P&P in the Fandom

    By Lise

    Beginning, Next Section

    Author's Note: JA in this story wrote all the novels except P&P. This gives the other young gentlemen some time to exhibit :-) P&P provides the characters for this story, but their websites have P&P names and not names based on any of the novels in 'their' fandom.

    Prologue

    Posted on 2008-10-10

    On MSN:

    MrsBee says:
    My dear Ben, did you see that Netherfield got a post by a new author today?

    Ben says:
    I did not.

    MrsBee says:
    Lon G just reloaded the site and gave me a nudge.

    MrsBee says:
    Don't you want to know who posted?

    Ben says:
    Positively dying to hear it.

    MrsBee says:
    Lon G says it's a great writer. Posted 4 chapters at once. She was so delighted with the response that she promised to finish the story by November. And she'd persuade her friend to post at Netherfield as well.

    Ben says:
    Great writer? Who?

    MrsBee says:
    Charlie Bingley

    Ben says:
    Sounds like a man.

    MrsBee says:
    What a wonderful thing.

    Ben says:
    ....

    MrsBee says:
    For the girls who are organising the meeting. A new author.

    Ben says:
    I don't like to have my position threatened by other men, Beatrice. Neither as your cyber hubby, nor as the wittiest man at Longbourn. He must stay at Netherfield.

    MrsBee says:
    She must come to the meeting.

    Ben says:
    Because that's why he posted. So he could be invited to the meeting.

    MrsBee says:
    Have you made up your mind about coming yet?

    Ben says:
    Why don't you go? Mr Bingley might like you if he goes and he writes exactly the sort of stuff you like, you say.

    MrsBee says:
    You're so paranoid you see men everywhere. Why don't you come to protect me from Charlie Bingley? Who is not even a man, I think.

    MrsBee says:
    Oh! If Charlie Bingley is a man, he would only come if there were other men at the meeting. See, you must come. Men won't come unless there are other men. They are stupid like that.

    Ben says:
    You got that right, although I'm not coming unless there are twenty other men coming to that meeting.

    Chapter One

    Once upon a time there was a website called Longbourn. It was a fan fiction site -- fan fiction about an author named Jane Austen, to be precise. The name of Longbourn was made up from the names of its two original founders, Lon G and someone who was long forgotten. These days, because Lon G had grown quite busy managing Netherfield, a newer website, site administration had been taken over by five girls.

    It was an active community, as Jane Austen fan fic was hugely popular, and its moderators had taken it upon themselves to organise a meeting for its members: the Jane Austen Fan Fiction Assembly, also known as JAFFA. Members had been able to sign up in advance if they wanted to stay at the hotel it was held at, but it was also possible for others to drop in if they arranged for their own accommodations.

    Consequently it was not very clear which additional people were coming, but it was also very exciting. The girls were poring over a list of names and trying to decide whether any of the activities needed to be adapted if extra people showed up. They had done their best to come up with activities that would appeal to all, although Mary had insisted on including one for the nerds, too.

    Friday night:
    receiving guests, drinks

    Saturday:
    08:00 Food
    09:00 Slash Panel (Lydia): Rears and Vices
    09:00 Grammar Panel (Mary): Betaing and Self-betaing
    12:00 Food
    13:00 Collective Activity: Co-Authoring with Prompts
    16:00 Food
    16:30 Assignment: Get Engaged to a Sailor and Dump Him
    19:00 Food
    21:00 Films

    "Charlie Bingley? Is she coming?" cried a girl named Lydia. She was one of the JAFFA organisers, which could be inferred from her t-shirt. "She writes the best erotica on the net." And she was keen on drawing Charlie to her panel and not to Mary's. However, if too many people chose hers, which she expected, she might have to change to another room.

    The only girl with a different t-shirt wrinkled her nose. "Smut," she said primly. "I don't read smut. Who's Charlie Bingley?"

    "Charlie posts at Netherfield, Mary," said Lydia.

    "I bet she's a teen," Lizzy said with relish. "I bet Netherfield is actually full of teens." Teens were not allowed at Netherfield, of course, which was precisely why she thought it must be full of them. She had never been there herself, but there was no need: she just knew.

    "Smut," Mary said with her lips pressed closely together. She was content to remain at safe smut-free Longbourn. Netherfield was really too much for her sensibilities, even though everyone said it was not so bad. Some of the Netherfield people who also posted at Longbourn were going to be here today as well and she was curious about them. Lizzy thought they were teens, but she was inclined to think they were all like Lydia. One Lydia was just doable, but a dozen of them would be insufferable.

    A sweet-looking girl who had been welcoming the new arrivals passed just in time to give her opinion. Or rather, to temper those of others. "Not all erotica is smut. There's so much at Netherfield that isn't. They have some great stuff there that even I read and you know I'm very normal."

    "Seriously, I have never seen smut at Netherfield!" cried Mrs Bee, one of the newest arrivals who was wriggling herself into the t-shirt she had just been given. "Of course Charlie Bingley doesn't write smut. And would you know, Ben says he's a man! I wish Ben would come so we could show him he's wrong, but Ben won't come unless Charlie Bingley is a man. Aren't men annoying?"

    Ben had always planned to go to the meeting, although he had told Mrs Bee to the day of her departure that he would not. The good things about meeting friends from the internet was that when he was before her she still had no idea it was him, but he had been too curious about her to stay away.

    There was no mistaking Beatrice, although he could not think of her as such. She was Mrs Bee to him. Although in real life she could not indulge in her habit to liven up every post with pictures of Captain Wentworth, she had found a way around that. She wore a large t-shirt with his head on it and she wore it proudly. On the back it said Captain's Crew.

    The t-shirt made him cringe, but he suspected she would cringe if he wore the male equivalent of such a shirt -- which he could not, because there were too few men attending this meeting for there to be a special t-shirt. But at least none of the women here could punctuate their speech with yellow smileys.

    For a moment he wondered if there were also Edmund, Edward or Henry t-shirts, but since he would not know what witticisms could be printed on those, he suspected not. Mr Knightley's nightie, maybe. He knew Mrs Bee and Lydia had designed the t-shirts. Henry Tilney's lines did not excite them.

    But the shirt mattered little; Beatrice was a slim blonde who had probably been looking the same for the last two decades already. Pretty women could wear anything and still be attractive. He would simply ignore the image of Captain Wentworth on her chest. Why did that have to be on the chest?

    There was another girl who had obviously been bullied into wearing the same t-shirt. He knew who she was, because she had introduced herself. "I hope the other men will like that t-shirt as much as I do, Lizzy," he said.

    "There won't be any other men, since you told us all you weren't coming!" Mrs Bee had caught on to his presence and she was hovering between delight and indignation.

    Lizzy laughed. "There will be other men. Lon G has promised to bring some from Netherfield."

    "Lon G!" Mrs Bee fumed. She was a little offended, for she considered herself very knowledgeable about all things Netherfield -- and this she did not know. "I doubt it. She's the most selfish man eater I ever saw. She'd keep every man to herself."

    "I'm glad for that," said Ben. If all men were monopolised by Lon G, they could not go after Mrs Bee. And Mrs Bee was hot. Perhaps a trifle silly, but nevertheless hot.

    "Besides, how can Lon bring them? She's not coming until tomorrow morning. And there are no men at Netherfield." She looked puzzled.

    "Then you will be able to introduce them to her."

    "How, if they're not even here?" she cried. "And they don't exist. I don't know what they look like."

    He had wonderful news for her and he grinned. "But I do."

    She was even more puzzled now. "Other men? There aren't any!"

    "I met a Charlie Bingley on the train. A guy." He had always said it was a guy and he felt smug for having been right.

    "I'm sick of Charlie Bingley," Mrs Bee complained.

    Ben snorted and turned away. He picked up his bag and went to his room to see if there was a Mr Knightley nightie on his pillow.

    Charlie Bingley did not make his appearance yet, but some new arrivals claimed to have seen him. They confirmed that Charlie was indeed a man, which shocked everybody. William and Lucy L were adamant, though.

    William was Lucy's husband and although he was not really a member of the Longbourn site himself, he always good-naturedly came along to meetings for the naval aspect. He was thrilled to see more men there for once. Instead of fast-forwarding through the naval films when there were no hot men in view, they might now allow even the boring sailing scenes to be shown at normal speed -- and to allow remarks on incorrect uniforms instead of dismissing those with "but they look hot in them, so what do we care?"

    Not only had Lucy L revealed she had seen Charlie Bingley, but she had furthermore shared with her interested audience that he would be bringing a few more well-known authors from other sites. This was exciting news. Everybody was interested in meeting well-known authors, although they had no idea who those authors could be.

    Chapter Two

    Posted on 2008-10-15

    "Lizzy, I couldn't find the Mr Knightley nighties," Ben said when he returned downstairs. He had a double room and he did not know who would be his room mate, but neither of the beds in the room had had a nightie on or under its pillows. He was a little disappointed.

    She giggled. "Why, Ben! I had never pegged you as one of those. Should I assign you another room mate then?"

    "I have no idea who my room mate is, actually."

    "They made the mistake of letting me assign people room mates." Her eyes gleamed. "The programme was a collaboration between Lydia and Mary, as anyone could see, but the room assignation was all mine."

    "Meaning?"

    "I'd assigned you a woman, not a man, but if that is where your preferences lie..." She bit her lip and tapped her pen against her clipboard. "But against popular belief I really don't know if we've got that sort of man here. Unless Charlie Bingley will be one, but he's not staying here."

    "A woman? Which woman?"

    "Oh a safe one. She will be up all night watching videos in the TV room anyway," Lizzy said with a wink. "Mrs Bee."



    While they had been busy seeing everyone to their rooms and tending to the small complaints and questions that arose from the arrangements, the five girls and all other interested women had completely missed Charlie Bingley's visit. Reportedly he had had a drink in the hotel bar with Ben, who had given him Saturday's programme. There was nothing more he had needed to ask, so after one drink he had gone to his own hotel.

    Mrs Bee, when she joined Ben, was very sorry to have missed him, but she was a little cheered by Lucy L's suggestion that he could not be here alone. He must have brought at least one friend. That this was more inspired by Lucy's always needing William than by any real information about Charlie, was completely overlooked by both of them.

    With every next drink, however, one more friend was added and when Ben removed a slightly tipsy Mrs Bee to their room, Charlie was said to be bringing half a dozen more female authors and one male. Ben was glad for that, although Mrs Bee's fascination with another man still stung.

    "I'm glad there are no Mr Knightley nighties," he said to her.

    "That's a wonderful idea for next time," she said enthusiastically. "But does that mean you like mine better?"

    The next morning Charlie Bingley arrived when everyone was having breakfast. He had brought two women and two men, but nobody knew who they were. Breakfast, however, was a buffet and all the walking about soon spread the rumours to every table. The names of the new arrivals were Charlie Bingley, Darcy Fitzwilliam, Horst, Louisa and Caroline. The first two were the more familiar names, but that was not the only reason for them to be on everyone's lips.

    Charlie Bingley was a man. Not only he was, but Darcy Fitzwilliam as well. Darcy Fitzwilliam! Her fics -- pardon, his fics -- were renowned for their high quality and attention to detail. She was one of the big names in the fandom and it had never crossed anyone's mind to think she might be male.

    And he had come. This was amazing, because Darcy Fitzwilliam had always posted strictly at an elitist website that ensured an outstanding quality by inviting only selected authors, until she -- now he -- had been begged and entreated by a well-known publishing house. That this Darcy now chose to mingle with the plebs of the fandom -- as he had reputedly once called Longbourn -- raised more than one eyebrow. At the same time he was admired for his talent and discipline, because within five minutes of his entrance it was whispered that he wrote ten thousand words a day and that he would be wonderful during the writing session later on.

    But it was only ten minutes later that he had disgusted everyone with his proud and disagreeable manners. He was quite the opposite of Charlie, who had immediately sat down and talked to whoever was near. Charlie especially liked Jane, who had been an excellent hostess and who had welcomed them the moment she had perceived strangers coming in.

    Jane did not have time to eat, busy as she was. Just when she was about to sit down after welcoming everyone downstairs and asking if they had had a good night, Charlie had come in. To be fair, she quite forgot to eat after that and if it had not been for his kind worries that he was keeping her from her breakfast, she might have forgotten it completely.

    It was soon time for the two panels and Jane stood up to call everyone to attention.

    One panel was led by Lydia and was ominously called Rears and Vices. Precisely what Lydia meant to cover was not clear to everyone. The guest speaker, a handsome youngish man called Dr George Wickham, looked interesting enough, even if several of the older ladies in attendance had no idea what slash was.

    However, the other option was a session on grammar and there were equally well a few people who had no idea what grammar was. Still, even Mary got a few participants who were interested in what could be said about betaing. Her guest speaker was the renowned ElizaBeta Collins, whose name said it all.

    Lizzy chose Lydia's, suspecting how dull Mary's session was going to be. ElizaBeta was, as her name heralded, a beta, but not just any beta. No, one of her authors was Lady Catherine, the queen of self-published fan fiction. Precisely how this made ElizaBeta equally wonderful, Lizzy did not quite see, but it was clear that it did. Mary was all admiration.

    Lydia's guest speaker was handsome and Lizzy would not mind looking at him. He was furthermore a real scholar who would have a solid grasp of his subject, something that could not be said for Ms Collins.

    Charlie had chosen this panel as well because Jane had and his friend Darcy had followed suit, although there was something of anger in his face. Lizzy wondered if he was going to erupt with fierce anti-homosexual comments or anger at the defamation of the Great Author's name and she was resolved to witness it.

    Darcy, who actually did not know what slash was other than a punctuation character, although he could not connect it to the Mansfield Park reference at all, realised the wrongness of his assumption that Lydia was going to talk about admirals and other ranks when Lydia performed the introductions.

    "Welcome all! My, what a large crowd. I knew we'd beat Mary! This is Dr George Wickham, a leading expert on vice in the Regency, and I'm an expert on rears -- um, pretty boys," Lydia said with a wide grin. "That explains our title, doesn't it?"

    "Excuse me," Darcy spoke up. "Is this session not going to be about ranks in the Royal Navy?"

    "Haha, pranks in the Royal Navy, maybe," Lydia snorted. "But we're not limiting ourselves to pretty boys in the Royal Navy. I don't think the words limiting and pretty boys go together!"

    There were some appreciative noises from Mrs Bee's corner, though she had gathered some like-minded friends around her and she may not have been the loudest.

    Darcy stood up and left the room. Lizzy giggled, but she was not very interested in a discussion about pretty boys either, especially pretty boys paired with each other. And really, the number of pretty boys in the novels was rather limited -- would they have to resort to Edmund Bertram? John Thorpe? Mr Elliot?

    She stood up. "Lydia, the only pretty, um, boys described in the same novel are Sir Walter Elliot and Captain Wentworth, aren't they, but..."

    "Just you wait and see!" Lydia said brightly. "Though I'm always lolling at Sir Wally, I can't reveal anything yet."

    Lolling? Lizzy took care to avoid the suspicion that she was going after Darcy, but then she left as well. Kitty and Jane were already here. At least one of the organising committee should probably listen to Mary.

    Charlie had followed his friend and he had made the sacrifice of abandoning Jane for it. They sat near Lizzy and she could overhear some of their conversation while Mary and ElizaBeta were still waiting until the room filled up -- which it might never do.

    "I'm really looking forward to this afternoon's writing session," Charlie said enthusiastically.

    Darcy gave him a grumble.

    "Come on. You love writing."

    "You know how I detest writing with someone else, unless I'm particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Caroline and Louisa would add too much romance and there is no one else who could possibly write anything to my tastes."

    "I'm happy I'm not as fastidious as you are," Charlie exclaimed. "This is a game, you know! It's not going to be published. I've met several really good authors already and I'm looking forward to working with them."

    "You've monopolised the only decent one already. Jane posts at my site." Authors had to meet certain criteria before they were invited. Not many qualified. He had been surprised to recognise one here.

    "What about Lizzy? I've read some of her stuff."

    "She's tolerable, but not good enough to tempt me and I'm in no humour at present to raise the standards of someone else's deplorable writing. Why don't you go back to the rears and vices talk?"

    Charlie was a little taken aback.

    Lizzy wanted to snort, not at the insult, but at the man's idiotic manner. What a loveable character he was. Coming here and behaving in such a manner was not a good marketing tactic. She wondered if she should tell him that he was not exactly boosting his sales.

    Why had he come? To have his low opinion of them confirmed? They had come here to have fun, but it looked as if Darcy Fitzwilliam never had a day of fun in his life. Very well, they could have some fun at his expense.

    But then Mary spoke. "Shall we start? This is the panel on grammar and betaing, two very important subjects in our world. My guest is ElizaBeta Collins; some -- I expect most -- of you will be familiar with her."

    Ms Collins looked as if everyone ought to be -- and that being introduced by a mangled version of your own name was perfectly normal.

    "She has a wide experience as a beta and her main author is of course Lady Catherine."

    That was another person who clearly considered herself normal bearing a ridiculous name, Lizzy thought. She was glad she was simply Lizzy. ElizaBeta could have gone for Lizzy 2.

    "Did that come about before or after publication?" Ben spoke up.

    Ms Collins looked shocked. "Lady Catherine has always been an excellent writer. I consider it an enormous privilege to be privy to her first drafts and to help out where help may be needed. She's an enormous perfectionist and she would rather have someone look over her work and find nothing than to have it published without ever being seen by another pair of eyes, which she really doesn't need, since she's got an amazingly good sense of grammar. I with my vast experience in betaing, because I consider myself somewhat of an expert, can only testify to the fact that Lady Catherine is a wonderful writer."

    "So in fact she does nothing?" Ben whispered to Lizzy. "And she's proud of it?"

    She liked him a lot better when he was not ogling Mrs Bee. "Where's your room mate?" she whispered back.

    "Talking about pretty boys, of course. I'm no pretty boy," he said a little wryly.

    He was not a pretty boy like Horst, who had come with Charlie Bingley, Lizzy agreed, but she would bet that Horst was not as witty online, not even secretly. Horst or a photo of Horst, the difference would be minimal. She giggled. It was odd how Ben had some chemistry with his complete opposite, Mrs Bee, whom she would always have guessed to prefer Horsts. "Aww. Mrs Bee can't sleep with fictional characters, though."

    "No comment, no comment."

    "In the same room, I meant!"

    "Sure, Lizzy."

    ElizaBeta was still talking about Lady Catherine's wonderfulness. "I didn't come here for a worshipping session," Lizzy hissed at Charlotte, who was on her other side, but fortunately Mary liked to hear herself speak as much as ElizaBeta did.

    "Yes, thank you," Mary said, cutting short some more praise of the greatest author in fanfic land. "I am glad to hear you and Lady Catherine take grammar -- with an A -- very seriously. For some of us it really ruins our reading experience to encounter many faults in the text. Betas are indispensable."

    "Absolutely!" ElizaBeta nodded.

    "But there are several kinds and I don't approve of all of them to the same extent."

    "Between you and I, there's a lot of people out there who just want to beta for the sneak preview, without being good at grammar at all," said ElizaBeta, still nodding.

    Lizzy pointed childishly, but it went unnoticed by anyone but her neighbours.

    Darcy stood up. "For my own website both authors and correctors have to meet with strict criteria. I will not consider a story unless it has been checked by two correctors from my approved list. I must recommend this method."

    "Lady Catherine --" Ms Collins began.

    "Even Lady Catherine. She did not accept my correctors, so I did not accept her stories."

    "But you did accept Anne De Bourgh."

    "I have a special arrangement with Anne De Bourgh," Darcy said curtly. "Which, as the site owner, is completely within my rights. But how I run my site is not the subject of this session, I believe. Do continue."

    Mary looked relieved. "Thank you. I wanted to provide some information. Authors who have never researched this matter might not be aware of the differences between betas. I myself am in favour of using four betas: one for grammar, one for style, one for plot and one for accuracy."

    Ben raised his hand. "Don't you think we should really all have five?"

    "I don't understand you."

    "The fifth one is the mirror."

    "You don't take it very seriously, I see," Mary said with a disapproving look, although she still did not understand what he meant. "Why are you here?"

    "For the women -- and because next door they're talking about men."

    "And now you wish you'd never been told what they were up to on those ships!" Dr Wickham said in a low, meaningful voice. He was a gifted speaker and he had captivated his audience with his tales about vice and debauchery. Truly, it was amazing that those ships' crews had won any battles at all. Rotten to the core, they were, and obsessed with everything bad.

    "That's not the impression I got from reading Darcy Fitzwilliam," said someone, looking a little puzzled. Darcy wrote only naval fan fiction, with great attention to detail and situation almost entirely on board and in ports. His characters were so busy doing their duty that they were never seen engaging in vice and mischief of a vicious kind. They were mainly heroic, noble and loyal.

    Dr Wickham gave her a quick and somewhat indulgent smile. "Ah, yes. I have crossed swords with Darcy Fitzwilliam many times. Darcy writes fan fiction and copies bits from academic sources to appear knowledgeable, whereas I am a scholar. Let's leave it at that."

    Lydia could never go long without allowing her mind to take a particular course. She had once tried to read Darcy, but she had found it incredibly boring and full of jargon. "Let's get back to the pretty boys now that we know what went on below decks."

    Chapter Three

    Posted on 2008-10-23

    After having heard Mary drone on about the use of betas, with occasional nodding and anecdotes from ElizaBeta Collins about her work for the incredible Lady Catherine, Lizzy felt she might prefer to try the other session after the break, even if this was about something she could not wrap her brain around.

    There was a break, of course. Jane had insisted. Not for the reasons Lizzy would have had, but Jane had not wanted people to be disappointed by not being able to follow everything. She had requested Mary and Lydia to divide their sessions in two different parts, so that people could easily change rooms during the break.

    And some people would simply miss each other's company if the sessions went on for too long. Ben had hoped that Mrs Bee would have enough of the silly talk about pretty boys, but she looked far too enthusiastic when she came out for coffee.

    "My dear Ben!" she gushed. "We had a most delightful session. I wish you'd been there. Charlie Bingley was there for a minute and he got along so well with Jane that I think they'll write something very good together. I can't wait! I'm Jane's beta, you know. Just think -- Jane and Charlie Bingley! I really need something wonderful to read and Lydia inspired us all. Of course everyone is dying to write something with him --"

    "I wish he'd sprained his wrist shaking the hands of his admirers," Ben said grumpily.

    "I wish you'd been there. You would have written a unique take on Darcy Fitzwilliam's favourite hero Captain Wentworth, I'm sure. That would serve him right, detestable man."

    "Who is detestable, the captain?"

    "No, Darcy!"

    One man down, but still too many to go. Ben sighed. And he would never write Captain Wentworth paired with a man; every feeling revolted.

    "I really like Charlie. I was sorry he left the room," Jane said to Lizzy. "He's very nice."

    "And handsome. Perfect, therefore." Lizzy refrained from mentioning his writing about dubious subjects, since Jane liked everything and never considered anything dubious. If it did not matter to Jane, it should not matter to her.

    "And he's single."

    "Even better. You have my permission to like him," Lizzy said with a smile. "Not that you ever don't like anybody."

    Jane blushed. "Lizzy!"

    She did not know Jane well, she realised. Not in real life, anyway. "Well, I imagine that you don't, since you always like everybody's stories too, whether they are good or bad."

    "I don't want to be too quick in judging a story before I know all about the story and the author," Jane protested. "But I really do think there's something to be liked about all of them."

    "That's the worst part. You have the amazing ability to overlook plot holes, grammatical errors and cardboard characterisations, and to spin an encouraging reply out of that single good line where others simply post that it's wonderful, just to be kind." Lizzy admired that in her. She could not do the same. The back button was her close friend, but Jane's keyboard did not have one at all, it seemed.

    When she thought of Charlie's friends she could certainly not be like Jane. Darcy was disagreeable and the two women had not talked to many people, as if they were a little embarrassed at being at a fan fiction assembly. Lizzy assumed no one had forced them, though. "Do you like Charlie's friends?" she asked Jane.

    "Oh, they're all right. I've talked to them and I thought they were very nice."

    Lizzy smiled. That was typical for Jane. Her opinion was different. One of the reasons for attending an assembly like this was a wish to get to know people in real life. Such a wish seemed completely absent in either Caroline or Louisa. It was different for men, considering how few of them there were, but Caroline and Louisa ought to have talked to people and expressed their surprise at how everyone looked exactly as they had imagined, or not at all. Instead, they had seemed to expect admiration and awe, when they really looked very ordinary. They might possess some writing talents, but that was not really what mattered when everybody met face to face.

    Lizzy moved a little further into the crowd. Mrs Bee was talking to Charlotte, Ben having gone to fetch them some coffee. "You weren't in our room, of course, but I heard Charlie Bingley say he really liked your stories."

    "Did he now?" It was nice to hear, but Charlotte had heard some more. "He really likes Jane's. They're his absolute favourites."

    "Oh, I did hear something -- Robyn said something, but I don't remember precisely..."

    "Yes, I told you that he told Robyn that Jane's stories are his absolute favourites and that he'd love to write one together with her."

    "Well, I hope -- but they may not have time this weekend, of course."

    Charlotte turned to Lizzy. "I'm sorry for you, though. His friend isn't as nice, is he? To be only a tolerable writer in his opinion!" She could laugh; she had loved Lizzy's writing for years.

    "Oh, Lizzy!" cried Mrs Bee. "Let him talk, let him talk! Don't give him the satisfaction of caring for his opinion. Who does he think he is? He sat next to Lon G all night yesterday without speaking to her. I bet he thinks we should all have stood in line for his autograph, just because he's published."

    "I'm not one to ask for autographs," Lizzy laughed.

    "Well, he's a good writer," Charlotte mused. "I wish he wouldn't mind co-authoring with you. That would be nice for us all. And," she lowered her voice, "it's a big plus that you wouldn't have to correct his grammar."

    Lizzy wrinkled her nose in determination. "I'm going to turn him down if we draw the same lot."

    "Do, do," said Mrs Bee. "He deserves it."

    "He has a right to be proud of himself, though," Charlotte spoke on. "He is good."

    "He would have been welcome to his pride if he hadn't hurt mine." Lizzy stuck out her tongue.

    While Lizzy and Charlotte were discussing Jane and Charlie, ignoring the rather disturbing view they had of Ben and Mrs Bee feeding each other cake, Lizzy had no idea she was being observed herself. Her comments before the break had set her apart from the rest and the occasional mocking smile on her face -- at exactly the right moments -- had been rather appealing to Darcy. She was more intelligent than her humorous stories let on and he valued intelligence.

    He did not particularly care for humorous stories and he had always assumed they required little cleverness. Occasionally one of his characters said something witty by accident, but he always took care to paint them as serious and responsible above all and to focus on accurate details rather than on making his audience laugh.

    Seeing Lizzy in the flesh now, however, he found there were surprisingly many occasions on which he agreed with that sarcastic expression in her eyes. Whether his eyes turned to her often to look for that, or because she was rather good-looking, he did not know. She was not as attractive as Mrs Bee, but a lot closer to his preferred age.

    Besides, Mrs Bee was making an awful spectacle of herself, allowing that rather shabbily dressed man -- although his comments about betaing had been amusing -- to feed her cake because she was doing her hair, which quite unintentionally, he was sure, drew all the attention to the prominent parts of her figure.

    But he realised a moment later that not many in the room would care about Mrs Bee's figure, since they were mostly women. He returned his attention to Lizzy, whose opinion of Mrs Bee's behaviour was not one of benevolent encouragement, but rather one of bewildered amusement.

    He should like to talk to her, he found, but he had to find a way to approach her that was not too obvious. If he could first listen to what she had to say to others, others he knew, then maybe he could venture a comment directly to her. It was difficult to do so when they were all seated at different tables, but he could do so when they got up.

    First, however, he was approached by William L, of whom he had never heard until the day before. This had been perfectly understandable after William's explanation that he did not write and that he did not even have any inclination to write, but that he was simply there to accompany his wife. William did not even have any inclination to read, but he was fond of sailing and for a while they had talked about that. There was only so much Darcy could discuss about sailing, since he had never done it, and he was always glad when William moved away.

    Now William joined him again. "What a charming amusement for young people this is!" he exclaimed. "There's nothing like reading and writing. It's a very refined way of spreading knowledge."

    "Certainly -- and it's also a very refined way of spreading utter rubbish." Darcy refrained from mentioning particular stories and websites; William would not be familiar with them anyway.

    William only smiled. His eye fell on Charlie. "Your friend writes delightful stories, I heard from my wife, and I don't doubt that you're an adept writer yourself."

    "I write," Darcy acknowledged. He doubted that his stories were delightful. It was not a qualification he strove for, at any rate.

    "Do you often attend such meetings?"

    "Never."

    "Don't you think it fun?"

    "That remains to be seen."

    William was at a loss. He was glad he saw Lizzy pass by. "Lizzy! Why aren't you sitting down? Come and join us. Have you met Darcy Fitzwilliam? Darcy, this is Lizzy. She writes too."

    "We've met," Lizzy said curtly. She wrote too! She would almost laugh, knowing his opinion of her writing. He would certainly not think they were on the same level. "But don't think I have no place to sit. I was just on my way to pick up a list."

    "But do sit here for a minute. Darcy won't mind sharing his table."

    Darcy very politely removed his coat from the chair beside him, which he had put there to prevent too many people from joining him. There were four chairs at a table and he had only one coat, but he preferred two companions over three.

    "I'm sorry, I really can't," Lizzy answered civilly and she walked on.

    Darcy sipped his coffee when he was left alone by both of them. He enjoyed this; surprisingly he enjoyed it a lot more than if Lizzy had sat down beside him. Now he could watch her and he did not have to think of anything to say. It was always easier to come up with things to say if he was not talking to anybody and Lizzy had quite inspiring eyes. Perhaps he could write her a note.

    Chapter Four

    Posted on 2008-10-29

    Dr George Wickham and Lydia had delivered an inspiring lecture, because at more than one table girls were giggling over possible plots and pairings. It annoyed Ben to no end that this was apparently all they could get out of Austen. "I'm beginning to think that some of silliest people on earth are gathered here. I had my suspicions before, but they have definitely been confirmed now," he said to Mrs Bee.

    "I'm surprised you'd think your own friends silly," she answered.

    "It's better to think them silly than not to know they are."

    "Yes, but they are not."

    "This is the only point on which we don't agree," he said with a smile. "I'd been hoping we'd agree on everything, but I'll have to accept that we disagree on this particular point."

    Mrs Bee did not see the problem. "Dear Ben, you can't expect these girls to be as sensible as we are. Some of them are half our age. By the time they get to their forties they'll be normal."

    He wondered if pretty women really needed to be sensible if they still amused him. It was a question he could not answer.

    "Jane," Mrs Bee beckoned. "Have you asked Charlie's group about dinner and all that? Has he asked you to write anything with him yet? Or do anything else together?" She would be happy about either thing.

    "No." Jane looked a little embarrassed. "But I'll ask him if they're eating here or at their own hotel."

    "Oh, isn't that lovely?" Mrs Bee gushed a moment later. "Look, Charlie and Jane have left the room together."

    "She's only just met him," Ben said with some fatherly concern. "Should I go after them?"

    "Don't you dare!"

    "But these are all young girls and you may just have condemned her to a creep. You never know with men who come to internet gatherings. They only want one thing."

    "Hahaha," said Mrs Bee. "But it's Charlie Bingley! He writes the best love scenes. Jane has nothing to worry about."

    "My dear Beatrice, I'm glad you'll have that uplifting thought to console her with if anything happens." He was glad to see Lizzy leave the room in pursuit of Jane. While he did not really think Charlie had anything evil in mind -- the man behaved too much like a puppy -- Beatrice's naïveté was rather frightening.

    He had never read anything by Charlie Bingley himself, let alone his love scenes, but he did not think that the content of one's love scenes were at all related to one's experience or skill -- or even one's intentions. He could not help questioning Mrs Bee about it, however. "So, do you think one is automatically good at acting out love scenes if one is good at writing them? Or do you think one could only be good at writing them if one is good at them? Or do you think one could be good at them without ever writing them?"

    Mrs Bee looked startled by these complicated questions. "Er..." But then a brilliant notion struck her. "Are you talking about yourself?"

    Lizzy was still in search of the list for that afternoon's co-authoring assignment. Jane had it, she suspected, because Jane carried a clipboard. Mary carried something too, but Mary was incapable of focusing on two activities at once and her grammar and beta session was keeping her completely occupied. Lydia had no papers at all with her, because on the subject of men she could orate for hours without ever needing to consult any notes. Kitty, who was organising in name, had been suffering a heavy cold and had signed over all her responsibilities to Jane until she felt better. Therefore, Jane must have the list.

    Lizzy wanted the list. It would give Jane some breathing space if someone else prepared the next activity and she was not doing much herself anyway. Although she had liked Dr Wickham and she would not mind listening to what he had to say, she had chosen not to attend either session after the break.

    She could not bear much more from ElizaBeta Collins, who was going to give a public demonstration on how to correct a text. Although Lizzy would derive some satisfaction from pointing out that it was between you and me and not you and I, she did not think she could stand having to correct more mistakes -- and it was still such a long time until lunch.

    "Sorry to interrupt," she said when she found Jane and Charlie seated in the lounge. "Could I have the list of prompts?"

    Jane had apparently already been so engrossed in her conversation that she looked blank.

    Lizzy patiently seized the clipboard and took the list. "Thanks."

    "So," said Lizzy to the handsome Dr George Wickham when she ran into him just outside the coffee room. He must have stepped out for a minute and she was glad she could speak to him without anybody else trying to catch his attention. "Was your lecture worth attending?"

    "I'm tempted to think so," he replied with a smile. "You left the room at the beginning, didn't you?"

    She was surprised and a little flattered to see he had noticed her. "Oh, yes. I enjoy history, but I have no interest whatsoever in Sir Walter getting it on with Captain Wentworth, you know?"

    "Captain Wentworth would never get it on with Sir Walter," Dr Wickham said in a low voice. "But there are definite possibilities with Captain Harville. They have a very strong bond."

    "Eeeew!" cried Lizzy. But really, such a disgusting suggestion deserved an outcry.

    "It's what Lydia will discuss after the break. I'm sorry. I can give you a summary of my lecture right now, though."

    "That would be lovely. It's real history, isn't it? Not someone's perverted thoughts?"

    "It is," he confirmed. "Let's sit down."

    "Thanks." She followed him to a table for two and was secretly pleased that it was not a table for four. While she was not at all out to get some male attention, he was handsome and charming. Furthermore, all other men here were taken, like William L and Ben, about to be taken, like Charlie Bingley, or simply unpleasant, like Darcy Fitzwilliam.

    "Do you like stories with accurate facts?" Dr Wickham asked.

    "Yes, but I don't have a beta for it," she shot back, but then she saw he looked puzzled. "Sorry, inside joke for those who attended the other session. But stuff like Darcy Fitzwilliam's I actually enjoyed, until I saw what a nice man he is."

    Dr Wickham did not appear to need an elaboration on who Darcy Fitzwilliam was. "Indeed, but he hasn't always got his facts straight. I can't say never; that wouldn't be fair. Fact is, we've often crossed swords because he accused me of spicing up my books in order to get sold, whereas I think he's the one who's spicing them down in order to get read. Most people don't want the gruesome truth. They want a nice and pleasant book about heroic sea captains who drink tea and who occasionally capture ships without bloodshed."

    Lizzy nodded, although the Darcy Fitzwilliam stories were not as tame as that. She was not sure his captains drank tea, although they were of course incredibly heroic and brilliant tacticians. Occasionally people died, though.

    "And I don't blame them," Wickham continued. "It really is much nicer to read, but it's not real. It's my job as a historian to point out the truth. True, battles and wars were won, but the sailors were almost always drunk -- not much fresh water on board, you know, but lots of rum -- ugly, in bad health, and if there were no prostitutes on board they used men to take care of their needs."

    She gasped.

    "I'm sorry if I shocked you." Wickham looked genuinely regretful. "It's just that I get a little annoyed by comments from an amateur who passes himself off as the greatest authority on the subject without ever having done proper research, and to be accused of wanting to make more money by changing the facts. Changing the facts! This is blasphemy to me. I'm a scholar. Facts are sacred to me."

    Lizzy nodded. She understood him perfectly.

    "It doesn't matter to him; he writes fiction. I couldn't care less if fiction is accurate or not. But academic non-fiction -- argh!" Wickham gave a dramatic sigh. "Besides which he copied some passages from my work and included them in stories!"

    She was indignant. "That's --"

    "-- plagiarism, I know. I've been lenient about it so far, because I really understand how amateurs haven't got the know-how and means to come by proper facts, but..." He shook his head. "It's he who's faking things to sell more."

    "Well, his personality doesn't sell," Lizzy remarked. "But if he plagiarises whole chunks I understand how he could write ten thousand words a day."

    Lizzy went to the hotel lounge to prepare the next activity. She had originally planned to do so during lunch, but this was a much better idea. There were more people who stayed, but they were not exactly her favourites. Darcy Fitzwilliam was one of them. Charlie Bingley was another, but he was following Jane like a puppy while she spoke to the hotel staff about lunch. Caroline and Louisa, on the other hand, followed Darcy like puppies and Horst did not seem to be capable of sitting up straight. He looked a little hungover.

    Lizzy asked for five bowls. In the first two she put folded pieces of paper with numbers. People with matching numbers would be writing together. The other three bowls contained the prompts: two characters and phrase from one of the novels. She did a test run and giggled. This could be fun.

    It looked as if Darcy and the two other women had already started the co-authoring assignment without her prompts, however. He had set a laptop on his knees and Louisa was seated to one side, Caroline to the other. The latter especially was very involved in what Darcy was doing.

    Lizzy had not paid them much attention before, although her general impression was that they were a bit haughty and aloof, as befitted their posting at Darcy's website. Now, however, she observed them with some more interest. She would be annoyed if anyone sat so close to her, looking at her screen, but Darcy bore it with remarkable forbearance. After a few moments she understood why -- Caroline was complimenting him. Every man liked to be flattered, she supposed.

    "Wow, you type so fast!" Caroline said.

    "Not really," he replied stoically. "I'm thinking."

    "You come up with such brilliant lines with so little thought."

    He did not answer.

    "Do you always manage to write brilliant lines with such ease?"

    "I cannot say," he replied without looking up. "It's all relative."

    "But I think brilliant lines are always written with ease," said Caroline, still peeking onto his screen. "It's genius expressing itself."

    "Darcy write with ease?" Charlie laughed. "He studies too much for words of four syllables. Don't you?"

    "My style is very different from yours," answered Darcy, but with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

    "Oh!" cried Caroline. "Charlie is such a careless writer. He leaves out half his words and misspells the rest."

    "My ideas flow so rapidly that my typing can't keep up," Charlie defended himself. "So, yes, sometimes I end up with meaningless passages. I'd be nowhere without my beta to make sense of them."

    "I like modest people," said Lizzy.

    "Modest?" Darcy snorted. "Either they are indifferent or they are really boasting."

    "What am I?" Charlie wondered.

    "Boasting," Darcy answered immediately. "You're proud of your inability to string recognisable words together in a coherent sentence, because you believe you're too intelligent to think slowly. People are always proud of being able to do things quickly and they often don't care that they actually do them badly that way. I heard you say this morning at breakfast that you had got up five minutes before and you meant this as a sort of compliment to yourself, but what is so very admirable about such haste if you don't get everything done that you should, and we have to wait for you after breakfast because you suddenly remember shaving might be nice and changing your underwear or whatever else you came up with."

    "No!" cried Charlie. "That's not fair. I really believed I didn't need shaving and thus I was perfectly honest and sincere when I said I could do everything in five minutes. I wasn't bragging about being quick."

    "Well, you have no right to do so, if you're so susceptible about comments on your stubble. A really quick man would either not care or have taken care of it in those five minutes. But you boast of being quick, implying you can get it all done, yet you instantly admit defeat and run to your room when someone says you need to shave."

    "He's just giving you a hard time," Lizzy said to Charlie. She could imagine their interaction so well. It was exactly as Darcy said, of course, but contrary to him she thought it a little endearing.

    "He'd probably think I should have denied that I needed shaving, in order to be consistent."

    "He doesn't like anyone to go back on their words, I see."

    "He can probably explain himself much better than I can." Charlie looked towards him expectantly.

    Darcy sighed. "Explain myself, or explain what you think I'm saying?" He turned to Lizzy. "He's leaving out that he ran directly when someone suggested he shave, without as much as looking into a mirror or even feeling his chin."

    "I see you don't think he should listen to what friends say."

    "How does it reflect well on either of them if one side can say anything they like without backing it up with arguments, and the other side obeys instantly without checking if they are right?"

    "Maybe the suggestion to shave came from someone whose opinion he always trusts? I hope you don't think that someone should always demand a thorough argumentation from a friend before they decide to follow their advice or not." She raised her eyebrows.

    "Before we continue in this vein I think we may need to establish the relative importance of the request and the degree of trust and friendship existing between the parties," said Darcy.

    "Yes, yes!" cried Charlie. "And let's not forget the relative height and size of the parties, because that's more important than you might think, Lizzy. See, if Darcy was a short little man, I shouldn't believe half of what he was saying. I mean, it's always better to do as a taller man says, isn't it?"

    Lizzy believed Darcy was a little offended by being painted as a tall bully and so she did not laugh. Her silence put an end to the conversation, though, and after a few moments Darcy returned to his typing. She returned to her work as well, while Charlie thought it was best to leave them altogether.

    Chapter Five

    Posted on 2008-11-05

    Darcy finished his writing, but then asked something quite uncharacteristic: he wanted to know if one of the girls could read over what he had just written, while he excused himself for a minute. He left a notepad for comments, for on no account were they to correct anything in his word processor.

    Caroline was ready to give his screen a legitimate peek instantly, but since she had not been singled out in spite of sitting next to Darcy, she felt it was wiser to offer the favour to someone else first. "Lizzy, maybe? I'm too familiar with his work. Our styles are so similar that I wouldn't notice any odd things, not that there will be any. A fresh eye..."

    Lizzy declined. "I'm a very bad beta." She would certainly be a bad beta if she had to write an essay by hand arguing why she disagreed with something or other, which was what Darcy had seemed to request.

    Caroline gave her a half smile and immediately began to read.

    Soon afterwards Darcy returned and, his laptop being occupied, seated himself near Elizabeth to her great surprise. "Don't you ever jump at the chance to read previews?" he asked.

    She smiled, but when she did not give him an answer right away, he repeated his question.

    "Oh, I heard you," she answered. "But I couldn't immediately think of an answer. You wanted me to say 'yes!' so that you'd have the pleasure of despising me, but I always derive some pleasure from thwarting the plans of someone all prepared to condemn me. Therefore I decided to say I never read previews. Now despise me if you dare."

    "I don't dare."

    Lizzy was surprised. She had expected him to be offended and she was amazed that he was not. She had no idea that her sweet and arch manner made it rather difficult for her to offend anybody, least of all a man who had already decided she was very interesting.

    Caroline saw his smile -- she was not as engrossed in reading his preview as that -- and was sufficiently suspicious to wish Lizzy away. "Oh, Lizzy? Does Jane know I'm allergic to tomatoes? I'm sorry to be a bother, but I think I forgot to tell her." She looked around helplessly. Jane was of course not in sight.

    "No problem," answered Lizzy, who was beginning to feel unnerved by having Darcy's eyes on her. She was eager for a good reason to get out of his sight. "I'll tell her."

    She found Jane in the restaurant, discussing which tables ought to be reserved for their group. Amazingly there were still a handful of other guests that had not been scared away by so many women in Captain Wentworth t-shirts.

    "Jane? Caroline asked me to tell you that she's allergic to tomatoes." She had never heard of such an allergy. In fact, she had never heard of adults with allergies where she lived, but there was no use in sharing anything of the sort with Jane. "She forgot if she told you already."

    "Oh yes, poor Caroline. She gets such a rash if she eats them, she says. I haven't forgotten. She'll get a special dish."

    "She's a very special dish indeed, isn't she?" Lizzy murmured.

    Jane caught her tone and naturally she had to say something in Caroline's defence. "She's very nice. Louisa and she even offered their help in case we needed any."

    "Yes, I noticed she's very helpful." But only to a select group of people and Lizzy snorted.

    Meanwhile in meeting room two, ElizaBeta Collins was teaching her audience how to be a good beta. To this end she had distributed photocopies of a piece of text that in her opinion could do with a little improvement, as well as photocopies of passages from a story that was as good as perfect.

    "Before I became a beta some people's disparaging comments about errors made me very uneasy," ElizaBeta began when she had provided everyone with two copies. "I often wanted to offer my help to those authors who most needed it, but for some time I was kept back because it might seem as disrespectful to them as those disparaging comments."

    "Uhuh," said Ben to himself as he scanned the texts. One was not from their fandom; he did not recognise the characters at all, not that that meant anything in itself. The other text had at first sight nothing to do with Jane Austen either, although going by the characters there was a possible connection.

    "This is from Moonlight Passion at Delaford by Lady Catherine," Mrs Bee whispered excitedly. "It hasn't been published yet. She's only got the first chapter up on her website."

    He had been glad she had come along to this session, but perhaps he ought to revise his opinion if she was going to fawn over badly-written purple prose. "How do you know, if it's still a secret?"

    "Her style!"

    ElizaBeta shot them a disturbed look for whispering through her very important lecture. "My mind was made up, however, when I was so fortunate as to be distinguished by Lady Catherine, who requested me to be her beta. It shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards Her Ladyship and to be ever ready to perform those checks and corrections that are supported by my multiple dictionaries and grammar books."

    "Ah, it's not innate?" Ben whispered to Mrs Bee, who did not hear him because she was eagerly soaking up the purple prose.

    "As a beta, moreover," ElizaBeta spoke on, "I feel it my duty to promote and establish the practice of betaing to all the authors within my influence. On these grounds I flatter myself that my present advice is highly commendable and that your not using a beta at present will not lead you to reject my lecture entirely."

    "Oh, it's not my not using a beta. It's something else," Ben whispered.

    "What then?" Mrs Bee whispered back.

    "I apologise in advance for offending anyone by pointing out errors they frequently make, but I hope you see it cannot be avoided and I assure you I'll provide a good correction. I even offer my services this entire weekend, starting at lunch today until tomorrow evening six o'clock. I can do so without any inconvenience, so don't hesitate to ask me, because Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasionally taking on other work."

    "There's nothing wrong with this text," was Mrs Bee's opinion. She and Ben were dissecting it together. ElizaBeta had asked them to do so in pairs and Ben had monopolised her immediately.

    He had laid the other one aside because there was too much to correct in that one. No discussion would be possible and that was no fun at all. Lady Catherine's, however, was different. "Indeed, it's perfectly mockable."

    She looked a little indignant. "It's not bad if it's liked by thousands of readers."

    "Quantity has nothing to do with quality. Oh, I know. A hard concept to grab in some fandoms."

    "Do you see any errors?"

    He had not found any glaring errors, but some definitely dubious cases and the writing style was a cross between pedestrian and purple. "I'm not thrilled by it."

    "I don't think anything can be measured by your being thrilled by it or not," said Mrs Bee.

    "My excitement can."

    "Whatever. I'm a beta --"

    "Seriously?" he cut in. This had always puzzled him, but he could not imagine her doing anything like ElizaBeta. "What do you do?"

    "Oh, I do plot. Spelling errors don't get in the way of a good plot, you know."

    "They do. They're distracting."

    "Maybe you're simply not clever enough to correct them in your mind as you read?" Mrs Bee suggested archly. "Oh my goodness. I do have a little criticism here. I'm surprised, because this is Lady Catherine. There's not enough passion in this scene. You can't have such a title and then let your hero behave so coldly."

    Ben had thought the hero was behaving ridiculously rather than coldly. "Maybe this is the beginning of the story and he's not yet heated up?"

    "Nobody wants to read a story with a hero who has no potential passion shining through. Tsk, Ben. You have to draw in the readers."

    "I always focus more on the heroine myself. But," he said as he read the scene again. "Maybe this is not the man she ends up with then, if the plot follows the dictates of the romance reader."

    "Of course it is. It's Colonel Brandon and the title is Moonlight Passion at Delaford. I can't imagine other men would use Delaford for passionate encounters."

    "Why not? Maybe Lady Catherine is thinking of going against canon. Wait. ElizaBeta will, with grateful respect, know who the hero is going to be." He raised his hand. "Would Lady Catherine go against canon?"

    "Against canon?" ElizaBeta gasped. "Lady Catherine would never go against canon. She knows the books inside out and has no need to go against canon. I'd venture to suggest that her knowledge and insight are unparalleled and --"

    "It's Mrs Bee's opinion that Colonel Brandon is a little cold in this scene. I thought that was because maybe he wasn't the hero."

    "We cannot argue with Lady Catherine's characterisations. They are always spot-on and in character. You have no idea how much thought she gives them."

    "This half-hearted attempt at an embrace is not worthy of Colonel Brandon," Mrs Bee protested.

    "He's an honourable gentleman," ElizaBeta protested back. "I'm not sure he'd willingly embrace anyone. Clearly, he is held back by his impeccable morals in this scene."

    "Morals?" Ben whispered to Mrs Bee. "What are those?"

    "I could give you a summary of the discussion I had with Lady Catherine on this particular point, but it would be rather long. I'll stop at saying Colonel Brandon is written very much in character and that any questions you might have at this point will be answered by the end of the book."

    "But is he the hero?" Ben pressed.

    "Could there be any other?"

    "I still think he's cold," Mrs Bee pouted, but she returned her attention to the text.

    "Well, certainly if she can feel his chest muscles ripple through his clothes, he's not wearing very much, so he probably is cold."

    "Maybe you have a point," she said thoughtfully. "We tend to get so excited that we forget to think, but now that you mention it, it's a silly passage indeed. We know about his flannel waistcoats."

    Ben stared.

    "Don't look so funny. What are we widows to do instead? Get real men? At least Colonel Brandon and Captain Wentworth can sail with me."

    "Sail with you?"

    "I'm a sailor," said Mrs Bee.

    Chapter Six

    Posted on 2008-11-13

    Lizzy had prepared the prompts for that afternoon's session and she found herself with very little to do. Joining Darcy and his fans again was not a pleasant prospect for someone who had nothing else to distract her. She wandered into the part of the hotel where the meeting rooms were and encountered Ben in the corridor. She was surprised to see him there already and wondered if the lecture was already over. "How was it?" she asked in a low voice. "Don't tell me ElizaBeta is a sensible woman who kept her lecture short."

    "No. Quite the reverse," he winked. "She's such a mixture of servility and self-importance that I'm impatient to find out if I'm paired with her this afternoon."

    "With whom?" asked Mrs Bee, who had only heard his last words.

    "ElizaBeta Collins."

    "Well, I wouldn't. I think she's silly."

    This answer astonished Lizzy and Ben alike and they stared. "Not for the same reasons as we think, though?" asked Ben.

    "Lizzy thinks everyone is silly; it's her age," Mrs Bee said archly. "But you -- I'm not so sure. She's not pretty enough?"

    He gave an involuntary shudder when he thought of Ms Collins. She was not appetising. "Definitely not, but I can separate the two very well."

    "I was thinking that maybe you could overlook a certain degree of silliness if it was set off by a certain degree of prettiness."

    "The absence of the latter certainly enhances the former," Ben agreed with a nod, but Mrs Bee was turning into an incomprehensible creature. He had to keep her away from those silly women and she might actually turn out very surprising. "Are your reasons related to Colonel Brandon?"

    "Colonel Brandon?" Lizzy asked curiously. "Where does he come in?"

    "He featured in a piece of purple prose we were asked to critique -- or rather, admire. Beatrice said it was good writing because hundreds of women like it. I have different standards."

    "Which you never fail to emphasise," Mrs Bee said, rolling her eyes. "Colonel Brandon was too cold, Lizzy. It made no sense."

    "I don't know; I've never thought him particularly hot." Lizzy gave a discreet cough. "A bit old for me. Thirty-five, wasn't he?"

    Mrs Bee pointed at Lizzy's chest, at the photo of a smouldering Captain Wentworth. "He was thirty-one. What's the difference?"

    "Temperature, I guess." She laughed. "Maybe you're right."

    Mrs Bee still insisted on making her point. "But it makes no sense for a man to embrace a woman as if he'd much rather not. No one was holding a gun to his head -- at least, not in the snippet we read. If he'd rather not embrace a woman, he shouldn't. And an author shouldn't put in gratuitous embraces."

    Ben's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Beatrice, my dear, are you ill?"

    "If Colonel Brandon should embrace anyone at the beginning of a book, he should then spend a large part of the book regretting his haste and remembering it fondly," Mrs Bee reasoned. "I was going to say slip of the tongue, but I don't know if he employed his tongue. Anyway, he should not start with a lacklustre embrace that makes the reader doubt both his abilities and character. He should either be too strong for his passion or his passion should be too strong for him, but this -- argh!"

    "There's no hope for his future happiness now," said Ben.

    "For his wife's. Unless he evolves somewhat from the dead and reluctant fish that he is now."

    Unfortunately at lunch Lizzy, Ben and Mrs Bee were joined by none other than ElizaBeta, who found all other chairs mysteriously occupied. Ben was at first silent, but then he brought up a subject that he supposed would place the initiative for conversation wholly in ElizaBeta's hands and allow him to eat in peace. "You seem very fortunate in your author. Lady Catherine's attention to your wishes and her consideration for your time off appear very remarkable."

    This was a hit. Ms Collins was eloquent in her praise. She had never in her life witnessed such behaviour from an author of quality, such affability and condescension. Lady Catherine had been graciously encouraging of both lectures on betaing that ElizaBeta had laid before her for her approval. She had even asked her twice to advertise her betaing skills at Rosings, Lady Catherine's personal website.

    Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many people who knew her, but ElizaBeta had never seen anything but affability in her. The great author had always written to her as she would to any other author. She had even condescended to advise ElizaBeta that she should write a story of her own as soon as she could and she had once looked over an email that contained all her ideas for plots, and she had even suggested some ideas herself.

    "That's all very nice," said Mrs Bee. "And I dare say she's a very nice woman. It's a pity that great authors in general are not more like her. I think you said she has her own site. Does anyone else post at it?"

    "Only one author, whom she calls the Heiress of Rosings. She has many stories to her name."

    "Many stories? Then either they're all very bad or she isn't very young."

    ElizaBeta looked shocked at the idea that the Heiress of Rosings had ever written anything bad. "She writes the most charming stories. Lady Catherine herself says that Anne De Bourgh is far superior to other writers, because she has that je ne sais quoi in her stories that marks a person of distinguished talent. She's unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her from having the success she could otherwise not have failed to have, as I was told by someone who knows."

    "I don't remember seeing her name anywhere," said Mrs Bee. "In archives or recommendations."

    "Her health isn't very good and she has chosen to restrict herself to one site only to be able to follow all the responses to her stories and to do her fans the justice they deserve. I told Lady Catherine the fandom has been deprived of its brightest ornament this way. She seemed to like that idea and as you can imagine I'm always happy to offer some compliment or another that an author likes to hear. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine that her protégée's charming novels ought to be published. These are the sort of little things that please Lady Catherine and it is a sort of attention that I'm good at paying, I flatter myself."

    "Quite right. Well done," said Ben. "But what I'd like to know is if your compliments are spontaneous or if you do some work on them?"

    "They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time and although I sometimes amuse myself by thinking up compliments that can be used on ordinary occasions, I always try to make them sound spontaneous."

    Ms Collins was not a sensible woman and the deficiency of nature had hardly been remedied by education. A fortunate chance had recommended her to Lady Catherine when the latter needed a beta quickly. The respect ElizaBeta felt for the lady's self-published status and the gratefulness for being chosen, combined with a very high opinion of her own skills, her authority and rights as a beta, made her a mixture of pride and obsequiousness.

    ElizaBeta had hardly ever written anything before, but she did not think that she, as Lady Catherine's beta, ought to settle for less than twenty comments when she posted. There were a few ways to achieve this, she knew. The more people who read her, the more people who would comment. Knowing that people were more likely to read if they had some knowledge of her and her plot, notifying as many people as possible of her intentions was necessary, but she did not know many.

    Although she had first tried to bother Jane with her plot ideas, Jane had been too busy arranging things and she had figured that Lizzy might be a better option. Lizzy, she had seen, talked to many people. This was her gateway to the world.

    Another option was to post at as many sites as possible, but some of those were of such dubious quality that Lady Catherine would not approve. ElizaBeta would rather not be associated with sites of which Lady Catherine did not approve, although the lady had said she trusted her judgement.

    No, Lizzy was by far her best bet.

    Lizzy, however, was not listening to a word she said, engrossed as she was in watching Dr Wickham's reaction to being introduced to Darcy Fitzwilliam. Darcy had asked a question during the lecture, but he had not revealed his name. She was intrigued at the obvious animosity and hostility between them. Clearly whatever exchanges they had had about stories and history had not taken place in person. Instead of elaborating on those exchanges now, they regarded each other coldly and turned away.

    It was only fan fiction, Lizzy said to herself. An arrogant amateur like Darcy Fitzwilliam had no right to take himself so seriously as to doubt the expertise of a real scholar, while at the same time denying that he had plagiarised said scholar. Or perhaps he subscribed to the Mrs Bee school of thought, thinking that he was read by enough people to make him good.

    She had the opportunity to mention it to Jane directly after lunch. "And should we have a plagiarist here?"

    Jane listened with astonishment and concern. She did not know how Charlie could be friends with such a man and yet it was not in her nature to doubt someone like who looked as respectable and nice as Dr Wickham. The only solution was to think neither had been at fault and that anything that could not be explained in that light had to be due to some misunderstanding or mistake.

    "There must have been a mistake," said Jane. "We don't know how it went. It was not made public."

    "But I heard it from Dr Wickham himself."

    Jane looked uneasy. She did not want to doubt Dr Wickham. "But was there any official action? A warning? A lawsuit?"

    "I do not think so."

    "Then we do not know what to think."

    "We do," Lizzy maintained stubbornly.

    She was not allowed to dwell on it for long, because ElizaBeta solicited her opinion on one or two humble story ideas and she was forced to be so polite as to listen. But it was difficult: she had wanted to talk a little more to Dr Wickham, but here she had ElizaBeta instead.

    It now struck her that she had been selected from among her Longbourn friends as worthy of being ElizaBeta's sounding board. Due to her polite lapse of judgement she would not be able to escape listening to all of ElizaBeta's boring story ideas, nor to the incessant and tedious praise of Lady Catherine.

    She grew more and more convinced of this notion when ElizaBeta was increasingly complimentary about her witty and excellent writing, but until the woman asked her anything outright she chose not to take the hint -- and certainly not to give out her email address for private correspondence. The last thing she wanted was to get stuck betaing the stories of someone who could not write in any sense of the word.

    Until Lizzy entered the hotel lounge with the next assignment in her hands and looked in vain from Dr Wickham among the cluster of people assembled there, it had not occurred to her that he might only have been here for the morning session. She had looked forward to talking to him while everyone went about their writing assignment and she felt disappointed when she did not see him.

    She was sure he had chosen to be the better man after his little confrontation with Darcy and she was prepared to be very annoyed with the latter for having sent Wickham away. She could only barely reply civilly to Darcy's question if he had two minutes to make a phone call. It was tempting to tell him he could take the entire day, but she could only just swallow that.

    The assignment soon monopolised her attention, however, and when everyone was ready she had them all draw a number from the bowl with the numbers. When the participants were finding the partner with the matching number, ElizaBeta approached her again.

    "Do I work with you?" said the woman. "I can't find my matching number."

    Lizzy looked patient. She had counted carefully; with an even number of people she would participate, but with an uneven number she would not. The number was uneven. Therefore there was someone out there who was hiding from ElizaBeta. She quite understood. "I'm...matched to someone else. I must have made a mistake counting. Why don't you work on a prompt on your own?"

    "But --"

    Lizzy lowered her voice. "It's better than being matched to someone very bad, isn't it?"

    "True, but I should like some input on --"

    "Later, later. I'll take your number back." She took the number and wanted to drop it back into the bowl when she saw one other had remained in there. Ouch. Before ElizaBeta could see that, she set the bowl behind her. "Come and get your prompts, people!" she called.

    When everyone had drawn their prompts and much giggling over them had ensued, Darcy Fitzwilliam returned. "I'm sorry. My phone call took longer than I thought."

    Lizzy said nothing and held out the bowl with the numbers. She took the one he left behind. They matched, of course. "It's me or ElizaBeta. Take your pick." She was all for calling ElizaBeta back, but the woman had disappeared.

    "You, please," he said. "Let me just get my laptop from the locker."

    Lizzy pulled a face at Jane, who was standing nearby. "Why do I always have all the luck?"

    "But he writes well. You may like him in spite of what Dr Wickham says."

    "Oh, no! I couldn't. That would be horrible."

    Chapter Seven

    Posted on 2008-11-19

    When Darcy had returned and hooked up his laptop, Lizzy, still not quite believing it, sat at a respectful distance from him while still close enough to confer. In some people's faces she had seen amazement at her being allowed to write a story together with Darcy. They had been certain that he would bow out, certainly after Lydia had shrieked after reading her prompt. She had got everybody around her was gay and busy, Lizzy guessed. She had included that for Lydia's sake and she was glad it had found such a happy recipient, but she had no interest in reading the result.

    Darcy might, however, think all prompts inspired such shrieks and snorts. They did not. Most sentences she had got from the book were unusual, but normal, and the characters were very ordinary characters from the book.

    He had asked for their prompts and typed them over, but then they sat for some time without speaking a word and she began to imagine that their silence was to last for two hours. She was at first resolved not to break it, until she suddenly fancied that it would be a greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk and she asked a question. "Are you ready?"

    "I am," he replied and was again silent.

    After a while she addressed him again. "It's your turn to ask me if I'm ready now. And you ought to make some kind of remark on our prompt or the compatibility of the couple." She guessed he would not like to write romance, but she supposed that having a male and a female character did not automatically imply romance.

    He smiled. "I'll type whatever you want me to type."

    "All right. I'm thinking." They had a rotten prompt. She had almost had a rotten prompt with a rotten partner, because ElizaBeta would not have appreciated she was in the humour to value simplicity and stupidity to the utmost and Lizzy would certainly not have felt in the humour to act out that phrase if she had been paired with someone stupid.

    "Do you always talk when you think?"

    "Sometimes. We must speak a little, you know. It would look odd if we were completely silent sitting here, yet some people don't like to hear their thoughts disturbed by other people's talk."

    "Me, you think? Or do you mean I shouldn't say anything?"

    "Both," Lizzy said archly. "We're quite similar in that we write quickly, but I expect we both have very deep thoughts before we actually write things down, so that we'd be disturbed by chatter during the thinking process."

    He gave her a doubtful look. "I bet you aren't. And I can't vouch for the depth of my thoughts, but you probably think they're very deep."

    "If I thought I was wrong, I wouldn't have spoken." She glanced at the screen. "What are we to make of that?"

    "Lady Elliot valued stupidity."

    "I'm sure she did not. Besides, she is dead." Lizzy did not like writing about dead people. It was something she always avoided, if she could help it.

    "Then we can make her value anything we like."

    "I'm sure stupidity made her waste away."

    Darcy shrugged and typed.

    Lady Elliot was in the humour to value simplicity and stupidity to the utmost.

    "We don't have to start with the prompt, you know," Lizzy pointed out.

    "It's easier. Then we won't have to work up to it. We can use it as a means to bring both characters together. It's not as clever, but I don't think we could be very clever in two hours."

    Certainly not if his usual modus operandi was to copy bits of text that others had written, Lizzy thought with a grimace. They were silent while he apparently thought of a way to continue the paragraph. Perhaps he was studying on a way to bring their other character into the scene in the first paragraph as well.

    "Do you often go to this sort of thing?" he asked.

    "I've been a few times, although it was always a lot more informal. This is the first time we have a real scholar."

    The effect was immediate. There was a colour in his face, but he said nothing. Lizzy could not bring herself to say anything either, although she should, being the one who had mentioned the scholar. Then Darcy spoke, but he sounded constrained. "Ah, yes. Dr Wickham. He lectures well and makes his topics sound very interesting -- whether the contents are also sound and true is another matter."

    "Such an accusation may be harmful to a scholar's reputation," she said. "I wonder if he could be fired by his university because of it."

    William L passed by with a newspaper and saved Darcy from having to react. William, not being either a reader or a writer, did not have anything to do during this assignment. It was clear that William's interpretation of the activity was slightly different from everyone else's. "This is such a nice, clean way for young people to meet the opposite sex," he said enthusiastically. "Much better than a disco. I see such nice couples in the making all around me."

    Darcy followed his gaze towards the other side of the room, where Charlie and Jane were seated. How they had ended up together was a mystery, but perhaps they had swapped partners like Lydia had swapped her female for another male character prompt. He was not sure the assignment was a nice and clean way. Not for long, anyway.

    "But don't let me interrupt you," said William. "Go on with your young lady."

    "Where were we?" Darcy asked when William had taken another newspaper from the reading table.

    "No idea. I don't think we'll be getting anywhere with this assignment. I can't imagine our styles could ever compromise enough to come up with a story. You never have any women in your stories, let alone romance, and I never have anything serious in mine," she said provocatively.

    "Perhaps a serious woman..." Darcy contemplated. He gazed at his screen as if directions were going to appear on it.

    "A serious woman would not be in the humour to value stupidity," Lizzy pointed out. "We're stuck. Besides, what are we to do with Mr Knightley? He is not stupid."

    "I'm sure you'd want me to write that Lady Elliot ran off with Mr Knightley," Darcy said with a frown. "In spite of their being in different books."

    "They don't know they are in books," she explained in a patient voice. It was amazing that a man like Darcy had ever come to write fan fiction if he believed that characters from different books could never meet. "They are ours to direct. If we tell Lady Elliot to run off with Mr Knightley, she will. Or she will not, depending on how stubborn she is."

    "My characters cannot be ordered like that," Darcy replied, looking a little puzzled. "They seem to know what would be ludicrous and out of character."

    "Stubborn, then. But you prefer to write about the naval aspect, don't you?"

    "I prefer it to romance," he said stiffly.

    "I cannot see Mr Knightley go to sea. Are you sure you don't know anything about the landed gentry?"

    "Perhaps. I've written stories about them," Darcy confessed reluctantly.

    "So you have a wide knowledge?"

    "That is not for me to say."

    "I thought you were always very sure of your expertise."

    "I am."

    She expected him to admit to knowing something then, but his modesty was puzzling -- unless it was false. "Do you never think too highly of yourself and your knowledge?"

    "I hope not. Why are you asking these questions?"

    "I'm trying to figure out what you bring to your writing."

    "And what is your conclusion?"

    "I don't know. I keep hearing different things."

    "I can imagine you might be hearing different things," he answered gravely. "But I wish you wouldn't try to analyse me. I don't think such a thing would reflect well on either of us."

    "But if I don't do it this weekend, I may never have an opportunity." She did not think he would attend one of these gatherings again. He did not seem to be enjoying himself at all.

    "I'm going to fetch my novels," Lizzy announced. Looking through them might inspire her more, because she could now not imagine how to make Lady Elliot and Mr Knightley the protagonists in the same story. One was dead and married; the other was alive and unmarried -- well, for the greater part of the book, anyway.

    Caroline stood waiting by the lifts as well. "So, Lizzy! I heard you were quite delighted with Dr Wickham. Jane has been talking to me about him and asking me a thousand questions, and I found that he forgot to tell you that he isn't working at any university and may never do so."

    Lizzy knew who was to blame for that.

    "And let me tell you that you shouldn't believe all he says. I don't know all the particulars, but I know George Wickham was in the wrong and not Darcy. Darcy cannot bear to hear his name and he doesn't want to create a scene, but he's very glad that the man has now left. I thought his coming here, to a fan fiction assembly, was too impertinent for words. I'm sorry I had to say this."

    "You didn't have to say that at all," Lizzy said angrily. "And you haven't accused him anything worse than not working at an university right now, but I fail to see how that matters."

    "I beg your pardon," Caroline sneered. "I meant well."

    Lizzy was seething as she walked to her room to pick up her books. By the time she carried them downstairs -- taking the stairs and avoiding the lift so as not to run into Caroline again -- she had calmed down a little. Caroline was not worth her anger, the stupid girl.

    She passed Jane on her way back to Darcy and she stopped. Jane was copying something from one notebook to another; Charlie was not in sight. "Don't tell me you wrote that already!" They could not possibly have got a whole page already.

    Jane beamed. "Yes, it's amazing! We were so inspired that we didn't really have to discuss anything at all."

    Lizzy enviously thought of the single sentence she and Darcy -- actually Darcy all by himself -- had produced. The only positive thing about him was that he typed it directly and that unlike Charlie his notes did not have to be copied. "Wow. We're not that fast. He has nothing to copy, I guess."

    Jane looked cautious. "I asked around a bit, but there's not much I can tell you. Charlie doesn't know what went on exactly, but he will vouch for Darcy and he says Darcy is absolutely honest and he is far too proud of his own to copy someone else's writing. Whatever George Wickham is saying, it's likely to be an exaggeration at least. I'm afraid he's not the one you should believe."

    "But Charlie doesn't know Dr Wickham?"

    "No, he never met him until this morning."

    "Then what he knows comes directly from Darcy?" Lizzy was satisfied. Accounts that came directly from Darcy could not be trusted. Whatever Charlie said could not change her opinion of either man.

    Before she could join Darcy again, however, and check whether he was typing on their assignment or on one of his own stories, ElizaBeta sidled up to her. "Oh, no," she could only barely suppress saying.

    "I discovered that that is Darcy Fitzwilliam!"

    "Only now?" She frowned, because she thought this fact had already been known to ElizaBeta during the morning session.

    "I discovered by a very strange accident that he is related to my author! I happened to reread the dedication in one of Lady Catherine's books and there it was -- she thanked me on the first page too, of course, and I wonder why I never noticed. There it was, special thanks to her son Darcy."

    "Oh, icky," she said in case that son was truly Darcy Fitzwilliam, which might not even be the case.

    "Who would have thought I'd be meeting Lady Catherine's son here!" ElizaBeta was beside herself with enthusiasm. "I'm so glad I found out before the weekend is over, so I can pay my respects to him and I'm going to do that now and hope he won't be offended that I didn't do so right away."

    "Erm. Right now?" The last thing Darcy would want was for ElizaBeta to sit with them, because ElizaBeta would sit and never leave again. Lizzy did not really care what Darcy would like, but since they would agree in this case, she was all for preventing the situation. Her pride would not allow her to finish the assignment with only one sentence. Darcy was going to finish that story with her, whether he liked it or not.

    "Yes, yes. I'll apologise for not having known about the connection earlier. Wow, Lady Catherine's son. I can tell him that his mother was still doing well last night."

    Continued In Next Section

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