Mrs Darcy vs The Aliens

It was a balmy evening. Elizabeth, Charlotte and Lord Byron sat outside in the Collins’ little garden, replete after an excellent supper. The air was thick with the scent of cherry blossom, wisteria and the smoke from Lord Byron’s extraordinary cheroots. Elizabeth took a fit of coughing and tried to waft away the smoke with her fan, but Charlotte didn’t seem unduly concerned. In fact, she seemed to be positively inhaling it, and her chair was reclining at an alarming angle.

“Hey, Lizzie,” she said, breathing in deeply, “Y’seem dis – dis – distracked, my dear. Relax. Jus’ … be cool.”

“Cool?” said Elizabeth, gasping.

“Yeah … cool. ’s cool. Everything’s cool. That right, Lord B?”

There was no response from Byron, who was staring up at the sky as if in a trance.

“Charlotte, I think – ” said Elizabeth, but the clouds of smoke were starting to have an effect on her. She began to feel quite giddy. But after a while, a feeling of intense well-being flooded over her, and she started to imagine that everything was all right in the world after all.

Charlotte was trying to stand up and failing. “Hey, Lord B,” she was saying, “Don’t Bonaparte that cheroot. Pass it over to me.”

“Wha’ say?” said Elizabeth, struggling to locate her vocabulary, which seemed to have temporarily gone missing.

“Gimme smoke,” said Charlotte, waving at Byron. With one mighty effort, she heaved herself out of her chair and fell flat on the grass. She and Elizabeth stared at each other for a moment, and then started sniggering in perfect unison.

“Oi, Byron,” said Charlotte from her horizontal position, “Want a smoke. Lizzie wants a smoke too …”

“I don’t,” said Elizabeth, even though, much to her own astonishment, she found that she really rather fancied one.

“You so do,” said Charlotte.

“I so don’t.”

“Lizzie,” said Charlotte, heaving herself up onto her elbows. “You’re my bestest friend ever.”

“An’ you’re mine, too,” said Elizabeth, kneeling down next to her. “And Lord Byron’s our next bestest friend, aren’t you Lordy B?”

But Lord Byron was still gazing up at the heavens. “Moon,” he said, and then “June”.

“Byron,” said Charlotte. “You’re a dead rubbish poet.”

Charlotte and Elizabeth both burst into giggles again, hugging each other in order to avoid collapsing on the ground. Byron ignored them.

“Someone once told me,” he said, “That there is no dark side of the moon really. As a matter of fact – ”

“Wasssatt?” said Charlotte, sitting up sharply. She was pointing up at the sky, where a vast saucer-shaped flying machine, blazing with lights, was passing overhead in a slow and stately trajectory.

“Whoa,” said Elizabeth, her mouth agape. “That is … that is … so – ”

“ – totally – ”

“ – unbelievably – ”

“ – jus’ amazing,” said Charlotte.

There was a brief silence, and they continued watching as the great ship continued on its elegant way over towards the great house, where it drifted down towards the ground and disappeared.

“Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, when it had gone, “Hassat ever happened to you before?”

Charlotte nodded frantically. “Allthetime, Lizzie dearest. Allthetime.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and then turned to Lord Byron. “Hey you,” she said. “Think I’ll try a smoke of that stuff after all.”

Meanwhile, in his room at the Saucer and Tentacle, undercover agent and would-be rough cottager George Wickham was oblivious to anything going on outside. He had had an utterly exhausting day in the fields at Rosings and he was flat out on his bed fast asleep, having not even managed to take off his boots.