Mrs Darcy vs The Aliens

Elizabeth gaped in astonishment at the empty space where Mr Collins had been.

“You killed him!” she said. “How could – ”

Lady Catherine de Bourgh shook her head. “No, Mrs Darcy, your … friend Mr Collins is not dead. But he has gone to a … better place. In spite of everything, he has at least earned that.”

“So you are not going to kill us after all?” said Wickham.

“Ah, Such optimism, Mr Wickham – ”

“What is it that you want from us?” said Sutherland.

“Want? I want nothing from you, Colonel.”

“Perhaps you expect us to talk?” said Darcy.

“No, Mr Darcy. I expect you to die,” said Lady Catherine. She put away the strange, unworldly weapon that she was holding, and instead withdrew a much more conventional-looking flintlock pistol. She cocked it and took aim at each of the three men in turn. “So, who is to be executed first?” she said. “The bumbling Colonel? The dashing, yet idiotic Lieutenant? Or the pompous and rather dull Mr Darcy?”

The silence in the room was palpable. For a moment it seemed as if Lady Catherine had settled on Wickham. Then she changed her mind and aimed at Darcy. But then her choice was rendered moot by the unexpected appearance of an airborne teapot that struck her arm with some force, knocking the pistol out of her hand. For an instant, a tentacle appeared from her sleeve and flailed about for a moment, and then her human form reasserted itself.

“Damn you!” she cried. “Where are you now?”

“Where is who now?” said Elizabeth, thoroughly confused by this new development.

Lady Catherine reached down to pick up the gun, but was knocked off her chair by an ornamental vase that smashed against the side of her head. Elizabeth felt a draught of air whistle past her and something that sounded like the rustle of skirts.

“Great heavens,” said Sutherland. “A poltergeist!”

“How extraordinary! What are the chances of that happening, I wonder?” said Wickham.

Darcy, however, sounded a cautious note. “This is all terribly interesting, but I’m sure you will be aware that we are still manacled to these seats.”

There was a sudden “ping” sound.

“Well, we’re not any more,” said Elizabeth, getting to her feet. Lady Catherine was still out cold on the floor.

“Come on, then, let’s get moving!” she said. The men were all standing up now, and looking at each other, trying to decide who was going to take charge of the situation.

“Yes, let’s go!” said Sutherland.

“Yes, let’s!” said Wickham.

Darcy was looking pale again, and didn’t say anything.

Elizabeth was already halfway down the corridor by now. “Come on!” she said. All four were making their way towards the exit now, but Lady Catherine had apparently also regained consciousness again as well as she was now in hot pursuit after them.

And then, once more, Elizabeth felt that strange draught of air and a rustle of skirts next to her. She was also convinced that she heard the word “Duck!” whispered to her by an unseen voice. So she did, and the next thing she knew, an unflattering china bust of the Prince Regent had suddenly materialised in mid air and was spinning madly in the direction of Lady Catherine. It caught her right on the temple, stopping her in her tracks once again.

“Did you see that?” said Sutherland. “Dashed good aim, what?”

By this time, they had all reached the door. Wickham heaved it open, and they burst out into the night. Then they made their way round to where the steam lift was waiting to carry them up into the dirigible again. Wickham helped Elizabeth into the basket and gave a tug on the rope. There was a tense couple of seconds before they heard the unmistakeable sound of the engine chugging back into life.

When Elizabeth reached the top, H helped her out of the basket.

“Everything go according to plan?” he said, smiling absent-mindedly.