Mr. Darcy, the newcomer to the assembly, chilled the air wherever he walked. "She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt *me*," he wailed.
Elizabeth's immediate feelings on hearing this were not very cordial, but she decided brooding would be less fun than delighting in the ridiculous with her friends. Turning to go find Charlotte, she accidentally bonked her head against Mr. Goulding's elbow. (As he was seven feet tall, his elbow was a known hazard at assemblies. The hazards of the dangerous-looking bolt in his neck were, on the other hand, completely unknown.)
When Elizabeth awoke, she couldn't remember anything that had happened since the beginning of the night. "Who is that handsome gentleman?" she murmured to Charlotte. "His name is Darcy," said her friend. "He's staying at Netherfield Park. I think you should go home and lie down, Lizzy."
The next day, Jane was invited to Netherfield, for all it looked like rain. She fell ill and was forced to stay the night. Elizabeth herself wasn't feeling quite up to the three-mile walk, so she took the carriage to visit her sister.
Mr. Darcy admired her clean petticoat, and Elizabeth enjoyed his conversation. It was slightly annoying to have to bundle into her quilted spencer to ward off the chill coming from his long pale hands, but she could easily forget that in the pleasure of his soulful discourse. Miss Bingley, who refused to wear anything but the latest low-cut fashions, shivered and dabbed elegantly at a rather red nose.
*****
Mrs. Phillips was naturally one of the first to invite the officers. Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seated himself.
While they played lottery tickets, Wickham whispered scandalous revelations about Darcy. Bending to retrieve a card she had dropped, Elizabeth accidentally bonked her head on the table. When she awoke, she couldn't remember anything that had happened for the last three days.
"Who is this strange young man living in our spare room?” she asked Jane, cautiously.
“Our cousin, Mr. Collins!”
“But what is he doing here?”
*****
“Requesting the honour of a private audience with you in the course of this morning?" said the young man. His voice was rather hoarse and his hands extraordinarily hairy. “I mustn’t wait until the full m— at least— that is—Well.”
Mystified, Elizabeth composed herself to listen. 127 seconds later (Collins was rather long-winded), she was fleeing for the door. Alas, in her haste she tripped and bonked her head on the doorknob.
When she awoke, two days later, she couldn’t remember anything that had happened for the last week.
“Charlotte! You’ve come! Do tell me something amusing.”
“Lizzy, I am engaged to Mr. Collins.” Charlotte gave her friend a toothy grin.
“Well, how delightful for you. Do tell me who he is, and do invite me to visit you. If he lives anywhere interesting, I might get the chance to see that fascinating Mr. Darcy again.”
*****
"In vain have I struggled. It will not do.” Mr. Darcy’s words were cold, but Elizabeth felt she could discern his spirit behind them – intelligent, clever. A good mind in a good man.
She said just what she ought, then he fetched her some wine for her headache and departed for Rosings to conceal the happy news from Lady Catherine as cunningly as possible. Unfortunately, the wine was Mr. Collins’ own and he had botched the alcohol content calculations. Elizabeth was soon legless. When she awoke 10 days later in London, she couldn’t remember anything that had happened since Anne De Bourgh had helped her count the windows on the day she arrived at Rosings.
“What’s that, my aunt?”
“Just a potion— a tea, I mean, that will help you travel better. We’re taking you to Derbyshire to visit your fiancé.”
“Oh. That sounds nice. And the broomstick?”
“Oh that old thing. For sweeping out inns before we stay in them, Lizzy dear, all seasoned travellers do the same. Surely Lady Catherine instructed you on this point?”
She couldn’t remember, but that seemed to be happening a lot lately.
*****
As the Gardiner carriage turned into Cheapside, it collided violently and head on with another conveyance, dashing recklessly up the road from Brighton. There was a horrid crunching, a scream or two, and (according to the urchin who witnessed the accident), something that sounded like gabbling very fast backwards and in Latin.
Miraculously (everyone said) Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had not so much as a scratch on them. But their niece Elizabeth, and the two occupants of the other carriage (later identified as a Mr. Wickham and a Miss Lydia Bennet) sported broken necks all around.
When Elizabeth awoke, she couldn’t remember the simplest things – for example, that she was supposed to be dead. All she knew was that she was going to Derbyshire to find her true love, Mr. Darcy. Stretching her arms stiffly in front of her, she shuffled northward.
Six weeks later, she arrived at Pemberly. She had never seen a place for which nature had done less, or where natural beauty had been so much counteracted by an awkward taste. Dodging the lightning bolts playing around the Gothic spires of the house, she checked her remaining limbs – only a few had rotted off during the journey – and entered the house.
There he was. Her Darcy. Such a fine mind. She opened his skull and ate it. Mmmm, utterly delicious.
The End
*****
Epilogue
After hearing about the carriage survival spell, an impressed Lady Catherine invited the Gardiners to join the Rosings coven. She fell to a hostile takeover not a se’ennight later.
Mrs. Bennet was forced to consider Mr. Goulding a failed experiment. But the lady was nothing if not persistent. Her fourth-and-twentieth attempt hit the spot, and Bennet’s Matchmaker (as she dubbed her monster) found rich husbands for her three surviving daughters during the course of one morning’s visiting. She promptly hired him out to all her friends and became so rich even she couldn’t manage to exceed her income. She never thought of hedgerows again.
What was left of Elizabeth’s body was shortly eaten by a pair of werewolves who had somehow tracked her from Kent.
Since Darcy had become so spirited thanks to his association with Elizabeth, he minded the loss of his brain not at all. In fact, it rather became him. Georgiana felt haunted, but perhaps a happy ending was too much to expect.