Mrs Darcy vs The Aliens

The nurse dabbed away with the sponge at Wickham’s shoulder. He winced in pain, but did not flinch.

“You have a gentle touch, nurse,” he said. “What is your name?”

There was the slightest hesitation, which Wickham found rather fetching. “I am Nurse Hathaway,” she said.

“Ah, Hathaway!  Such a pretty name,” said Wickham. “But do you have a Christian name as well?”

The girl gave a tinkly little laugh. “Yes, sir, of course I do. My name is Jane.”

“Another pretty name. Two pretty names, in fact, for the price of one. Come here: let me see you again, and verify that the person is indeed as pretty as her label.”

The girl stepped in front of Wickham. “I fear that I do not look very becoming in this uniform,” she said.

“Oh, no, I assure you that you are most becoming, Jane,” said Wickham. “Most becoming. In fact I think I shall call you Becoming Jane.”

“Anyway, sir, I am finished. How are you feeling now?”

“To tell the truth, I feel a little stiffness coming on.”

The nurse rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You know something?” she said, “You were doing so well up until then. But that line was as cheesy as Mrs Steadman’s Stinking Bishop. Get your shirt back on, the Colonel’ll be here in a minute. I’ll be seeing you.”

Wickham tried to think of something witty to say, but all he could come up with was “Er …”

“ER?”

“Er … I’ll be seeing you too, then, Nurse Hathaway,” he said.

As Wickham was pulling on his shirt, Colonel Sutherland stepped into the room.

“Ah, Wickham, my man!” he said. “How are you, me old fellah? You took a bit of a risk last night.”

“Sir? My injury is a mere scratch. And I assure you that old Squiddy is no match for Wickham’s flashing blade …”

“That wasn’t what I meant and you know it. I was talking about the Darcy woman.”

“You know my views on this, sir. Mrs Elizabeth Darcy is central to our future strategy. Without her, yes, we may ultimately prevail. But many lives will be lost, and many great families will be corrupted and destroyed. With her working alongside us, we shall surely defeat this scourge before the year is out.”

“I understand. But are you sure that your judgement is not clouded by past fancies?”

Wickham sighed and shook his head. “No sir. Elizabeth is married now …”

“To a man you hate!”

“No, sir, I do not hate Darcy. Darcy hates me, it is true, for what happened to his sister. Perhaps one day he will learn what I did …”

“What you did to save her? She was still Probed, Wickham, and for that we can never forgive ourselves.”

“I know, sir. I know.”

“So did you tell her about Lydia?”

“I told her as much as I felt able.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t go raising her hopes too much.” He was silent for a moment. “It’s a damnable business, it really is.”

“But with Elizabeth helping us …”

“No, not yet.” Colonel Sutherland held up his hand. “We have other fish to fry. We have picked up some intelligence about some unusual goings-on in the East End of London. Women disappearing, reports of apparitions, that sort of thing. Now of course, that kind of thing probably goes on all of the time there, but something tells me there’s more to it than meets the eye. I want you to go there under cover and see what you can find out. When you get back, then we can resume the search for Agent Lydia. With or without her big sister.”

Elizabeth dismounted from Keira and tied her up. The quarry looked very different in daylight. For one thing, there were teams of men at work, hewing whatever it was that they hewed out of the rock and then hauling it up the slope. For another, all traces of whatever she and Wickham had seen last night had completely vanished. There was nothing. Elizabeth took her whip and thrashed about at the undergrowth, but there was not the slightest sign of anything untoward there – least of all a severed tentacle.

After a short while, she realised that she was being watched. Sitting on a log at the edge of the quarry was a man, puffing away at a pipe. Perhaps he might be able to help. She walked over towards him, and then with a sinking feeling she realised that it was old Mr Firth, the local mentalist. She stopped, gave a deep sigh and turned to walk away.

“Mis’ Darcy!”

Don’t waste your time, Lizzie, she thought to herself. Just don’t. Walk away now. Forget last night. Admit that you imagined everything.

“Mis’ Darcy! I seen you there!”

Oh, what was the harm in it? She turned back and continued towards old Mr Firth. When she got close to him, she caught a whiff of his revolting pipe. It smelt strongly of badger.

“Ha-har, Mis’ Darcy!” said old Mr Firth.

“Hello, Mr Firth …” said Mrs Darcy, but he ignored her and continued his speech.

“Reckon you’ll be’m after the confabulation ’ere yon nether watch … ’im a-lolloping like a good ’un, you’ll see … ’e were wearing them big breeches … I dun seen ’im … I dun seen ’im, y’know …”

Elizabeth gave another deep sigh. Conversations with old Mr Firth were very rarely fruitful.

“Mr Firth, I appreciate the good sense of much of what you say, and your speech as always demonstrates your supreme erudition, but I really would like to know if you’ve …”

“Blether, blether … rat-pack and fungible … todger, grommet and wallop … thrust upwards … yea, upwards …” (here he gestured with his right hand)

“Thrust?” said Elizabeth, hopeful.

Old Mr Firth nodded. “Like a herring,” he said. “Like a big round herring.”

“Oh.”

“And then ’e comes back in’a town, like … walks right up street … stark bollock naked …” The latter part of this was delivered in a conspiratorial whisper, and Elizabeth felt the old man’s pungent breath waft against her face as he leant in close. She recoiled away from him. She decided to adopt a firmer approach.

“Mr Firth, can you please tell me if you saw anything unusual hereabouts either last night or first thing this morning?”

The old man looked hard at her, and then shook his head.

“Nope,” he said. “But I were pissed as a fart last night,” he added.

Oh, this was hopeless, thought Elizabeth. Back to Plan A. Go back home, put feet up, catch up on sleep and ignore any more cryptic messages from bloody Wickham. Have lots of babies and live happily ever after with Fitzy.

She turned to go. As she did so, old Mr Firth suddenly leapt up off his log and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders.

“Hey!” she shouted, “Unhand me, you filthy man!”

But he held on, and in a strange, unearthly voice, old Mr Firth spoke to her again: “SHE IS RISEN! THE DARK WITCH IS COMING! SHE COMES TO CONQUER ALL!”

Elizabeth looked at him. “I’m sorry?” she said.

“Sorry what?” said old Mr Firth, releasing his grip. “Bugger me, I think I dun me back in.” Then he slumped back on his log and began puffing at his pipe again.

Following Mr Darcy’s departure to London, Elizabeth went out into the garden and sat beneath a canopy to read the letter from Jane.

“My Dearest Lizzie,

I hope that this finds you well and happy. We feel truly blessed here in Netherfield. Little Lydia grows bigger every day and we surely expect her to walk soon. She misses her favourite Auntie very much and is looking forward to seeing her again soon. (By the way, I have to say that Mother is continually asking when you and Mr D are going to bring her a grandchild as well, so be warned.)

As it happens, Charlie and I may well be coming up to your part of the world in the next few weeks, so you may indeed get to see Little L soon. The reason is terribly complicated and all to do with the business of men – but I have been trying to take an interest for Charlie’s sake. I wonder sometimes if he is as naïve as I am in the ways of the world, and perhaps we both need to look out for each other. He can be so easily influenced.

Anyway, it seems that a Mr Bradford, whose acquaintance we made at a dinner party recently, has taken quite a shine to my Charlie, and as you know, he finds it difficult to make friends, so this pleases me greatly. This Mr Bradford has a significant number of mining interests in Derbyshire, but the problem is that although he possesses much skill as a prospector (indeed, he has apparently found a major untapped gold seam just south of Ashbourne), he lacks the necessary capital for investing in new equipment. And this is where Charlie comes in.

It is all terribly exciting. Bradford and Charlie are forming a company together to exploit this mine, and we had a long conversation over supper the other evening about what the company should be called. My suggestion was “Northern Rock”, because after all, it’s rock that they’re mining and it’s in the North. I was a little disappointed that Charlie laughed at this, but Mr Bradford thought it was a capital suggestion, as a result of which Charlie sulked for the rest of the evening.

But I don’t suppose it really matters whether the company is called “Northern Rock” or even just “Bradford and Bingley”, because with those two involved, it is bound to be a raging success.

Anyway, I must finish now. Little Lydia joins us in sending our love to you and Mr D, and I’ll let you know when we are coming north to join the Derbyshire gold rush!”

Elizabeth smiled. It would indeed be lovely to see Jane and Mr Bingley again, although Little Lydia could be somewhat wearisome. Every time she saw her niece, Elizabeth wondered if she would ever be cut out for motherhood, and if the truth were to be told, she had found the conversation at breakfast a little worrying.

As she sat back in her chair, she began to wonder again about everything she had seen last night. Or had she seen anything at all? Had it been some ghastly nightmare? How on earth had Wickham got involved, too? And what he had said about her sister had been truly disturbing – not to say grotesque and completely unbelievable.

There was only one thing for it. She would have to go to Macfadyen’s quarry again and see for herself. But in broad daylight this time.

The soft morning sun cast a soothing glow over the Pemberley breakfast table. Elizabeth stifled a yawn and helped herself to another slice of pound cake. Her head was less sore than it had been when she awoke, but it was still throbbing regularly in time with the clock on the mantelpiece. On mornings like these, she was grateful for her husband’s habitual taciturnity. However, at that point, Fitzwilliam Darcy gave a little cough, and her ears pricked up in response.

“Are you well, my dear?” he said, “You seem a little distracted this morning.”

“I am perfectly well, my beloved,” she said. “However, I fear I did not sleep at all well last night.”

“Ah,” said her husband, satisfied with her reply. She could tell that he hadn’t quite finished, and a few moments later, there was another cough.

“I … have to go to London for a few days today,” he said.

“So soon after your last visit?”

“Yes, my dear. Business.”

“Really? You gentlemen certainly know how to enjoy yourselves.”

As usual, she could tell from his face that he wasn’t entirely sure as to whether he should treat this comment at face value or as a joke.

“Indeed,” he said after some thought. “Indeed we do. However, I’m sure you don’t wish our breakfast to be sullied with tiresome talk about investments and suchlike.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” agreed Elizabeth, with some feeling. Silence hung in the air for a few moments longer, and then her husband coughed again. She almost made some comment about getting the physician in to see if there was anything that could be done about it, but thought better of it.

“I … I have been giving some thought to another pressing matter,” said Mr Darcy. He seemed reluctant to elucidate.

“Go on,” said Elizabeth.

“As you will be aware,” he said, “My … estate is worth in excess of ten thousand pounds a year, and … it is therefore incumbent on me, now that I have a wife, to consider … to consider … the question of … the question of … succession.”

“Meaning?” said Elizabeth, raising one eyebrow.

“Meaning I wish to … I wish to … re-open the question of an heir.”

Elizabeth considered this for a moment or two. “My dear Fitzy, I would be very happy to assist in this,” she said. “Although, from what I understand, the procedure would of necessity require both of us to be involved – indeed, that both of us should be in considerable proximity to each other for the duration of the procedure. And if you are intending to be in London for the foreseeable future, this would seem to pose an insurmountable barrier to such a conception.”

Mr Darcy came close to smiling at this. “My dear Elizabeth, you tease me,” he said. “It can wait until my return.” He gave her a meaningful look. “And when we … would you … would you mind … wearing that …”

“The one with the …?”

“Yes, yes, that one. That one. Yes, that’s the one.” He was deep in thought again. “And would you like me to …?”

“No, no, it’s quite all right,” she replied, and then instantly regretted her haste. But even in the summer months, the wet shirt was getting to be a bit of a dampener on proceedings.

Elizabeth Darcy stirred in her sleep and felt the soft breeze on the back of her neck. She was awake in an instant. The curtains were wafting backwards and forwards in an elegant moonlit dance. How long had the window been open? She sat up in bed, her heart beating a furious tattoo, and her eyes scanned the gloomy room to see if there was anything out of place. Once she had established that there appeared to be no intruder compromising the security of her chamber, her breathing began to settle down to a more regular pace, and she swung her legs out of bed. Lighting a candle, she stood up, and it was at that point that she noticed the letter.

It was on the floor underneath the window. Putting down the candle, she rushed over and picked the letter up, tearing at the seal.

Mrs D, it said, Come at once to Macfadyen’s quarry. This time I have irrefutable evidence. Yours ever, W.

Her hand shot to her mouth to stop herself from crying out. She ran to the window and peered out into the night. For a moment, she was convinced that she could hear hoof beats, but if there were any, they were soon swallowed up in the wind.

Mrs Darcy threw on a coat over her nightclothes, grabbed her riding boots and eased open her bedroom door. She paused outside the door to Mr Darcy’s bedroom, her hand moving towards the doorknob. Then she shook her head. This was something that she had to do by herself. She crept down the grand staircase, and headed out into the night through the kitchen, pausing only to don her boots. Glancing around to make sure that she wasn’t being observed, she made her way to the stables and found her favourite horse, Keira.

Speaking softly to her to calm her down, she gently led the dappled grey out and away from Pemberley, until she was far enough from the house to mount in safety. Then she leapt up into the saddle, kicked away with the stirrups and urged Keira on towards Macfadyen’s quarry at as fast a gallop as she dared in the half-light.

She reached the quarry within half an hour and dismounted a little way before she reached it, next to a small clump of trees. She tied the horse to one of them and continued on towards the quarry on foot. She was a hundred yards away from its rim when she caught sight of a man lurking by a tree in the middle distance, his face darkened by the cloud that was passing over the moon. She immediately crouched down behind a bush, but it was too late. He had seen her.

The man motioned to her with his hand to stay still and be quiet. Then she saw something emerge over the lip of the quarry. In the dim light, she couldn’t make out what it was, but it was heading towards the stranger. She saw him draw his sword, adopting an aggressive stance. A gust of wind caught her off guard, and whilst she was struggling to keep hold of her bonnet, she missed the start of the confrontation. An unearthly roar merged with the sound of the gale as the mysterious swordsman hacked away at whatever it was that was attacking him.

Something flew up in the air and landed at her feet. It seemed to be part of some kind of tentacle. It hissed as it landed, spurting out a bubbling yellow liquid. Up ahead, the man continued to strike out with his sword, and another revolting body part spun off and caught Mrs Darcy full in the face. It smelt foul. She wiped it away in a single movement and spat on the ground in an unladylike manner. It was probably a good idea that Mr Darcy wasn’t with her, because he tended to disapprove of that kind of behaviour.

The fight stopped as abruptly as it had started, and the victor sheathed his sword and came over towards her. She stood up, attempting to brush the dirt and slime off her clothing.

“Good evening, Mrs Darcy” said the man, “I take it you received my note?”

“Good evening, Mr Wickham,” she replied, wiping her coat and looking down at the tentacle that was still wriggling at her feet. “Once more, sir, I am showered with the debris of your encounters.”

Mr Wickham bowed slightly. “I do most humbly apologise, ma’am. I had not expected to be attacked on this occasion. Thankfully I did at least succeed in dispatching the fiend.”

“Would that the aim of your affection were as clean and as true as that of your sword, Mr Wickham.”

“Mrs Darcy, as I have tried to explain on several occasions, my intentions towards your family have always been entirely honourable.”

“Indeed, sir? Then you have certainly kept your honour well hidden.” She softened slightly. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of our encounter on this windy night? I trust that you are not leading me on yet another merry dance.”

“No, Mrs Darcy,” said Mr Wickham, “I hope you know me well enough by now to trust that I will do no such thing. No, come this way towards the quarry. I have something to show you. This time I really do believe I know what has happened to poor Lydia.”

For a moment, Elizabeth was lost for words. “Please do not trifle with me, Mr Wickham,” she said quietly.

“No, Mrs Darcy, I mean it,” said Wickham. “The truth is out there. Although, sadly, it is not yet universally acknowledged.”