Mrs Darcy vs The Aliens

The party reassembled itself over breakfast the next morning – at least all of the party except Mr Darcy.

“My husband is still a-bed,” said Elizabeth by way of explanation. Colonel Sutherland raised his eyebrow for the briefest of instants. “The poor man is quite limp after his ordeal,” she continued. “In fact, he is completely drained.” There was a strangled, choking sound from the Colonel as he struggled with a mouthful of Bath bun. The other two men tried very hard not to catch each other’s eye.

“So what’s the plan, Colonel?” said Wickham, after his superior’s discomfiture had resolved itself. “Do we have any more information about these creatures?”

“We think they come from Mars,” said H.

“Mars?” said Wickham. “Great heavens, what are the chances of anything coming from there? Must be – ”

“A million to one!” said the Colonel.

“But still they come,” said H. “Still they come. And if we fail to defeat them, ’twill be – ”

“Forever winter,” said the Colonel. There was a brief pause, before he continued. “So obviously we cannot hope to attack them on their home ground – at least not until H here has finished work on his space machine – ” (here, H looked slightly annoyed and shook his head) “ – so instead we must penetrate their base on Earth.”

“Rosings!” said Wickham.

“Indeed. However, we believe that a frontal assault on Rosings will be too risky now. They know that we know about them. In fact, they probably know that we know that they know that we know. Up until now they have refrained from using force against us, but we must assume that they possess weaponry far more advanced than anything we have. So we must employ subterfuge instead.”

“Subterfuge?”

“Yes. And this is where your husband comes in, Mrs Darcy.”

Mrs Darcy looked shocked. “Surely you aren’t suggesting that he should walk into Rosings and pretend to be an alien?”

“No, no, no, of course not. Far too risky. No, no, no. For all we know, your husband’s alien copy may be dead or mortally wounded, and we can be sure that Lady Catherine will be all too aware of this. However … if we move quickly, we may just be able to convince a certain third party that our Darcy is their Darcy, so to speak.”

“Mr Collins!” said Wickham.

“Precisely. And if we can feed him the right story to take back to Rosings, then we can use him to get us in there without any blood split.”

“A brilliant plan, sir! What can possibly go wrong?”

The Colonel smiled. “What indeed?” he said. “So the three of us will go with Mr Darcy to Whitechapel, having sequestered Mrs Darcy in a place of safety along the way.”

“Excuse me,” said Mrs Darcy. “But if my husband is being involved in a dangerous undercover plot, then I should be by his side. I shall come too.”

The Colonel shook his head. “No Mrs D – ” he said.

“Sir,” said Wickham. “Perhaps she – ”

“Wickham,” said the Colonel, rolling his eyes, “I’m sure that you will agree with me that this is no job for a woman. It is said that the heat of battle can fry the brains of the fairer sex. She may lose control of her bonnet, and – ”

A new voice now entered the argument. “Colonel, I beg to differ.” Everyone turned towards the doorway, where Darcy was leaning against the wall. “If my wife insists on coming, then she shall come. You may rail against it until you are quite puce with the trying, but ’tis of little use. She will have her way in the end.” It sounded like the voice of bitter experience.

There was a brief silence as the Colonel digested this. “Well then,” he said eventually. “There we have it. We shall all go to Whitechapel. H, fire up the dirigible! Let’s hit the sky!”

Wickham watched in horror as the scene unfolded before him in terrible slow motion: the alien flying machine above him winching alien Darcy’s limp body aboard, the strange inflatable steam-powered newcomer heading towards where they were standing and Mrs Darcy tumbling out of the sky towards the roof. This could only end in disaster. He would never forgive himself for failing to act more quickly.

And then there was another sudden movement, knocking Wickham aside with the force of a dozen men. It was Darcy himself. Somehow, he seemed to have located an inner reserve of strength and he was hurtling towards where his wife was heading. He arrived just in time to catch her in his arms, steady her and then fall over backwards in a graceful heap.

Up above them, the flying machine gave one last “Ooh – laa – laa” and disappeared into the night, whilst the strange balloon gently touched down on the other side of the roof, surrounded by billows of thick smoke. Two familiar figures emerged out of the twilight, coughing and wheezing.

“Wickham, old man!” said Colonel Sutherland. “How’re you doing?”

“Very well, sir,” said Wickham, beginning to feel a little better about the situation. “I take it that you haven’t come here to court-martial me, then?”

“Good Lord, no. No, no, no, no, no. H here and his … ah … spectral friend have explained everything. Good job, man. Good job.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Everyone all right?” said H, sounding slightly concerned. There was a groan from Darcy, echoed by his wife. Wickham thought he could detect a sort of “Phew” sound from H.

“Jolly good show,” said Sutherland. “Jolly good.”

“Bit of a risky shot though, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so,” said Wickham.

“Nonsense, dear boy, nonsense. I was certain that one of you chaps would be able to catch Mrs D. And so you did. Splendid. Splendid.”

There was another awkward silence.

“Nice new toy you’ve got there, H,” said Wickham.

“Ah, that thing. Dirigible, they call it. Didn’t make it myself, though. Inherited it from a Prussian fellow called Fuchs.”

“What? The Fuchs?”

“Yes, the Flying Fuchs. Dead now of course.”

“Really? I thought he’d go on for ever.”

“So did I. No, he went the same way as that other chap, half-Italian – what was his name?”

“Gunther Bugari?”

“That’s the fellow. Poor blighter bought it trying to fly across the channel with wings strapped to his arms. And that’s how I ended up with his dirigible. Felt I had to carry on his work.”

“For Fuchs’ sake?”

“Indeed.”

Sutherland coughed. “Well, that’s as maybe. But I’m afraid there’s no time for gossip. We need to get going again, chaps. All five of us. This place is no longer safe. Our alien friends will very likely return soon with reinforcements and next time they may be armed.”

“Excuse me, sir.” The three men turned towards the voice as Mrs Darcy disentangled herself from her husband. “But may I remind you that we have a houseful of guests here tonight – ”

“I understand, madam, but – ”

“And also ’tis the first time that I have seen my … real … husband for some considerable time. I am a woman and I have needs. He is a man and he has needs also. And tonight – ”

Sutherland gave a cough and looked deeply embarrassed. “Er … yes, well … I’m sure … I’m sure that … one night … we can leave … in the morning, yes that’s right, we’ll leave in the morning.”

“Good,” said Mrs Darcy. “That’s settled, then. Come, my dear.” Her husband groaned as he made to stand up. With considerable effort he eventually made it to his feet and, supported by his wife, staggered towards the trapdoor that led down from the roof.

“Night, night,” said Wickham, waving after them as they disappeared.

On the roof, Elizabeth was more than a little vexed to discover that her beloved Fitzy was no longer behaving like the man she had fallen in love with and married. She was prepared to acknowledge that the Fitzy she used to know could be cold, aloof and altogether difficult to deal with at times, but if she had known that he concealed tentacles under his skin she might well have called the whole thing off.

“Let me go!” she tried to say, although because this man had his hand over her mouth, it actually came out as “Mmmfth mmm mmmfth!” Below her, she could hear the orchestra playing a loud and vigorous accompaniment to a Threesome Rumpy Pumpy, so there was no chance that anyone could hear her cries anyway.

“Be quiet, Elizabeth,” said Darcy. “’Tis for your own protection. Because of the blundering fool Wickham’s intervention, I will have to take you away to a place of safety.” He broke off and started to make strange noises into a device mounted on his wrist. “Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek!” The device answered back in kind. Then there was a loud booming noise from above and a great flying machine began to descend.

Great heavens, thought Elizabeth! It was just like that machine they had seen that night at the parsonage – that night when … that night when …

So she hadn’t imagined it after all. Strange things were indeed happening and right now she was caught up in the middle of them. She wriggled again in a bid to make another escape from Darcy’s grip, but this time he had her firm. Both of his arms as well as half a dozen tentacles bound her to him. She looked up in horror as a rope with a hook on the end was slowly being lowered down towards them and realised what was going to happen. She was going to be kidnapped and taken away in that flying machine. If that happened, she might never see her loved ones again.

“Stop right there!” Two figures emerged from a trapdoor onto the roof a few feet in front of them. The first was Wickham, brandishing his sword as ever. The second figure was more unexpected.

It was Darcy.

She looked from him to the one who was holding her and back to him again. Now what on earth was going on? Whoever – whatever – it was that was holding her was clearly rattled by this new development. “Get back, imposter!” it said, without much conviction. It gave an anxious look upwards towards the rope, which had now almost reached them. Come on, do something, thought Elizabeth! But the new Darcy looked ill and out of sorts and Wickham seemed uncertain as to when he should make his move.

“Ha! Too late!” cried her captor, grabbing hold of the hook. It attached the hook to its jacket and gave a tug on the rope. The great flying machine boomed out an “Ooh – laa – laa” sound and the pair of them began to ascend. But before they had gone very far, another flying machine suddenly appeared out of the night sky – a curious kind of balloon with a steam engine mounted on it, puffing out clouds of black smoke. She tried to wave at it and she thought that a man in British Army uniform waved back. Then she heard a shot ring out and one of the arms that were grasping her went limp …

… and then she was falling …

… falling …

… falling …

The fresh air wasn’t doing any good. The events of the last couple of weeks had finally caught up with him and he needed to sleep. Because whatever it was up in the sky above Pemberley couldn’t possibly be real. The strange flying machine was decorated with coloured lights that twinkled as it twirled around and every now and then it emitted a mournful “Ooo – laa – laa” sound.

“Probably French,” thought Darcy. “Not that it exists anyway.”

Whether it was real or not, there wasn’t a lot he could do about it. He sighed and headed back towards the house. There seemed to be a bit of a commotion in progress, which was the last thing he wanted to get involved in at the moment, so he eschewed the main entrance and went in by the side door instead.

Darcy plodded up the back staircase until he found his bedroom. He went in and was about to lie down when it struck him that the room wasn’t in anything like the state that he’d left it. There were unfamiliar clothes scattered everywhere, a curious trail of slime on the rug and a smell in the air that hinted at the presence of a long-dead animal.

“Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” he wondered. But his thought process didn’t get much further than this, because he decided to lie down anyway and within a few seconds he was asleep.

But he was rudely awoken only a few minutes later by voices shouting up and down the corridor outside his room. He recognised one of the voices as his wife’s. The other one was male. It was familiar as well, but not in a good way. Who on earth was it?

“He’s not here!” he heard it say.

“I’ll try the billiard room!” came his wife’s voice in reply.

“Take care! I’ll check out the bedrooms. He can’t have gone far.”

He heard running feet disappearing into the distance. What the deuce was going on? All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door. He was about to tell them to come in, but it occurred to him that this person might not be friendly. Who was the owner of that voice? Was it someone who owed him money? Did he owe him money? The best policy was to take no chances, so he leapt out of bed and hid himself in the closet.

“Anybody there?” said the man. “I know you’re in here somewhere. Come out and we can deal with this like gentlemen.”

Darcy could hear the person moving around the room, rustling through clothes and opening and shutting cupboards. Finally, he could hear the man’s breathing outside the closet.

“Aha! So that’s where you are,” he heard the man say. There was a triumphal tone to the voice. “If you don’t come out of the closet in the next ten seconds, I shall run you through with my weapon.”

Darcy burst open the closet, knocking the intruder over as he did so. He tried to make a break towards the bedroom door, but the man grabbed hold of his ankle as he went past and he crashed downwards. He was too tired to put up any more resistance as his opponent straddled him and pinned him to the floor.

“Wickham?” he said, finally recognising the face that was looking down at him.

“The same. Now no more of your slimy tentacle tricks – you’re coming back with me to the Department. Sir Humphrey’s in the mood for a little dissection, I think.” Wickham produced some rope and began to bind Darcy around the chest.

But he was interrupted by a loud thump and a crash on the roof above them, followed by a woman’s scream. There was a brief silence, broken only by the awful keening sound that Darcy thought he had imagined earlier: “Ooh – laa – laa”.

The man had gone too far this time. It was time to put an end to this nonsense once and for all.

“Wickham,” said Elizabeth. “Sheath your weapon immediately! There are ladies present.”

“Mrs Darcy, I must explain myself – ” The music had stopped and everyone was looking in their direction. “This … this man next to you – ”

“My husband?”

“Y – es, your … husband … your supposed husband, Mrs Darcy, is in fact … an imposter. An alien imposter.”

There was a shocked intake of breath from all those present. Wickham approached Mr and Mrs Darcy with his sword outstretched before him. Mr Darcy took hold of Elizabeth’s arm and stepped out in front of her.

“Wickham,” he said in a firm voice. “I must ask you to leave. You are embarrassing yourself.”

“Am I indeed, Mr So-Called Darcy? I think we’ll soon find out exactly who is embarrassing himself, and it won’t be George Wickham.”

“Enough! This is quite intolerable!” Darcy’s voice had begun to quaver, and he was clearly becoming agitated.

“Intolerable for whom, Mr Not-Quite Darcy? Only yourself, sir.” Elizabeth was astonished to realise that Wickham appeared to be enjoying himself. It was as if he was deliberately goading Darcy.

“Mr Wickham, you are behaving as if you are drunk-k-k-k-k!” The voice was rising now, and he had developed a slight twitch.

Wickham tilted his head on one side and raised a single eyebrow. “Did I hear you correctly, Mr Whoops-I-Don’t-Think-This-Is-The-Real-One Darcy? Did you say ‘drunk-k-k-k-k’?”

“Stop it!” said Elizabeth, trying to push in front of her husband. But Darcy held her back with a firm grip.

“Stay there, my dear,” he said. “I shall deal with this blag-k-k-k-k-k-ard!”

“This what?” said Wickham, laughing. Several of the others in the ballroom joined in, with varying degrees of nervousness.

“This blag-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-” Something decidedly queer was happening to Darcy. As he grew more and more angry, his head was beginning to shake violently backwards and forwards. His hold on Elizabeth’s arm was growing stronger and for a brief second she thought she felt something slimy creeping around her waist.

“Exactly how are you going to deal with me?” said Wickham, a smile playing around his lips. “Will you give me a kick-k-k-k-k-ing?”

“I shall have you … ek!”

“Ek? You shall have me ek? Dear me, dear me.”

“Ek! Ek!”

“Fitzy?” said Elizabeth, looking up at him in alarm. “Are you all right, my dear? And could you perchance loosen your grip?”

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek – ”

Darcy began to move backwards towards the doorway out of the ballroom, dragging Elizabeth with him.

“Mrs Darcy,” said Wickham. “Free yourself! Now!”

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek!”

“Fitzy, let me go!” said Elizabeth. “Let me go!” This wasn’t right at all. She tried to wrestle herself free, but it was no use. He had her firmly in his grasp. Then some long-suppressed instinct for self-preservation asserted itself and she kicked him hard in the shins. For an instant, Darcy mutated into a revolting mass of writhing tentacles, before his shape quickly restored itself to human form once again. There was a scream from the dancefloor as one of the ladies fainted. The sound distracted him for a moment, permitting Elizabeth to break free and run back towards Wickham, who was now advancing on the retreating Darcy.

Darcy now turned and fled up the stairs towards the upper floors with Wickham in hot pursuit, leaving Elizabeth behind in the ballroom. She turned towards the crowd of guests, who were all now staring at her as one, open-mouthed.

“My husband is unwell,” she said by way of explanation. Then she turned, picked up her skirts and ran after the pair of them.

Elizabeth bustled her way through the throng of ballgoers, searching for Mr Darcy.

“Excuse me, have you seen – ” she said to a passing servant, but her words were drowned by the music starting up again. The orchestra were playing the opening bars to Young Montmorency’s Cotillion Arabesque, a gay dance which involved a sequence of intricate hand gestures. This was one of Elizabeth’s favourites and she had so looked forward to dancing it with Fitzy, hoping that it might help her forget everything else that was going on. But he had been in a strange mood – tonight of all nights! – and had been brusque to the point of rudeness with several of their guests already.

“Fitzy? Where are – ah, there you are!” He was marching past her on his way to the main staircase, entirely oblivious to her until she tugged at his sleeve.

“I … I need to – ”

“Nonsense, my dear, you’re coming with me.”

“I … really, I … ow!”

Elizabeth grabbed hold of her husband and dragged him off towards the ballroom. They found a group who were a couple short, and she positioned him opposite her and joined in the dance.

“So what is it that is so pressing that you cannot bear to dance with your wife?” she said with a playful smile as they crossed.

“It’s … well, there’s someone – ”

“I do hope it’s not some fancy mistress of yours?” She raised her eyebrow mockingly.

“Good heavens, no … look, I must – ”

Elizabeth looked on in amazement as Fitzy ran out of the room. However, only a minute or so later he returned. His boots were now spattered with mud.

“I’m back!” he said, clearly struggling to work out where they were in the dance.

“So you are. I feared you were going to be away much longer. Right foot, left arm, dear. Right foot, left arm.”

“My dearest Lizzy, I have been travelling for days!”

“I hardly think so. I would agree that Pemberley is a more than usually large residence, but surely – ”

“They kept me in a dungeon!”

“A dungeon? Are you referring to the cellars? I have asked Dench to arrange for them to be cleaned out, but I would hardly refer to them as a dungeon. Left foot, now. To me. To me.” She broke off and looked at him. He seemed about to faint, and was having trouble standing up, let alone dancing. “My dear, are you well?”

“I am … I am … I don’t know … I’m so … Lizzy, they used a probe on me! They stuck it up my – ”

“Fitzy, dear, people are looking at us. Do you wish to leave the dance for a moment?”

“I ran naked across the countryside to be here, Lizzy – ”

“Fitzy, that’s enough now.” She flashed him a warning look. “Well?”

“I think … I think … I need some fresh air. Yes, that’s what I need. I’ll just go outside for a moment. I do apologise, my dear. I will be back presently.”

And with that, Elizabeth was abandoned by her husband for the second time in a matter of minutes. But much to her surprise, he reappeared at her side almost immediately. His jacket was now torn, but at least he had brushed the mud off his boots. He was perspiring heavily and he seemed a little distracted, constantly looking up at the skylight.

“I know he’s up there somewhere,” he said.

“Who, dear? Fitzy darling, you are behaving in the most abominably queer manner this evening!”

“Elizabeth, there is a man on the roof!”

“That’s it, Fitzy, you’ve gone doolally. First of all you talk about being kept in a dungeon and running around naked and now you say there’s a man on the roof. You are clearly unwell. I really think you should – ”

But she didn’t manage to complete her advice, because at that moment, there was the sound of breaking glass above them, causing everyone on the dance floor to dive for cover to avoid being pierced by the shards. Elizabeth looked up to see a man sliding down a rope attached to the ceiling waving a sword in a heroic manner.

“Wickham?” she said, unable to believe the evidence of her eyes.

Goodness me, is that episode fifty already? How extraordinary! Well, I think that our loyal readership is deserving of some kind of reward, so we are going to have a little diversion in the form of a competition.

The Rules

In order to win one of our fabulous prizes (see below) all you have to do is name as many actors or other persons associated with a televisual or filmic adaptation of Pride and Prejudice as you can who are referenced in the first fifty episodes of Mrs Darcy vs The Aliens. You’ll need to specify the reference, the name of the actor and the name of the adaptation. For example:

Old Mr Firth, Colin Firth, BBC (1995)

That was an easy one. But be warned! Not all of them are that simple.

In case we need a tiebreaker, you also need to complete the sentence “My favourite episode of Mrs Darcy vs The Aliens is … because …”

All entries are to be sent to lizzy[AT]mrsdarcyvsthealiens[DOT]com by the closing date of June 30th. The results will be announced on July 7th. Only one entry will be accepted from each entrant, so please make sure that you get it right first time. But don’t wait until the last minute to enter either! Someone else may steal your brilliant idea for a tiebreaker answer and sneak in first!

The Prizes

Well, we have really pushed the boat out here. The three best entries will be awarded T shirts from Mrs Darcy’s Universally Acknowledged Emporium, our brand new merchandising shop, which will be opening for business very soon. These excellent T shirts will feature Mr David Weaver’s iconic design, showing Mrs Darcy in all her finery.

What is more, the winning entry will also receive a limited edition signed copy of your favourite episode as specified in your tiebreaker answer!

Any Questions?

The comments are open, so if there is anything you need to know, please ask away!

The man with no name reined in his horse and dismounted, preferring to walk the last few hundred yards of his journey. He needed to feel the earth beneath his feet. Even though it was dusk, he knew where he was now: the old field. He unstrapped the saddle and took it off. He leaned close to Harley’s ear and whispered:

“Go, boy, go! You’ve been a good companion to me, you … you old big brown beastie with your big brown face. I’d rather be with you than – ” He stopped. The horse was giving him an odd look, as if he was trying to work out what on earth the peculiar human was on about. Then it gave a horsey shrug and trotted off into the night. The man with no name smiled to himself and turned back towards his ultimate destination.

Walking on, he soon came to the lake. For a moment, he had an urge to throw off all of his clothes and dive in – to feel the chill of the water against his flesh, and then to roll naked on the grass afterwards, like that time when he had wrestled in front of that blazing log fire with … or was his fractured memory deceiving him? The more he thought about it, that didn’t sound quite right.

In any case, the water looked bloody freezing.

He continued on into the twilight, until he could see the great house in front of him. There were lights blazing everywhere and sounds of music and merriment. I know this place, he thought to himself. I know these people! This is where I belong. He began to run now. He was laughing. He was smiling. He was happy.

He was almost there now. He just had to cross this last field and he would be there. His journey had not been in vain after all. All the privations he had suffered over the last few days were nothing to him now. All was joy. All was bliss.

As he reached the mansion, he could see that there was an altercation in progress. There was a man who looked oddly familiar remonstrating with two footmen. From time to time, he would point towards the roof, as if there was something there that shouldn’t have been. Then the angry man turned and went back into the house.

The man with no name walked on until he could feel the satisfying crunch of his feet on the gravel. As he neared the house, the two footmen, who had been arguing with each other, turned towards him. He waved at them.

“Hello! It’s – ”

“It’s him!” said one of them to the other. In perfect unison, they both frowned, turned in the direction of the house, shook their heads and looked back at him.

“Of course it’s me,” said the man with no name.

“But you’re – ” said the younger of the two footman.

“– in – ” said the older one.

“ – there?” said the younger one, scratching his head.

“What on earth do you mean?” said the man with no name, looking down at himself. “I rather think you’ll find that I’m – ”

“No, sir,” said the younger footman. “Begging your pardon, sir, but we just saw you go in there. ’Twas definitely – ”

“Now look here – ” said the man with no name, advancing on the pair.

The older one put his hand on the younger one’s shoulder. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Funny things happen in the dark, don’t they?”

“Yes, but – ”

“Like I said, doesn’t matter, laddie. Important thing is, he’s here now. So what can we do for you, sir?”

He stood there for a moment, immobile. There was still something important that he hadn’t worked out yet. It was on the tip of his tongue, but it was still elusively out of reach.

“This is going to sound a bit odd,” he said, finally. “But I’m just wondering if you could perhaps remind me … who I am?”

The two men exchanged glances again.

“Why sir,” said the older one, with a smile. “You’re Mr Darcy. That’s who you are. Mr Darcy.”

It was as if a bolt of lightning had hit him. Of course. That’s exactly who he was. He was Mr Darcy. And he was home at last.

Wickham trotted up the drive on Jennifer, weaving unnoticed in and out of the carriages delivering their occupants to the Pemberley Midsummer Ball. He hadn’t banked on there being so many other people heading the same way as him and was grateful that Jennifer had been daubed all over – much to her evident dismay – with H’s experimental new stealth paint. Arriving at the mansion, he tied her up to a lightning conductor and unbuckled her saddlebag.

He needed to get onto the roof somehow, so he rummaged in the bag for something suitable. The first thing he came across was the miniature steam-powered gyrocopter, which he discarded on the grounds that it appeared to be, on the basis of H’s disappointing demonstration, a somewhat unstable mode of transport. He could still remember the look of terror on the face of the technician who had volunteered to be the pilot, as the device had spun him around at increasingly high speeds during the ascent before eventually flinging him off in the rough direction of the Thames. Instead, Wickham opted for a more conventional musket-powered grappling iron, and set about assembling his trusty Lee van Enfield.

Fortunately, no-one was around the back of the mansion when he fired it, because the explosion made by the musket was deafening. But when Wickham picked himself up off the ground again, he observed that the hook had embedded itself in the guttering. He gave it a good tug and was pleased to note that it seemed to be secure. He slung the musket over his shoulder, put a knife between his teeth, and began to climb.

When he had almost reached the guttering, he heard voices below him and saw to his horror that there were a man and a woman approaching. He quickly scrabbled his way to the top and hauled the rope up behind him. Looking down at what was now taking place beneath him, he realised that he probably hadn’t needed to be so careful. The couple from the Ball were oblivious to anything else going on around them, as they were very soon engaged in an energetic bête aux deux dos. Nice footwork, thought Wickham to himself.

He began to make his way around the parapet, hoping that the revellers would be too occupied to see him. Every now and then he dislodged a small piece of masonry, forcing him to crouch down and hold his breath until the danger had passed. After several minutes of negotiating his way across the roof he found himself by the skylight above the great ballroom.

Looking down, he could see that the dancing was in full swing, with the orchestra playing enthusiastically and several groups performing Sir Roger M’Gently’s Eightsome Quadrille. But where was Mrs Darcy? Wickham scanned the twirling crowd, but he could not find her anywhere. Then he caught a glimpse of someone else: Darcy himself, striding through the ballroom with his usual haughty demeanour. Wickham felt a shiver run down his spine.

Then Darcy stopped suddenly, turned and tilted his head up towards where Wickham squatted above him. He ducked down, wondering if he’d been quick enough to avoid being seen. After a few seconds, he raised his head again – just enough to be able to see over the lip of the skylight. Darcy had gone.

Wickham scurried over to the front of the roof and looked over. Ah, there he was! Darcy was outside the front of the mansion, issuing orders, left right and centre, to two nervous-looking footmen. Damn the man! With a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, Wickham realised that he had been seen after all. He cursed his own incompetence. He should have realised that someone as evil as Darcy would have been able to sense his presence – they always could. And he still hadn’t located Mrs Darcy, either. What to do?

He waited until Darcy had disappeared inside and watched as the footmen below him seemed to be arguing about what they should be doing. The conversation grew quite animated, with much gesticulation towards the roof, and it was clear that neither of the men seemed particularly keen to venture up there.

But at that precise moment, something else happened that threw both them and him into complete confusion.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh rearranged her tentacles and pressed the button on the communications device. Another alien figure appeared on the screen in front of her.

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek – ” it said, waving. (Greetings, k’Ek! I trust you are well. How goes the project?)

“Ek – ek – ek – ekkitty – ek,” replied Lady Catherine. (Very well, k’Ekk! I have news.)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek?” (Well? Go on then. I haven’t got all day, you know.)

“Ek – ek – ek – ekekekekekek!” (The target has been fertilised.)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek!” (Are you sure? Seem to remember that your man made a bit of a cods of the last few trials.)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ekky – ekky – ek!” (Yes, but don’t forget we have had more time to refactor his DNA for full compatibility with her. There shouldn’t be any problems with rejection this time.)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek.” (Fair enough. But do try to make sure you don’t turn this one inside out. She is the key to our plan.)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek.” (I know, I know.)

“Ekky – ekky – ekky?” (Any word on our escaped prisoner?)

“Ek.” (No.)

“Ekekekekekek!” (Bugger. That’s a bit unfortunate. What if he remembers who he is? Couldn’t half be embarrassing, that.)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek.” (Very unlikely. He was a bit dim to start with if you ask me, that one.)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek.” (Never underestimate a human, k’Ek.)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek.” (Pah. You should try living here, mate. Thick as pig poo, most of them, and twice as sloppy.)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek.” (Well, with any luck, I will be living there very soon and I will know more of these pigs of which you speak. Once you and your advance party have finished breeding the new race of hybrid beings that will quash resistance for us, the pitiful remains of our once-great civilisation can leave this wretched base camp on Mars and establish a colony on Earth, where we can re-build so that once again we will rule the galaxies with a fist of iron!)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek – ekkacha-ekkacha-ekk!” (That would be nice. I’ve missed you.)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek?” (What about Wickham?)

“Ek – ek – ek?” (What about him?)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek?” (Is he a threat?)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek.” (To his own safety, yes. To us, no. He’s a bit of a git, to be honest.)

“Ek – ek.” (I thought as much.)

“Ek … ek – ek – ek – ek?” (So … what’s it like there?)

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek.” (Red. It really is very red. There’s pretty much no other colour apart from red. Just bloody red wherever you look. Which is fine if you like red, but I’m getting a bit bored with it now.)

“Ek – ” (Really – )

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek.” (And it’s pretty much the same shade of red, too. It’s not as if there were some nice subtle shades here or there. I could cope with that. But the same dull, bland red, over and over again, in every bleeding direction.)

“Ek – ” (I see – )

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek.” (Not even the slightest hint of crimson. Or rose. Or magenta. Just the same rusty crap whichever direction you look in. You know, sometimes I slice off one of my own tentacles, just to mix the colours up a bit? It’s awful. Just awful.)

“Ek – ” (It must – )

“Ek – ek – ek – ek – ek!” (So I think what I’m saying, k’Ek, is whatever you do, please don’t cock this up. If I have to stay in this dump much longer, I’m going to go doolally. Have you any idea – )

Lady Catherine sighed and switched off the communicator. There was a limit to the amount of maudlin self-pity she could take. Still, let’s hope it does work this time, she thought to herself.