Mrs Darcy vs The Aliens

Elizabeth was seated at her escritoire next to the upstairs bay window. From here she could see the whole vista of Pemberley spread out before her, from the ornamental lake of delicious memory right over to the strange tower known as Blethyn’s Folly in the far distance. She sometimes had to pinch herself to remind her that she was mistress of all she could see.

She was trying to compose a reply to Jane, wondering whether she should mention anything about her two curious encounters at the quarry, when out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a carriage commencing the long journey up the drive to the house. Company at last, she thought to herself. She still had a few minutes, though, so she made one last effort to get the letter started.

Dear Jane,

You’ll never believe …

No, that would never do. She scrunched it up and threw it in the bin.

Dear Jane,

Guess what happened to me …

She shook her head and threw that one in the bin as well.

Dear Jane,

Remember Mr Wick-

She didn’t even complete the name before crossing everything out several times, tearing the letter up into small pieces, and then shredding it into even tinier ones, before crumpling it all up into a ball and discarding it. No, it was best not to say anything at all quite yet. Whatever was she thinking of? Poor Jane would worry herself sick.

Meanwhile, the carriage had almost arrived, and Elizabeth rushed downstairs to greet the new arrival. Hollander and Dench were already in place, and as soon as it came to a halt, Hollander stepped forward to open the door.

No-one emerged.

Hollander stood to attention, holding the door back, whilst Dench gave Elizabeth a quizzical look. She shrugged, and both her footmen shrugged back.

Still no-one emerged.

Dench looked at Elizabeth again, and this time she motioned to him to take a look inside. He peered into the carriage, came out and had a brief, whispered consultation with Hollander. The latter shook his head fiercely, but Dench nodded back at him with a similar degree of fervour. The two continued their silent pantomime for a minute or so, until eventually Hollander gave in and the pair of them both clambered into the carriage.

They emerged a moment or two later, carrying a comatose woman awkwardly between them. As they came up to Elizabeth, she took a look at their burden and sighed.

“The blue room, I think,” she said.

“Yes, madame,” said Dench.

“And … Dench?”

“Yes, madame?”

“When you take her luggage up, make sure that any … medication … you happen to find … gets stored … safely? Somewhere else, perhaps?”

“I understand, madame.” Dench lifted one finger up to tap his nose, letting one of the woman’s legs dangle loose as he did so. He clumsily picked it up again, and the two of them headed off into the house.

Poor Charlotte, thought Elizabeth. Still on the laudanum.