Mrs Darcy vs The Aliens

By late afternoon, Elizabeth’s head was feeling considerably better, although her coordination was still poor. She fervently hoped that she would not be called upon that evening to perform on Lady Catherine’s fortepiano – or at least anything more complicated than a couple of refrains of Mr Cobain’s Maggot.

Charlotte joined her in the front parlour and seemed to be finding it difficult to express herself.

“Dearest Lizzie, about last night – ” she began.

“’Tis nothing. I have forgotten the occasion already. ’Tis as if it never happened.”

Charlotte looked at Lizzie in a hopeful manner and then shook her head. “No,” she said. “It is not a trifle. I have done you wrong, dearest friend. I have shared intoxicants with you that are the gateway to the deep, dark void that is at the heart of my very being. You do not want to go there.”

“I most certainly do not, dearest Charlotte.” Elizabeth paused for a moment, pondering the depths of Charlotte’s dark void. Then she came to a decision. “I think you should dismiss Lord Byron from this house at once – ”

Charlotte looked at her uncertainly. “Must I?” she said.

“Yes, you must. He is a corrupting influence. And what would your husband say if he knew?”

“Mr Collins is never home,” said Charlotte, coldly. “How could he ever find out?”

“We-e-ell … that’s not quite the point of my proposal,” said Elizabeth, fearing that Charlotte was not taking her suggestion in quite the way that she had intended. Then a question occurred to her that she’d always intended to ask. “What exactly is it that Mr Collins does in his mission?”

“Dearest Lizzie, have I not explained to you before? Mr Collins has been charged by Lady Catherine de Bourgh to rescue the fallen women of Whitechapel.”

Elizabeth considered this. “And do women fall a lot in Whitechapel?” she said. “Are the pavements particularly badly maintained?”

Charlotte smiled. “No, no, no. You know. Fallen women.” She made a gesture with her hand that Elizabeth failed to understand. So Charlotte whispered something in her ear instead.

“No!” said Elizabeth. And then, “Really? How extraordinary. I had no idea that sort of thing went on in Whitechapel.”

“Yes, apparently it does. And Mr Collins tells me that some of them even – ”

There was a cough as a newcomer entered the room, preceded by a waft of exotic pomade. Elizabeth looked up in horror as Lord Byron loomed over her.

“So, ladies, are we all ready to depart?” he said.

She turned to her companion in alarm.

“Charlotte, you can’t seriously imagine that it is a good idea for – ” she could scarcely bear to speak his name “ – this man to join us at Rosings tonight.”

Charlotte gave a weak shrug and smiled thinly back at her. Elizabeth scowled. “Sir,” she said, looking directly into his eyes. “You are a cad and a libertine. You are a bad influence on Charlotte, and – ”

“Au contraire, my dear,” he said. “Any influence I have on your poor friend here is entirely for the better. And in any case, I understand that the invitation extends to the gentleman as well as the ladies in this room. Fear not, however. I shall behave myself –  unless the evening becomes a dreadful bore, in which case I may perchance undertake to spice things up a little.” At this, he withdrew a small vial from an inside pocket and tapped his nose.

Elizabeth turned away in disgust. Charlotte maintained an embarrassed silence.

“Hmmm. I wonder what they will serve us for supper?” continued Lord Byron. “I rather fancy a roast.”