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Chapter XLIII.

Longbourn 3rd October 1820.

It was the coward's way out. There was no point denying it. What Mr. Bennet had elected to do was a clear display of just how much he feared confronting Lawrence. But, he had questioned, was it really wise confronting someone with only the evidence of a retired Military Lieutenant Colonel to support the ascertain that his supposed son was dead? Mr. Bennet thought not, and it was this conclusion that had propelled him to travel to Netherfield the next morning to see what he could do to help Lydia.

He found her at first impressions in a more collected state of mind than that which Georgiana Blakeney had presented to him yesterday. However, when he sat down opposite her and observed more closely, the contrast was profound. Dark circles, paled by makeup but still visible to the naked eye, showing a clear lack of needed sleep, lay upon her face. The eyes themselves looked wearied, by grief as well as tiredness. She greeted him with a decided distracted manner that wished to be anywhere but here. Even Lydia's children had noticed their mother's distress and were strangely quiet, every now and again glancing anxiously at the two adults in the room, wishing they could help and yet uncertain as to how.

After sitting with her a minute or two in silence, Edmund Bennet finally roused enough courage to speak. "Well, my dear girl," he began, "what would you have me say?"

Lydia looked up at her father. His initial start surprised her in both its unusualness and its acuteness. Before this she had given her father up as an enigma never to be understood by her, let alone anyone else besides Elizabeth. Now, she had found to have much in common with him. "I wish I knew what I wanted to hear," Lydia replied. "Mostly I am too much ashamed of myself to wish for any comfort."

"Ashamed of yourself?" Mr. Bennet repeated, concerned and puzzled at his youngest's use of the phrase. "My dear, it is myself who is at fault, not you. I should have informed the entire family, not just the selected few I thought could be trusted. Despite all this though, I have hopes that the matter will resolve itself for the good. My only worry is what it does to you."

"Have no fear for me, sir," Lydia tried to reassure him. "It is only a feeling; it will soon pass, probably more quickly than it should."

Mr. Bennet inwardly shuddered at his daughter's unconscious repetition of a phrase that he had used eight years ago. And look where that lead, he reminded himself. Getting up from his seat, Mr. Bennet took the space by her and, taking her hand, he began earnestly, "Lydia, listen to me. You have nothing to blame yourself for. Nothing. What ever Lawrence's past actions, I am certain that his attentions to you have been undertaken out of a genuine concern for you. He never meant to hurt you. Do not fall into the same trap that I did. Arise out of this and look at the positive things you have. There is one great certainty in life, my dear. That what ever happens, your family will always welcome and love you."

Later, as he walked back to Longbourn, Edmund Bennet thought over all that he had said to Lydia and all that had she had replied with, noting the comparisons, and checking his surety on the tone. He had the horrible feeling that the little he had said, had done nothing to change her state of mind. Too late, he mused, one thinks of things they should have said.* Resolutely he shied away from dwelling on that point. His time was running out. Lawrence needed to be confronted, regardless of the consequences. At least, if not about his suspicions, he had to realise what he had done to Lydia. She had not the strength of most of his daughters. It had all been used to survive her first marriage. At the conclusion of that thought, Mr. Bennet again shivered. And it was not due to the increasing signs of Winter. He was completely used to blaming himself on Lydia's first marriage, for he had all but pushed her into it. He knew all too well by now that if he could go back and change things he would.
As the years increased he had found he had much to be ashamed of, least of all how he had raised his children.

As he arrived at his front door, his housekeeper was waiting outside for him. Slowly Mr. Bennet shook himself out of his depression and tried to appear jovial. "And what can I do for you, Mrs. Hill? Is Mrs. Bennet wanting me?"

"No, sir. I thought it best to keep this until you returned. It is an express for you from London, sir." And with that, Hill handed over the letter she held in her hands.

Mr. Bennet thanked her and walked inside, heading straight for his study. After locking the door he sat down and instantly turned the express over. The seal identified the sender at once. Immediately, he opened it.

The express ran as follows;

Matlock House
London.

Sir,

I felt it best to inform you of this right away, as matters are fast falling out of my control.

As I made you aware by my last missive, I have recently traveled to town in order call upon a old friend of mine at Horseguards, Lord ______. Needless to say, I hardly expected him to even admit that something was a foot, let alone tell me the entire story. Nevertheless, this is was he has in fact done. At first I was mystified and certain that it was a falsehood, but his evidence checked out. The story, or rather the truth as I should call it now, is undeniably sound. And remarkably cunning.

But to resume. I must warn you that greater forces at work here than just the question of entail. You must not, confront Lawrence yet, whatever occurs. I have a few more things to check out, and then I will travel down to you myself and we will confront him together. His truth is one of the utmost secrecy, and cannot revealed to all and sundry.

Although you may hear from me or of me later, I cannot tell you all until a certain date has passed and my contact writes to me, giving me permission to do so. Matters are of such a delicate nature right now as to make the story he has to tell is quite likely the one thing to put him in danger.

Lastly, it is my suspicion that his real identity is familiar to me, which is why his recollection of me was accurate.

Until then, my regards.
Good luck.

Richard Fitzwilliam.

*: I have always thought that Mr. Bennet would make a very good Blackadder. His humour seems appropriate to the role. I can just imagine him sitting in that kitchen of the Prince Regent's, complaining about the stupidity of his master. My reference to Mrs. Miggins relates to this as well. Those who are fans of this Edmund will I'm sure recognise my little parody. For those that don't; Blackadder The Third, starring Rowan Atkinson as in the title role as a man of sardonic wit to a Prince (played by Hugh Laurie) who is an idiot and a servant called Baldrick (played by Tony Robinson) whose not much better, episode entitled "Ink and Incapability" (the one with Dr. Johnson and his 'Killer Dictionary') is where it from. And here is the sentence which follows. ""Sir Thomas More for example. Burned at the stake for refusing to recant his Catholicism, must have been kicking himself as the flames licked higher that it never occurred for him to say, 'I recant my Catholicism.'""

Chapter XLIV.

Richard Fitzwilliam surprised his entire family by returning to Rosings a day before the expected arrival of his cousins, when he had assured them all that he had not planned to be in Kent at all for quite some time.

Needless to say, his greeting to his wife was everything that was due to her, complete with loving embrace and kisses exchanged, before announcing that he could not stay long and in fact, must be off as soon as the next day arose its head.

Of course this information produced great consternation for all occupants of Rosings, least of all Richard's immediate family. Objections from Anne soon flooded the rooms up to the one where her mother and cousin in law resided, clearly heard by both.

Mrs. Darcy chose not to remark upon it, knowing that her opinion to try and be peacemaker could only worsen the situation. Lady Catherine however, had no compunction to remain silent. As soon as Richard was through the door her wrath was assailed upon him.

"Richard Arundel Fitzwilliam," She began in a tone that must be familiar to all who knew her, one that caused several occupants of the Drawing Room to a strong desire to remain unnoticed by the Mistress of Rosings Park, or better still, be as far away from her Ladyship as was humanly possible. "I demand an explanation."

Richard inwardly shuddered, a response repeated by all. His wife instantly quieted and sat down in the nearest chair, casting her eye about the room in an effort to find something with which to occupy herself with. At last, she fixed upon a piece of unfinished lace and set about working on it. "For what Aunt?" Her husband replied, and then wished the words unsaid.

"You know very well what for," Lady Catherine angrily responded. "How dare you presume that you can arrive and depart whenever you wish. You must remember that you are still a guest in my house and shall remain so for quite some time."

Elizabeth looked up at the last part at her Aunt and then quickly looked back down at her book again. She could have sworn that Lady Catherine had an amused glint in her eyes.

Unfortunately, Richard did not notice this and fell right into the trap. "Aunt, you know that I am very much caught up in..........."

"Enough, I do not want to hear excuses," Lady Catherine interrupted. "You are my son in law now and as such you will treat my wishes as requests." It must be noted here that the word request bore a startling resemblance to order right now. "So if I request you to stay with us for longer than a mere twelve hours, then you will do so." She paused and then added in a strident tone, "have I made myself clear?"

"Yes Aunt," Richard replied meekly, as his wife, who had seen through her Aunt's ploy as well now, tried to hide her smile.

"Good," Lady Catherine concluded and motioned to her nephew that he could sit down. "Then you shall stay until Darcy returns."

Richard inwardly sighed and stupidly, tried to convince his Aunt for reprieve. "But Aunt Catherine......"

"No, I will not brook refusal. My daughter has missed your presence much and I can no longer stand the constant display of grief at the dinner table."

Richard gazed at Anne in surprise whereupon Elizabeth could contain her amusement no longer. She closed her book and excused herself from the room, pausing to whisper in Lady Catherine's ear on her way. "Very well played."

Her Aunt, once enemy now friend, smiled at her in reply, causing Richard to groan as he suddenly realised he had been played.

Later, as Elizabeth set her children to bed, her cousin in law joined her. "Elizabeth, I need to warn you."

"What about, Richard?" Mrs. Darcy asked, instantly concerned.

"When you return to Longbourn, please make sure your father has not confronted Lawrence Bennet. I have already requested that he does not, but I fear I did not make my point clear enough. I was in a rush to return."

"Of course, I will make sure but why this sudden concern?" Elizabeth asked, looking at Mr. Fitzwilliam worriedly.

"Because I have discovered what exactly the truth is and at the moment, nothing can be done. We have to wait until I receive permission from my contact before anyone tries to confront the man."

" But..."

"Please, cousin Elizabeth, trust me. You do not want to ask this question yet. I rather wish that I myself had not done so either."

"Very well, I shall make sure we wait."

"Thank you," Richard replied, relieved. "I am sorry to be so mysterious, but it is out of my hands to be anything else."

Chapter XLV

"If I could but make you comprehend what a man suffers when he takes a last look at his wife and children, and watches the boat he has sent them off in, as long as it in sight, and then turns away and says 'God knows whether we ever meet again!' And then, coming back after a twelve month's absence, perhaps, and obliged to into another port, he calculates how soon it can be possible to get them there, pretending to deceive himself, and saying 'they cannot be here til such a day,' but all the while hoping for them twelve hours sooner, and seeing them arrive at last, as if heaven had given them wings......"

Persuasion, Chapter 23.

Rosings Park, 5th October 1820.

It was unmistakable. The sound was quite distinct. It could be nothing else. Two horses, in the process of slowing down from a gallop to a trot, were definitely pounding upon the gravel of the front drive.

The entire company of Lady Catherine, including the venerable lady herself, had thrown all thought of Luncheon aside the minute they had identified the sounds to assemble outside the house and were now waiting for the noise to acquire the flesh of visibility.

Sure enough the two horses complete with riders were soon to be seen cantering up towards the welcoming committee that awaited their presence. Darcy was the first to arrive. He brought his horse to controlled halt beside his wife and was dismounted from it in an instant, his arms wrapping Elizabeth in an embrace only seconds later. He was hot, exhausted, dirty and he was sure he smelt of horse, but neither could give a damn. His lips rapidly met hers and the world disappeared.

For a time the remaining occupants of the gravelled drive, Bingley included, were content to let the couple stay in that tender reunion. However it soon became clear that neither one of them would be willing to part from each other very soon. Indeed if anything the kiss had intensified and both had seemed to forget that there were others with them. The company took a look at each other and mutually- and silently -decided to leave them alone. Quietly, they retreated to the warmth of the house.

At last, as the need to breathe overwhelmed them, Darcy reluctantly broke from his wife, his arms still wrapped around her. "I have missed you, Elizabeth," he uttered huskily, speaking her name like it was an elixir.

"And I you, Fitzwilliam," she returned the compliment. Darcy pressed his forehead to hers, and closed his eyes, revelling in the nearness of her after too many days spent in separation. However did I manage without her? He pondered rhetorically, not really caring to know or even contemplate the answer. He leant to kiss her lips once more, before taking her hand and leading her away to the more private grounds.

As they walked in comfortable silence in quest of a private sanctuary, Darcy found himself revelling the company of only his wife, a event which in recent times was rare indeed. His mind contemplated the wonder of holding her hand, the richness of the sparkle in her eyes, the way that she walked and the hold that she had upon him, which he frequently and quite happily surrendered to. Before they had married he had freely admitted to himself that he was a man bewitched, yet now that term was fast becoming an understatement. Her eyes still fascinated him, her mind still hypnotised his own and her love and loyalty to him was always awe-inspiring. That she could love him so much after all their misunderstandings and the rather troublesome beginning to their courtship was both wonderful and humbling. His own devotion to her was as equally as powerful, assured by knowledge that it had hers in return for eternity. He valued every moment with her, and would trade everything he possessed for just one more minute spent with her in is arms.

Elizabeth was also revelling this reunion. These past days and night without her husband by her side had caused her much heartache. She dearly wished that they were at their home now and truly alone. However, this privacy of Rosings' grounds far away from the house and thus all of civilisation was a satisfying compromise. Her love for Darcy had grown so much over these past years of blissful marriage. Time and time again did she find her mind marvelling over the extent and display of his devotion to her and to their children above all else that occupied his life. To her it was just as awe-inspiring to witness his willingness to put aside business in order spend more time with her as it was for him in witnessing her loyalty. There was nothing that he would not do for her. Indeed she knew within a month of their marriage that she would not find a more loving nor more romantic husband. His absence from her would always result in the giving of a token or keepsake of his affection, from a dozen red roses exchanged always in February, to the drop pearl necklace that he had brought from London the time she had been too great with child to accompany him. His devotion was equally lavished upon their children, carefully dealt as it was to avoid spoilt behaviour.

At last they chanced upon a grove that was deserted of all but wildlife and picturesque countryside. Unconsciously both breathed a sigh of relief before turning to each other for another embrace. This time however it was of a much shorter duration. Darcy let his face stay close to hers, his fingers entwining themselves in her brown locks. "I am so happy to see you, my beloved," he whispered huskily.

Elizabeth acknowledged the endearment and returned with one of her own- which I will leave your imaginations to supply -before they reluctantly broke apart to sit beside each other on a overturned tree trunk that lay nearby. Slipping into the comfort that his arm around her shoulders afforded her, and the sensations that were left by his frequent touch of his lips to her forehead, she slowly began to tell him the things that she had not relayed in her letters. These, although seeming to be of a inconsequential nature, were nonetheless important to both them. Most were of their children, their little mannerisms which she had found impossible to relay in the time that it take to describe them. In turn, he relayed similar matters, such as the frequent comments of his housekeeper that he seemed to be always distracted. And how he had not managed to tolerate the emptiness of the bed that he had slept in only fitfully. Such comments naturally caused returned avowals or displays of affection and thus served to provide these tales with twice the amount of time likely needed to relay them. Naturally, this did not matter to either of them.

The idyllic isolation, however hypnotically pleasurable, could not occupy them entirely. Reality, albeit unwelcome silently invade the pleasant countryside that they inhabited. Reluctantly Elizabeth and Darcy parted, returning hand in hand to Rosings Park.

After Luncheon had briefly reunited the occupants of the house all quitted the dining room till the evening. The Darcy family en masse retired outside, the children anxious to be in the company of both their parents once more.

Darcy was equally glad to see them. Rarely apart from his wife, likewise separation from his children was just as intolerable. Now as much as ever, he could no longer understand how he had managed for so many years being alone at Pemberley. True, he had not been completely alone, but the household was always quiet whenever he was there and Georgiana had always been at her lessons in town, a place he had tried to avoid as much as possible when he was still a bachelor. This recent visit to his home, a prefix he now never used, it had struck him for the first time how empty the building had felt without his wife or children inhabiting some part of it. Even when he could not see them, the mere knowledge of their presence was enough to keep this revelation away. During the past days however, the distance between them and himself had weighed heavily on his mind. Pemberley had seemed so empty, even more so, now that he had the ability to imagine it filled with his family. This thought had caused him much distraction during his work and it had taken the kind intervention of Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds to speeding up the process so he could return to Kent as quickly as possible. Both knew all too well how much their master had needed a wife and children and they were more than pleased with the new mistress and heirs to the Darcy name. Thus, he valued this afternoon and was determined to make the most of it, before other things intervene. For the moment he purposefully forgot that there was troubling events in Hertfordshire, that they were in Kent for a reason, and that his cousin needed to speak with him before they returned to Longbourn. All he wanted to remember was that he was alone with his wife and children, and would be for quite some time.

The fates decided to be generous and complied with his wish for the entire afternoon until nature took over for a brief while and darkened the sky in recognition of the winter month. As the family retired back inside the perfect afternoon stayed in their minds, managing to conquer any disappointment over in its end that night serve to wipe their happiness away and replace it with concern over what could be happening at Longbourn in their absence. That would be dealt with tomorrow.

Chapter XLVI.

The events at Longbourn invaded into their lives all too soon. The next morning, straight after breakfast, Richard dragged his cousin away for a discussion that would turn out to take the best part of the day, leaving Elizabeth at loss as to what to do with that time, as their children were at their lessons.

It was this that made her decision and found her wrapping Imogen and herself up against the cold and making her way to Hunsford Parsonage. To her delight, Mr. Collins was conveniently busy visiting his parishioners, leaving her the prospect of her idea; spending an agreeable day with Charlotte.

The lady in question was happy to comply with this. Despite having spent several days in Kent, the two friends had had little time to spend them together. And, as Elizabeth expected to depart tomorrow, today was only chance they would get for a while.

Charlotte seems happier than when I saw her last, Elizabeth thought as her friend greeted her with a smile and enquiry to her health and that of everyone at Rosings. She exclaimed over the weather, expressed the hope that her friend and Imogen were not too cold and declared gratitude to Lady Catherine for ordering that she come across in a carriage instead of on foot. The smile stayed as she ushered Elizabeth inside and into the warmth of her favourite room in the house. Elizabeth resolved to never let it slip throughout the day.

Mrs. Collins also had a resolution. That was to keep the subject of events at Longbourn and Netherfield from entering the conversation as it was pointless to contemplate the probabilities that would in all likelihood turn out to be false when the Darcys arrived at Netherfield in a few days time. Any reference to them would cause her friend unnecessary anxiety, a thing which Charlotte was determined not to let occur.

Both resolutions seemed fine in theory but in practice they were liable to become unravelled. A conversation about the weather can only last for so long. Likewise of the events that had occupied them both during the past days, however finally detailed they were. The one issue that could remain a focus for the day was one that Elizabeth was determined not to mention, as it would only served to remind her friend of what she lacked. No, her children would not be mentioned, Mrs. Darcy decided, allowing only Imogen to be an exception to this rule as her presence could not be ignored.

There was yet another resolution that needed to be added to their private lists, and, unlike the other three, it was one that Elizabeth doubted herself capable of keeping even for five minutes. That was to keep herself from worrying over what it was that Richard had dragged her husband away for. Could it be that matter her cousin in law had only referred to slightly on his return to Kent a few days ago? And if so, why could he not tell her but tell Fitzwilliam? If indeed, he was going to tell him anything.

Richard was at this very moment pondering that same thought as he delayed talking to his cousin over a game of Billiards. What exactly could he say that would on the one hand satisfy Darcy that his trip to London had been a complete success while preventing him from asking any questions on the other? Even the slightest hint to what he had found out would alert his cousin to situation that was afoot. And his cousin was no idiot. No explanation had the ability to accomplish exactly the same thing, therefore placing him in difficult position as to why he had even dragged his cousin away from his wife in first place. Richard looked to his friend at that moment. Darcy was still patiently waiting for him to make his break, even though he had been standing over it for a good five minutes without uttering a word. While this was an event in itself, Richard knew all too well that he could not put off the conversation for much longer. Reluctantly he gathered himself and leant down to make his shot. He then faced his cousin. "Darce, I confess I am now at a loss as to why I asked to talk with you this morning. Even though I resolved on doing so last night."

"I assume your visit to Horseguards went well then?" Darcy inquired as he took his turn. Unlike his cousin his preoccupation with his thoughts showed no effect on his skill at the game.

"It did," Richard admitted, "but it also placed me under an obligation that never crossed my mind until after the event."

"What sort of obligation?"

"One of absolute secrecy until such a time has past as to make that concealment unnecessary."

That got his cousin's attention. "You're serious?" He asked, as his shot went wide, leaving Richard to pick up the game.

"Regrettably so. There is one thing I can assure you of though. Lawrence Bennet is a man that can be trusted absolutely. The present deception was not one of his own making."

"Then you can confirm that he has deceived us?"

Damn! Richard's mind silently exclaimed before he replied to his cousin's sharp inquiry. "Yes but that is all I can say. The rest needs his consent in order to be told." "His consent?"

"Not only his, but also several others. Until then, please Darce, respect my silence. And trust me when I say that Lawrence is an honourable man."

Longbourn.

Mr. Edmund Bennet laid aside Richard Fitzwilliam's express for the twenty-fourth time since he had first received it. Still the same questions occupied his mind, most particularly of all, whether or not he should heed the advice given. He had long been a stubborn man when it came to forming his own opinions and a change of habit now was likely to prove costly in its upkeep. What was so important that he waited for him before confronting the impostor? What was the matter that was 'greater than a question of entail' and could not be told to 'all and sundry?' Mr. Bennet was not sure if he could wait that long to find out. Particularly if he was just meant to leave the matter be at present. Suspicion was gathering in the daughters who had not been informed of his mistrust as to why he had yet to sort out the necessary papers and establish Lawrence as his rightful heir. Not to mention the fact that his wife had launched herself into the task of finding a wife for their 'dear' son as soon as propriety could allow. The further the truth was delayed, the deeper would Lawrence be tied into not only the Bennet family but the neighbourhood as well. Already his position as the heir to Longbourn had firmly rooted itself in the minds of their gossiping neighbours. His cousin Mr. Collins could likewise be relied upon to spread the matter around Kent as well, leaving few in their immediate acquaintance who knew the real situation at hand.

The was also the problem of Lydia. Since his last conversation with her Mr. Bennet had received reports from Mrs. Blakeney that she had seemed to have recovered, although was slightly more quiet than she had been since her initial improvement. Lawrence had taken to visiting her again but with less frequency and shorter duration each time. Mr. Bennet could only surmise as to why and the conclusions he had come up with were even more unsettling. Not only that, but they had the effect of making his desire to reveal the impostor all the more pressing. They also provided him with a well founded reason if he choose to act upon such desires.

But Mr. Bennet did not feel comfortable in using his suspicion just to bring something to light that would be revealed soon enough anyway. And his involvement in such a matter he was sure would have the ability to harm that matter far more than concealing it ever would. Such a supposition in itself should be sufficient for him to confront Lawrence still, but at this moment, it was having the opposite effect. You see, for all his deception, Mr. Bennet could not help but like the man that was posing as his son and if his suspicion had the slightest element of truth in it, he was not about to go and ruin until he knew for certain that it might be required of him to do so.

With this conclusion in mind, Mr. Bennet reluctantly realised, he was back to square one.

End Of Volume II.

Volume III ~ Chapter XLVIII.

From Rosings to Longbourn, 7th-10th October 1820.

The Darcys and Mr. Bingley set off early from Rosings Park the next morning. Theirs was not the first departure, Richard Fitzwilliam had been before them, quitting for London late evening, despite the advice of his mother in law to wait until the morrow as 'the roads are apt to be most disagreeable when traveling at night'. He was in no mood to be persuaded by such advice however. His reasoning was left unexplained to everyone but himself. He wished to try and dissuade his contact from the delay that he had put upon the truth being released, at least to the Bennet family.

Lady Catherine was thus a little out of humour when the Darcys announced their departure the next morning. "I have barely seen you nephew," she argued to Darcy. "Surely you can be spared a few days longer."

Darcy was firm in his refusal. "I am afraid not Aunt. This visit was pure spur of the moment as you know. News from Longbourn or Netherfield has been absent of late, unnerving both of us. Charles is anxious to see his wife, and we are anxious for news."

"Well, it is a most disagreeable business," her ladyship finally remarked by way of consent, however reluctant such consent was. "Now, you will change horses at Bromley?" She added, with only a slight twinkle in her eye to indicate it a joke and not an order as her voice betrayed otherwise.

The conversation drifted then into the various aspects that travel could entail. The conditions of the roads for example, are apt to be troublesome in the winter months and reliable horses can often be affected by the sharp frosts, as her Ladyship was wont to point out. Thankfully for the rest of her company the eminent- and the author means this in its most ironic sense -Mr. Collins was not there to add his vigorous assent to the conversation,- although he and his 'dear Charlotte' had been invited to spend the afternoon at Rosings -to which his patroness contributed the most. Elizabeth and Darcy helped to keep it going, as Bingley was impatient to be on the road and see his beloved wife and children, and Anne's thoughts were too much full of Richard's fond farewell to contribute to the conversation.

Morning repast was soon pushed aside and preparations to get under way were begun in earnest. Servants were sent to assist the Darcys in clearing their apartments, footman to collect the strongboxes from storage. Stable hands to ready the carriage and four that were to convey them as far as Bromley before being changed for the original four that escorted them from Netherfield almost twenty days ago.

Elizabeth in particular was most astonished to realise that many days had past since she had last seen her family. True, a part of that length had been spent upon the road, especially by her husband, but to not realise that twenty days had past until now was most unlike her as she was only too aware. She opened once more the last correspondence from Netherfield, dated nearly eight days ago. It was from Jane and ran as follows;

Netherfield
Hertfordshire
29th Sept

My Dear Lizzy,

Since my last to you, circumstances here have changed drastically. Do not worry, nothing is wrong with Lawrence, or indeed the rest of our family, save Lydia.

Two days after my last letter Lydia came back from Longbourn in tears. She shut herself in her apartments and requested to have dinner in her room. The next day, aside from being very withdrawn, nothing could be seen to be wrong. We all tried to prise the cause from her but without success. Not one of us, even Georgiana, would she confide in.

For days nothing could be done. Then Georgiana finally managed to get her to confirm what was already a suspicion of mine. It was Lawrence. Apparently for some time she had gleamed from their frequent conversations that he was concealing something from her. Yet the nature of it he would never disclose. Eventually on the 28th she asked him outright. And he lied. Since her return to Netherfield he has not paid call. Even now, that this is relatively over, his visits have declined and are of short duration. Lydia herself, seems somewhat better, but we are all concerned that her outward appearance is just a mask, and her disappointment over Lawrence's deception runs deeper still.

If I felt for certain that you could help, I would ask for it, but I fear it is beyond all of us, save perhaps the culprit who first caused it. Father is beginning to loose patience with him. His movements restrict themselves more and more to his study, venturing out only when the occasion calls for it. If it were not for Mr. Fitzwilliam's request for delay, he would have confronted him days ago. I wish we knew why he urges this. What possible motive could Lawrence have that makes him an honourable man and yet allows him to deceive us?

I feel dreadful for writing to you with only sad news to relay, as I know you cannot return for several days. My hope is that this matter between Lawrence and Lydia is merely minor misunderstanding which will resolve itself in time. Lydia's emotions have been strained a great deal since her return to us. Perhaps this is just an excuse to release some withheld frustration. Things will right themselves and this worry will all be for nothing.

Yet, I know you, Lizzy. If you were with me now your thoughts would all be in opposition. I have always been disposed to think well of everybody have I not? You would tell me this and that Lydia's grief is probably greatly concealed. Well, I shall try to follow your counsel over the next few days and see if Lydia chooses to confide in us.

With wishes to all at Rosings and my brother in law. Yours,
Jane Bingley.

Elizabeth folded the letter with the same amount of dissatisfaction as when she had first done so. Jane was right. She would oppose all views of optimism. Lydia may have been disposed to sadness lately, but she had displayed great strength in holding up for her children, indicating that whatever her quarrel was with Lawrence, it was something far worse than a simple misunderstanding. Had Fitzwilliam been with her upon the first reading she would have urged him that they returned to Netherfield instantly. But as she read a second time her thoughts became more rational. Lydia would not allow her to help unless she felt she needed it and any attempt without that consent would be ineffectual. No, it was something that, like Jane, she would just have to hope was resolved by the time they had planned to return to Hertfordshire.

This hope was to occupy all the adults of the traveling party throughout their journey, regardless of any others that might want to intrude.

Longbourn, 9th October 1820.

If only Lizzy had known what was to occur, she would have obeyed that first impulsive decision. For matters during their absence were about to rapidly escalate. Only on the outside would nothing be seen to have taken place and there was one person who was determined to keep it that way.

Mr. Bennet was not that person, but his subsequent actions would draw him in as an unnecessary and unwilling accomplice. For several days he had been contemplating a course of action that was, in all probability, to have many unforeseen consequences. However, at this precise moment, not one of those mattered. As far as he was concerned, they all paled in comparison to his present state of mind. For his patience had finally run out. He could no long wait for the delay that Richard Fitzwilliam seemed to think was required. He had to confront this impostor now.

Of course, such a confrontation had to be planned before being carried out. The questions needed to be ones that could not allow for any avoidance of answer and every outcome and response had to be considered. Timing also had to be taken into account. The morning would not be wise as his family would doubtless hinder it. Likewise the afternoon was eliminated. The evening after dinner when the rest of the family had retired thus, was chosen to set things in motion. Finally he also had to have a reason for wishing to speak to the impostor. That reason had to be a deception within itself, as the truth would no doubt served to prevent the meeting and the trap would fail before it had even been attempted. It also could not be due to estate business as he had successfully avoided such meetings in the past.

Mr. Bennet was beginning to concede that nothing could be thought of to bring the impostor to confessional, however contrived. Then, fate, that inconsequential controller of all things, came to be of assistance. Just as all plans seemed to be in vain, a knock on his study door sounded loud and true.

"Ah Lawrence," Mr. Bennet remarked as the door was opened. "You are just the person I wanted to see. Sit down, we have much to discuss."

Chapter XLVIII.

Netherfield, 10th October 1820.

A carriage carrying many people and bearing the Darcy crest arrived upon the front drive of Netherfield just in time for a late luncheon on the date above. All were greeted with the greatest of enthusiasm by the occupants of the house, conveyed in and treated to the finest meal that could be had upon short notice. They were also provided with the thing they had wanted the most; news.

Indeed, many things happened during the course of their absence. The situation with Lydia could not be discussed, as she was in the room with them, but the news that was of a more general nature could be, such as an gossip of events in Meryton which had occurred in their absence, along what news there was from London that they had not heard. The majority of it was provided by their kind hosts and the Blakeneys, as Bingley could not tare himself away from his wife and Jane was in a similar position.

After the meal Elizabeth took the opportunity to walk to Longbourn, knowing her father would be grateful to see her the day she arrived. She also wanted to deliver an assurance that she had been given by Richard Fitzwilliam before he left. That Lawrence was someone they could trust.

The man himself arrived at Netherfield to visit his youngest sister just as she was about to leave and greeted her most heartily, seeming to be his usual self. Elizabeth attempted to greet him with the same emotions, carefully hiding the suspicion that she still held. She trusted her cousin. If he said Lawrence was an honourable man, then he was. The only thing that concerned her now was the secret that had led him to this deception.

Lydia was outwardly happy to receive her once more normal daily visits from her eldest sibling. Inwardly however, she was still conflicted, in both thoughts and emotions. Lawrence was someone she had come to care a great deal for, but this new certainty that he was deceiving not just her, but her whole family at large had done considerable damage to that affection. It had not eliminated it, indeed it was perhaps too deep for that to occur, but it had put a strain upon her, making her struggle to appear contented every day for her children and immediate family. Her long and hard marriage with Wickham had taught how to maintain the upkeep of such a mask, but the upheaval of his death and her first removal to Derbyshire, combined with the steady support and friendship of her father, Georgiana, Elizabeth and Jane, had served to create cracks in that once formidable veneer. She had begun to let people in, to learn to trust and confide, when previously she had been afraid to trust anyone.

And Lawrence had been one of those people to which she reserved that privilege. Now that he had failed in his loyalty, Lydia could only begin to wonder if the others would eventually fail as well. Was she being too particular, were there some things that people could not voice aloud? Or, worse still were they keeping things from deliberately, concerned that she might be able to handle the truth?

Mr. Bennet was infinitely glad of Elizabeth's decision to visit him upon her return to the neighbourhood. He had been left alone with his thoughts far too long.

"My dear girl," he began in a tone betraying all his relief as she sat in arm chair opposite him by the window that looked upon the drive of his estate. "It is good to see you at last. Your mother's attentions are in need of a respite."

"Indeed I am most glad to see you as well, papa," Elizabeth replied, noting her father, despite his relief at her arrival, seemed more contented than when she saw him last. "Has anything occurred during my absence?"

"Oh, nothing of great importance," Mr. Bennet answered, perhaps a little too quickly. Thankfully his daughter seemed not to notice the mistake. "Jane has told you of Lydia's brief collapse?"

"She has," Elizabeth replied, her face loosing its smile. "And after seeing her today, I'm not so sure that its over."

"Neither am I," Mr. Bennet agreed, allowing his mood to dampen also. "She has not recovered, despite all of mine and your sister in law's attempts. Lawrence has started visiting her again, but I do not think they are as close as they once were. I cannot think of any solution, save the one your cousin has ordered me not even try."

Elizabeth noted the frustrated tone of the last part and inwardly sighed. She knew all too well that her father disliked being 'ordered' to do anything. She could only hope that this stubborn nature had not led him to anything rash.

Edmund detected his daughter's inward sigh and privately breathed a sigh of relief. So far the part that, as of last night, he now had to play, was going well. He did not like deceiving his daughter, but he knew that it was necessary in order to keep alive a deception he was now a willing participant in.

The Cunning Fish, Meryton.

He had failed. Failed.

The stranger that reader last heard of ten chapters ago had not done anything since that time to change his situation. This choice had by no means been of his own volition. Indeed, if the opportunity to escape had arisen, he would have taken it instantly. But, much to his frustration, it never had.

His Watch were the most vigilant in their duties. They worked in twos in shifts of night and day, always outside the door to his room. His meals were brought up his room and water was the only beverage provided. A guard always stayed outside while they were being delivered, preventing any attempt to overwhelm them with a fist. His windows were locked and of too great a distance from the ground to be attempted jumping from. There were also no pipes or trellis of any sort to assist him in a climb to safety. And nothing in his room to help him in that way either.

Thus, on his seventeenth day of incarceration, the stranger had reluctantly come to one disappointing decision. He was stuck here for good. His mission had to be given up as a failure. It had gone past the point of prevention and now he to accept defeat.

He had failed. Failed. The word was like a sword thrust to his heart. He had never failed before. Never. That was why he had been trusted with this great task, a task which he had assured his superiors he could be relied upon to achieve quickly and successfully. And he had failed on both terms.

He knew what was to come, no matter how everything ended. Either side would be, for once, in complete agreement about his fate. As yet however, he could not even think the word, let alone utter it allowed. It was inevitable and unavoidable though. Impossible to prevent or to attempt to fake. He was watched during all his meals. He could not do it himself. He must wait for someone else to do it for him.

And by then, he had to accept it readily. He could not attempt escape then, for his honour would be the price to forfeit. No, a far greater honour would be achieved by facing it with willingness and dignity. And he would also gain the satisfaction by learning at last the identity of the man that had foiled his plans.

That was providing that it was his enemy who did it to him first.

Chapter XLIX.

Netherfield & Longbourn, 12th-15th October 1820.

The first morning that welcomed their return was taken up by a breakfast discussion that for once did not refer to the situation at Longbourn in any way. Instead it was a topic of a much more frivolous nature.

Lord Devereaux had been persuaded by his wife that the time had come to hold a ball. Their duration of time in the neighbourhood absolutely prohibited them from holding it off any longer. This was not a sudden decision on his part,- indeed the gentleman in question rarely made a decision, sudden or otherwise -but had been reached by a long debate on the part of his wife and in even greater degrees, his children. After all, it was- and perhaps still is -rarely in a gentleman's nature to propose a ball, particularly if the gentleman considers himself past the age to enjoy all the activities that such an event entails. This is often seen as a selfish notion of the gentleman's part, but be assured that it is not. For the gentleman knows perfectly well that his peers and friends who meet his age- or indeed are past it already -will not be inclined to hold a ball either, let alone attend one. For more less strenuous activities required their fascination and kept their interest, such as shooting, hunting, fishing and the like- the author shall refrain from mentioning more in fear of either boring the readers to death, or insulting some gentlemen who might be reading this work, and because she is of the opinion that her point has been achieved and the inclusion of any other examples shall result in a drift from the main subject of this day in the lives of her characters - of which all gentlemen are known to enjoy. A ball holds no such fascination as it often requires conversation on politics, the state of the roads, the weather and dancing with gentleman's significant others, all of which will also press the gentlemen to stand and listen to their discussions- although whether the gentlemen fulfills the latter part of these duties is another matter and best left to the gentleman in question to answer. In the case of the gentlemen that have children of an age old enough to attend a ball- again such gentlemen are often inclined to think that there is no age when their children are old enough to attend such a function, particularly their daughters, unless chaperoned at all times, with perspective partners being either distant relatives or persons the gentlemen has known for such a time as to be of a trustworthy nature -the requirements on them to make necessary introductions, prepare dance cards, supervise dancing, etc. are liable to cause much of a strain on the gentleman's mind- again the author means no slight on a gentlemen's character whatsoever.

To resume. The announcement that such a function was to be held caused varying reactions by their house guests, particularly when the date for the event was declared. It was to be, by extraordinary coincidence- and of no design on the author's part whatsoever, -on the evening of the twenty-sixth of November. The Bingleys were naturally overjoyed by such a happy coincidence, as that night happened to signal one of the happiest nights of their entire life. The Darcys were likewise pleasantly surprised and pleased for it gave a chance on their part to make the night a far more enjoyable occasion for themselves. The Blakeneys, having no history with the date in question, chose to treat it with nothing more than usual pleasure.

Thus the rest of breakfast was taken up by many happy- and some less happy -recollections of the same night nearly nine years ago. Requests for certain pieces of music which had been played then to be executed once more were put forward and granted- a certain maggot in particular, the identity of which most here undoubtedly know was also planned as a dance for the evening -incurring more reminiscing and explanation as to why they had a predilection for the piece in question.

Lord Devereaux quickly left the breakfast room as soon as propriety allowed, calling most of the gentlemen with him for some shooting- whether these gentlemen left willingly or were obliged to depart is for the reader to decide -leaving the rest with a grant to join as soon as they wished. The ladies quitted the room half an a hour later, still discussing the arrangements needed to be made, the relative invitations to be sent and those which might be safely discarded by accidentally being sent to the wrong address, or having written so ill as to be redirected several times.

Jane, Lizzy and Georgiana were reluctantly left by their husbands- who felt themselves obliged to join their host -to seat themselves in a comfortable drawing room and discuss their memories of the last ball. Georgiana listened with great interest to the topic, laughing in surprise when she heard the contrary nature of her brother that night and the antics of a certain Miss Bingley- who, for the interests of the reader, has married twice since last seen, first to the elderly but wealthy Baronet of Longsford who died a year later, leaving no heirs and her as the only recipient of his fortune, and then, most surprisingly, to the handsome, younger son of the Earl of Batchworth, who is still alive and is said to be besotted with his wife, and she likewise with him -and Mrs. Hurst. The embarrassments of Kitty and Lydia were also mentioned, but with less concern this time of a repetition of such behaviour. A fervent and silent prayer was expressed on the part of Mrs. Darcy for her mother to be more restrained than she was last and for Mary to either refrain from singing or to be much improved if nothing could prevent her from doing so.

Just before luncheon an envelope from Longbourn arrived, carrying inside a invitation for the Darcys, the Blakeneys, Lydia and the Bingleys to join the rest of their extended family for an evening meal the following eve. Elizabeth happily sent back their acceptance, grateful such a thing was required on her part, for she was most anxious to talk with her father over the events concerning Lawrence Bennet which could have occurred during her absence at Rosings. Her father's neglect to write any letters to her during that time, had, at first, been put down to stress and lack of freedom with which to accomplish such a task. But when the delay ceased leave to be awarded such a title, Elizabeth had become to be very concerned, knowing well her father's stubborn nature and often reluctance to heed warnings from others who suggested patience was the better part of valour. Added to this was his apparent lack of concern about Lawrence during her visit yesterday, the suspicions of which he had avoided to discuss altogether. Her rationale tried to dismiss this concern, especially when careful discussion with Jane and Georgiana revealed that nothing of significance had occurred, but it soon returned when she realised that if something had indeed happened, her father would prefer to debate his actions with herself first, before announcing to his family then the neighbourhood at large his justification and any evidence that could not be discounted to prove its truth. Yesterday's visit had been short, entirely too short to even try and approach her father on the subject, especially when her mother had entered the room before she could begin to comment on his use of the word 'ordered'.

Thus the remaining hours that were left until their departure the next day, were divided between concern over the above circumstances and an effort to distract herself from dwelling on such concerns until it was considered necessary to do so.

Longbourn, late evening, 13th October 1820.

The soft light of many candles emanating from the front windows of the estate were the only evidence of habitation that night at Longbourn. Darkness had settled early upon the outside world, causing many a person to seek the comfort of their home fires.

Main course was in the process of being eaten, accompanied with the hushed tones of conversation. The main contributors were Mrs. Bennet, Lawrence, Mr. Bingley, Mrs. Darcy, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet- in that order. The latter tended to confine his comments to his favourite daughter and her husband, only raising his voice to mildly rebuke his wife when she became too insistent in having her point achieved.

Elizabeth had much to be astonished about over the evening, although she did much to keep this emotion from becoming apparent. There was only one thing which produced it, but it was of such a major significance that it caused to be multiplied in her mind. She observed the interaction between her father and Lawrence with this emotion. For their relationship seemed radically altered since her last visit to Longbourn. It flowed more smoothly and had none of the underlying tones of sarcasm, caution, attack or suspicion. Her father was no longer watching his every move, in fact he seemed to be avoiding it altogether. Likewise Lawrence's conversation also went unobserved. His manner was more relaxed than it had been in the last dinner occasion. Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. She was not only puzzled, but also concerned, for her mind could not help but wonder if her father had gone against Richard's wishes and confronted Lawrence. If so, what possible reason had procured so a calm reaction? Elizabeth knew her father, his response to a deception would not be like this. Supposing this to all be true, would Lawrence really be deceiving them? Would he instead turn out to be her brother? As soon as this supposition expressed itself in her mind, Mrs. Darcy discounted the possibility at once. The one certainty her father had assured her from the beginning that this Lawrence was not his son. How could he be doubted? Yet, he was human, capable of making mistakes. Perhaps the gentleman was his son. But why this change of manner now, if only to hide such a fact? She knew not what to think.

And she was not the only one. Lydia also had her suspicions. She attempted to keep her manner as close to normalcy as possible, but could not deny herself a great deal of contemplation over it. She found her father to be observing her most of the evening. At first she put this down to his natural concern over her recent behaviour, but when she observed more closely, she realised that this could not be wholly the case. For he seemed to be watching her interactions with Lawrence only. This puzzled her greatly for she had done everything to assure that her actions towards him had not altered since their minor misunderstanding, and that they continued to be as they had always been, those of a sister and friend to her brother. Lawrence's manner also seemed altered, again particularly concerning herself. Before this dinner his time spent with her had been of shorter duration than usual. They did not talk as they had used to do so. Personal subjects were avoided, almost discouraged, in favour of more general ones, a change to which she had attributed herself as the one to blame, for her stupidity in presuming he could confide in her. Tonight however had produced a marked alteration. He seemed to be concerned in only talking to her, finding out only her opinion. Normally such a reversal would have made her happy, but she found herself continually growing suspicious of it, especially as her father was observing at its every turn. Despite her ignorance of the full nature of her family's suspicions concerning Lawrence, Lydia was fully aware that her father was not allowed to confront him just yet. But if tonight's behaviour was anything to go by, he seemed to have disobeyed that order. Like Elizabeth, Lydia found herself puzzled by this. Why would her father be so calm? He had been anything but calm when she had deceived him eight years ago after marrying Wickham. Either he was restraining himself or he had not confronted Lawrence at all, although this latter explanation brought her back to square one. Lydia sighed. Like her elder sister she knew not what to think.

When dinner had at last drawn to a conclusion, Elizabeth managed to secure a moment alone with her father. She asked him instantly what had happened.

His explanation was this: "No, I have not confronted him, Lizzy. I am merely giving him space. The continued surveillance has not prompted him to confess or commit an error, so I have decided on a new form of attack."

Elizabeth found herself unable to discount this excuse for it completely answered all the questions her mind had produced. Later though she was to ponder on it a little more, due to the events that were to come.

Netherfield, 14th October 1820.

Lydia met Georgiana eagerly the next morning for her now regular piano lessons. True to Mrs. Blakeney's advice, she had grown fond of the pastime, no longer finding it a tedious bore as she had done in the days of youth. At this she chuckled, remembering that she was only three and twenty, hardly ancient by any comparison. She found that she could loose herself in the music, forget her troubles, her past and think of nothing but the next note or scale which needed to be performed. She left each lesson happier than she had ever truly been, with the confidence to face her troubles, not avoid them. Despite the short duration of this confidence, she found herself still pleased by the effect the pursuit had on her. She was also grateful of the company and friendship that Georgiana offered her, not because they had both experienced discomfort at the hands of the same gentleman, but because they had much in common and dispositions designed to compliment the other. Georgiana taught Lydia to find the ability to laugh once more and in turn Lydia was able to offer advice on children and married life, which Georgie found wonderfully useful as she was sometimes too nervous to ask Elizabeth.

The lesson passed without incident, and afterwards the two retired to the window seat and began to compare their observations of last night's dinner party.

"Did you see the marked alteration between Lawrence and my father?" Lydia asked after a while. She choose her moment carefully, taking care to make it known that there was to be no significance attached to the question.

"I did," Georgiana confessed, watching her friend carefully. Since her discovery of Lydia in tears some days ago, Mrs. Blakeney had done everything in her power to see that such a reaction to Lawrence did not repeat itself. To do so discreetly she had been obliged to take up her brother's habit of observing, mixing it with her sister in law's, in order to achieve what she hoped would be a sound conclusion. Last night she had watched Lydia carefully, and by default, Lawrence as well. "His manner did seem much easier than when I saw them together last. What do you think produced such a change?"

"I know not," Lydia replied. "I can only speculate that father has perhaps confronted him and found the truth to not be what he expected."

Georgiana looked at her friend in surprise. "You mean that Lawrence might really be your brother?"

"No, I do not mean that. I mean that the truth is perhaps something that none of us have imagined it could be. That Lawrence is not my brother, but not an impostor either. That his reason for being in Meryton is something else entirely."

"What you do think it is?"

"Your cousin confirmed that he is a military man. Perhaps he is investigating some military matters down here. Matters that are of such a grave nature that it forces him to adopt a cover story."

Georgiana looked at her friend carefully. She did not like where this train of thought was going. She feared that she already knew its destination. "Lydia, you do not mean that he is here to investigate you?"

"It is not so improbable," Lydia argued, "it would explain why he visits me all the time and why he is so interested in me. What other reasons could he have?"

"Several," Georgie insisted. "He could be concerned because of your past. He could desire to restore your faith in people. He could be in love with you."

Lydia chuckled, much to her friend's relief. And distress. "In love with me? Really, Georgie, whatever possessed you to think that? No, I am of the opinion that he has confided in my father and procured his assistance to the plan."

"Lydia, if what you believe is the case, I do not believe that your father would assist him in any way. Whatever his feelings were towards your late husband, he would support you. You are his daughter. Has he not tried to improve his relationship with you?" She sighed and took her friend's hand. "Lydia, please have faith. Whatever his past mistakes, your father truly loves you. As do the rest of your family. They want nothing more than for you to regain your confidence and trust. There is not some secret mission to investigate you because of your husband. Wickham, had not the talent for espionage, or indeed for anything but raking up dates. And I am sorry if that pains you."

"Oh, Georgie," Lydia began, ashamed. "I do not mean to bring you distress by speaking of him. I am completely of the same opinion of him."

"The only distress you have cause is by being so cruel to yourself, when you have no reason do thus."

"You are probably, right Georgie," Lydia finally agreed. "I am worrying myself over nothing."

With that the conversation came to an end but it left both wondering whether either had been really truthful throughout it. Only later were they to discover what was the truth and what was to be false.

Somewhere on the countryside surrounding Oakham Mount, 15th October.

"Sir?"

"What is it, Sergeant?"

The man shifted his feet uncertainly. He was reluctant to voice his thoughts, even though he had just begun the task. The man standing before him was not a man to disagree with. His reputation spoke for itself. Yet this task. Something was not quite right. Not that the sergeant was a man to second guess his superior. No, he followed orders without question. Usually. And this situation was anything but usual. "I was just wondering, sir, as to when we will carry out our orders."

His superior turned to survey the prospect. To the sergeant he appeared reluctant too. And preoccupied. Not that the sergeant was study of character, but any one can recognise the usual signs. "And do you know our orders at this moment, sergeant?"

The sergeant should have recognised the warning signs. However, perhaps due to his preoccupation, he ignored them. "Well, yes, sir. You told us....."

With lightning speed his superior turned round, put himself face to face. Speaking in a harsh stage whisper, the anger within him was clear to be heard. "Listen to me. You follow my orders. If I tell you to wait, you wait. If I tell you to watch him, you watch him. If I tell you to let him go, you let him go. And the one thing you do not do, the one thing that you never do, is question me." He grabbed the sergeant by his cravat. "If you do this again, I shall see to it that you never set a foot alive again. Do I make myself clear?"

Choking, the sergeant could only nod. His superior released him, pushing away, dismissing him. He went without a fuss. He knew when not to question.

Lawrence Alexander Bennet sighed as the surrounding countryside became quiet again. There were times when he hated his occupation. Times when he had regretted ever accepting this task that lay before him. The task that now only needed one word from him to be finished. He wished to heaven that it did not. That there was someone else who could complete it for him. But there was no one. He had known that from the beginning. At the time he had thought, believed, that it would be easy. That he could accomplish it smoothly. He had no idea that it would turn out to be this hard. That this one task would turn out to be the one thing that would change his life forever. That he would meet.....

Resolutely, he shook the last thought away. He could not think about that. It was no longer probable. In fact, it had never been, at least not beyond the realms of his imagination. Instead, he reflected on the evening that his father- for lack of a better word -had called him into his study. He had been expecting such a call for quite some time. Nonetheless, it had been a surprise, as he had been led to believe that they were waiting for someone else to come before confronting him. He had also expected more than just his father to be present. Perhaps this was why he had forgone his usual plan of denial. Why instead he had confessed everything. Everything. Not just the deception, not just his task. But other things as well.

To his surprise, his father had taken the confession well. Not one part of it had varied from what he had suspected, at least, that was what he had said. He had been pleased in fact at how well it had all gone. He had expected an outburst. Shouting at the most. But instead he had been met with calm silence and logical, rational questions. And willingness to not only keep what he had been told to himself, but to assist in any way he could. In both matters. Lawrence had never expected that. The first was absolutely necessary, but the second was something that, recently, he had become to realise that he did not deserve to even contemplate. Yet his father approved. Approved and was willing to help him in achieving it.

He had been trying to restrain himself. To accept the fact that it could never happen. Until that night. Now though, doubts had begun to invade once again. What right did he have to even try for it? Lawrence was convinced that he had none. The moment he came clean, the moment he revealed himself, it would be impossible. The bond would be broken. He had told his father that much that night.

"May be it will be," Mr. Bennet had replied. "But there will also be a chance to build a new one. A stronger one."

Chapter L.

Netherfield, 16th October, 1820.

When the next day dawned Lawrence left Longbourn soon after breakfast with only one intention in mind. To heal the breach between himself and Lydia. Mr. Bennet had given him the courage to try, now it was up to him to follow it through. He had to show her that despite all that was about to come, he was not deceitful.

His arrival was certainly a surprise to Lydia when a footman announced him to her. Laying aside her book, she cast a glance at herself as the footman departed to let her visitor in. What on earth can he want? Did we not talk enough two nights ago?

"I hope I'm not disturbing you?" Lawrence asked as soon as the door had closed behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

"Not at all," Lydia replied, managing to keep her puzzlement out of her voice. "what can I do for you?"

If you only knew. "I actually came to apologise for my recent behaviour concerning you," Lawrence began, seating himself on the sofa opposite her. "I know that ever since you asked me a particular question, you feel that I have been avoiding you. This is not an opinion I am disputing. I have been avoiding you, and I am sorry for it."

"I do not need your apology," Lydia rejoined. "All I require is an explanation." To what I thought had been a completely innocent question. Since I had no difficulty in confiding in you, why could you not do the same for me?

"Which is what I am about to give you," Lawrence assured her. And himself. At least, part of an explanation anyway. What I am doing? "I could say that due to my upbringing I am not used to confiding in people, but I am not fond of making excuses for my actions. I always strive to be honest with the people I regard as friends," what irony that emotion is right now, "and I regard you as such." If you only knew how much and more how I do regard you. Lawrence sighed. "I wish I could tell you everything, Lydia. But most of it is out my hands. Yes, there is something I have been concealing. Not just from you, but from everybody. Such concealment has been necessary. There is something here, a task that I have to do. This task has to be kept secret from everyone. What I can tell you though, is that it has nothing to do with you or your late husband. It is something different entirely. And it until it has been completed, I can tell nobody of it. Nothing. Not even the fears, or the doubts that I constantly have about it, myself and my ability to go through with it. And the harsh knowledge that once it has become clear, everyone here will look at me in a different light. And they will not see my real self, all they'll see is a monster. I do not deny them that right, I know it is to be expected. It is because of this that I hold myself back, hoping to somehow lesson the blow that I know I will receive, and the one that I will deliver to everyone. I have no desire to hurt anyone," you most of all, "yet I know that I will."

Lydia listened to this impassioned speech with mixed emotions. At first she could feel nothing but anger at him, for treating her no different from everyone else, when they were meant to be friends. Then, as she heard him speak of the task that he could tell no one of, one that would drove people to regard him as a monster, she felt she could listen no more. "Lawrence, I may not have any knowledge of this task that you seem certain will damage your character in this neighbourhood forever, but I can reassure of one thing." At least I hope I can. "You could never be a monster. I, more than anyone who lives here, knows what a monster is and that is something you could never be. Whatever your task, whatever your deceptions, I for one will not think that of you. These past few days since I have come to know you, convince me so. You are too kind, too thoughtful to be a monster. Once this is over, you will still have my friendship. This I promise you."

Lawrence took her hand in his, smiling at her in relief. "Thank you," he replied. "You have no idea how much your assurances mean to me. My only hope is that, once this is over, you still feel the same way." Indeed, if you do, I shall be lost forever.

Netherfield, 17th October 1820.

The next day brought a thick bundle of mail to Netherfield Hall. The majority of it was nothing more than acceptances to the invites that had been sent out some days ago for the ball in just a month's time. Mr. Blakeney's parents were among this number, adding the promise to arrive a day or so before, if the fates allowed. The rest of the mail were replies from various correspondences to the occupants of the house. One of these was for Mrs. Darcy, from her dear friend Mrs. Collins. It ran as follows;

Hunsford Parsonage
Kent
Oct. 14th

My Dear Lizzy,

Events here at Kent have been of little consequence since your return to Meryton. I miss your company daily, but cope as best as I can with the return to the normal life I now must lead. Mr. Collins remains convinced my wish for solitude is due to the knowledge that we have no longer his inheritance to look for to, but you know me better than that. He is much the same as he was when you saw him last, if somewhat less discontent with his situation in life. I myself am more than content that things will remain the same. Alex is a far more worthy recipient of Longbourn.

But to resume with my original purpose. Mr. Fitzwilliam is still in London and is not expected back for some time. His reasons according to Anne are that he is securing permission for the full story concerning Lawrence Bennet to be revealed earlier than planned to your family. What this story is however, is something that none of us here are clear on. Mr. Fitzwilliam refuses to tell us, however much it distresses him. The news must be of a very serious nature to affect him so. Forgive me, I have no desire to distress you, merely to inform you of what is happening.

I thank you for the invitation to the ball. I wish we could come, but Mr. Collins has several important functions to perform in the day, that he cannot leave in the hands of anyone but himself. I know however that you will enjoy it far more than the one that graced the same date almost nine years ago.

Lady Catherine sends her regards. And her regrets as well. She fears that due to the conditions of the roads and estate business that she must go over with her steward, she will not be able to attend either. She does however send Anne and her husband in her place, if they have an invitation of course, and providing Mr. Fitzwilliam has, and I quote, 'the power to deign himself a return to our presence.' I am sure her presence will be greatly missed!

I cannot help but imagine what could have occurred had she been present nine years ago. Can you, Lizzy? Would it have changed anything do you think?

At this juncture, I must leave you.
My regards to you and all at Netherfield and Longbourn
Charlotte Collins.

Elizabeth chuckled as she contemplated the possible future that might of been, had Lady Catherine de Burgh graced the Netherfield ball. Certainly her presence would have overshadowed the antics of her sisters then, as well as her mother's actions. Her husband might not have been able to ask her to dance, but then neither would have Caroline Bingley. It was certainly an intriguing prospect. she folded the letter away and turned back to her husband children, whose presence she would not change for the world.

Longbourn, 18th October 1820.

Lydia left Netherfield the next day for a visit that she felt was long overdue. She and Kitty had been friends for so long before and briefly after her elope that to not confide in her now would be insulting and hurtful to her sister.

She entered the drawing room with her children in tow to find her sister surrounded by her own and- much to her disappointment -their mother. Lawrence was also there.

"Lydia," Mrs. Bennet cried joyfully. "It is so good to see you. And my grandchildren," she added, as the children in question looked upon their grandmother with nothing short of bewilderment and fear. Eagerly they attended to the entreaties of their cousins and sat down to play.

Lydia seated herself next to Kitty, offering her a smile of compassion. Her sister returned it with fervour. "And how are you, mama?"

"Oh, I am well," Mrs. Bennet replied. "But your father still continues to vex me daily. He refuses to tell me if he has made dear Lawrence official inheritor of this estate. And you my son, do exactly the same," she added, looking expressly at Lawrence. "And if he does not do it soon, he might die before it and then what are we to do? Mr. Collins will throw us out on to the street and if my daughters do not help me, I..........."

At that moment Mr. Bennet came in, saving his 'son' and daughters from their mother's peals of worry. "Lawrence, could I speak to you for a few minutes?" He inquired.

"Of course sir," Lawrence answered eagerly. With a smile of sympathy to Lydia and Kitty, he bowed to Mrs. Bennet and left the room.

"And now he deprives me of his company," Mrs. Bennet exclaimed dismayed. "Where is your husband, Kitty dear? We must have some male company."

"He is attending to his business letters," Kitty replied gently. "And Mary and her husband are at Ashcroft for a few days so he can deliver his service for All Hallows and All Saints Day to his parishioners."

"Well it is all extremely vexing," Mrs. Bennet concluded sadly. She glanced at the timepiece on the wall above them. "Gracious me, why has not Hill come yet? I am meant to be discussing today's menu with her. Excuse me girls, I shan't be long."

Kitty breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the lady of the house had quitted the room. "She has been like this ever since our arrival," she remarked to Lydia.

"I am sorry, I have not been able to relieve you of it," Lydia replied. "I have not meant to forget or ignore you, Kitty. I have no excuse for it. Other than perhaps my own fears. I thought you might not wish for my company."

"Not at all," Kitty exclaimed. "I know we have barely kept in touch these past years, but you are still my sister. And my friend. I feel guilty myself for not being able to help you."

"There was nothing you could have done," Lydia assured her sadly. "There was nothing anybody could have done. I know it is wretched to say this, but the only person who could help was Major Vaughan." Lydia smiled. "You can help me now, Kit, by being the person that you always are, my friend. I want to know my sister."

"And you will," Kitty replied earnestly.

Longbourn, late evening.

Lawrence joined his sisters not more than a hour before dinner was announced. He seemed distracted at first, but soon managed to pull himself out of it.

After the dinner when Lydia and her children had returned to Netherfield, he made his own departure for Meryton, seen off only by Mr. Bennet.

Edmund himself had not called Lawrence into his study to confront him. Indeed, it was only to learn of what progress he was making and relay in return the news he had received from London from Elizabeth's cousin in law, Richard Fitzwilliam.

Apparently, the man had just received permission to deliver the real story of Lawrence Alexander Bennet on the night of the Netherfield ball, by which time any impediment would be powerless to prevent the success of the mission. Lawrence had been grateful for the information, thanking his 'father' before they moved on to other matters.

When he left, Mr. Bennet had leant back in his chair and contemplated the state of affairs before him. If things went as hoped, he would soon have the power to sort out his estate, as well as a few other things. All however, depended on how Lawrence was regarded when the entire story was revealed to the neighbourhood at large. Or rather, the Bennet family. If his reputation, ignoring the act that would add to it, remained unaltered in the eyes of his family, all would work out well. If his act could not be ignored though, circumstances would be uncertain. Mr. Bennet had examined all worst case scenarios for the latter and none seemed to contain even a glimmer of hope regarding the one matter that Lawrence cared the most about.

That matter. It had surprised Edmund most completely when Lawrence confessed it to him after he had finished telling his story. What had surprised Edmund most of all though, was that he was not displeased by it. Quite the contrary, in fact. He approved. Despite all, he liked the man, even though he was required to do so harsh a mission. Due to his fondness for character study, Mr. Bennet had also been able to view the matter from an outsider's perspective and, as a result, was able to reassure Lawrence and himself that the matter was not entirely impossible, and had much to gain from becoming reality. True, a bond would be destroyed, but, as he had said to Lawrence, there was a chance to build a new and much stronger one. And Mr. Bennet wished him luck with it.

A Deserted farmhouse, outside Meryton. 19th October.

The prisoner sighed and turned away from the opening held by four iron bars that sufficed as a window. He had been trapped in this deserted farmhouse for almost four days. They had moved him from The Cunning Fish and placed him here in the middle of night. He knew only too well the reason why.

His time had now run out. All possibility of escape had long disappeared from his mind, along with the hope that his mission had not been in vain, and that someone else would be able to carry the news back. But that was impossible now. The number of bodyguards had increased upon his arrival here. They worked in shifts, assuring that they would be alert if he tried to escape, and by default, convincing him that such an escape was impossible in the first place.

It was official now. He could no longer deny it to himself. He was doomed. All that awaited him now, was the one thing that he, that no one, could escape. Death.

Continued In Next Section