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Chapter One

Elizabeth Bennet successfully reached the top of the maple tree, her dress muddied, torn, and in such a state that it could hardly be referred to as such. Glancing down at her four friends, John, Elton, Charlotte, and Clara, she cast them all a sunny smile that relayed the tiniest hint of a smirk.

"Come down at once, Elizabeth!" demanded Clara fiercely, tugging on her straw-colored hair, which had been tied neatly into a bun, "or I shall go and tell Mama on you."

"Do as you wish, Clara Long," was the answer, "but she could do little to rectify the matter save climb up here herself." Lizzy grinned at Elton and John, tossing back two plaited braids of light-brown hair.

"I hope that you do not hurt yourself," Charlotte said, warningly. "Jane and your father would be heartbroken if something were to happen to you."

"But I am an excellent tree-climber, Charlotte," she soothed, "and I shall come down in a few moments, though if I fall, I suspect it will not be all in one piece."

"Elizabeth!" exclaimed little Clara, placing her hands over her ears, "how awful!"

Elton grinned. "That would be quite a spectacle!"

"You shall fall down and hurt yourself!" exclaimed Clara fretfully, twisting her blue muslin dress in evident distress. "And then what shall my Mama say?"

Elizabeth gave a dry laugh. "Do no worry after me, Clara. If I fall, Elton shall catch me. And if he does not catch me, well, I suppose that I shall be very angry."

"If you're alive," said John.

"And what makes you think that I'll be able to catch you?" asked Elton teasingly, "for I shan't know which side you might tumble down upon."

"If I fall," replied Elizabeth, "it shall certainly be in the proper manner."

"Oh! Lizzy! I do not know how you shall be a lady with all that energy in you!" exclaimed Charlotte, perching herself on a lower branch of the tree and using it as a makeshift chair.

"Do not fret, Charlotte, dear. If I cannot be a lady, then I shall be a pirate, as it seems a very respectable, agreeable career."

"A pirate is a dirty, black-hearted scoundrel," seethed Clara, "and if you run off and become one than I shall tell Mama directly."

"And what could your mother do to stop me? If I want to be a pirate, than a pirate I shall be. But I shall be a nice pirate, and not run my sword through anyone unless they are cross and disagreeable," reflected the inquisitive eight-year old thoughtfully, her hair billowing out of its neat braid and scattering across her tan face.

"Stop teasing her, Lizzy," commanded Elton, scrambling up the tree after her, "or she will cry and ruin our fun."

"I shall cry if you will not come down!" exclaimed Clara, scrunching her face in preparation. "And Geri, the miller's son, will come running to see what is the matter. And he will tell Mama 'rectly he comes."

"Geri is my friend," replied Elizabeth, using her hand to mask her face from the afternoon sun. "He will not tattle upon me. Rather, he will probably join me in my tree-sitting." She looked down upon the nervous eight year old with some empathy. "But, since you appear so worried, I'll oblige you this once and come down." She disappeared underneath the thick, leafy foliage of the tree and wove through the interlacing branches, past Elton, until she succumbed to the end and leaped from the lowest branch, landing on the tightly compacted earth gracefully.

"You see, Clara Marie? No harm done, save a few scratches on my arms and rips at my frock." Elizabeth glanced down at the rags that could hardly be referred to as clothes and sighed cheerfully. "No sense in crying over spilt milk, as Betsey and Rose so eloquently inform me."

Charlotte laughed. "Your mother will be fit to be tied, Lizzy. What a mess you're in!"

"Oh Mama will not fret about me," replied Elizabeth nonchalantly, "for she is too concerned with the recent purchase of Netherfield Park by some noble family from the north to care two straws about anything else. Apparently they're very wealthy, which is the principal reason for her enthusiasm." Elizabeth fingered a maple leaf, tearing a hole through the center and casting it aside. She positioned herself on a convenient rock. "Mama is very concerned for our marriage possibilities, though I couldn't care two pigs put together. Pirates needn't get married."

"Hmm?" asked Charlotte, masking her own interest and attempting to appear not in the least surprised.

Elizabeth laughed. "You heard me, Charlotte Lucas. I said plainly that a affluent family from the north has gone and purchased Netherfield Hall. I do not know why Mama makes such a large affair of it, after all, she can't marry him!"

"What an unruly girl you are, Lizzy! So ignorant of the matters of marriage and securing a comfortable establishment. You have nothing to worry about the trials of such!"

"No and nor do I care. I shall grow up to be a pirate and pirates prefer to catch treasure, not husbands," replied Elizabeth firmly, "and if Mama forces me to marry someone then it will be either John or Elton, for at least I can stand them."

John and Elton chuckled, swinging from the branches of the trees, and vowing never to marry Elizabeth.

"Your mama will most likely compel you to marry William Collins if it suits her fancy."

Elizabeth's face turned grim. "I should not marry that toad for all the treasure in the world! And if she should order me in such a task, I should take my plea straight to Papa, who sees and understands my logic." Her chin protruded stubbornly, causing the older girl to laugh.

"You are quite something, Elizabeth. Quite something indeed."

A rustling in the nearby huckleberry bushes alerted the group, and they turned attentively to see who had the gall to trespass on their secret refuge from propriety. Though the boys exclaimed excitedly that it was the infamous Napoleon in person, it was only Elizabeth's elder sister, Jane, bearing with her a wicker basket and a worried expression.

"Elizabeth," she called, glancing worriedly around until she caught sight of her younger sister, "I must speak with you on business that is the utmost of haste."

Lizzy shrugged discontentedly and beckoned that her sister would come closer, wondering upon what arduous task her mother had sent Jane to relay. "Whatever is the matter, Jane. Has Mama fainted in her delight over Netherfield Park?"

"Oh, no, nothing of that tendency," replied Jane, eyes wide and completion parched, "For Mama has sent me in great alacrity to fetch you back home." She cast glances above head at Elton and John, who were using their height in the branches of the maple to the advantage of eavesdropping. "She willed me to travel as rapidly as possible, and I have been so terrified! The Darcy's are to dine with this eve. On Mama's part, it was a clandestine invitation, and she has only yet received their answer."

Lizzy sighed. "Only that? I though at least the pigs had got into the garden or something interesting. Just the Darcy's? What a disappointment."

Jane nodded mutely, her golden locks in disarray from her hasty departure from Longbourne, the Bennet estate, and her pretty face flushed with the exercise that a swift run lends one. "We must leave now."

Elizabeth turned back to her friends, all having overheard at least bits and pieces of the sisters' exchange. "Good-bye, John, Elton. Farewell, Charlotte! And Clara, send my earnest regards to your mother!" She smiled teasingly, her China blue eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Now we may go, Jane. And 'on wings of the swiftest variety'." She started off cheerfully down the woodland path, her plaited braids waving merrily in the soft summer breeze.

"La!" What a state you're in!" Betsy Henderson, one of the Longbourne maids, scrubbed at Elizabeth's muddied face fiercely, causing the poor girl to wince with pain. They were standing in the fading daylight of Elizabeth's room, but a few minutes to rectify Elizabeth's disheveled appearance and ripped dress.

"Shall you scour my face to pieces, dearest of Betsys?" asked Lizzy between scrubbings.

The maid sighed, though considerably loosening her task. "I am sorry, Little Miss, but it is not like you don't deserve it."

"Oh, but I am sorry for getting into the mud and climbing the maple tree," replied Lizzy earnestly, casting the elderly maid a smile that wrought her heart, "but Elton did dare me, and I would have been the utmost of toads if I had refused."

"Oh, Little Miss! What a ball of energy you are," replied Betsy fondly, laying aside the sponge and replacing it with a brush.

Elizabeth winced even harder as the brush attempted to disentangle her tresses, though she bore it bravely enough. "Is Mama going to be angry at me?"

"Not when I complete your toilette. No one will know the secret of your afternoon excursion. You'll look like the lady you are supposed to become."

"But what if I don't want to be a lady, Betsy? What if I wish to become a pirate?"

"La! Miss. Lizzy what ideas have you in that mind of yours?" Betsy completed the brushing and attempted to pin the hair in a neat chignon.

Elizabeth sighed, handing the devoted maid pins. "I was only teasing."

Betsy stood her mistress up, slipping a light blue dress over her scrawny frame. "So skinny, Little Miss, and tan!" She held up Elizabeth's arm disapprovingly and clucked angrily. "Did you not put on that cream that I instructed?"

"It smelled terrible!" exclaimed Elizabeth, wrinkling her nose, "so I gave it to Lydia, who is fully enjoying the advantages of it as we speak." Elizabeth was referring to the youngest of the Bennet brood, a very young girl of only five, who was already showing signs of becoming a vain, spoiled child.

Betsy continued clucking, straightening the delicate lace wrap around her charge's thin shoulders and securing it with a pearl brooch. "I do not understand why you will not fatten out like Jane, and you shoot up like a wild flower! All your dresses are woebegone from overuse, and in several of them you are too tall to wear!" She adjusted the lace wrap meticulously.

"But Betsy I can't help growing," replied Lizzy, in a melancholy voice, "and I'll never be as plump and pretty as Jane. Even Mama says so."

Betsy turned her attention to a stray hair that had been bold enough to leave the others. "Do not fret about you not being pretty, Little Miss," she assured her charge, "for you will be a beautiful young woman, if you cease to tan so easily and quit running about like a ruffian."

Elizabeth tapped her foot impatiently, waiting as the maid painstakingly adjusted ever aspect of her garment and toilette. A sigh escaped her lips and she hummed a tune that she had recently learnt upon the piano-forte underneath her breath.

"There!" Betsy stepped back to admire her handiwork, "oh, Little Miss, you look lovely!"

Elizabeth glanced momentarily at her reflection and shrugged. "I hope that these Darcy creatures won't all be toads." She hopped down from her position and gave her favorite servant a big hug. "You've been wonderful, Betsy. As usual." She flashed her maid a grin. "Now I'll just have to behave myself!"

Betsy watched as her young charge cheerfully departed from the room, hoping, rather than believing, that Elizabeth could escape from mischief for even the tiniest sliver of time.

"There you are child! And not a moment too soon!" Mrs. Bennet instantly seized upon Elizabeth's ear, practically dragging the poor girl into line behind Jane. "I thought you should never come down! Can't you have a little more compassion for my poor nerves?"

"If I had any more compassion, Mama, then you would be positively begging me to stop!" exclaimed Elizabeth indignantly, reclaiming her ear with a satisfied smirk.

Mrs. Bennet clucked irritably, holding a compressed handkerchief to her aching temple. "What a little ruffian have I brought up! Your father will hear of this most assuredly, Miss. Lizzy! And don't think that you're alliance with him will do you any good in this matter!"

Elizabeth sighed discontentedly as her mother straightened the disobliging shall, "Mama, if I act nicely to whosoever is in the next room, may I forgo embroidery for a week?"

Mrs. Bennet weighed the consequences in her mind, eventually deciding that such a clandestine deal would be advisable over having her daughter disgrace her in front of the Darcys'. "If you promise to behave yourself and not rant upon my poor nerves, than I suppose that is a good bargain."

Elizabeth smiled satisfactorily, her nausea over embroidery at least being able to forgo for a week. Her triumph was certainly celebratory. Poking her older sister in the back, she said, "Did I not make a wonderful treaty with Mama just then? I am sure that if I enlisted in the regiment, I could make an even better with Napoleon."

"Hush, Lizzy. Our guests will hear you! You must still your tongue if you are to maintain that pact." Jane turned to her sister, placing her finger over her lips as an example for her to close her mouth.

Elizabeth only shrugged, tapping her foot impatiently as they were admitted into the spacious drawing room. A host of people were crowded upon the settee and stark horsehair chairs; an ensemble of children waited mutely in the corner.

"Ah, here they are this instant," said Mr. Bennet, his eyes sparkling with mischief behind their steel framed lenses. "May I introduce my wife and five daughters." He smiled. "Yes, five daughters. And all silly and ignorant the lot of them. Save Lizzy, of course," he cast the second youngest a smile, avoiding his wife's seething gaze.

He turned toward a tall, teasing man with graying black locks and kindly grey eyes. "This is Mr. Darcy, an old friend. Attended Cambridge together, did we not, old fellow?"

"How could I forget a person like you, George?" was the answer, as Mr. Darcy curtly bowed to each daughter in turn. "And it's a pleasure to meet your daughters. All five of them." He and Mr. Bennet shared a smile, as if contemplating an inside joke that Mrs. Bennet did not seem to find so amusing.

A short, scrawny figure of an woman, with strawberry colored hair that had touches of grey about the roots, looked over each daughter in turn, her small, beady green eyes evidently unsatisfied.

"Allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Catherine DeBourg," began Mr. Darcy, with teasing emphasis on his sister's title. She narrowed her eyes at the introduction, very formally and coldly curtsying to Mrs. Bennet, and ignoring the daughters completely.

"Pleasure I'm sure," she said stiffly, her eyes now focusing intently on the draperies, the couch, and the chimney piece with arrogant conceit.

"This is her daughter, Anne," he said, his gaze upon a pale, sickly creature who, at that moment, had an elegant handkerchief pressed to her nose. "She and her mother have a very great resemblance, do they not?"

Lady Catherine looked extremely vexed, not sure whether to interrupt her brother's comment as a compliment or a slight.

Mr. Darcy rolled his eyes slightly, now turning to the row of children positioned like soldiers against the far wall. He motioned towards a remarkably tall, stiff looking lad of about twelve, whose looks, while strikingly handsome, were still lingering on the brooding, reclusive type. "This is my only son, Fitzwilliam. And his friend," he nodded towards a curly, light-haired boy with large blue eyes that resounded kindness, "Charles Bingley. As well as my young protégé, George Wickham," his gaze was now focused on a beguiling young boy of his son's age, with merry eyes and a transfixing smile. "My daughter's age unfortunately prevents her from being in attendance." He was referring, naturally, to his two year old daughter, Georgiana.

With the introductions having been executed to a fairly satisfying result, each person in turn took back their individual seats, the conversation lingering to an almost dull aspect, as Mr. Bennet and Mr. Darcy could not speak without being interrupted by Lady Catherine.

Elizabeth drummed her fingers together, trying desperately to avoid laughing at the obnoxious concoction upon Lady Catherine's head. A whole week without embroidery, she repeated to herself, a whole week without embroidery......

"So, Miss. Elizabeth, I hear that you are quite the little intellect," Mr. Darcy was saying. "Your father has informed me that you are currently beginning French. Is that correct?"

"Oui," replied Lizzy, in beautiful and plain French. Her accent was impeccable.

Mr. Darcy chuckled. "Quite the little impertinent you have here, George. She takes after you to an alarming degree."

"And that is a bad thing how?" was Mr. Bennet's teasing answer.

Elizabeth smiled. "I want to take after my father, Mr. Darcy. So, therefore, I take your comment as a compliment."

Here Mr. Darcy laughed heartily. "Really? Do you know how shocking that sounds?"

"I don't care what anybody thinks! I'd rather be a pirate than a ......"

"Lizzy, hold your tongue," Mrs. Bennet cast her inquisitive daughter a incensed expression, her nose flaring alarmingly.

Elizabeth sighed discontentedly, deciding that a subject change was in order. "What do you think of Napoleon?" she asked Mr. Darcy.

He frowned slightly. "I don't know what to think of him....."

"Well, naturally you wouldn't like him," replied Elizabeth for him, "since he's the enemy, after all. But you have to admit that he's fearfully clever."

Mr. Darcy was forced to coincide with the child. "I am afraid that he is rather intelligent, Miss. Bennet."

"You speak your mind very decidedly for someone so young," said Lady Catherine, who was anxious to have her share in the conversation. "Do you not realize that children should be seen and not heard?"

"Do you think that's very fair, Lady Catherine?" inquired Elizabeth, "I think it's not and you know it's not. The entire expression was most likely invented by some toad who realized that his own child's intelligence level surpassed his own."

Lady Catherine was seething with indignantly, "Why I never....."

"Cathy," her brother laid a warning hand over her silken glove as to steady her anger and channel it into a more constructive form. The sides of his lips were twitching suspiciously.

Elizabeth sullenly delved deeper into the patterned cushions of the settee, stifling a yawn, and absently blowing a strand of hair that had escaped from her chignon. She hummed a song underneath her breath and watched as the grown-ups began to discuss the weather, politics, and other subjects that neither appealed nor interested her eight-year old mind.

Her sisters, Jane, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia were behaving admirably, only twitching slightly in their cotton-printed dresses, their hair all in impeccable stature, with nary a strand out of place. Hands folded demurely in their laps, they were the epitome of childlike aptness.

Elizabeth was imminently bored. The lace shawl would not stay upon her shoulder, her dress was uncomfortable and itchy, and her hair was rapidly cascading out of its neat fixture. She frowned, the picture of unruliness, her mouth forming a sharp, downward angle.

Lady Catherine's hat was wobbling upon her tightly curled head as she fiercely contradicted her brother's statement. It was a tasteless, gaudy creation, with obnoxious orange feathers that plumed out of it tastelessly, and rolls of gauzy lime that cascaded over the razor sharp edge. Purple swirls intertwined with red spirals, and some ugly ribbon trimmed the interior shell. Altogether, it looked as if she were attempting to wear a rainbow upon her head, though, in this case, the rainbow was appallingly ugly.

Elizabeth turned her attention to the stiff statures of the boys positioned across from her. "Are you related to the king?" she asked Fitzwilliam Darcy curiously.

"No," he replied, his tone rather cold and disinterested.

Elizabeth shrugged. "And how do you know?"

"I suppose I do not. Though I am not in the habit of checking my family heritage every other day," was his stiff reply.

She laughed. "You're not very friendly, are you? It was only a kindly meant question, to induce conversation between our two parties. Like a truce between two conflicting armies." She smiled cheerfully. "Apparently you dislike alliances."

He glowered. "It is not that, Miss. Bennet. I dislike speaking with children."

"And why is that? You are not but four years my elder. That is not much of a difference."

He did not respond, so Elizabeth turned her attentions elsewhere. "And how come you, Mr. Bingley, so full of smiles and evident cheerfulness, to become Mr. Gloomy Guts' friend?"

Charles Bingley stifled his laughter at the nickname for his friend, and replied, "He is not very at ease around strangers, Miss. Lizzy. Though he is lively enough in other places."

George Wickham was quick to agree, nodding his head amiably. "Good fellow, he just doesn't like introductions."

"Well, then I feel sorry for you, Mr. Gloomy Guts, though I can't say I sympathize," Elizabeth smiled at the crimson faced lad merrily. "But, you probably do not care very much for the opinions of children."

Fortunately for the lad in question, dinner was announced as ready and his interrogation was, for the moment, suspended.

Dinner that evening was a sordid affair, as Lady Catherine spoke so much it was impossible to get a word in edgewise. It was a good dinner, though, however monotonous the conversation, and the roasted potatoes and stuffed lamb did credit to Mrs. Bennet's housekeeping.

Elizabeth, bored almost to tears by Lady Catherine's one-sided monologue, took comfort in the dinner dishes and made no disguise of her appetite, so unlike her older sister, who was eating like a bird. She gorged herself merrily on whatever was put in front of her and readily prepared for dessert.

"Have I been good, Jane?" she asked her sister between courses.

"Considerably."

"Shall Mama allow me to forgo embroidery?"

"If you continue this admirable behavior than I am sure she shall."

"Shall you be able to forgo embroidery as well?"

"I should not wish to."

"Why ever not?"

"It is a hobby that I greatly enjoy."

"It is pure torture!" Here Elizabeth exclaimed vehemently. "If Napoleon were captured and made to do it, he would surely surrender within a fortnight."

Jane did not respond, as she was nervous in company and wished to end the discussion, which was becoming increasingly noisy and might disrupt her Ladyship at the other end of the table. Jane disliked conflict intensely.

Elizabeth, realizing that debate was fruitless, returned to her dinner and crossed her eyes at Lady Catherine. Her neighbor on the left, the Wickham lad, laughed slightly, his face cheerful and sympathetic.

She turned to him abruptly, glad to have found an understanding friend amidst the tedium of dinner. "Would you like to see something interesting?"

"That would depend on what it was."

"It is something I recently learnt from Jacob, the stable boy," she replied, extracting a course woolen bag from an interior pocket of her gown, "it's an extremely clever trick, though Jacob isn't exactly a bluestocking.

"And are you?"

"No, though my sister, Mary, is," she replied, pulling a pair of tiny, worm-like strings of a transparent substance from the confines of the small bag. "These are lute strings and if you place them on a dish of food," she demonstrated by situating them on a convenient dish of potatoes, "the heat will allow them to wiggle like worms!" She watched delightedly as the strings in question began their writhing process amidst the potato platter.

"What an excellent trick!" exclaimed Wickham jubilantly, watching the worms, apparently intrigued.

Elizabeth smiled proudly. "I must confess at first I thought it quite trivial, but Jacob assured me that he experimented on his dreadfully cross Aunt Bertha, and she was superbly angry. Though, as a result, poor Jacob had to forgo dinner that evening. But he said it was well worth the astonishment on his aunt's face."

"I am sure that it was a great trick, but I declare that I think Jacob quite earned his punishment."

"Oh, naturally, but Jacob just had to see if it would really work, and Aunt Bertha is too mean for her own good."

"And how are you to be the judge of that?" asked the younger Darcy, speaking for the first time since his cross-examination by the pert eight-year old.

Elizabeth smiled. "You'll have to meet Aunt Bertha sometime. She's fearfully clever and has a moustache. One of her eyes if blue and one is green and her dog has a peg leg."

"And this makes her disagreeable how?"

"She horribly volatile and has the worst temper," exclaimed Lizzy, eager to inform, "and she's always complaining about the weather, her house, or her head. Jacob said she was once in love with the blacksmith, Mr. Hiddershins, and he married her sister, Martha, just to spite her."

"And is Martha possessed of the same temperament?"

"Oh, no! Martha is quite different. She's very sweet and bakes the most wonderful gingerbread concoctions. Sometimes I take King Richard out to see her. She adores animals."

"Who is King Richard?"

"My dog. He and Prince John are always getting into fights."

"Who is Prince John?"

"My cat. And I have a horse named Robin Hood and a turtle named Maid Marion," she informed him matter-of-factly, "though she shows not interest in poor Robin. She's a very ugly turtle."

"All turtles look the same," relied Darcy, who was obviously determined not to enjoy the conversation, though the sides of his mouth were twitching suspiciously.

"No!" she protested, "turtles are not all the same. Maid Marion is dreadfully ugly. She's very vain, though, and preens constantly. I keep her in a great blue basin in my room and take her outside every so often. Betsy's awfully frightened of her, but promised faithfully not to breathe a word about it to Mama."

"And Betsy is your....."

"Maid. And governess too, I suppose. She used to be famously rich, but her wicked brother, Johnson, gambled it all away. She's fearfully clever, though, and knows almost everything about history and arithmetic. She taught me how to play the piano and sing "Rupert of My Heart So Dear' in five languages."

"And are these all your accomplishments?"

"No, not quite. Geri, the miller's son, taught me how to spit extremely long distances, and Rosie is teaching me how to cook her famous Damson pie, and I can ride Robin Hood and beat Elton in footraces and at Bilbo-catch, and climb the maple tree all the way to the tip top."

"And who is Elton?"

"My friend. He and John and Clara and Charlotte usually come along on my adventures."

"And are they agreeable?"

"I would not be around them if they were not."

"And have you any other friends?"

"Everyone in the village, of course, and Rosie and Betsy and all of the Longbourne servants. I suppose I am friends with everyone in Hertfordshire."

"You are not friends with me," he corrected, unable to refrain from admiring the impetuous girl, so blatant and frank with her remarks.

"Oh, but I like you, even if you called me a child in the sitting room," replied Lizzy, "and I suppose that we shall have to be friends, for you won't know all the best trout streams or places for fishing without my guidance."

"And can you read?" He asked, swiftly changing the subject away from himself.

"What do you take me for? Some terrifying savage? Of course I can read."

"It was merely a question..."

"It should have been an assumption."

"Excuse my inferior knowledge."

"I'll forgive you, I suppose."

Elizabeth, in all her element, had temporarily forgotten of the wiggling worms on the potato platter. She started ,astonished, when she heard the shrill screech of Lady Catherine emit through the lofty beams of the Longbourne dining hall.

"What in the dickens is wrong!" came Mr. Darcy's worried cry, "Cathy, are you quite alright?"

"Dear me, dear me, is it the indigestion, you Ladyship?" asked Mr. Bennet, eyeing her plate with an observance, "or merely a case of worms?" He chuckled to himself, watching the noble lady herself rise up in absolute outrage.

"What insolence! To be served in this manner, to be served in such conditions! Mrs. Bennet, I do hope that you know under what circumstances I have been so disgustingly served!" She motioned with a bejeweled finger towards the wiggling creatures positioned upon her plate.

Mrs. Bennet was practically cowering in such wake. To have such a tempest when things were going so well! "Your ladyship, you must forgive us. I humbly submit my most abject apologies! Oh, my nerves!" She held a hand to her temple. "But I am so, so dearly sorry. It was surely Rosie's fault. Her wits are not with her these days. I shall dismiss her at once!"

"Is that necessary, my dear?" inquired Mr. Bennet, masking his amusement and taking a sip of his mulled wine, "are you quite sure that Rosie is the one to blame?" His eyes swept down to the end of the table where his second eldest was rapidly turning crimson.

"Incoherence! Impetuousness! Mrs. Bennet, I demand to see that serving girl herself! She deserves recrimination from the party of which she so abjectly decided to poison by such devious means! Had I not possessed such sharp eyes I would have surely perished under such provinces."

"It wasn't Rosie!" cried Lizzy, throwing down her napkin and stomping over towards that great lady herself, her eyes mixed with anger and outrage. "And those are simple lute strings. It was my fault, and no one deserves the blame but me."

"Well, well..." Mr. Bennet cast a highly amused glance at Mr. Darcy who was, under all means, now suppressing laughter.

Lady Catherine looked as though a fire breathing dragon, her hat wobbling dangerously on her grey tinted curls. "I should have expected such from someone like you."

"I shall take that as an insult, Lady Catherine," replied Elizabeth coolly, "and under the circumstances you have every right to be angry. It was a foolish action, but I must confess that it went entirely out of hand. I apologize. I can not and will not condone such behavior."

Any normal person would have immediately welcomed such a genuine apology, but Lady Catherine was so beset by embarrassment at her outburst to care. "You little fiend! Of course you meant harm to me! You and all your half-witted sisters!"

Elizabeth felt the heat rising to her face as Lady Catherine eyed poor, blushing, innocent Jane. "It was my fault alone, Lady Catherine, and I have already offered you a humble apology. The only other thing I could do would be to cut off my head and serve it to you on a silver platter. Would that do?"

Lady Catherine turned red as she heard loud, unrestrained snickers from her brother-in-law and host. "What insolence! What indecency! What impetuousness! You are gravely to be pitied."

"Perhaps I am, your Ladyship, but at least I do not subject my host and hostess to such outbursts and accept the well-intended apologies of freckled little fiends, however half-witted they may be."

"You are intolerable!"

"I suppose I am."

"What a character! You are a disgrace to your family!"

"I shall allow my family to judge me, not a guest, however noble they may be."

"Insolent girl! Headstrong, stubborn, abominable..."

"Look at the time," said Mr. Darcy, observing his watch and steadying his sister-in-law's quivering fist, "I must express my abject apologies, but we really must leave in haste. The boys need to retire early if they are intent upon trout fishing tomorrow." He whispered a polite apology to Elizabeth and many thanks to his host and hostess, before issuing out the entire party in haste. Lady Catherine's loud complaints could still be overheard over the clatter of the Darcy carriage as it exited the drive.

Elizabeth was immediately lit upon, her mother calling her all sorts of abominable names, not allowing her any dessert, and promising that she would sew a church alter cloth so long that it would stretch from England all the way to the wild exotics of Asia.

And so ended the Darcy dinner party.

Elizabeth was punished, and heavily too. Mrs. Bennet was an expert prison matron, her own mortification at the dinner incident to make her immune to Elizabeth's earnest pleas, and she was unmerciful and unrelenting in her task to make sure that her daughter completed the most heinous of tasks, among other things, embroidery, etiquette, and eloquence.

The week that passed for Elizabeth was pure and constant torture, a monotonous reign of terror for the poor eight-year-old. She would sit in her favorite window spot, pricking her finger with the needle, and watching as her friends clambered down the old familiar lane towards the maple and horse chestnut trees, unable to join them. Such a prison was unendurable!

But, as Betsy quoted constantly, all good must delve from evil, and a week later found Elizabeth roaming her familiar territory in high spirits, happy to discover that Aunt Bertha was as mean as ever, Elton had looked after Robin Hood, and Clara had been kind enough to save her a fresh baked gingerbread cookie.

It was not until a fortnight later that she became reacquainted with the Netherfield party.

It was a sunny Monday morning, and Elizabeth and her 'groupe' were down at Browning Pond, a small expanse of water that could hardly be referred to as a puddle, plotting a pirate attack amongst the sweet mulberry brush and blackberry vine.

"I won't be a pirate!" Clara was arguing intently, the ribbon in her hair dangerously close to falling out, "I want to be a beautiful princess who is rescued from you horrid pirates by a knight in shining armor!"

Elizabeth sighed, agitated. "Have you no common sense, Clara? Princesses are annoying and noisy. You shall distract us from our heinous duties by your constant pleas for assistance. Save yourself. Be a pirate."

"Lizzy!" she cried, scrunching her face in preparation for an onslaught of tears, "I shan't be a pirate! Don't make me be a pirate! Please, don't!"

Elizabeth sighed, catching the eye of Charlotte, who silently nodded. There was little they could do but allow little Clara the occupation she chose. "Alright," sighed Elizabeth in defeat, "you may be a princess. But you'll have to be a mute princess."

Clara nodded excitedly, deciding a mute princess was better than a pirate any day. Her glossy straw curls bounced excitedly as she collected flowering blackberry blooms to lace through her ribbon.

With that resolved, Elizabeth turned to her other comrades. "Our duties are numerous, oh fearsome tribe, and we must overtake any travelers who happen our way!" She shot an irritated glance at Elton, who was snickering complacently. "What on earth is so funny?" she asked, her play act forgotten in the curiosity over what was making her fellow pirate so giddy.

"Nothing," he replied, his snickering now elevated towards laughter. "Just, you! Imagine, Elizabeth Bennet heading a group of pirates! It's a novel idea, is it not?"

Elizabeth looked intensely irritated. "You needn't make such a joke of it, Elton Clavering. I'm a much better pirate than you'll ever be!"

"What a joke!"

"I don't think it's very funny. Why must you always contradict my authority?"

Elton smiled quizzically. "Because I'm older, smarter, and I'm a man. That makes me superior over you."

"You're not a man, Elton! And you're only a year older than I. That doesn't make you any better, so get down off your high horse and......"

There was a rustling in the far clump of willow trees.

"Quick!" exclaimed Elizabeth, glad that the immense underbrush of the interlacing mulberry and blackberry vine disguised their appearance. "Travelers are wandering through these parts! Man your positions, men... and women! We must prepare for attack!" She crouched low, motioning for her excited groupe to do the same.

Whoever was on the other side could not be distinguished; Lizzy motioned for her tribe to get ready. "On the count of three we shall attack," she said, in a soft whisper, one... two...three!" Elizabeth bounded from the underbrush, not caring that her dress caught and ripped at the prickly blackberry bushes, a loud whoop escaping from her lips, and her right hand raised high in the air. Behind her, Elton, John, Charlotte, and even frightened Clara, followed behind, their faces pale but animated.

Another whoop resounded through the air, but it passed Elizabeth's lips as a strangled whisper when she caught sight of the unsuspecting traveler's identity.

"Hello, Miss. Bennet," said Charles Bingley pleasantly, as if encounters with yelling little girls were events that occurred every afternoon, "wonderful day is it not? Would you care to introduce us to your friends?"

Behind him stood the Darcy lad and the Wickham boy, both having amused expressions written across their faces, both apparently concealing snickers to ill effect. Elizabeth sniffed indignantly, but continued her façade.

"Who is this Miss. Bennet you speak of?" she asked, circling the boys and motioning for her comrades to follow, "I am no Miss. Bennet, I am the dreaded pirate Blonde Beard from the East Indies, come to ransack England and cause dismay wherever and whenever I please!"

"I think it is Black Beard," said Darcy, his lips curving into a rare smile, "and I do not believe...."

Elizabeth held up her hand. "So we have a talkative prisoner, have we not, lads? Save your intellect for the prison, Conrad, for I have no use of it now!"

"So you are not going to run your swords through us then?"

"I have no use of dead bodies! What good are they? Besides, I only run my swords through those who are cross and disagreeable, and I suppose that you all will surpass." She smirked smugly. "Tie them to the chestnut tree, Sir Wilkinson," she was referring to the alias of Elton, "and allow them no mercy. They shall stay here as long as I wish."

"My aunt is still fuming over your trick," said Darcy, kindly submitting to being tied to the chestnut tree, "she is absolutely in outrage. Such conduct is rarely, if ever, seen."

"You're aunt is a toad," replied Elizabeth, excuse me, the dreaded pirate Blonde Beard, "and she ought to have accepted my apology. I am sorely offended. First chance I receive I shall go and ransack her."

"She is rather.... disagreeable."

"Rather? I should say very. I'm sorry you have to be related to her."

"Not in a good mood, are we? Is your conscience irking you about tying us to a tree?"

"No, I was merely contemplating lunch. I'm hungry."

"We had packed a large lunch. If you untie us we'll gladly share."

Elizabeth smirked. "Trying to escape, eh? What a smooth talker you are, Conrad. No, I shall not untie you, but, now that you so kindly mention it, will partake of your lunch." She ventured over to where Charles had earlier dropped a large wicker basket, peering in to discover cold chicken, beaten biscuits, and a hearty serving of pie. She smiled delightedly. "What an excellent feast! Certainly fit for us pirates."

"Are you really going to insist and eat that in front of us?" inquired Wickham anxiously, watching as she untied the neat gingham towels that protected the food, placing it upon the plates that were also provided. "Are you indeed in earnest to do that?" He wiggled against his position on the tree.

"Do not over exert yourself," said Elizabeth pleasantly, "I, of course, shall give you the remainder of which that we do not want. Pirates, naturally, deserve the best." She situated herself beside Charlotte and spread out the banquet on a convenient rock. "Enjoy yourselves, prisoners. We are about to partake of your dinner."

And she did, amply filling herself until there was only a meager portion for the boys, which Elton allowed them to eat, untying their hands, but not their feet. Elizabeth watched with queenly grace, perched upon the rock and observing each captive as he ate.

"You are very generous," said Darcy sarcastically as he completed his lunch and was promptly retied to the tree, "most gracious to share our lunch with us."

Elizabeth smiled teasingly. "You are most certainly welcome. My compliments to the cook. Tell her that it is not often she gets the honor of serving pirates."

"I am sure she will be most heartily delighted."

Elizabeth removed her shoes and dipped her feet into the cool water. "I am sure she shall."

"How is Aunt Bertha?"

"Tolerably well. She is as nastily mean as ever, which endears her to me even more. She chased me out of her yard with a broom yesterday eve, and I was only endeavoring to pay a friendly call."

"Perhaps your idea of friendly does not match up with hers?"

"Perhaps not, though I can't see why. I didn't mean to throw the ball of mud, it simply slipped from my fingers." Elizabeth smiled mischievously. "And, naturally, she was inflamingly angry. Poor old bat, I'd feel sorry for her, if I wasn't so delighted that she's mean."

"At least you are honest."

"Honesty is the best virtue, or so quote Betsy. She is very sharp about those things, you know?"

"Is she?" Darcy smiled, evidently enjoying the banter, despite the fact that he was tied to a tree. "And do you agree?"

"Yes, I do. Betsy is very intelligent, and I respect and admire her opinion. You should too, you know."

"Oh, yes, I know very well."

"And she and Rosie get along capitally, though sometimes Rosie is a bit quick with her tongue; she gossips constantly, and sometimes Bertha, the laundress, will join in with them. They frequently gather round and discuss county affairs while shelling peas. If I'm lucky, sometimes I can snatch a few."

"So a pirate as well as a thief?"

"Well, they were our peas anyway. We grew them in our garden. I have my own garden to care for. Our gardener, Thomas Land, tells me I have quite the green thumb. Poor Thomas is woebegone with grief."

"Why ever is that?"

"Because he has too many children. Sometimes he gets their names confused. I know all of them, he named them after the Bible, you know. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and then there's Mary, Anna, and Hannah. Not so many, I suppose, but still, they ache on his nerves frequently."

"And what do you grow in your garden?"

"Lots of things, rosemary, basil, and the most glorious snapdragons! And Jane helps me tend to my lilies and then there's the lovely Queen Anne's lace, and ever so many other kinds. If you weren't my prisoner, then I should take you to see it."

"Shall I be your prisoner forever?"

"No, just until the sun sets and I have to go home for supper. Then I shall have to set you and Wickham and Bingley loose."

"And so we shall be tied up here all afternoon?"

"I'm afraid so, though I don't think you'll faint or anything. Once John accidentally locked me in an abandoned cottage for two days, and I wasn't a bit frightened."

"No, you seem the sort of girl who wouldn't be frightened of anything."

"You had better mind your manners, Conrad, or I shall run my sword through you, and then what will you have to say." Elizabeth smirked. "Nothing."

"I shall shut my mouth immediately."

"Good, for I am tired." She turned towards Elton. "I am going to lay on this rock and nap, Sir. Wilkinson. Take heed that you look after our prisoners. I would not wish them to become relieved of their," here she smiled triumphantly, "bonds." Elton nodded his approval, smile tugging at his lips as he relieved Elizabeth of her guard duties. He positioned himself at their tree prison, allowing her to stretch gracefully and recline against the rock, soon losing herself into a gentle slumber, having succumbed from the bounties of the Darcy dinner. But, unfortunately, ropes are easy to become untied, and Elizabeth would soon awake to a dreadful surprise......

Elizabeth was awakened by the sharp, obtuse, irregular chuckle of a threesome. Her head ached from the rock's hard surface, and her hands were suspiciously limp and for some odd reason she could not move them freely....

"So, our prisoner has awaken."

She blinked twice in the blinding sunlight of the climax of afternoon, taking in the first glimpses of the woodland area. She bolted upright immediately, only to discover that her legs were tied too. "What on earth!" she exclaimed, looking around until she caught sight of Darcy, Bingley, and Wickham, all crowded round her. "Where have the others gone?"

Wickham smiled roguishly. "We dismissed them. We wanted to extract our revenge only upon the leader. Apparently they were more your puppets than accomplices."

"I'm awfully sorry, Miss. Bennet," apologized Bingley, obviously the torn party member, "are those ropes to uncomfortable? Shall I loosen them a bit...."

"Goodness gracious! If you capture me you should do it in the proper manner!" exclaimed Elizabeth, apparently agitated by the change of circumstances. "And that does not include asking after your captive's health and well-being. What next, Mr. Bingley, shall you offer me a knife and your horse for escape?"

Bingley blushed, stepping back so that he could no longer be observed by the apparently enflamed Elizabeth.

"We're sorry to have awaken your nap," replied Darcy with a dry smile, "but, after all, we can not be too considerate as to our prisoner's well-fare. Are you uncomfortable?"

"Quite."

"Excellent. Then we shall begin your torture directly."

"And, may I be so bold, what exactly is that?"

"You are going to meet my father."

Elizabeth was indignant. "What! Meet your father! Absolutely not. Put me down at once! I am not going to meet anyone of your.... this is absolute outrage!" She was set upon a makeshift stretcher in a flurry of anger. "At least I was going to be kind enough as to release you."

"Yes, you were very considerate," replied her captor, "alright, Wickham, Bingley, lift. No, you're not very heavy are you?"

Elizabeth did not respond.

"Well, at least you won't shriek your head off."

"I was being kind enough to save you the trouble of having to stick a bandana over my mouth."

"Thank you, gracious lady."

"I am an adept prisoner, I suppose."

"Naturally. You have had much experience in such a field."

"Yes, I suppose I have. Though, usually, I am the one conducting the kidnapping. My mama will be quite livid, you understand."

"Not when she realizes that you have dined at Netherfield Hall."

"I wouldn't eat with you for all the money in the world. And I won't meet your father, your aunt....."

"Then perhaps we should just lock you in the cottage and forget about you."

"I am not an easy person to forget."

"No, unfortunately, you're not." They were going through an open field now, and Elizabeth could see the remainder of the villagers going home to dinner. Deciding that such a distance was not easy to shout, Lizzy resigned herself to the fate of being carried.

"There goes your friends. Are they in easy distance of hearing?"

"Don't you think if they were I would have called for them?"

"I was only asking."

"You must think me a simpleton. Just because you are wealthy and live in a large home doesn't make you any more intelligent than me."

"You're completely and utterly correct."

"It is actually quite nice being escorted like this. You should capture me more often."

"I shall consider that for future plans."

Elizabeth laughed. "Yes, you certainly should. You are an interesting character, Darcy."

"More so than you?"

"Oh, I'm not interesting at all. Mind that bump there. I'm not very pretty or accomplished, and the only lady-like thing I'm good at is the piano-forte."

"I like you how you are; the dreaded pirate Blonde Beard who only runs swords through people if they are cross and disagreeable."

"Well, yes, I suppose that when I am the dreaded pirate Blonde Beard, than perhaps I am a small bit better. But I'm more interested in climbing trees and reading books about Robin Hood and William the Conqueror and Caesar than I am about lady lessons."

"Then perhaps you should cut off your hair and run and join the regiment."

"That is a possibility I have considered. Then I wouldn't have to do a thing Mama commanded. That sounds very agreeable to me."

They were now walking through Farmer Gregory's fields, and Elizabeth kindly informed them that he was a great drunk and would most likely put his dogs on them if he discovered their trek. With that in mind, they promptly switched to a shaded avenue.

"Have you any sisters or brothers?" inquired Elizabeth, returning the their principal conversation.

"I have a sister, Georgiana, who is two years of age."

"And does she aggravate you constantly?"

"I rarely see her, she has Nanny Craig to look after her, as well as her governess, Miss. Grantham."

"I have four sisters, as you know, and they're all aggravating; except Jane that is. She's very calm and kind and sweet. And she's very pretty. Mama adores Jane." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "And then there's Mary; quite the bluestocking too. She reads all day long, and not exciting books about the New World and Christopher Columbus, but dull things like poets and other effects." Elizabeth sighed, plucking a leaf from a tree overhead. "And then there is Kitty, who is quite empty-headed as they come, and Lydia, who is, even at six, as vain as a peacock. Have you ever seen a peacock, Darcy?"

"Yes. At my father's friend's estate, peacocks belong to their menagerie."

"They must be very wealthy to be able to upkeep a menagerie. Have they traveled the world?"

"Yes, Sir Ralph Evans has traveled, and still travels, the world frequently. He and his son, Fabian, are interesting people."

"Fabian! What a name. Has he any other children?"

"No. Sir Evans has no other children."

Elizabeth sighed as she saw the approaching Netherfield Bridge. "Another quarter of a mile until I reach my doom."

"You needn't sound so gloomy about it; my father is an excellent speaker. He has been wishing to get to meet you again. To congratulate you on bringing down Lady Catherine's pride a notch."

"I daresay she deserved it."

"There is no question of that." Darcy repositioned the stretcher on his shoulder and waved to a liveried guard, who was waiting just at the outskirts of the large iron gate. "Hullo there! We need a little help."

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and said coldly, "I could get down, you know, if you would allow me some freedom."

"And let you run like lightning towards home? I think not." The liveried guard was now at their position, panting from his short run, as he was a chubby, porky sort of person with a flushed red face and beefy legs.

"You called, sir?"

"Please escort this young lady to Nanny Craig. Make sure that she is taken care of properly and not allowed to leave."

"Is this all, sir?"

"Inform my father and the cook that we shall be having a dinner guest."

"Very good, sir." Without a word or question, the chubby guard assisted Elizabeth down from the stretcher and proceeded to take her past the gate, through the emerald lawn, and up to the back door of the grand estate. Elizabeth had always been intrigued by the place, and was secretly delighted she would have an excuse to explore, though of course she wasn't going to relate that aloud.

They were passing through the kitchens now, down a darkened hallway, and into an arched door. Then they were ascending up cool, flagstone steps, into yet another series of halls until the guard paused at a small, mahogany door.

He knocked four times, and waited patiently until it was answered, by a tall, reed thin woman with ash colored hair pulled sharply into a harsh bun atop her head. She was wearing spectacles and looked very foreboding. Elizabeth wasn't frightened.

"Yes?" she said, in a voice that was low and smooth.

"Mr. Darcy informed me that you were see to this young lady's garment. She is a dinner guest this evening."

"I am not a maid," replied Nanny Craig sharply, eyeing Elizabeth with distaste.

"I am sorry, ma'am, but it was orders, and I will be leaving now." He exited quickly, before the woman could offer any more argument.

"Am I to come in or sit out here all evening?" inquired Elizabeth, "I am sorry to intrude, but that Darcy fellow betook his revenge and captured me, and now I am to be put to torture and have to eat with them."

"I would hardly call that torture," replied Nanny Craig, submitting and allowing Elizabeth to enter her apartments. "They are quite civilized."

"That is why it is torture."

"Well, I can certainly decipher that you're a ruffian."

"Naturally."

"And where do you hail from?"

"Longbourne."

"And what is your age?"

"I am eight years old."

"And what am I to do with you?"

"Suppose you tell me about yourself."

Nanny Craig laughed dryly. "Suppose we get you attired in a more fitting trousseau." She ruffled through her wardrobe until she found a simple, white muslin gown with peacock blue embroidery.

"However did you come into possession of that?"

"It is my little girls," replied Nanny Craig, "she lives here with me. Right now she is still in lessons with Mrs. Grantham."

"She is lucky to have lessons," replied Elizabeth, allowing her dress to be changed for the pretty muslin one. "Though she shall most likely be angered that I am wearing her dress."

"No. Drusilla is very considerate about those things."

"How old is she?"

"She is ten."

"Only two years my elder. Perhaps we might be friends."

"Perhaps."

"Has she a brother?"

"Yes, her brother's name is Joshua, and he currently is employed in the stables."

Nanny Craig began to dress Elizabeth's unruly hair, and the poor girl submitted to the strenuous task of unfurling its many tangles. "You're hair, child! What a state!"

"I am sorry. But it is rather difficult to take care of one's hair when one is a pirate."

"Are you a pirate?" asked Nanny Craig, the sides of her mouth twitching.

"I am. A pirate who, unhappily, has lost his ship. I am a very morose pirate."

"Naturally. I am sorry that you have lost your ship. Perhaps you shall find it again some day."

"Perhaps, but, until that glorious time, I must make due with the confines of land."

Nanny Craig began to plait Elizabeth's hair, gingerly working around the millions of knots. "Have you a governess, Elizabeth?"

"Unfortunately, no. Papa cannot afford one, though he gives me every opportunity of learning in his library."

"Hmm.." Nanny Craig proceeded to assist Elizabeth in donning some of her daughter's polished shoes.

"Shall I get to meet Drusilla today, do you think?"

"Well, here she comes now."

The door was opened by a small, slender girl with large, opaque, coal-black eyes and raven hair as dark as midnight. She had a heart-shaped face, tanned skin, and the air of a frightened, meek lamb. Altogether she was a very handsome child, though her timid air was not becoming. "Hello, Mama," she said quietly, her eyes taking in Elizabeth, who was perched upon a wooden chair.

"So you are Drusilla!" said Elizabeth pleasantly, hopping from her seat to go and shake the older girls hand enthusiastically. "I was hoping to get to see you and thank you for the loan of your dress."

"You're welcome," replied she, rather astonished by the younger girls confident, brash manner.

Nanny Craig was smiling slightly. "Drusilla is not one for elongated speech, Elizabeth. But, if you'll sit down to a cup of tea before your grand dinner with the Darcys', then I am sure that she will gladly tell you all about her lessons."

Drusilla was smiling slightly, going to help her mother prepare three pretty China cups for Elizabeth's enjoyment. The tea was boiled, sugar and milk added, and the threesome had an enjoyable conversation for about a half hour until the chubby guard came back and requested Elizabeth's presence in the dining hall.

She went without fuss, her blue eyes snapping, and her brain prepared with an onslaught of excuses and reprimands.....

Chapter Two

The Netherfield Hall was a large, lofty apartment, drafty; to be expected in such a large establishment. The floor was a rough hewn flagstone, worn with age, though considerably smooth, and cinder beams of a deep maple hue crisscrossed overhead in undiluted fashion. The walls were a dark tinted stone, lined with ancient tapestries forever enshrouded in dust (however much Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper, attempted to be rid of it) and at certain intervals a torch or two would appear, the candlelight casting the furnishings in an odd, eerie fashion. Altogether it appeared to be a room straight from the pages of a Gothic romance, the same macabre charm passed down through the ages. Elizabeth loved it.

Her entrance into the dining room was noticeable; a tall, lanky figure with snapping blue eyes and a stubbornly set head of rustled brown curls. She walked to the polished mahogany great table as if an ancient crusader about to enter battle against the rough evils of the world; that same, jet set determination evidently clear.

The other participants were already seated, but rose gallantly upon her arrival, propriety remembered even for a dreaded pirate. Elizabeth noted the splendor of the table settings, and received her hosts regally, coolly, and in an abrupt business type fashion. Mr. Darcy was evidently amused.

"I see that Miss. Bennet has decided to grace us with her presence?"

"Seeing as how I have no other choice, I suppose that it is the only alternative," replied Elizabeth, accepting the wing backed chair that was offered to her, "I am, after all, a prisoner here until you see fit to return me to my rightful home."

"And that shall be at my command?"

"Unless you allow your prisoners to take command for you, than I suppose it is." Elizabeth knew she was being impertinent, but she did not care. Her situation was unusual, and she decided that the social graces her mother failed so constantly to endbrain upon her memory were not worth the undertaking, even for such noble a man.

Mr. Darcy's eyes twinkled. "Do you care for lamb, Miss. Bennet?"

"It is the dread pirate, Blonde Beard, to you, Father," replied his son amusedly, apparently taking great enjoyment for baiting the already greatly agitated Elizabeth.

"Hunger seasons all food," she replied, addressing Mr. Darcy and ignoring his son, " and you may call me Elizabeth, as Blonde Beard is an awfully long name and so dreadfully dull to have to repeat over and over again."

"Very well then. Elizabeth it is."

A servant in liveried uniform approached the table bearing a great encrusted pitcher filled with water, which he promptly began pouring into each table member's glass. Elizabeth watched him with interest, as his movements were all very mechanical and precise.

"I must apologize on my sister-in-law's behalf, a headache, unfortunately, prevents her from the pleasure of your company."

"My company is hardly pleasurable, and I must admit that you have condemned yourself to a very undesirable dinner partner," Elizabeth sipped at her water, and watched eagerly as two other liveried servants began to fill the party's plates with lamb and mutton.

Mr. Darcy smiled. "My son would not have kidnapped you had not your company been pleasant, Elizabeth."

"Your son had ought not to have kidnapped me in the first place."

"You forget, it was you who captured us," replied Wickham, who had, until that point, been unusually quiet.

"Anyway," replied Elizabeth icily, "you have now prevented me from going home to milk the cows with Jared and help Rosie in the kitchen. She is awfully gullible, you know, and talks to much for her own good. She has probably forgotten the pea soup and let it boil over, and without me to take up for her, Mama will go on a rampage."

"I am very sorry for Rosie," replied Mr. Darcy, "though, I am afraid, she will just have to forgo the enjoyment a while."

"And then Betsy shall be quite livid because I am not with her to dust the upstairs rooms. We always dust on Wednesdays, and I am quite past due. I shall send her and her complaints to you, if you please."

"Send away."

"And then I always assist Kitty with her letters in the evenings, and who will tell stories to Sophie, Julia, and Robin?"

"Are they your siblings?"

"No, they're Betsy's children. I always tell them the most glorious stories before bed. Betsy chides me often, because they give them nightmares, but, as I always say, what doesn't kill you always makes you stronger."

"A just sentiment."

"And now I am gone," replied Elizabeth, evidently enjoying the attention, "Mama shan't have anyone to console with her about her nerves and Jane will be quite beside herself because she is fearful of the dark, and Papa will be quite fed up with Mama and I won't get to read his newspaper to him."

"Do you enjoy the newspaper?"

"Yes. It is the highlight of the evening, reading the newspaper with Papa. He always makes the funniest comments about Napoleon and such."

"Napoleon, Napoleon, Napoleon, that silly old scoundrel."

"How long must I be your prisoner?" inquired Elizabeth, as a plate of creamy soup and chives was placed before her, "for I must admit, I should like to do some exploring of Netherfield before my imprisonment is released. And I daresay that I would like to learn more about Drusilla Craig and her mother."

"Mrs. Craig is a very well-educated, genteel woman. Drusilla is quite like her."

"Yes, she reminds me of a gypsy. Have you ever met a gypsy, Mr. Darcy?"

"No, I haven't had that pleasure."

"They're extraordinary odd creatures. Once they encamped near Longbourne Forest, and I went out to visit them, and they told my fortune. I can't remember, because I was so young, but they said something about, oh, never mind. And, anyway, I decided then that I would like to be a gypsy, but Papa said he would rather have me be a sailor, and I decided not to run away."

"I'm glad you did not run away, or we would not have had the satisfaction of your company this evening."

"Well, anyway, the next morning they were gone off like that and I was quite angry, because I wasn't very sure if I shouldn't have liked to have gone off with them. But then who would read Papa his newspaper?"

"Indeed, who would?"

"Have you any dogs or cats or horses or turtles, Mr. Darcy?"

"We have stables, and Fitzwilliam has a dog or two."

Elizabeth completed her soup ceremoniously and watched with interest as it was promptly exchanged for another dish. "Are your servants always so quick?"

"They are, quite excellent."

Here the servant in question blushed appreciatively.

"And have you many servants? I have counted at least twenty now, and I don't know how I'll be able to remember all of their names."

"We employ forty servants here and a hundred at Pemberley."

Elizabeth refrained from her jaw opening. "One hundred servants! Why ever would you need that many? Can't you take care of your self?"

Coming from any other person, this would be taken as an insult, but from the lips of inquisitive Elizabeth it was merely a well founded question. Mr. Darcy was subsequently amused. "Yes, one hundred servants, Miss. Bennet." He motioned for Elizabeth's goblet to be refilled. "And a faithful group, the lot of them."

"I should not wish to have any servants at all, save Betsy for company. Pirates are too busy commanding their crew to command servants." Elizabeth picked at her lamb and mutton, her appetite forgotten temporarily.

"Betsy must be a authentic old soul, content with her situation in life."

"No, she is not happy or content, though she is quite authentic. She is still quite woebegone from wicked Johnson's gambling the family fortune away. She was intent on having her great-grandmother's diamond earrings, but they had to be sold with the estate and the carriages."

"I feel very sorry for her, and very angry at Johnson."

"I met him once, when Betsy brought him over one Saturday. He was a very ugly man, and he spit and smoked and swore and drank. Mama was furious at me for staying down there with him. Though he did have some very colorful language."

"I must admit, you are quite observant."

"And then Betsy got very angry at him, for he spilt some beer upon her freshly laundered handkerchiefs, and she chased him from the kitchen with a broom. That was the last I saw of Johnson."

"He seems very inconsiderate."

"Which is what makes him so interesting. You must admit, bad people are so much more interesting than good people, though they're not admirable at all. You want to be a good person but you are a bad person. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly."

"I tried to explain it to Mama, but she just complained about her head and refused to listen to anymore. Mama is very ill most of the time. I believe she spends more time in bed than outdoors adventuring. Perhaps that is why she is so disagreeable."

"Perhaps."

"And I don't know why Papa married her. They're quite different, you know. Papa is so clever and funny. Mama is just.... Well, perhaps I had better not describe her for you. The only good thing I can say about her is that she is home every afternoon."

"Your father is certainly a character."

"Oh yes, I know. I'm his favorite, you see. He makes no disguise of it. Perhaps it's because I'm so rebellious of Mama's command. He wanted a boy, and so I guess I'm the closet substitute. I learn all kinds of things from his library, and he lets me choose whatever I wish. It is quite different with Jane, you see, she is so pretty and kind and submissive. Naturally she and Lydia are Mama's favorites."

"And do you enjoy being your Papa's favorite?"

"It is much more interesting than being Mama's. She is quite desolate, you know, about us being so poor. She rants and raves all the time about how horrible Papa is. And sometimes I mock her behind her back, and I know that is bad, but it makes Papa laugh, and goodness knows, he rarely does that anymore."

"I'm sure your Mama means well."

"Not at all. The only thing she means well in is for us to marry rich people, and since Jane is by far the prettiest, that task will get to fall on her. More luck to her, I say. I've offered several times for her to join my pirate crew and swab the decks, but she tells me that she would rather marry. For love. A whole bunch of hogwash, I say, and Elton and John agree."

"She seemed very kind and gentle upon my first impression. Is she always that way?"

"Yes. Always. She hasn't an ounce of gumption in her, though. But I do love her. She's my favorite sister. None of the other ones are worth a second thought."

"Perhaps it is just a phase they are in."

"I highly doubt it. They have been that way since birth, if not before." Elizabeth gazed thoughtfully at the occupants of the table. "How long did you know my father, Mr. Darcy? Were you good friends at Cambridge?"

The noble gentleman was not dissuaded by the rapid change of subjects. "Yes, we were the best of friends, along with your uncle Gardiner, my brother-in-law, Lord Matlock, and a few others. Those were the excellent days, with little care in the world, save the occasional lesson."

"Cambridge must have been so much fun. I wish that I could go."

"Perhaps you shall. It would be twice as agreeable as becoming a pirate, and easier too, especially for someone with a mind as quick as yours."

"I'm going," said the younger Darcy, piping up from his position near Bingley, "and so are Wickham and Bingley. Wickham is to be a rector."

"Are you? We have a rector near Longbourne, at Longbourne Church. He is very agreeable and teaches wonderful sermons. He is young too, and plays Bilbo-catch every so often with the children of the glen."

Wickham blushed hotly. "I never said that I was too...."

"But of course you are!" exclaimed the host, his eyes twinkling, "it is my express wish, as it seems an occupation dully to suit you." He set down his napkin and motioned toward a portly servant with a wig askew.

The lamb and mutton were replaced by a chocolate crêpe iced with a raspberry glazing and a spiced apple cider served with a heaping of cinnamon. Elizabeth's hunger was once more regained, and she ate it ravenously, while still maintaining the ever amusing dialogue of her past escapades. And thus the party were entertained for another half hour until Mr. Darcy exclaimed at the time, and sent round for the carriage, as he could no longer detain the prisoner.

And so, Elizabeth, in her borrowed finery, was escorted merrily towards the grand carriage being lent, and implored, most genuinely, to return as soon as she could. Mr. Darcy was truly fond of her lively conversation, she seemed an excellent companion for his childish company, and overall was the sort of person who was rarely found, her brash, carefree manners uncultivated by the tedium of society.

And that is how Elizabeth became a frequent visitor to Netherfield Hall.

The day after Lizzy's infamous dinner at Netherfield Hall dawned clear and gorgeous; a lovely sun-dappled morning without the slightest hint of a rain shower. Elizabeth arose, refreshed and rejuvenated, with an entire list of events that required accomplishment. She dressed herself hurriedly, splashed at her face, and slipped down the back stairwell as light as a fairy.

Rosie was singing in the early morning sunlight that filtered through the kitchen windows, absently stirring a wooden bowl of corn meal. She smiled at Elizabeth's entrance, tossing her an apron and a spoon.

"You may look after the servant's meal," she told her cheerfully, still humming slightly as she mechanically stirred at the bowl, "and be careful not to burn anything."

Elizabeth laughed slightly. "As if I ever would." She clambered over to the large iron grate and promptly began stirring the oatmeal that would be the mutual breakfast master and servant alike would share. It sizzled merrily in the copper pot, its steamy aroma filling Lizzy's nose and spreading pleasantly throughout the kitchen.

"Where were you last night, Little Miss?" asked Rosie, completing her tune with an exaggerated flourish and pouring the corn meal into a flat pan.

Elizabeth tucked back a loose strand of hair and laughed dryly. "I was captured by a fellow pirate, sped away on a makeshift raft, and forced to endure the tortures of etiquette at the hands of my captors."

"And these elegant captors with their tortuous manners were?"

Elizabeth laughed again. "Mr. Darcy and his son."

"Mr. Darcy and his son?" exclaimed Rosie with righteous confusion. "Do you mean to tell me you dined at Netherfield Hall?" Her raised eyebrows cast her wrinkled face in lines of bewilderment, lending her a comical air.

Elizabeth stifled a laugh, her face rosy from the rising heat of the oatmeal kettle. "Yes, Rosie, dear. And don't look so surprised. Do you really think I'm to much of a ruffian to dine with sophisticated gentlemen as the Darcys'?"

Rosie, conquering her surprise, clucked nosily. "La! No! Why you're every bit as accomplished and fine as them folk, though you just don't act it."

"But I do try," replied Elizabeth, a hint of a sparkle in her eyes, "even though it doesn't always work."

"You mean never works," replied Rosie, sarcastically.

Elizabeth smiled broadly, "I suppose I'm a bit uninterested when it comes to proper behavior." The oatmeal began to bubble nosily, and Lizzy promptly stirred it. A pinch of cinnamon, a dash of salt, and a smidgeon of sugar was added; the luxury of cream was only allotted to the master and his family.

"You and that Darcy lad get along then?" inquired Rosie, her eyebrows raised slightly, "I've heard tale that he's a proud, arrogant sort of creature. You remember when they came here to dine? He said hardly a word together. Odd for his age."

Elizabeth shrugged. "He's different once he's away from everyone else; I guess you could say he can be sarcastic and amusing. Dear me, Rosie, I really don't know."

Rosie laughed. "Well, it'll be good for you to have a friend other than those hooligans, John and Elliot or Elmer or whatsoever."

"It's Elton," corrected Lizzy teasingly, "and they're not hooligans, they're merely immature for their ages."

Rosie sighed, clucking over her cornmeal and muttering about the 'hooligans' under her breath.

Lizzy, a smile still on her features, continued to stir her oatmeal, adding gruel to the fire every so often to keep it lit. Outside she could distantly here the chirping of blue jays and mockingbirds, and combined with the gentle crackling of the fireplace it made a merry morning tune.

Rosie, now in the process of mincing some apples, glanced over her shoulder at her young charge fondly, watching as she intently stirred the oatmeal. Not an arrogant bone in her body. She said to herself, smiling. Though she might be a mite stubborn and strong-willed. As willing to help a poor old body like me as any.

The heavy kitchen latch was lifted and Gerald, the stable boy, entered, carrying a bucket of fresh milk. He was a heavy lad, built for harsh work, with sandy colored hair and green eyes. He smiled kindly at Rosie and ruffled Elizabeth's hair appreciatively.

"Do I merit a reading lesson after breakfast?" he asked, setting his heavy burden on a polished counter. "Have you time?" Poor Gerald was considered rather 'dumb' by all the village boys, as at sixteen he could neither read nor write. Elizabeth had been giving him lessons for the past fortnight, and instead of being embarrassed by being tutored by an eight-year-old, however clever she was, he was immensely grateful. At that point in time they were learning by the Bible, but Elizabeth promised that when he became skilled they would adjourn to other works.

Elizabeth returned his smile. "I always have time, Gerald. Sophie is to join us today, too. Rosie said it was time she learnt."

Rosie nodded from her position at the mincing board. "Never hurt a girl to get some book-learning. Wish I had when I was her age." She blushed at her inability to read and write. Elizabeth had generously offered many times before, but Rosie was too proud to accept.

Bertha and Betsy entered, aprons starched to perfection and calico dresses freshly laundered. "Morning Lizzy, Rosie, Gerald," they said, yawns catching their speech. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Wednesday's in summer are always lovely," replied Elizabeth dreamily, gazing out at the flower-dotted landscape with its clumps of lavender bushes and climbing honeysuckle.

Bertha giggled. At seventeen she was a pretty creature, with curly raven hair and sweet chocolate eyes. "Maybe today Ralph will finally propose!"

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch," replied Rosie sternly, tossing the minced apples into yet another bowl. "That Ralph boy is as gullible as a fish. He will do whatever his father tells him too."

Bertha giggled again, but this time it held a note of alarm. "Ralph and I will make an excellent couple and old man Diggings knows it." She nudged Betsy. "Doesn't he?"

"La! Why ask an old bird like me?" exclaimed Betsy, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. She walked briskly over to Rosie's position and promptly rolled up her sleeves to help roll out the bread dough.

Bertha's face fell considerably and Elizabeth took pity on the poor, pretty creature, so dejected and eaten up with worry over a nonexistent proposal.

"I heard Ralph just yesterday in the glen saying that you were the prettiest maiden he'd ever laid eyes on," she said, in a comforting tone, "and that is as close to a proposal as I've ever heard." She had heard Ralph Diggings in the glen the day before, but he had been referring to a bird he had just killed, not Bertha Lawrence.

"Thank you, Lizzy," Bertha said appreciatively, a glimmer of hope once again returning to her eyes, "I'm sure that Ralph will propose sometime soon."

Elizabeth shrugged slightly, ladling the oatmeal into separate wooden bowls. "May I take breakfast in here today, Rosie?" she inquired, yet again tucking back the unobliging hair. "Please?"

Rosie shook her head fiercely. "You remember the last time you attempted that. Your mother nearly had a cow. ' My daughter, having breakfast with common servants!'"

"Oh! Rosie!" cried Elizabeth, clambering to give her favorite servant a hug. "Poor dear, Rosie. Mama never meant it! You are all to dear to me. Closer than friends! You're my family!" She smiled as a single tear slid down Rosie's weathered cheek. "You mustn't let anything that Mama says ever change that!"

Rosie quickly flicked away the tear. "Get back to your oatmeal, love. You know how Tom and Harry get when they don't have their meal on time."

Elizabeth smiled, glad to have rectified the matter. She returned to her position ladling oatmeal, her eyes flickering fondly over the inhabitants of the room.

Morning in the Longbourne kitchen was always eventful.

Chapter Thirteen

Posted on Tuesday, 1 November 2005

Oh! The Crime of Holding Hands

Little known to Mrs. Bennet the goings on of her husband and younger daughters; by the time she finally quit Netherfield Hall, she was in such an uproar of anger and impatience that absolutely confusion came into rein when she stepped through the threshold of her most esteemed and humble abode.

“Where is Mr. Bennet?” her tone was so completely demanding and uncivilized that it caught poor, timid Hill-recently refreshed from her earlier duties of preparing the toilets of that noble lady-quite off guard. “I wish to speak to my husband directly he comes.”

Hill disentangled her mistresses’ bonnet strings and politely removed the heavy shawl and pelisse. “He is in the study, Madam, attending to the accounts and having his usual after-dinner brandy.”

“ Well, I must speak with him, for he will never guess! Those Darcys’ are quite inhospitable! If ever I have seen such alarming treatment of a guest; I most sincerely am acutely embarrassed upon the part of the Darcys’! Such treatment! Such, such injustice! Why, as I speak, poor Amelia is in positive tears over the disappointment!”

Hill looked unable to comprehend the struggles of the overwrought and nervous lady. With a small, frightened sigh, she replied, “Dear Mrs. Bennet, I am sure there must have been some form of misunderstanding.” A creature of secrecy, she was unwilling to betray Elizabeth’s confidences over the private dinner party conducted that evening at Longbourne. “Do not distress yourself. I shall go and fetch you some tea in the parlor.”

“No, that will not do,” replied Mrs. Bennet, who was not comforted in the slightest, “take it to the library. I shall consult with Mr. Bennet directly.” With a huff and a determined expression, she took off to the room so often barricaded against her entrance. Knocking boldly, she allowed herself inside to find her husband downing the very last of his brandy.

“Mr. Bennet,” she exhaled sharply, “have you an ear to hear of the injustices committed against your wife, daughter, and niece this evening?” Uninvited, she situated herself upon the armchair opposite that of her husband’s desk.

He smiled sarcastically. “I suppose I have little choice in the matter, Mrs. Bennet. You will tell me anyway, despite my objections.” Putting aside his glasses, he neatly closed the heavy account book and reclined in his chair studiously.

Mrs. Bennet took this as invitation enough. “You will never guess the manner in which we were so abjectly ignored! For, after arriving at Netherfield Hall, we found only servants to keep us company during the supper hours, with no sign of Mr. Darcy or his son!”

“Grievous indeed, Mrs. Bennet,” replied her husband dryly, “I pity you most abjectly.”

Mrs. Bennet was not to be so easily brushed the wayside. “The dinner was good, but there was no conversation! And though Hill reassures me there must have been some misunderstanding, I am sure they are just being rude!”

“And what am I to do about the affair? Challenge Darcy to a duel simply on my wife’s whim?”

“Oh! No! Mr. Bennet, no!” cried the lady in a shocked fashion, oblivious to the undertow of sarcasm. “Do no go and get yourself killed. I do not want to be on hostile terms with the Darcys’ at all! But, oh! After such humiliation, what could such be easily avoided?”

“I leave the formalities entirely up to you, my dear,” he said with a half-sigh.

Mrs. Bennet looked entirely apprehensive. “Should I address him in letter? Berate him personally? Shall you allow him to ever again grace our home with his presence? I cannot simply cause a rift between our families on the most trivial of occasions.” Here Mrs. Bennet was logically considering that such a breach would taint her daughter’s chances of an excellent marriage.

“No, indeed, Madam. I would hate to see our daughter’s chances of matrimony severely diminished because you have been snubbed by the Darcys’.” He chuckled complacently, turning to a folded newspaper and undoing the creases.

A quick knock at the library door signaled the arrival of Hill with Mrs. Bennet’s rejuvenating tea. She also hailed a message. “Just delivered, ma’am,” she told her mistress, bobbing a curtsey and waiting patiently for the revival of the teacup.

“Ah, surely this will be good news!” cried Mrs. Bennet nervously, tearing at the wax seal and rapidly unfolding the letter’s creases. “Oh! It is from Mr. Darcy,” she said, scanning the contents, “Mr. Bennet, we are not ruined after all! Dear man, he has sent a most becoming apology!”

“Fancy that,” replied Mr. Bennet, with a secret smile, listening as his wife read aloud:

My dear Mrs. Bennet,

After being informed by my servants of your arrival at Netherfield Hall this evening only to find no host, I was most acutely embarrassed. You see, my dear lady, our carriage was delayed by bad weather, leading to a late arrival and cold supper. I only hope that you can accept my greatest regrets and embarrassment at my absence, hope that you were treated with the utmost of hospitality, and send my most esteemed of compliments for yourself and your family. I sincerely believe that we will overcome and mend this breach of communication to rise above and entertain ourselves with the possible idea of a future dinner party? I could only hope so much. My dear Mrs. Bennet, I remain

You Humble Servant,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

“Oh, what an elegant hand! What a lovely apology!” Mrs. Bennet was ecstatic as she thrust the letter into the hands of her husband. “What a kind and thoughtful gesture; and so late in the evening to! He must have been genuinely sorry for his actions and misconduct.”

“I daresay he had previous engagements anyway, Mrs. Bennet,” replied her husband, “and, seeing as though you were not invited to Netherfield in the first place, I do not think that you even merited such an eloquent response of affection.” His eyes twinkled merrily behind their lenses.

Ignoring him, she said, “And now, everything righted between ourselves and our dearest of friends.”

“Only last summer’s acquaintance and already they are our dearest of friends,” Mr. Bennet was diverted, “if only I could forge friendships so quickly.”

“You can do nothing to upset me now, Mr. Bennet,” Mrs. Bennet, comforted to an immense degree, now prepared to take flight from the room she most detested. “I am so filled with jubilance and joy that not even your comments can affect me.”

“That I am sorry to here,” remarked Mr. Bennet gravely, “I hope that in the morning your spirits will be less so.

Again Mrs. Bennet was not moved. Standing up from her chair and indifferently handing the empty teacup to Hill, she coldly acknowledged her husband before retaking her letter of triumph and exiting the room to find and console her dearest niece.

Meanwhile, in the library, Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth, who had been unknown to her mother, reading quietly on the enormous sofa before the fire, burst into fits of laughter so loud that the rafters of their home shook, and it resounded all the way to Netherfield Hall, where Mr. Darcy and his company were smiling over their successes.

“Thank you for being so agreeable, Jane,” Elizabeth informed her sister as they walked to market the next morning, “for I did not want to send you along with Mama and Amelia, but it was necessary.”

Jane blushed. “It is alright, Lizzy. I understand your reasons. It is not as if I have anyone in particular that I should wish to meet from the Netherfield party anyway.” Again a heavy blush as Elizabeth burst into peals of laughter.

“No one, indeed, Jane? Last summer you did not seem so indifferent to a certain Charles Bingley.” Her eyebrows raised slightly, she ignited Jane’s rarely seen playful side, as she ducked to avoid the wicker basket about to be brought down upon her curls.

“Dearest, Lizzy,” said Jane, deciding not to abash her sister with the basket in question, “I fear that I am as red as a radish.”

“More like a turnip actually,” replied Elizabeth with another laugh. “You look quite comical, Jane, dear, like Bertha after she has had too much beer.”

Jane looked quite astonished. “Lizzy!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, do not play coy and pretend you don’t know that people get drunk, Jane. It is an unavoidable fact that will plague us all to the realms of adulthood.” At nine-years old, the little intellect had an unusual interest in the goings on around her.

“I certainly know that people get drunk, but it is not something to go around proclaiming.”

Lizzy laughed. “I am not proclaiming it to anyone. Just you, and you are my sister. And besides, I shall never get drunk and so there is no harm in talking about it. At least that is what Darcy told me.”

Now it was Jane’s turn to look sly. “There is Darcy again. You bring up his name constantly when you talk with me. I should begin to expect that you are attached to him.”

“Darcy and myself?” Elizabeth was mirthful indeed; she slipped her thin arm through Jane’s and allowed tears to run down her face, so hard was her laughter. Partially recovering she retorted with, “I believe you are as bad a matchmaker as you are a liar.” Another peal of laughter reduced her to a momentary pause and she incurred Jane’s concern until at last she became silent.

“I did not mean to make you laugh so hard, Elizabeth Bennet,” remarked her sister, reclaiming her basket and setting back along down the road, “I do not understand how such an idea could be so humorous to you.”

Lizzy waved aside her sister’s questions. “Oh, Darcy and I are just excellent friends. The fact that we do everything together and I bring up his name so constantly are only just because of that. He is no different from Elton and John, except for the fact that he is much more clever.”

Jane unconsciously blushed and Elizabeth turned to interrogate her. “What is it of Bingley that you like so well? It seems that the two of you have also become inseparable?”

“He is kind to me and listens to all I say,” replied Jane hesitantly, “I feel safe and secure around him. He is attentive to my every need. And his good humor and satisfaction with life I find to be enthralling and inspiring. He is everything good and noble.”

“As are you. But keep in mind, Jane, dearest, you are only ten.”

Another blush and Jane stopped to face her sister. “Lizzy, I must confide in you. It is very urgent that I do.” She downcast her eyes and allowed the mantle of curls to partially conceal her crimson face. “Last summer, I, well, I…”

“Spit it out, Jane,” Elizabeth was insistent, “dear me, I am absolutely in suspense? Did you incur Lady Catherine’s wrath or set fire to the chicken coop?”

“No,” Jane was now so red it appeared as though she was a living, breathing tomato. “Oh, Lizzy, last summer I allowed Charles Bingley to hold my hand!”

A momentary lapse of silence was shattered by yet another round of Lizzy’s laughter. Gasping, she doubled over and dropped her own basket upon the dirt path. “Oh, Jane! Jane, you silly goose!”

Jane became immensely mortified. “Oh, Lizzy! Do you truly think I am a terribly wretched girl?”

“No! Jane! Of course not!” replied Lizzy, between burst of giggles. “My goodness, you make it sound as though you murdered someone! Why, whatever is wrong with holding someone’s hand? What is next? The inextricable bonds of matrimony?” More laughter and, gradually, Jane joined in.

“Oh, but I am a silly goose!” she cried, balancing a near-hysterical Elizabeth upon her shoulder. “A truly stupid, silly goose!”

“Oh, but if you were not so beautiful I would truly think you a simpleton.” Elizabeth’s voice was teasing and playful. “You and Charles the Cheerful, committing the heinous crime of holding hands! What next? Shall Amelia walk in mud puddles?”

“Dear, Lizzy. You make me sound so foolish. I should never have told you. I knew you should laugh.”

“Oh, dearest of Janes. Of course I laugh. Is it not fun, to laugh at oneself? To laugh at the odd peculiarities of common goings on? Oh! Is it not fun to laugh at oneself?”

“I must admit it is rather enlightening,” conceded the child, “though, frankly, I am entirely mortified at my confession.”

“Confession indeed! If only all of England could be as good as you then we would have no wars to wage or criminals to jail. Dearest, dearest, Jane! I shall laugh at your expense no longer.” And so Elizabeth did stop, her laughter ebbing away quickly until at last there was nothing but the chirping of birds overhead and the sound of farmers in their fields.

“I should never have told Mama, for she would have become entirely overexcited and begun preparations for my marriage, Papa should laugh as you do now, Mary would have stared at me in wide-eyed disbelief, and Kitty and Lydia should ask if he had kissed me.”

“Oh, now that is something shocking!” replied Lizzy, who had halted now and surveyed her sister, “for it is disgraceful if he kissed you. He did not kiss you, did he?”

“Goodness no!” replied Jane with a faint blush, “I should never have allowed that. We only held hands for the tiniest sliver of time before Wickham discovered us in the glen. I was embarrassed enough then, for how he laughed and laughed at us. Charles threatened to fight with him, but I begged him not to. I fear I do not like Wickham.”

“No, for I harbor no good feelings for him either. Darcy says he is conniving and villainous. While his smile may be disarming and manner all that it is good and decent, I fear that beneath his cavalier demeanor lurks a fox. He is planning something.” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “And I shirk to think of what it is.”

“Look,” Jane shielded her eyes against the sunlight, “there is Amelia coming up the crest of the hill. Mama did say something about her meeting us to go and purchase some new silk ribbons. Let us stop and wait for her.”

Elizabeth looked panic-stricken. “Not for all the pirate gold in the world will I wait for her. You may stay here and wave and smile, but I will run into market and hide in the bookseller’s. She wouldn’t dare step foot in there!”

Jane shrugged hesitantly. “Do as you wish, Lizzy. It would be impolite for me to abandon our cousin to the unknowns of the market. Run along to the bookshop and meet us at the milliner’s in a quarter of an hour. That will a lot you enough time to find a good book and avoid the tedium of ribbon-shopping with Amelia.”

“Dearest Jane, I love you beyond anything else in the world,” said Elizabeth, hugging her sister with an affectionate squeeze. “Heaven help you with Amelia; I cannot stand to be within a half-mile’s distance from her. Good-bye, Jane. If you require the aid of a pirate, just whistle!”

And she was off in a flurry of calico skirts, her brown braids waving in the wind.

Chapter Fourteen

Posted on Saturday, 21 January 2006

Lizzy in London?

And so the summer months passed very rapidly, filled with mishaps and adventures; trials and triumphs; and, occasionally, even scholarly attributes. Indeed, it passed entirely too quickly for some of the Netherfield and Longbourne inhabitants, for Darcy was as uneager to be parted from Elizabeth as she was to be parted from him.

And so, at the summer’s accumulation, as the servant’s began to prepare the Darcy’s exit of Netherfield Hall, he took his complaint to his father.

As was customary, Mr. Darcy was seated at the handsome mahogany desk in the formidable study, pouring over some business papers through well-adjusted reading spectacles. He looked, perhaps, a little paler and weaker than usual, though, upon his son’s entrance, he smiled brightly.

“Afternoon, Fitzwilliam,” he said pleasantly, motioning towards the chair at his elbow, “what hails you to my little corner of the world?”

Darcy returned his smile, though his was wan and strained at the corners. “Oh, nothing of great importance, Father. Only to tell you Wickham has gotten into a bit of trouble with the cook, and Bingley cannot seem to find that novel he set such a store by.”

Mr. Darcy removed his glasses and pushed the papers in a drawer. Drawing his fingers together studiously, he eyed his son in a peculiar fashion. “And is that all you’ve come to report to me? Eh, Fitzwilliam?”

Darcy avoided his father’s placid gaze, shifting uncomfortably in his armchair. “Well, I, well…perhaps I had a, a little request…”

“Hmm…what, may I ask, is that request?”

“I suppose that you might think me a bit of a fool for asking, but I’ve been thinking…”

“A dangerous activity for any young man of these times…”

“…and wondering…”

“Oh, dear, Fitzwilliam, will you turn into one of those poetry-writing, daydreaming nitwits?”

“…that perhaps, if you do not object, and, well, if Mr. Bennet does not object…”

“Whatever has Mr. Bennet to do with the matter?”

Darcy eyed his fingers and took a deep breath; his father waited in quiet patience, eyeing the grandfather clock at the corner with relative indifference.

“I was wondering, thinking, hoping that, if it is as at all possible…”

“Anything is possible…”

“…well, I had hoped that Elizabeth might be able to accompany us to London this winter.” There, Darcy smiled in triumph, he had said it. Though, most agitating, was the unbiased, blank expression on his father’s face.

Indeed, for Mr. Darcy was showing no emotion, only staring stodgily off at the large painting that adorned the mantle-piece, crossing his arms over his chest, and reclining deeper into his large, rigid desk-chair. “Hmmm…” he appeared to be deep in thought.

“Oh, sir, but I have considered everything,” continued Darcy, eager to prove his point, “and I think that it would not only be beneficial for us, but also for Elizabeth, because she could share a nurse and governess with Georgiana, and you always said she was very bright…would this not be a great opportunity for her?”

“I know you have good motives, boy. But is your request for Elizabeth’s presence in London entirely of selfish nature?” Mr. Darcy spoke quietly, watching his son tentatively, as if unsure of his response.

Darcy himself seemed nervous as he replied, “Perhaps it is selfish, Father, but I do get rather glum in London,” and then, blushing under his father’s scrutiny, “even with Bingley and Wickham around. I do not mean to,” here his blush deepened, “abuse them in any manner, but they do not equal Elizabeth Bennet’s company.”

“So,” replied his father, “you prefer Lizzy’s friendship to that of such old and dear acquaintances?” Rather than seem disappointed, he seemed amused.

Darcy again broke the gaze of his father. “Yes,” he mumbled, “I suppose I do.”

“I think I understand.” Mr. Darcy’s smile was warm. “While you do enjoy the friendships of the afore mentioned boys, somehow, they do little to either intellectually stipulate your mind or offer conflict and interest to your, dare I say, rather bland daily routine.” He continued to watch his son’s reactions carefully. “But, somehow, in coming to Hertfordshire, you discovered the one person who could both equal you in brains and wits, as well as offer exciting diversion. You found the one person who could broaden your imagination and offer, what I think you always sincerely desired, a little bit of everyday mischief?” He smiled again as his son nodded indistinctly. “And, of all things, this thrilling new person happened to be…a girl.”

A short nod, and Mr. Darcy continued.

“My dear boy, I must admit I value Elizabeth’s company as much as you do, but not only would it be near difficult to bring Lizzy to London, it would also highly be against propriety’s standards.” He watched the crestfallen expression on his son’s face with a small amount of pity. “I know you shall miss her, my boy, but, consider, do you truly think Mr. Bennet would, for one moment, even think to release himself of his favorite child?”

Darcy shook his head slowly, maintaining a steady gaze on the tips of his fingers. “No, sir. I did not think of that.”

His father brushed aside a stack of papers. “However,” he said suddenly, making Darcy’s ears pop up expectantly, “that does not overrule the fact that there may be a very slight chance we could procure her company…” he trailed off, watching as his son enthusiastically enquired after his solution. “That is,” he continued on, “that Elizabeth return with us to London as a companion to your cousin, Anne de Bourg.”

Darcy sucked in air quickly, his hopes dashed. “Aunt Catherine would never allow it,” he mumbled quietly, staring disappointedly at the palms of his hands.

“Never allow it? Tsk..tsk.., lad. Is that how easily you give up?” Mr. Darcy curled up reflectively in his leather-backed armchair.

“Surely that is not the only alternative?”

Mr. Darcy sighed. “I am afraid so, my boy. The only one propriety would deem appropriate.”

“Lady Catherine would never agree…”

“You would be surprised.”

“Elizabeth would never agree…”

“Perhaps she would…”

They both lapsed into silence.

After a few moments spent in this fashion, Mr. Darcy abruptly began: “I know that you whole-heartedly desire Elizabeth’s company, my boy. And that is exactly why I will go to whatever lengths to secure her presence.”

The smile that broadened the features of his son was without description.

“No promises will I make, though,” he added, quite rapidly,”your aunt is as strong-willed and stubborn as a three-legged mule, and Mr. Bennet can be quite possessive about those he loves most. I wouldn’t wish you to get your hopes up.”

“I shouldn’t dare do that.”

Mr. Darcy smiled kindly, watching the jubilant expression spread across his son’s face, and relaxing. “Does an old fellow some good to watch the ever-bustling activity of the youth. I am glad to see you so excited.”

“I have never been this excited about London before.”

“No, no, I daresay you haven’t.”

Darcy shifted uneasily in his chair. “I do not think Lizzy will like it tremendously, though. She so much enjoys the countryside that I do believe she will detest the smoke and fog of the city.”

”Knowing our own dear Elizabeth, I should think the activity would suit her.”

“I will be glad to show her everything.”

“Indeed, I know you shall.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Naturally.”

Chapter Fifteen

Posted on Tuesday, 28 November 2006

By miracle, or sheer force of Mr. Darcy’s persuasive abilities, Lady Catherine was at last reconciled to sharing a townhouse with “that Bennet girl”, as she was wont to refer to her. However, this momentous decision did not come without strings attached; her ladyship was quite adamant that the girl behave with decorum and propriety at all times, an idea so unfeasible to Mr. Darcy and his son that they laughed heartily after the good lady’s departure.

Mr. Bennet, however, was a different matter. He expressed enormous concern over parting with his favorite. After all, Elizabeth was really his only means of sanity and intellectual stimulation at Longborne save his library. It would be terrible on all accounts to even imagine parting with her. The realization of benefits, though, was enticing; he could not ignore the countless opportunities that awaited his daughter-opportunities that she would neverreceive at Longbourne. He could not ignore the enormity of the situation, or the extensive educational resources Mr. Darcy had at his disposal. Lizzy would have the very best of tutors and instructors in London; he was convinced of the fact. It would be unthinkably selfish to deprive her of a steady education due to fatherly inclination, and he would never be able to forgive himself. Therefore, after days of deliberation, he finally consented, to the delight of the Darcys’ and the chagrin of his wife, who, though happy to be rid of her wayward daughter’s pranks and oddities, believed Jane or Amelia inordinately more suitable and deserving companions.

Lizzy herself faced the decision with mixed feeling. She had always desperately wanted to go to London; enough visits with her Aunt Gardiner had assured her of the excitement and eccentricity the city offered. And the people! Such a diverse mix, surely. She would have no want of amusing pursuits to keep her occupied, and what a good many pranks would present themselves! The very idea was congenial. However, she would have to leave Rosie and Betsy and Mr. Bennet and Jane. She would have to forgo fishing trips to Browning Pond and pirate raids upon Bertha. And no gingerbread or raspberry tarts from Martha! It was a sobering prospect and a bittersweet one at that. However, Darcy was quite devoted to her going, and, as Mr. Darcy had given a particularly emphatic speech, Lizzy found there was no other alternative save to accept, which she did with as much dignity and grace as she could muster. She would not, however, retire any of her ruffian ways and found herself as determined as ever to maintain that state of perpetual mischief that always accompanied her. Proper or not, Elizabeth Bennet was first and foremost a pirate.

As for Amelia, she cried herself sick the first instant she heard of her cousin’s popularity. To have such a ruffian so honored when she herself was a model of femininity and charm! It was insupportable to the last degree. She found a ready listener in Mrs. Bennet, who was quite determined to put her foot down to any happiness her daughter might experience. However, Mr. Bennet on this point was determined, and there was little his wife could do to deter him.

Thus, with some degree of ease, the matter was settled. Miss. Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourne in Hertfordshire was to become an inhabitant of London.

“I have never seen anything like it!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She was situated in the Darcy carriage, her nose pressed upon the carriage window-pane, her breath forming crystals upon the glass. “The smoke and the fog and the rain! It looks like a picture from a horror-story!” They were traveling through London, after a rather uneventful journey through the countryside. It was a gloomy, dismal afternoon; quite chilly and damp.

Mr. Darcy laughed. “I told you not to be too excited, Lizzy. There is nothing storybook about London. It is even worse that you should have to see it in this weather.” He frowned slightly.

Elizabeth relaxed and returned to her seat. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Betsy tells me that constantly, though I do not often regard her lectures.” She wrinkled her nose. “I do hope we shall have some warm supper though. I’m fiercely hungry.”

“Me too,” agreed Darcy, shaking a snoring Wickham from his slumber. “We haven’t had a thing since breakfast this morning. A dreadful shame!”

“Indeed. I should hate to deprive you children of some nourishment. Hopefully Cook will have something delicious when we arrive.” Mr. Darcy smiled complacently. “Some treacle tart would do me nicely in this weather!”

“Treacle tart and apple butter!” exclaimed Elizabeth, with aplomb, “what a glorious feast we shall have!” She laughed. “However, if your Cook has not prepared us a bite to eat, we can always raid Lady Catherine’s secret chocolate supply!”

“Chocolate supply?” inquired Mr. Darcy and his son at once.

Lizzy grinned. “I shan’t tell you where I discovered it, for it is for me and me alone, but it was last summer when I saw her eating it in excess. I followed her upstairs and saw where she kept it; it was not a very winning hiding place at all. A dreadful shame, really. She should have kept it in a locked treasure chest!”

“You are bad, Lizzy,” Darcy informed her, though he could hardly suppress a smile. “Terrible, in fact.”

“Indeed, quite terrible,” agreed his father, eyes twinkling.

“But I am interesting, at least!” contradicted Lizzy with spirit, “not some shriveled old prune with nothing but insipid conversation and no gumption!”

On that point, no one could argue.

Elizabeth’s first week in London was a flurry of activity. There was such a tremendous amount of unpacking to be done! To further worsen matters, Letty, the maid, was an incompetent mess, and Lizzy had to supervise the entire operation of housing her precious possessions, in order to maintain that nothing was either broken or harmed.

There were three wooden crates of her particularly prized articles, all wrapped carefully in old newspapers and straw; an ensemble of her favorite books-which she never traveled without-two particularly interesting bird feathers from her collection, a map of the world, her treasured Blondebeard manuscripts-carefully rewritten in order to be presented to Darcy for inspection-two of her favorite quills and an ancient ink pot, sketches she had drawn of all the Longbourn household, a letter from her father, and two loaves of blueberry bread-which had been baked with a great deal of love the day prior to her departure.

She had been placed in a large, airy room adjacent the nursery; so large, indeed, that even Lizzy was astonished upon seeing it.

“Even Napoleon hasn’t a room this grand,” she informed Letty, upon first viewing her new quarters, “and he is emperor of France, which should grant him some precedence.” At which Letty merely bobbed a clumsy curtsy, nodded shortly, and wondered inwardly at the peculiarity of her new mistress.

Closer scrutiny of the room was required, naturally. The mattress had to be jumped upon, to ensure comfort. A pillow fight had to be initiated to determine the authenticity of the feathers. And a very reluctant Wickham had been forced-by the order of Lizzy, who had been portraying Attila the Hun that particular afternoon and had no patience for cowards-to go in search of rats. However, none were found, and Elizabeth was heartily disappointed. Her plans of training them and setting them to wreck havoc upon Lady Catherine dissipated, but, as there were plenty of rats in London, she did not give up hope altogether.

Gradually, the last of Lizzy’s crates were unpacked and a routine was established at the Darcy townhouse. Mornings were spent in breakfast and long walks at the nearby park. In the afternoon, books were read and debates begun, sometimes lasting until supper, when they were usually resolved. Lizzy, eager to familiarize herself with every inch of the grand home, explored every room, slid down every banister, and conversed with every servant who would lend her an ear. She teased the footmen, confused the maids, and played pranks upon the butler, a rather stern, severe man who never smiled and always had a stern word for the unrepentant troublemaker.

Though lessons were not set to begin until the next week, Lizzy and Darcy had already familiarized themselves with the large library and nursery schoolroom. They had begun drilling themselves in Latin terms, matching wit for wit as they competed for dominance in the classroom. Evenings were spent immersed themselves in philosophy and politics, much to the delight of Mr. Darcy, who enjoyed watching the enthusiasm and intelligence of the young and often induced these long-winded conversations. Bingley and Wickham-though bright, affable young men-lacked the brilliance of their friends and so acted merely as counterparts and assistants.

Everything was running capitally, until the arrival of a certain Lady Catherine de Bourg from Hunsrod.

Her entrance into the household was hardly greeted with enthusiasm. She was a troublesome creature, who immediately set about to totalitarian control. She seized control over household affairs, and the cozy and informal state that had blanketed the townhouse the majority of the week instantly disappeared. The servants, even the austere butler, were terribly frightened of her. Elizabeth had quite a time restraining laughter when she saw the noble parsonage upon the stair, elaborately gowned in feathers and pearls, barking orders at terrified servants.

Furthermore, her adamant demands that Elizabeth Bennet make her an apology increased daily, much to Lizzy’s amusement, as she had no intentions of complying with them. Determined to be a cantankerous old ‘prune’-one of the several nicknames Lizzy had bestowed upon her-Lady Catherine was the epitome of a terrible houseguest.

Despite these deformities, however, she has not immediately plagued by Elizabeth’s pranks, much to the surprise of the entire household. As a matter of fact, Lizzy had been remarkably docile since the arrival of her arch-enemy, and, though hardly behaved with civility, had, at least, refrained from outright warfare. Indeed, even Lady Catherine was astonished. By the looks of it, she had been preparing for the war-path, and this sudden indifference from the enemy was entirely unexpected.

Anne was hardly as problematic. Submissive and obedient, she did everything she was told and never offered argument. Elizabeth had attempted friendship, but found Anne’s conversation so dull and insipid that she could hardly stay awake. And Anne did not appear to desire friendship with Lizzy in the slightest. Her mother formed Anne’s opinions, and, as her mother detested Miss. Elizabeth Bennet, so then did Lady Anne de Bourg.

And so Lady Catherine and her daughter settled into ways at the Darcy’s London townhouse with relative ease.

But something was amiss in the household, and tension could be felt by all…

“Elizabeth has something up her sleeve,” announced Darcy one morning, at breakfast. They were quite alone, save Wickham and Bingley, as Mr. Darcy was away attending to business and Lady Catherine kept to her room, under the pretense that she was suffering from a headache.

Wickham was quick to agree. “I am absolutely sure of it. We have been here an entire week without incident! The state of perpetual peace is quite unnerving!”

“Perhaps she is trying to reform,” suggested Bingley, with a good-natured smile. “Not that she would need to,” he quickly added, after considering the offensive nature of his comment.

Elizabeth did not look up from the book she had propped before her plate. “There is no use in speaking of me as if I am not present,” she informed them acidly, “I am perfectly capable of reading and conversing. And, as for the accusations against me, I can promise you most heartily that my business is none of your concern.” She gave a sunny smile. “Now, Charles, pass me the toast.”

It was an obvious indicator that she had no interest in canvassing the subject, but, as Darcy detested not playing a role in her schemes, he would not relent. “Come, Lizzy,” he addressed her, in a coaxing manner, “shall you not tell us what you have planned?”

“Absolutely not,” was the cool reply,” and furthermore, I am mortified that you should think me up to something!”

The boys exchanged skeptical glances. “I do hope you are joking,” Wickham said, uncertainly.

“Why should I joke?” Lizzy inquired, with a critical glance over the top of her volume.

He shrugged.

Darcy, however, was prompt in his response. “I know you too well, Lizzy,” he informed her, “to believe all this nonsense of your presumed innocence. I saw you yesterday afternoon mapping out the dimensions of the drawing room.”

“It is perfectly normal,” returned Lizzy stiffly, “to map out one’s drawing room.”

Again, Darcy raised his eyebrows skeptically. “May I inquire for what purpose?”

“Fire escape,” was Elizabeth’s prompt and orchestrated response. She returned to her book, avoiding his gaze.

“And shall you explain your odd behavior over this past week?” he continued.

She shrugged. “In what way has it been odd?”

Wickham gave a derisive snort, and was promptly elbowed by Darcy.

“Well?” she looked up expectantly. Her eyes, however, were dancing with suppressed laughter.

Bingley avoided her steady gaze and twisted his napkin around nervously. Wickham snorted into his eggs. Darcy, however, met her gaze. “You know exactly what I am implying. No use in pretense, Elizabeth Bennet. I demand to know what business you are about!”

She gave an impulsive smile. “That is for me to know and you to find out!”

“Ah! A confession!” exclaimed Wickham, jumping on her exclamation. “We have finally had a confession!”

Elizabeth laughed. “A confession hardly implies guilt,” she informed him.

“Are you determined to be so cryptic!” cried Darcy, rather frustrated. “Why are we not allowed to be privy to your plans?”

“You must stop attacking her so!” was Bingley’s earnest plea.

“Attacking her?” was Wickham’s exclamation.

“Hardly!” cried Darcy with zeal.

As the table erupted into chaos, Elizabeth remained perfectly calm, intently perusing her volume- hand supporting head and lips betraying the slightest hint of a smile. Whilst the boys argued in vain, Lizzy managed to maintain the cool and collected calm of a queen.

The chaos was interrupted by the arrival of a footman, who, rather unsure of himself in such a childish crowd, meekly handed the dispatch to Lizzy, who seemed the calmest member of the table.

Looking up from her book, she accepted the invitation with a warm smile before dismissing him. The note immediately caught her attention, and, snapping her book closed, she banged her spoon energetically upon her plate. “Come to order, you rag-tag ruffians!” She waved the note above her head. “Look what I have!”

They turned their attention abruptly towards her.

“Private mail!” she motioned exuberantly to her ‘prize’.

Darcy could hardly contain a smile. “Who from?”

”Well, open it!” exclaimed Wickham simultaneously.

Bingley, meanwhile, looked pensive. “I do not believe that would be entirely proper…”

However, Elizabeth, with a sparkle in her eye and expectant smile upon her lips, had already opened the letter. She did not read it aloud, though, in order to keep the other members of the table in some form of suspense.

“Come on, Lizzy!” Darcy cried in frustration.

“That is hardly fair!” Wickham argued plaintively.

“I do not believe this is entirely proper…”Bingley added, meekly.

Elizabeth, however, was not affected, and continued pursuing the contents of the letter in silence. The others could do little but watch hopefully for any chance facial expressions, but Elizabeth, well-schooled, maintained a placid, expressionless mien.

“This is most excellent news!” she declared, completing her letter and tucking in within her shoe, to avoid any unwarranted reading by other parties. “Excellent news, indeed!”

Darcy scowled. “You obviously enjoy keeping us in the dark, so I will not even bother as to inquire!”

“You are being ridiculously insubordinate!” Wickham informed her with a pinch.

“Do not injure her!” Bingley cried, attempting to maintain peace at the table.

Elizabeth merely grinned. “I suppose I have kept you in suspense long enough…”

“Indeed!” clamored Darcy and Wickham.

“And perhaps it would not be so very harmful to include you in my plans…”

“Indeed!” was the unanimous response.

“Well…” she looked to be relenting, “alright.” Obviously this was the cream upon the cake. She looked extremely pleased with herself. “Gather round and I shall relate to you the nature of my…” she trailed off, before regaining speech, “plans.”

Eager to be included, Darcy, Wickham, and even honest Bingley, crowded about her.

Chapter Seventeen

Posted on Saturday, 9 June 2007

Lady Honoria Wright was the most important woman in London society, save, perhaps, the queen. Not only was she a duchess-which lent considerable distinction in itself- she was also a cunning and shrewd individual with a flair for having her own way. The central authority upon every societal function, Lady Locksley had her finger in every pie in London, in a manner of speaking, and never shirked from wielding this power to her advantage.

There was not a soul in London who dared defy or insult her, for fear that she would bring shame and ruin upon their household. Or worse, exclude them from her will. Indeed, most of the gentility were quite frightened of falling from her good graces, for no one slandered the name of Lady Honoria Wright, Duchess of Locksley, without some form of terrible retribution. Rumors circulated that she was related distantly to Napoleon, and, even more outrageously, that she was a descendant of Attila the Hun.

There was only one woman in the entirety of London that had the gumption to stand against Lady Locksley, and that was a certain Lady Catherine de Bourg, eldest daughter of the Earl of Matlock. The two had been rivals for societal dominance from their cradles, and had conspired against one another since their earliest days at school. Only when Lady Honoria had made the advantageous match to the Duke of Locksley did she truly gain supremacy-at least in the official sense. Lady Catherine had had to content herself with a wealthy baronet, who had died soon after their marriage, leaving her a large fortune and a sickly child. It was hardly fair, and Lady Catherine had nursed a longstanding grudge against her enemy-whom she blamed as the cause of the entire wretched state of affairs, however groundless an accusation it might have been.

However, Lady Catherine was still forced, by the standards of propriety, to extend Lady Locksley an invitation to tea every time the de Bourg party reentered the London neighborhood. It was hardly an event she looked forward to throughout the year, but was necessary to maintain some form of civility between the warring parties. In Lady Catherine’s opinion, it was similar to having a tooth pulled, necessary but hardly enjoyable.

As the invitation was more of a formality than a token of friendship, so too was afternoon tea more a matter of pomp and grandeur than cozy ‘catching up’. Lady Catherine was set upon displaying the grandeur of her townhome, to overwhelm Lady Locksley with the splendors of her wealth. So began a tireless crusade of tidying the house, brining forth the best china, and generally attempting to make Lady Locksley positively envious of the splendid wealth of the honorable Darcy and de Bourg family.

When at last the day arrived, Lady Catherine felt she was quite prepared. There remained only one problem standing in her way...

That Bennet girl.

Chapter Eighteen

Lizzy smiled brightly. She could not help smiling. It was, after all, a beautiful day.

“Stop smiling,” Darcy hissed. He was standing beside her in the foyer. They were about to be inspected by Lady Catherine, then bundled off with the nanny to go and play in the park. This was Lady Catherine’s less than creative method of disposing of “that Bennet girl”. She did not want Lizzy anywhere near Lady Locksley and her daughters when they arrived for afternoon tea. “It looks too suspicious.”

Elizabeth regarded him curiously. “I am free to do as I choose,” she replied, “and so, I smile.”

“Remind me what we are supposed to do again?” Wickham asked. “I have quite forgotten.”Lizzy sighed. “What a terrible soldier you would make, Wickham! Never able to remember orders. Unless, of course, you conveniently forgot?” she arched one eyebrow expectantly. Wickham gulped slightly. He did not repeat his inquiry again. Beside him, Bingley shifted nervously.

“Something tells me that this is not exactly…”he trailed off, after meeting Lizzy’s eyes. She grinned triumphantly and exchanged a smile with Darcy. He could not help it. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

Lady Catherine descended the stairs, gowned elaborately in silk and feathers. She eyed Elizabeth suspiciously as the approached the landing, obviously bewildered at her decided display of cheerfulness. Eyes narrowing, she stopped directly before the girl.

“May I inquire as to why you are smiling so broadly?”

“If I remember correctly,” replied Lizzy pertly, “smiling is a form of expression. And expression is necessary to keep a person from turning into a lifeless piece of wood.” She broadened her smile.

Lady Catherine surveyed her with a haughty glare, but did not allow herself to reply. With a cold toss of her head, she addressed herself to Nanny Craig. “Do not let her out of your sight!” With yet another acid glance towards Lizzy, the grand lady swept down the hallway towards the drawing room, to await the arrival of the duchess.

Nanny Craig looked rather taken aback.

With a stern cluck, she took Lizzy by the arm and prepared to personally guide her to the door. However, they were stopped short by the sudden, piercing cries of Wickham, who was clutching his stomach and flopping about pathetically.

“George!” cried Nanny Craig, rushing to his side, “why, whatever is the matter?”

It was at this moment that Bingley joined in the chaotic charade. His act was hardly as believable. “My stomach!” he managed to cry meekly, “it hurts so very badly!”

Wickham, however, made up for his cohort’s shortcomings by magnificent theatrics. “My stomach! It feels as though a thousand knives are stabbing me!”

“Unnecessary,” Lizzy muttered to Darcy, as she surveyed the scene, “but, nonetheless, brilliant. Wickham is a wonderful actor!”

Nanny Craig, however, did not overhear this hidden exchange, as she was too preoccupied with the pains of the two boys. “Shall I fetch a doctor?” she inquired, rather hurriedly. She was unused to displays of panic and pain.

“No!” cried Wickham, but he was stopped by Elizabeth, who approached Nanny Craig calmly.

“Tis probably only what they have eaten,” she informed the harried nanny, “Cook did prepare some strange foreign dish for breakfast this morning.” She winked at Wickham and Bingley, who managed statements of agreement. “You should probably send them upstairs to bed,” she continued, “and allow Darcy and me to continue to the park by ourselves. We can manage.”

Nanny Craig was too bewildered to voice suspicion. With a short nod, she waved aside the two ‘healthy’ children and escorted the moaning Wickham and Bingley up the stairs and out of sight.

Thus left to their own devices, Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged amused glances before darting down the hall towards the magnificent drawing room.

Chapter Nineteen

Fortunately for Elizabeth and Darcy, Lady Catherine was not in the drawing room upon their entrance.

“Most likely in the kitchens bossing about the servants,” supplied Lizzy, as they tiptoed within, several boxes in hand. “Going about her usual dictatorial business.”

Darcy followed, softly closing the door. “Do you think we can fit?” he inquired, motioning towards the dainty covered table that was arranged towards the center of the room.

“Unless I expand into a ten-foot monster with horns,” replied Lizzy, bounding over to the table and inspecting its centerpiece, a collection of flowers. Quickly, she removed a bottle of ground Cayenne pepper (conveniently taken from Mr. Darcy’s library, where a variety of foreign oddities were housed) and, holding her nose, generously dosed the floral arrangement with the pungent spice. “Perfect!” she declared, moments later, as she pocketed the bottle. Her smile was exuberant.

Darcy, however, was entirely too preoccupied to notice. He was taking care to slip a variety of boxes and supplies underneath the table.

“Did you slip the brandy into those two tea-cups?” he inquired of Elizabeth, completing his task.

Lizzy shrugged nonchalantly. “Drusilla volunteered,” she replied, referring to the daughter of Nanny Craig, whom she had recently become reacquainted with, “she is peeling potatoes in the kitchen, so it will not look quite so suspicious.”

He nodded. “Excellent. And the frogs?”

Lizzy smiled, revealing a small wooden crate filled with three large bullfrogs. “I found them near the pond yesterday,” she informed him, slipping the box underneath the tea-table. “And named them all. But I shan’t tell you that now, there are more important matters to attend to.”

She drew out a list and surveyed it intently. “Pepper, frogs, brandy…” she read, “do you have the scissors and rope?”

Darcy nodded promptly.

“Excellent!” They were startled by the approach of voices. Without a moment’s hesitation, both children slipped underneath the tea-table. It was covered with heavy brocade, so two people could easily be obscured beneath its folds. Thus situated, they could only await the arrival of the grand Lady Locksley and that noble parsonage of magnificence, Lady Catherine de Bourg.

Lady Locksley and her daughters, Lady Henrietta and Lady Eloise, respectively, swept into the room, adorned in such a variety of fripperies that they looked prepared to join the circus. Indeed, if any of the party possessed stronger ears, they would have been able to distinguish the laughter coming from beneath the table, as the two children concealed within surveyed their ‘victims’. Fortunately, they possessed no such powers of discernment. With Lady Catherine attempting to be hospitable and attentive, they were seated at the table, where conversation commenced.

The conversation began with the weather, as most stiff and formal conversations are inclined to start. Indeed, for the next five to ten minutes the deplorable amount of rain was discussed to pieces, until everyone at the table, Darcy and Lizzy included, were sick of it. Lady Catherine was about to move into complimenting Lady Locksley on her extensive collection of diamonds, when she found herself overtaken by a fit of sneezing.

“Achoo!” she sneezed, in a most unladylike manner. “Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!” Her sneezes became more violent by the second, as more and more spit began to fly across the table. Lady Locksley looked rather pleased. Her smirk did not last long, however. She was soon sneezing herself, as were both of her daughters.

Between sneezes, Lady Catherine summoned the maid. She deemed the floral arrangement to be the root of the problem, and sent it away with a wave of her hand. Unfortunately, the sneezing outbreak did not subside until a little later.

“I must apologize,” Lady Catherine finally said, after Hetty had uttered what everyone hoped was the last sneeze. “It must have been the flowers.”

Lady Locksley nodded gravely. “Naturally.” She adjusted her magnificent turban, which had gone rather array during her fit of the ‘achoos’. Lady Catherine did likewise.

They talked idly about fashion until the maid brought in the tea-tray. Letty did an admirable job of serving, before retreating to a far corner to await the further needs of her mistress and her mistress’s guests.

By the way in which they consumed their tea, it appeared that Lady Catherine and Lady Locksley were determined to outdo one another in elegance. Lady Catherine had the advantage, as she had always been very proficient in the art of tea-drinking, but Lady Locksley, being a duchess, was remarkably stiff competition. Conversation was almost nonexistent. Instead, the two warring parties surveyed each other warily, always prepared to be on the defense.

As Darcy and Lizzy both knew, however, things were about to become very interesting.

“So,” began Lady Catherine, now attempting conversation, “how has your stay in London been?”

“Excellent,” was the curt reply, “we enjoy the very best of society, as I am sure you know.”

“Quite.” Lady Catherine frowned and conversation was at a standstill.

Meanwhile, Henrietta and Eloise had become quite engrossed in draining their tea. Both had entirely dispensed with the entire process of daintiness. Instead, they were positively slurping-if so vulgar a word can be used in reference-their tea, much to the horror of Lady Locksley and the inward delight of Lady Catherine.

“Henrietta and Eloise!” hissed the duchess, rather pink in the face, “wherever have your manners gone?” Her reprimand was to no avail. Hetty, bright-eyed and rosy, had begun hiccupping, and Eloise was nosily draining the remains of her tea-cup.

Lady Locksley forced herself to meet the eyes of her hostess. “I must apologize, Lady Catherine, for the…” Her eyes narrowed suddenly, and, without a moment’s hesitation, she snatched Hetty’s teacup from her hands and held it to her nose. Ignoring her daughter’s slurred arguments, Lady Locksley dropped the cup with a clatter. “I should have expected as much from you, Catherine de Bourg!” Her tone was quite hostile.

Poor Lady Catherine was understandably taken aback. “Excuse me?” she inquired, obviously bewildered.

“Oh! Do not play coy with me! I know your tricks.” Lady Locksley’s tone was accusing. “How dare you! To commit so blatant an act, all at the expensive of an old schoolfellow. To subject me to such humiliation! How dare you!” Lady Locksley’s face, by this time, was beet red.

Hetty and Eloise were nosily laughing.

“You dare to blame me for this display of…vulgarity!” cried Lady Catherine, who, admittedly, always had the upper hand in a fight. “Why should I be held accountable for the obvious slatternly behavior of your daughters?”

Lady Locksley’s eyes narrowed. “You obviously had one of your servants put some form of strong spirits into their tea-cups.”

“I most certainly did not!”

“All for the purpose of subjecting my family to scandal! I know you have always been jealous of me, Catherine de Bourg, but this is low…even for you.”

“Stop!” Lady Catherine was beyond enraged. Her nostrils were flaring dangerous, and she looked as though she was ready to fling something at the duchess’s head. “I shall hear no more accusations or slurs against my abilities as a hostess!” She paused, as though for dramatic effect. “Get out of my house this instant!”

Lady Locksley sucked in air, unable to believe the disrespect. “There is no need to dismiss me. I could not be prevailed to stay a moment longer in such a household!” She made a move to stand. But Lizzy and Darcy, beneath the table, had used scissors to cut away a large portion of her elegant ensemble. Revealed now beneath all the frippery was wrinkled skin the color of paper and frilled petticoats. This only furthered the mortification and anger of that noble lady.

“How dare you!” she screeched, so loud that the rafters of the house shook. “How dare you, Lady Catherine de Bourg! When I am done, no respectable person in London will have anything to do with you or any of your family!”

The threat fell on deaf ears. Although apparently amused by the display, Lady Catherine did not intend to apologize. She inwardly wondered how part of Lady Locksley’s dress had been cut away, but she had not further time to wonder. From beneath the table scurried three enormous bullfrogs.

The occupants at the table reacted in much the same way. They all attempted to run in different directions, screeching loudly. Again, Lizzy and Darcy triumphed. During the process of the tea-party, they had tied the ankles of the noble ladies together with rope, so that they were all joined in some form or fashion. Instead of flying in opposite directions, Lady Catherine, Lady Locksley, and two very drunk young ladies went careening into the table. Food flew everywhere, much of it landing on the four principle personages.

It was at this point that Lizzy and Darcy made their escape, quietly slipping from beneath the table and wordlessly out the door. It was also at this point that the butler entered. Fortunately, he had seen worse things in his life. With an elegant wave to the maid and a few well-placed orders, everyone was untied.

Lady Locksley waited not a moment longer. Instead of accepting the use of one of Lady Catherine’s cloaks to hide the unfortunate gaping hole in her garment, she escorted her daughters, both leaning on the other’s shoulders and singing old English drinking songs, out the door and into the awaiting carriage.

Meanwhile, Lizzy and Darcy were halfway to the park. As Lady Locksley’s carriage rattled past, Lizzy glanced at Darcy and smiled broadly. “I think this has been a very rewarding day, don’t you?”

Darcy could only nod and laugh in amazement at the mess they had just accomplished.

Chapter Twenty

Dear Jane,

I am in dreadful trouble! You would be very shocked if you knew how much, so I will not elaborate. Only let me say that Lady Catherine is the horrible jail-matron in the entire world; ten times worse than Mama…and that is saying something! Anyway, I will not bore you any more on that score, because I daresay you do not want to hear any more about it.

Right now, I am eating an apple. Darcy and I are having a contest to see who can eat the most without becoming ill…so far I have eaten ten and he has eaten fifteen. Yesterday, we had a contest to see who could slide down the banister the most times without Lady Catherine noticing. I really was not supposed to be out of my room-she locked me in there as punishment-but the lock was extraordinary easy to pick, and it was such a temptation! Anyway, I was sliding down the banister at exactly the same moment the Earl of Matlock was coming in the door with the butler and I knocked right into him! It was great fun. All of the air went out of his stomach, and we both went flying down onto the carpet. I do not think he thought it was fun, though because he looked dreadfully angry and uttered the most wonderful curse words. I wrote them down on a sheet of paper as soon as I got back to my room! Anyway, I told him that my name was Brunhilda, and that I was an escaped criminal for Norway…then I ran back upstairs with Darcy and we locked ourselves back into our rooms. It would all have gone quite well had that horrible butler not informed Lady Catherine. I really don’t understand why he refuses to be friends with me! So now I’m punished even more. I doubt I’ll be able to come out of my room for the ball.

About the ball…it’s supposed to be great fun. But that’s according to Anne, who thinks anything involving dressing up fun. Not that dressing up is not fun, as long as it is something interesting, like a pirate or an elephant or Napoleon…but she does not mean that kind of dressing up. She means the Amelia form of dressing up; pink dresses and bows and ribbons. I would rather read the dictionary a million times over than dress up in bows and ribbons. But you know that. Anyway, I already knew about the ball because I intercepted the invitation, (don’t be shocked; reading other people’s mail is a perfectly normal thing to do) and I had the most thrilling plan cooked up…but then Lady Catherine had to go and spoil it by not having a sense of humor. She doesn’t even like the Duchess of Locksley! She should be thanking me! But I am not going to tell you the story, as I said before, because you would think it a very unladylike thing to do, etc. etc.

I am sending you my bird-feather collection for safe-keeping (Lady Catherine has threatened to burn it) and would send you Maid Marion, only it would be too difficult to smuggle her out of the house without Lady Catherine seeing. I really wish she would lock me in the Tower, (at least that’s what I call it; it’s really an attic) but she is not quite that crazy…yet.

I think that Darcy is going to beat me in the green apple eating game. He just beat three times on the wall, which means that he is another apple ahead of me. I think it is dreadfully unfair, because he is a good three inches taller than me and can fit more food inside of him, but I won’t complain, because then I would be a bad sport. We have a system worked out, you know, to help us communicate throughout our long prison sentence. We beat on the wall that separates our rooms. It’s very complex. And Charles and Wickham will occasionally slip notes underneath our doors to keep us entertained. I slipped a picture of Lady Catherine with a moustache to Charles and heard him laugh.

Mr. Darcy comes to visit me frequently. He tells me that I have done a very bad thing, but I don’t believe him, because his eyes are always twinkling. Most of the time, he leaves me chocolate cakes. Only he doesn’t want me to know that he leaves them, but I do. He also leaves books. I was very sad, you know, when Lady Catherine locked me my room, because I could not have access to the library, but Mr. Darcy is very considerate on that point and leaves me the most thrilling adventure novels. I am quite stuck on them, really.

I would write more, but my hand is cramped and I must concentrate my full energy on eating more green apples than Darcy. I hope everyone at home is happy. I won’t go so far as to say that they miss me; I daresay that Mama and Amelia have been in raptures since my departure. I miss you, however, and I hope that you do not find my behavior particularly horrid. Tell Papa that I miss him and even Mama if you wish. Tell Amelia that I hope she is abducted by highwaymen.

Yours,

Lizzy

By some miracle, or, perhaps, the intervening hand of Mr. Darcy, who felt one week’s confinement more than adequate time for Elizabeth and Darcy to mull over their actions, the prisoners were released from their rooms in time to attend the grand Eckington ball.

Elizabeth, for her part, was very much excited that she would not be forced to abandon the scheme she had concocted during her long and solitary sojourn exiled to her room and, with only the slightest bit of persuasion, soon had her usual army assembled. Obviously, Lady Catherine’s idea of silent contemplation and solitary confinement had done little to alter Lizzy’s mischievous ways; she was as determined as ever to be devious. Indeed, she had spent much of her sentence in eating green apples, picking the lock to her room, sliding down banisters, inventing a secret wall code, drawing pictures of Lady Catherine with a moustache, practicing pirate slang in the mirror, and writing a letter to Napoleon calling his military strategies at Waterloo any number of things, brilliant not being among them. For this endeavor, she had referenced her book of curse words, in order to make her letter all the more potent.

In short, she had done everything but contemplate her terrible actions, and the only things she felt truly repentant about were the frogs, as she had never been able to see them safely back to the pond and rather thought that they still lurked about the house or had fallen victim to Cook.

Nevertheless, Elizabeth was very excited about the Eckington ball-she had intercepted the invitation, after all-and even the knowledge that she would be stuck with the other young guests did not alarm her. As a matter of fact, she accepted the news with unusual cheerfulness. It was this cavalier mood that alarmed Mr. Darcy, who thought Elizabeth’s sudden willingness to please highly suspect. He did not, however, reveal his suspicions to Lady Catherine, for fear that she would march the girl to the Tower of London and throw her into the deepest, darkest cell available.

Yet Mr. Darcy, who, by that time, knew Lizzy’s disposition as well as his own, was quite sure that she had some plan in formulation. If the way in which she submitted to the knowledge of being kept in a nursery with other children during the ball was not proof enough, her uncharacteristic willingness to wear an alarmingly hideous beribboned dress was.

Never had Mr. Darcy laid eyes on a more hideous concoction-in was an unearthly shade of pink covered in yards of ribbon and lace in clashing colors-and he wondered if Lady Catherine, who was, oddly enough, in charge of Lizzy’s wardrobe-had forced her to wear it out of spite. Forced, however, was not the word, as Elizabeth had submitted to wearing it quite docilely and without even one reference to blowing it to shreds with her mighty arsenal of gunpowder.

When he found Lizzy downstairs making faces at herself in the mirror, he was considerably relieved, but even that gleam of normality did little to remove his suspicions. Hoping for the best and, subconsciously, a bit of amusement during an evening that would no doubt be very tedious, Mr. Darcy said nothing to Lizzy and very pointedly avoided the probing gaze of his sister-in-law during the long carriage ride to the Eckington’s London mansion.

Lady Catherine, on the other hand, despite putting up a very convincing front that she was outraged, was secretly rather pleased by the outcome. It was very gratifying to see the Duchess of Locksley humiliated beneath her own roof and to be able to pin the blame on someone else. Had anyone been passing her bedchamber door the evening after the disastrous tea party, they may have been able to overhear something very similar to laughter. However, as Lady Catherine never laughed, they would have probably dismissed it as the wind. That being said, Lady Catherine was supremely pleased with the world and with the fact that she would no longer have to host an annual tea party for the insufferable Duchess of Locksley. Had she not such an intense dislike for ‘that Bennet girl’, she would have felt rather indebted to her. This thought, however, Lady Catherine banished to the furthest corners of her mind and went about her customary routine of treating the girl with the utmost of dislike with relish. After all, she had never been indebted to anyone, except her husband, for dying and leaving her a substantial fortune, and was not about to be to ‘that Bennet girl’.

That evening in the carriage she was particularly waspish, as she had put up a very good argument the day before listing the exact reasons why ‘that Bennet girl’ should not be allowed to attend the ball, only to be gainsaid by Mr. Darcy. If there was one thing that aggravated Lady Catherine the most, it was her brother-in-law’s stubborn defense of the girl and his constant excuses for her actions. She simply could not understand why he was so sympathetic to the plight of a savage. Unlike Anne, however, she could not commandeer Mr. Darcy and boss him about, so she kept her words to herself and merely glowered at him, which, she noted in the carriage, with some satisfaction, had begun to work its effects and unsettle him.

When the carriage pulled up into the wide sweep of the Eckington drive, an unusual party emerged. Mr. Darcy, looking rather grim, was silently praying that Lizzy not attempt anything too risky, Lady Catherine, with an inward smile, was glowering very pointedly at her brother-in-law, Elizabeth was looking, if anything, quite impish, although her dress considerably diminished her intimidation factor, Darcy was looking at Elizabeth’s dress and attempting not to laugh (he had been boxed in the ears for making jokes about it earlier), Wickham was inspecting his attire to ensure that it was quite free of wrinkles, Charles was still rather red from Elizabeth’s earlier comment about his alarming tendency to blush-at which he had, condemningly, blushed, and Anne, allowed out of her room for the first time in ages, was starring awestruck at the house.

If anything, it was destined to be yet another eventful evening.

The children were deposited in the Eckington nursery to the charge of a portly, rubicund nursemaid who reeked of sherry. Situated upon a stool entirely too small for her large form, she leered drunkenly at the children as they entered. Rather conspicuous of the irony (the Eckington’s should have been able to employ a more reputable guardian for their children), but entirely too caught up in her plans to voice her amusement to the others, Elizabeth greeted the nursemaid good-humoredly, helped her to pour a very liberal glass of spirits, and waited by the door for the woman to succumb to drunken stupor.

Her attention, however, was soon directed elsewhere by a very nervous Bingley. “Lizzy,” he whispered, nudging her with his elbow, “why is everyone starring at us?” He was referring to the other children in the room, who had fallen silent after the arrival of their party. Innumerable pairs of eyes were focused upon them, particularly on Lizzy.

Elizabeth glared at them. Attention was the last thing she desired. At first, she thought she had gained so much attention because of her dress. It was, as she very well knew, a remarkably ugly dress. It had taken all of her self-restraint not to rip it to shreds the moment she had laid eyes upon it, but she knew that would have ruined everything, and Lady Catherine would never have allowed her out of the house. Still, Lizzy was not particularly happy to be the center of attention. Being the center of attention would not make sneaking stealthily out of the room a very easy task, as she knew from experience.

But Elizabeth soon discovered that it was not the dress but an entirely different source that had made her the center of interest.

“That’s her,” came the breathless whisper of a pudgy youth, “the pirate girl. She’ll run her sword through you. I bet she has it right now!” Obviously, Elizabeth Bennet’s reputation had preceded her.

Not at all out of sorts about being the talk of the nursery, Elizabeth cast the children a very toothy grin. “That’s right!” she cried, good-humoredly, “but I only run swords through people who are cross and disagreeable. So please do not give me a reason to run it through you.”

Anne had, by this time, deserted their party to be enveloped by the crowd of children. She was not about to be tainted by association with the notorious Elizabeth Bennet. And her mama would heartily disapprove of such pranks. If her mama disapproved, well, then so did Anne!

Lizzy watched her depart, unphased. She glanced over at the nursemaid, who was nodding off, her large form swinging from side to side and making the stool sway dangerously on its legs. Turning her attention back to the children, she still found herself the object of stares.

“I do not understand why you all are gawking at me. Perhaps it is not everyday you see a pirate, but, for the sake of my sanity, go about it more discreetly!”

“I would not anger her,” put in Darcy, for Elizabeth’s benefit.

“Yes, yes!” Wickham and Bingley chimed it, “she has a nasty temper!”

“And I’m an excellent shot!” Lizzy boasted, in a manner that was rather too cheerful.

Keeping one eye upon the nursemaid, who was lightly snoring upon her stool, Elizabeth darkened her glare at the children. They were huddled together, all firmly in belief that there was safety in numbers. “Now, it is very rude to stare at pirates!” she continued, “and I do not appreciate it at all. I should have thought you would have some manners! I daresay Blackbeard was more polite than you scallywags. Unfit to swab my decks, you are!” Her tone was censorious, but her eyes were sparkling. “Now, do go about whatever stupid things you were doing…play dolls or something and leave me alone!”

It took some time for the children to comply with her request, as they all wanted a very good look at the pirate. Very gradually, however, normal activity resumed in the nursery.

“That’s better,” Elizabeth said, her eyes dancing with something akin to pleasure. It was nice to be feared by nursery-children, almost as nice as terrifying the butler and the maids and drawing pictures of Lady Catherine with a moustache and beating Wickham at spades. Children were so easy to intimidate, especially ones gullible enough to believe that she would actually run them through with a sword.

She did not have much time to bask in the glow of being terrified, however, as loud snores began to issue from the nursemaid, who had, by that time, toppled off the stool, and was napping peacefully on the carpet.

“Here is our opportunity!” cried Wickham gleefully.

Elizabeth nodded. “Quietly now.” Without further ado, she, Darcy, Bingley, and Wickham crept towards the door, opened it quietly (although it did persist in squeaking somewhat), and slipped from the room. In a matter of seconds, they were safe in a large, spacious hallway, away from the prying gaze of the children.

“Do you think anyone saw us?” asked Bingley, his forehead puckering in worry.

“No,” remarked Elizabeth promptly, “and if they did, I do not think they will tell for fear I’ll run them through with my sword.’

“The foyer’s this way,” whispered Darcy, who evidently felt that they needed to be quieter. He motioned towards the left.

“No need for that!” cried Elizabeth loudly, “there aren’t any servants around. Everyone is at the ball.” She whacked him playfully over the head.

Darcy did not respond well to such abuse. He glowered at her and returned the blow, but she ducked and eluded him. Without so much as a glance backwards, she scurried down the richly carpeted hall.

“Lizzy!” called Bingley, jogging, “wait up, will you?!”

Darcy bounded ahead quickly, giving chase, leaving Wickham and Bingley to go about following to the best of their ability. The Eckington mansion, true to its enormous façade, was quite large and had enough hallways to prove it. Lizzy, not caring at all for directions, ran about like a madwoman, until, at last, she arrived at the railing of the grand Eckington staircase, Darcy in tow. Bingley and Wickham, not quite as nimble as their two friends, arrived, panting, a few moments later.

The grand staircase was very aptly named. Constructed of polished mahogany wood that gleamed in the glow of the heavy crystal chandelier that glimmered from above, the staircase wound upwards in a circular fashion, very fashionably carpeted in deep burgundy. In the foyer from which the staircase began, various elegant equipages milled around, all waiting to be received by Lord and Lady Eckington, who stood as the guardians of the ballroom.

Elizabeth, Darcy, Bingley, and Wickham were positioned on the second-floor balustrade, a prime position that enabled them full view of the guests below.

“Perfect,” said Lizzy, “absolutely perfect. The alcove she chose was positioned, if not precisely above the guests, quite adequate for her purposes. Enlisting the help of Darcy, she undid the topmost buttons of her hideous dress and, to the general awe of her comrades, extracted a long, wooden fishing pole baited with a dull hook.

“At least this dress is good for something,” she casually remarked to Darcy.

“How did you…”

“What?”

Bingley and Wickham asked incredulously.

“No time for questions,” replied Elizabeth matter-of-factly, positioning herself Indian-style before the gleaming mahogany railing and preparing her line.

Faces still bemused, the others did likewise.

The foyer below was filled near to capacity with people, elegant guests appearing not so elegant as they were squashed together unbecomingly, mingling about as they waited to be ‘received’ by Lord and Lady Eckington. There were scads of people about; dandies, rouges, poets, beauties, rakes, spinsters, matrons, bluestockings, toadies. Had Elizabeth not been so absorbed in her fishing reel, she would have delighted in analyzing their various personalities. As it was, however, she was quite occupied.

“Are you quite sure this is right, Elizabeth?” inquired Bingley, whose face had gone from crimson to green. As much as he did not want to admit it, he was rather afraid of heights. The slats in the banister provided a dizzying view of the polished marble floor below, and Charles did not think that the fat matron below him would break his fall. He gulped.

She gave him a reassuring pat, guessing the nature of his uneasiness. “Do not worry, Charles. You shan’t go over. I’ll hook your pants before I let you fall.”

Charles did not look much reassured, although he did manage a smile.

“Alright, it is time!” cried Lizzy, with a very wide smile.

“Just be careful,” cautioned Bingley.

Drawing the line up expertly, Elizabeth cast it over the banister and into the throng of guests milling below. Much to her amusement, no one noticed; they were far too absorbed in being noticed themselves to think a fishing line and dull hook anything out of the ordinary.

Some people, however, did think something amiss.

“Rather unusual decoration,” Elizabeth overheard one dandy say to another, motioning towards the line hanging above his head, “but demned clever, I say!”

“Indeed,” remarked his rather tipsy companion, “indeed. What a lark!”

Suffice it to say, the group assembled above stairs had a very difficult time sustaining laughter.

The room was very crowded and, despite her excellent fishing skills, Elizabeth had a difficult time maneuvering it around without snagging fabric and people’s diamond necklaces. Furthermore, she was having trouble getting a firm grip on things she did want to snag. It was all very annoying.

The hook, as if by its own accord, gravitated to the revealing neckline of a buxom young woman. Said woman was chatting amiably with an officer in red, although the officer did not appear to be paying any attention her face, much less what she said. This made Elizabeth frown. Catching the up the fabric that formed the offending neckline, she abruptly yanked it upwards into a more modest style. This action elicited the sighs of her companions, the bewilderment of the officer, and the surprise of the young lady.

“She was asking for it!” Lizzy said, in her own defense, “and it is simply impossible to have an intelligent conversation dressed like that.” More thoughtfully, she said, “I daresay she’s the closest thing to a hussy I’ve ever seen.”

Darcy, Bingley, and Wickham exchanged baffled glances over Elizabeth’s head.

“Oh, do grow up!” she snapped, in annoyance, “maids gossip, you know.”

Quite annoyed, she passed the line to Darcy.

He grinned. With deliberate purpose, he moved the hook over towards a dandy adorned entirely in puce. Said dandy was sporting a wine glass and speaking to a short-sighted young lady who squinted up at him, no doubt blinded by his attire.

… “do you find it awkward wearing bonnets? Are they very comfortable?” inquired the dandy, with an unusual amount of interest.

“I suppose you grow accustomed to them,” was the lukewarm answer.

“Indeed, do you? The ones made of straw are particularly ugly, I think, and they do not look at all the thing.”

“I suppose it is all a matter of taste,” replied Short-sighed girl rather stiffly; she had purchased a straw bonnet only the other day.

Hooking the stem of the dandy’s wine glass, Darcy ever so slightly lifted it from his hand. So absorbed in millinery, however, the dandy did not notice. Fortunately, his companion did.

“I say, Reggie!” she exclaimed, suddenly very alert, “your glass!”

“My what?” he inquired, yet to realize that he was grasping at air. Darcy promptly returned the glass to his owner.

“Your glass!” repeated the woman, aghast, “it was hanging in the air.”

“Was it really, Minerva?” he inquired, “or is this all some sort of joke? Do you wish me to stop talking about bonnets?”

“Reggie!” she cried, “your glass was in the air. I promise!”

“That is quite ridiculous. Where do you get your ideas? Those blasted novels, no doubt. I say, Minerva, as your fiancé, I do not approve at all of those…”

“Reggie!” she cried, “there it is again! Your glass is in the air!”

“Ye gads, my girl, you’re right!” cried Reggie, turning the color of his outfit and making a grab for the glass that hovered only inches above his hand. Darcy promptly raised the glass higher.

“Whatever in the world…”

“My glass!” screeched Reggie, “my glass!” He leapt higher and higher in pursuit.

“Do keep it down, Reggie,” put in his fiancé, blushing.

“My glass!” It seemed his entire vocabulary had deserted him.

“How unseemly,” whispered a matron nearby, “shocking behavior from the younger son of an earl!”

“Oh, do come back down!”

Darcy, biting back laughter, unhooked the glass. It fell into Reggie’s open hand. The look on the young man’s face was too much for words. Minerva, meanwhile, appeared as though she had second thoughts on the matter of their upcoming nuptials.

Content with his work, Darcy reeled up the line and returned it to Lizzy.

“Say, Lizzy, let me,” hissed Wickham, grabbing for the reel. Lizzy promptly shoved him in the face.

“Serves you right for snatching,” she said in response to his gasp of annoyance. She then handed the reel to Bingley, who took it uncertainly.

He made a half-hearted cast over the banister. Bobbing it about clumsily, he accidentally caught up the powdered wig of the large, matronly lady dripping with diamonds that he had only earlier hoped would break his fall. Startled, Charles flung both line and wig upwards just as the woman’s shrill screech sounded. Patting her sparse gray locks in dismay-a rapid change from the lush curls that had crowned her head only seconds earlier-the lady got down on hands and knees and began to scour the room for her runaway wig.

Wickham who had, by this time, commandeered the line from a trembling Charles, anchored the hook into the back of the lady’s voluminous dress and, without the slightest bit of compassion for her plight, tugged until the skirts flew up to reveal a very frilly assortment of undergarments. This action was quite unbeknownst to the lady, who continued to crawl about on all fours, oblivious to both propriety and her exposed nether regions. Whispered voices followed her progress, but no one got down to help her. This made Elizabeth rather mad, and, without further ado, she whacked Wickham in the back of her head and reclaimed her reel. Thus situated, she corrected the situation, leaving the lady a tad more civilized. The wig, however, Lizzy kept for her own possession. It would, she mused, prove useful.

Determined that Bingley should have his fair share of the line, Elizabeth forced him to take it once again. Rather upset with the wig fiasco, he reclaimed it with haste and cast it over the side without so much as looking over first. The hook disappeared for several minutes, until Bingley felt a very strong tug. Pulling with all the strength he could muster, Bingley reeled in the line…

only to reveal a very chubby pug dog on the other end, suspended halfway in the air, the hook caught on his bejeweled collar. The weight of the dog proved to be too much; with a snap, the line broke, and both dog and hook tumbled into the crowd. The dog was expertly caught by a tall man wearing spectacles, while the hook took hold of the back of a lady’s dress.

Elizabeth glowered at Bingley, who looked, if anything, extraordinarily apologetic.

“You can make things better by helping me up,” Elizabeth said, after forcing herself not utter a string of curses at her unwitting companion. With unusual alacrity, Bingley assisted her.

“I am very sorry…”

She cut him off. “No need for apologies. Blame the dog, if you like.”

Darcy intervened to say, “Almost everyone is through the receiving line. The ball is about to begin.”

A smile replaced the frown on Elizabeth’s face; she appeared to be extraordinarily pleased. “Excellent!” she cried, twirling a very bemused Bingley about, “it is time to enact Phase 2!”