What puzzled me about those photographs was the lack of a corpse. General Darcy was a very large man indeed and it would take a very hot fire, burning for a very long time to completely destroy his physical form. The wreck was undoubtedly burnt out, the petrol tank had exploded. That is indeed a hot fire, but it is of short duration, certainly nothing near that required to reduce to ashes a man the size of General Darcy."

"So you are of the opinion that General Darcy could in fact still be alive?"

"I know for a fact that he is still alive. General Darcy is in this courtroom as I speak." The sensation raced through the courtroom and it was several minutes before order was achieved once more.

"How do you know General Darcy is here?" The Prosecuting Attorney had gone white as a sheet. Next to Elizabeth Harry had started to chuckle softly.

"Because I have seen him. Though it is possible for others to have people very similar to them, I highly doubt there is another man remotely like General Darcy still alive."

"Any more questions?" The Judge glanced first at the prosecution and then at the defence.

"No, your honour." The response was nearly simultaneously.

"Then I am calling General Darcy, who is attached to neither prosecution or defence to step forward." The Judge's announcement was met by silence for a moment before there was a great upheaval near the back of the room and Darcy came reluctantly forward.

The swearing in was quickly achieved and the Prosecuting Attorney swung quickly into action, everyone having ignored the murderous look Darcy had given Ashie as they had passed each other.

"You claim to be General Darcy?"

"I have certainly believed that since October of 1917 I was a Major-General of the name Darcy."

"What are your initials?"

"D.F. The 'D' stands for David. The 'F' stands for Fitzwilliam. Fitzwilliam is my mother's maiden name and in this case Fitzwilliam was the name I am generally known by."

"Could you prove your identity?"

"That would be difficult, there is little the world doesn't seem to know about me, except for what I alone know and that hardly identifies me."

"General Darcy, why have you appeared today? By this I mean, why didn't you appear last week, or last year?"

"Because I arrived in England yesterday afternoon."

"Why does only one person seem to be aware of your presence?"

"Three people are aware of my presence. Those three people were Wing-Commander Ashington-Frankston, Squadron-Leader Angel and Lord Harman, K.C."

"Why, if the defence knew of your existence were the prosecution not informed?"

"Objection!" Lord Harman was on his feet.

"Why?"

"Because it is not a question the witness can answer. The prosecution were not informed because the Prosecuting Attorney seemed reluctant to answer his telephone at one in the morning. One in the morning was when it was brought to my attention that General Darcy was to be found in England."

"We'll have to verify that later. Objection sustained."

"I apologise your honour. General, it has been approximately three years since the war ended. Why have you only now returned to England?"

"I was a Prisoner of War."

"Surely you were aware that the world considered you dead. Why did you do nothing to relieve the fears of your relatives."

"You must excuse me, but I was alive, how could I possibly be dead?" The bland response drew soft laughter from the gallery.

"Any more questions?" The Judge made the query after the prosecution failed to speak again.

"Right to ask?" Harry rose to his feet immediately.

"Granted."

"January 24th 1918, where were you?"

"When?"

"Any time."

"I was walking across France for most of the day. I arrived in Paris and took a car to a Hotel I visited regularly before the war."

"At what time did you arrive at the Hotel?"

"Approximately eleven-thirty in the evening."

"After that?"

"I entered the hotel by a window as I was meant to meet somebody and there were potentially dangerous consequences if people knew I was in Paris."

"Did you stay for long?"

"About five minutes. The reason for my presence hadn't all been compiled yet."

"What then?"

"I went visiting."

"Who?"

"My wife. I broke fast with her the next morning and then returned to the hotel which I had visited the previous night. I spent an hour in the hotel before taking a car to le Gare du Nord. I then walked back out the way I had come in."

"Why the secrecy?"

"Because I wasn't meant to be there."

"Then why did you see your wife?" Lord Harman got a look for his pains and no answer.

"Answer the question." The Judge growled.

"I visited my wife because I had eight unoccupied hours to dispose of and it is my opinion that it is quite fair for a man to visit his wife when he hasn't seen her for a while and they are fortuitously both in the same city at the same time."

"Thank you." Lord Harman settled back in his seat and grimaced at Ashie before muttering. "Well that's one dispute settled, but a whole new one introduced. It's going to be August before we're out of the woods."

"They're going to try and prove he's not Darcy aren't they?" Ashie responded just as softly.

"Correct."

"Well I wish them luck." Ashie gave a yawn and a sigh and settled back to listen to the rest of the to-ing and fro-ing in utter boredom, the conclusion was foregone and inevitable.

Continued in Next Section