Mrs Darcy vs The Aliens

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.”