Mrs Darcy vs The Aliens

It was nearing twilight when H switched off the engine and let the dirigible drift down towards the roof of the Mission in Whitechapel. There was a crash, a thump and an ear-shredding scraping as H and his two colleagues in uniform fought to bring it to a standstill and stop it sliding off the roof by throwing grappling irons at any chimney that happened to be within range. Finally it came to a halt a few feet shy of the edge.

“Well, that went well, eh?” said Sutherland, clinging on to the side.

The look that Mrs Darcy gave him would have felled an ox. She hauled herself to her feet and assisted her ailing husband to his. H busied himself setting up some kind of contraption involving lots of rope and gearwheels. Then he threw one end of the rope over the side of the gondola, letting it drop down to the ground. Sutherland went to swing his leg over the side, but Wickham spoke up.

“Sir, let me go first. We don’t know what we may run into down there.”

“I thought you all said that nothing could go wrong,” said Mrs Darcy.

“Well … always best to be careful, all the same,” said Sutherland. But he didn’t sound terribly convinced and seemed to be entirely comfortable with the idea of Wickham leading the descent.

Wickham sat on the rail of the gondola and grabbed hold of the rope, testing that it was secure. Once he was happy that it would bear his weight, he began to climb down. When he reached street level, he drew his sword and looked around. Having satisfied himself that there was nothing untoward lurking in the gloom, he gave two sharp tugs on the rope to indicate the all-clear. A few seconds after that, he heard the unmistakeable sound of a miniature steam engine starting up, followed a minute or so later by the arrival of a wicker basket attached to the rope by a complex system of pulleys. In the basket was a somewhat bemused Mr Darcy. He looked paler than ever.

Next to arrive was Mrs Darcy, followed by Colonel Sutherland. The plan was for H to stay in the machine to have it ready for immediate take-off in the event of anything going disastrously wrong. Which of course wasn’t going to happen at all. There was never any chance of that.

Once all four of the party were assembled, Sutherland whispered to them to follow him.

“Sir,” said Wickham. “I believe the entrance is this way.” They all turned round and followed him instead.

“I knew that,” said Sutherland.

Creeping round to the front of the Mission, they located the front door. It was locked.

“Do we knock?” said Wickham.

“Of course not,” said Sutherland. “Damn blighters might hear us. No, we break it down instead.”

“Wouldn’t that … oh never mind,” said Mrs Darcy. She still sounded peeved.

“Any other suggestions?” said Sutherland. There was no reply, apart from a vague groan from Darcy.

“Is he all right?” said Wickham. “The success of this endeavour does rather depend on him.”

“Nonsense,” said Sutherland. “All the man has to do is keep upright for long enough to give his story to Collins.”

“But – ” said Mrs Darcy.

“Enough,” said Sutherland, choosing a place on the door to take aim with his shoulder. He took a couple of steps back, charged and then went flying straight through the doorway, past a bemused man with a slight stoop and greasy unkempt hair.

“Mr Darcy!” said the man. “And … Mrs Darcy?” he added, with evident surprise. “Your face looks familiar too, although I remember not your name,” he said, turning to Wickham. He held out a limp hand and bowed from the waist. “Mr Collins,” he said “At your service. Welcome to my humble Mission.”