Posted on Wednesday, 26-Aug-98

y parents claim it was coincidence, but somehow I have trouble believing them. After all, they are both mad keen readers and academics. Who else would name their daughter Jane Cassandra Austen? I suppose it could have been worse. I might have been called Amanda Huginkiss or I.P. Daily. But the fact remains; I have the same name as one of Britain's finest authors, and to crown it all off, I can't even use my name on my work. Yes, I am an author. Pretty scary, huh? But, as amusing as it is in retrospect, the events of the past year and a half were anything but amusing at the time.

It was one stormy night in autumn when I was trying to make dinner, watch the news and re-write my novel for the fiftieth time. One of my flatmates, Megan Carter, was in the shower, and the other, Elizabeth Bennet, was working late at her office. I had almost finished (dinner, not the novel) when the doorbell rang.

I was really quite surprised. It's not every day a dripping wet MP shows up at your front door. Meg's cousin, William Darcy, the Conservative Minister for Sport, Youth and Recreation (or something alone those lines - I can never remember the exact title) was tall, dark, handsome, rich and at twenty-eight, the youngest minister at the time. However, at that time he was also dripping wet, miserable, and on my doorstep. What could I do? I invited him in just as Meg walked out in jeans and a T-shirt.

"What have you been doing? Parting the Red Sea?' she asked him critically.

"Close. Avoiding Aunt Catherine. She's at my townhouse, with Georgiana stalling her. I didn't think she'd know your address."

"No. She wouldn't. Has she been badgering you to marry Anne again?"

"Yes. She was going on about how a future Prime Minister should be respectably married. Of course, Anne is my first cousin so it really wouldn't be too 'respectable'. Why is she after me? Why not Edward or David or anyone else in the world. Why me?" he whined, then let out a mighty sneeze. I was amused. Here he was, a man tipped by many as a future leader, running around in the rain to avoid his aunt.

"Don't laugh, Jane," Meg warned me "Aunt Catherine is no ordinary Aunt."

"Yes," William agreed taking off his shirt and accepting a towel from his cousin "She will stop at nothing to get what she wants - she's Meg's role model in that respect." He teased as his cousin launched a cushion at him.

I hate it how Meg's cousins are so easy around me. They're all so breathtakingly gorgeous you'd think they stepped out of 'The World's Most Beautiful People' edition of some tabloid. Yet they tease me, joke with me, and treat me like they treat Meg - like a cousin or a sister - but nothing more. It really gets annoying.

"But seriously," he sobered, and went to stand in front of the heater, "What can I do about Aunt Catherine? Anne's nice, if a little - well - utterly boring, and I don't exactly want to sever all connections with them. With my luck they'd probably cook up some scandal." He sighed.

At that moment, almost on cue, I smelled something burning.

Let's just say we had dinner delivered that night.

"I cannot believe how much paperwork this thing is taking!" Lizzy fumed over her lunch the next day "Do you have any idea how many trees must die for every legal case in this country? It defies imagination!"

Elizabeth, Megan and I always try to have lunch together, even though we see more than enough of each other at home. Even though we all have such differing occupations - Lizzy is a lawyer and Meg does something for the Government that is not a conversation topic, we are all good friends. The conversation turned, naturally enough, to a party - and I use that term loosely - The Party of the Season, hosted by Caroline Bingley, a G-list celebrity whose main claim to fame was a series of extremely lame commercials for something totally forgettable, and for being the sister of Charles Bingley, William Darcy's right hand man.

"I've never met Caroline Bingley," Lizzy said, and was met by our almost envying looks.

"That will change tonight." Meg told her. "And it is not a change you will feel happy about."

"Why?" Lizzy asked, curious.

"She…" I paused, thinking of a way to describe her, "has the personality of a brick wall on Prozac, and speaks like Speedy Gonzales on a caffeine high. She's also your typical gold-digging, social-climbing, anorexic-toothpick resembling bimbo. Other than that, she's rather amusing."

"Oh." Lizzy almost whispered, as if she was in shock.

Meg and I looked at each other over our coffee. It was going to be very amusing introducing Lizzy to Meg's rather snooty upper-class acquaintances.

Meg and I have been friends for as long as I can remember. We went through boarding school, and then Oxford together. Our parents were good friends, mine, a pair of academics from well-off families, hers, 'old' aristocracy - her family gallery is full of 'Lords,' 'Ladies' and 'Honourables', as well as the occasional Peer.

We'd met Elizabeth Bennet only after we'd left university and rented an apartment in a fashionable part of London. Her aunt, a Mrs. Gardiner, had been friends with Meg's parents, and had been looking for some nice, responsible flatmates for her niece, who was starting out in law. I suppose we were close enough.

That was how the three of us met.

Fast-forward a few months.

So there we were, three twenty-something yuppies getting ready for Caroline Bingley's Party. As Meg and I had both received invitations, we decided to take Lizzy and her elder sister Jane, a primary school teacher (due to the kindness of our hearts, and the fact that there was a huge deficiency of eligible males in London at the time). Jane Bennet was sweet, kind beautiful, but (I thought) rather dim. The perfect primary school teacher, just perfect with small children. As it was an ability both Meg and I lacked, we naturally admired her for it (Meg and I are both only children. The Bennet sisters had three younger sisters. I suppose that explains it.) But I digress. On to the party.

It wasn't that bad - for a Caroline Bingley party - but it still meant that the usual mix of plastic-augmented bimbos…sorry actressess and models , their male equivalents, some truly strange decorations and some of the worst music I had ever heard in my life. Fortunately, there were some more civilised people, in the form of businesspeople, minor politicians, some socialites, bearable people from the entertainment industry, and other so-called 'prominent' members of society.

Now…why were we there? Well, the main reason was that Charles Bingley was a mutual friend of Meg's and mine, being a sort of happy, go-lucky, but rather naive sort of person. We immediately introduced him to Jane Bennet and they seemed to drift off together into their own little world, with no war, drugs or anything unpleasant.

Meg and I were feeling very happy in our little 'cupid' exercise, and then wandered out onto the balcony, away from the music to have a celebratory drink. Once we were out there, we met Richard Fitzwilliam, Meg's on-off boyfriend, who asked her to dance.

I stayed outside, enjoying the fresh air and the champagne (one thing I'll say for Caroline Bingley, she knows her alcohol), when I overheard a rather interesting conversation.

It was between William Darcy and Charles Bingley. Charles was muttering something about Will having to dance.

"No." That was Will.

"Come on. There's heaps of pretty girls here."

"The only one I can see is your partner. Your sister is dancing at present, as is my cousin, and my cousin's flatmate is nowhere in sight. There is no one else here who is even worth considering."

That was unusual of him. The Will Darcy I had known for about fifteen years was usually quite charming. Perhaps he disliked the Spice Girls too.

"Look, there's your cousin's other flatmate, and Jane's sister too. She's very pretty too. Why don't you ask her?"

"She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me."

Humm. Someone's been reading far too much Jane Austen (the original one) lately - and it's not me, for a change

I wondered where Lizzy was. It would have been hilarious if she had heard.

Part 2

Posted on Friday, 28-Aug-98

Lizzy was uncharacteristically silent on the drive back to the flat. Meg was still at the party, claiming that it was just too much fun for a Caroline Bingley party and she'd get Richard to drop her off. So Lizzy and I departed at some disgracefully sane hour and headed home.

"What's up?" I asked. It wasn't like Lizzy to be quiet for so long. I turned down the radio just in case she made some reply.

"Have you ever met William Darcy?" She asked.

Uh, Oh. She heard. What do I say?

"Err…Yes," I mumbled, pretending to be engrossed with making a right turn. It was Meg's car, after all…

"What do you think of him?"

"He's all right." Should I mention he's Meg's cousin? No, not until I work out what Lizzy wants.

"I heard him talking to Charles Bingley. He said I was tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt him Where is this guy living? The Dark Ages? I'm a damn lawyer with more degrees than a thermometer, and he the first thing he remarks upon is my looks? How did this guy get elected?"

"Maybe he's having a bad day?"

"Perhaps. But that doesn't excuse him."

At that moment we pulled up at the apartment complex. As parking Meg's rather temperamental and extremely expensive BMW was a matter requiring concentration, the conversation was over.

Meg was bleary eyed as we faced each other across the breakfast table the next morning. That was unusual. Meg always took good care of herself, but here she was, looking as if she hadn't slept all night.

"What time did you get back?" Lizzy asked, as we hadn't heard her come in.

"Sometime." Meg answered, before taking a very large swing of coffee - double espresso.

We both knew not to push the subject. She was definitely not a morning person.

It seemed that Caroline Bingley was inexhaustible as far as parties were concerned. It was entirely too soon before I found myself, again, at one of her parties. I made a mental note never to listen to Meg when she says it's a party thrown by an 'acquaintance', without specifying. Jane Bennet was engaged in what appeared to be a most engrossing conversation with Charles Bingley by one of the windows, while Meg was trying her best to keep Caroline Bingley's attention. That was strange. Why would she…

Then I saw. William Darcy, Caroline's object of mad passionate desire, was slowly edging his way towards Elizabeth Bennet. This was starting to really scare me. Here I was, Jane Austen, watching Jane Bennet, Charles Bingley, Elizabeth Bennet and William Darcy at one of Caroline Bingley's parties. This was ridiculous. Next thing you know, some sleazebag named George Wickham is going to show up.

Suddenly, it was Christmas. Meg's parents decided to hold a huge Christmas party in their 'townhouse'. The guest list included every imaginable person they had ever met or any of their guests had met. It was huge. It was so long, in fact, that Lizzy's family was invited.

Edward and Madeline Gardiner, Lizzy's uncle and aunt, who'd I met before, were as pleasant as I remembered them. However, while Lizzy's father was quite pleasant, if a little strange, the remainder of her family made me grateful for my slightly insane, but at least socially aware parents.

Her mother reminded me of nothing so much as an older version of Caroline Bingley's bimbo friends. Of Lizzy's younger sisters, one looked as though she would rather be at a philosophy lecture, and the other two didn't even stay long enough to be met - on arrival, they immediately began to chase after anything that even vaguely resembled a male (remind me never to wear trouser suits near Kitty or Lydia Bennet again). Her cousin, a William Collins, made repeated references to both the décor and its resemblance to that of Rosings Park, the country estate of Meg's rather irritating Aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

As amusing as Lizzy and Jane's relatives were, it was their romantic exploits that captured most of my attention. The past several weeks seemed to have faded in regards of Jane and Charles, and after the few tense moments after Meg (almost literally) dragged them together, behaved as though they had never been apart. It was not long before they stepped out onto the dance floor.

Lizzy, however, was much more interesting to watch. For a start, she was a better dancer, but it was her partners that caught my interest. First she danced with Collins, acting as though she would have rather been mud-wrestling a salt-water crocodile (I couldn't blame her. I would too), then, interestingly enough with William Darcy.

The band struck up a sizzling tango. If I hadn't seen Meg sneak over to them and slip the leader a very hefty wad of notes, I would have said it was fate. They looked good together, both very elegant, attractive - and, most importantly, co-ordinated people. It just wasn't fair. Lizzy's garnet red gown brought out warm lights in her dark hair and made her already fine eyes positively glow. With the addition of some garnet jewelry (courtesy of Meg's enormous collection) she looked…well…perfect. They had begun to draw everyone's attention. Why should they not? They were both extremely good dancers, musical and athletic. Some of their contortions I have previously thought anatomically impossible.

All too soon, the tango ended, and the two dancers (they were the only ones left on the floor after a while, with everyone just watching them) became aware of their surroundings, and of the fact the William was holding Lizzy off the ground with one arm, their lips mere millimeters away from each other. Both of them blushed, and Will set Lizzy down on the floor as though she was made of fine porcelain, before fading into the crowd.

This was getting very interesting.

However, the rest of the party somehow seemed a bit of a letdown. Lizzy's two youngest sisters, named Kitty and Lyddie, drank a little too much and ended up doing very credible imitations of all the Spice Girls (Five? Four? Six? I can never remember how many there are). William Collins wandered around complaining that he thought that dancing was not a terribly moral activity and that rock music was the product of the devil (considering he was dancing with Lizzy beforehand, that was rather strange). I discovered that he belonged to some weird religious cults that I'd never heard of and never wish to hear about again, if he was a typical member. Meg and Richard seemed to be having a great time together, dancing, talking, whatever they do. Lizzy and Will avoided each other for the rest of the evening.

Me? Well, I took advantage of the overall monotony of the party to go to the Carters' library and finish that book that I had been meaning to for ages…

The New Year was hardly eventful. Life went on as always. My novel sold well. Lizzy won all her court cases. Meg no longer came home looking as though she'd just survived World War III. Despite all the success in our careers, there was one blight which irritated us all, Lizzy especially.

The blossoming romance between Charles Bingley and Jane Bennet seemed to suddenly shrivel up and die. Though she did not show it at our infrequent meetings with her, Lizzy told us that Jane was heartbroken. Being a bit of a romantic, I made some stupid remark about true love finding away, and Meg then threw a pillow at me saying that most people wouldn't know true love it walked up and hit them with a sign saying 'I'm true love'.

Since we all knew that, as pleasant and Charles was, he was quite easily influenced, and Lizzy had placed that influence as coming from Will Darcy. Someone must have told Charles that Jane was 'unsuitable' she argued, as Jane was quite prominent in the education union, and that someone, by Lizzy's reckoning, came from William Darcy, MP. I glanced at Meg, who gave me a warning look. It was obvious that I was not going to reveal Meg's family tree now. I wondered what she had in mind.

Looking back now, it was fairly obvious. One evening, I returned home to find Meg and Will sitting on the couch with a pile of papers marked 'Confidential'.

"Family stuff." Meg explained, as I sat down and reached for the remote.

I nodded, then went off in search of some chocolate.

"Lizzy, it would be for the best," that was Mrs. Bennet.

"I concur, Miss Elizabeth, that matrimony would be…" Oh no, that's William Collins

"Mr. Collins, Mother. I thank you for you concern, but…" that was Lizzy, who sounded extremely exasperated.

I heard the key turn in the lock, and Lizzy stormed in, followed by her mother and the odious Mr. Collins.

Meg and Will stood and turned towards the commotion. Lizzy and her companions did not seem to notice their curious audience.

"Miss Elizabeth, I am informed that the state of matrimony is most advantageous for…"

Ah, now I get it. Mrs. Bennet is trying to get Lizzy to marry that toad. This should be hilarious

By now, Lizzy and her mother were engaging in a screaming match over the merits of marrying William Collins. Lizzy was saying something approximating to the 'career woman' speech, and her mother about 'settling down'.

In a moment of silence, they finally noticed their audience. Lizzy immediately turned red upon seeing us, and then white upon seeing William Darcy behind Meg. Mrs. Bennet and William Collins were momentarily silenced.

The quiet was very uncomfortable.

Meg finally broke the silence "Miss Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Collins, you have met my cousin William Darcy, I presume?"

There were a few more minutes of uneasy silence before Will made some lame excuse and left, leaving Meg and I to the combined mercies of Lizzy, her mother, and her would-be suitor.

Part 3

Posted on Wednesday, 02-Sep-98

With an efficiency and command that would have done her royal ancestors proud, Meg swiftly maneuvered Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Collins out the door, closing it behind them with not even an insincere invitation to visit again. Lizzy still stood in the middle of the living room, stock-still, in an mixture of embarrassment and shock.

"Why didn't you tell me he was your cousin?" she almost whispered. Meg looked back at her.

"You didn't ask."

It was halfway through an otherwise silent dinner that a phone call came for Lizzy. It was from Charlotte Lucas, her secretary, to say that she was resigning to marry--please sit down for this--William Collins.

Lizzy looked shell-shocked (this was becoming a rather common occurrence), and I nearly lost the so-healthy-it-made-me-sick tofu burger I was eating when I realized that:

a) Charlotte, who was all right as far as humans go, was marrying such a slug and

b) It was another parallel to Pride and Prejudice

This was really creepy. Even Meg looked rather surprised and disgusted as she pushed spinach and Brussels sprouts around her plate (We both hate it when Lizzy is going through a 'healthy' phase)

The wedding was barely a month later, and afterwards, we heard that Mr. Collins had gone to live in Kent to be near Meg's aunt, who had employed him as a 'spiritual counselor'. Whatever.

Life in the next few months was routine, though I was constantly on edge, waiting for the next Jane Austen-like event to take place in my life. I had almost relaxed, thinking that the winter's strange events were purely coincidental, when Meg invited me as a 'sanity keeper' to a garden/house party at her aunts' over the Easter break. Not just any aunt, mind you, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of Rosings Park, Kent.

Lizzy did not come with us. By the time Meg had given me the invitation, Lizzy had already made plans to visit some friends. So we went to Kent without her.

We were by no means alone. William Darcy accompanied us, as did his younger sister Georgiana, and Meg's boyfriend Richard Fitzwilliam, who was Lady Catherine's godson. These old aristocratic families really confuse me.

We arrived in Kent on a beautiful spring day. Rosings Park was indeed a very impressive place, stately and majestic, but it lacked something. The house was large, there were tennis courts, a swimming pool, a gigantic library and other amusements, extensive grounds - and Meg's irritating Aunt and cousin, Anne.

It is not that I dislike Anne de Bourgh. It is just that in the fifteen or so years I have known her, we have exchanged, on average, four words per year - "Hello, Good-bye, Happy, and Birthday." Poor Will was supposed to marry her someday.

As soon as we were in the door, Lady Catherine, who reminded me of nothing so much as a large vulture, condescended to inform us that her 'spiritual counselor' would join us for dinner and that he and his wife had a guest. A guest, named Elizabeth Bennet.

Will looked surprised, and then tried to hide a smile as he suggested we go and visit them. I stole a glance at Meg, who was wearing an 'innocent' look. I wondered just how much she had to do with this. I knew that Charles was still in London, as was Jane Bennet, and that Meg had offered Jane the use of her private box at the theatre, which we all enjoyed. I highly doubted that the fact that Meg's box for the Season was right between the Darcys' and the Bingleys' was purely accidental.

Not for the first time, I wondered just what Megan Carter called 'work', and just how much power she had.

If Lizzy was displeased to see us, she certainly did not show it. We all greeted each other and Mr. Collins made a point of salivating around us, using Will's, Ana's, Richard's, and Meg's full names and titles, and praising my work (or so he thought) by comparing me to Barbara Cartland and saying that writing was an eminently suitable occupation for a woman. He punctuated this by glancing at Elizabeth Bennet and shaking his head. It was one of those times that I wished I had become a nuclear scientist or a High Court Judge. Finally, he ran out of things to say (a rarity, as I discovered later) and we walked back to Rosings Park.

If you shut out the crackling of Lady Catherine's voice, dinner was quite enjoyable. The food was restaurant quality, as was the service, but Lady Catherine all but canceled out any enjoyment I might have had. Collins bowed and scraped to his employer, while Anne just sat there, occasionally taking a bite of something. But for the rest of us, there was little we could do but draw patterns with our sauce and think of ways to leave the table.

After dinner, we gathered into two distinct groups. Lady Catherine, Anne, Mr. Collins and everybody else. We were playing Trivial Pursuit when Lady Catherine interrupted and ordered some music (Spoilsport. Just because she didn't know that St. Lawrence, patron saint of cooks, was roasted to death). Even though we could all play, no one was willing to until Lizzy got up and headed for the piano.

I had heard Lizzy play before, but she seemed better this time. Maybe she had practiced. Or it could have been the extremely expensive grand piano at Lady Catherine's that hardly anyone played.

She was playing the theme of that really annoying song from Titanic (you know, the one where Celine Dion keeps slurring the words together and occasionally breaking into the supersonic range), when Will got up and went to the piano.

I would have gone to offer moral support (to who, I don't know), but Meg, Ana and Richard signaled that I should give them some privacy. I sat down with a huff, as I could see they were having a very interesting conversation that was just audible. Don't you hate it when you can hear people talking but not what they're talking about?

They were getting extremely cozy. If I didn't know better, I would have said they were flirting, but then again, if the tango at Christmas was any indication…

It was lucky, in a way, that someone else shared my curiosity.

"William. What are you speaking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? I must have my share of the conversation."

Drat, Drat. There goes Lady Catherine. Will tore himself away from the piano and returned to the rest of us.

I looked at both him and Lizzy. There seemed to be this sort of tension between them. For the briefest instant I regretted not becoming a romance novelist. Here was a perfect plot. But I had made my name in satire and literary fiction, and for some reason romance was considered below them.

I spent much of that night drafting a letter to Mills&Boon and thinking up pseudonyms before deleting the lot and starting on my new novel.

The next week in Kent was unremarkable. Rosings may have had a fine library, tennis court and swimming pool, but they were all near the house, and consequently Lady Catherine. She never stopped comparing Meg, Ana and I to Anne and finding us lacking. If we swam, played tennis or even the piano, we would be treated to a monologue about how much better Anne would be had she learnt.

Richard and Will were just as fed up as the three of us, and consequently, we spent a good deal of time on the grounds and gardens, which were indeed very beautiful. Lady Catherine also had a stable full of under-exercised horses - hunters, hacks, thoroughbreds - you name it, it was in her stable and bored . I improved my riding skills under the patient tutelage of Meg, Richard and Ana. Will seemed to disappear for hours on end. I did not think much of it until our last evening in Kent.

As had become customary, Mr. Collins and Charlotte joined us for dinner, but without Lizzy. We were told that she was sick. Meg and I immediately got up and prepared to go, but Lady Catherine ordered us back to our seats and admonished Charlotte for letting Lizzy get sick. Will, who had been looking out the window, turned around with an odd look on his face and then bolted out the door. This was unusual, even for him. Even Lady Catherine could do no more than to look rather shocked and order us all into the dining room.

"Strange. Lizzy didn't seem that sick when I bumped into her today." Richard observed, jabbing at his fish.

"When did you see her?" Meg asked, with a look that approached jealousy.

"When you lot were being compared to the incomparable Anne." Richard joked. "But…she did say something about a headache…"

Will did not come back for several hours. When he did, he looked even worse than Meg had over the previous autumn and winter. I thought he looked as though he had fought in World War I, II and possibly III simultaneously while wrangling out a Budget at three o'clock in the morning with far too much alcohol and not enough coffee. In other words, he looked just this side of dead.

"What happened to him?" Meg breathed as we watched him stumble up the stairs to his room.

I did not answer. I knew what had happened. The parallels were unmistakable. Pushing past her, I raced up to my room and found my battered copy of Pride and Prejudice . I knew what had to have happened. I opened to book just to confirm it. I re-read Chapter 34, as though it were the first time, praying that I had indeed read correctly the previous 27 billion times.

"Cass?" Meg stuck her head around the door. For the interests of us all, I had started to use my middle name rather than be confused with Jane Bennet. Meg sat down beside me on the bed.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost. What's the matter?"

Wordlessly, I handed her the book.

"Pride and Prejudice" she read aloud. "What's this got to do with anything? I haven't read this since school and I always thought that…" she trailed off as she caught my train of thought.

"I must have been an idiot not to have worked it out before." She gave a small grin, then looked back at the book.

"Nearly everything has gone to plan." I whispered. "Only the details - dates, Wickham…"

Meg turned pale. "Wickham…" she breathed.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"No. It's just that…" she cut herself off abruptly. "Do you mind if I borrow this for a bit?" she asked.

I nodded as she went out the door. There was something more serious than two love stories going on here, I knew it.

Part 4

Posted on Friday, 04-Sep-98

"I don't get it." I moaned to my agent "Ever since we got back from Kent I barely see Meg or Lizzy. They're both 'working late' at least six days a week and they barely spend five hours at home. I'm torn between feeling annoyed that I have to do all the housework or guilty that I can stay home and pig out on chocolate while working while they have to go out and come back looking as though someone's dragged them through seven hells facedown."

My agent, Elinor Dashwood - Please, oh, no, not another Austen character. I won't even think about it, gave me an odd look as she sipped her coffee.

"It's perfectly normal, Cass," the third person at our table told me "It's got nothing to do with you if Meg and Lizzy want to work themselves into an early grave, at least then I'd get to co-ordinate their funerals!" Yes, that is Emma Woodhouse, promoter, publicist and co-ordinator extraordinare. Also Austen character. But I was getting used to it but now.

"But there's something really fishy going on," I persisted. "All last winter and most of spring it was as though I was re-living Pride and Prejudice. Then when I got up to the part where Wickham comes in, that's the only blank. Then when I tell Meg, she snatches my book and I haven't seen it since!" I shook my head.

Elinor and Emma looked at me as though I was insane. Perhaps I was. Because that's the only way I could describe what happened next.

Lydia, Lizzy's sixteen-year-old sister, came to stay with us for a few days later that spring. Meg and I were less than happy, and we suspected Lizzy was too, but there was nothing we could do, as Mrs. Bennet had made the request, and not even Meg could think of a way to refuse. For the first two days, Lydia (or Lyddie, as she wanted to be called) would come back from clubbing and parties at approximately 3 a.m., irritating all of us, but especially Meg, who had was on about four and a half hours sleep at the time. On the third occasion, Meg took Lydia aside for a little 'talk'. After that, Lydia succumbed meekly to a curfew of 10pm. Lizzy was in amazement as no one had been able to do that before, but she was swiftly learning not to underestimate Meg.

One evening, Lydia brought someone back with her. Meg was still at wherever she worked, but Lizzy and I were getting ready for dinner.

When Lydia introduced him to us as George Wickham, I was ready to run out screaming onto the balcony and throw myself off. I decided against it, remembering the effort I had put into the tiramisu, and how it would be a shame not to eat it. Lizzy looked decidedly wary, as though she'd met him before. George Wickham kindly informed us that one of Lizzy's colleagues had represented him in a case against William Darcy. I saw Lizzy stiffen.

At that moment, we heard the key turn in the lock and Meg walk in. She took one look at George Wickham, and he seemed almost to fade away. I don't blame him. Meg really cultivated her piercing stare, but I had never seen anyone respond to it as George Wickham did. Lydia, not noticing our unease, gaily took George's arm and announced that they were going clubbing.

Meg watched them out the door with the gaze of a thwarted hunter.

Lydia returned to the Bennet home in Hertfordshire not a moment too soon for the rest of us, as we were impatient to start packing for our trip to Cheshire, where Meg's family estate was located. Both Lizzy and I would spend some time there before Lizzy went touring with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner and I would go back to Oxford to do some research for a novel I was planning.

We finally left for Cheshire one beautiful July day, in Meg's new Mercedes (she gets new cars with alarming regularity. I wondered what had happened to her BMW, as one day she had simply driven off in the BMW and returned in the Merc, but I knew better than to ask questions). Meg's parents had decided to go to Spain, and Richard, a Colonel in some sort of special division, had been sent on a mission that both he and Meg were tight-lipped about, so we had the huge mansion all to ourselves. We spent two weeks, hiking, horseriding, swimming, and generally doing all the country-holiday things.

Meg had even invited the Gardiners to stay for a night before they left with Lizzy. I wondered what was her motive, until I heard her invite all of us to a party thrown by her cousins at their estate. I had a good idea just who these cousins were, but Lizzy seemed totally clueless. Which was unusual, I must admit, particularly when Meg mentioned the words 'Pemberley' and 'Derbyshire.'

Pemberley, the Darcy estate, was not as classically dramatic as the Carter estate, but more imposing and majestic, came into view over the hill. I noticed that Meg, who was driving, had made no reference to the owners until we entered the gates, and Mrs. Gardiner asked the name of Meg's cousins.

"William and Georgiana Darcy." She stated blandly, as we drew up at the front entrance, and then nodded at the footman as she stepped out of the car. She ignored Lizzy's astounded expression as she gestured impatiently at the door.

"We are a little early, but Georgiana said that we would be more than welcome to just barge in." Here she snorted "We've all done it on occasion. Turning up early is a genetic defect in our family. Or it could just be our fondness for fast cars." She nodded at the red Ferrari convertible parked a little further distant, bearing the plate 'G-ANA-DCY'

Almost on cue, the owner of the red convertible came pelting down the steps, giving us all, even Lizzy and the Gardiners an enthusiastic welcome. She all but herded the Gardiners up the stairs (herding people was another Carter-Darcy defect), and into the house. As soon as she had almost literally handed them over to the housekeeper, she came down the steps again, with a smile on her face.

I could have sworn that she exchanged a look and a smile with her cousin, then looked at her watch and snapped her fingers.

"Is something wrong?" Lizzy asked.

"No, it's just that - did you once say that you liked…ah…rose gardens?" Ana seemed strangely hesitant.

"I don't remember saying so, but yes, I do." Lizzy answered "Why?"

"It's just that our roses are just coming into bloom. Would you like to see them?" Ana look Lizzy's arm and almost physically dragged her in the direction of Pemberley's famous lake.

"But the rose gardens are the other way!" I whispered to Meg, who raised an eyebrow.

"Ana did not say that she was taking Lizzy to the rose garden." Meg stated, as we heard a gasp in front of us, where Ana and Lizzy were walking.

Will stood there, dripping wet, and even more adorable than he had been when he had turned up on our doorstep almost a year previous. Maybe it was the fact that it was outdoors, sunny, and he was only wearing his Speedos. Or it could have been because he was blushing like a fire engine. So, coincidentally, was Lizzy. I could not see Ana around until she mysteriously materialized next to Meg.

I watched Lizzy and Will make awkward conversation as Meg and Ana exchanged satisfied smiles. I looked at them.

"You two fixed this, didn't you?" I accused.

They made no answer, as Will was walking back up towards us, and soon the three of us were struck by hysterical laughter, much to the embarrassment of both Lizzy and Will.

The party was much more subdued and calm than one of Caroline Bingley's 'dos', and consequently, I enjoyed it that much more. Of course, there was a down side, namely the fact the Caroline Bingley was in attendance and took every opportunity to snipe Lizzy and fawn over Will.

Lizzy and Will, however, could not have cared less. They spent most of the party on one of Pemberley's famous rose-covered balconies (second only to the lake). Ana and Meg looked upon them with indulgent, self-satisfied smiles as they came as near as legally possible to murdering anyone who even so much as thought about approaching the balcony.

The romantic in me hoped that they would declare their undying love, but romantic or not, the careful mood created by Ana and Meg with the use of lighting and music came to an abrupt end.

Both Meg's and Lizzy's mobile phones rang in quick succession. Meg's lips tightened, and then I realized that it was not the normal, cheerful tone, but a different, military tune. She excused herself and left the room to take the call.

Lizzy took her call outside on the balcony with Will.

I could hear both their reactions. Whatever it was, it wasn't good news. Lizzy burst into tears and I could hear her sobbing into Will's shoulder. Meg, on the other hand, demonstrated her huge vocabulary by launching into a series of expletives in almost every recognizable language and some that weren't.

Meg came back in and announced that she had to return to London. Sensing something was wrong, I offered to go with her, and, much to my surprise, she agreed. By that time the Gardiners had come to comfort Lizzy, and after a few minutes conference, they, too, decided to leave, but Will convinced them to stay until light (it was about 12.30 am, mind you). But no such luck for Meg and I. We left within ten minutes.

"This Pride and Prejudice parallel is really starting to scare me," Meg announced half an hour into the drive.

It must be bad, if Meg noticed. What happens now…oh no…What did George Wickham do?

"George Wickham has just been found to be smuggling arms to terrorist organizations." Here Meg stopped "As has Lydia Bennet."

"What!" I almost screamed "How?"

"He's been just careless enough. They've suspected him for months, but it's not until now that they have had enough evidence to nail him. So now he's gone into hiding, with his latest girlfriend, a girl by the name of Lydia Bennet, younger sister of the prominent young lawyer Elizabeth Bennet." Here Meg sighed, "I'm not sure what I can do, but all I know that Lizzy's family is going to be tainted very badly by this mess."

When we returned to London Meg dropped me off at the flat and then took off somewhere. Lizzy returned a few days later, after making a stop at Hertfordshire to see her family. They had all be affected badly by the Lydia/George Wickham business. As Lizzy told me, with an almost disgusted expression, her mother was actually reveling in her daughter's attention. I wondered how Jane, Lizzy and Lydia could have possibly originated from the same gene pool.

The search for Wickham and Lydia went on for over a week. Meg came home each evening fuming. Each day wasted was a another day for them to cover their trail, Meg thought. Since there had been tight security and checks on all traffic out of London, she concluded that they had either snuck out one of the back routes or hidden in some corner.

But as with all things lost, you only find them when you aren't looking.

We were grocery shopping one morning, Lizzy and I together while Meg went to get something - fresh bread, I think, when we heard a familiar voice.

"Lizzy!"

I almost fell over. Lydia came running over, wearing a miniskirt, platforms and enough makeup for several thousand Spice Girls concerts.

And, behind her, came a reluctant George Wickham. With glasses, a new haircut and different clothes, but still, unmistakably, George Wickham.

"Hello Lydia. Hello Mr. Wick…" she didn't even get to finish the sentence before he pulled a gun.

Lydia screamed.

A shot rang out.

Part 5

Posted on Wednesday, 09-Sep-98

George Wickham screamed in pain, and then dropped his gun. I could see the blood dripping down his right hand as he tried to reclaim the weapon with his left.

Another shot, and he was on the ground, writhing in agony.

Meg almost sauntered into view, casually holding a revolver in one hand and a bag of baguettes in the other. She dropped the baguettes into the shopping basket, as though this was something she did every day, her eyes never leaving Wickham's and her gun pointed at his heart.

"Foolish." Her voice was cold, contemptuous and slightly condescending. "Very foolish. But very convenient, wouldn't you say?" Wickham gulped as she took a step towards him.

"No!" Lydia Bennet launched herself on Meg, who stepped nimbly out of the way and then tripped her, making Lydia fall onto (the rather blood-stained) Wickham.

"It seems that fools often associate too." Meg trained her gun at the exact angle necessary to enable her to hit both in quick succession. Meg seemed oblivious to the fact that we were standing in a crowded supermarket with lots on onlookers. She cocked her head at her two captives. "You know the drill. You have the right to remain silent…oh, finally! I thought you lot would never get here!" she rolled her eyes slightly as Richard and several other men pushed their way through the crowd. They forced Lydia and Wickham roughly to their feet before taking them away. After a whispered conference with Richard, Meg came back over to us. "You were bound to find out sometime. I'm sorry that your sister was involved Liz," she turned to Lizzy. "I'll do what I can for her. By the way, can you get some more coffee beans? We're nearly out." With that she returned the gun to a hidden holster inside her jacket and then strode purposefully after her colleagues.

Lizzy was silent as we trudged home with the shopping. Once inside the flat she burst into tears and began sobbing incoherently into my shirt.

The doorbell rang.

Somehow I wasn't surprised when I saw it was William Darcy.

"I heard what happened and came as soon as I could." He said awkwardly, meeting Lizzy's bloodshot eyes. She gazed back at him in a sort of intensity that made me uncomfortable. I suddenly remembered the coffee beans and left.

That evening I ate dinner alone. Will had insisted on taking Lizzy out somewhere, and she was in no state to object. I found myself watching the clock, waiting, just waiting for either Meg or Lizzy to return.

Lizzy came back just after I'd finished washing up. She was sobbing. She ran into the flat, slammed the door and then went crying to her room. I wondered what had happened until I heard heavier steps and Will Darcy pounding on the door. He burst in as soon as I opened it. Without a word to me, he ran after her. He came out minutes later, made some small greeting, and left. I went to Lizzy's room.

She was lying on the bed, sobbing piteously. Not sure what to do, I sat down next to her and patted her shoulder. I waited until she stopped sobbing. She sat up and looked at me. In that far corner of my mind I noticed that she was not at all like Meg, who could cry and still look beautiful. She was tear stained, blotchy and absolutely miserable. "He asked me to marry him." She was oddly calm. I sat there silent, but not totally surprised. "And I said no." I opened my mouth. "Of course I love him." Lizzy snapped. "Otherwise I wouldn't be crying. I would have said yes, too, if it wasn't for stupid Lydia. I couldn't drag him into this. Stupid, stupid girl." At that she fell back down onto the pillows again. "If only I'd said yes in Kent then I wouldn't be so miserable." Somehow I wasn't surprised. "Please Cass," she said, her eyes still full of tears, "I know you only want to help, but I really need to be alone now."

I had a dream that night that was so frighteningly real I could smell it. The fear, I mean - clammy, unpleasant, the stench of cold, stale sweat and terror. It was a room, not dark, but with no visible source of lighting. No windows, little furniture save two uncomfortable-looking stools and a stark bench behind which two people sat. They were apparently at ease, a man and a woman who could have been any age between twenty and fifty, confident and assured. The woman was cleaning her nails with a sharp implement definitely not a nail file, while reading something on the screen on a laptop computer. The man was alternatively shuffling some papers and sketching something on a drawing pad. Two other people were pushed into the room through a sliding panel in a wall. The panel closed behind them, seamless, unopenable.

The two newcomers were wearing plain regulation uniforms and very different expressions. The man, a rather weedy, sleazy-looking individual who looked like a used-car salesman moonlighting as a pimp. He wore an expression of total terror on his face, as though he expected to be torn apart by a school of starving piranhas. The girl, however, was only about sixteen years old, and looked alternatively bored and bewildered by the whole exercise. Her peroxided hair was straggling, her cheap, heavy makeup smudged. The two of them were in total contrast to the man and woman behind the desk, with their perfectly tailored charcoal-and-black suits and expressionless faces.

The woman spoke first, laying down her manicuring implement and pointing to the computer screen. "Did you realise, Colonel Fitzwilliam," she informed her partner conversationally, ignoring the other two, "That Amnesty International, the United Nations, and, indeed, the overwhelming majority of the world's population is not aware of the existence of this facility?"

"Indeed?" the man raised an eyebrow, as though it were a novelty. "Do you mean to say, then, Commander Carter, that there would be no voice of dissent should any unfortunate events occurring in this facility occur?"

"As they would be totally unaware, I do not see where any dissent would have an opportunity to voice itself." The woman rose from her seat and walked over to the two prisoners, now all but wetting their pants in terror. "Don't worry," she almost-purred "I'm not a sadist…unless I am most severely displeased."

I woke with a start. Meg and Rich. George Wickham and Lydia. I had to get a coffee.

Meg came back the next day, looking as though nothing had gone wrong. She greeted both Lizzy and I over breakfast and then went to her room to sleep. I wondered what she had done, and what my dream last night had to do with anything.

I did not have long to wait. The headline on the morning paper read "ALLEDGED TERRORIST CHARGED WITH ABDUCTION AND INDECENT ASSUALT" The paper put Lydia's age at fifteen (some other papers even put it at fourteen), and that George Wickham had kidnapped her as a cover for his arms smuggling. I laid down the paper and pushed it over to Lizzy.

The Bennets had come clean.

Lydia was an instant celebrity, and did the usual round of tabloids and chat shows, breathlessly informing everyone who would listen that she had been brainwashed, and that George Wickham had done all manner of strange things to her. I wondered, knowing Lydia, how she managed to keep her story consistent through the whole business. Lizzy, too, was surprised, and even more surprised when she discovered that on her birth certificate, and, indeed, all her official records, Lydia was now about a year-and-a-half younger than previously thought. I glanced at Meg when we discovered that, but she simply looked back at me with that calm, steady cat-like green gaze of hers and remarked that she never realised that brain-washing was so much easier without the brain. Meg was also kind enough to inform us that as nearly all the records for everyone were now on database, with the correct clearance codes it was not impossible to alter them.

It was now almost a year since a dripping wet William Darcy had come pounding at the door one autumn night. I thought about what had happened since. Charles Bingley and Jane Bennet had cautiously renewed their romance late that summer, after the Lydia incident had sufficiently died down, but even Meg seemed to despair of Lizzy and Will ever getting together. With Parliament taking up most of his time, we rarely saw Will now, and it was even rarer to see Lizzy, as she seemed to be consciously burying herself into her work. The months passed. With heavy hearts Meg, Ana and I watched them sink deeper into overwork and depression.

Something had to be done.

The Last Bit

Posted on Sunday, 27-Sep-98

We knew better than to try the 'party' or 'accidental meeting' tactics again. They were far too obvious and well used. Days turned into weeks, then months. Lizzy was practically living at her office and Will seemed hardly to budge from Downing Street. Even Meg was starting to look mildly frustrated when a breakthrough came.

Charles Bingley and Jane Bennet announced their engagement that October. Mrs. Bennet was over the moon and the tabloids had a field day. To everyone's mild surprise, neither expressed an intention of leaving their present careers unless some irreconcilable differences or conflicts came up. Somehow, knowing them and their rather sweet, charming manners I doubted it.

As happy as Lizzy, Meg and I were about the engagement, there was still something missing. In the occasional quiet moments that I saw her alone Lizzy almost always seemed to be on the verge of tears. Meg confided to me that Will was showing many of the same signs.

But nothing we could do could bring them out of their depression and together. Until the engagement party.

It was unavoidable, the best friend of the groom and the bride's sister. Meg could not have been happier had she planned it (but then…). I dragged the reluctant Lizzy to shops, hairdressers and make-up artists until she looked less like the haggard death-warmed-up figure and more like her old self. It was looking promising.

Meg and I had flipped a coin (and I had lost, funnily enough) over who was to distract Caroline Bingley. So while I entertained her with the casting of the dramatization of one of my novels (Well, I thought it was great cast - Colin Firth, Jeremy Northham and Alan Rickman with Jennifer Ehle and Judi Dench), she tried valiantly to escape. She wasn't terribly interested, but the fact that I had her cornered near the pot plants and made a point of waving a small ornamental dagger around while pretending to be slightly tipsy and unstable assured me of her undivided attention.

Meg, with some help from the bride-and-groom-to-be, had maneuvered our reluctant (or just in denial) lovers into the courtyard and locked the door behind them, ensuring that they could not get in and no-one could get out until Meg decided they should. Meg picked up a vodka martini - shaken, not stirred, our pre-arranged signal that I could let Caroline go. Caroline all but slunk away, avoiding my gaze. I wouldn't be surprised if I turned her off literary adaptations for good. No harm done - she never cared for them anyway, I took her discomfort as payback for the very stupid comments she'd made about the 1995 version of Pride and Prejudice, which I will not even pollute myself to repeat.

Lizzy and Will had come back from the garden, together, and somehow very shy. Caroline Bingley went straight up to them and started to talk.

"So, Eliza," she was saying, knowing full well that Lizzy hated that name, "I am very happy to welcome you to the family."

"You are too kind, Caroline."

"Well," she sniffed, then, ignoring Lizzy, turned to Will, "William, darling, no doubt my brother has asked you to be his best man?"

"He has."

"Oh! Weddings are the happiest time, don't you think?" she enthused, tilting her head at such an angle that her listeners could see up her nostrils "So…romantic."

"Yes, it is," Will answered, with a small smile, looking at Lizzy.

Caroline obviously thought the smile was meant for her as she took Will's arm. "Indeed. I so adore weddings! I cannot wait for my own. What about you, Mr. Darcy?" she attempted to drag him away, much to Lizzy's, Meg's, mine and Will's amusement.

"I hope I shall not have long to wait for my own," Will was smiling as he disengaged himself, and repositioned himself next to Lizzy, taking her left hand.

Caroline Bingley looked elated and was about to pounce on him when a flash of brilliance brought her eyes (and everyone else's in the room) to Lizzy's left hand.

A huge, perfectly cut solitaire diamond was the centrepiece of an exquisite (and extremely expensive) engagement ring.

The room erupted into predicable reactions. Caroline screamed and ran sobbing into the garden, not even caring that Meg slammed and locked the door behind her. Mrs. Bennet bore down on the couple, screeching her congratulations at approximately 200 decibels. Of the rest of the occupants of the room, most came to give their congratulations, though a few of Caroline's bimbo friends simply pouted in the corner and drank more no-calorie soda.

I caught Meg's glance over the surging crowd.

Everything was as it should be.

The next few months seemed to pass in a daze. After Charles' and Jane's wedding, we sat down in earnest to plan Lizzy and Will's. It was not an easy task, as I had to do most of it, the principals much more pleasantly occupied in gazing into each other's eyes whenever I took a stop for breath, and Mrs. Bennet constantly interrupting with her suggestions. Even I thought the frilly fairytale white ball gown and the glass carriage drawn by white (well, really cream or grey, as you can't get white horses) horses were a bit too much.

I remember one evening, when, giving up all hope of communicating to them about the bridesmaid's dresses and getting up to ask Meg, only to find her in her room, sprawled across the rumpled bed, fast asleep with Richard. I took one look at the clothes and guns scattered across the floor before turning bright red and closing the door, hoping they didn't notice me. And that was only the first time.

A few years after the weddings, the inevitable happened, and everyone around me seemed to have children. At first I thought it was a cruel conspiracy to highlight the fact that I was still single (but open to persuasion), but eventually realized that no one would go through all that pain to prove a point.

Both the Bingleys and the Darcys had sons; Andrew Bingley and Alexander Darcy. Even I, with a natural aversion for small children, had to admit that they were adorable.

Meg and Richard (who were engaged but never seemed to get around to getting married) had an angelic little girl named Emma. It had been a hard labour, something that Meg later explained to me about having narrow hips and being fairly fragile (funny, even though Meg's whole bone structure and facial features were usually described as delicate, no one ever thought of her as such). Her first words, after getting her breath back, were "never again." Which meant that Rich became the butt of our good-natured jokes when he sheepishly went to the clinic and meekly underwent a vasectomy.

For myself, my books sold well, the film adaptation won an Oscar, and I was content. If my Prince Charming hadn't come yet, I wasn't worried. There was plenty of time, and I had my whole life ahead of me.

The End