Section I, Section II

Part IX

Left.

Elizabeth stared wearily at the hedge that blocked her way. She was not sure if she had actually turned one more corner or if it was a waking dream, a vicious combination of little sleep, haunting nightmares, and blowing snow... Her face stung with the wind. She returned to the beginning of the maze and ran the route again.

Right. Right. Left. Definitely. One path closer to the other side of the hedge.

The measure of Elizabeth's exhaustion may be taken in the fact that she neither ran in her delight nor laughed with her joy. She only laid a hand on the remaining hedge, nodded, and walked slowly back to the house.

"It has opened another path, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy looked up. The dark circles under his eyes bespoke a similarly sleepless night. "The maze?"

"Yes. A left."

"That's good."

She nodded and made to shut the breakfast room door. "Mrs. Kenton," he called. The door paused. "I -- apologize for my misunderstanding of you last night."

Slowly, the space between door and frame widened, and Elizabeth again appeared in it. "I apologize for forcing you to speak of the matter," she said.

"It is all right. Please," he gestured, "would you join me for breakfast?"

"Thank you." She seated herself at the table. A maid entered with kippers, scones and tea; neither spoke, but ate and watched the swirling snow.

"Do you see any pattern to the openings?"

Elizabeth startled. She had been thinking about a snowfall in Hertfordshire a year and six days previous, the night before her wedding. "Perhaps. I arrived here on the twelfth; it closed on the thirteenth, opened again on the fourteenth, closed the fifteenth and sixteenth, open this morning."

"The pattern could be one open, one closed, one open, two closed..."

"In which case it would open again on the twenty-first, then the twenty-sixth -- I would not be home for Christmas." She laughed, a short and bitter sound. "A trifling point, if I could get home at all."

"You would still have Christmas at Pemberley."

"Places matter less than people," she said simply. "Would you celebrate the holiday without your sister?"

He made no reply, but went and stood at the window. Elizabeth realized what she had said. "Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, I spoke without think--"

"I have." His voice was low and tight. "I would."

"You would willingly?" She cursed her ever-running mouth and tried to modulate her astonishment. "To avoid Mr. Wickham, I suppose."

Darcy snorted and turned back from the window. "Of all the indignities I may one day suffer, God spare me a family Christmas with Wickham!" He sighed and spoke in a calmer tone. "I have spent two Christmases without her now, and a third is probable. More than probable -- a certainty. I can bear it well, Mrs. Kenton."

"And your sister? How does she take it?"

"I do not know. I have not seen her for a year, nor have we corresponded since April."

Elizabeth did not need to put her shock into words, as her expression and eyes spoke all she felt. Mr. Darcy sighed. "Apparently it is my turn to tell a story. Will you listen?" She nodded. His familiar pacing began at the same time as his tale.

"I told you, last night, of the circumstances of Georgiana's marriage and of the loss of her first child, but not in any great detail. Now I must begin not long after their elopement. I saw Mrs. Wickham for the first time in a house they had taken just outside London. It was not what she had been accustomed to, but surprisingly within their means, and my sister seemed happy. Most of her connections had abandoned her of course, but she still believed in the essential goodness of her husband. Thus I did not confess Wickham's previous dealings with me, but only tried to encourage her felicity, and avoid him, as much as possible. In October she was discovered to be with child. In November the scoundrel left her alone while he went to the baths; that the extreme heat would be bad for the baby was his excuse for her abandonment. But his absence permitted me to be with her more often, and I hired a companion, a gentlewoman named Mrs. Annesley" -- Elizabeth started -- "for those periods I must be here at Pemberley.

"I would have liked to have brought Georgiana here as well, but it was not an easy expectancy. Her morning illness lasted an unusually long time; the doctor bled her frequently and limited her movement. Mr. Wickham returned for Christmas, which I then spent with Bingley in town -- one of the few acquaintances who had not abandoned us upon the establishment of such a low connection. He spoke much of a young lady in Hertfordshire, a beauty by the name of Jane." Elizabeth allowed a small smile, which he returned. "I cannot recall if he mentioned her sisters."

"In January of 1812 Wickham left again, ostensibly to study the law at Cambridge. I contacted the University; they had no records of his enrollment. He was, I was sure, spending ill-gotten Darcy money somewhere; but as long as my sister did not mind the vacancy, I myself was too satisfied with it to trouble much about its cause.

"In April, Georgiana delivered the baby, a boy, stillborn. Wickham had to have had contacts in town, for he showed up the next night drunk over the birth of his son. He had not heard of the child's death, nor did he immediately inquire after Georgiana. This was only the third time I had seen him since her marriage. I asked how his study of the law went; he said excellently well, that he intended now to work with an acquaintance in London, and take the bar some time after Michaelmas. He could not give me the name of the acquaintance, nor that of his tutor at Cambridge. I restrained my temper and left the house."

Darcy paused for a drink of water. Elizabeth sipped cold tea. Neither said anything until he resumed his story.

"Wickham was in residence through early July; I divided my time during that period between town and Pemberley. Georgiana's spirits were in a state of depression that her husband's presence did little to alleviate. I could do little more than listen to her concerns and send cloth and music -- I feared to send money or jewelry, since I suspected they would not long remain with their intended recipient. I also planned a visit to Pemberley for her in August, by which time I hoped her health and spirits would be sufficiently recovered.

"Then in late July a letter arrived with both welcome and disastrous news. The former was that Wickham had gone to Scotland for fishing; he did not know when he meant to be back, and he did not appear to care. And the latter -- Georgiana was with child again."

Elizabeth closed her eyes. Darcy nodded. "Yes; at the very point I might be able to pull her free of him, she carried something to bind them more closely than ever. Her condition was too delicate for the planned journey to Pemberley, but she agreed to remove to my townhouse, in a better district of London. I read reports of a doctor whose patients seemed to regain their strength more quickly than usual, perhaps because of his refusal to practice bleeding; I contacted him and put Georgiana in his care. Her improvement was immediate. And lastly, with great satisfaction, I cut off Wickham's access to my sister's funds.

"That brought him quickly from Scotland. He attempted to see Georgiana, but was constantly refused admittance to the house; we twice required a constable's assistance to force him from the premises. So it was until Christmas, or a little before.

"I was at Pemberley attending to estate duties -- you know the responsibilities associated with a large house during the holidays. Georgiana felt well and was quite mobile, and Wilkins seemed to have the Wickham situation in hand. But one day, she passed the front door at the moment Wickham rang the bell. She answered it before Wilkins could, and then would not but invite her husband in. It was December the twelfth, 1812." He looked at Elizabeth. "That is not a happy anniversary for me."

"You don't have to do this, Mr. Darcy."

"I believe I do." His voice was quiet but firm. "I have never before told this story, and I can think of no one better to hear it."

He continued before she could say anything.

"By the end of the visit, Mr. Wickham had again convinced my sister of his love and affection, both for her and for the child, and of his sincere desire to celebrate the coming holiday with her. He had procured a better house in a more fashionable district -- he had no intention of leaving again -- and as proof, he produced a paper from a lawyer in town, actual evidence, contracting his services in the study of the law. Having a naturally trusting heart, she believed him, and by the time I returned two days later, all past offenses on his part had been forgiven.

"I, on the other hand, was furious. I pointed out his lack of correspondence; she said that he had been on a far point away from the post. She met my inquiries into the progress of his study of the law with a copy of the letter; I had never heard of Sayers, Biggs and Vane and was forced to take his highly-unreliable word upon it. I insisted that he had only returned for the money; she had been manipulated into taking such a statement as an insult. And she was irrefutably, irrevocably his wife. She left the house with him, and I spent Christmas at Pemberley alone."

"Mrs. Annesley transferred with her and became my eye into the household. She told me my sister was well and happy, Wickham an attentive and loving husband. At the end of February she delivered a daughter -- Anne Elizabeth, as it happens. Georgiana sent me the news herself; it was our first direct contact in over two months. I replied with my congratulations, and a cordial relationship was established. I even made ready to go to town and see my niece, provided her father would be away for the day. Then I received another letter from Georgiana."

The words seemed to become harder to form.

"That is, it was signed 'Georgiana' and addressed to 'My dear brother'; and it was written in her hand. But the inelegance of phrasing, the false sincerity, and the constant familiar flattery smacked of dictation by Wickham. As did its contents: a request for ten thousand pounds. He had fallen into a little debt at the gaming tables and would appreciate my cooperation. Furthermore, if I did not provide the wished-for amount, they would have to move, and it would be difficult for me to see my new niece. That was the word. Difficult."

Elizabeth gripped the arms of her chair. Poor Georgiana...

"I sent the money by post the next day -- the money, and nothing more. A week later I judged it safe to write to her requesting a true account of events; she made no reply. I wrote three times more, and never received an answer. Wickham left briefly in June, and I hoped to hear from her then, but to no avail. Mrs. Annesley has kept me informed of their progress; both Georgiana and Anne are well, and, I presume, spending Christmas with their husband and father." His voice was raw with use and pain.

Elizabeth waited while he poured a glass of water and drank it. Darcy then sat down and stared fixedly at the leftover kippers. Minutes ticked by, and he said nothing.

"Is that all, Mr. Darcy?"

"Madam, that is the complete truth."

"You have had no contact with your sister since April?"

"By her choice."

"By her choice..." Elizabeth rose and paced, both her words and movement an echo of Mr. Darcy's earlier actions. "Is it possible the letters did not reach her? That they might, in fact, have been taken from the post by her husband?"

"Mrs. Annesley made no mention of them in her reports; it is possible."

"And did you never try to see Georgiana? Particularly in June, when Mr. Wickham was absent?"

"She chose not to confide in me by letter; why would she wish to see me face-to-face?" A slight edge of pain belied the implacability of his tone.

"She has some pride too, Mr. Darcy. She made a mistake, twice--"

"She did not respond to my letters."

"Thrice rejected, you would not lower yourself to write again."

"Why should I, knowing her reaction?"

"Reactions change, people forgive..." Elizabeth stopped and looked at him. "Or can you not forgive yourself for not guarding her again? Or not forgive your sister, for being twice deceived? Is that why you have made no attempt to see her?"

"I have forgiven everyone involved," he said tightly, "except him, whom I fear I might kill if I see again. He has alienated my friends, taken my money and sister -- he has hurt me in every way possible."

"Then think how much more he must hurt Georgiana!" cried Elizabeth. "This is not about you: this is about her, whom you profess to love. Love forgives ignorance and overcomes shame -- when you made your first proposal to me--" She stopped and began again. "When Mr. Darcy made his first proposal to me, he listed all the objections his love had had to overwhelm -- my family, my lack of fortune, my few connections. He thought it incredibly romantic that his passion for me was that great; I found it insulting, and refused him, though not only on the grounds of his ungentlemanlike behavior... Though his demonstration was incorrect, his motive was right: love, true love, moves beyond considerations of money, society, and pride. And if you cannot look past Wickham to see Georgiana, I question how much you love your sister at all."

He was so pale that Elizabeth feared he was ill. But his voice, when he spoke, shook with anger and control. "That is enough, madame."

"I agree -- I cannot take any more of this. Good day, Mr. Darcy." She rose and walked to the door; there she paused and turned around again.

"Christmas," she said, "is a time for families. I cannot be with mine this season. I pray God you can get past yourself and be with yours."

The door slammed behind her as she ran, weeping, for the stairs.

The room was dark when Elizabeth awoke ten hours later. Her face felt tight with tear trails; she washed it and pushed back her hair. She did not wish to join him for dinner, but she must find Ellen.

She opened the door and looked out. The maid sat in a chair by the door, dozing lightly. Elizabeth touched her arm.

Ellen woke with a start. "Oh, ma'am! Is there anything I can get you?"

"Why were you waiting outside my chamber?"

She blushed. "Mr. Darcy asked me to inform you that he wishes you to keep to your room, ma'am."

"He confines me again?" Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow.

"He does not wish to be disturbed, ma'am. He's thinking, he said."

"He's thinking," she echoed. "Did he tell you to tell me that?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Well. Please let him be thinking correctly," Elizabeth murmured. To Ellen she said: "Then I will abide by his wishes. Now, could you please bring me some dinner? I'm ravenous."

"Of course, ma'am." The maid hurried down the hall. Elizabeth watched her go, then withdrew into her chamber.

She missed her walk in the maze both that night and the following morning, and brooded a long while on the same subjects as Mr. Darcy. She had, perhaps, been too cruel; the Darcy pride was well-established, though Elizabeth had found that it more often worked within the family than without. When her husband had failed to obtain an invitation for his sister to the much-anticipated Royal ball in town, he did not admit it until she asked him directly; and when Georgiana accidentally fell into the lake -- an oddly common mishap at Pemberley -- while rowing one afternoon, she chose to tell her brother that a servant had emptied some bathwater upon her head from an upper window. They laughed about the situation now, but it was difficult for any Darcy to acknowledge a misjudgment... Georgiana needed to do so more than her brother, if, indeed, she had gotten his letters -- but there was no excuse for his not visiting, to ensure that they were properly received. Elizabeth sighed and gave up.

It was Sunday; tomorrow she would have been here one week. She spent the morning with one of Fordyce's sermons (My sister Mary would be proud) and the afternoon in another long, comfortless sleep. When she woke, the darkness signified her dinnertime; she lit the lamp and prepared to find Ellen. But upon reaching the door, she noticed a folded slip of paper shoved roughly through the crack. She picked it up and opened it.

On it was scrawled, in a swift hand she knew well:

"I have sent for Georgiana. F.D."

Elizabeth sagged against the door. "Oh, thank God," she whispered. "Thank God."

Part X

She rose the next morning at her accustomed hour and quietly made her way out of the house. She was not certain if the restriction on her movements had been lifted with Mr. Darcy's note; but even if it had not, she was too consumed with her desire to investigate the maze to follow any such limitations.

I no longer expect it to open fully, she thought as she trudged through the gardens, only one more path here or corner there. I cannot believe it would go this far and stop.

And indeed, it didn't. This morning she gained the entire long right, a corridor that curled almost completely about the center circle. She was close, so close, to the fountain and home... Elizabeth leaned against the hedge wall and thought of her husband.

"He will miss you?" Darcy had asked, and she had answered that he would miss her very much; she had wanted to add, "Perhaps as much as I miss him." It was an unusual state of affairs to yearn wholly for the presence of someone you saw every day.

But of course, they were not the same man. The history she and Fitzwilliam shared, which she had told earlier for Mr. Darcy's amusement, made the former a rather different person from the one she now visited. This Mr. Darcy reminded her of the man who had once slighted her at an assembly -- but her particular knowledge and understanding of him let him be more like the man who called her "dearest, loveliest Elizabeth" ...

She suddenly realized her hands were stinging from being pressed too tightly against the hedge. She pulled them away; and as she did so, a knot of silver shot out of the bush onto the snow.

It did not move further, and cautiously Elizabeth stooped to pick it up. She had been wrong: it was not silver but gold, darkened with dirt and age and bent into a circle. Lines crossed the circle in every direction, all leading inevitably to a small solitaire diamond at the center. A pin and clasp on its back indicated it was some kind of brooch. Its knots and twists vaguely resembled a piece of jewelry an Irish peddler had once brought by Longbourn, but it was really like nothing Elizabeth had ever seen before.

Perhaps Mr. Darcy will know its origin. She put it carefully in her pocket and started out of the maze. That is, if he ever speaks to me again.

She did not see him all that day, nor did she risk further ventures from her chamber, even to the maze. It only appeared to open once a day, in any case; and although it had violated the suggested pattern, she hoped it would settle into a faster rhythm which would allow her to be home by Christmas. Only four days now...

The next morning she queried Ellen over her current restrictions. The maid said Mr. Darcy had not mentioned it when she brought him his coffee, but then he had not said much at all: "he seems to be very broody today, ma'am." Elizabeth thought she could handle him being broody, though she was in no hurry to force the meeting; and she decided a journey out of her room would be a welcome relief from boredom.

Thus she slipped down the stairs to the library that afternoon, hoping to find Tom Jones in the drawer where her husband's father had hidden it from his son years before. Her own father had discovered it on one of his frequent jaunts to Pemberley, and gave it over into the care of his son-in-law; and Elizabeth's arguments had been persistent enough and good enough to win it reluctantly from Mr. Darcy. But of course, no Mr. Bennet had ever explored this Pemberley library; and as she hadn't yet finished the book, her forced vacation seemed an opportune time.

After much muffled pounding upon and gentled agitation of the drawer, it finally pulled open with a loud squeak. Her wince broadened into a smile of triumph -- the book probably contained more dust than pages, but no matter -- when she heard a groan rising from the sofa behind her.

She spun in time to see Mr. Darcy stand up from the aforesaid sofa and glare at her menacingly.

"Mrs. Kenton," he said, "do you not disturb a man's sleep enough during the nighttime, that you feel it necessary to interrupt it further during the day?"

"I--I'm sorry, sir," Elizabeth replied, her earlier confidence gone. "I did not know you were in here."

"And were you not asked to keep to your room, in any case?"

"From your note, I concluded that you had completed your thinking -- and quite rightly, sir," she added impulsively.

He nodded, not really agreeing but wishing to change the subject. "What are you doing with that drawer?"

Elizabeth flushed and wiped off the book, then extended it to him. He accepted it. "The History of Tom Jones, Foundling." Darcy looked up. "How did you know of this?"

She explained briefly; he looked doubtful through most of it, but returned the volume to her with a smile.

"Don't put it back in the drawer when you're done," he said. "I ransacked this library at least twice when I was seventeen and never found the forbidden book; I do not wish to take any further chances."

Elizabeth laughed. "I shall give it only into your safekeeping." Then, with fine eyes twinkling: "What say you, Mr. Darcy? Shall we endeavor to maintain a state of peace between us for more than twenty-four hours?"

"If you do not object to the resolution, I certainly shall not argue against it."

"Then we are well begun."

And in a few minutes, it was as if the name Wickham had never been spoken between them, and they were settled into the familiar chairs by the fireplace for tea.

"Did you really refuse your husband the first time he made his proposal?"

"Yes," she said, and reddened. "I was under several misapprehensions about Mr. Darcy, most of them perpetuated by Mr. Wickham about the other's cruel treatment of him. Mr. Darcy had also separated my sister Jane and Mr. Bingley from each other, believing her not enough in love and him too much so." She continued to describe the situation, the proposal, the letter, and her enlightenment; and finished with "Although, if you must know, I was only practicing Mr. Collins' theory of feminine acceptance, in the hopes Mr. Darcy would propose again."

Darcy laughed. "But pray do not tell him he was correct, for he may one day be widowed -- if he is married?" She looked at him expectantly.

"He is, though I am not certain that your friend Miss Lucas was his bride. I was at Rosings only for a week last June, and Mrs. Collins was then visiting relatives in Hertfordshire. She may--" He hesitated. "I seem to recall some talk of her formerly being Miss Bennet."

She stared into the fire. "Surely I was stronger than that," she murmured, "but then, events can be distinctly different..."

He made no reply, but gazed with her into the flames. Suddenly Elizabeth exclaimed and put a hand to her pocket.

"Here," she said, drawing out the metal brooch. "Do you know anything of this?"

Darcy looked at it, started, and took it from her hand. "Where did you get this?"

"In the maze, during my morning walk -- it has opened another path, did I tell you? The long right -- I stopped to rest, and this fell out of the hedge."

"Just a moment." He stood swiftly and left the room. Elizabeth rubbed a little more of the dirt off, revealing more of the only slightly tarnished gold. When Darcy returned, he carried a small woolen pouch she recognized as belonging to the mistress of Pemberley.

"Here," he said, and opened it. An identical brooch in polished gold lay inside. Elizabeth lifted it out in wonder. Another double, except this is unfamiliar to me...

"When Sir Christopher Wren designed the maze for Melinda Darcy, my great-grandmother, he presented her with a brooch that also served as a map of the paths. Do you see it? Left, right, left left..." His finger traced the route she knew so well, now outlined in thin gold. "You did not recognize it?"

"Not at all. I have never seen one of these in the Pemberley coffers."

"I cannot believe your husband would not have this, nor that, if he did, he could fail to give it to you."

"I don't know--" She shook her head in confusion. "Does it pass to the mistress of Pemberley, or might it be destined for Georgiana?"

"Always the mistress of Pemberley." Darcy reached out and folded her hand about the darker brooch. "And as you do not have it, you must take this."

Elizabeth made none of the usual protestations, only smiled. "I thank you, Mr. Darcy; and I will put it on my cloak, so I may better track the opening of the maze and the rate at which you shall be rid of me."

He did not smile back, but stood again and walked a few steps away. "Will you join me for dinner, Mrs. Kenton?"

"I will," she replied, surprised by his abrupt manner.

"Then I shall leave you to your reading until that time" -- and he left the room.

She looked after him for a moment, then stared down at the twist of metal in her palm. Her finger retraced the path his had run a minute before. "A double," she said softly; then she was struck with an idea, and her face widened into a smile. "A double."

Dinner that night was a joy. He seemed to have recovered from his sudden attack of "broodiness"; she continued the story of her courtship through "Prince Darcy's" unexpected appearance at Castle Pemberley. But when his counterpart in this universe asked her to join him in the library for further conversation, Elizabeth pleaded exhaustion.

She came slowly up the stairs to her room. Ellen was turning the blankets; she quickly completed that task and set to changing her mistress into her warm nightdress, also from the closets of the late Anne Darcy. When Elizabeth was ready, Ellen prepared to take her leave for the night.

"One more thing," Elizabeth said. "Could you procure some writing materials and bring them to me? You should find pen, paper, and ink in Mrs. Reynolds' office."

"Yes ma'am. You wish for them tonight?"

"Yes, please." The maid left. Elizabeth drifted around the room, touching the bedspread that was not hers, the unfamiliar curtains, the cold panes of the window ... the view was foreign as well, as it took in the back gardens instead of the front circle of the house. If she looked carefully, she could just see the maze...

Ellen returned with the requested items; Elizabeth thanked her and sent her to bed, but she herself sat at the desk for a long time, fingering the golden brooch, before she touched pen to paper.

Part XI

Elizabeth left the maze in a contemplative mood. The pattern to its revelations might run so that it opened one day, closed one day, open one day, closed two days, open one day, closed one day -- in which case she should not have expected it to open this morning anyway. There were two turns remaining, so she should get a left tomorrow morning, and the final right into the circle ... on Christmas Eve! She could be home for Christmas! How wonderful, if it worked!

She hummed a few bars from the Messiah as she walked back across the gardens. Ellen would post her letter later today from town, so she ought to hear a reply by the 24th; its recipient had always been a blessedly swift correspondent. Everything would turn out beautifully: Georgiana would arrive; Elizabeth would get her answer and depart; and each would spend Christmas with the Mr. Darcy who loved her.

Just as Elizabeth prepared to launch her one-woman Hallelujah chorus, her cloak caught on a nearby shrub. She bent to free it, and her fingers brushed the sharp points of the leaves: it wasn't thorns but holly. Of course! This was the bush she had picked it from for the decorations at home. Only this bush was still full and florid, the small red berries counterpointing its glowing verdancy...

"I shall not require greenery to make my holiday complete."

Elizabeth smiled.

Ellen provided needle, thread, and, when she had finished her morning's duties, assistance. Elizabeth's hands hurt after ten minutes of sewing the prickly leaves, but she had nearly four feet of garland by the time she ran out of holly.

"Is Mr. Darcy about yet, Ellen?"

"No ma'am."

"Good."

It took two more hours and three trips to the holly bush, but they finally had enough decoration to stretch the length of the banister.

"The difficult part shall be the hanging, ma'am."

"You distract Mr. Wilkins, I'll take care of the hanging."

Ellen nodded agreeably and went off to find the butler. Elizabeth waited until he was seduced from the hall by a question of the silver, then carefully extracted the garland from where it curled in her cloak. Her hands no longer felt the pricks as she knotted light threads around wreathing and banister.

She had just completed a neat flourish around the bottom post when Mr. Darcy appeared at the top of the stairs. His expression was unreadable.

"Decking the halls with boughs of holly, I see."

Elizabeth smiled weakly. "Tra-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la." After a moment, she added, "It is the season to be jolly, you know."

Another moment. He reached out and fingered a leaf, and she saw he was smiling. "Tra-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la."

"You will forgive me then?" she asked.

"When my mother was alive, she used to do the same." He descended the stairs. "Come into breakfast with me?"

Elizabeth gestured to her plain grey dress and smiled again. "Gay apparel and all."

She had given her morning's report on the maze and was just beginning an account of the decorating when a maid entered with a message.

"Mr. Bingley to see you, sir."

Elizabeth and Darcy stared at each other. "He'll know me," she breathed. "Padgett did after seeing me for an afternoon, and I'm Bingley's sister-in-law!"

"Hello, Darcy!" Bingley's voice called down the hall.

Darcy rose. "I'll intercept him outside and take him into the drawing room. You slip upstairs to your room." She nodded. He hurried to the door, pulled it open, and jerked it shut behind him as he left.

"Bingley! What brings you here?" To Elizabeth's ear his enthusiasm sounded a little forced, but his friend didn't notice.

"I'm on my way to Hertfordshire and thought you might provide me with breakfast. What say you?"

"Ah, breakfast," Darcy said desperately. "Yes. Breakfast."

"The maid said you were just there. Come on -- this is the way, right?" Elizabeth heard footsteps approaching the breakfast room.

"Bingley, don't go in there, please."

"I've been on the road for three hours, and I dare say you have fresh kippers and eggs. You will share?" A hand rattled the doorknob, and Elizabeth looked around wildly. Where could she go? The hutch, the table, the windowseat -- the windowseat! Bingley opened the door. "Do you eat breakfast in the dark, Darcy?"

"What?" said he, peering into the darkened chamber. Someone had pulled the curtains closed. Someone... "Yes, yes, of course. The light's too bright this early in the morning."

"It is nearly ten!" Bingley said with astonishment.

"Hard on my eyes. Won't you come in?" Darcy instructed an equally astonished maid to bring fresh candles, and soon the two gentlemen were settled in with their breakfast.

On the other side of the drapery, Elizabeth's heartbeat finally slowed to its normal pace. That had been a hard run for a pregnant lady.

"I see you have holly up on the banister," Bingley said between mouthfuls of kippers. "It reminds me of the Christmas Balls your mother hosted when we were young."

"I thought of those as well. Do you remember the one when Lady Evermyer ripped her skirt?"

"No little thanks to you."

"Yes, but the hook on the table was your idea."

"Do you remember your first dance?"

"My cousin Anne. We were eleven. Aunt Catherine insisted. Who was yours?"

"Mary Westney -- she's now Countess Mary DeVries, I understand." Bingley started to laugh. "Do you remember the time Miss Woodhouse dragged you under the mistletoe? She said you were too shy and needed some improvement -- you were only fifteen, and she was what, eight? By God, your face was so red I thought you might explode!"

There was a smile in Darcy's voice. "Yes, I remember that well."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. Her husband had never mentioned any Miss Woodhouse.

"Your sister tried the same trick a few years later."

"To less effect. You put her down so quickly I thought she might explode from the impact." He hesitated. "That was the last ball."

"Yes. My mother died the next year." A short pause ensued, then Darcy said, "Speaking of your sister, how go the plans for her wedding?"

Bingley groaned. "Every letter is filled with more details than a man ever wished to know -- fabrics, laces, where can she get flowers in London in February. I hope Babbington knows what he's getting into."

Behind the curtain, Elizabeth clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Thomas Babbington was the only man of her acquaintance who rivaled William Collins for loquacity, Lady Catherine de Bourgh for snobbery, and Fitzwilliam Darcy for money -- in short, a perfect husband for Caroline Bingley. She must try to promote the match when she arrived home.

"I rather like dining by candlelight," Bingley said after a moment. "It has atmosphere."

"You were on your way to Hertfordshire?" Darcy inquired.

"Yes, Christmas with my wife's family."

"The Bennets."

"That's right!" Bingley sounded pleased. "And the Collinses, and the Larches, and the Haverfords -- Mrs. Bingley's sisters and their families. It will be quite a gathering."

"I understood your wife had five sisters."

"Yes -- one is unmarried. It's a long journey I have ahead of me, nigh fifty miles." His conversation did not allow time for the crucial question. "Mrs. Bingley went down three weeks ago; I wished I could join her then, but business prevented it."

"Are you staying at the house of your wife's family, or at your own?"

"We shall be at Longbourn through the holiday, but we'll retire to Netherfield after New Year's. You must come visit us, Darcy! You haven't even met Mrs. Bingley yet, and it's been more than a year and a half. April 26 it was, and you were away--" His voice faded as he remembered where his friend had been on that date, at the bedside of his grieving sister. "Is Georgiana well?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, thank you. I've invited her to join us for Christmas."

"Us?"

"Me, I mean," Darcy stumbled. "Only me. I hope to hear her reply soon."

"She cannot fail to come." Bingley's voice was warm. "With such a brother--"

"Thank you, Charles."

Their conversation then turned to the harvest, the condition of the land, the autumn's hunting, and other estate topics. In the windowseat, Elizabeth leaned her head against the cold pane and waited.

"I should be off," Bingley said finally. "See me to the door?"

"I will." They left the room, but she chose not to move -- Bingley always seemed to forget something whenever he visited Pemberley. Sure enough, he soon returned for his gloves; and several minutes after that, Darcy opened the curtains on her cramped figure.

"You are safe," he said, "He is on to Hertfordshire." He grinned. "I sent good wishes to all Mrs. Bingley's sisters."

"Very kind of you," she replied and returned the grin. "I accept my share of the compliment. And now, unless you two disposed of it in the dark, I wish to finish my breakfast."

Part XII

She split the rest of that day between the completions of Tom Jones and additional holly garlands. The former she thought enormously entertaining, if morally uncertain; and the latter, once hung in the dining room and saloon, were pronounced "nicely done" by the master of the house.

"Have you many other accomplishments with which I should be impressed?"

"Besides my admirable ability to fashion decoration from shrubbery? I am afraid not. A little music and a little language are all I may claim." She thought of a conversation she once held with her husband: "the improvement of her mind by extensive reading." "And a love of books."

"You have already demonstrated the latter. Will you play for me?"

"I understood the music room was closed."

"Yes;" then after a short pause, "but it probably should be aired out before my sister arrives."

It was the first time he had spoken to her voluntarily of Georgiana's return. "Then its reopening shall be tomorrow's accomplishment."

But before the day's activities, her morning ritual: the maze.

Elizabeth expected another corner this morning, a left, the last turn before the entrance to the center circle.

She was disappointed.

She recounted the rhythm of her days at the different Pemberley, one on, one off, one on, two off; it was the twenty-second of December, her eleventh morning here; her heretofore reliable pattern had failed.

And unless some other rationale presented itself, her own homecoming was in the hands of chaos.

It weighed on her, as she uncovered and tuned the instruments scattered about the music room; it stayed with her as she arranged pine branches into a wreath, and cut ribbon for a merry bow; it clung like a dark shadow over a late tea with Mr. Darcy in the library. She had been so sure that this time, she had it correct.

"You are very quiet, Mrs. Kenton," he observed at last, when his latest piece of conversational incentive had again been refused with a monosyllable.

She sighed. "You are right," she said, and was about to explain her uncommon depression when a maid entered.

"Letter for you, Mr. Darcy, sir."

"Thank you." He took it; the servant curtsied and left the room. Elizabeth too began to retire, so he could read his correspondence in privacy; but he stopped her with an eloquent glance.

"It is from Georgiana. Please, stay."

She settled back into her chair, caught by his sudden unguardedness and anxiety. He slit the seal and took up the letter with almost a kind of fear.

"She says that she and Anne are well... she thanks me for writing, which she could not bring herself to do earlier." Mr. Darcy's report was punctuated by silence as he read on. "Anne can speak a few simple words; she calls herself Anna... Georgiana is Mamma; her father does not pay much attention to her and is therefore not granted a name. She will.." A smile opened over his countenance. "She will come to Pemberley by chaise, departing from town tomorrow, and arriving at Pemberley on Christmas Eve. She says 'arriving home.'"

"How wonderful!" cried Elizabeth.

"Her daughter and Mrs. Annesley will travel with her. And yet..." The expression of joy that had lit his face closed into something unreadable. "'Mr. Wickham is not often in residence and takes little interest in my affairs, but I felt it necessary to inform him of my plans for the holiday. He said nothing at the time, and I was not certain he had heard me; yet this morning he asked where I should get the coach-money and if I thought it wise to travel such a distance without a man's protection. I did not admit your generosity in the apprehension of his taking the funds, but rather said my dear brother would pay the coach in Derbyshire. He asked if my dear brother's munificence would extend into passage for his brother-in-law. I said I thought not, for Mr. Wickham's own safety; this reminder of your last threat to him seemed to dispel any ideas of accompanying me, though he did query me farther over which chaise I planned to take and my date of departure. It cannot come soon enough, nor can my return to beautiful and beloved Pemberley! Until then, I remain your loving and grateful sister." His voice died away to a whisper. "Georgiana."

The fire crackled in the grate. "He could not dare to come to Pemberley," said Elizabeth.

"He ought not to dare to come into Derbyshire." Darcy rose and walked to the window. "Surely his considerable interest in his own self-preservation will prevent it."

Her curiosity overcame her better judgment. "How did you threaten him?"

"Only with a long and painful death should I hear he had hurt my sister or limited our communication. So long as Georgiana remains with him, there is little else I could do without hurting her as well."

"And now, when she comes to Pemberley...?"

"I shall endeavor to keep her here; I doubt if it requires much persuasion on my part." He turned to face her. "And then I shall endeavor to keep him away."

A short silence fell. "But she is coming," Elizabeth said.

The joy flickered briefly in his face. "Yes, she is coming." He smiled a little sadly. "How odd that as Georgiana returns to Pemberley, you shall be leaving it."

"What?"

"It is the twenty-second. Didn't another path open this morning?" She stared at him. "You should have just one turn left, and it should become available on--"

"The twenty-fourth, Christmas Eve," she finished. One part of her mind noted that he too had been keeping track of the maze's movements; but the rest of it was occupied with his earlier words about Georgiana. When she comes, I depart; as she has been drawn back to her brother, I have moved farther away, literally. Suddenly she saw her sojourn at this Pemberley not as a counting of days but a crossing-off of events: his acceptance of my existence as Elizabeth Darcy. One. His telling me of Georgiana's elopement. Two. His sending for Georgiana. Three. Two paths left. She has replied -- is that four? She looked out the window; it was already dark, too late to investigate the maze. And when she returns to Pemberley, so may I. Five.

His words restored her to the present. "Mrs. Kenton? Are you all right?"

Elizabeth rose, a trifle unsteadily, and joined him at the window. The moon shone almost full; with a lamp, they could easily make their way. "I seem to have missed my evening inspection of the maze. Will you come with me, Mr. Darcy?"

And now she had her left turn.

It could be the date, of course; that was a rational explanation entirely independent of human action. But it provided no reason for her to meet this Mr. Darcy at this time of the year; it could not explain the necessity of her lengthy stay, other than its own cold countdown to her return. And she had missed checking at least one day in the cycle -- had it opened on the nineteenth, when she had found it, or the eighteenth, when he had sent for Georgiana?

No matter the answer, Elizabeth clearly saw the motive. He had saved her sister. She was brought here to save his.

"Madam? Had this not moved this morning?"

He stood nearby with the lantern raised. His expression reflected concern, interest, courtesy -- and, she thought, tenderness, though that could have been the gentle glow of the lamplight. Surely his pride had been hurt enough that it did not need to be told of her discovery.

"No sir, and that was why I wished to check it this evening. You see our pattern holds true."

"Yes." He was silent a moment. "And so you will be leaving on the twenty-fourth."

"Saturday," she agreed. Only two days.

"Then come: I demand to know the end of a story involving a certain prince and princess." The cheer seemed to come with an effort, but she assured him she would oblige; and they returned to the house for dinner.

"And then, after Prince Darcy had rescued the Princess Lydia and Princess Elizabeth had defeated the Dragon de Bourgh, they were married and lived happily ever after."

He was smiling. "A wonderful story."

"Thank you; the living of it was unpleasant, but the ending is happy." They were in the library again. "Have you any to share?"

"Happy endings?" he said lightly. "Not yet."

"Any story." She grinned. "Tell me of Miss Woodhouse."

He laughed and looked a little abashed. "You heard that, of course. Miss Woodhouse is the daughter of a friend of my mother's from Kent; they journeyed here annually for the Christmas Ball. Emma rather believed that she knew what was best for everyone, and I needed a kiss... so, the mistletoe. I understand she was married last year."

"Speaking of marriage, tell me about Caroline Bingley."

"You heard most of what I know. She will wed Thomas Babbington in February. Has she married in your world?"

"No, but the match is so perfect that I will not let her remain single. I wonder that I never saw it before."

Soon their talk died to a comfortable silence, curling around them like a warm blanket. They were loath to disturb it, but each had a project for the next day; and together they eventually rose, dimmed the lights, and left the library.

"What time is it?" Elizabeth inquired sleepily.

"I think the clock struck two," he replied. "Everyone else is asleep."

"An excellent idea," she said, but she did not move away from him down the dark hall. The candelabra enfolded them in a small circle of light, close and intimate, and the suspected tenderness gleamed softly in his eyes. Mr. Darcy... she was married to Mr. Darcy... He dipped his head and brushed his lips with hers, and her eyes closed in response: for a moment, he was him.

And then it was over. He lowered the candelabra away from their faces; and as the light fled, so did the spell. Elizabeth stumbled backwards into the dark.

"Saturday," she whispered, and slid past him towards the stairs.

Another note under her door the next morning.

Forgive me.

She already had, but for herself the guilt ran deeper, not so much for the kiss as for her moment of belief. It had happened several times when she talked to him, but never with such immediacy, or such results.

She did not see him all that day; he was in Lambton, paying holiday visits and distributing food baskets among the poor. She worked further in the music room, now free of dust and sparkling with light, and carefully polished her brooch so it was restored to its original gold. Altogether, she was focused on one thing: tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow...

By the time she came to bed, Ellen had already completed her duties for the night. The banked fire glowed low in the grate; her nightdress lay crisply on the comforter, and the sheets were turned back and fresh. And there atop her pillow was a small rectangle of paper, addressed in a familiar hand to "Olivia Kittredge, Lambton, Derbyshire."

Elizabeth snatched it up and scanned its contents eagerly. Upon finishing it, she sat for some time and looked out the window towards the maze, one fingertip running gently over her lower lip.

"'And that, if he marry prudently, his wife may teach him,'" she murmured; and her face broke into a smile.

Part XIII -- A

Elizabeth Darcy rolled onto her back and flung an arm across the bed. As it met the small pillow she had put on the other side in place of her husband, she remembered that, as of that evening, she would have no need for such a substitution. It was Christmas Eve, Saturday the twenty-fourth. She was going home.

With such an incentive, getting up and dressing were a moment's work. She assumed only her original clothes -- nothing would leave this Pemberley besides herself and the maze brooch, now fastened securely on her dark cloak. Elizabeth wrapped the latter garment over her woolen gown and stockings. She knew well that the maze would not open until Georgiana arrived, but it never hurt to check...

The day was bright and the wind cold. She experienced an encouraging sense of deja vu: these were exactly the circumstances of her walk thirteen mornings before. Frost glimmered on the brush. She turned the corners of the labyrinth quickly, her excitement rising. The prospect of being mistaken had never held so much pleasure.

But she was right. And she was not the only one who had risen early.

"Mr. Darcy?"

He turned from his contemplation of the impeding hedge. "Mrs. Kenton -- you're still here--"

"Good morning, sir." She was not sure how to reply to this uncommon greeting, nor to the expression of joy that lit his countenance. "Should I not be?"

"I saw a set of footprints in this morning's snow -- I thought you had left, and it had closed again behind you--"

"It has not been open then?"

"Not in my presence. Did you expect it to be?"

Elizabeth shook her head. But I had hoped. "Footprints," she said, and looked at the path left behind her in the snow. There were indeed three sets of marks: her own slender boot-print, Mr. Darcy's longer and deeper indications, and a third whose length and width fell between the two sizes. "Mr. Padgett, perhaps?"

"Perhaps. It is someone who knows the maze," Darcy said with a frown. "The trail leads directly here--"

"And then stops," she finished for him. "It is likely Mr. Padgett, interested in the unusual attention the maze has received of late."

"Likely so." He hesitated. "Shall you return to the house, or shall you keep a vigil here?"

"The house, please." She took his proffered arm.

"Have you any idea what time it might go into effect?"

What time will your sister get here? "It will wait until the least opportune moment," she said lightly. "Something important will happen: dinner, or an important letter, or your sister's arrival--" She realized her thoughts were betraying themselves most inconveniently, and chattered on to cover her mistake. "The time of day shall be an annoyance, I suspect. It will be very early in the morning, or just after dark, when one should require a lantern -- as on Thursday, you remember."

"Thursday. Yes." Darcy reddened slightly, and then she recollected what else had happened Thursday evening. "Mrs. Kenton, I apologize for my behavior that night. It was very wrong of me."

Her cheeks, too, were flushed with more than cold. "Your apology is accepted, sir."

"Thank you," he said, and they continued in silence to the house and to breakfast.

They spent that day weaving in and out of each other's company. She would be in the music room, tuning the pianoforte; he would enter to remind her he had not yet had the pleasure of hearing her play. He would be in the library with Tom Jones; she would drop by with a cup of tea to check his progress through the novel. And each surreptitiously crept to the maze at least once every two hours.

Thus the time till Georgiana's advent passed.

On an encounter at seven that evening, she asked "What remains to be done for your sister?"

"Not a great deal. Mrs. Reynolds has settled her bedroom, and you have graciously taken care of the music room. Cook is keeping the dinner warmed -- I expect the coach in another two hours." He smiled. "I had no time to purchase Christmas presents yesterday, so Mr. Bunter in town has sent up a selection of items. If you could help me decide upon the appropriate gifts?"

"I should be delighted."

The assortment was laid out in the breakfast room. Elizabeth chose a wrap of French lace, several bolts of material, a dark parasol, and the latest novel by Sir Walter Scott ("for I do not think Mr. Fielding would be quite to her liking"). She was considering the good taste of an ebony bead necklace when she felt a sharp pain in her stomach.

She gasped and doubled over. Mr. Darcy was by her side immediately, and helping her into a chair, spoke in a tone of gentleness and commiseration. Was she all right? Was there anything he could do? A glass of wine? -- would that be to her improvement? He should send a servant at once.

"No, I thank you," she said, once she had regained her breath. "It is only that the child is active." She smiled. "Rather like his mother, my husband would say."

"Ah." He straightened and walked a little distance away. A silence fell. "Have you chosen a name for the child?"

Elizabeth roused herself. "Not yet. We have each been through our family histories and favorite works of literature -- but he himself rejected Fitzwilliam, and I refuse to burden the child with Hamlet."

"I suppose he also suggested Brutus and Benedick?"

"The very ones! But we do like Rosalind or Miranda if it is a girl; and if not... Should all else fail, we may use my husband's middle name, distasteful as its associations may be."

"What ill associations does Andrew carry?" he asked curiously.

"Andrew?" she replied. "My husband's middle name is George, after his father."

"My mother named me for her brother -- Fitzwilliam Andrew."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam's father?"

"The same. How peculiar."

"What is peculiar is that it did not come up in your interrogation. It would have been an argument in your favor if I did not know my husband's middle name."

"Yes." He seemed suddenly restless. "If you will excuse me, Mrs. Kenton--"

"Of course, sir." She was surprised, as ever, by his quick changes in mood.

Mr. Darcy hesitated at the door. "If the maze should open -- you will not leave without saying farewell?" he requested shyly.

"I won't," she answered.

"Thank you."

But it was only after he left that she remembered what she had not told him.

It was a difficult thing to say, and presumptuous in its saying, though every minute they had spent together secured her in the rightness of her revelation. But she was by no means assured she should see him again before Georgiana reached Pemberley; and she did not want to disturb him, when he had made it so evident that he desired to be out of her presence. Nor did she wish to interrupt his reunion with his sister; nor did she wish to stay a moment longer than she must.

And yet she had promised to tell him good-bye.

As she rose from the chair, a rustle of paper in her pocket reminded her of the letter she had lately received. A letter began your relationship with one Mr. Darcy, and a letter can end it with another.

Thankfully, she had paper and ink left from her earlier correspondence. She hurried up the stairs to her chamber and sat down to write.

Part XIII -- B

Two and a half hours later, Elizabeth completed her missive: if it was a difficult thing to speak of, it was scarcely easier to write. And Georgiana had still not arrived. She could just picture Mr. Darcy below in his study, pacing distractedly as he did when something unnerved him. Heaven knows what state he will be in when it comes time for his child to be born.

The letter must be placed where it would be both certain of discovery and seen by his eyes only. The library or his private study would be ideal; but both of those were on the first floor, and she did not wish to interrupt his anticipation of his sister. There was one room on this level where it would be safe.

She slipped out of her room and down the hall; and after a quick reconnaissance, opened a door and slid inside. Her heart thumped erratically and irrationally. If there was one room she knew at Pemberley, it was this; she and Fitzwilliam had long ago given up any pretense of separate chambers. Yet despite its identical decor, this master bedroom held none of the other's familiar and intimate comfort. Perhaps it was the full moon through the window, bleaching the rich colors to cold pastels, transforming Elizabeth herself into a ghost...

She shook her head to free it of such fancies and looked for a place to conceal her correspondence. Her husband was wont to read in bed at night, and indeed a book lay on Mr. Darcy's bedstand. In the moonlight, its title could be clearly read: The History of Tom Jones, Foundling. She grinned and carefully inserted the letter between the pages.

As she set the volume back on the cherry table, a stamping of hooves and the faint glow of torches signaled the arrival of a carriage. She hastened to the window overlooking the drive. Gold light spilled out of the house as the front door was flung open, and a footman ran to the coach and pulled back the gate. But no one emerged: two pale hands and a plain bonnet hung back in the darkness, waiting. A shadow moved into the light from the house, and it too seemed to hover in its invulnerable doorway; then the shadow advanced onto the step, and the bonnet rushed from the coach, and Fitzwilliam and Georgiana Darcy clung together in an embrace that, if it did not heal all their wounds, comforted by revealing they were shared.

At her window, Elizabeth brushed away tears and then laughed for pure joy. Georgiana was safe.

And now, she too could go home.

After he had greeted Mrs. Annesley and made the acquaintance of his darling niece, Darcy came back to his sister. "Were you followed?" he asked urgently.

Georgiana shook her head. "We were the only travelers on the road; Mrs. Annesley kept a watch. Oh, Fitzwilliam!" She clapped her hands with delight as they came into the house. "You put up the holly garlands. Thank you!"

"You remember those?"

"Of course. Mother hung them for the Christmas balls." She laughed. "But surely you did not make them yourself? Did Mrs. Reynolds? Where is she?"

"She's right here. But wait a moment..." He turned quickly to the beaming butler. "Wilkins, have you seen Mrs. Kenton?"

"Yes sir." Wilkins quickly regained control of his expression. "She passed me some minutes ago, sir."

"Passed you? Where was she going?"

"I am not sure, sir. She was wearing her cloak and bonnet; and when I inquired as to her destination, especially with your sister so newly arrived, she said, 'Good-bye, Mr. Wilkins.'"

Darcy stared at him.

"I must say, sir, if she is leaving, it seems a very inopportune time."

"An inopportune time..." Something important will happen: dinner, or a letter, or your sister's arrival. Darcy's eyes traveled across the room to Georgiana, now conversing merrily with Mrs. Reynolds. Elizabeth's reaction to his statement: How odd that as she returns to Pemberley, you shall be leaving it. And such a statement to make, and not see the truth! "An inopportune time," he repeated.

"Yes sir," said Wilkins, having no idea what the master was talking about.

One turn left -- and she had said good-bye, but not to him. "Wilkins, get my coat." Darcy went across the room to Georgiana. "You're in good hands, my dear -- will you excuse me for a moment?"

"Of course, Fitzwilliam," she smiled.

"I'll return as soon as possible." He took the coat from the butler and ran out the door.

Part XIII -- C

Left, right, left, left... She no longer needed to recite the route in her mind, but did so anyway. Right, right, right, right... Every one of the hard-won paths, open to her like a familiar book. Left, left, right, left... and then the final entrance, the gap into the center, the opening that would make everything right...

She was in the circle.

She supported herself against the hedge while she caught her breath. The enclosure looked perfectly ordinary: every piece of hedge was in its place, and the snow lay thick and untouched about the central fountain. But despite the heavy drifts, no whiteness had accumulated upon the fountain's column of ice; even moonlight seemed to slide off its silken curves. One look, and she would be home. She started across the courtyard.

"Elizabeth!" Mr. Darcy's voice -- or perhaps Fitzwilliam's voice -- could the maze work that quickly, without the dizziness? "Wait, please! Elizabeth!"

Mr. Darcy. Fitzwilliam would have no reason to ask her to tarry. She waited.

It was Mr. Darcy. Like her, he paused to lean against the wall and gather his breath. "Elizabeth. Mrs. Kenton," he panted, then, "You did not say good-bye.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said gently. "I left a letter."

"That does not give me a chance to speak."

"Is Georgiana well?" she asked, before she could find out what he would say.

"She will be, thanks to you." Sufficiently composed, he came forward and took her hand. "How long have you known it would open upon Georgiana's arrival?"

"Since Thursday," she confessed. "You said something about my departure--"

"I only put it together tonight, on a chance remark of Wilkins'."

She smiled. "No doubt disapproving of my hasty and ungrateful exit."

"Yes, but you owe me nothing. All gratitude must be mine. You've done so much, both for Georgiana and myself--" He reached out to brush a stray curl from her forehead. "Elizabeth--"

"How touching. Shouldn't you be with your guest, Mr. Darcy?"

They spun around. George Wickham lounged lazily against the entrance to the circle. "Really, neglecting your sister, whom you haven't seen in months, running off with this lovely mysterious lady," -- he smiled silkily at Elizabeth -- "not a very good host, I say. But perhaps some guests have precedence over sisters."

Mr. Darcy moved forward, putting Elizabeth behind him. "I swore I'd kill you if you ever came to Pemberley again."

Wickham lifted an eyebrow and opened his jacket, revealing a silver pistol. "Pity I have this and you nothing. Another promise unfulfilled." He strolled coolly into the center and looked around at the hedge. "I've been here several days, you know -- one can't let one's wife visit a place without first inspecting the premises yourself. And you both showed such an interest in this maze, I even came out here early this morning." He turned and grinned at Darcy. "You've kept it up well, Fitz."

"What do you want from me?" Darcy's voice was low and dangerous.

"Always a pleasant question to hear you ask; how nice I have my answer prepared." All his leering cheek dropped into hateful demand. "Here's the list. I want my wife to return to me. I want you to pay all debts I currently have, and you can pay all the ones from this point forward as well. I want you to buy me a commission in a regiment, the higher the better. I've always fancied the name Lieutenant Wickham. I want you to maintain us in the style to which you're accustomed, and I want you never to say a word of this to Georgiana."

"Quite a list. And what do I receive in return?"

His threatening charm resumed. "My silence." He smiled and addressed Elizabeth: "How long have you been here, madame? Almost two weeks? And a married woman, I understand. Shame, shame, shame: what will your husband say?"

"He'll say," Elizabeth spat, "that you are the worst kind of villain, a man without morals, reason, discretion or decency--"

"Please, madame, I believe my discretion admirable. Why, with the right amount of money, my lips are sealed for eternity. The world -- and my wife -- need never know of your liaison these two weeks." He smiled maliciously. "Or perhaps the continuation of your liaison, as I see by the lady's expanded shape?"

Darcy lunged at him. The silver pistol whipped out, pointed squarely at his chest. Elizabeth put a hand out to the fountain to steady herself. Wickham spoke softly. "Careful, Mr. Darcy; we wouldn't want to upset the balance of our agreement with violence. It can work out so beautifully for both sides. How do you reply?"

Darcy's eyes were on Elizabeth. "I reply--"

"He replies NO," said Elizabeth, and flung a chunk of ice at Wickham's outstretched hand. The gun smashed out of his grasp. At the same moment, Darcy charged forward and propelled him against the hedge, pinning him securely about the neck. Elizabeth scrambled for the pistol, and Wickham flailed arms and legs as Darcy's hands tightened. "I'll kill you..." Darcy breathed, and she believed he would.

Then she saw the first movement.

"Let him go, Mr. Darcy."

His grip loosened a little, but he did not release Wickham. "What?"

"Let him go." Elizabeth's voice shook. "You need not hold him -- look at his ankle."

Both men immediately looked downward, where a tendril of hedge wound a third spiked cuff about Wickham's foot. "What--" he exclaimed and tried to pull it away; the hedge held fast. It tossed a branch across his opposite shoulder and tightened, binding him against it, then extended prickly arms around his waist.

"Darcy!" Wickham screamed, struggling to break free of the swiftly-moving vines. "Help me! Darcy!" His cries woke the other man from his stunned paralysis, and he hurled himself at the hedge. But his pulling and clawing were to no avail: the vines were tough as iron and efficient as nooses, looping Wickham's other shoulder and neck, crisscrossing his chest, braiding sinuously through his legs. For every one Darcy broke, three more clasped thorns around Wickham, and after a last desperate exertion he was forced to fall back to Elizabeth's side. The hedge stopped Wickham's shrieks with a single strand across his open mouth, closed his eyes and wove gentle fingers into his hair. It worked more slowly now, almost caressingly, and he relaxed against the restraints: the bondage became an embrace...

A black hole, a grosser and darker opening, swelled at the center of the hedge behind him; and then it began, a relentless and steady pull backwards, as the nothing from the hole devoured Wickham from the feet up. He seemed to wake at the movement: his hands reached out convulsively, clutching at something, anything, for a hold, only to be answered by sharp branches warping through his spread fingers. The nothing took his legs and crept up his torso. A cloud passed over the moon, and the whole hedge seemed to be made of darkness, twining like the vines around Wickham's pinioned body. His palms flashed white; a final scream sliced the air; and as the cloud pushed away from the moon, all was still.

Part XIII -- D

"Oh my God," Elizabeth said; then she turned and buried her face in Mr. Darcy's shoulder. Darcy wrapped his arms around her as she wept, hardly knowing what he felt: grief for the loss of his childhood friend, for they had been friends once, before the intervening days of hatred and bitterness; horror for the means by which he had disappeared; worry, for what he must now tell Georgiana -- and also a glorious lightness and exhilaration, for they were free of Wickham's influence forever, and Elizabeth, as long he'd called her so in his mind -- dearest, loveliest Elizabeth -- was in his embrace at last.

Though releasing her was the last thing he wanted to do, the thought of his sister reminded him of other responsibilities; and when her sobs had subsided, he said tenderly "Please let me take you back to the house." She nodded against his chest. Darcy drew her arm closely through his and directed them into the twist of paths.

After two turns, Elizabeth spoke, her voice low but composed. "Those footsteps this morning were his."

"Yes. I talked with Padgett, and they led back to the main road. He must have been staying in Lambton."

"Where...where do you think he is now?"

He was silent for a moment, then: "I would not presume to speculate on the state of his mortal soul."

Elizabeth shivered. They rounded the fourth left.

"He saved my life once," he said in a different tone. "It was a hot July day, when we were both about ten years of age, and we had been swimming in the lake all afternoon. George had already gone into the woods to change clothes, but I determined I should make one more dive; and when I did so, I hit my head on a piece of wood just under the surface and blacked out. When I came to, he was leaning over me..." He paused. "He had the potential to be a good man."

She nodded. "What will you tell Georgiana?"

Darcy ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not certain. The truth would be easiest--"

"But it's so difficult to believe," she finished with a small smile. "I have that problem myself."

He glanced at her, but said nothing.

A final right, and they were out of the labyrinth. Mr. Darcy continued forward at his regular pace; but Elizabeth stopped, and her arm slid softly out of his. He turned to see her framed in the entrance to the maze. At his surprised expression, she said, "I thank you, Mr. Darcy, but I shall be going no further."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm afraid I will not be returning to the house." She smiled. "Not on this side of the maze, anyway."

"You mean--" He broke off as he understood just what she meant. "You're going back?" She nodded. "And you must go now? You're shivering--"

"I can bear a little more cold."

"You haven't seen Georgiana--"

"How would you explain my presence here?"

It was harder for him to pace in the snow. "Wickham went through the maze. You would go knowing what it can do?"

"I will travel via the fountain, not the hedge."

"But you would take the risk?"

"For my husband and family? Yes."

He stopped in front of her. "And if you could have them here?" he said softly. "If you didn't need to risk the maze, to be loved by Fitzwilliam Darcy? For you need not, you know. You could stay... I ask you to stay." He tried to smile. "I am he, too, you know."

"I know," said Elizabeth softly. She was looking at his eyes, Fitzwilliam's eyes, and remembering where she'd seen their expression: once at her side in the Lambton inn, once on the path past Lucas Lodge, and here, now, alight with anxiety for her answer, and with love, too, with so much love... Her heart beat faster at that look. But this Mr. Darcy had never been to Hertfordshire and Longbourn; had never brought her back to Pemberley as his bride, had not lived with her and loved her a full and beautiful year, nor given her the child she carried now beneath her heart. All of her treasured experience -- and he could share none of it. "I'm sorry, Mr. Darcy," she said, as gently as she was able. "I cannot."

"I see." A second later, "I see. Yes." He nodded briskly, as if to shake away encroaching tears. "Thank you again for your efforts involving my sister, Mrs. Kent -- Mrs. Darcy," he corrected himself. "You have changed -- everything. Take good care." And with that, he began striding quickly towards the house.

"Mr. Darcy," she called.

"Madame," he responded, stopping but not turning around.

Elizabeth struggled to keep her voice steady. "May I tell you a story?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"A story, sir." He did not move. "I told it once already, in the letter I left for you at the house; but perhaps it would be best if I repeated it now." He still did not move. "It has a happy ending."

He spoke in so low a tone that she had to strain to hear the words. "For whom, madame?"

"For all characters involved, if you so choose."

He turned at last, his countenance a blank. "I will listen."

"Thank you," she said quietly. Then, "Once upon a time, there was a young queen named Elizabeth Darcy, who one morning went for a walk in her maze."

"Mrs. Darcy," he said tightly, "I beg you not to trifle with me."

"And I beg you to listen. It is the last request I will ever make of you."

The thought did not seem to please him, but he was silent.

"Once upon a time, there was a young queen named Elizabeth Darcy, who one morning went for a walk in her maze. She had been married for one year to a husband she loved dearly, and she was expecting their first child. When she came out of the maze, which lay under a mysterious enchantment, the lady Elizabeth found herself in a kingdom that looked exactly the same as hers at home, but was distinctly different -- and with a king who looked exactly the same as her husband, but was also distinctly different.

"The queen had not been there many days before she saw that this king, despite being distinctly different, was in essentials just as worthy and just as wonderful as her lord at home. But he was not him; she and her liege shared a history and a passion that has been told of before, and which she could not sacrifice, even for an identical world. There was also the thought of her larger family, who must remain unknown to her so long as she continued in the other kingdom. Thus she wished to leave; but at the same time, she had naturally grown fond of the other king, who was a very double for her consort."

He winced slightly at the "history and passion," but his attention continued unabated.

"So the queen undertook a quest, seeking not a magical sword or an elusive Grail, but a very simple little bit of information. Her mission was complicated by the necessity of disguise: for who should accept a Queen who was not even supposed to exist? Therefore, she assumed the name of Olivia Kittredge" -- Darcy started -- "and rode, pardon me, wrote forth."

He took an unconscious step forward. Elizabeth smiled. "I see by your expression that you are acquainted with the Lady Olivia, as well you might be: she is a pleasant and distinguished resident of Lambton village. But the Queen also knew her to be an infrequent correspondent, by the complaints of her fairy godmother Gardiner; and she accordingly risked a letter of inquiry to the latter lady, under the name of the former, in the hopes of a prompt reply.

"You see, when the Gardiners had visited Derbyshire two summers before, they had brought with them a certain niece, who had much taken Mrs. Kittredge's fancy; and that young lady's well-being was her, or rather the queen's, chief object of interest. The queen's waiting-woman Ellen carried the correspondence forth; and as Ellen's betrothed serves as postmaster for Lambton village, it was the work of a few pence and a few kisses to intercept the Fairy Gardiner's answer. And so..." Elizabeth took a deep breath. "I am pleased to announce that the Princess Elizabeth Bennet is in excellent health, in residence at Longbourn -- and unmarried."

"Elizabeth... Bennet," Darcy said softly.

"Yes, Elizabeth Bennet -- the very name the queen had long ago shared, before she found her love Fitzwilliam Darcy. She could only hope the Elizabeth Bennet in this world could benefit from the same happiness. And as the king here has an excellent friend whose castle borders on Longbourn, it would be perfectly natural for him to make Princess Elizabeth's acquaintance while on a visit to his fellow royalty."

He moved abruptly, as if he might depart that moment. Elizabeth held up a hand. "Now, the queen cautions the king, when he goes on his own quest -- Elizabeths may be as distinctly different as Fitzwilliams, and though the Princess has a merry disposition, she has been quite lonely as of late, and is therefore much saddened. But the Queen knows, through her own considerable experience, that there is no cheer and comfort so good for a Miss Elizabeth Bennet as a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy; and therefore, Mr. Darcy..." She paused to smile at him and blink away tears. "I wish you a happy ending of your own."

"Elizabeth." He crossed the small breach between them and pulled her into his arms. "Thank you," he whispered against her hair. "Thank you."

They stood so for some moments, then the lady spoke. "If you treat the Princess Elizabeth as well as you have treated me, you shall be married by summertime." She looked up at him and grinned. "But I advise you not to subject her to an interrogation or attempt to limit her walks. We become quite irritable when confined."

"Madame, I believe you." She felt the rumble of the laugh in his chest; and then, slowly, Mr. Darcy let her go.

"Please," he said with an almost-smile, "your husband will be waiting."

Elizabeth reached up and touched his cheek. "God bless you," she whispered. Her hand slipped gently down his face; then she turned into the maze, and was gone.

Part XIII -- E

White. Silver. Black. Grey. The world spun ghostly and colorless; and to Elizabeth, clutching the fountain ledge against the blessed vertigo, it had never been so beautiful. The hedge lay serenely about the circle's rim, and the moon shone heavy as breath upon the broken snow. A large pile of what appeared to be branches huddled in a shadowy curve, but she ignored it: the paths of footprints that ran from the opening to the center fascinated her far more. Two sets lumbered from the entrance to the fountain, and repeatedly between it and the mass of branches; one, softened by snow, came straight to the font and stopped in the exact place her feet now rested; and the last... She traced a steady trail between the opening and fountain, tried to count the number of times his steps had made that pilgrimage: one, and two, and three --

And there he stood.

"Elizabeth."

She hardly dared to breathe.

"You've come back."

Then Elizabeth rose unsteadily, and Fitzwilliam took a step, and they met in a paroxysm of joy and desperation, laughter and tears, touch and comfort, passion and rest. This was her true homecoming, Elizabeth thought, the return of her soul to a trusted harbor: nothing else mattered so long as there was this. "My dearest love," she whispered, and he took her face in both hands and kissed her, until she could no longer speak or think or aught but kiss him back.

When at last they broke apart, he leaned his forehead against hers. "Elizabeth. You are well?"

She smiled. "I am wonderful."

"And the child?"

"Equally wonderful. And you?"

"Ten minutes ago, I could not have believed such happiness again possible."

"I came as soon as I could--"

"Thirteen days--"

"The hedge only opened this evening." The reason for its delay... "Where is Georgiana?" she asked urgently, before he could query her earlier statement.

"In bed, I believe."

"And you have not seen Wickham?"

He drew back to look at her, worry reclaiming his tired features. "No; should I have?" She shook her head relievedly. "Then why these questions? What happened? Surely Mr. Darcy would not have let him--"

"What did you say?"

"Mr. Darcy, on the other side of the maze. He was there, wasn't he? He took care of you?" The worried expression deepened as she stared at him. "Elizabeth, you are all right?"

"Yes, of course," she said slowly. "And Mr. Darcy was more than kind. But Fitzwilliam--"She put her hands on his chest as he gathered her close again. "How did you know?"

"Well," he answered lightly, "I too have been to the other side of the maze." His lips tasted of salt and snow. "Come, you're freezing. I'll tell you the story at home."

It was just past one when Elizabeth sank into bed -- her own bed, in her own room, not the guest chamber down the hall. She looked around at the rich hangings and remembered another very like it, where she had stood not three hours before, chill and shadowed and bathed in the cool of the moon; but already that seemed time spent in a dream, a passing vision of a possible life. This was her reality, bright and warm, with a candle and a fire and the ineffable glow of home.

She thought it warmed a good five degrees when her husband entered in his nightclothes, and his countenance at the sight of her indicated he felt a similar heat. "I have often thought of seeing you so, this past fortnight," he said softly.

"And I have often dreamt you would come to me such." She extended her hands; and the bed rocked hard against the wall in his haste to reach her. They laughed as he settled by her side.

"We are fortunate everyone else is asleep."

"Yes, we have time to concoct a logical excuse for my mysterious comings and goings. But first--" She rolled to face him expectantly. "How did you know about the other Pemberley?"

"I should think your story would be more interesting. Why could you not return again?"

"Overgrown hedge." She smiled at his bewildered expression. "It is impossible to tell you part of it without relating the whole; but suffice it to say that the force that controls the fountain chose to block my passage through the maze by filling the space with shrubbery -- that is, until Mr. Darcy admitted I was--" Elizabeth stopped. "You see, I said I could not tell you just a little bit."

"I shall not impede your telling all."

"But I shall; your story happened first. Please, one more time--" She placed her hand on his chest. "How did you know?"

The golden brooch lay innocently on the cherry night stand. Fitzwilliam picked it up. "Where did you get this?"

"It fell out of the hedge, the morning of my seventh day."

He smiled. "I lost it there over twenty years ago."

He had been ten years old, he said, and rather jealous of his parents' weekly summer rendezvous in the center circle, to which he was most definitely not invited. "So I determined I should outwit them, and meet them there at the appointed hour." He looked at her. "Pray God our offspring is not so annoying."

Elizabeth cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "Go on."

"I had not yet learned the proper route through the maze, and thus needed a guide of some kind; and as I could not ask my parents, I borrowed the brooch -- well, stole it, rather. It brought me to the center about ten minutes before their scheduled appearance, and being a young boy, the fountain -- the opportunity to get wet -- immediately attracted my attention. In the course of my play, I knocked the brooch off the ledge into the water; and when I leaned over to look for it, the sunlight on the water dazzled me so that I fell in as well."

"Then, as I stood up out of the fountain, my mother said, 'Fitzwilliam Andrew Darcy! Where did you come from?'"

"At that moment, I could have asked her the same question. She and my father had obviously been there for some time; there used to be a tree there at the center, and they were sitting under it on a blanket -- or rather she was sitting under it on a blanket, and he lay with his head in her lap, reading poetry." The present Mr. and Mrs. Darcy shared an intimate smile; the lady had come to her present enlarged state from just such a pleasurable situation. "They rose as quickly as possible upon my appearance. My father asked if I wasn't supposed to be swimming with Wickham, and Mother insisted I go back to the house for dry clothing. Both were emphatic that I should not return to the maze anytime soon. Father even escorted me to the entrance to facilitate my departure.

"By now I was rather in a bad mood; though I had succeeded in my objective of interrupting my parents, I had not been permitted to make a true nuisance of myself by remaining with them. The gardens afforded little opportunity for activity, and though I wandered by the house, it was much too beautiful and hot a day to do anything indoors. Finally I decided that as I was already wet, and apparently supposed to be swimming, I might as well pursue that occupation, and directed my steps toward the lake.

"As I approached, I saw someone was already there; I assumed it was Wickham and called to him, just at the moment he dove in again. But then nothing happened. He did not surface or splash, and a large log rolled out of the water, at the very place he had entered it." Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth, but as her husband's eyes were closed, he did not see the motion. "Thankfully I already had my shoes off, and his white shirt enabled me to find him quickly underwater -- I caught him from behind and dragged him onto the bank. Elizabeth--" He opened his eyes. "He had my own face."

She tenderly reached out to that beloved countenance, and he leaned into her palm, as if to reassure himself of his present and trusted existence. "Do you know what it's like, seeing yourself as another person? You must..." She shook her head. "There was no Elizabeth Darcy?" Another negative. "I am sorry for that Fitzwilliam Darcy then; but at the time I felt only the deepest shock -- horror -- upon seeing him... Someone else was being me." He took a long, steadying breath and continued. "He -- the other Darcy -- was breathing regularly, but he had not yet opened his eyes. I saw George coming towards us from the woods, and I ran, as quickly as I could, back to the maze to find my parents. But were they my parents? Their sudden appearance beneath the tree, 'Fitzwilliam Andrew Darcy...'" A rueful smile briefly lighted his features. "Altogether, I was scared to death.

"I made it to the center mostly by sheer blind luck, but Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were no longer there -- apparently I did succeed in spoiling their afternoon together. In any case, I sat down on the ledge, to get a drink and wash my face; the sunlight on the water... You know what happened next. I fell into the fountain, got back out -- and my mother says 'Fitzwilliam George Darcy! Where did you come from?'"

"You had come home."

"I had come home, without having left, and was never more thankful. I forgot the experience almost immediately -- I tried consciously to forget it. It had to have been only a midsummer's daydream. But my shoes seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth; I smelled of lakewater, when I had been nowhere near the lake; my parents were quite certain I was not in the maze, much less in the fountain, when they had settled in some time before. And despite all my trawlings at the bottom of the fountain, the brooch remained lost." He rubbed his thumb across the twisted gold. "I certainly never thought to see this again."

"And then..." Elizabeth prompted.

"And then..." He set the brooch back on the nightstand and laced his fingers with hers. "What else? I grew up. I became proud. I went into Hertfordshire and met Elizabeth Bennet; and she came into Derbyshire and met me. We married, a year and thirteen days ago." Fitzwilliam kissed her lightly. "When your footsteps ended at the empty fountain with no sign of struggling or blood -- and I knew if there had been a struggle, dear heart, you would have drawn blood -- I remembered my experience on the other side of the maze; and it comforted me to think you were still in the care of a Mr. Darcy, though I knew not what his circumstances might be. Without that, these thirteen days, I might have gone mad."

She sat up. "Wait a moment. Did you say the fountain was empty?"

"Yes, at first. The servants all believe I am mad, by the bye -- I've been out there a dozen times a day at least, and I brought water out from the house in an effort to duplicate my earlier crossing. Nothing happened. It didn't even freeze properly. Then the morning of the third day, the most curious thing occurred: the fountain was filled with what appeared to be pieces of hedge."

Elizabeth began to smile. "Really."

"Yes; I had Padgett and Sellon clear them out and pile them elsewhere, since I thought you might one day miraculously appear in the fountain, as I did. But more showed up three days later, and more two days after that, and every so often since. We have quite an accumulation of branches in the center of the circle. What's so amusing?"

She wiped her eyes. "I'll tell you later, dearest."

"I think not -- it is my turn to have my curiosity satisfied." He pulled her back down to his side. "Your tale, please."

The role of storyteller sobered her, as ever, and she looked long into the fire before she began: "This is a story of stories." It was Mr. Darcy's story, telling her of his sister's loss across a congealing breakfast; it was Georgiana's story, when she had made a choice -- and chosen wrongly. It was her own story, of three letters and thirteen days; it was even Wickham's story, as he swaggered in the shadow of the looming hedge. And through it like a binding-thread ran another tale, hers and her husband's, as her steadfast faith in their happily ever after brought her safe and home.

"We have both saved Fitzwilliam Andrew Darcy," Fitzwilliam George murmured into his wife's hair. "I once in a lake, and you once with a letter."

"Yes... I wonder if there's any way of learning what happens to him -- to them, I should say." Elizabeth smiled to herself, then tipped her head back to share it with her husband. "What say you to a walk in the maze six months hence?"

"Six months? May I remind you, madam, that once I had good information from my aunt, I was at your house within three days."

"But may I remind you, sir, that we required nearly a year's worth of conflict to reach that understanding."

"Point conceded," he said comfortably, then a moment later: "Four."

"Four what?"

"Four months."

"There's the spring planting, and Georgiana--"

"I don't believe you properly comprehend a Fitzwilliam Darcy's passion for Elizabeth Bennets."

"We're plural now, are we?"

"Five," he conceded again. "But you are not to walk without me in that time."

She placed their twined hands on her stomach. "If I can get up five months from now, we'll go into the maze together. Until then..."

"Andrew Darcy," he said thoughtfully. "A very fine name for a boy."

"It is," she agreed, and they smiled at each other.

"I love you, Elizabeth."

"I love you, Fitzwilliam."

And he blew out the light.

The End