Beginning, Section II, Section III, Next Section

Chapter 10

Posted on Tuesday, 7 December 1999

i.

The cruelest lies are often told in silence.
~Robert Louis Stevenson

"Twice one is two. Twice two is four. Twice three is six. Twice four is..." Cathy's brow furrowed and she bit her bottom lip in consternation. "Twice four is...oh, can't we do geography now, Miss Evans? 'Rithmetic is so boring!"

"It is arithmetic and no, we are doing geography later. First I want to hear all of your two times tables. You are doing very well, Cathy, you mustn't give up now. Twice four. Look here." Jessica went to open a drawer in the old oak desk which she reluctantly recalled from her own school days with Mr. Taylor, and removed a small bag of wooden counters. She then bent slightly to arrange the counters on the girl's smaller writing desk.

"There is one group of four, there is another. Twice four. What does that make?"

Cathy looked down at the counters for a moment, then raised her head again and asked curiously, "Did you know my brother, Miss Evans?"

For a fleeting second, Jessica's busy hands froze in mid air, but she did not look up. "You are not keeping your mind on the task at hand, Cathy," she reprimanded severely, "Now is not the time for idle chatter."

The little girl sighed, and pushed listlessly at the counters on the desk before her. "I heard Mama saying that you and James were friends once. I wish I knew what he was like when he was my age. He's in London now, and I hardly ever see him. I miss him." She sighed again, then looked up at Jessica with childlike guilelessness. "Don't you miss him too?"

"No. No, never. Never." Jessica frowned and swept the counters off the desk and into a bag in one sharp movement. "I think you're right, Cathy, we should do some geography. Obviously we are not focusing on arithmetic today."

Cathy smiled brilliantly, and Jessica was momentarily astonished by the sharp jab she felt somewhere in the vicinity of her heart as she recognised the shadows of seven year old James in his sister's grin. Her brow furrowed further.

For eight weeks now she had worked at the manor, filling her mornings with Cathy's lessons, her afternoons with long walks about the estate and her evenings with her books. It was a good, solid routine, and it kept her mind and body well occupied. The transition from school back to Pemberley had been quite a well-executed one, all in all. So what was wrong with her today? Why was she so uncharacteristically on-edge?

At that moment, the door of the schoolroom creaked slightly. Both governess and student looked up, but no one entered. Jessica sighed in exasperation.

"Cathy, could you go and close that please? The draft seems to have blown it open again."

Cathy leapt to her feet, happy to stretch her legs and oblige Miss Evans at the same time. Jessica returned to her own desk and sat down to collect the implements they would need for a lesson in geography.

A loud thump and a high-pitched squeal from Cathy brought her head up with a snap. Her alarm was compounded as a tall stranger burst into the room and swept little Cathy off her feet to spin her high above his head.

What in God's name - ?

The little girl's scream dissolved into delighted giggles as she was spun dizzily around and around, brown curls flying. Quickly getting over her original fright, Jessica looked harder at the stranger who had interrupted their lesson.

And her heart began to pound in earnest.

With a tiny gasp she flew out her chair and backed away, unable to take her eyes from the tall stranger whose tousled brown curls were so like Cathy's. His deepened laugh rang soft and low beneath his baby sister's giggles, and as he had shed his travelling coat, she could see clearly the outline of his broadened shoulders and chest through his fine linen shirt.

Jessica swallowed hard and grasped the back of the chair for support, still staring helplessly.

"And what have you been up to, Rascal?" The young man demanded teasingly, placing the child on the ground at last and kneeling before her to bring himself to her height. "Getting into plenty of mischief while I've been away, I hope?"

Laughing excitedly, Cathy clapped her hands and assured him that she had. "And I have a new governess, James! She's very nice, we're going to do geography!"

"Geography, hmm? I was a terrible geography student. Perhaps you better introduce us, then maybe she can teach me too." Cathy nodded eagerly and turned to Jessica as James got to his feet.

"James is home, Miss Evans! Isn't it wonderful? James has come home!"

But James' mind was no longer registering Cathy's excited announcements.

When he entered the room, James had not spared a glance for the silent young woman standing at the far end. Now for the first time, he looked up, and suddenly the rest of the world was plunged into blurred irrelevance. All he could see was...was...

Could it be her? James blinked hard, but the image did not change. He risked her name.

"Jessie?" He whispered, as the astonished disbelief which had been written clearly over his handsome face was slowly superceded by incredulous delight. He took a step toward her.

All of a sudden the frozen image shook its head sharply, as if trying to break free from a trance, and spoke.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Darcy," she said, voice perfectly controlled and even, "My name is Miss Evans. No one calls me Jessie any longer."

James' expression faltered. That voice! It was so incredibly familiar and yet so...different. So alien to his memories of her.

"I...forgive me, Miss Evans, I...must have forgotten myself... I'll...I mean, it's been so long that I..."

"You need not apologise, sir."

His brown eyes registered shock. "Sir?" He echoed densely.

She inclined her head very slightly, then stared blankly at a spot somewhere over his left shoulder.

"Jes - I mean, Miss Evans, I - " He stopped again. He looked around. What the hell was going on? Who was this girl, where had she been, and what had they done to her there? Why was she here at Pemberley now, after all these years? Confusion and shock had numbed his brain. And for some reason his pulse was going crazy. He didn't know how the hell to behave.

Composure draining fast, he backed toward the door, and smiled weakly at Cathy, who was regarding him with an expression of mystified enquiry.

"Excuse me," he mumbled, cursing himself silently. And then he was gone. Cathy stared after him, then back at Miss Evans.

Jessica remained standing absolutely still, her eyes staring straight ahead and her beautiful face as blankly remote as it had ever been. For one endlessly long minute, she stood there, unmoving.

Cathy watched from across the room, unable to comprehend what had just gone on, and wondering silently what on earth was the matter with Miss Evans. Finally, just when Cathy thought she must say something, her governess began to move.

Very very slowly, Jessica started to unclench her fingers from where they had gripped the wooden chair. Just as slowly, she turned them over.

There, imprinted clearly on the skin of her palms, was the swirling pattern that was engraved in the chair-back. She stared down at them in horrified wonder, then back at the door through which James had left just moments before.

All at once, her hands began to tremble.

Though she clenched them tightly, they continued to shake for a long time.

Chapter 10

Posted on Wednesday, 8 December 1999

ii.

Simon Rutherford was just in the process of handing his cloak and travelling gloves to the housemaid when James reappeared at the top of the stairs.

He smiled. "Well," he called, "How was the little terror you were so inordinately eager to see? Quite unseemly for a man your age to be so fond of children, if you ask me. Gives entirely the wrong impression to those tiresome husband hunters in Town!"

He dismissed the maid with a wave of his hand and looked back, waiting for James' response. But James did not seem to have heard at all. He had not moved from the top of the stairs, where he stood staring sightlessly into space, his face unnaturally ashen.

"James? James, is something the matter?" Within a few quick bounds, Simon had mounted the stairs, but he found he had shake his friend's arm quite vigorously before he elicited any response. "What is it, man?" He demanded, "Is something the matter with Cathy?"

"Cathy...?" James blinked once or twice, then seemed to register the question. "Oh... No, Cathy's...well." With that his legs seemed to give and he sat down hard on the top step.

"Well? What is then? What in God's name is the matter with you?"

"She...she's here."

Simon gazed at his cousin in consternation. "Who's here?" He was having difficulty concealing his exasperation.

James shook his head vigorously, and with a conscious effort he focused his attention on Simon, trying to answer his questions with some semblance of composure. "Jessie...Jessie is...she's back at Pemberley. Cathy's new governess. I...I haven't seen her since...I was fourteen years old..."

Simon's eyes narrowed slightly as his memory strained to recall whom on earth James was babbling about. Suddenly, a face came back to him, and his eyes widened once more. "Good God, you can't mean that plain little servant girl you were so taken with when we were eight! Not the gardener's daughter!"

James began to nod, then shook his head, "Yes...no...I mean, 'yes', that girl, but she's...different. God, I could scarcely believe it was her. She's...Simon, she's beautiful!" He pressed his fingers to his temples as though he was feeling the beginnings of a headache, and he continued.

"She was so beautiful I thought I must have been dreaming, but I wasn't, because when she spoke...it was like a stranger's voice...so cold, so formal. And she called me 'sir'! Like...like a servant! Jessie's never behaved like a servant in her life!" James' eyes flashed with indignation at the memory. Simon raised one eyebrow ever so slightly, and took note.

"I see," he drawled slowly, even though he did not. Not entirely, anyway. "Yet if my memory serves me correctly, this Miss Jessie was quite a favourite with your mother, and shared your formal tutoring. Why is it so surprising, then, that she should have been given a position as governess to your sister?"

"No, you don't understand. My father...it was seven years ago...he decided our friendship was too close and forbade us to see each other any more. But we went on writing letters anyway, only Mother found one. I don't know exactly how it happened, but Jessie was sent away." James' eyes changed focus and a firm crease appeared between his eyebrows. "They never told me where, they didn't even tell me it was going to happen until she was already gone.

I thought I would never see her again...I finally resigned myself..." His voice crescendoed angrily, "And now today, I come home to find her standing in the schoolroom, teaching Cathy geography!" He ran his hand through his hair in agitation. "I just...there's something wrong with me, Simon, I can't think straight. I just wish I knew what the hell was going on!"

"James!"

Both Simon and James raised their heads in surprise as the voice rang out across the grand foyer. Mrs. Darcy approached briskly from the west wing, her face a picture of delight.

"James, what a wonderful surprise! You never wrote to tell us you were coming! And Simon - goodness, you look more like your father every day - it is good to see you too..." She paused at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at the two young men and seeing them properly for the first time.

Her beaming smile faded abruptly.

"Is...is there something the matter?" She questioned urgently, as the familiar tension of apprehension began to clutch at her heart.

Simon opened his mouth as though he might speak, but James was too quick for him. Rising abruptly to his feet, he took one step down and demanded brutally, "Why is Jessie here?"

Elizabeth paled noticeably, and her hand shot out to grasp the banister for support. "Jessie..." Her voice was a whisper. "Heaven help me, I forgot!"

"Forgot what, exactly, Mother?" The anger in his tone was laced with hurt. "Where has she been? Where could you possibly have sent her to have changed her so...so..." He could not find the words, but dozens of questions were still clamouring for answers. "And what brought on your sudden change of heart in the matter? Why is she back here now? Did you think I would never find out?"

Mrs. Darcy bit her lip and looked miserably away. "It is obvious you have already seen her...it is awful, isn't it." She tried to meet his gaze once more. "Perhaps you should come into the Library, James. It will not be easy, but I will explain all that I can."

She looked to Simon. "I hope you will excuse us, Mr. Rutherford. I shall call Jenkins to show you to your rooms. Do feel free to roam the grounds, I'm sure you know your way by now."

Simon acknowledged her with a slight bow. "Yes, of course, Mrs. Darcy," he replied courteously.

And as mother and son left the room, a very small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

This was going to be much easier than he had anticipated.

Chapter 10

Posted on Friday, 10 December 1999

iii.

"Miss Evans! Miss Evans! Come see what I found!" Cathy raced up to Jessica and grasped her hand eagerly, tugging her forward.

"Cathy, not so fast! A lady does not - oh!" Jessica's reprimand was cut short by a small cry of surprise.

Nature Walks with Cathy Jane Darcy were often like this. The ideal of calm observation of the local flora and fauna was discarded early on in the piece, and every last nook and cranny of the countryside had to be thoroughly explored by means of Cathy's vigourous hands-on approach. They never returned home without a trophy of some sort, whether it be a bunch of wildflowers for Mrs. Darcy, an exceptional stone or a uniquely shaped walking stick.

Jessica had wondered, even as had she tied the ribbon of her bonnet and helped Cathy to pull on her tiny dove-gray gloves, what glorious find they would make today.

It was a beautiful Autumn morning as they set out from the manor. After the long muggy days of August, the mild breeze that nipped at their fingers and pinkened their noses felt invigorating and fresh. They chose to explore the game woods, for they were at their most beautiful at this time of year. The trees were sporadically dabbed with warm oranges and reds as the season turned, and all the vines and bushes were heavy with ripe autumn fruits.

Now that they had been walking for almost an hour, Jessica reckoned they must be about halfway to Lambton, and was ready to suggest they turn back. It was beginning to seem that today there would be no fascinating discoveries.

Yet she had thought too soon. For now, even as she protested at being dragged around like a pup on leash, Jessica found herself looking down upon just that. Well, it was sans leash, but it was most certainly a pup.

No, scratch that. Two pups!

The golden-furred pair tumbled up to Cathy with clumsy puppy enthusiasm, nearly knocking her down, but the tiny girl only laughed in unmitigated delight.

"Where on earth could they have come from...?" She wondered, half to herself, and she crouched down beside Cathy, pulling off her glove and putting out her hand to let the tiny animals lick her fingers with warm soft tongues.

"Miss Evans!" Cathy's astonished exclamation brought Jessica's head up in mild alarm. She found the child staring at her as though she had sprouted an extra limb.

"What is it?" She asked in surprise, automatically turning her head to see if anything behind her could account for Cathy's reaction. There was nothing save picturesque woodland.

"Miss Evans, you were smiling!" The girl's brown eyes were wide as saucers. "You never smile!"

Jessica stood up quickly and pressed the fingers of her gloved hand to her lips. "Was I?" She cast her mind back frantically.

Good Lord, the child was right. She could distinctly remember the tug at the corners of her mouth as the adorable creatures licked at her hands. She could not even remember the last time she had smiled out of anything save politeness. How extraordinary...

A sharp whistle snapped her out of her marveling reflections with a jolt. A figure was approaching them through the woods, dressed in the sturdy tunic and brown leggins of a villager. Jessica narrowed her eyes as she strained to recognise him. There was something familiar to her in the way he walked, and the broadness of his shoulders...

"Brendan!" The name burst from her lips before she could check it. The figure came more clearly into view and waved a friendly salute. Jessica did not have time to adjust her greeting to a more formal, 'Mr. Atworth' before being hailed with a pleased-sounding, "Hello there, Miss Jessica!"

The two puppies, their attention caught by the original whistle, now gambled enthusiastically toward the sound of Brendan's voice.

Cathy's eyebrows drew together. She was not very happy at having been superceded in the puppies' attentions. She clutched Jessica's hand as the stranger approached them, and edged herself behind her governess' skirts as she whispered crossly, "Who's that?"

"Cathy..." Jessica hissed warningly under her breath, "Be civil!"

As Brendan came upon the pair, he engulfed Jessica's hand in his and pressed it warmly. " 'Tis good to see ye again, Miss Jessica," he smiled broadly, his moss-green eyes alight with real pleasure, "Pemberley jus' weren't th' same wi'out ye!"

At least some people don't change, She thought to herself, as the familiar force of his overwhelming good-naturedness washed over her. Another rare smile touched her lips. Here was one person who held no bad memories for her - someone she could be genuinely glad to see once more.

"How are you, Mr. Atworth?" She inquired, startled to find herself asking the question with actual sincerity.

His open smile did not fade as he assured her he had been very well indeed. His gaze dropped down to the little shadow still glowering amongst Jessica's skirts. "An' who 'ave we 'ere?" He queried with some humour, dropping down one knee.

"Oh, how rude of me," Jessica played along easily, "Mr. Brendan Atworth, may I present to you Miss Catherine Darcy. Miss Darcy, this is Mr. Atworth."

"Miss Darcy, it is an 'onour," Brendan put out his hand, and Cathy grudgingly gave him hers, allowing him to place a gallant kiss on the back of her knuckles. Then she snatched it back.

Jessica was horrified, but Brendan only smiled at her and winked. "What d' ye think of me dogs, Miss Darcy?" He asked seriously, as the pups returned to sniff curiously around the ladies' skirts.

Cathy gave the pair a hard, critical look. "I like them," she proclaimed after a moment's deliberation, "Especially the patchy one. He's nice."

She crouched down once more and the patched pup she had favoured came rushing up and made an eager attempt to clamber into her lap.

Brendan looked on, with the countenance of a man deep in serious contemplation, "Well, ye know, Miss Darcy, it's funny ye should say tha'..." He picked up the other pup, which yapped excitedly and tried to lick his chin. " 'Cos I happen t' like this little lass, an' I can only keep th' one, ye understand."

Cathy looked up sharply. She could see where this conversation might be heading. She looked up at Jessica with pleading eyes. "We could take him! Miss Evans, we could, Mama wouldn't mind! Please, Mr. Atworth, can I have him?" She clutched the wriggling pup a little closer.

Brendan threw Jessica a questioning look. Jessica's brow furrowed and she looked uncertain. "I'm not sure, Cathy. What would your Papa say? There really are enough dogs about the place as things are..."

Cathy wrinkled her nose. "But they're all Papa's and James' dogs. This one would be mine!" And she looked so fiercely possessive of the tiny creature that Jessica knew she could never deny her. After all, when all was said and done, another pup about the estate would never be noticed.

She looked to Brendan, who was climbing to his feet once more, and smiled slightly. "Well, Cathy? What do you say?"

Cathy beamed up at both of them, all of her original animosity forgotten. "Thank you Mr. Atworth!" She chorused delightedly, letting the pup down to race in circles, "I'm going to take the best care of him ever!"

"I'm glad to 'ere it, Miss Darcy," he replied, smiling at her with real fondness as she set off at a run, both pups yelping at her heels.

Jessica's smile, though not nearly so broad, was no less genuine than Brendan's as she watched the girl race away. "Usually it takes her at least a week to warm to strangers," she informed him softly, turning back to face him, "But you took all of five minutes to make her a life-long friend. You've made her so happy - she's told me before how much she would like to have a pet of her own. I don't know how to thank you."

Jessica was surprised when his grin disappeared, and was suddenly replaced by an expression far more hesitant. "Well..." he replied, a hopeful half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I don't suppose ye'd like t' walk out wi' me some time?"

The sheer unexpectedness of it seemed to knock the air out of her lungs. In a habit-enforced security-reaction, her expression turned blank and her eyes sought out Cathy, making sure she was still in sight.

The girl was standing about twenty yards yonder, looking down at her pet and smiling. It would have been an unremarkable stance, except that a single beam of golden sunlight had broken through the foliage of the woods, illuminating Miss Darcy in a glowing spotlight. Her dark curls glistened like an ebony halo about her face, which was finely featured and classical in its beauty. Her cream complexion glowed. Even as a six-year-old at play, there was no mistaking that she was of aristocratic birth.

Jessica grew vaguely aware that Brendan was talking again, and that she had been silent much too long.

"...Of course, it's naught but a request. You don't 'ave to. I mean, ye've no doubt 'ave dozens of fellers pesterin' ye already, and I - "

"I would like it very much, Mr. Atworth," Jessica interrupted him firmly, her cool stare fixing on him once more. "It would be an honour to walk out with you."

Chapter 11

Posted on Sunday, 12 December 1999

To be wise, and love,
Exceeds man's might.
~William Shakespeare

i.

One week later.

Simon watched with considerable interest as the couple strolled side by side across the rolling Pemberely lawns. They were quite a handsome pair, he observed diffidently. The fellow's sandy blonde hair and strong features made a charming contrast to the girl's coppery curls and finely-wrought face, while his broad build more or less dwarfed her lithe form.

Not a bad piece of work, all up, He thought to himself as his gaze lingered appreciatively on the girl. Quite a remarkable transformation from that skinny garden-rat I saw twelve years ago. Hmm. Amazing what tarnish seven years in a good girls' school can polish over...

Ah ha! He stood up a little taller as he saw that the couple had reached the edge of the game woods, and Atworth boy was preparing to depart. This was what he had been waiting for.

Let the boy disappear between the trees...the girl turns back...she's heading for the manor...perfect!

So far, things were going exactly according to plan. Well, perhaps not exactly...in fact, there had been moments in the week just past when Simon had not been nearly so confident. Jessie walking out with the young blacksmith was an unforeseen circumstance that looked to scramble all his careful planning. But no - after some careful reconsideration, he realised that with a few adjustments here and there, even this seeming mishap could be turned to his advantage.

Slipping out from behind a broad-trunked oak, Simon strode out and planted himself purposely in Jessica's path. He moved so fast that she almost didn't see him, and had to step backwards rapidly to avoid bumping into him.

He leaned lazily on his ebony-handled walking stick, and stood there staring straight at her, grinning his most ingratiating grin, and saying nothing. Jessica frowned slightly.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rutherford," she greeted him formally, then made to walk past him. He stepped easily into her path once more, waiting for her pretty face to register alarm.

He was disappointed. Jessica merely raised one eyebrow in mild surprise, and then narrowed her blue eyes in suspicious annoyance.

"Please excuse me, Mr. Rutherford," she clipped the words coldly, "I'd like to return to the manor house. If it's not too much trouble, I wonder if you could step aside and let me pass."

His grin did not waver, nor did his gaze. He left a pause just long enough to let her know he had ignored her request, then said quite conversationally, "I saw you with the blacksmith boy. You certainly don't waste time between conquests, do you?"

There was not the briefest flicker in her expression to indicate whether or not he had affected her. Simon mentally saluted her ice-smooth composure, realising that this girl's shell would a challenge to crack.

"I can not imagine what you mean, sir. Let me pass."

Simon inclined his head to one side. "You can't imagine? Oh, I think you do more than just imagine the things I mean." His grin twisted ever so slightly into something more closely resembling a leer. "Does James know about your exploits, Jessie? No, I don't suppose he would. He wouldn't be half so keen on you if he was to find out now, would he?"

A small crease appeared between her elegantly arching eyebrows. Keen on me?!

"I am hardly in a position to know what Mr. Darcy thinks of my acquaintance with Mr. Atworth, if indeed he thinks of it at all, which I very much doubt. Excuse me, Mr. Rutherford!" Jessica tried once more to push past him, and once more he blocked her path.

"I admire your evasive techniques, Jessie!"

"To you, my name is Miss Evans. And I am evading nothing."

He grinned lazily at her. "No, your name is Jessie, and you are evading me. Perhaps you think it will make me more eager in the end to act as though you are not available to me now, but I can assure you that isn't true..." He lowered his voice to a lewd whisper and leaned closer, "Because we both know that you are available to me any time at all."

Jessie's hand was raised with lightning-speed, but Simon had already foreseen her reaction and blocked her slap with infuriating ease. He caught her wrist and held it fast, clicking his tongue. "Tut tut, Jessie! You react too quickly - you are walking a dangerous path here, you must tread carefully. What ever would your dear employers say if an honoured guest in their home - family, no less - walked in with a blackened eye and told them that their little daughter's governess had attacked him? Not a pretty story to have to tell, is it? Or perhaps you think James would defend you?"

Jessie was saved from having to reply to this when a low voice from behind them caused Simon to drop her wrist as if it were white-hot. His heart was skipping beats as he took a hurried step back so that he stood at a respectable distance. He could not allow himself to be discovered interfering with the servant girls - it would ruin his credibility here, and credibility with his dear relations was not something he could afford to lose now.

"You leave her alone, you bastard!" Tom's threatening growl held such furious malice that even Jessie was afraid for a moment.

Simon looked down at the old man in disgust. "Who the hell is this?" He demanded angrily of Jessica.

She glared at him, but had no chance to answer as Tom advanced on Simon, his hazel eyes blazing with a vicious anger the like of which Jessica had never witnessed before.

"You!" He spat viciously at the young man's feet, "I've warned ye t' stay away from her! Ye've done enough! Get out of here!"

Simon raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Have we met, sir?" He inquired, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Forgive me, I don't believe I recall your face. Selective amnesia, perhaps."

Tom growled again and his fist swung back. Jessie knew that he would have punched without a thought to the consequences, had she not lurched forward to hold him back.

"No Da!" She cried, "This man is Simon Rutherford, you've never met him before in your life, you're drunk! Stop!"

Tom turned on her, and she instinctively recoiled, waiting for his violent anger to transfer itself to her. But instead of anger, she realised there was only baleful hurt in her father's bloodshot eyes.

For a few moments he only stared, his eyes half-focused. "Why?" He said softly after several long, taut seconds, his voice breaking slightly, "Why do you always defend him?"

Jessica stared in helpless consternation. "Da, I - "

"Simon? Simon!" Suddenly another voice came on the scene, causing the trio to look up.

James was approaching across the lawns, but he was almost upon them before he recognised Jessie and her father. "Simon, we've been looking for you. Where have you - "

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes locking instantly with Jessie's. For once she did not look away. His heart immediately began to pound against the cage of his ribs, and something wrenched in his chest as he perceived that her facade of remote coldness had finally slipped askew. The cool blue eyes which had been unrelentingly blank whenever he had sought her out in the past week were now confused and pleading, but pleading for something he did not understand how to give.

He swallowed hard. "What's going on?" He asked, bewildered by the unlikely group of conferees, and by the aura of tenseness they exuded.

"James, at last!" Simon voice was diffused with relief. "Someone with at least a tentative grip on their sanity! Who is this unsavoury lunatic you are allowing to wander freely about your grounds? Miss Evans and I were just having a quiet conversation when this madman turned up and started hurling abuse at us both - "

"Abuse!" James' eye's darkened in horrified concern as he looked at Jessie. "Not still?" He entreated her, voice soft with heart-tearing compassion.

Jessie shook her head quickly. "No! No, you don't understand, I - "

She looked from one face to another in growing confusion. 'I' what? How can I explain anything when I don't understand one single thing that has gone on here? Oh for God's sake, Jessica! She clenched her teeth, berating herself sharply, This is not how one behaves - just shut it down, shut down the feelings, or you will do something regrettable. Get out of here!

Once more, even as he watched, James saw the icy shield of distance slipping back into place. The plea in her eyes faded into a cold blue void, and the softness he had seen in her face just moments before dropped away, leaving only faint lines of strain around her eyes.

"My father is not well," she said stiffly, "I must take him home now. I bid you good day."

Before James could respond, Simon cut in with irritating condescension. "Your father, is he? Well then, Miss Evans, I think that would certainly be the best thing to do. Give the poor old man a rest, let him sleep it off. I'll explain it all to James, don't you worry."

Jessica's head snapped up in what could have been alarm. Simon waited expectantly for her reaction. He was quite certain she wouldn't want her precious young Master to hear the story from his perspective. Not after he had just shown her how his view of her 'exploits' was more than a little warped.

But he was to be disappointed for a second time. The rigid little governess only nodded slightly, and with her arm supporting her father around his waist, she walked away.

Damn! She was certainly making things difficult for him. What did it take to start a scene with this girl?

In actual fact, Simon had come closer than he realised. Jessica's first reaction when she thought of leaving Simon behind to explain their confrontation to James had been one of panic. "No, James!" She wanted to cry, "Whatever he tells you, don't believe him, it isn't true! It isn't true!"

But she had swallowed her words. It should not matter to her what Simon told James. It should not matter what he thought of her. Let him believe what he liked. Let him despise her. In the end, that would be for the best anyway. At least then he would never again turn on her with those compassionate dark eyes and break her heart by caring.

Simon and James both watched her leave.

"You know," Simon said urgently, as soon as the pair was out of earshot, "I think she was quite upset about her father. You really should go after her."

James did not take his eyes from the retreating pair - the beautiful young woman trying so hard to support the drunken old man - but he shook his head slowly.

"No," he replied softly, "She doesn't want me any where near her. If you knew the things I knew...well, you would understand why. God knows, I do." He turned away. "I do."

Chapter 11

Posted on Tuesday, 14 December 1999

ii.

"Tom..." For what seemed the hundredth time on the long walk from the outskirts of the game woods to the gardener's cottage, Jessica cursed the fool who had invented alcohol. "Tom, I can't help you unless you try and stand yourself..."

Her muscles ached from trying to hold him up and keep him walking at the same time. Again, he stumbled, apparently in the last stages of his drunken stupor. Her arms wrenched with the weight of him.

"Come on, Tom, it's not too far now..." Her words of encouragement were as much for her as for him, but it did no good. Stumbling again, she found she could not hold him up a moment longer and he fell heavily into the grass.

Exhausted, she plonked down beside him. She had to rest before she tried to lift him again.

He blinked at her blearily. " 'Oo're you?" He asked suddenly.

Jessica sighed wearily. "Don't start this again, Tom. You know who I am."

He continued to blink at her, as though trying to clear his vision. "Jessie..." He muttered at last. "You're Jessie!"

"Yes, Tom."

"You killed her!"

Oh God, not again. Not now.

"I didn't kill her, Tom. No one killed Alice."

"Y'had no right t' kill 'er," he muttered, not even hearing her, his voice a dark slur, "No right... She shoulda killed you fer all th' misery ye brought us!"

"Don't say that, Tom. You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying." Physical exhaustion was wearing her down, and her emotional shields were teetering dangerously. There was a desperate sob building behind her voice.

"Bastard brat!"

"Don't! The whole town knows that you and my mother were married!" Struggling to get her voice back under her control, Jessica pushed curls out of her face in agitation. The braid which had secured her hair that morning was almost completely unraveled.

Tom gave a rough, barely recognizable laugh. "Oh aye," he said bitterly, "Married! If ye could call it married. Six months, we were married. Six months, an' then she was gone..."

It took a moment for Jessie's weary mind to take that in. "Six!" She exclaimed, as the realisation hit her, "I was conceived out of wedlock?!" But even as she struggled to process that, her mind was taking the practical approach, and she blurted out, "But that doesn't make me a bastard. You and Alice married!"

"Aye, so y' keep sayin'. As if it made a difference."

Jessie shook her head. "I do not understand you, Da," she whispered, not bothering now to hide to catch in her voice, knowing he would never notice it anyway, "You don't know what you're saying. Now get up, and let me help you to bed."

As they walked on, she stayed silent, trying desperately to make some sense of all his cryptic mutterings. But only one thing kept coming back at her - one certainty that screamed in her head and burned in her heart.

She knew now, beyond all doubt and beyond all hope, that she could never win her father's love. Constantly drunk, often violent, and rarely even aware of who she was or what era he has living in, there was no way she could ever break through to him now.

I don't care! She cried silently, I don't care about anything, about any one! I feel nothing. I feel nothing for any one. They can't hurt me any more, they can't...they can't...

Finally, she managed to get Tom laid down inside the gardener's cottage. She tried not to look at his ravaged face, tried not to see the empty bottles strewn over the wooden tabletop. Evidence of the pain she had caused him, of the lives she had ruined just by being born.

She walked out into the sunshine, but she did not feel its warmth. She walked to the end of the garden path. Stopped. Swayed very slightly... And then dropped heavily to her knees in the dust, her whole body trembling violently with the sheer force of the emotions she had forced beneath the surface for so long.

Sucking in a long, shuddering breath, she could quite literally feel her whole body being rent apart as the pain and confusion and despair of seven long years welled inside her in an unbearable wave of intensity. With a broken sob, she felt herself collapsing the rest of the way to the ground.

But that impact never came.

Chapter 11

Posted on Friday, 17 December 1999

iii.

James watched her coming out of the gardener's cottage and walking slowly down the worn dirt path that trailed from the doorway. He stopped, not wanting to go any closer, unsure of what he should do next. He didn't even know what he was doing there. She would not want to see him, he was only too aware of that. There was nothing he could say to her, nothing he could do to make things up to her. So why had he followed?

His head told him to leave. It would be a simple thing to slip away once more, unnoticed and unacknowledged. That would be the sensible, responsible, proper thing to do. But something else, deep inside of him, said "Go to her!". It offered no explanations - there was no sense in it. He did not know what he would say if he was to obey the voice.

But even as his conflicting instincts warred within him, the choice was taken out of his hands.

Jessie had stopped walking. She stood quite still, staring sightlessly into the distance. James saw how pale her face was, and started forward involuntarily. She began to sway. His pulse quickened and he walked faster. Suddenly, she dropped to her knees on the ground, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably, her head hanging low. Breaking into a run, James only just managed to catch her as she collapsed entirely.

He swept her up in his arms, astonished by how light she seemed, and terrified by the violence of the tremors that were shaking her body in great shuddering waves. Gathering her close to him, he felt her fists clench in the cloth of his coat and cling.

"Shhh...it's all right...Jessie, Jessie, it's all right now...hush now Cub...Shhh..." Holding her securely in his arms, he paused, looking around helplessly. A moment later he was moving swiftly away from the cottage, wanting to take her far away from the place where she had known such misery, far away from all the world.

Reaching a broad-trunked old tree, skirted by thick, soft grass, he lowered them both carefully behind the screen it offered. He rocked her close, murmuring ceaselessly in a low, soothing tone, and waited for her trembling to subside. It grew worse before it grew better. She began to sob, her whole body wrenching as they tore at her. Tears streamed endlessly down her pale cheeks, and every desperate breath she took was a struggling gasp.

And as she cried, James felt a dampness on his own cheeks. Once again, He thought despairingly, Once again she is hurting and there is nothing... nothing I can do to make things right!!

He had no idea how long it took, but eventually, the last of her sobs began to subside and her tears ran dry. She lay still and spent in his arms, and all he could hear or feel were her soft, shaky breaths against his chest. She made no attempt to break free from his embrace, as he had feared she might. She only rested her head on his shoulder, and clung with almost child-like tenacity to the folds of his coat.

He did not try and speak to her. He knew from long experience that if she wanted to talk, she would do so when she was ready.

And sure enough, at length, she began to speak. Her voice was soft, as if she were talking more to herself than to him, and he had to strain to catch her words.

"I thought I could do it..." She whispered, "I really believed I could. At school... It was so easy to just exist, and not feel anything at all. Sit down to the meals, close your eyes when it's time to sleep. Bury your mind in study through the days. No one there could touch me." She closed her eyes tightly, remembering. "They tried, but I felt like I had burned up all my feelings, and there was nothing left inside but ashes. And very soon, even the ashes were gone. It was just...ice. Ice and stone. I wanted it that way. No one to love, no one to hurt, no one to hurt me...I forgot Jessie. I put her out of my mind, and left her behind in a past I never let myself think of. I was Miss Evans, or Miss Jessica, and that was all. And when they told me I had been offered a position here at Pemberley, I tried to say 'No.' I did not want to come back. I didn't understand why your family would send me as far away as they could and then turn about and ask me back again. It made no sense. It still doesn't. But that wasn't the real reason I didn't want to return...I think that somewhere deep inside, I was afraid. It was only when I realised I had no choice that I accepted it. I came, telling myself, 'I can do this. These people can not touch me any more. They held the power to hurt Jessie, and they did, but Jessie is dead now. They can not hurt Miss Evans.' "

Her voice grew a little louder, and the catch behind her words became more evident as she continued. "But I was wrong. Everyone here - my father, my grandmother, Mrs. Darcy...you...I tried so hard to maintain my distance, to hold up the walls...but I couldn't. I just couldn't do it. And I don't know why!" Her voice crescendo raggedly. "Why should I care that my father is a drunkard who hates me? Why should I care that my grandmother has grown old and blind? Never once did they feel like this over me! Never once did they show me any sign of caring, even when I would have willingly died just for one fond word, one gesture of affection! Never once did they try and contact me in all the seven years I was gone! And never for an instant have they loved me even half as much as I love them!!" Another tear tricked over the curve of her cheek. "Why is that, James?" She begged him, "Why does it have to be that way? I tried so hard to do the right thing...to be a good daughter, a good girl. I wanted so much to love, and to be loved...but everyone I loved I hurt. And everyone I loved...hurt me."

She bit her lip, and fell silent once more. After a long pause, James shifted her in his lap.

"Let me show you something," he said softly. He waited for her to stand, then climbed slowly to his feet and put out his hand. Jessie stared at it blankly for a moment, then slipped her hand slowly into his. "It is this way," he said, and began to walk.

They walked without talking. He led her past the lakes, and across the lawns. They reached the edge of the game woods and kept going. The trees cast long shadows in the mellow afternoon light, and fallen leaves scrunched softly beneath their feet as James veered purposely from the worn path that meandered through the middle of the woods.

At last they came to a thick copse of bushes and trees, but instead of angling around it, James pushed under a low branch and held it aside as Jessie followed him through.

Straightening up once more, Jessie slowly looked around. They were standing in a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by thick brush. Anyone who didn't know exactly where they were going would never have known it was there. It was perfectly screened from the outside world. A perfect hiding place for any one who did not want to be found.

James watched her eyes travel around the little grove, then return to fix on him with questions written clearly in their depths.

"This is where I came," he answered her softly, knowing already what her question would be, "The day that they told me you were gone." His eyes left hers to scan reflectively the familiar border of trees and bushes.

"I must have spent hours upon hours here, over the years. This is the place where I sat, and I hated the world. I really did hate it - every stupid rule, every suffocating prejudice, every narrow-minded act of good intention. But worse, so much worse than that was the guilt..." His brow furrowed and his hand raked through his hair in agitation.

"Oh, God, Jessie, I'm sorry!" The words burst from his lips, "I know it can't mean anything to you now, I know it doesn't make the pain you've endured any easier to bear, but you just have to know..."

Jessie stared at him. "Sorry for what?" She asked in soft surprise.

He met her gaze incredulously. "For...for not being there for you, of course. Don't you remember the promise I made? I swore to you that if you were ever in trouble," his lips twisted slightly, "If you ever needed a 'knight in shining armour', then I would be there. I thought I could protect you. I thought...but no. When you needed me most of all, I failed you. Before I even knew that something was wrong, you had been banished into oblivion and were gone forever. I couldn't even find out where to. Can you have any idea what that did to me? Not knowing where you were, but knowing that wherever it was, you would be alone and afraid. And because of me - all because I was stupid and selfish, convincing you to write those letters, not thinking about how much I was asking you to risk. Then when everything fell apart, I couldn't even keep my promise and keep you safe. Everything that happened was my fault. And I'm sorry...so sorry. I know you probably can't forgive me, and I won't ask for that, Jessie, but I - "

"James!" Jessie finally overcame the shock that had stunned her into silence, and interrupted him. "James, I never blamed you! I never blamed any one, really...when Mrs. Darcy told me I would have to leave, I just...well, it was like something that I always knew would have to come, some day. And when it did, I...changed. I had to. But blame...I never even thought of any one as being at fault. Especially not you. The time that we had was everything to me - I never regretted it, never once wished it away. You have nothing to apologise for. Do you hear me, James? Nothing."

James looked at her wonderingly, then shook his head sadly. "You are too generous, Jessie. I should have known that you would see things so compassionately. But I can not be so easily reconciled to myself." Very slowly, he reached out and took her hand in his once more.

"Will you let me make it up to you?" He asked softly, his eyes gazing steadily into hers. Jessie was suddenly aware that her heart was pounding erratically as she found herself trapped by the earnest entreaty in his warm brown eyes. She could feel strong currents of heat coiling upwards from her fingers where his hand clasped hers. Her breath was caught in her throat, and the clearing blurred dizzily on the fringes of her sight.

"Will you?" he whispered again, somehow closer now. Jessie's eyelids fluttered closed as his face moved ever so slowly towards hers. Her lips parted very slightly and her very core seemed to tremble as she felt his warm breath on her cheek.

Without warning, the bush beside them exploded into a chaotic rush of beating wings and ear-piercing cries of alarm.

Jessie stumbled backwards as though she had been pushed, and stared at James with real terror in her eyes. A startled pheasant was disappearing over the tree-tops.

"Jessie..." James tried to reach out to her, but she backed away again. "Jessie, please, I - "

"No!" Her voice was unnecessarily loud, and her eyes were wild with an inexplicable fear which cut him even deeper that her words, "No, you don't understand..." She looked about desperately, as if hoping the answers lay somewhere in the woods around her.

"Oh, James, you never understood!" Her voice caught in a sob, and she ran from the clearing.

Chapter 12

Posted on Wednesday, 22 December 1999

i.

It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;
And that craves wary walking.
~William Shakespeare

Once morning lessons were over for another day, and Cathy had been happily released to the company of her father, who planned to take her riding, Jessie cleared up in the schoolroom and closed the door behind her. Aware that the afternoon winds were acquiring a sharp bite as autumn progressed, she took care to dress warmly before setting out on her customary afternoon walk. Making her way down the stairs toward the servant's exit, she pulled on thick gloves and was in the process of securing her simple walking jacket when a voice calling her name caused her to look up.

"Miss Evans! Miss Evans..."

Ugh. She shuddered inwardly when she recognised the source of the voice, rolling her eyes.

Mr. Simon Rutherford came trotting hurriedly down the stairs towards her. "Miss Evans, I've been looking everywhere for you. I really must speak with you..."

"I can not think of anything we could possibly have to say to each other, Mr. Rutherford," Jessie said coldly, tugging her coat into place and turning to him with frigid civility.

"Oh I know you must be upset over the other day," he said quickly, "That's what I wanted to speak to you about. Please, allow me to apologise for my behaviour towards you, Miss Evans. It was unforgivable." His handsome face was a picture of contrite regret.

Jessie regarded him impassively, entirely unmoved. "Then it seems we agree upon something," she said coolly, "Because I have no intention of forgiving you."

Just for a moment, a look of genuine surprise flickered over his face. It was not exactly the reaction he had been hoping for. Damn it, this girl wasn't giving any of the reactions he had been banking on.

His first attempt had been inept, he could see that now. He had gone in too soon, tried to cut too many corners. He had meant to confuse the girl, distort her feelings, give her the idea that she had a sure ally in the young Master... and then make very resistible advances on her. The then obvious course of action for a simple peasant-born lass would of course be to tell someone - at best, tell James. That would have been ideal.

Simon could just see the indignant fury that would have ignited in his cousin's eyes had he learned of the true nature of the tete a tete that had been taking place between Mr. Rutherford and the gardener's brat he was so ridiculously infatuated with. The confrontation that would have resulted could have been stirred and pricked into a scandal quite ample for Simon's purposes...but no - the very fact that James was continuing to treat him with civility was proof that Jessie had said nothing to him.

But even if she did not confide in James, Simon had at least expected her to tell enough of her village friends to set the rumours flying. That would have given him some starting ground. Unfortunately, though, it seemed that young Jessie Evans had been as silent as the grave about the whole affair.

It was time for a new tactic, he had decided. But even now the prickly little governess was making things impossibly difficult for him.

Frigid little iceberg, he thought viciously, What the hell does James see in you?

Outwardly, however, he masked his anger in an apologetic smile. "Well, I suppose I deserved that," he said depreciatingly, "But really, Miss Evans, you must listen to me! I only want to help you."

"Help me?" Jessie almost laughed in her disbelief.

Simon nodded, all earnestness and sobriety. "Yes," he said softly, "You see, I know..."

Jessie's eyebrow arched, unimpressed. "You know what?"

"Well," Simon looked around furtively, still speaking in a near-whisper, "I mean that I know about you and James..."

Jessie started visibly, but quickly recollected herself. "You, sir," she said calmly, her voice firm, "Are the most delusional man I have ever met. Now before your interruption, I was about to take a walk. If you will excuse me..."

But she was too late. Simon had seen her reaction, momentary as it was, and he pushed his advantage. "You don't understand, Miss Evans - I'm on your side! You love each other. It's not fair that you should be kept apart by the pettiness and narrow-mindedness of this unfeeling society! He told me that he loves you so very much, Miss Evans, and I know you - "

"You're lying."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're lying," Jessie repeated flatly, looking up and fixing him with a hard stare. "Mr. Darcy would never have told you if he loved me. He would not have told anyone. Thus, as I am sure you would not be so callous as to presume my feelings, or Mr. Darcy's, you must be lying when you state with such certainty that he loves me. However, the issue is irrelevant.

You are not the type of man, Mr. Rutherford, to exert yourself in circumstances where you stand to make no gain. Your offers of assistance over the plight of star-crossed lovers for the sake of goodwill and justice alone therefore do not ring true. I can only assume, then, that you have ulterior motives that I do not understand, and consequently, can not trust. That is the bottom line, Mr. Rutherford. I do not trust you, and I will not listen to this any longer." She turned abruptly and began to walk away.

Simon snapped. He reached out and gripped her arm roughly, pulling her back to face him. "Damn it, I'm trying to help you!" He hissed, furious. "What's the matter with you?"

Jessie stared coldly for a moment, then wrenched her arm from his vice-like grip. "Don't touch me," she whispered fiercely, "Don't ever touch me again." And with that she swept from the room, leaving Simon fuming in her wake.

Damn the little chit to hell!

He was running out of time and ideas. He curled his hands into fists, and looked around. Seeing no one, he turned and drove his fist violently into the stone wall. The pain in his hand was a welcome distraction from the desperate fury and frustration that boiled within him, but it did nothing to alter his resolve.

If anything, it only heightened his determination.

Chapter 12

Posted on Thursday, 30 December 1999

ii.

"Brendan? Brendan, are you here?"

Recognising the voice instantly, Brendan quickly stoked his fire and moved hurriedly out to the front of the smithy.

"Jessie!" He grinned broadly, as inordinately pleased as he always was just to know that she was nearby. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at her.

Her slim form was adorned in nothing more extravagant than a plain gray walking dress, and her bonnet could hardly have been simpler. But her lovely face was fresh and flushed with exercise, and her wide eyes with their unusual shade of sapphire blue were astonishingly bright. The wind had loosened her hair, and flyaway red curls blew gently across her face.

Jessie, as ever quite oblivious to the effect she had on him, was a little bemused when he was silent for so long. "Are you still working?" She inquired politely, "Because I can come back. I have an errand to run in town anyway."

Shaking his head abruptly, Brendan forced himself to hear what she was saying. "Oh. Well, I do 'ave one more job t' finish. If ye'd like t' wait, I can walk with ye th' rest o'th' way t' town..."

Jessie shook her head. "No, that's not so practical. I'll run the errand and come back." She smiled slightly, then without waiting for a response, turned on her heel and continued towards the village.

Brendan watched her walk away, a small frown deepening the lines in his forehead. "What I meant was," he murmured sadly under his breath, "Won't ye please wait because there's nothin' tha' pleases me more than bein' by yer side..." He sighed. But i' seems that ye don't feel the same. I guess ye never did, Jessie...ye never did.

Brendan rubbed a tired hand across his eyes. For the first time ever, he was painfully conscious of the bitter ironies life could inflict.

Throughout most of his existence, he had been vaguely aware that women liked him. It was not conceit, it was just a fact. He could scarcely avoid noticing that most of the village girls were infatuated with him to varying degrees, but he had never given the whole thing much thought until now - now that he had finally met the one girl who moved him deeply, and discovered that she was the one girl whose heart was not available to him.

For though Jessie was always polite, always friendly, always clever and lovely and pleasant, Brendan could see that the lights in her eyes when he looked at her were not burning for him. When he tried to show her how he felt, she responded with the unstinting affection of a close friend - nothing more. She had a heart, and he was sure of that, no matter what the more vindictive of the village gossipmongers might say. It was just that on the surface, she was often polite to the point of coldness, especially toward those she did not know well. Under that facade, however, Brendan was well aware that feelings ran deep. And he was also aware - wretchedly aware - that those feelings were not focused on him.

"Are you all right, Atworth?" A concerned voice from close on his left had him glancing up swiftly.

"Master Darcy!" He exclaimed in surprise, then added, "Aye, sir, I'll be right. I were just...thinking."

James looked unconvinced. "Thinking? It must be a dire subject indeed that your thoughts dwell upon. I've known you nigh ten years now and I've never seen you depressed once in all that time, but just a moment ago you were doing a remarkably good impression of it."

Brendan smiled wryly. "Aye, sir. I was thinkin' of a girl, if tha' would explain it for ye." The look James gave him was so full of compassionate fellow-feeling that it prompted him to add sadly, "But I suspect she's in love wi' someone else."

James half-smiled and shook his head. "That's ridiculous, Atworth," he said, "Every girl from here to London is madly in love with you."

Brendan turned his head in the direction that Jessie had disappeared, and did not smile. "Not every girl," he said softly, "Not the one girl I want to marry."

James whistled quietly. "You're serious then," he observed.

"Oh aye. I'm serious."

"I know how you feel."

Brendan looked surprised. "Never say you've gone an' lost yer heart!"

James shrugged without defending himself. "I don't know, Atworth," he said simply, "Is it love when I can't get her out my head? When no matter where I am, I wish that she was there with me, because she's the only thing that seems real...it's as though nothing else is really solid, nothing else has any substance at all. The only time the pieces fit is when she's there -

" - And there's nothing in the world," Brendan continued for him, "That you wouldn't do for her, nothing you could deny her if she only looked in your eyes and asked. And when she smiles - "

" - The whole world seems a better place and you know you want nothing more in life than to be by her side forever, and make her so happy that the smile never fades..." James gave a wry laugh as he listened to the two of them. "Oh Lord, Atworth, we are in a sorry state!"

Brendan half-smiled too. "Well what is it tha' stands in yer way, sir? Does th' Lady not return yer affection?"

James frowned and looked away. "I don't know," he said again, after a pause, "It is so complicated..."

Brendan was a little bemused. "If ye don't mind me sayin', sir," he hinted, "Why not tell 'er how ye feel? It's not like ye've nothin' to offer 'er, after all..."

Brendan's voice trailed off as he looked over James' shoulder to see that Jessie was making her way toward them from the road. He was about to mention her approach to the young Mr. Darcy, but as he opened his mouth to speak, he saw that Jessie had already recognised his companion. The expression on her face killed the words in his throat.

Her wind-flushed face blanched, and her eyes sprang wide with shock and fear and...longing. Mother of God... He thought, as horrified recognition chilled his heart. It's the young Master she loves! It's James Darcy! Oh, Jessie, no!

Very faintly, he was aware that James was answering his question. "It's more complex than that, Atworth," he smiled wryly, "I mean for a start, her father would never approve of the match..."

Her father would not approve...? Dear Heaven, and he's in love with a highborn Lady! Oh, Jessie, Jessie...why did ye 'ave do this t' yerself? What can I do...? What can anyone do t' help ye now?

He watched sadly as she darted back out of sight down the road. A minute later, James had taken his leave and departed. Jessie crept hesitantly out of hiding.

She approached Brendan with her head high and her eyes slightly wary, searching his face for any sign that might indicate what he was feeling, or what he knew.

With an almost super-human effort, Brendan forced himself to smile at her. He could almost see the relief loosening the tense set of her shoulders. I can not tell her, He thought despairingly, I can not bear to tell her. Jessie, my love, I just don't know what else to do.

Chapter 12

Posted on Tuesday, 4 January 2000

iii.

It was time.

Jessie took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and knocked firmly. The old wooden door had a low, solid ring to it. In spite of herself, Jessie found it slightly comforting.

It took a few moments before she heard a scuffling sound, then watched the door split open its customary mistrustful few inches. "Good morning, Mrs. Evans," Jessie said loudly, "It is me, Jessica. Could I come in please?"

Ma Evans swung the door wide. "Well," she said curtly, "It 'as been a while." Shuffling from the doorway, she let Jessie pass into the cottage.

"Is Tom not here then?" Jessie asked, looking around the dim living space. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that nothing was quite as well kept as it had been seven years ago. Cobwebs and dust collected in corners, the table was unscrubbed and there was a strong smell of stale air and alcohol permeating the small cottage. The seemingly indomitable Old Ma Evans was finally slowing down. Jessie felt a stab of guilt that she had not been down to see the old woman in so long. She resolved immediately to come more often, and help her manage.

"Tom is out," Ma Evans said shortly. She did not bother explaining. They both knew exactly where he would be.

"Good," said Jessie firmly, fixing her attention back on her grandmother, "Because I think it is time that we talked." She was pleased to hear her voice remaining perfectly steady, even though on the inside she was taut with apprehension.

Ma Evans' eyes narrowed slightly. "Talk? About what, child?"

Jessie took another deep breath. "About my mother," she stated bluntly, "Tom said something to me the other day which...came as something of a shock."

Ma Evans looked up sharply. "Tom says a lot o' things when 'e's drunk that 'e don't mean. Ye knows tha'."

Jessie shook her head. "He meant this," she said with certainty. "I want to know why no one will tell me about her, Gran. I want to know why you and Tom have kept her from me all these years. It is time that I knew." She finished determinedly, then waited anxiously for the reaction.

Ma Evans lifted her chin. "There's no secrets," she replied, just a little too defensively, Jessie thought. "What is i' ye want t' know?"

"Well for one thing," Jessie watched the old woman's expression carefully, "Why did no one tell me I was conceived out of wedlock?"

With a slightly furrowed forehead, Ma Evans lowered herself into a chair. "It never seemed important," she replied slowly. "And it's not really th' sort o' thing one tells a child, now, is it?"

"Well I'm not a child now," Jessie said resolutely, and took a seat opposite her grandmother, "And I want to know everything."

"Ye don't, child," her grandmother warned her softly, meeting her gaze with sad sobriety, "Some things are better left in the past. It's where they belong. Believe me."

Jessie ignored that. "Where was Alice born?" She asked, her voice strong with solid determination.

Ma Evans half-shrugged. "She were born in Kent."

"Kent? Then how did my father meet her? Tom was born in Lambton."

"He traveled about a lot in 'is youth. E's been a lot of places."

"So..." Jessie swallowed and blushed very slightly, "So I was conceived in Kent?"

Ma Evans' steely expression did not flicker. "Aye. They were married there."

"And when did they come back to Lambton?"

Ma Evans' frowned as she strained to remember. "It was late Summer, I think, or per'aps th' very start of Autumn. Aye, that's it, th' Autumn of 1818. Poorest yield in decades that year. We were glad to 'ave Tom back about the place, even though th' shock o' havin' 'im married to a girl already four months gone took some gettin' used to...'E certainly loved 'er, though, any fool could see tha'. 'E told me they only knew each other a fortnight 'fore 'e convinced 'er t'be 'is wife and come away t' Lambton. Actually, no one thought the bairn'd make the term, but ye were born, sure enough, wi' the first snow if I remember rightly. January."

"January..." As she listened, Jessie's imagination conjured romantic pictures of how things must have been in those happy days. Tom, young and smiling; Alice, beautiful and in love. How blissful it must have been for them. She pushed guilty thoughts of what effect her birth must have had on their idyllic lives, and concentrated her imaginings on what she knew would have been the good times.

But years of calculative study set a more practical side of her head whirring. Six months, they had been married. That's what Tom had said. And she had been born when they had been back in Lambton about five months. Two weeks they had known each other before they ran away to wed. Two -

Jessie froze. Her head began to spin as images of romance faded and she put the figures together again, sure that she must have made a mistake, yet knowing that she had not...

They knew each other a fortnight, then married. That is definitely what Gran has said. And they were married for six months before I was born, and Alice died...

Jessie swallowed hard, and tried to keep the quaver out of her voice as she asked urgently, "Did I come early, Gran? Is that why there was such a problem with the birth?"

Ma Evans shook her head, still misty-eyed with recollections of her own. "Nay, ye were on time all right. A fair-sized babe, never sickly-like."

Jessie tried again to re-add the figures in her head. Nothing was changing - a two week acquaintance, a six month marriage, and a baby born in the ninth month of pregnancy. There was no way that she...no way that Tom...

The shock slapped her like an icy wave, knocking her back in her seat. Somewhere in the turmoil of her mind, one word ricocheted out at her, striking her hard in the chest like a sharp piece of shrapnel.

Bastard!

Clamping a hand over her mouth, Jessie choked on a sob and pushed her chair back with so much force that it clattered onto its side. She ran from the room.

Ma Evans watched sadly from her seat, knowing in her heart that the secret she had guarded so carefully for the past twenty two years was flown.

I'm sorry, Alice, She prayed silently into the empty room, you must have known she would find out some day. But Ali, I'm sorry.

Chapter 12

Posted on Wednesday, 5 January 2000

iv.

She found Jessie sitting alone.

For a long moment they were both silent.

Then without looking up, Jessie spoke, her voice a low whisper. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Ma Evans knew without having to ask exactly what the girl referred to. She sighed. "So ye know. I don't suppose there's any point in askin' how, exactly?"

"What does it matter how I know!" Jessie hissed. "How could you have lied to me? All these years...my whole life! My whole life is a lie! My father...my father is a drunkard who is not my father and my mother...my mother was a whore that - "

The sharp sound of a flat-handed slap rang out.

"Don't you dare speak o' Alice that way!" Ma Evans' milky old eyes were almost snapping with fury.

Jessie put her fingertips to her stinging cheek. "Why not?" She muttered angrily, looking away, "It's the truth, isn't it?"

"Don't ye pronounce judgement on 'er. Ye know nothin' about i'."

"Exactly!" Jessie leapt suddenly to her feet and turned on her grandmother in fury, "I know nothing! I know nothing about it because no one will tell me!"

There was a heavy silence as the two women regarded each other across a seemingly unbridgeable division of animosity and mistrust.

Jessie was the first to speak, and her voice was soft. "Please," she begged, artless now, "Please, I'll do anything. Won't you tell me what you know?"

Ma Evans looked away. "I don't - " she began.

"Anything!" Jessie repeated desperately, "Gran, I'm begging you! I have to know!"

There was another long pause, and Jessie thought her heart would burst with painful frustration. "Can you at least tell me what she looked like?" She whispered at last, "Can I at least have that much of my mother back?"

Ma Evans sighed. "She looked...she looked like ye, Jess. Dark hair, though, where your's is red. Same fine features, same slender little figure, never meant for bearing children...there's no need t' wince like that, lass, it weren't yer fault." Ma Evans sighed heavily. "If there's blame t' be laid, it belongs wi' th' blackguard, Maxim."

"Maxim?" Jessie could barely speak the name.

"Aye," Ma Oxley forced herself to look the girl in the eye as she said, "Maxim is the name of your real father."

Chapter 13

Posted on Friday, 7 January 2000

i.

"She is woman, therefore she may be wooed;
She is woman, therefore she may be won.
~Shakespeare

April, 1818: twenty-two years back.

The day that turned Miss Alice Martin's life around began exactly like any other.

As the first glow of dawn dissolved the darkness of night into soft gray gloom, she threw back her bed covers and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Gingerly placing her feet on the cold floorboards, she crossed the room swiftly and splashed herself with cold water from the dish on her small vanity.

Alice dressed carefully. Her Ladyship was most particular about appearance, and Alice's simple day gowns were carefully selected to adhere to her employer's idea of what was proper for a girl of Miss Martin's station.

Braiding back her long dark locks, Alice paused to check her reflection in the mirror before leaving the room. Large, thickly-lashed eyes gazed back at her, so wide and dark they made the rest of her small, fine features seem disproportionate. Or so she thought. But she had no time for such frivolous reflections nowadays, and having ensured that her image was presentable, she moved swiftly to the door and made her way down to the breakfast room to wait for Her Ladyship.

And sure enough, in due course, Her Ladyship appeared. Alice climbed quickly to her feet and curtsied low, not needing to look twice to know that the young Mistress would be drifting in her mother's wake, as pale and soberly detached as always.

"Good Morning, Your Ladyships." Alice offered her customary greeting.

There was a slight pause, which broke with their usual morning ritual. In surprise, Alice ventured to raise her head. "Oh!" She said softly. For the other women were not alone.

"Lord Cauldwell." With characteristic bad grace, Her Ladyship did not deign to return Miss Martin's greeting, and instead turned to the man who stood beside her and performed the half-hearted introduction. "This is Miss Alice Martin," she gestured briefly, "Miss Martin, this is Lord Cauldwell. Lord Cauldwell of Castleden Park. He arrived late last night and will be resident here some weeks."

Alice nodded slightly and tried to focus on the glistening pair of boots on the wooden floor, knowing how Her Ladyship disapproved of even a hint of forwardness in her subordinates. But the task was impossible. Of its own accord, she felt her gaze slip upward, over the firm lines of impeccably-cut gray breeches, past the fine stitching of a beautifully tailored coat, over the angles of a lean, athletic physique, past the simply tied cravat, the sharp line of a smooth-shaven jaw and...

Her gaze slid into contact with his and locked. Blue eyes, as blue as the summer sky and just as bright, stared hard into hers, reading all her innermost secrets with supreme confidence. Even as he leaned slowly forward to place a light kiss on the back of her hand, he did not break their gridlock until the very last moment.

"Miss Martin," he said, his voice a pleasingly melodious tenor, every vowel and consonant pronounced with meticulous correctness, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He held her hand just as instant longer than was necessary before releasing it.

Her Ladyship's sharp gaze snapped suspiciously from one to the other. She decided suddenly to expand on what she had first considered a completely inconsequential introduction. "Miss Martin's father is one of the Harksbourough Martins, Lord Cauldwell," she remarked loudly, as though Alice were not actually present and Her Ladyship was merely spreading idle gossip, "But the family is recently impoverished by an uncle's gaming debts, so she resides here on our charity as Miss Anne's companion. She does a tolerable job of keeping us amused." She smiled tightly.

Alice could barely conceal a gasp at her employer's flagrant bad manners, and her pale complexion flushed red with mortification and anger. She was used to her Ladyship's barbs and censures, but they were seldom so blatant, and in front of this man the humiliation was multiplied a thousand times. Partly out of shame and partly to hide her fury, she dropped her head and stared fiercely at the ground. So immersed was she in her own personal turmoil that she almost didn't hear what was said next.

"Only a tolerable job, Lady Catherine?" It was Lord Cauldwell's velvet voice, "I'm quite certain you are undervaluing the lady's charms. After all, you hired her, and all of London knows what an impeccable judge of character and worth you are. Modest as you are being, I know you would only ever hire a girl of the highest calibre in grace and breeding to accompany a Lady with the... sensitivity of your lovely daughter."

Alice's gaze flew to his face. Expressions of astonishment, gratitude and admiration chased each other across her features. He had eased the tension of the situation almost effortlessly, reassuring and complimenting her at the same time as placating Lady Catherine. His blue eyes were fixed on her, and as her Ladyship and her daughter were being seated, he gave her a slow smile that made her stomach flip over. Her pulse quickened inexplicably.

And before the breakfast plates were cleared that morning, Alice Martin was in love.

Chapter 13

Posted on Sunday, 9 January 2000

ii.

July, 1818

The shovel plunged into the warm black soil with a steady rasping thud. It was entering the second month of Summer, and the air hung warm and heavy over the countryside. The pleasant breezes that drifted across the grounds were scarcely cooling when one was working hard in the full glare of the sun.

"Oi, Evans!" Hearing the rough shout, a heavily built young man with light brown hair and clear hazel eyes looked up from his work.

"And g'mornin' to ye Matthews," he called in reply, a smile in his words as he stopped work and leaned easily on his shovel, "What's yer business here this fine day?"

Matthews, another temporary labourer on Rosings Park estate, approached with his own shovel propped over his shoulder. "Ye've been labourin' since dawn now, Evans," he reminded, with amusement and awe mixed fairly evenly in his voice, "An' there's a group of men thinkin' of gettin' down t'the lakes fer a dip, it's that hot. Overseer knows about it, 'e doesn't mind. Wants t'knock off fer lunch 'imself, I reckon. So what d'ye say? Interested?"

Tom was more than interested, and an hour later he was climbing up the bank of the lake with his shirt plastered to his body and his already-wavy hair bunching into tight curls from the water. He turned to give a hand to Matthews, and hauled him up the embankment with surprising ease. On flat ground again, Matthews drew his hand back with a wry laugh. "I'm thinkin' ye broke a bone or two, Evans. Next time I'll just struggle up on me own, perhaps."

Tom grinned at his friend in apology. "Sorry 'bout that. Ma was always tellin' me I don't know me own strength."

They made their way over the grounds, veering past the manor house as they returned to the garden beds they were working on. Tom took his time, happy with life in general. It was Summer, he was young and fit, and he was out to see the world. The little farm in Lambton was still home, of course, but he had wanted more that just an unmitigated provincial life. Some time soon he would go back, take over the farm from his Da, and live the life he had been raised to live. Before he did, however, he was determined to see the world outside the sphere of his childhood town.

It hadn't been as hard as people had warned. Tom knew what hard work was about, and his open humour and pleasant looks enabled him to make friends easily. Working from place to place and town to town, Tom immersed himself in experience and enjoyed life.

He wasn't looking at anything in particular as he walked through the grounds with Matthews, nor were his thoughts focused on any one subject. Imbued with the almost ironic optimistic confidence of youth and freedom, he was entirely oblivious to the fact that within the next few moments, his life would be changed forever.

For as his gaze wandered aimlessly about the attractive gardens, it came to rest on her.

She was sitting on a small stone bench, which rested deep in the shade of a large tree. Flower beds all about her formed seas of delicate colour, and her expression was one of mild concentration as she turned the pages of a small novel one by one. Her pale green dress was spread about her and her long dark hair was loosely swept up into a soft and lovely chignon. Errant strands framed the delicate beauty of her face.

Matthews, realising that Tom had stopped walking, paused in his stride and turned back. He followed Tom's gaze toward the young woman, then looked again at his awestruck companion.

"Evans?" He inquired pointedly.

Tom did not look away. For several moments, he did not even answer. As the minutes passed, however, his awe faded to be replaced by a stronger, harder expression. "That," he declared, in quiet tones steeled with implacable determination and certainty, "Is the woman I will marry."

And without another second's hesitation, he set off across the grass, leaving Matthews to stare after him in astonished bemusement.

Chapter 13

Posted on Sunday, 9 January 2000

iii.

Alice sighed, smiled softly to herself, and closed her book, placing it on the bench beside her. Getting dreamily to her feet, she wandered a few steps toward a glorious cascade of climbing roses. A particularly lovely flower was blooming about six feet above the ground, and Alice reached up toward it. Her diminutive figure meant her fingertips could not quite touch the petals, even when she stood on tiptoe. She dropped back onto her heels again with a tiny frown of mild disappointment.

Suddenly, the whole branch on which the rose was growing curved down toward her. Alice gasped and stepped hurriedly away, noticing for the first time the man who had approached her from behind. He could reach the flower easily, and when she stepped away from him, he leaned over and plucked the rose, his work-hardened hands entirely unmindful of the thorns.

Staring at him, Alice's first impression was one of enormity. The man seemed huge, his brawny shoulders and considerable height dwarfing her petite form. His shirt and hair were damp, as though he had just come out of the water. Her heart was still pounding from his unexpected appearance, but when he turned to her and smiled, she felt suddenly at ease. He was a labourer, but his warm hazel eyes were bright with humour and life, and she knew instinctively that there was no need for fear or formality here.

"M' Lady," he greeted her affably, mock-bowing at presenting the rose to her with exaggerated chivalry.

Alice smiled. "I'm not a Lady," She told him, amused, "But I am honoured to accept your offering, good sir." She took the rose and sniffed its scent appreciatively.

"Ah, but ye are a Lady!" Tom insisted, "You're a Lady if I ever seen one. Trust me, I have th' knack fer judgement." He winked good-naturedly, then said, "Th' name's Evans, by th' way. Tom Evans. How d'ye do, Miss..."

"Martin," Alice finished for him, smiling "My name is Miss Alice Martin."

"Alice Martin," Tom's expression softened suddenly as he looked at her, "It's a beautiful name. It suits you."

Alice blushed. In other circumstances, perhaps she would remembered propriety and sent him gently on his way. Not today, though. Today, everyone she met seemed an angel, and every common sight a vision. Love - sweet, giddy love - made the whole world seem brighter and Alice wanted everyone to share in her happiness. This open-humoured young worker was a welcome opportunity for a lively chat, which was more that could be said about most of Rosings' stuffy inmates.

Apart from darling Maxim, of course.

"You're flattering me, Mr. Evans," she replied, her lips turning up at the corners, "And I get quite enough of that from my - " She cut herself off quickly, realising what she had been about to say. She felt a sudden surge of frustrated joy well up inside her. How could Maxim expect her to keep this much happiness bottled up inside? Goodness, she had to tell someone or she would just burst, she knew she would.

Tom's expression showed a little more than just polite interest as he waited for her to complete her sentence, but Alice didn't notice that. "Mr. Evans," she said, leaning forward and indulging in a rather dramatic whisper as she glanced around furtively, "Can you keep a secret for me? There's something that no one is to know - at least, not yet - but it really is too wonderful for me to hold inside any longer. You see...I am to be married!"

Something in Tom's chest constricted sharply. "Married!" He repeated weakly. He saw the excited glow of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes as she waited for his reaction. He forced a smile. "Congratulations," he said, "D'ye mind if I ask after th' lucky gennulman?"

She shook her head earnestly. "I will tell you. His name is Maxim Rutherford, he's Lady Catherine's guest and he's - "

Tom jolted at the name and interrupted urgently. "Rutherford? You mean Lord Cauldwell, what's gettin' betrothed to - "

Tom could not finish, but Alice was in any case prevented from replying when a pair of strong arms caught her from behind and swung her off her feet. "Good morning, Little One!"

Alice laughed in delight, and the moment her feet were back on the ground she turned and threw her arms around her lover's neck. It was a conspicuous abandonment of propriety from a naive and passionate squire's daughter, but the throws of first love had long since dissolved the restraints of her conservative upbringing.

"Maxim, darling, I missed you so!"

He laughed. "But I saw you only last night!" He protested.

"Too long," she said seriously, gazing up at him with open adoration, "Thoroughly too long. Oh! How rude of me. I must introduce you to - "

But when Alice looked around, there was no one in the grove but them. Tom had disappeared.

Continued In Next Section