Jump to new as of March 13, 2002

Part 1

A peaceful cottage nestled at the base of a rolling hill. The sun was sinking in the west and lights glowed warm and yellow in the windows of the little house. Peace reigned over the cozy scene. One could almost imagine a woman stepping to the door to look for her husband's return from the fields. A sudden, sharp sniffling noise broke the calm silence and caused Charles to turn from the painting on the anteroom wall. Shifting his weight to his other foot, Charles panted at the heat of the room. It was hot even with all the windows open. He thought languidly to himself that either Lance needed to change the artwork more frequently, or he needed to spend less time waiting in here. Countless hours Charles had spent in this room, waiting to see his best friend. Lance Darcy was one of the most prestigious lawyers in the county, very nearly in the state, and with Lance it was always business before pleasure. Of course what was going on in the inner office now was probably neither. Charles tried hard not to pay attention as a young female voice was raised in protest. "But Lance, you don't understand!"

A deep, soothing tone replied, "Gigi, honey, it's all right. Everything will be okay. Shhh. Shhh. It's going to be fine, honey. Trust me."

In the idleness of his mind, and also to distract himself, Charles turned his thoughts again to the question of Lance's name. Where exactly one could get the nickname "Lance" from Fitzwilliam Darcy was more than even he could guess. Yet that had been Darcy's moniker since the days when he and Charles had been at Harvard together. No one seemed to know where the name came from, but Charles was beginning to suspect that perhaps Gigi could tell the tale if she chose.

There were sounds of movement from the other room and Charles looked up expectantly. In a moment the door opened and out they came, first pretty little Gigi, with traces of tears still lingering around her eyes, followed closely by Lance, who kept one hand protectively on her elbow. Both nodded to Charles in greeting and then Lance said quietly to his sister, "All right. Go let Jefferson take you home and I'll see you tonight. Okay?" In a lower tone he added. "I promise you that everything will work out." Gigi nodded solemnly, then half-smiled and waved at Charles and silently slipped through the outer door into the secretary's office. Lance sighed softly, straightened his tie and turned to Charles with a long-suffering look. "Tell me," he said, "You have sisters. Are all women so emotional at sixteen?"

Charles pondered that for a moment before replying. "Well, yes, I think so. But cheer up, Lance, at least she's not like Caroline." Caroline was Charles youngest sister; she was a would-be artist living in Greenwich Village who spent her time socializing with "artsy" types and being insufferable to everyone else.

Lance nodded. "Granted. Poor Gigi, she's been through a good deal of hardship in those sixteen years, so one can't really blame her for falling apart occasionally. But I've never understood girls . . . and Gigi is no exception." He shook his head. "Tell me though. To what do I owe the honor of this visit? Bored, or do you have something for me to do? Have a seat." Lance gestured to one of the studded leather chairs. "Can I have Sallie get you anything? You can shed your coat if you like, too; it's just the two of us," he added, suiting action to the word.

Suddenly, Charles eternally cheerful face clouded. He sighed and sank heavily into his seat. "Nothing, thanks, but I will take this thing off for a minute. It's stifling. And as for what brings me here," he sighed, "well, Lance, I just . . . I don't know. Um, you see, Jane and I . . . ." he trailed off into silence.

"What is it, Charles? I've never seen you look like that. Is something wrong between you and Jane?"

"We may be separating."

"What!" Lance Darcy would not have looked more dumbfounded if his friend had plopped a grenade into his hand. "What are you saying?"

"We've been thinking about getting a divorce, Lance."

"But . . . but . . .why? What happened? Jane was the best thing that ever happened to you. I've never seen a more perfect couple. You're a pair of turtledoves. A divorce? Why?"

"I don't know, Lance. If I knew that, then maybe I could do something about it, but the fact of the matter is that we just can't seem to communicate. Oh it's not like we're throwing things at one another or shouting or anything like that. It's just little things that get between us. I turn around sometimes and Jane's in tears." Charles ran his fingers through his blonde locks in frustration. "I'm never sure what I've done and she won't tell me. I get so . . . so exasperated sometimes. I mean, I love Jane - I always shall - but I get the idea that I'm making her unhappy."

"But you're a perfect brick old boy, why should you make her unhappy?" Lance was still incredulous.

"I wish I knew."

"What . . . what do you want me to do then, Charles?"

"I really don't know." Charles shifted uneasily in his seat. "I'm not sure. I know that Jane's gone to seek legal advice too, so I thought it would be just as well to procure some for myself."

"Legal advice?"

"Well, yes. She's gone to visit her sister Lizzy -- you remember her, she was the maid of honor at the wedding. Dark hair -- you said she had fine eyes."

"Yes, I remember her." Lance opted not to mention that he had thought of those fine eyes several times since. "But why does that mean Jane's getting legal advice?"

"Surely you know? Lizzy Bennet works for your biggest rival. She's not really a secretary, and they say she does a lot of Townsend's work for him."

"Bradford Townsend? Jane's sister works for Bradford Townsend?" For the third time in the day, Lance was completely flabbergasted.

"Yes, been his assistant for nearly a year now. I thought you knew about it."

"Um, no. No, can't say that I did. All right, so Jane wants advice, either legal or sisterly. So . . . now what."

Charles sighed. "I don't know, Lance. I just don't know. I suppose I need advice too, and I know better than to go to MY sisters for it."

Lance chuckled. "Yes, that's wise. I'm not sure what to tell you, though. I mean, I've never been married, you know. But whatever you need me to do for you and Jane, I'll do it."

Charles looked up gratefully. "Thanks, Lance. Shall I let you go then? I'm sure you have things you need to do."

"How about we go get some lunch. Something, something cold."

"Sounds wonderful. I vote for ices."

"Good idea."

Part 2

While Lance and Charles were lunching in a high-end club that day, Elizabeth and Jane were dining more modestly on the other side of town.

"Much as I love to see you, my dearly beloved sister," Lizzy bantered, "I can tell you came to see me for more than just the crab dip. Something's troubling you; what is it?"

Jane stared into the table cloth for longer than strictly necessary. She had known all along that she would have to come to the point sometime, but it had seemed so nice to go along pretending that nothing was wrong. "Well . . ." she began, "It's about Charles and I."

"All right." Lizzy waited for Jane to continue. "Come to think of it you haven't mentioned Charles all day. How is he? Is something the matter?"

"He's fine, I guess. He's . . .well, he's gone to see Lance Darcy, his best friend." She faltered, "Lance is a lawyer. The best in the state."

"That stuffed shirt that who was best man at the wedding?" Lizzy struck a bad imitation of Lance, peering down her nose into the salad. "Excuse me, you must have me confused with someone else. I have not the time or inclination to mingle with the common herd."

Jane tried to hide her smile. "Lizzy, dear, he really wasn't that bad. I think he just doesn't care for crowds."

Elizabeth laughed. "Jane! You are much, much to kind. He really WAS that bad, and you know it." Her mind cast back to the night of the wedding. There had been dancing, and as usually happens the number of available women had surpassed the number of men. Lizzy vividly remembered Charles urging his best friend to dance and have a good time. She had seen them talking from across the room Charles had pointed to Lizzy and given Lance a push. Lance had frowned disapprovingly and given her a sweeping glance. Then he shrugged and gestured to his person while shaking his head knowingly. Lizzy didn't have to hear them to know exactly what he had been saying. She was not pretty enough for him. Her cheeks burned even now as she remembered the incident. But Jane was speaking again.

"I'm sorry, dear, what did you say?"

"I said that . . .that it looks like Charles and I may be . . .may be separating." Jane took a deep breath to steady herself. She was close to tears.

"Jane!! What do you mean? That's impossible! What HAS happened?"

"Nothing horrible," Jane replied. "He's not with anyone else, and we're not fighting all the time, at least, we don't seem to be. We just . . ." she struggled for the words, "we just can't seem to get along. I never know what to expect from him. And he won't ever express a preference for anything. He always tells me that what I want is fine. It's exasperating! I never know what he wants."

"But Jane, dearie, can't you work something out? You and Charles are so perfect. And I know you still love him."

"Of course I do! But . . .but he went to Lance for help, and I - I just thought I might get some advice too."

Lizzy looked very seriously into Jane's big blue eyes. "Jane, my dear, you know that I'm with you all the way, and whatever you want to do, I'll be there to help you."

Dusk descended lightly over the city's industrial district. The tall buildings seemed to rest from the bustle of the days' traffic. All the windows were dark and empty - all except one in the fourth floor office of Carton and Darcy, Attorneys at Law. Lance was working late once again.

Maggie had poked her little graying head in about an hour before. "I'm leaving now, Mr. Darcy. Do you need anything?" The secretary was always solicitous of her young employer. Maggie had been with the firm for almost as long as Lance could remember. She had come to work for the elder Darcy as a fresh, young girl with a bounce in her step, ready to help see justice done. As time went on her hair became grayer, her face more lined, and her opinions more moderate, but the bright blue eyes still sparkled with the same spirit.

"I'm fine, Maggie, thanks."

"You do know those Landers briefs aren't due till a week from Friday. Are - are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, Maggie. I just want to make a start on this. It's going to be pretty labor intensive. I hope you have your typewriter in good order."

Maggie shook her head, if Mr. Darcy didn't want to confide in her, she couldn't make him. That was always his way, to struggle things out by himself, and considering what she knew of the events of the morning, he had a knotty problem to work on. "It's as good as ever, sir. I suppose that if you don't need me for anything, I'll be going home."

"That's fine, Maggie I'll see you tomorrow, no, wait, Monday, I guess."

"Good night, Mr. Darcy," she chuckled, and bowed out.

Actually, though Lance had told his sister, and himself, that he needed to research his briefs for the important Landers case that went up on appeal in a few weeks, his mind was actually everywhere but on the Federal Reporters that lay spread out on the desk in front of him. When he finally heard Maggie let herself out, Lance got up and began pacing the room. Seven steps down, three over to avoid the ancient mahogany and leather chairs, and seven back up the room. He always paced a little when he was deep in thought. He also slowly twisted the ring on the little finger of his right hand; it was a nervous gesture. it had not been a good week. Two heavy blows struck in quick succession. First Gigi and now Charles.

The idea that Charles and Jane could be separating was unfathomable. Since the moment the two had met, they had been Lance's ideal of romantic bliss. They were the perfect couple. Jane was sweet, gentle, beautiful, mild - everything a woman should be, and she and Charles had always gotten on flawlessly with one another. He wondered helplessly what could possibly be the matter. He also wondered if there was any way that he could represent his friend properly in the event it came to a divorce. Nodding firmly to his reflection in the glass on the opposite wall, Lance privately resolved that he would do everything in his power to keep the couple together.

Having brought one problem to resolution made Lance feel much better. There remained only one difficulty to solve - but what a one! His posture deflated all over again. What was he going to do about Gigi? Lance's mind drifted back over the events of Wednesday morning. . .

He had wakened early as usual, taken his morning exercise, and spent some time over dressing; he expected a new client that day, and wanted to look his best. All had been well; nothing had even remotely hinted that it would be a bad day. Then he had gone down to breakfast, alone, unfortunately, as his sister was visiting some relatives for the summer. Still, Gigi did not get out that often and when the Youngs had invited her to spend several months with them on the coast, Gigi had been as excited as a puppy with a new bone. Lance had missed his little sister in the six weeks she'd been gone, but she wrote nearly every other day, and he made a point to reply to all the sweet, girlish missives he received. That day Gigi's letter had come by the morning, instead of the afternoon post, and Lance had wondered at the change. It was quite a slender packet too, unlike the bulky chronicles he usually received.

The servants had turned to stare at the clank of silverware hitting the table, and glimpsed their master, pale as the china before him, clutching the letter with wide, horrified eyes. After a moment he dropped it on the floor and rose quickly from his seat. "Jefferson, get the car," he ordered in a tone that left no room for argument. "Henley, phone the station and see how quickly I can get to Claxton. If you have to hire a private car, then do it, but I must leave straight-away. Quick, man! I must leave at once!" So saying he strode off immediately for his hat and coat and such other items as would be necessary.

Polly, Gigi's own little maid, crept up quietly after the others were gone and picked up the fateful letter. It read:

"Dear Lance,

I hope you get this quickly, so you won't worry about me. I'm going to have to write quickly because I don't think Mr. Wickham, I mean George, wants me to write to you. He doesn't understand how kind and generous you are, and thinks you'd only be angry. I hope you're not, Lance, because you needn't be. George is very kind to me and we will have a wonderful time. We are running away together; it sounds so fun! He wants to take me to Claxton and perhaps on to Jersey City and we'll get married. I like George very much, and he is very good to me. I was a little lonely here and he took great care of me. I don't understand why he doesn't want me to tell you and we can have a grand wedding at home, but he says it's better this way. I knew he was wrong about telling you, you always want to know about everything to do with me, so I decided to write to you while he gets our tickets . . . .

Lance thanked God profusely and profoundly that he had found his sister before the pair had left Claxton. George Wickham's father had been a friend of the family since George and Lance were children, and when Wickham's father had died, the elder Darcy had paid the boy's way through college. George was bright, but devious, and his behaviour at Harvard had been truly appalling. Early on he had developed an addiction to a number of expensive drugs, and would go to great lengths to extort the money to obtain them. Lance knew full well that in attempting to ruin Gigi George simply meant to get back at Lance for not continuing to support his rapacious lifestyle after old Mr. Darcy's death. Poor Gigi. Always so trusting and sweet-tempered. Lance gritted his teeth at the memory. Wickham was sporting a terrific black-eye at this moment, but he Lance knew he fully deserved it.

Leaving it at that, Lance had busied himself in getting his sister home again and dealing with her emotional trauma upon realizing the fate she had barely escaped. The scene in his office that morning had been a part of that trauma. Shy little Gigi was having a hard time answering her friends' difficult questions. But Lance was pretty sure that with a kindness and proper guidance, she would be all right. He raised his eyes heavenward as if to implore wisdom to deal with her.

Yes, the situation could have been much worse, and Lance was eternally grateful that his little sister had loved him enough to write to him that day. Yet, there was one large issue that Lance was now forced to resolve. Should he prosecute Wickham? George was clearly guilty of kidnapping by carrying Gigi out of the state without her guardian's permission. He could probably also be had on charges of attempted seduction and a half dozen other interesting counts. Lance dearly wanted to deal with his former friend once and for all. His eyes burned with cold fury as he dwelt on all of the thousand and one ways that George had repeatedly come to grief and how he had always expected Lance to bail him out. Did he expect that this time? Did George really expect that Lance would let him off the hook again? Would look the other way one more time? He shook his head decidedly. For the sake of the family ties and the memory of his father he had done so till now. The elder Darcy had always looked on young George as a favourite. But enough was enough. Now the roguish, charming, lady-killer of a man had simply gone too far. Lance would give him his comeuppance now. He'd prosecute to the utmost this time. One could not disgrace a Darcy with impunity. He and Gigi would give him what he so richly deserved.

Gigi. Lance's wild train of thought jerked to a sudden halt. If he chose to prosecute now, he would have to put Gigi on the stand. The reporters would have a heyday. He could see the headlines now, "Renowned lawyer prosecutes sister's case." She'd be followed by the press. There would be questions at every street corner. There would be no hushing this case up if he took it on. He knew how many reporters came to "scoop" his cases already. If it came out that he was taking on his sister's case, there would be no stopping them. And while Lance knew just how innocent Gigi really was, he doubted that the public would be so kind to her. Did he really want to expose a sensitive sixteen year old girl to all of that? Gigi was already so shy that public gatherings were something of an ordeal. Could he put her on the stand and expect her to be able to say anything? Lance sighed. There just wasn't a good solution to the problem.

For another hour or more Lance paced his office floor and struggled with the conflicting claims of justice and love. In the end he sank heavily into his red leather chair. There was no help for it. He just couldn't do it. Gigi was too important to him. She was the only family he had left and his love for her was strong. He could not expose her to the critical eye of the world. The distress she already suffered over the whole affair was almost too much for her. Lance could not augment it. Though his just soul rebelled vigorously at the idea, he knew he would just have to let it go. He would have to look the other way -- again.