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Along the way Elizabeth allowed herself to be beguiled by Mary's charm and vivacity, and insistence upon discussing her favourite method of choosing, fitting and wearing a new brassiere. (i) the sluttiest option is always to be preferred, ii) enlist the aid of the oldest fattest

shop assistant, who is less likely to recommend something to flatten one's boosies in the spirit of sabotaging the competition, and iii) one's booby straps ought only to be visible when in the company of a gentleman one intends to make a few serious errors of judgement with. 

And all of this, while traversing the public, much-frequented corridors of the hospital: and to anyone who might say that Elizabeth was self-conscious without reason in the matter, and that folks were a good deal too engaged with their own concerns to take a blind bit of notice of anyone else's conversations,, Elizabeth might only have noted that at least three young doctors when they passed slowed, paused, and turned to watch them walk away with jaws agape: and one particular medical student, freakishly tall for such a low-ceilinged building, managed to crack his head on an incoming lintel due to all of his attention being captured by the irrepressible Mary. 

Still, such it was, to volunteer for the role of good pal to Mary Miss Crawford — and Elizabeth jolly

well ought to have analysed the proposition in greater depth before volunteering for the job, she was increasingly beginning to feel. However what was done was done, in truth. And in fact, Mary was such good fun — a loose cannon, a wild card, and a potential liability to man

and beast, true, but quite indubitably good fun — that she did not in fact regret having made her acquaintance. Yet. Well, so much as to say: not to any serious degree, and not regarding any serious matter. When they came to arrive at the canteen, however, and found that they had idled and chatted and dawdled so very much, that they were the last to arrive for the last sitting of lunch, and were lucky indeed to tag along with the tail end of the queue and get anything to fill their stomachs whatsoever. This, even bearing in mind that what was slopped onto their plates by grimfaced dinner ladies was what was known in nursing circles as 'vegetable surprise' — generally pronounced with a heavy emphasis on the second word, the surprise in question usually being of no very favourable nature. Elizabeth was not much given to complaints: : the diet provided to Pemberley's student nursing population was, as a general rule, nutritious,

filling and tasty. Except for the vegetable bake. "So Henry's stil sleeping on your floor?" Elizabeth asked, as she cut herself a sad and soggy slice of wet cauliflower, lasagna sheets and cheese powder. "Is he not

planning on returning to the smoke anytime soon?" Surely the modern theatre has greater need of him than you do?" (They hadn't spent the entire walk talking about brassieres and boosies. St Pemberley's nurses had minds for higher things: some of the time, at least. Henry Crawford, as an example, had come up as a subject of conversation: although whether he qualified as a higher thing, Elizabeth couldn't have said.) "Lord, no" Mary Crawford exclaimed, now. "Henry's much too much of a pampered pure-breed feline, expecting to dine on foie gras and velvet cushions, to rough it for any extended period! He's booked a few nights in one of the private visitor's residences St. P's let to those in the know — and in funds. But God willing, he'll be out of my hair by the end of the week. I love my brother like a — like a brother, darling. But there's a giddy limit, and I've just about reached it." Speak of the devil, if you please: and right about then he appeared.

"Oh good Lord, and there the absolute chancer is," Mary said, tipping pepper and hot sauce over her plate in a vain attempt to render the inedible mess palatable, as she jerked her head sideways in the direction of the far end of the canteen. "But who on earth is that bejeesus of a

fellow with him?" And Elizabeth craned her head to get a look-see, since Mary could make almost any prospect sound intriguing. (And besides: Henry Crawford! Not that she was about to join the queue, but still.) And, well, dear oh dear. And, in addition, bloody hell. She wasn't absolutely sure: it had been a good long while, after all. But she squinted a bit more, and besides, Mary was hallooing now at her brother, and waving him and his friend over. Elizabeth was fairly sure — and then quite sure. It was her cousin Collins — Cuthbert 'Cuffy' Collins, in fact. and as he came hurrying over, half a step behind Henry Crawford, she saw recognition dawn in his own eye as he caught sight of her. When he rocked up, at their canteen table, his round sweaty face was split with a hearty gummy grin, and he reached out with both hands to greet her with the double-handed shake she had always found

In truth, no, not that she'd ever noticed, at least so far as Cuffy was concerned, was what Elizabeth thought privately to herself. But Cuffy wasn't done, yet, and added, "Of course, darling! But also, here on business, of a kind: I'm thinking of becoming an angel backer, for

a theatre production — and your dear brother, my dear," he added, turning now to Mary, "is in the running for the lead role! I rather thought, while I paid a visit to dear darling Lizzy, I might pop in and see if I could cop him to have a chat. What a wonderful actor he is, my dear!" This, he added as he turned to face Mary, his hands resting on his prominent belly and a benevolent, amiable smile upon his round face. For a moment Elizabeth was reminded of her father, saying that Cuffy had had thoughts of entering the church, once: and it wasn't always difficult to believe it. "Isn't he just?" Mary responded, voice a trifle dry. "Dear old Harry, he could always talk anyone into anything! What a chap! Absolutely born for the theatre, no two ways about it!" "A theatre production! How exciting!" Elizabeth interjected hurriedly here — no knowing what Mary might spontaneously come out with next, after all. "But what brought this on, Cuffy? You've done so well in property — why

would you want to make such a drastic change?" Not that it was such a very so very uncharacteristic, perhaps: she remembered recalled, that moment, her father saying that Cuffy had nearly gone into the church, and so perhaps he ought to have done — he did have that tremendous

reverendly air about him, after all. "Oh, I expect I'll continue to do awfully well in it," Cuffy said breezily, now. "But a play! What larks, what a bit of fun, eh, Lizzy, darling! When the opportunity came along I simply couldn't refuse! You know I do love a play — nearly went into the theatre myself, Miss Crawford!" he assured Mary, laughting gently. But his attention wandered, and his face brightened as Harry hoved into view, thick white china mugs and a pot of tea on a tray, and settled himself down with them. "I'll be mother, shall I?" he suggested. "Tea, Nurse Bennet? Sis?" "Start pourin' and keep it coming, Harry," Mary advised him. "We've just been hearing all about your proposed theatrical venture from Lizzy's cousin, love. While you were off hunting down sustenance." She took a steaming cup from her brother with a musing air, looking down and around at her three amigos, "What a wonderful coincidence, Harry dear — that he

should be visiting our sweet Lizzy Bennet here, at just the same time that you decide to land yourself on me and avail yourself of countless opportunities to chat up every pretty young nurse in the vicinity!" Henry Crawford — as might have been expected — wasn't in the least fazed

and why should he be? "Wonderful, ain't it?" he agreed, equably, leaning back in his chair, and testing his out his mug of tea with a vigorous slurp. Might get a bit of work out of it, too! You never know!" Cuffy Collins — on the other hand — was possibly a mite more disconcerted — but then, Mary was a thoroughly disconcerting yong woman, when she chose to be. "Oh, well," he said, now, in a somewhat blustering tone, eyes all over the place, "not such a coincidence as all that, you know! As I said — I did say to you, didn't I, Harry? — I was already trying to get a hold of your brother — dear chap — to, er, to discuss the theatrical work I'd just put some money into acquiring the rights to. Eh? Had a word with his agent, and in the end, and hey presto! There you go! And there's a coincidence for you! Just when I was planning to pay a visit to my dear little cousin, Lizzy, and there's the one and the only

Harry Crawford, star of stage and screen, beloved by the likes of Epstein and Orton! I declare, it must be meant to be!" "Uh-huh," said Mary Crawford, to this delightful little sermon — so far as she said anything at all, barely audible. She did give Lizzy a look, though-

quite an inscrutable look, or so it seemed to Lizzy. And then she finished her tea — must have burnt her tongue, what with the pace she

set, slurping it down. And who should I bump into the minute I arrived, before I could even let Lizzy know I was planning to batten on her hospitality, but take the old girl out to dinner and what not? But Mr C. himself, eh, Harry?" "careful, there, sis, you'll be doing your

self an oesophageal injury if you don't watch out," her brother advised her with a mild concern. "What's the hurry about, eh? Sit and jaw awhile, enjoy your cuppa! If not your lunch, by the looks of it..." "All very well for the likes of you," Mary advised him a mite tartly — while choking slightly and womanfully repressing it, the better to prove him wrong. "We get about a blink and a half of an eye, for lunch, us poor nurses — and if I'm more than two seconds late back on the ward, the Nephrology ward sister will have my hide for it!"the look on Harry Crawford's face was sympathetic enough to get him slapped, if he wasn't careful. "Poor old sis! Tough to be a working stiff, eh, Cuffy?" he said, in a thoroughly synthetic tone of concern. "Not that you'd know!" "Nor you, dear boy!" Cuffy agreed, with him, unctuously eager to prove himself agreeable as a conspirator in a little sibling funning.

"I'd lay off a bit on the making mock, if I were you, Harry Walter Crawford," Mary told him, with a veggie-bake loaded fork pointed in his direction. "Do you know how many ways an experienced nurse has at her disposal, to kill a man? Life is cheap in the hospital morgue, sonny jim

It only served to tickle Harry Crawford further — and he caught Elizabeth's eye, with a little conspiratorial gleam, when he said, "Ah, sis, it's a hard life! Why don't you just pack it in, if that's how you feel? I know the old trust funds got squeezed a bit, when dear old Uncle Walt had his little financial wobble shortly before he popped off — but you've still got a bob or two. so have I, come to that — you know you can always come and nest under my roof. I won't see you short of the odd Balenciaga or Schiaparelli workhouse shift-dress!" "Funny. 'You're terribley funny," Mary said, dry. "anyway, I bloody love it — nursing — and you know it! I must be bonkers — and yet, I do!" "Oh, I do, sis, I do. And you are," Harry agreed with her smoothly. "!Quite unhinged!And what about you, Nurse Bennet? Are you as dedicated a nurse as my certifiable sister, here? Really, it's quite of the to be

a smile like that ought to be illegal — prosecutable, something like that. "It's a very interesting job," she said, and that was all she said — non-committal, but yet accurate, she felt. "An interesting answer," he responded, raising one eyebrow. "It's not the dream of your life

then, to mop the fevered brow and run around after the sick and the dying and the swinging the lead?" "I'm sure Elizabeth — Lizzy dear — is a jolly fine nurse," Cuffy announced — and Lizzy softened a bit, because the fat old fool was often loyal to a fault, and you had to give him that. "It's awfully nice to see you after so long, Cuffy," she said now, impulsively squeezing his hand, and he did look pleased to hear it. "Mary, on the other hand, just sniffed at it. "Maybe for you, Lizzy darling! It seems as if at the moment, old dear old St. P's is absolutely packed to the rafters with personal visitors — and you've got definitely the better end of the deal! Imagine if you had harry hanging around the place twenty four seven, being all debonair and smooth with your pals — or so he fondly imagines," she added tartly."I ask you, isn't it more than a St. P's girl should have to bear?" and it's not only you and me, Mary," Elizabeth said

"Let's have breakfast together while you're down here, or something — do let's!" And that was their farewell, before Mary yanked her out of there by the wrist. A last farewell from Harry, in the form of a solemn-faced salute and an almost imperceptible wink, was the

last she saw of him, before Mary had her out of there. and she wasn't sorry for it, not really. A small dose of Cuffy had always gone a long way — and besides that, if Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy was going to go popping up around the more proletarian quarters of the hospital, seeking whom he might devour — then discretion was by far the better part of valour, as far as Elizabeth was concerned. And besides — it wasn't as if there wasn't damn good reason for Mary wanting to hustle the pair of them out of there, quite besides her brother getting on her last remaining nerve, and Cuffy being — well — Cuffy. Perhaps they were neither of them quite late back on the ward — yet. But it was going to be a dashed close-run thing, and they both put their heads down and speed-walked with all their might. Neither Nephrology Sister xx nor xx sister xxx were anything to mess with at the best of times — and a nurse slack about time keeping was a pet bugbear for the both of them. Not that she and Mary

didn't engage in a little girlish banter as they speeded on their merry way. "Nice cousin you've got there, Lizzy," Mary jabbed, a little breathless but never quite so breathless that she couldn't land a jibe like an Amazon's arrow. "Oh, shut up, Crawford," was Elizabeth's very

witty rejoinder, but the best she could do under present circumstances. And with her lungs bustin', give her a break! Mary laughed like a bubbling stream, quite unfazed as ever. "No, darling," she gasped, "I rather took to the chappie! Bit of a one, isn't he? And quite flagrant with it, too — running hither, thither and everywhere, hot on the trail of my dear little bruv!" "Oh," Elizabeth responded, vague in the manner of someone not getting quite enough oxygen to the brain, "he's always been like that — mad keen about something or other. Enthusiasms, you know! He was almost a priest, then it was all about medicine — finally he decided that making boatloads of money was the most fun you could possibly have! Oh, look here comes my stop, thank God!" "And now, he's mad keen on dear Harry," Mary mused — a little flushed, but really absurdly fit and agile, barely showing any real sign of discomfort. No running on the ward or in the corridors, Nurse! Only very very very fast walking! "Well," Elizabeth panted out, "actually he

must be quite keen on this play and what not, if he's already sunk some funds in it. I expect he'd be terribly lucky to get Harry in it — you must admit, Mary, he's a terrific actor. It won't half bring in the crowds if Cuffy can sign him up for the part — he's a real crowd

pleaser, after all!" "Yes, isn't he just," Mary said, in a terribly thoughtful tone of voice. They'd fetched up at the external door of the Nephrology ward, and were stood face to face, chatting for the very last few moments they could afford to spare. And now Mary eyed her a little thoughtfully. before suddenly patting her cheek, with a very fond, affectionate look on her face. "Bless you, darling. There I am, thinking sweet Fanny Price was the last complete innocent left on the face of the earth. But you have proved me nothing but a dried-up old cycnic and misanthrope, and I thank you for it, my love! God forbid I should ever wind up nothing but a version of my crotchety old uncle in skirts and panstik! Bless you, Lizzy, my young new charge. Such sweet innocence, it's so refreshing! And with that, she kissed Elizabeth on the cheek, and swept off down the corridor in the direction of her own snappy and watch-tapping Sister, no doubt. And leaving Elizabeth

feeling about as discombobulated and obscurely annoyed, as any adult who feels themselves subtly and mysteriously patronized. What on earth had all of that been about, really? Well, that was Mary, and there weren't many folks as had ever seen the like, when all was said and done. And in the mean

time, Elizabeth herself had a good many other things to see to: not least right then, getting herself inside the ward office in good time for handover. Or at least, not more than two minutes late. Oh, it was an interminable shift: not least, because she was just that little too late to get away with it in the initial shuffle and idle chatter of handover before anyone actually got down to business. This meaning, that for the rest of the shift, she was firmly in sister's bad books, and it would most probably be days before she could work her way back into favour again. but all good things come to an end, and the same for terrible, merely bad and mediocre ones, Elizabeth had always found. The moment did arrive that Lizzy once more set foot in her own blessed room, kicked off her black loafers and sank onto her bed, too absolutely fagged out for the moment to think even of changing, bathing or going to get something to eat, rather than just conking out into unconsciousness. And blessing God for it. She wasn't even sorry that Em wasn't back in yet: not having to make conversation or pay anyone any concentrated attention was one less demand upon her depleted energies, after all. It was difficult, with her depleted brainpower, to recall exactly what it was she had intended to do just as soon as she got off work, now. It must have been a good eight or ten minutes.

before she realized, and by then she was very near on the edge of dozing off. Dammit, but of course! She hadn't even taken the envelope out of her apron pocket, nor taken her apron off, either. In fact it was distinctly uncomfortable, where she was lying on her side with her

swollen feet hanging off the side of the bed, and the way it was digging into her ribcage, you'd think she might have been alerted before now. But no: better late than never, however. the sudden realization was a jolt of adrenalin better than any cuppa joe, and Elizabeth rapidly sat up on the bed, tossed a few cushions and soft toys on the floor and whipped the damn letter out of her apron pocket. Good God, what had she been waiting for? It wasn't the work of a few minutes to read the letter's contents, however.

"I can't think what's got into the dear boy of late, to be so very jolly mad keen on coming up to visit every two minutes, whenever he can get away. I mean to say, darling," she added — leaning in with a conspiratorial air, to share a confidence with a bosom pal, and truly Lizzy marveled at it. Mary was perfectly capable of flirting with absolutely anyone, irrepective of gender, age, status or you name it. She was simply irrepressibly shameless and irresistible."It's not — difficult as you might find it to believe, knowing me and how self-deprecating and modest I am, as an habitual rule. But I don't underestimate my attractions, dragging him up here as a moth to a flame. Dear Henry! But it's just, the thing is, it's not as if it's ever been enough to have him swarming out here on the regular before. So what is it that's different lately?" Not knowing, Elizabeth couldn't say, but adjudged that a wide-eyed look combined with an earnest shrug, ought to do the trick., which indeed it proved to do. xxx More like near on an hour, once she'd gone through the whole sheaf a couple of times, and given herself a while to meditate on it. She wasn't secluded and free to cogitate for the whole period: Marrianne xx burst in at one point, wanting to borrow some earrings to a date with horrid

Quite a haul, in fact: although, once she had gathered the sheaf back together, and tapped and tidied it, after all neat and precise and sharp, she acknowledged to herself that, however welcome and impressive, it was not in fact quite complete — not so far as Darcy himself had

promised and described it to her. A letter of recommendation, that was what was missing. thinking back, she was quite sure that he had included it in his list of what useful documentation he intended to provide her, and — and, oh, no doubt she was being most unreasonable. Quite pettifogging, and particular, and oh, most of all, worst of all, ungrateful. but — But, oh dear, was it really so unreasonable as all that? Dolefully, Elizabeth grasped the sheaf of useful, delightful, informative papers. It was really very good of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy to take the trouble to keep his word regarding them, and she could not deny it. Especially given how they'd parted brass rags, it could not be denied! He had done for her about a good eighty five per cent of what he'd promised her: and if he withheld the last fifteen percent -the brass ring — that last gilt bow on top, a letter of recommendation from a consultant at one of the finest teaching hospitals in the country — well, Elizabeth supposed that he was, truly, quite well within his rights. Had

she the least chance of a result, she wondered tentatively, if she threw herself across the fella's path — gushing with girlish gratitude, of course — and perhaps just jogged his memory about a recommendation, just the teensiest bit? Oh, it was a dreadful idea. she knew it

perfectly well, the very second it crossed her mind. But it was a tempting thought, nonetheless! No, absolutely not, Elizabeth decided. If this last hapless hopeless venture at the thing should actually work out — this last jaunt at, tilt at the windmill- one never knew — then much better to leave it until she'd got a few applications in, and needed a little back-up to stiffen the sinews of her application, give them a stronger foundation, and perhaps by that time, dratted Darcy might have come around, and be a little more susceptible to the famous Bennet lady-charm! A girl could hope, at least. At least the man hadn't forgotten his promises altogether: hadn't forgotten her very existence. She was that much further on than she'd been before encountering him, even if the first impressions on either side had been something less than favourable! So she firmly told herself: and her belly rumbled as she did so, reminding her that there were better things to do with a free evening than to spend it regretting the past, consulting a crystal ball over the future  and fretting over whether a boy really really really liked you.

But she sat a moment longer, with the big posh envelope clamped to her crumpled apron-front, and her stockinged feet swinging off the end of the bed. I'll just have one last quick flick through, she thought, and tipped the contents of the envelope one more time across the

bed. Perhaps a bit more vigorously than previously: because evidently she shook something loose. A little A6 pastel notelet fluttered out, along with the heap of white and cream A4 letters and documents. It must have been stuck up in a corner, or attached to the gum on the envelope flap. she hadn't seen or read it, until now. There wasn't much to it. "Dear Miss Bennet," it read — the nurse dispensed with, she noted. "Plese find enclosed a few documents, contacts et cetera which I hope may be of use in your researches. Please feel free to refer back to me if anything enclosed requires explanation. You will find I have not included the letter of recommendation we discussed: this is due to the fact that any letter I might write now would be a very sketchy effort based on your education and limited history at St. Pemberly so far. I do not doubt it will take a few months to complete your researches and make

applications to medical colleges. By then you will have almost finished your first year of nursing training, and I will be in a better position to write you an informed and useful letter of recommendation. I hope this missive proves useful to you, and wish you all the best in your

future studies. Regards, F. Darcy. Well. Bit of a facer, what? Elizabeth sat a moment longer on her bed, gazing out to the rosy sunset glowing on the hills of Pemberley. She had been been closed down a good deal these past two years — her whole soul chilled, somewhere deep down in her heart. But watching the sun set, she felt something wake up, deep down, coming to life. ready to live. and it was a splendiferous moment — she might have enjoyed it to the full, in a magnificent solitude, and then taken herself off for a cracking supper and perhaps a beer at the med school bar. Except that she was only alone for a moment of deep, personal contemplation, and right about then, she was burst in upon by dear Fanny Price, simply tumbling into the room as if on rollerskates. "Oh! Lizzy!" she cried, as if amazed to find Elizabeth there at all.

(and yes, it was Elizabeth's room, wasn't it, last time she checked? or at least, her and Em's, but with a good fifty per cent stake in it, at least? Just who was Fanny Price expecting to find at home, here, if not herself?) It wasn't a question she was about to ask: doubting,

as she did, the receipt of any coherent answer. Fanny wasn't looking a bit herself — or at least, not the grey and timid paw-cleaning mouse she'd used to be, up until the past two or three weeks. She was flushed, and it made her eyes more blue than grey, and she was patting her hair and gaping out the window as if quite distracted — honestly, one of the things that hadn't changed a bit was her inability to get to grips with the idea of eye contact. "hallo there, Fanny my love," elizabeth said now, all amiability.

"What can I do for you, love?" she asked, in any case, simply a mass of courtesy. Bless the girl. Elizabeth had more than enough to chew on, for the time being. It could only do her good to have something else to think about. "Oh!" Fanny all but gave a little leap into the

air in response to the question — whether excitement or startlement or frustration, Elizabeth couldn't have said. chewing her fingernails — which was very unlike the orderly little thing — she looked distractedly about the room for a moment — and then plunged onto the bed, to sit down next to Elizabeth. "Well, nothing, really, Lizzy," she confided, kicking her feet and gazing into a corner with a vague look. "Which means absolutely something, in Fanny-speak," Elizabeth divined from this. "Come on, Fanny darling! Out with it!" "Hmm?" Fanny turned her head to face Elizabeth, and met her eye with a truly vacant look. It was most decidedly good luck for the girl that Elizabeth was in stockinged feet, otherwise she might have been tempted to kick her. Then her pretty eyes cleared a little: perhaps the radio waves of the universe were playing her tune. "Oh, well, Lizzy, you know!" Elizabeth shook her head, firmly: and Fanny added, "Oh, nothing! But you know that there's going to be have

a Halloween ball in a couple of weeks — not a tatty med school affair, either, a proper funded official Pemberley business, food and wine and a dress code and everything. And Oh, and Lizzy, it's going to be a masked ball! Don't you adore a masked ball!? It's as if you can take

on a completely different persona, be a whole other person for the night! Heavens!" Fanny, at this juncture, rested her pointed little chin on her hands, bent forward propped on her knees, and dreamed a little. All of this, with Elizabeth giving her a good deal of side-eye. Good gracious! Miss Fanny Price, proving to have hidden depths, and how. But still, and even so. "And you thought you'd just dash in to tell me all about it, simply couldn't contain yourself once you knew the facts and absolutely had to spread the news, to wit, to me in particular? " she suggested. "you know, Fan, I do read the college flyers, and the Pemberley news-sheet. I am not quite without resource, you know! D'you think I'm some remotely isolated shut-in, or what?" "Oh no!" Fanny said, wide-eyed with wonder, as she gazed in horror at Elizabeth. "That isn't at all what I meant!" Good God. As if Elizabeth had thought she did!

"Oh, no, not at all," Fanny said most earnestly. (When was darling Fan not earnest?) "I just wanted to talk to you, Lizzy! Because you're always so sensible, you know!" "Just what a girl likes to hear," Elizabeth observed, and if she hadn't had her own bit of good

news that day, she might have been a bit miffed. "Oh , you are," Fanny said emphatically. "You are! I always think of you as a terribly wise older sister, Lizzy. Not at all flighty, like some girls! When I write to Aunt Norriss she always writes back and says I should spend more time with you — well, actually, she says I should only spend time with you — which seems a little harsh to Em, and Marianne, and — well, anyway, about this ball, Lizzy!" "do you happen to have had a drink, Fan?" Elizabeth suggested, now. (Not very seriously. As very if!) "Or two?" "Oh, no," Fanny said obliviously. "Aunt Norriss made me take the pledge, you know, before I left for St. P's. But the ball, Lizzy — the thing is, George Knightley has asked me to go with him!" And she gazed at Elizabeth with those round, trusting, expectant eyes, as if she were sure that Lizzy could divine a truckload of sub-text out of her gnomic pronouncement. ""Isn't that nice, Fan!"

Elizabeth prompted her: and, getting no response, added to this, "Isn't it? Or isn't it, then?" It took a moment, but Fanny did concede, after evidently giving it a fair amount of thought, that, "Oh! Yes. it's lovely. I mean, he's lovely. Do you think I ought to go, Lizzy?"

At this point Elizabeth rather began to wonder if she had any aspirin left in the bathroom cabinet. But one must persevere, one must press on — she wasn't quite sure why, for the moment, but she did suppose that one rather must. Still, one did need to take a bit of a breather on occasion, just to be able to continue a conversation with Fan. She jumped up, and began to change out of her uniform, and into her housecoat, as she said, "But Fanny, I do rather wonder why you ask me. Do you want to go to the ball with him? Or not?" On occasion, Elizabeth did rather think that Aunt Norriss might have her reasons, and some perfectly good excuses here and there. Certainly Fanny appeared to be having to resort to a good hard think, in order to come up with any answer to this quite simple question. "Come on, girlie," Elizabeth said encouragingly

"you surely must have some idea or other on the subject. You certainly appear to have been having a simply lovely time with him over the last week or two! Go on, haven't you?" Fanny was distinctly blushing now, and what an adorable little mole-creature it made of her, too.

"I was beginning to think you were quite keen on him," Elizabeth said, casting her mind back in order to give a considered and critical opinion. "He certainly seems to like you awfully!" Which was absolutely true, from what she'd observed. And quite right too, because Fanny was a little sweetums, no matter how frantically annoying she might also be on occasion.

smoothed it down with a pleased and cosy air — before regarding Fanny with a rather martial look, and going so far as to point at her in a slightly threatening manner. "Gosh darn it, Fanny! yes, I do know it — not half! Sainted Cousin Edmund — yes, I know the lad has been

terribly good to you — and he's a very nice fellow, in his way, I'm sure — and a very handsome chap, into the bargain. But never mind that," she added rather hastily — for from an odd light in Fanny's eye, suddenly, she rather thought she might have overstepped some unspecified line. "The point being, Fan," she continued hurriedly, "the thing is, you can't be roaming around looking for dear Cousin Edmund's approval for every single gosh-darned thing you want to do — not for the rest of your life, you can't!" She gave Fanny an impressive nod — and sat down backwards on their broken-down little gilt dressing-table chair filched by Em from the decaying mansion of her home-life. "Well — I haven't," Fanny said — in a rather dim and dismal voice, and with her eyes cast down to her clasped hands. "I haven't written him a letter — or tried to phone him — or bought a ticket to go see him. I haven't told him a word about it, and George asked me three days ago."

"But whyever not, Fan darling?" Elizabeth enquired. granted it was terribly uncharacteristic of the dear girl, inclined as she was to pour out her heart to her favourite cuz, seeking his opinion and stamp of approval upon her smallest move. "He knows all about you and old George

after all. He even gave you licence to go wild and let your hair down regarding the Pemberley night life, as I recall — and I ought to know, since I was there at the time!" "Oh, I know," Fanny was being a proper little fidget, now: pushing her loosened hair out of her eyes, blinking rather a lot, tapping her toes as if she was about to burst into a Ginger Rogers number at any minute. What she most certainly wasn't doing was looking Elizabeth in the eye, not whatsoever. She gnawed away at one severely punished thumbnail, as she said, "It just feels so awfully awkward, Lizzy. I mean to say, what if he wasn't happy about it? It would affect everything." Elizabeth scrutinized the strange, fey, funny little creature thoughtfully. What an odd little pixy she was, after all. "But darling," she pressed her now, quite reasonably, she felt, "you've gone on about a dozen dates already with the delightful and dashing George Knightley!

What on earth is there so dratted special about this one, that you're fretting yourself silly about what your parson cousin might have to say about it?" a not unreasonable question, she felt, patting herself on the back somewhat. Dear Fanny wrinkled her smooth baby forehead

trying to parse it out: and finally said, "But it is different, isn't it, Lizzy? I mean, fooling about in boats on the river, and jumping up and down on the side of the pitch when a fellow's playing rugby, or going in a group to see a film and ping monkeynuts about the cinema -it's not at all the same thing as putting on a new frock, and lipstick, and going to a dance with somebody — not just having fun, or 'going together' — but a real proper grown-up occasion?" It feels different to me, at any rate. I think Edmund would say it's different, at least." Oh dear, she did look properly mournful, saying it, too. "And you think he'd disapprove?" Elizabeth asked. She cocked her head, trying to get a proper gander at Fanny's downcast face, and a light shone — on Fanny's face, the last flaming burst of the sunset, and in Elizabeth's brain, too, more than somewhat. "Or is it that you're afraid he'll approve, after all?" She didn't feel it was unreasonable that she rather expected a round of applause, and for Fanny to exclaim, Sherlock, I don't know how you do it!

Fanny did not, however, nor were there any other accolades or plaudits, or bunches of bouquets and fervent cries of Bis! bis! Fanny — being Fanny, and a very good thing too, just developed a bit of a crease between her brows, and said, "I don't quite know, Lizzy. I'm not

terribly sure which would be worse." And she looked very much as if a good cry might be extremely imminent. "Oh, Lizzy!" Well, here at least was a problem for which Elizabeth felt herself equipped and qualified to deal with. "Darling. I have a lovely cake stashed in my locker cupboard in the kitchens. Let's go and put the kettle on, and absolutely demolish it, eh?" Thus they did so, and that right speedily: and, in the midst of quaffing good Indian brew, and scoffing Battenburg, Elizabeth found time, amidst a few crumbs, to strongly advise Fanny that

chaps the likes of George Knightley didn't come along just every day, and in her position Elizabeth would think twice and three times before letting such a prize specimen go, just because she was having a bit of a wobble about her first girlish pash and how he might take the whole

thing. she trusted that her wise words were gradually getting through Fanny's well-defended skull and finally sent her off to meet the estimable George, at least apparently resolved to greet him with a smile and an invitation to waltz.

Which ra-a-ather left Elizabeth in something of a pickle, as far as the rest of the evening went. The main issue being, there wasn't a lot of it left any more, so any plans to go out and get a bite or drop in on anyone were rather out the window. And in any case she was just

about stuffed full of cake, so it wasn't as if she was in dire need of sustenance, as things stood. In fact, an early night rather beckoned: and, deciding as much, she set off back to her own sweet little cot, anticipating a bit of privacy, and time to think about that rather wonderful envelope full of promise for the future, and what she might plan to do about it. Man plans, god laughs, however! she'd just run down the corridor, and was slipping into her room with pleasant anticipating of a short nap, working her way through a chapter or two of the Miss Silver mystery murder on her dressing table, and perhaps a long lazy bath. All of her hopes died, however, when she heard the firm and vigorous tippy-tap of feminine footsteps behind her, followed by a cry of, "Oh, Lizzy! Awfully glad to catch you before you conk out — I'm just dying for a good old chat, I'm in a proper stew and there's so much going on with me you wouldn't believe it!" It was Em, back from whatever gadding she'd beeen up to on her day off.

And under such circumstances, what can a pal do but invite another pal into her room, for tea and confidences? Except that Em was, of course, co-tenant of said room, and therefore had no need of an invitation. And in fact, Elizabeth could have mounted a buttress and dug a moat

and it still wouldn't have kept Emma Woodhouse out of anywhere she had a mind to be. Not that Elizabeth would have done such a thing, or wanted to, of course. Hem hem. But what can a pal do, when a pal's in need, after all? "Why don't you come and sit down, have a cuppa? she suggested — too searingly conscious of her aching calves, her sleepy and steadily drooping lids, and a passionate earthy desire for a bit of sodding alone-time, thank you very much. Ah well! Two minutes had them cross-legged on their respective twin beds, however, with a steaming mug cupped in two girlish pairs of hands. (Lizzy's kidneys were going to have something to say about her caffeine intake, at this rate.) "So what's the trouble, darling?" Elizabeth started off. It was expected, after all. And God knew, Em was normally a forthright little thing. No trouble getting to the point with her, and in fact

it might be said that as far as tact, charm and social delicacy were concerned, Em had a lot in common with a bull in a china shop, or a bulldog charging around a field of sheep. What Em meant, Em said, blunt as a hammer, and a trail of bruised dewwicate baby hurty feewings

left in her wake. And the same with respect to her own personal and social life, generally. yet Elizabeth found, now — despite her initial wails of despair and claim of deep derangement — it was proving awfully difficult to bring Em to the point of discussing what exactly was the matter. It was all just the standard wails about fascistic ward sisters, and annoying dates, and the shoes she had just spent thirty shillings on, and the heel had broken off on a night out with Dr xxx, lovey, and I swear I'd only had one drink! None of it was sufficient reason for despair — not despair — and Elizabeth, finally, was having none of it. she scrambled up the bed to lean over and peer Em in the face, and said, "Leave it out, darling. All of this nonsense, it's just so much twaddle. Something's upsetting you, or getting you down, fair enough — well, then. come on, out with it! What's really going on, em? Eh? Hm?" And suddenly Em's eyes, pretty and china-blue, were every bit as skittering and shifty as Fanny Price's, not to mention

the daffy inconsequence and aimless vagueness of her conversation thus far bearing a similar resemblance into the bargain. "Oh, I'm sure I don't know a bit what you mean, Lizzy!" she said now, flouncing a bit and examining her nice pricey manicure. (There was still a fair bit

of cash in the Woodhouse coffers, at least compared to the impoverished church-mice Bennets: not so much as in generations gone by, but enough for Em to have a small private allowance and a few nice presents on a regular basis from her doting old Dad.) And, well, what can a girl do faced with bare-faced disingenuous fact-fiddling? Elizabeth tipped her head, and stroked her chin, and said, "This have anything to do with your father's nice young friend George Knightley, and our young Fanny Price, Em? Eh? Does it? A pause ensued, and Elizabeth could practically hear some furious thinking going on. For a moment she was pretty sure it was a toss-up between outright denial, and Em rushing from the room in floods of tears. But no, after all : Em was made of sterner stuff. Instead, after a stone-faced moment when she appeared to be absolutely grinding her teeth, eyes fixed on the far distant horizon — Em punched her own knee and jumped a little in the air from her sitting position on her bed

"Damn it, Lizzy!" she exclaimed, now. "Are you psychic or something, you absolute witch?" "Well, quite a good number of my old form mistresses were divided on the subject," Lizzy observed, with a sympathetic air. "Old Miss Bates did claim I probably worked with the Cursed One

my wonders to perform, but then she always had it in for me. Lovey — what gives, eh? Em breathed heavily for a moment, and elizabeth thought she might possibly be working herself up to an even more steaming temper. Mount Vesuvius exploding in a shared nursing home bedroom didn't seem like a terribly good idea — but finally she appeared to calm herself a little. Only a little: and then squeezed her pretty hands into little fists, as she bit out, "Gosh darn it, Lizzy! What in heck's name does Fanny think she's up to, getting up to and — and just acquiring George Knightley behind my back? Do you know, she's got him to ask her to the masked ball they're planning for october?" Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. "Really? How simply fiendish of her." Judging by her expression, Em didn't see the humour, and most likely fervently agreed with Elizabeth's assessment. "You know, Em," she tried tactfully, "if you go a few months back, to when we all flung ourselves into the meatgrinder of a nursing training, you had quite a lot to say about one Georg Knightley."

And Em sniffed in a non-committal manner — since she knew very well what Elizabeth was getting at — and worked on evading Elizabeth's eye some more. But Elizabeth was a patient and wily young fox, and not so easily dissuaded. "All about what a young duffer he was, quite suit

ably, given that he was the Old Duffer's best bud and little pal. A regular pain in the rear end, always pontificating and lecturing, suggesting you were immature and feckless and irresponsible, that it'd be a jolly good thing if you went to church a bit more, studied a bit more and had less of a good time and a damn sight fewer boyfriends. I could probably go on, as I recall there was a lot more in the same vein and you were alway quite happy to go on at some length about it with the absolute least invitation." Em didn't appear to take to this overmuch, and Elizabeth could tell, going by the way she chucked an apple out of her handbag at Elizabeth's head, with a pert little scowl. "Very amusing, Liz, I'm sure," she replied tartly, shoving herself back against her headboard with her arms folded, cup of tea shoved down on the nightstand. In fact, Elizabeth was quite tolerably amused, and felt she had a right to it, being as she would rather have been asleep right at this minute. "Oh, come on, Em, she cajoled now,

"You have to admit, there's a bit of truth to it. Admit it, em, aren't you being — a bit of a dog in the manger, here? You didn't want him yourself — you made the most godawful

continual palaver about just how much you didn't want the poor harmless geezer, non-bloody-stop. But as soon as he demonstrates the least sign of being rather taken with another girl, suddenly poor old Fan is the Whore of Babylon, and George Knightley is a faithless philanderer who's broken your poor virgin village maiden's heart so that you'll never be the same!" That little speech got her a quiet pause of a good minute and a half. Which, really, was an absolutely lovely rest, and she could only have done with a bit more of it. "Well, all right," Em finally conceded, and Elizabeth refrained from throwing her arms up in triumph and doing a lap of the room. just barely. "perhaps I'm being very slightly unreasonable. But you would be too, Liz!" Her lovely doll face was rather pink, now. and her eyes were much too bright, with a suspicion of tears that was very near a certainty. she sniffed, and blinked, and it just about did the trick. "Would I?" Elizabeth gazed at her cuppa, and thought she might need a flask's worth to deal with this sturm und drang, this very female turmoil of heartache.

"Not knowing, can't say. What the heck is going on then, em?" Em wiped her eyes, now — bit of a giveaway, there — and straightened her back, firming up her Cupid's bow of a mouth, too, with a determined decided expression. "Oh, god, look, I do know I'm being an idiot, Liz.

Thing is, I've known perfectly well he's had a bit of a thing for me for simply ages — well, since I got out of the schoolroom and into a bodyform silhouette, anyhow, I don't mean he's some kind of perv. I mean, only why else would he never stop lecturing me and wanting me to improve myself? Actually seeking me out, to lecture me and get me to improve myself!" "well. I suppose," Elizabeth conceded. As a theory, it wasn't altogether without merit. "And it was so bloody annoying!" Em burst out, creasing her pretty, very slightly gingery brows together in frustration. "Well, Liz! How would you like it — some pompous geezer basically, via subtext, telling you that he might consider condescend to consider you as an option, if you just do enough work on yourself to be deemed worthy of him, to be good enough!" Her eyes were bright with indignation, now, rather than tears. And Elizabeth had to admit that the poor girl had a bit of a point. In fact her point sounded rather familiar.

Barring the bit about having a secret pash, and considering her as an option, of course — but otherwise, Em managed to make g. Knightley, Esquire sound the absolute dead spit of Fitzwilliam Darcy, MD, frcs, — an absolute creepy unpleasant doppelganger!! One rather wondered if

maychance they'd been separated at birth. Still, focus, focus, she cautioned herself. Em was a woman in need, here! (In need of a straitjacket, maybe, on occasion, but still a woman in need.) "All right, love," she sympathized, now. "But That does sound tremendously irritating I'll grant you — as far as it goes. But honestly, Em, what does it have to do with him taking a sudden violent fancy to our Fanny, and leaving off running about after you? If he's such an egotistical pillock as all that, then surely he's doing you a favour, if you squint a bit and look at it that way?" Em had her head hung down, and Elizabeth could perfectly well identify the pose. It was herself, or any other sixth-former dragged onto the carpet in the headmistress's office, to be told something she didn't remotely want to hear, and having a right old good sulk about it. Eventually she did heave a bit of a sigh, however, and said, "Oh, well. I'm not saying you don't have a point

of a sort, Liz, love. I couldn't even really tell you why it's absolutely driving me up the wall seeing them together, patting each other's arms, gazing into each other's sodding eyes, billing and cooing and I don't know what — I only know it is, that's all, and if I don't

swing for one or the other of them then I'll have done darned well for myself!" It was a delicate task involving some tact and ingenuity, to inform someone that they were in evidently in love with another person, when they were obliviously and blissfully unaware of it. Elizabeth even debated for a moment whether it might not be a good idea to just elide over the matter. There was Fanny, after all! And she and G. Knightley did seem rather enchanted with one another, after all! Then she looked at Em, and her frustrated little pixie face, the obscure frustration that was having her banging and stamping around the place, and talking about little Fanny as if she were a streetwalker with a brass ankle-bangle. It seemed probable, to Elizabeth, that she'd be better off equipped with the facts of the matter. but one approaches an irritable lioness with a thorn in its paw with a certain measure of caution. "Does it occur to you, em,

she said now — hesitating rather, and feeling her way with some caution — but after all, in for a penny, in for a pound, and she was a growing girl who needed her gosh-darned sleep, so to hell with it — 'that you might be a teeny bit in love with dear old George Knightley, M.D.?

And that was the point where Emma Woodhouse, St. Pemberley's nurse in training, stood up ramrod straight — all five feet two of her, but extended to the fullest possible spinal length — in a state clearly of high dudgeon and outrage, and said, "what a pack of nonsense!"I'm surprised at you, Lizzy! God damn it, I don't hang around these parts to put up with this sort of thing," And as a prompt full stop to her exclamation, she marched out of the room . and a more egregious portrait of outraged dignity Elizabeth had never witnessed in twenty years on the planet. "Well, there they were: and by this point in the day, wrestling it out with her friends' romantic struggles, being startled with unpexpected gifts from the gods, and slogging her way through a shift on the wards — well, it was barely nine thirty p.m. but she was more glad than ever to finally climb into bed and say goodbye to consciousness than could well be described.~such aggro, such drama, such sturm und drang — more than she'd ever expected when she'd set off to emulate Florence Nightingale, for certain.

When her alarm clock went off in the morning, Elizabeth's mind was as blank as a wiped slate, and it was blissful.. this being the point, where unexpected and disgreeable recollections would promptly burst in upon her and mar that state of a perfect nirvana. However — barring the

unfortunate little incident with Em — this was quite a different morning's awakening. Instead, there was a sublime wellbeing underlying feeling of wellbeing — and as she swiftly noticed, a rather strong hunch that she'd forgotten something sublimely marvellous. So she reached for it -and stretched, a little — and, hey presto! Gosh. good golly, in fact. Fitzwilliam dArcy -rich, handsome — figurehead of St. Pemberley's, rich and admired, outstanding surgeon — generally agreed to have a stick up his arse assisting with his ramrod straight posture — had proven to be, how might she put it? express it? Well, perhaps not a total, utter, complete resounding arse, after all. Not a git. In fact — despite certain deficiencies of character, and a marked lack of charm of manner -one might desccribe him as potentially, an awfully decent fellow. perhaps, somewhere deep down in there — really really deep down — even a rather likeable, decent chap.

She set about readying herself for her day, therefore, with a right good will and in a positively buoyant mood — well, relatively. em had already vacated the premises for her earlier shift — after banging in at 1 a.m. and making precious little attempt to keep the noise down for

a sleeping buddy. So she had the place to herself — to moon out the window, gazing at the sunrise and sipping at a cup of darjeeling, to run around in a towel after snagging the best shower cubicle in the block, to slick a sly slick of lipstick forbidden lippy on, blotting it discreetly, as she finished off her ensemble and checked the overall effect out in em's fancy full length mirror. All of it, while whistling like a lark, cheery as can be. (Or relatively.) It was while she was fixing her lipstick, and blotting a little on her cheekbones, that the thought occurred to her that, after all, perhaps one F. Darcy wasn't quite the little perfect gentleman she would (now) rather like to consider him. There were George Wickham's rather hair raising tales out of school, after all. Oh, one would really rather not give them too much credence, at this point.

And, the thought occurred to her now — inexplicably cheery — perhaps she didn't really need to .  Mary Crawford, after all, hadn't seemed to — had had a few fair number 

of quite mysteriously, gnomically scathing things to say about one G. Wickham, on their gloriously moonlit walk home from the xxx party.  Elizabeth would have been forced to concede, if put to it, that despite Mary's stories, she still wasn't exactly sure why the girl had such a very low opinion of Mr Darcy's

childhood friend — but a low opinion of him she indubitably had.  elizabeth discovered, now, that she had always thought Mary Crawford a terribly good judge of character — well, since meeting her what, five weeks back?  and what was more, M. Crawford was one who was never knowingly not up to

speed with the choicest items of gossip currently available in the hallowed halls of St. p's.  In effect, if she said a thing was so, lo, it was very probably so!  Thus Elizabeth at least half -satisfied her mind in the matter.  And as for the other half, well, she had 

a late morning shift on the ward to get through, and that to a great degree took care of any excess mental capacity she might have had available, to go fretting and worrying about the business.

Even before arriving on the ward, however, Elizabeth was faced with new and intriguing developments. On checking her pigeonhole before leaving the nurses home, she found a note, which proved to be from Cuffy. The previous day had been so rich in incident that she had almost

forgotten his presence in and about the hospital campus: but now the fact was brought crisply and clearly home to her. "Lizzy dear" it read, "don't forget your favourite cousin while I'm here to visit, my love! Now, I'm sure you promised me that you were up for a spot of lunch while I'm here; so I've wangled us a table in the Senior Dining Hall — which I'm told is quite a feat — and bunged a couple of lines to darling jane too, to see if she can join us. See you at 1.30, darling — love ever, your favourite cuz! cuffy!" Good God. Elizabeth had quite forgotten just how resoundingly annoying cuffy could be when he really put his mind to it, these last few years. Overall, however, it had to be admitted that she was rather chuffed by this turn of events. For one thing, this was her half-day -which meant she was well able to linger over a long and leisurely lunch, instead of bolting a plateful and suffering from indigestion during an afternoon on the ward.

and furthermore, one had to enter into the equation the fact that cuffy had (allegedly) scored a table in the Senior Staff Dining Room.

which, as a revered and venerable St Pemberley's institution, had earned every single obligatory capitalization of the words of its understandably botched name. (Its correctly rendered name, and not Cuffy's understandably botched version, as a mere visitor ot St. P's. hallowed grounds.) the SSDR, as might be suggested by its name, was normally reserved for, well, extremely illustrious, dignified, and well, senior members of St. Pemberley's staff. Lesser beings, such as junior memebers of St. Pemberley's staff, might, on occasion, be granted admittance as guests of said such — though this was a vanishingly rare event. For a visitor belonging to a said junior member of staff, such as Cuffy, was a matter practically unheard of. Elizabeth couldn't begin to imagine how Cuffy had swung it — and that was assuming that he had in fact done so, and not just misunderstood and the gravity of the matter and bungled the whole thing. Elizabeth was, however, rather praying that such was not the case. for one thing, the cuisine in the SDR was quite simply exquisite, and legendary: exacting, meticulous and melt in the mouth, with a London chef who gave the frog johnnies a run for their money.

and then, even leaving aside the matter of food, dining in the SSDR was — allegedly — a wonderfully civilized experience — quite different to the smash and grab atmosphere of the regular staff canteen, where your irish stew got slopped onto your plate as if it was a feeding trough

and you a beast of burden. (Not without some truth, then.) No, in the SSDR silver service was the order of the day, a staff supervisor who really might as well have been called the maitre'd, greeted all guests with exquisite civility, and an atmosphere of exquisitely civilised courtesy ruled the day. (elizabeth did feel a mite of anxiety about how many female guests would be dressed in nursing uniform: and resolved to run back express and grab an at least passable dress she could pop on quickly — the work of a minute.) And then, and still besides: if Cuffy had bodged up the matter of his entrée to the place — not unlikely, since his social radar had never been everything it ought to be, not really sensitive enough to detect potential faux pas and just plain old putting his foot in it — she felt she actually had and what she actually had to look forward to was being turned away at the door by the exquisitely regretful supervisor.

But these were merely peripheral matters, side issues after all. Most of all she found herself eagerly looking forward to the proposed lunch because, ho, what fun! If Jane could come, for a meal in the SSDR, then as far as Elizabeth was concerned that was a party! It was simply

a scandal how little she'd seen of the darling girl over the last little while. One wouldn't have thought it possible, now that they were living in the same dormitory block, theoretically at close quarters. But a nurse's shift patterns were a shocking shameful thing — certainly in terms of the effect they tended to have on one's social life. What with one thing and another, she'd barely laid eyes on the sweetie — how wonderful if Jane could swing the whole afternoon off, and perhaps they'd get a little light shopping in, too! Oh, how the morning dragged as she waited: even though she was assigned to some of her very favourite patients, and the xxx ward was a lovely place compared to some wards — no terminal cases, or rarely, minimal lifting and some delightful and dishy doctors on shift — notably xx and xxx.

and though a nurse's labours

may drag and drag, eventually lunchtime must come. Elizabeth dragged herself into the little grey frock in the dressing room attched to the ward, and then fairly raced off to the main hospital wing where the Senior Staff Dining Room was located on the fifth floor. Elizabeth couldn't recall ever even having seen set eyes on the place, or at least not since she was seven years old — GP Dr Bennet having come up from Meryton to visit Sir william, then a lowly registrar in the xx ward. All she could remember, at this distance, was that the place had been strong on flashing silver cutlery, dark wood and red flock wallpaper, and the magnificence of the Greek baklava dessert had silenced her all the way home. In fact she was a little early: earlier than Jane, if the dear one was coming — and also earlier than Cuffy, allegedly the holder of a visitor's pass or some such, entitling him to entry. So one hoped! Elizabeth lingered about hovered about rather anxiously, finding herself more than somewhat conspicuous in the slightly fussy dress (combined with her regulation black flats, which she had quite forgotten about.) But eventually she

kept lookout, beyond the magnificently polished walnut doors of the SSDR, on the alert for any signs of her companions, and trying to avoid the supervisor's eye as he greeted guests so distinguished and dignified that Elizabeth barely knew of them their existence beyond their

hallowed names. But eventually — as she tried to drift invisibly into a dark corner, and not look too much like a junior nurse trying to gatecrash the joint — then came a tap on her shoulder, She had not been on the alert enough, and one of them had got the drop on her after all! Elizabeth turned around. It was Henry Crawford, For a minute she was too surprised to speak. Then, she said, " Well, I certainly wasn't expecting you!" she was smiling: for there was something about Harry Crawford that drew smiles out of you, no matter how often Mary Crawford might inform you how reprehensible he was. And there was Jane, too! she was reaching the top of the rather grand staircase, and calling out, "Lizzy! hello, darling, what a turnup for the books, eh?" and Henry Crawford talking to her at the same time, so elizabeth hardly knew if she was on her head or her heels.

"You're looking awfully fetching, Nurse Bennet," he observed to her, giving her a thorough look up and down. "Tell me, is that what they're wearing on the wards these days? Miss Jane, don't you think your sister looks almost as fetching as you yourself, today?" The elder

Miss Bennet and I bumped into each other on the way here," he added, tipping a glance in elizabeth's direction. "Wasn't that handy?" "I didn't realize the two of you knew each other," Elizabeth said, a little helpless. "When did that happen?" (Although when would it not happen,she chastised herself — Henry Crawford, and the prettiest nurse in the hospital!  "Oh, I bumped into Mr Crawford somewhere around the place," jane said vaguely. "Do you remember when we went to see Love's Labours Lost, Lizzy? wasn't he wonderful!" "Come now, you're making me blush," Henry Crawford said sweetly. Shall we, ladies?" And he nodded towards the great dark wooden entrance to the SSDR and the majordomo awaiting them with a pleasant smile. Elizabeth was only a very little boggled. "Ah, I'm sure you're very welcome to join us — but we were intending to have lunch with Cuffy Collins? Our cousin?" Henry nodded.

"that's the boy!" he agreed. "Good old Cuffy! Do you know, it's official — he's definitely backing the production we were talking about — and I'm in line for a plum role!" He beamed at the pair of them, clearly well pleased with both with himself and with them. "And just as a

little thankyou, I thought I'd wangle a table here in the good old SSDR -I have, oh, connetions, you know!" Jane was looking boggled for certain, now, and Elizabeth could only imagine how she herself looked. "But in that case, where's Cuffy?" she asked. "Oh, I don't doubt he'll be along shortly," Henry Crawford said beamingly. "Shall we, Nurses Bennet?" And, very much with the air of an experienced sheepdog herding a couple of stray and reluctant sheep in his chosen direction, Henry Crawford gently guided Elizabeth and Jane through a brief and charming interchange with the majordomo, who led them to a delighful table in a discreet and dimly lit corner of the sparkling, immaculately welcoming restaurant. It was every bit as impressive as Elizabeth remembered — a litte old fashioned, certainly, but in a way redolent of comfort, luxury and very, very high standards.

In the midst of getting themselves seated — Harry Crawford being very punctilious in pulling out their chairs, every bit the little gentleman — Elizabeth did not fail to notice that Jane was looking absolutely pounds better than the last time she had seen the other girl -

absolutely transcendentally lovely, in fact. Although there was always a little reserve in jane's mien, and manner, Elizabeth knew her sister — who better? And she could see the underlying contentment, the little glow of well-being in her sister's soul. It did Elizabeth's heart good, to see in how no doubt Jane was in process of getting over her little fixation with one Charles Bingley, and so much the better for that. No doubt he had been a lovely chap — she was sufficiently sure of the excellence of Jane's taste to be moderately sure of it. The fellow had, however, to be sure, the most horrible taste in sisters, and never mind if that wasn't technically his fault — Elizabeth blamed him for it nevertheless, for no one who had not done something very dreadful in a past life would possibly be cursed with sisters as dire

as Caroline and Saffy Bingley! Ah, but it was lovely to see the glow on Jane's face, as they settled at table. While Henry Crawford

chatted with the attentive waiter, Elizabeth patted Jane on the knee, and in a quiet voice said, "Oh, darling, it's so nice to see you. and so nice to see you looking so well! You do look lovely, darling — that dress is cracking, and you look jolly pretty in yourself, too! Are

things going — well, a bit better, now?" There was just a trace of uncertainty in jane's eyes, in response to this — and she looked up into a great cavernous corner of the high ceilinged room, before her attention came back to Elizabeth. Just as little uncertainly, she replied, "Ah, yes — I'm just fine, Lizzy — I'm awfully well, in fact." And then, as if she couldn't contain it, a broad smile spread across her face. — oh, how illuminated luminous and lovely — and she said, "Actually, things are simply marvellous, darling — well, up to a point. I'm simply longing to tell you, all about it — but perhaps, later after lunch, ehh? I've just got so much to tell you!" And then, as Henry Crawford commenced ordering wine — wine, good god, they were doing living the life now all right — she almost visibly repressed the brilliant internal illumination shining out from within her, and turned to her host, containing herself to a more restrained and courteous social side, oddly and sedate.

Oh, rats, rats. Elizabeth had rather a feeling, now, that she had jumped to the most favourable conclusions, a good deal too soon. Hell's teeth, but if Jane had what she considered to be 'marvellous' news, then what were the odds but that it was something to do with the patient

she'd got much too fond of, much too quickly? That was a quick route to the exit and a scathing dismissal, for any nurse. And for Jane? — award-winning medal-holder, dedicated jane, who'd not had to be talked around to nursing as a vocation by their mother, even, Jane for whom it was her childhood ambition? Jane, who wasn't even — quite qualified and registered yet. What an utter disaster such a thing would be for her — utterly dreadful. This, however, was certainly not quite the moment to be fretting over the possibility, and certainly not discussing it at table in the Senior Staff Dining Room of St. P's. (Oh, the worst place imaginable! ) It would have all to be discussed later. And besides, perhaps she was merely inviting catastrophe, and imagining disaster where none might be. Yes, that was a comforting thought! Thus Elizabeth slapped on a social smile, and

looked around in a breezy manner at her companions, to say, "Heavens, how sweet of you to treat us to lunch, Mr Crawford! (And it had better, it had better be a treat: she'd been invited out, after all, and last time she checked, was still living in a world where a girl got 

siphoned off into nursing when she'd been aiming for medicine. A price to pay, for both sexes, that was all!) "I do wonder what Cuffy has got to, though! Do you have know when where he might be, Jane? I wonder if he's got lost?" "Oh, Nurse Bennet, won't you stop mistering me?" Henry Crawford implored her. (As far as you could call it imploring: leaned towards her over the snowy tablecloth, with a glint in his smile that told any girl he knew exactly how magnetic it was.  "Hasn't my sister traduced my character enough to you by now, that you can feel enough casual disapproval to use my first name? You also, other Nurse Bennet!" he added, shaking a finger here in jane's direction. "She certainly has made you out to be an absolute blackguard," Elizabeth replied solemnly, and Jane gave out an involuntary laugh, as lovely and gilded as her laughter always was. Elzabeth saw how it perked up harry Crawford's interest, and sincerely hoped there would be no trouble resulting from that quarter.

Still, there was no denying against arguing against him being a very amiable and engaging chap, and Elizabeth found herself obliged to respond in kind. "Well, then, we'll let it be Henry, or shall we — or would you prefer Harry? And most of my friends call me Lizzy — and my sister

— although do bear in mind that Elizabeth is always acceptable!" "and do call me Jane," Jane piped up — jane, always clubbable, always most amiable, and right now, Elizabeth suspected, floating along upon a cloud of eupohoria so intense she would have greeted tramp or king with the same benevolently sweet smile of extreme warmth. And there they were, all jolly good friends, and Elizabeth with only the driest sense of foreboding. Two minutes later there were menus in their hands, and still no sign of Cuffy. "I do think I might have the mussels, Jane said, surveying the list carelessly, too busy with a daily diet of manna from heaven, no doubt. "Heavens, I wonder where Cuffy has got to? Lizzy, do you think I ought to go out to the lobby to call the nurses' residence, and see if he's slipped off there to pick us up? I didn't think to let him know we'd meet him here, or leave a message, did you?" Her anxious face

I believe he does have a bit of a rep as a sharp operator in running his property empire — or it might be more true to say, he rather plays up to that idea of himself, by everything I've ever heard. I mean, I can't really take the notion of Cuffy as a Rachmannian landlord exactly

seriously, now could you?" she asked him. What," Henry Crawford expostulated, "Nurse Elizabeth, are you telling me that you don't think I could have got us in here on the basis of my stellar reputation as an up and coming thespian? My ego is sorely wounded, woman — wounded, I tell you!" But on the other hand, his eyes were twinkling in a most agreeable way, and Elizabeth thought she knew better than to take him too seriously on the issue. "Oh, well, you might have the slightest bit of a point," he relented, now. "I do believe that the old girl putting in a bit of a good word for me may have swung things in my favour! Good God, it's coming to something when a star of stage and screen has to beg his little sister to get him a restaurant table, isn't it?" Well," Jane said, beaming, "you know that the SSDR is awfully exclusive!" Crawford was a tonic — and certainly a bit of a one, or more than that. But Elizabeth took a break from her amusement at his antics and kidding around, because there was another source of entertainment on the horizon. "Oh look," she pointed out, gesturing in the

"I do think half of it is just how badly our part of the family gets along with Cuffy's branch, Lizzy," Jane observed now — jane the peacemaker, ever and always! "Well, there's something in that," Elizabeth conceded. "Cuffy's old dad used to have the most tremendous feud going

with our father," she told a curious-looking Harry Crawford, now. "I don't even know how it all started, but they were like a couple of spitting cats if they had to be in the same room at a family wedding or funeral! Poor Cuffy probably had nothing to do with it — but his father was a real tight-fisted penny-pinching old git, in spite of having all the money in the world — or at least, all the money in our extended family! He kept Cuffy on a very short leash, until Cuffy started making a bob or two and branched out on his own. Good for him, really! direction of the main entrance to the restaurant — and there Cuffy was stood, in close and what looked to be heated conversation with the supervisor, a bit sweaty and flustered and apparently, by all signs, not having a chance in hell of getting his way, with the courteously firm fellow on the door nodding politely, clearly lending quite a civil ear to Cuffy's cajoling and pleading, and yet absolutely transparently having not the least intention in the world of granting poor old Cuffster admittance. all of this, and none of them privy to a word of their convers

"I don't doubt most of the ill-feeling and ill-doing was on his side: our father is a very reserved and peaceable old fellow, even if I may be a little biased! But Cousin Terence was a right tartar, and Dad wasn't the only one he managed to rile up and burn every bridge with."

conversation, and yet not a one of them was in an atom of doubt as to the general gist of the matter. "Hang on there a minute, girls," Harry Crawford said now, pushing himself up from the table and riding to the rescue. "I think I'll have to go and rope old Cuffy out of a spot of trouble, here, eh?" And there he went, in like Flynn and inserting himself into the debate going on between Cuffy and the majordomo fellow: and it was just like magic, how oil was almost instantly poured upon the troubled waters, and the outcast black sheep being barred and

denied entry was suddenly no longer persona non grata but welcomed so warmly Elizabeth was slightly concerned that the majordomo might start hugging Cuffy as if he were a long-lost nephew or somesuch. It was rather a heart-warming little scene, truth be told: and Cuffy was 

clearly massively relieved and delighted to be rescued from his ignominious fate by such a sterling and charming chappie as Harry Crawford. It was really a little touching how his face lit up when Harry rode in to the rescue, and how he hung upon the fellow's every word as Harry gave the majordomo the old oil. Quite natural, of course: and exactly the effect that Harry Crawford must have everywhere he went! No wonder he was a little conceited, which could hardly have been denied, even without Mary pointing it out at every juncture. Quite understandable, really! As Harry led Cuffy back over to the table, he seemed barely to notice his destination or that there were other folks than himself and Crawford present and waiting for him: so eagerly and warmly was he gazing at Crawford's face and nodding vigorously at whatever self-aggrandizing tall tale the fellow might be telling him at that second. and then in a moment, there they were at table. "Lizzy! Jane, darling!" Finally, their existence was acknowledged: and, truth be told, Cuffy was clearly delighted to see them, and Elizabeth felt a little small-souled

"Landowners, eh? I didn't know I was deaing with the aristocracy!" Crawford commented now, with an interested perk to the eyebrow. "Is it the Hon. Elizabeth and Jane Bennet, then, as well as Nurses E. and J. Bennet?" Elizabeth laughed, and said, "I can only wish! Not but that

a bit more money in the pot wouldn't have done a sight more good than any number of posh handles and titles, eh, Janie?" Jane smiled, and said, "Oh, we're not really at all posh, Lizzy's quite right — not that we weren't part of the local gentry going back a few generations, but most of the money — and some of the land — got frittered away over the centuries, eh Lizzy? I think a lot of it was entailed through the male line — we have some distant cousins who inherited the bulk, and I believe they're absolutely loaded, but they haven't stayed in touch or anything." "Amazingly!" Elizabeth said. "And meanwhile, our branch of the Bennets has gone to rack and ruin, and dwindled away to the merest middle-middle professional class — with a bit of land, to be fair, but debts and expenses and bad tenants and who knows what, into the bargain." She smiled at Crawford, and suggested, "I can get my violin out and give you the musical version of the family history, if you like!" And they all had a jolly good laugh, and mercifully that was that, for the time being. Must stop telling folks the family story, she

to have doubted it. Especially he was clearly happy to see jane — and Elizabeth never begrudged this anyone, for she was always delighted to see the girl herself — and hugged her with a great bearish enthusiasm. "But Cuffy dear! It's so nice to see you — but where have you been

We must have been waiting on you this past fifteen minutes at least!" Jane cried, hugging him back.  There was a lot of huffing and puffing — Cuffy was certainly no less rotund than he had ever been — as they got him sat down at table, and Harry Crawford poured him a glass and pressed it upon him. But once seated and settled and out of his coat (forgotten until the last minute, and then foisted off upon a passing waiter), he sat back and beamed upon them all, him and every chin he possessed. "Well, darling girls, well may you ask! I've been all over the place, on a mystery trip

about this whole dashed campus! I went to the nurses' home, and of the pair of you sign there was none — but I must say, girls, you have some very delightful friends there, and I was delayed an extra ten minutes having coffee while one girl — Marianne, I believe? — went hallooing

all about the building, looking for the pair of you! I went to the annexe -" "The annexe!" Jane exclaimed, horrified. "I'm not even working there anymore, Cuffy — it must have taken you forever!" "Rather, yes, Jane love," Cuffy agreed, oblivious, and took a vigorous draught of his glass. "I tried the lecture theatres, I tried to remember the wards you were working on, and of joy I had none, my dears!" He did not seem especially despondent, however, and indeed beamed at them some more, and beamed with still more brilliance at Harry Crawford. "And then I said to myself, well, there's really only one remaining place these lovely creatures can possibly be! So I hied myself off to the Senior Dining Whatsit, and here I am, most glad of a chance to sit down, to refresh and relax myself, and restore my tissues with a glass of the very fine house red!" here he bowed a little towards each of them, and Harry Crawford leant his head back and laughed his head off. Elizabeth was grinning herself: she had forgotten, after this good long while, that Cuffy could indeed be quite good value here and there, when the mood struck him.

"What are you going to order, Cuffy?" she suggested now. "You'd better get right to it, they'll probably be dishing up for us quite shortly. You're way behind!" And soon Cuffy was chatting to an indulgent waiter, and picking out, "Oh, whatever will be quickest, I've kept my

friends here waiting half the afternoon! A risotto, eh, that should be quick — oh darling, should I?" This, in response to Harry refilling his glass, quickly followed by, "But I will! Thank you, darling!" Well, at least they weren't worried about where the hell he'd wandered off to, any more. "It is nice to see you, cuffy," Elizabeth said indulgently. "ARe you going to be hanging about for long, now Harry here is off back to the big city? Or will you be trekking back with him, to organise the production you're working on together? Congrats on that by the way!" "Oh, do stay a while, Cuffy!" Jane urged him now — possibly a bit too warmly, in Elizabeth's estimation, but she was always a dashed sight too fond, too easily, of any blighter who arrived over the horizon. "There's lots of simply lovely beauty spots around here, and some absolutely divine historical buildings in Lambton — besides the guided guest walk around Pemberly, and — oh, tons of things!" "Ah, that sounds divine, my love," Cuffy said now — positively swigging his second glass, and with his little eyes swivelling side to side, a bit evasive, if anything. "I'm not absolutely sure that — are you really going back, Crawford? So quickly? When do you plan to leave?" Elizabeth thought she detected a little urgency in the enquiry: but none could be more relaxed than Harry Crawford, replying, "Tonight, old fella! I got a call from old Frankie boy — Frank churchill, you know, my agent," he added, with a quick look in the girls' direction — "with a possible audition — nothing for you to worry about, just a three-day filming for a minor character, for a film that's had someone drop out through

what looked to be a world-class risotto, judging by his lip-smacking and the relish with which he was attacking it. But he did not disregard his little cousin's protests entirely: and after a moment he set his fork down, lifted his glass, and said, "Oh, lovey, I wouldn't think of

it! It's so lovely to be down here with you — and however long I can stay down here for now, you can be sure I'll be popping down again soon, or soonest, now that we've had the chance to get re-acquainted again!" "A toast to that," Henry Crawford agreed. "I certainly should be back again as soon as possible, to savour all the wonderful delights of St. Pemberley's — and I don't just mean its lovely ladies!" That was a lifted glass that earnt a derisive laugh from Elizabeth, though Jane beamed and was no doubt touched to the heart. "Or perhaps you'll just be obliged to check in with your sister to get your current quarter's report card for conduct and work?" she suggested, and Henry found that abominably amusing, clearly. He turned, however, to Jane, and queried, "But, Nurse Bennet my love, what are all of these wonders of St P.'s that you speak of? Not that I'm doubting your account: I've had a good old poke around the old place a time or two now, and it's certainly a marvellous old pile, with some fabulous art and architecture on display. It's only that I don't want to miss any of the attractions

as an occasional visitor and relative rube, not on the inside track and knowing what the upcoming attractions are. Eh, cuff? So, Misses Bennet: how do you girls keep yourselves amused out here in the sticks?" And it wasn't the first time that the waggle of his handsome eyebrow

was capable of making an apparently perfectly innocent, innocuous question from Henry Crawford sound positively suggestive, let alone indecent. Elizabeth gave him something of a reproving look: but still, the question itself was legitimate. (And given that most St. P's events were charity events, and many helped to fund extra equipment and special events for the children's ward amongst others, she rather felt herself duty-bound to sell upcoming attractions, and sell them hard, giving it the hard sell on their dazzling lure and amazing wonders. "Well, she said now, "I suppose that the most imminently upcoming extravaganza is the Halloween Ball — held by St. P's itself, not the med school. I'm not absolutely sure, but I think it's open to non-staff, if you can get someone to buy you a visitor's ticket — and going by past dance similar bashes around these parts, it's got the reputation of going to be an absolute humdinger. So what do you think, eh, fellows? Harry? Cuffy? Are you going to do your bit to contribute to St. pemberley's coffers, all in a good cause? I'm sure we could get hold of a ticket or two for you, Cuffy! What do you say, eh? If you want to bring a ladyfriend along with you, I don't see how there'd be any harm in it!" And she did a fair bit of eyebrow-wiggling herself, just because it amused her to see Cuffy look a mite uncomfortable, and looking

as if he'd be willing to sell his soul for a quick exit from the situation. To be fair to the fellow, he straightened his spine a bit and looked her in the eye, when he said, "Ah, that does sound delightful, Lizzy! I doubt I'll be able to make it — business considerations, you

understand — so many contracts, so many deals and things that can't be put off! But I'll certainly be wishing you all the best, and I don't doubt that you two angels will be the belles of the ball!" There, wriggled out of that one: it was so clear as to be practically written across his sweating forehead, and it was probably dreadfully wrong for Elizabeth to feel the urge to tease him over it just a little more. "Oh," she cried now, "but don't you think you can persuade him, Harry? I know you'll be dying to go, eh? Or at least, that your sister wont let you get out of it!" She twinkled ferociously at him, and rather thought from the smirk she got back that he knew full well what she was up to. "Well, I'm pretty damn sure she'll make me buy a ticket or two, whether or not I actually attend!" he conceded now. "Come on, cuffster, I'm sure that fat wallet of yours can afford to buy a couple of tickets in a good cause! If you really don't want to go — ahem, if you find yourself unavoidably detained and unable to attend, then just donate the tickets to someone who'll appreciate them — raffle 'em off in your own offices, if you must, and send the extra proceeds to the St. P's benevolent fund!" "Well, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea," Cuffy began, looking cautiously optimistic, like a fox that hears the sound of the hounds baying off in the opposite direction. But H

Harry Crawford wasn't a bit done, and indeed in full flood. "Are you two raving beauties going, Nurses?" he asked now. "Because I must say, that would be an incentive and a half to attend? Who are the big manly medical musclemen who are fighting over who's going to squire you

there? D'you think I'd have a chance at fighting 'em to the death over it?" Oh, he was a caution. "Terribly funny," jane said, giggling. "No, seriously," Harry Crawford added, "tell me all about it. I haven't heard a thing from mary: are these do's generally good value? what's the band like? Do they lay on food? bubbly? You never know, Mary might twist my arm, and if so I'll want to know if it's worth my while." "I don't know about the music," Elizabeth said — ripping a mussel out of its shell, and though as a whole they were tender and delicious, this one was rather unwilling to be parted from its pearly home — "but I believe they do as a rule feed and water the guests. And not only that, but the word is that this particular dance is going to be a masked ball — all the fun of playing dress-up, and going incognito What larks, eh?" "What, really?" Harry Crawford asked now, his interest clearly piqued. "Damn it! That does sound like larks! I could be persuaded to clear a date in my calendar for any such thing! Damnit, that's it — I do believe I'll be there, all dressed up as Zorro or some such! Do you think you could get hold of a couple of tickets for me, Nurse Elizabeth — I promise you I'm good for it, and in fact I'll boost you the cash up front! No, wait a minute — it's probably best if i ask Mary to do it, if only because she'll take massive offence if I don't, not to mention wanting to vet my date, should I bring a lady with me!" (And, elizabeth diagnosed shrewdly, much better for Mary to get a hold of a brace of tickets for him, since then there'd be no possibility of a misunderstanding about Harry Crawford himself — the one

"Rental property?" Elizabeth said, hazarding a guess. "No, silly love!" Cuffy chastised her — in a jokey manner, but with a trace of real annoyance in his voice, she thought. "I'm in the theatre! Darling, when have you known me not be an absolute fiend for theatrical productions?

Well, there was certainly more than a pinch of truth in that. Looking back, Elizabeth had half a dozen happy memories of Cuffy taking herself and a sister or two out to London to see a play or a special release at the cinema — and one had to give him credit, it was a generous use of his time and money

by a younger Cuffy, especially since he almost certainly hadn't yet made his pile at the time. "And now," he burbled along happily, "I've actually got myself into the theatrical world — backing this marvellous production, and I'm so excited about it, love! And that's just what a masked ball is,when you think about it — all the

glamour and the intrigue, the mystery and romance of a great theatre production or movie, but in a way even better! Because it's all real — real people, behind the masks, all with their own stories to tell, their own secrets of the heart — and all you can do is to guess at the truth, and dance, dance the night away, my darling!" "Or drink the night away," Harry Crawford noted

, probably with at least equal realism if one took into account the med school contingent. But elizabeth noted that Jane had a rather wistful, dreaming expression upon her fair face, as she patted Cuffy's hand and gazed at him rather sadly. "Oh, Cuffy. I do wonder why you never

thought to go into acting yourself — you know, at least to try out for RADA, or the Central School, or see if you could get yourself taken on by a rep company as chief dogsbody and get into the biz via bit parts. It does seem a shame, and the profession will never know what they've lost!" "Indeed, too true!" said Harry Crawford jovially, and lifted his glass (yet again.) "To Sir Cuffy, the greatest undiscovered thesp of our times!" and Elizabeth lifted her own, with a little real twinge — since she thought she had a pretty shrewd idea why, in all

his brief enthusiasms and damp squib career aspirations, up until his property company took off, Cuffy had never so much as dedicated his free time to a local am-dram group. That shrewd idea had a good deal to do with his poisonous old shrew of a father, Wilfrid, as previously referenced, who had not

reserved his petty and unpleasant venom solely for the likes of Elizabeth's father, but had spread it about freely, far and wide, and truly most frequently specialised and narrowed its focus upon his only son — very often in public, and at a high volume, and at a family wedding or funeral, or at someone's deathbed, on the last day of their lives.  Oh, how vile! How disgustingly subhuman!  Thinking that over — and a bit abstracted for a moment — she resolved that it was most likely she had not appreciated cuffy at his full worth in their past history, and would at minimum be responding to his Christmas letters and looking him up when she was in the smoke, in future. Even though he no doubt

had not the least idea what manner or amount of acting cuffy might have done in his life up to date, nor how good — or terrible — he was or would have been at it. "Oh, pish tosh," Cuffy said now — blushing like a schoolboy, and bless him for it, it was rather sweet — and flapped

his hand at the three of them, if rather more pointedly at Henry Crawford. He could clearly scarcely meet the eye of any one of them, but the little smile on his rosebud mouth clearly indicated that he was rather touched by the unearned tribute. But there was a slight twinge of sadness and regret that Elizabeth thought she discerned in his little eyes, too, and no doubt with very good reason. She mentally shook a tiny fist at old Wilfrid collins, the old bastard, and it was only a pity he was stone cold in the ground, and she could not kick him hard into the bargain.

"No money in acting, dear girl!" Cuffy pointed out now, beaming upon Jane genially, his plump hands resting upon his belly beneath his rather nice tailored dark blue suit. And, yes, that was also a very credible reason not to follow a passion for acting — as far as cousin Cuffy

was concerned — Elizabeth mentally conceded. "At least, for those of us mere mortals who don't have the gilded Midas touch," he added, patting at Henry Crawford's forearm where he was playing with his wineglass on the table, and making the dreaming lad jump a little at the touch. "different for you, eh, Harry — you've got that magic that makes all heads turn, all eyes follow you on stage." And Cuffy sounded definitely wistful, as he made the observation. It was rather sad — and he definitely ought to have been at least an amateur actor, Elizabeth thought

- he had a gift for getting a thought or feeling across in words, and she rather remembered that he always had had, when well oiled at family dinners and carried away by sentiment. From the look on his face he was rapidly cheering up from his brief maudlin moment, however — and

quickly added, "and that's a dashed good thing, my boy — it's why we'll be cleaning up with this production, and how! I'm pretty dashed confident I can guarantee they'll be queuing up and down the street for tickets, when the premiere's over and the posters are up — your name in lights, lad, and over the title, your name in lights!" He looked rather overcome at the thought, and mopped his forehead, his gaze a little misty at the very thought of such a wondrous debut. Harry Crawford himself looked perhaps just a touch sceptical, but also rather pleased

at the thought of a leap up into the stratospheric starry heights of celebrity. (And why shouldn't he be? Elizabeth could think of no-one who would enjoy it more, or adorn it more thoroughly, and why not?) Cuffy himself hummed a little tune, and chewed the last mouthful of his

risotto, and altogether looked so pink and sweaty and over-excited, it was probably a very good thing that their desserts came at just that moment, and they could all concentrate upon the delicious food and calm down a bit altogether. The mousse was exquisite: Harry Crawford had nothing but praise for the syllabub, and Cuffy — well, Cuffy had summoned a rice pudding, at a quiet moment in conversation with one of the charming waiters, and when it arrived it rather supported and justified his schoolboy tastes — quite a different beast from the bland and flavourless mush elizabeth remembered from her own boarding school days. Spiced, and rather alcoholic, and altogether an exotic and fragranced creation, which Cuffy insisted they all try a spoonful of, so that they could the more thoroughly regret their own more conventional

have  a complete medical work-up in A&E, which Elizabeth dismissed out of hand as ridiculous.  "Darling!  There isn't a single thing the matter with me — except for being rather embarrassed by being as clumsy as a circus clown, and tripping over myself with an audience of probably a hundred people.  Not just any people, either, but the nobs and the high-ups of St. pemberley's, most of them.  Oh, good heavens!  They must think I was perfectly sloshed!"

"Oh, I doubt it very much, Nurse Liz," Harry Crawford assured her, as soothingly as a professionally trained actor's voice could be.  "I don't doubt they've seen it all before, in any case!  But you had no more than the rest of us -a bit less than me and old Cuffy, if you ask me!  Maybe you were a little, how shall we say — in a good mood, and ready to take on the world?  But no more than that — certainly not sloshed, dear lady!  I'm sure it was nothing more than ineptly located furniture, and tripping over your own feet, as you say."

There's such a thing as being too agreeable — and certainly too ready to agree with someone's explanations and self-justifications.  Elizabeth gave Harry Crawford a slightly suspicious look — where she was strolling along on his arm, by the lush green sward of St. P's outside the north wing.  "I'm quite sure I did!" she said to him, iin a certain tone.  "Oh, absolutely," he agreed, nodding, and if that was a smirk...  "Well," she said — only very slightly nettled — 'perhaps I'd had one too many, after all.  But that doesn't mean that' swhy I fell over!"  "No — otherwise we'd all have been arse over tit," Harry Crawford mused.  "It only looks rather like it..."

And that was quite enough of that.  Elizabeth changed the subject quite firmly, in order to say, "and in any case, I note, more interestingly than all of that, that it rather appears from that whole kerfuffle that you have a prior acquaintance with Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, MD, FRCS, et cetera et cetera.  How interesting!  How does that come to be, Mr Crawford, do tell us!"  And here she smirked at him, since she had rather a feeling that there was a story to tell, here, somewhere.  "Oh, I had forgotten about that!" jane piped up.

"Yes, do tell, Harry!  He's a very important personage around these parts, you know — terribly prestigious, both a rather senior surgeon, and the heir to the founders and original ownders of pembelrley!  However do you come to know him?"  "And be on nodding terms with the fella, besides," Cuffy noted.  "I confess myself intrigued also!"  Harry gave them all a slightly rueful look, rather pointedly intensified with his glance at Elizabeth.  "There, I walked into that one, didn't I?  Note to self: don't be too funny-funny with Nurse Lizzy, for she'll get back at you one way or another!"

"that's nokind of an answer," Elizzabeth noted, leaning on him a little heavily, for she was still feeling just a little delicate — and also, just in order to lean on him a little heavily, both literally and metaphorically.  "Oh, it's nothing at all," Harry Crawford answered carelessly.  "He was a couple of years senior to me in medical school, here at St. P's — we rather ran with the same crowd.  We got to be middlingly good friends, in the end — and when I ran off to join the circus, near enough — or to go on the stage, as it happens — he took a rather dim view of it.

and that's honestly all there is to it — and certainly the fellow's entitled to his own opinions, just so long as he doesn't shove them down anyone else's throat!  We rather lost touch after that — all for the best, if you ask me!  He was always a bit above his company — very conscious of the old school tie and the blue-blood parents, if you know what I mean!"  "Oh, that does seem a bit unfair!" Elizabeth cried out now — could not help herself, and for dashed good reason too.  Certainly it got her a surprised look and a raised eyebrow from Jane, who had not heard yet of the exciting news she had to tell.

"Darling!" she said now, with a tone of almost reproof.  "Here I was, thinking you simply couldn't abide him!"  "Perhaps she's got a fancy for the fellow, now he's helped her up when she'd skinned her knee," Cuffy said in a speculative tone, a mildly amused glint in his eye — oh, Cuffy was a devil for a bit of gossip, and immersing himself in the love-lives of others!  "Oh, that's too ridiculous!" Elizabeth said — possibly a bit flouncy, with it, but looking out over the grass and the great regal old oaks, to admire the view — also to turn her flushed cheeks away from her companions.

"His family's done a lot of good in the past, that's all — I believe he does a good deal for charity also.  People should get credit for the good they do — even if they are a bit hi-falutin'!" she finished, rather decidedly.  (In terms of the strictest factual basis, she didn't have any particular grounds for her last assertion — but it seemed more than likely, given Mr Darcy's parents and their political and philanthropic activities — and anyhow, it would be very nice, just now, to put the subject to bed completely!)  "Oh, I'm sure you're right," Harry Crawford said now, and patted her hand as they moved on down the handsome gravel drive.

"I'll lay off the poor fella — who could buy and sell me ten times over, just while we're taking note!"  "Oh, I think you're doing pretty well, Harry," Cuffy noted expansively, grinning at him across the gravel.  "And bound to do better in future, I guarantee it!  Girls, tell me: what do you have planned for the rest of the afternoon?"  Jane looked at Elizabeth, and said, "I think you mentioned something about a walk about in the estate?  That sounds rather nice, are you still up for it?  I think it would be a good idea, eh?"  Elizabeth had to laugh, rather drily.  "In order for me to walk the booze off, eh!  Don't worry, darling — you're just rather transparent, that's all!"

"Oh, Lizzy, I have no idea what you mean at all!" Jane said — blushing rather, but grinning at her too just the same.  "Right, right," Elizabeth countered.  "You know, every one of you had every drop the same as me, you know — if not more!"  "Quite right!  Quite right!" Cuffy boomed, backing her up.  "We're all a little tiddly, and none the worse for it!  Well, ladies — if you're set on a walk, that may be where I leave you.  I have some contract papers with deadlines that I rather need to go over — some of them concerned with the dramatic production we have upcoming, eh, dear boy?"  And here he gave a meaning look at Harry Crawford, with a question in his voice.

"I suppose so," Harry Crawford said, with a tinge of reluctance in his voice.  "Ladies," he said — looking between Elizabeth and Jane, with a touch of veni vidi vici, in his voice.  "It's been an awfully good time, and what a privilege it has been to break bread with you — and pop bottles, too, eh?  I should, however, really take a scan at that paperwork of Cuffy's with him — so this may be where we part ways, sad though it is to say.  Especially as I'm leaving this evening!"  This brought forth a great many exclamations from Elizabeth and Jane, along the lines of how very lovely it had been, how nice it was of he and Cuffy to take them to lunch, and how very much he would be missed by the entire population of the St. Pemberley's nursing school.  (Extremely true, that last part!)

The girls hugged Cuffy goodbye, for he was a very good sort of a fellow after all!  And, when Harry Crawford proved impervious to all and any attempts to shake his hand, they hugged him too, and thus the two pairs parted with a great deal of goodwill, and promises to keep in touch and see each other soon.  It was most affecting!  (Oh, Elizabeth was surely a little drunk, even still.  Such sentimentality would normally be anathema marantha to her, but, well, one must have one's moments!  And normal human affections were not beyond her: only generally accompanied by the ironic wit and commentary she had surely inherited in some measure from her father.)

Jane was still waving as the two fellows hoved off into the green-grey distance of Pemberley, when Elizabeth took her by the hand, and tugged her by it, to set off walking themselves.  "Oh, was that not a lovely time we had, Lizzy?" jane said now, her face a little pinkened by pleasure and by wine, beaming sweetly.  "I am so glad to have seen them both and spent that time together: we do not see half enough of cousin Cuffy, I vow!"  "Our father might have a conniption if he heard you say such a thing," Elizabeth observed drily.  "But now that we are grown and out of the house, I suppose we may keep up with any number of distant relatives, so long as Father isn't obliged to have dealings with them!"

And she led her sister off for a walk through greenery and ancient buildings, for really Pemberley was a hospital quite unlike the grim and functional building housing most.  They passed by the visitor's cafe, and stopped off there for a bun and cup of tea each — very settling to the mood and the digestion, though neither were the least hungry any more.  And they took these out, to sit by the side of the lake and gaze out at the ducks, who proved much more peckish than the two sisters watching them — indeed, the little rascals soon ate most of two primo quality muffins, though Elizabeth and Jane sat and watched the horizon, and drank their tea in a state of great, and gradually sobering, tranquillity.

he hoped to see me there." Then she lifted up her face, to give Elizabeth a terribly significant look. Her eyes were definitely dewy, now, and not in any good way. "Lizzy, what do you think that means? How would you take it, yourself?" she appealed. And Elizabeth was in no

doubt upon the matter — not the least in the world. "Well, frankly darling, since you ask, I'd take it to mean that Caroline Bingley hasn't changed a bit — still the mean nasty lying cheating conniving bitch she always was, bless the little scumbag!" she said, quite sunny, all things considered. "And if you're interested in any further opinions of mine, I'd say that you're not a fool, love, and you're just asking me for confirmation of what you already think." But Jane just continued to give her that dewy and appealing look, and who could possibly withstand against that? Elizabeth sighed — because honestly, to give Jane what amounted to hope, if not outright encouragement, seemed positively irresponsible, under the circumstances. And yet, what was a girl to do? It was Jane, after all, and while a bracing dose of common sense, and a white lie about one C. Bingley, might be vastly the more well-advised course of action, still... Still, she found herself quite incapable of not telling Jane what she wanted to hear — the more because it was true, and any other course would require a measure of prevarication. "Oh, darling, you're the one who's just outlined the facts of the matter to me, aren't you?" she appealed, now. "And given they are as they are, you know as well as I do — the horrid bint sent you the first lot of flowers, and the note, purporting to be your former patient and her brother, with a highly misleading signature, in the hopes that it might send you off quietly by sweetening you up a bit, while disposing of any hopes you might have had. And — since she is, in fact, C. Bingley — it's also all delightfully deniable, should she get caught out, and she can just claim the best intentions and clean hands. All while trying to pull off a bare-faced bit of identify theft, the dreadful old sow! Meanwhile, your actual, legit Charles Bingley starts to feel a bit more himself, and sends you his own bunch of daffs

along with a hinty-hinty little note. Or do you have a different interpretation of what's going on there, darling?" Jane fidgeted, and wrung her hands a bit, her eyes on the horizon and very much not looking at Elizabeth. "Oh, i don't know. Perhaps you're right, Lizzy — although

I simply can't imagine why Caroline bingley would do such a thing. What's it to her, what I think about her brother leaving before he was well enough, or getting in touch with me?" "Dear jane," Elizabeth said. "If you don't know the answer to that, I can't help you!" "Well, in any case," jane said finally, after knocking back the cooling dregs of her cuppa, "it's just a note! I expect it's awfully silly of me to make such a fuss about something so trivial." Honestly. Elizabeth gazed at her a moment, and did wonder why people wanted to argue so much that they'd go around announcing the opposite of what they hoped. "Well," she said casually, "I don't suppose he'd dare actually ask you to the dance. Caroline Bingley might have him committed! Or lock him in the cupboard under the stairs, who knows." Jane laughed, even

though it sounded a little artificial, a long way from the musical husky bells of her usual laughter. "You're so silly, lizzy!" "Hm. I wonder," Elizabeth said cryptically. "Well, in any case, what does it really matter? As normal, you'll have dozens of actual invitations, I

don't doubt — in fact, I'm willing to bet you've had a few already! come now, haven't you? Don't keep secrets from your sister, darling — it's bad for your karma, and in any case I'll ferret it out of you eventually, you know it perfectly well!" A duck squawked in agreement, and Elizabeth said, "See, someone agrees with me!" jane laughed properly, now — or almost so — and said, "Well, the Watson boy was hinting around — fifth year med student, you know? And xxx always asks me, but only because — well, you know, the business with his fiancee, Lizzy. so sad!" (It was sad indeed — the fellow had been engaged up until last year to a girl from back home, until he'd gone off to serve with Doctors without borders, and come back to find she'd dropped dead after an extremely brief bout of fever. Poor fellow, and a a very sweet one, if with only one topic of conversation now, and a very awkward one — 'Darling xxx, and how very sad and solemn life was, after all!' Good God, jane, I hope you managed to slope out of that, didn't you?" she asked now. And Jane winced, saying, "to be honest, I said there was a ward emergency and Sister would have my hide if i didn't run straight back," she admitted, looking slightly guilty. "Quite right," Elizabeth approved. "Not that I'm dead to sympathy, but you're not a bandaid for fellows with broken hearts, and they needn't start thinking it and

trading on your really inhuman good nature. Or I'll be wanting to know the reason why!" she exclaimed, shaking her fist, with one eye on Jane. "Ah, that's a lovely smile," she coaxed, now, as a little amusement played across the lovely girl's face. "Let it come out to play!"

Jane tried to look disapproving, but the pleasant lines of her oval face were not designed for such dreariness. "Heavens, Lizzy," she said, "I feel sorry for any of our sisters' boyfriends. You'll probably run them off before they have a chance to take a fancy to anyone!" Well someone has to," elizabeth said philosophically. "God knows our father's too busy — if he was inclined to do it anyway. And our mother would think it perfectly lovely if we were all married off at sixteen, especially if it were to a doctor or two! Anyhow, darling," she pursued having been distracted from her main concerns, "tell me more about your infatuated swains! have you committed yourself to any particular one of them, as far as this dratted ball is concerned?" "Oh, no," Jane demurred, looking — for jane — just a little crafty. or, perhaps, what such a naturally, ingenuously honest person would consider crafty, when they thought themselves to be keeping their private thoughts a secret to themselves, when in truth every word was written upon the open canvas of their face. "I don't think I'll be going with any fellow, darling!" But you are going to the ball, right, love?" Elizabeth asked, slightly shocked. for it was part of the nurse-in-training's credo: considering how hard they were worked, and all the studying they had to do, any potential bit of merrymaking was something to be seized up

on upon immediately, with the greatest alacrity. "Of course, jane agreed. "But I do think it would be awfully nice for all us girls to go together, instead of accepting dates. Wouldn't that be fun, darling?" Good Lord, but the dear one had such an angelic, innocent face. 

Elizabeth did wonder if she were even intentionally scheming, or in fact capable of it. "Yes, Jane," she said, very drily. "Let's do that. Nothing to do with your pal charles bingley attending on the night, eh? Or you wanting to keep yourself available, instead of having some inconvenient mannikin getting in the way. eh?" Jane's eyes were a little wide: wider than a squirrel, caught in the act of stealing a nut, and seizing up in absolute stillness. Then she smiled, a tiny bit, and elizabeth couldn't help but soften towards the darling. "Oh, I expect you think I'm awfully silly, Lizzy," she said softly. "I mean... he didn't even ask me to actually go with him. He could have, but he didn't. But I — I would just like..." "To have a dance or two with the fellow? to steal a couple of moments away from his sisters' so that he's not afraid to speak one wrong word to you, for fear they bundle him up and rob him off back home?" elizabeth suggested. And in fact, there was exactly such a squirrel before, them, about 200 yards away at the bole of one of the vasty great oak trees, an acorn in each hand and a malevolent look on its face, for all its quivering nerves. 'What, take my nut? it seemed to say, wordless, its eyes on Elizabeth's eyes. 'Try, see if you dare!' and then it turned its back and disappeared off up the tree. Look alive! She'd never seen anything move faster -the squirrels of Pemberley were a hardy, athletic and aristocratic bunch, turning their tiny rodent noses up at lesser tree-dwellers out in the plane trees of Lambton and surrounding areas. "He could perfectly well have asked me, Lizzy," Jane said now, quite stubborn, as only

Jane could, rarely and on occasion, be, when she got into that particular frame of mind. "Well, he didn't," Elizabeth said philosophically. "And I think, personally, you can allow him a little latitude for it, with frightful sisters like that. which isn't intended to give you

licence to get all tangled up with the boy and potentially get yourself into a lot of trouble. are you listening to me, Jane?" Looking at Jane's faraway eyes, it seemed most unlikely. "You'd be much better to take one of your old faithfuls to the dance," Elizabeth said deliberately. "You know perfectly well there are at least half a dozen perfectly nice fellows who would jump at the chance. What's wrong with them? And not a one of them an ex-patient! Nothing wrong with a one " "Oh, do lets all go stag," was all Jane had to say in response. of them, barring that on their arm, you can't spend the whole night mooning over charles Bingley!" "It would be so much fun. I caught two minutes between wards with Em this morning, and I believe she might not be bothering to take a fellow this time — and you know, Em could take her pick if anyone could. I don't know that Mary Crawford is keeping company with anyone in particular, either. And what about you, Lizzy? Has anyone put in a word, anyone you've got your eye on?" Oh, now Jane had gone 'brisk': her real thoughts hidden away behind those lovely blue eyes, and as much chance of getting any deep conversation with her as, well, as of catching one of those pesky squirrels and making it give up its nuts. "Sister darling," Elizabeth said drily. "Must we excavate my secret shame? No, you must know very well: sad and

single elizabeth has not a single camp-follower, currently! I myself will for certain be going stag to the ball!" "Oh, I don't know, Lizzy," Jane said thoughtfully, leaning back on the bench with the sun on her lovely face. "I know a couple of fellows with a bit of a fancy for

you-" And here Elizabeth was forced to interrupt: "Now, jane — don't even think of going trolling for dates for me! As part of your sisterly duty, you can forget about it! If I want a fellow, I'll go out and hunt him down for myself, thank you very much!" Perhaps she was still just the littlest bit oiled, and Jane too, the excellent wine from lunch not wearing off as quickly as you might think. Or alternatively, she just felt rather strongly upon the subject, who knows! Jane turned and gave her the eyeball: and then said, "If I may continue, as I was saying — didn't you mention meeting a rather nice chap at the Forsters' do? What was his name, Wickley or something?" Elizabeth laughed: for Jane had such an inconvenient memory! "Oh, Lord! Yes, I did meet him — George Wickham, actually! A real charmer: although according to Mary Crawford — do you remember? — rather deceptively so. And I believe he's run afoul of our Mr Darcy at one time, too: at least, they seem to be rather less than enamoured of each other. I would want to check his references with rather a good deal of caution, shall we just say

before committing myself to spending an evening with the fellow." "Mr Darcy? Fitzwilliam Darcy?" jane asked, her flawless eyebrows drawn a little together. "Our Mr Darcy, of pemberley? But we hate him, Lizzy! We don't like him at all, isn't that right? Mr Darcy, yaaah boo

hisss! " (Jane had definitely not quite, completely sobered up from lunch. Perhaps a little less than Elizabeth, in fact — but her normal manner was so habitually composed, it was easy to miss it.) "Well, I think at this point we're not entirely sure about the rights of the matter," elizabeth replied composedly, and stood up. "Come on, darling. Let's have a nice steady walk back to the nurses' residence, and we can talk it over." Which was precisely what they proceeded to do: and Elizabeth, with some repetition, and slowly drip-feeding the facts on account of Jane's still slightly impaired state, delivered a considered summary of the present state of affairs as regarding one Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq., MD, FRCS of St. Pemberley's. This, as far as promises to assist in medical school applications, references and letters of recommendation were concerned: and the doubts and uncertainties she felt regarding the rights of the matter between the fellow himself, and one George Wickham — especially considering Mary Crawford's dark comments on the matter. "Well, darling, some things are always going to exist in a grey area," Jane commented, as they walked along arm in arm, and Elizabeth blessed her hideous flatties, given that a short walk while a bit squiffy always felt at the minimum three times as long as it actually was. "You may never know the rights of it as far as his behaviour to George Wickham is concerned — but you do know jolly well how he has behaved to you — and even if he is a bit of a prig, and generally regarded as quite up himself, still..." "Still, he's done something awfully nice for me, which he was not at all obliged to do, and after I'd been quite disagreeable to him about it," Elizabeth summarized for her, and Jane nodded emphatically. "Yes, quite darling," she said. "And isn't it simply just thrilling! I don't know about you — you look quite calm, Lizzy, and given the facts I don't know how you can

In response to this, Jane gave a splurting, high-pitched giggle: and pulled away, her arm falling out of the welcoming loop of Elizabeth's arm, as she put her hands over her face as she half-walked, half-stumbled on the park pathway, calmed herself, and breathed deep, very deep.

"What he wanted you to do in return!" she repeated now, her eyes wandering away, and a very uncharacteristic village idiot grin upon her rather flushed face.  "Oh, Lizzy — I do know what you mean, but it sounds like — it sounds like-" "Oh, I know very well what it sounds like

 — to any one half-cut, at least!" Elizabeth said rather severely, considering whom she was talking to.  "Like he's a wicked seducer of a village squire," Jane said — Lord, still giggling.  "And you're a helpless young virgin village maiden, all virtue and taking soup to the sick and the old, and- and — he wants you to-"

"yes, I'm sure I can imagine!" Elizabeth said — just a little tart about it, too.  "We can just leave the rest of that to the imagination, saucy girl!  But regarding what it was that he actually wanted me to do — I think we can agree that it was quite big of him to merely drop the subject, when I made it sufficiently clear that the shot wasn't on the board.

"that's awfully good, Lizzy darling," jane said earnestly, with her head almost dropping onto elizabeth's shoulder as they walked, presumably with relief.  Then she added, "But the other thirty per cent, Lizzy?  What about that?  I mean — I take it you mean the letter of recommendation that he's half promised you?

Do you think — do you think he'll really do it?  Isn't it the most vital part of the whole deal?  What if he should back out when it comes right down to it?"  And Jane was sounding a little stressed — a little high-pitched — and, frankly...  Elizabeth pulled away a little, and took Jane's face in her hands, stopping dead on the path, with the wide and lovely lake in the distance, squirrels and all.

"Janey, love!" she said now — and a 'tsk, tsk, tsk' was surely not too far away, either.  "You really are fairly piddled, aren't you?  How on earth, when you had no more than me?  Well, I suppose I did fall over, so you've got that one all over me...  And this is the price you pay, for drinking cola or cherryade at parties until you were at least nineteen, darling!  You need to build up a tolerance, you know — especially coming to a hard-drinking environment like a hospital with a medical school!

Do you know what MD stands for, darling?  No matter what anyone might tell you otherwise, it's 'Master of Dipsomania'!  Now, let's get you back to the nurses' home — you can spend what's left of the afternoon sleeping it off, won't that be nice!  And waking up with a lovely crashing headache!  Fabulous!  Oh, and as to that matter of the letter of recommendation — well, 

baby steps, darling, baby steps!  Let's not run before we can walk!"  And, speaking of walking, she put her arm through Jane's once more, and began to lead her home at a gentle and thoughtful pace, while keeping a discreet sideways eye on the dear dipso of a girl as she did so.  "Judging by the tone of his note, I don't doubt that he intends to do as he says, now that he's committed himself — if not exactly a clubbable fellow, he seems quite serious and honourable in some respects — as far as we can ever know!  But first I need to

work through the materials I already have, and get as far as I possibly can, before bothering him further — I rather think he's done as much as i can possibly expect, before I get a little further down the road!  And, before then, I rather think I must thank him — quite effusively, probably, which should be rather blush-inducing, all things considered!"

"Oh, darling," jane replied, sounding quite concerned, and only a little bit woozy.  "Have you not done that already?  Oh dear!"  "Quite," Elizabeth said drily.  "It's quite essential: and no doubt I might have got the task done quite neatly and opportunely today, while I had the chance. But I'm afraid I was rather busy being a little bit — a little bit tipsy, and

rather having my mind occupied by more pressing matters, in the heat of the moment!  Not to mention being utterly surrounded, without any possibility of drawing the chap away to a secluded corner in order to have a private chat.  No!  Imagine how much Harry Crawford would have enjoyed being privy to that conversation — he'd have been all ears, earwiggin' it, and it would have no doubt been straight on to Mary and all around the medical school by Friday!

It wasn't really so very far, getting back to the nurses' home: it only felt it, every step lagging and Elizabeth's heart simply yearning for her own bed, another cuppa and three or four hours spent conked out and unconscious in the blissful arms of Lethe. but no, it felt like a

long, long way getting there! but 'even the weariest river winds somewhere safe to sea' — which was terribly fortunate, because she was frankly terribly weary, and Jane was practically asleep on her feet by the time the nurses' home hoved into view! Ah, what a wonderful sight, isn't it, Lizzy!" Jane cried, when the big old red brick building first popped up on the horizon. (It wasn't built of the same glorious, weathered old sandstone as most of the buildings of Pemberley: was, rather, a modern addition, put up to house the nurses who were required in ever greater quantity as St. Pemberley's expanded in size, scope and its number of medical specialisms — famous around the world, at this point, and with an ongoing ambition to stave off sickness and care for the sick and the wounded, originated by Fitzwilliam Darcy's own parents. Quite a proud family heritage, in fact, and Elizabeth thought that perhaps to some degree he could be excused a measure of dignified pride in that familial history and what it had built. Oh, but never mind that! It was so nice to stagger — oh, well, she was exaggerating vastly,

but it certainly felt like staggering, or at least she was still a very little mite unsteady on her feet. Lovely, to walk into the entrance hall, however, with jane on her arm, and their rooms only a floor or two away! How lovely the shade, the ageing magnolia paint, the sleepy

old Home Sister on the reception desk! and she was all ready to yank Jane in the direction of the lifts, before her progress was arrested. "Lizzy! Lizzy Bennet! Hello there, darling! Oi, slow your roll, sweetie! Jane, grab her and stop her!" For Jane — a little slower, and more impaired — had been easier to distract, and paused quicker. Elizabeth was halfway to the elevators, when she stopped and looked around. Ah, it was Mary Crawford. Mary, all done up in a pristine uniform, but her face a little paler than normal, with the fatigue of someone just now done with a taxing and arduous shift on the wards. "Hello, darlings!" she cried — for no amount of fatigue could leech the joie de vivre from Mary's veins. And coming up close, she stood a moment, gazing thoughtfully at them — at Jane, resting her head on Elizabeth's shoulder, at Elizabeth, not quite able to focus her eye contact from tiredness, and having eaten and drunk a little too well, and not wisely at all. "Well, well, girls," Mary said, and whistled a moment. "I was going to ask if you had a good lunch with my dear brother. But I don't need to, now, for I see that you did. an extremely good lunch, eh? And for that matter," she added, leaning in to breathe deep, "I can smell that you did, too! Crikey, girls: don't breathe over me too much, Sister'll be throwing me off the ward for showing up drunk! did

Harry have a lovely time as well? I'll just bet he did: two young lovelies on his arm instead of one, he'll have had the time of his life! That's the kind of odds the old sod likes, although with his looks — and money, and job — you wouldn't think he'd need it, would you?"

Jane gazed at her vaguely, before saying, "Oh, our cousin Cuffy was there too." Which was, in some sense relevant, elizabeth supposed, even if it sounded like a non sequitur. Mary scrutinized her thoughtfully. "Yes, Jane darling," she said. "I know Cuffy — quite well, in a very short time. He's a grand fella!" Jane smiled, and Elizabeth sometimes thought that Jane really didn't ever need to speak — not with that smile at her disposal. And sometimes, of course, it's better for all of us, each and every one, to think more than we speak. "Well," Mary finally announced, apropos of absolutely nothing, "I'm wanted on the ward, and if I don't want my collar felt then I'd best be off, my darlings!" And she made as if to go, except that Elizabeth put a hand on her arm to stop her. "Mary!" she said. "We were talking about the halloween ball — it seems that quite a few of us won't have partners for it, so we're liable to be going stag — me, Jane, maybe Emma — not Fanny, of course, she's already spoken for by George Knightley! I don't know if you have any plans, but if not, then if you want to come

along with us then that would be lovely!" Even a little bit tipsy, Elizabeth could very well see something being swiftly calculated behind Mary Crawford's flashing dark eyes: and not only that, but the amusement in her swift smile. "Isn't that nice!" she said now, and Patted

Elizabeth's cheek. "I'm sure we'll all have a lovely time! You run along now, girls — before you fall over!" "Too late for that!" Jane piped up now cheerfully, and though mary laughed, she did not inquire further. "Run along!" she advised. "I'm off to avoid the wrath of Sister she added, And turned to exit via the main entrance, sweeping out as the rather dramatic and romantic figure she always did cut, her nurse's cloak sweeping out behind her and her perky white cap tilted at a very jaunty angle. "Bye bye, darling!" Jane called out: and Elizabeth grabbed the post out of both her and Jane's pigeonholes, before they began to trudge up the stairs towards their floors and rooms. (Still tipsy, enough, evidently, to forget their initial intentions to take the lift, and what a regrettable move that proved to be!) Elizabeth began

to shuffle through her mail, which was not anything so very extraordinary: a letter which going by the handwriting was from her mother, and no doubt a screed full of gossip and plaints about why she wasn't engaged to a nice young medical student yet — a leaflet from a modish boutique

in Lambton, which she would have to be doing very well to have a shopping spree in, her latest wage-slip, the reason she would be doing well to go on shopping sprees in modish boutiques, and — oh, what looked by the handwriting to be a letter from Charlotte Lucas. Dear charlotte!

She held it up to Jane, and exclaimed, "Charlotte has written to me! Well, it has been a few moments since last I heard from her! Isn't that nice, now!" "Dear Charlotte," said Jane, trudging up the steps with the air of one about to curl up in a corner and go to sleep. "I do miss

her! Open it up, Lizzy — read it out to me, do! I would like to hear it!" But Elizabeth eyed her with a sceptical expression, and laughed. "You could not stay awake for the length of it, Jane! Here, see, we are on your floor-" for they had reached it. "Go, go," she added, pushing Jane through the floor doors. "Go and find your room, your bed, and catch forty winks — or a few million, by the looks of it. Sleep well! Will you be all right finding your room, or should I accompany you?" But Jane waved a hand vaguely back at her, which Elizabeth

took to mean she considered herself able to navigate for herself the rest of the way. Thus Elizabeth toiled up another flight of stairs, and moseyed down her own corridor towards her room, while shuffling the papers of Charlotte's letter, getting the gist of it before hitting her

own door and pushing into her room. Flopping down on her bed, she dumped her handbag onto the coverlet, kicked off her shoes — or attempted to, then leaned over to effortfully unlace them, and then kick them off — oh, hated flatties! Horrid uniform lace-ups! then she curled up on her bed, and began to read Charlotte's letter in earnest. Dearest Lizzy, it read, I know I have been about the worst correspondent in the world, of late, and must apologise for that before throwing myself into any other subject! I am so sorry, darling, and really I have very little in the way of an excuse — barring that entering on the course of starting an undergraduate degree at the advanced age of twenty-four is a hell of an endeavour. And certainly with my dear old Dad as a guardian, who was not the most encouraging source of aid and support he could possibly be, as you well know! If I wasn't going to go off and train as something suitably 'womanly', like nursing or as an infants school teacher, then he couldn't see the point of education for a female, as we both quite well know! Your own father is a font of enlig

enlightenment by comparison, despite them being such good friends! I know it was a great disappointment for him, as well as for you, that you were robbed of the opportunity to go into medicine — but I'll not linger on the subject, so don't fear it! Lizzy, how are you doing, and

how is nursing at St. Pemberley's treating you? I did receive your letter on beginning the course, and you seemed in tolerable high spirits, so I hope all is going well and you have nothing but good things to report! I must confess that I receive the odd letter from your Mother also, and she always charges me when writing to you to extract as much information as I possibly can regarding your love-life — or indeed, all aspects of your life — and to pass such a file back to her immediately, for her own sinister and malign purposes! Thus you are warned, dear girl, that any references to attractive young medical students or attentive doctors will be sent on with the greatest rapidity to your progenitor — only kidding! Well, at least about the passing it on part... But more seriously, Lizzy, I hope your studies and work are satisfactory, and equally that you are having fun, making friends — and perhaps more!? You know you can tell me anything, dear heart — and I will be silent as the grave, no matter how your mother slavers and digs for details — despite our past issues, and everything we have been through. Which we must forget, and let the dead past bury its dead! Lizzy, I am in the middle of course work for my final year project at the moment — which in effect means that my time is my own, and it is for me to decide what I do, how much, and when I do it. And, indeed,

where I might do it, also.  Therefore, I'm free for the time being to take little jaunts about the country: and, imagine it, I'm planning to take one of those selfsame jaunts to the little town of Lambton, in a couple of days!  Lizzy, do you think you could get some time off work and meet me for lunch, say?  Oh, say you can!  I have put my

telephone number at the top of the page: if I'm not in, the girl I'm sharing a studio with is terribly nice, speaks a little English and will pass on a note!  It would be terribly nice to see you again, for I have truly missed you so much.  (and this is also my excuse for being so terrible at staying in touch.)

I do hope you can manage it!  If not, I will just have to have a sad and lonely wander about the streets of Lambton, and perhaps around Pemberley too, which is reputed to be the most beautiful former stately home in the county, and may inspire my shy and obstinate muse!  Darling, I do hope I will be seeing you soon, and we can talk about everything under the sun,  Love, Charlie.

Elizabeth smiled as she finished reading the letter.  Dear charlotte!  It had been far too long since they had last seen eacdh other — and she resolved that, whatever the shifts she was assigned, by hook or by crook she would find some way to meet up and 

to spend some time with the dear girl again.  she also had a great number of good intentions, as she cosied up under her comforter on the bed — intentions of getting up, making a sandwich, changing, writing a thank-you note to Mr Darcy, going and finding Emma and seeing how the dear girl was — but

man plans and God laughs, and doesn't every worn-to-the-bone probationer nurse know it!  (As well as the ones with a free afternoon off, and who have just come back from a delightfully boozy lunch with a fond cousin and a would-be film-star.)  With the best will in the world, Elizabeth found herself dozing off quite soon, and despite an initial struggle to wake up, get up and get a few things done, well...

and patted the dear girl's head, then lifted her chin with one finger.  Still in rather a drowsy, croaky voice, she asked, "Em, love.  What's the trouble?"  After a moment, Em sighed, and then wiped her face and her nose, which was the first time that Elizabeth realised she was crying,  a bit.

"Em?"  "Oh, it's nothing," Em announced, now, and straightened up a bit, cross-legged on the floor, and still not looking Elizabeth's way.  "By the way, I'm sorry I flipped out the other day, about what you had to say about Fanny.  And her fellow.  I mean, I'm sure it's not true, but I still should have listened and been a bit more — oh, calm, I don't know.  Listened to your opinion."  

She sniffed vigorously, and Elizabeth was frankly lost.  She had woken up after all, bare moments ago, into the dark and a snivelling friend.  She felt that she ought to be cut some slack, under the circumstances.  "My opinion..." she began, hinting her way forward.  "Oh..." Em sighed.  "That I had a bit of a thing for blasted George Knightley, and that was why I was all bent out of shape about him and dear little Fanny.  Eh?"

"And you don't?  You're not?" Elizabeth asked, cautiously, but beginning to follow the general gist with a bit more clarity.  She shuffled upwards, to sit up in bed and look down at her buddy.  Em was notably silent, now, and Elizabeth jabbed her in the ear with a prodding finger, to provoke a reaction.

"Oh!  Oh... I don't know," Em said, a bit surly.  "I'm just... I'm used to having him around.  He used to follow me around like...  I dunno, like a faithful old dog — if a faithful old dog would also lecture you about keeping up with academics, and the kind of people you were hanging around with.  I don't know why I'm so upset, Liz — and I know I haven't been fair about it with Fanny, so you don't need to start on at me about that.

"Are you sure you're not in love with him?" Elizabeth asked softly — wary of poking the bear.  "I'm not really sure about anything," Em mused, propping her chin on the edge of the bed, and exhaling hard.  "Maybe I just liked him having a bit of a thing for me.  Or maybe it was cosy and comfy, having someone from my home-life looking out for me all the time. Or maybe," she added, squinting a look up at Elizabeth from her tear-streaked face, and grinning, "I'm just a complete bitch and a dog in the manger, and I don't want Fanny to have what I imagine belongs to me!"  "Well, there is always that possibility," Elizabeth agreed.

long eerie tunnel, rather ghostly and unsettling. But — although the actual building of Pemberley itself, including the parts modernized for NHS use, was quite old enough to be thoroughly haunted — several centuries old, indeed — elizabeth rather doubted that any of the regency

ladies and lords who might infest its hallowed, venerable walls would be interested in bothering an inconsequential young first-year probationer. As if! No doubt they had much better things to do, and would not be bothering with the mundane and workaday aspect of the office sectors either — most probably dividing their time between the sentimental memories of the ballrooms, still in use — and soon to be in use for the Halloween ball for the med school — and the surgical theatres, home of the greatest drama in the hospital. What fun, to be a spirit all done up in Regency garb, floating about the premises ready to pop out and startle a janitor or consultant with a great number of 'Woo-ooh!"s and 'Prithee, sirs, behold my decapitated head!" ...elizabeth sometimes was obliged to admit that her sisters might have a point, when they described her as a little too fanciful and fun-filled for her own good. Certainly it made concentration on the solid, worthy practice of nursing sometimes a little difficult! Behave, Lizzy, she scolded herself: and set off ambling down the long, grey, misty corridor

in search of Mr Darcy's office. Unfortunately she had forgotten to bring with her the cover letter with his office number on it, and though no doubt there was a list in the lobby, on the notice-board or somesuch, she could not immediately locate it, and thus began to check out the

office-inhabitees and the door numbers one by one. E17, Mr xxx, E18, Mrs xxx, E19,.... She was some way down the corridor, and about to turn the corner in the L-shaped building, when she heard what was surely a familiar voice she could not quite name, nor see its owner. Who was it, now? her memory stubbornly refused to co-operate in tracking such a person down. Thus Elizabeth peeked around the corner — and backed away again, just as quickly. she had known there was some ambiguous connotation attached to that voice, even without being able to say who it actually might be! For — of course — it was Mr Darcy. And — even with the very briefest glimpse she had afforded herself — and with the very unsatisfactory acquaintance she had had of him — she had a heck of a feeling about his companion. That was one C. Bingley, was it not? She was almost sure of it. Well, that was a very nice pickle of a situation, then — Charles Bingley, Esquire, loose, hale and hearty, and roaming about the Pemberley campus, where her own dear Jane might bump into him and shatter her precious heart to pieces, at any given

moment. It was an alarming thought, to be sure. And Elizabeth very sincerely had not the intent to eavesdrop: but on the other hand, she both wished to deliver her note, and did not wish, she found, to run into Mr Darcy — nor, more urgently, Charles bingley, and to have him

inquiring after her sister, as she had an intuition he might very well do! thus she hovered a moment, uncertain — while also not wishing to be caught there, hovering and hearing things not meant for her own ears. And since these two fellows were evidently in the middle of a conversation, it was inevitable that she should overhear a portion of it. "...really, Charles, I don't see why you felt the need to come down in the first place. Your sisters are back in town, now, and if you came mainly with the intent of seeing me — not that you're not perfectly welcome at any time, as you well know — well, I'll be up in town for the weekend, most likely, and I'm busy when I am down here, so where's the good?" And that was Mr Darcy, she knew right well — and only thanked the good Lord that, from the acoustics of the voices, the two fellows were stood still, no doubt outside his office, and not about to fall over her as they rounded the corner of the wing. "Oh, well, I don't doubt you're right, Darcy," a pleasant, light-timbred masculine voice, belonging to Bingley, answered him. "But I just had the fancy to come down, you know, and where's the harm, eh?" "No harm, I suppose," Darcy answered. "Just so long as you're not running around after that Nurse Jane Bennet, as at least one of your sisters will have it. Because if that is your real reason for lingering about up here at Pemberley, Charles, I'll tell you right now that it's an extremely bad idea, and I won't have it! Not to mention that your sisters would blow their tops if you tried to get that one past them: but that aside, I don't like it, and it's dashed unsuitable. What are you thinking about, chasing

around after a nurse? What do you think your people and hers would make of it? It's wildly inappropriate, Charles, and I don't mind telling you so -or that you ought to be sticking with your own kind. Lots of perfectly nice girls in our own set, can you not be satisfied with

that, instead of stirring things up with a bad choice just for the hell of it?" There was an almost audible pause, and then Charles Bingley's voice grumbled, "Well, I don't think that's at all..." And then Elizabeth's heart did its utmost best to jump out of her chest, because she could tell from his voice and the accoustics of it that they were on the move — too aware of the fact to concentrate on what he might actually be saying. But then she realized that their voices were actually moving away — that there must be another staircase or lift on that

Who could possibly argue the point- even when it came down to herself?  Not to mention his picking her up and dusting her off, quite quick and discreet and unobtrusively, in the Senior Staff Dining room, barely half a minute ago?  Oh, it was very, very difficult to judge a fellow — when by all accounts he was a dreadful villain, a positive iago, and yet he had done a very nice thing or two for you yourself!

and yet, could she take that to mean that it would be acceptable, still, to take him up on his most kindly offer to assist her in her medical ambitions?  It was a most dubious point, a matter of the most fine judgement.  She was obliged to wonder what Jane would have to say on the matter, if she knew all — and jane was most personally involved in the matter, after all, did she but know it!

What Elizabeth did know, with the very highest degree of certainty, was that she would not be discussing one word of this matter with jane herself.  For one thing, what purpose would it serve, after all?  It would hurt her feelings dreadfully — and that, without changing how she felt about Charles Bingley, nor most likely influencing her to behave more rationally and cautiously on the matter.

It was also not a negligible point, that in essence she quite agreed with Fitzwilliam Darcy — not with his reasons, no, no no — but with his conclusion, at least.  To encourage Jane to take up with this fellow — this nice, attractive, harmless fellow, to be sure — would be in the highest degree irresponsible.   

but she had already had quite enough to say to Jane on the subject — and to enter any further into the discussion would only be to invite her opposition, and to encourage her by means of reverse psychology — for even such a mild and gentle soul as Jane had her limits, when strong feeling and profound attraction entered into the affair!

she could not discuss it with jane, then — could not seek her permission, her approval.  But if she could?  Jane would be upset, no doubt — would refuse to listen to Elizabeth's own wiser counsels.  But — elizabeth did not, she thought, honestly doubt it — and the matter of honesty was key in the matter.  Jane would not wish her to turn down the opportunity that fate had thrown in her way.  Which was almost immaterial — since Elizabeth herself, had a strong feeling that  she ought not to accept such assistance — now — in any case.

she was torn — most horribly torn upon the matter.  What to do, and how on earth to decide it — let alone to justify it?  and then the matter was simplified, and quite greatly clarified for her — for she heard, out in the lobby, the laughter of a young woman.  That was all that it was — that, and the undertone of a soft-voiced conversation, much more muted than the one she had overheard but a few moments previously. but 

that was sufficient.  she did not know the young woman — did not know to whom she was speaking.  But the pertinent point in the matter, was that this young woman whom Elizabeth did not know from Adam — was blessed — or perhaps one might more accurately say cursed — with a voice very like — oh, quite distinctly like — Caroline Bingley's.  this was not to say that Elizabeth thought it to actually be the voice of Caroline bingley — 

that would be a heck of a coincidence, to begin with.  and had not Mr Darcy said, but moments before, that Charles Bingley's sisters were in town?  No, it was very unlikely — Elizabeth was damned if it could possibly actually be Caroline Bingley, the very devil.  As if she would loiter around the lobbies of the office block of the hospital, when she could be off chasing after Fitzwilliam Darcy, or handsome young actors!

Elizabeth was very sure, quite sure upon the matter — and yet even the thought of the dreadful girl was quite sufficient.  sufficient, that was, to have her marching around the corner, in the direction of what had to be the office of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, MD, FRCS, of St. Pemberley's hospital.  the girl she had heard was not lingering about the lobby — and for a moment elizabeth wondered, 

if she had imagined her very existence — had conjured into being the voice of one Caroline Bingley, to act as a spur, as an excuse to do what she was having grave doubts about doing?  Then she heard — some way further down the stairwell, with a delicate tripping sound of feminine feet — that same high, artificial, affected voice, conversing with some unknown person.  Perhaps the acoustics were merely odd in this section of the building — 

perhaps whoever this female was had not been standing in the lobby in the first place.  (Perhaps it was actually, literally dratted Caroline Bingley.  perhaps it was a ghost of Pemberley, one of its distinguished old shades, come to haunt her for her pre-meditated selfish action.)  In any case: Elizabeth was, now, standing herself in the lobby of the department — and the door before her bore the legend, "Mr F. Darcy, MD, FRCS, Junior consultant (Nephrology).  Dammit.

Lady Susan award — for full tuition, expenses, a five-year bursary, for 'an outstanding student intending to enter the medical sciences'. Basically, everything she needed, in order to chase her dreams of becoming a doctor — and, truly, she did need it, because there was simply no way that the stretched and burdened family finances were going to cover all the additional expenses involved in a long and arduous course of study, not to mention an unpaid registration year and too many hours studying to add in a job that would cover even half the bills involved, the textbooks, the equipment and travel expenses.

The application for the award was a beast — practically a textbook in itself, with barely any optional sections, and multiple areas where you'd have to research your family history and entire educational record in order to establish your eligibility. Elizabeth knew — because she'd filled it in, with the help of

her father, and several of her favourite schoolmistresses from junior and integrated middle school. She had done it herself: and that was how she knew that there was simply no way that Caroline Bingley — loaded, privileged, offensively upper-middle new-money Caroline Bingley — was eligible for the Lady Susan scholarship fund. No way — not unless she had falsified her application, and falsified it extensively. As if she needed the money! That was what Elizabeth found hard to believe — and yet, when she thought it over, not so very hard as all that.

The award was prestigious — more than prestigious, it was fanatically pursued and competed over by all the eligible schools in the county. More than money, it carried a cachet of status and academic excellence that simply could not be bought. Or, to correct that — which Elizabeth

would not, previously, have believed could be bought. and then, what she would so much rather have forgotten: Lady Russell's reaction to her outrage, her distress and despair and disbelief: to simply order elizabeth out of her study, to never repeat another word upon the subject: "I simply won't have it, young lady! I expect better of you, elizabeth Bennet — to make such astounding, appalling allegations, against a fine outstanding pupil like Caroline Bingley — against one of the foremost families in our school district, as well as most generous donors regarding our school's charitable status, our funds and appeals!" Oh, she had said too much, then: had zipped her lip shut, and glared at Elizabeth: and Elizabeth, as a favourite student, as teacher's pet, had never experienced such a look from a favourite teacher. It had been

something of a shock — a very salutary shock.  she had learnt something that day, and about a quarter of it had been learning when to keep your mouth shut and think your own thoughts.  Another had been learning that authority did not demand automatic respect — or rather, that it might try to command it, but there was no such thing, and no-one could simply demand it, unquestioning.  Respect was earned, incrementally and over time.  and so was contempt.

There, a half dozen or so dreadful thoughts and memories crowding her mind, staying her hand. But only for the duration they lasted: and that gave her the push she needed, to lift the envelope and stick it in the wire mesh postbox. Oh, dammit. there it was, done: and she was

about done, too — and no going back, either — not unless she wanted one of the security guards to be taking her into custody for breaking and entering a senior staff-member's private mail box.  She stared a moment — a long moment, and then a few more — at the little envelope, stuck in the mailbox with a dozen or so other, more dignified and important big thick envelopes, no doubt about serious medical cases, about weighty and thoughtful professional matters.

It was hard, now, to say if it had been the best thing to do, or not.  The question seemed to rest, to her, on whether she still intended to accept the help of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, or not.  And, given all circumstances, it seemed perverse not to: Jane would certainly find it strange, with no explanation.  

and if she were to accept his help, then certainly it was necessary that she thank him for it.  Elizabeth felt her shoulders relax a little — for even when one wasn't happy about a decision, still it was good to have made it.  With a sigh, she made as if to turn away.

There were steps coming up the stairs, a couple of flights down, as she turned.  They sounded awfully familiar, in a way that Elizabeth's mind quite rejected.  Oh, Lord, no.  The thing was simply impossible: she was quite sure that God would not play such a trick on her.  Had the day not been sufficient, thus far?

Tell me, was it the shock of being in a decent restaurant with actual quality people that had you weak at the knees, darling? It must be so very different to your normal daily experience, after all!" She was still standing at the exact point where it would be terribly easy to

push her down the stairs. Elizabeth rocked back and forth on her heels, a little, and grasped her upper arms with her fingers, determinedly. She had been well taught! Nice girls don't push other girls down stairwells: they just think about how easy it would be, a bit... "Oh, I believe I was just a little dizzy, with the excitement of consorting with film-stars! So thrilling! and Harry Crawford is such a sweetie!" she replied, instead, in the most deadpan tone of which she was capable. And had the minor satisfaction of seeing Caroline flush up a bit — making the scar on the side of her forehead stand out, livid. Oh, she ought to be above getting a rise out of the dreadful old bitch, or even trying to! but if she would insist on making it so much fun... "Well, I'd stop and chat all day, but I must retrieve my bag — I forgot

it when I was just so caught up in chatting with darling Mr Darcy, just now!"  and she fluttered her lashes at Elizabeth, as she brushed past, in the most hostile manner that anyone could possibly flutter their eyelashes.  "Who could blame me?  The fellow is just so fascinating!  We're practically engaged to be engaged, you know!"  And she disappeared into

the depths of the staffroom located right next to Mr Darcy's office — and yet continued to talk, loud enough for Elizabeth or probably the security guards on the ground floor to hear it, and why was elziabeth not a whit surprised?  "You know, I just couldn't resist popping down to surprise him — after 

my brother came up to look him up, and I just thought, why don't I follow his example!  Dear Charles, he and Darcy went to school together, they've kept in touch all these years, practically like brothers!  Our families have so much in common, and it's wonderful to

keep those bonds intact — and perhaps to strengthen them, as the years roll on, ever deeper, ever more significant!"  (Lord.  Elizabeth prayed for the strength not to puke.  Poor charles bingley — with his sister following him around, for fear he might take a fancy to 

a girl she deemed unsuitable!  And especially a girl she had reckoned on to that he was practically engaged to Georgiana Darcy, into the bargain...  'Popping in, to surprise him' — Elizabeth's foot!  More like following her brother down with the fullest intent of bundling him into the car and 

suffocating him with an ether-infused cloth, the better to smuggle him back to London and away from the contaminating influence of a girl insufficiently loaded with the readies and blue enough of blood!  Well, damn it, what was it to her?  Caroline Bingley reappeared now, out of the staff-room, bearing a rather ugly designer handbag triumphantly aloft, and observing in tones very nasally affected, even for her, "How marvellous!  Look, darling, I found it!  well, must be off — Darcy will be wondering where

I've wandered off to, and no doubt missing me terribly, the poor lamb!" This, followed by an insincere giggle, grated on Elizbeth's nerves likes nails on a chalkboard. And — absolutely for the life of her — she couldn't understand it. Enough that — despite her best efforts -

she simply couldn't help but comment on it. "Really, Caroline," she said — in the flattest voice imaginable, and yet, saying it anyway — "why do you bother?" And Caroline Bingley, tip-tapping her way down half a flight of stairs, and flapping a dissmissive, negligent wave over her shoulder in elizabeth's direction, halted a moment. She looked vaguely surprised — not interested, but surprised. "Darling?" she enquired, eyebrows ahoy. "What I mean is," Elizabeth explained patiently, looking down on her from the advantage of ten or twelve steps, "there's nobody else here. it's just you and me. Who are you pretending to?" And she could have sworn — sworn before God, truly — that there was a momentary glimmer in Caroline Bingley's eyes — a glint of perfect understanding, malignant as Lucifer — and profoundly amused. But the hellbeast managed, just, to keep the smirk off her face — for once. and simply remarked, "Lizzy! Darling, I simply never know what you're talking about, do you know that, love? But then, you used to be quite clever, didn't you?" And that was her sign-off: she turned away

get out her nail-clippers and liberate it, unfortunately — well, she was fairly sure that she couldn't, and perhaps it was time to be off, before she was further tempted. La bingley was gone, her footsteps faded away to nothing: the way was probably clear, and Elizabeth set off

down the stairs. a glance across the car-park: and, well, what should she see, except what she ought to have expected all along? Heaven knows how they had dawdled and fooled about themselves, to have taken so long: but there, large as life although fortunately a good few hundred yards away on the other side of the carpark, were Mr Darcy, Caroline bingley, and her brother. (And if Elizabeth was not a little overly cynical, from what she could judge of body language and expression, her suspicions about the poor fellow practically being herded into Mr Darcy's very nice Merc were not really all that far from the truth: certainly the poor fellow looked a long way from an enthusiastic and freely choosing fellow-journeyer. He did, however, look resigned: as any man who'd grown up with sisters like those ones well might, knowing

how little account might be taken of any response, and how relentless the herding of the prey would be in the direction his dear ones considered favourable. Caroline bingley she could see, but the dear girl was too busy jawing relentlessly away at her poor brother to get a

glimpse of Elizabeth nor a hint of her presence, thank the Lord. So fast was she jawing away, that Elizabeth, even at this distance, could see the flash and the gnash of her large, though admittedly pearly white choppers, as the young lady put her back into dissuasion of her target from any fleeting idea of making a run for it. And yes: as the two siblings made themselves comfortable in the beautiful, de luxe motor, elizabeth's attention turned to their companion: Fitzwilliam Darcy. She had thought the trio too busy and talkative to have any attention left to spare her: but as her eyes wandered over to pass over Mr Darcy, unfortunately it seemed at that very moment he felt the flywing of her attention, and looked up. Up, and right into her eyes: and that was not what elizabeth had intended, at all. Nor did she

Fortunately, the horror lasted barely a moment, an instant: and the next instant, Mr Darcy was safetly inside the driver's seat of the lovely motor, and they were driving away.  Elizabeth turned her head, and determinedly did not follow the progress fo the car with her eyes as it went, but rather followed her own path with her eyes turned downwards 

to watch her feet as she walked, walked with a right good speed and determinedly heading off in the opposite direction, towards the nurses' home.  Heavens, but what an afternoon — honestly, it was just one damn thing after another, or sometimes seemed to be so, in a nursing training!

At least the job was done, as far as getting her note delivered and safetly off her hands was concerned — and as far as all other aspects of the delivery were concerned, then the less said and thought about them the better, without doubt.  It was nice to have the job done: and now she could put her mind to other things, like actually pursuing the researches recommended (very kindly) by Mr Darcy.  Very kindly, damn him, damn the confusing fellow!

in the door, and ran to hug her tightly, looking a bit flushed and emotional  and Elizabeth couldn't blame her for it, feeling as she did the sting of the barest hint of tears, at the warmth of the embrace.  "Oh, Lizzy love!  It is so very nice to see you again, you can't imagine!

It's much too long since we saw each other last!"  "No arguments there," Elizabeth agreed, loosening her hold on her pal, and discreetly wiping her eyes just a bit.  "But it's you who ran off to the smoke and took up a shocking free-living bohemian lifestyle, darling!"

It was no more than the truth: but it wasn't quite all the truth, and the both of them knew it full well.  Some things were better moved on from quickly: and now Lizzy held her pal a little away from her, and gave her a transparent look up and down.

she gave a little whistle: and Charlotte laughed with some abandon, and flipped at her with one hand. "No, no, you're looking good, Charlie!" Elizabeth insisted — and indeed it was true. There was little likelihood of Sir william agreeing with such a verdict — him and his

strict opinions on appropriate roles for women, never mind clothing, make-up and other such tools of the devil. Homemaking, the care of infants, and the sick — these were women's appropriate sphere, if you asked Sir William, for all the geniality of manner with which he'd tell you so! Living at home, Charlotte had almost, by twenty-five, dried up into a faded old spinster, barred from employment other than helping out in the local old folks' home, her clothes chosen by her mother, brought up to believe her role was to take care of her younger siblings and, later on in life, her ageing parents. Honestly, and frankly, Charlotte had not the natural aesthetic gifts to shine without a little artificial help — and, in elizabeth's opinion, that was one of the wonders of the 20th century — modern cosmetics, women's magazines, and make

and her (rather large) feet were pretty in her slingback pumps, nothing like the flattish boats her mother Lady Lucas had used to dress her in.  "Oh, rubbish1" Charlotte said, blushing a bit more: and pulled Elizabeth over to sit at their table, pulling her chair a little closer so that they were as much side by side as facing.

"But you look wonderful," she said, taking a good look at Elizabeth herself, now.  "Oh, darling — you look like a woman."  "Old and haggard, you mean?" Elizabeth asked, quite arch, but not exactly fearing the answer.  "Oh, you fool!" was Charlotte's response, and a peal of laughter.  "As if!  No, darling, you're absolutely peachy — glowing — but — oh, less like someone who might

run away with the circus, or steal a monkey from a zoo, or — well, not the wild creature you used to be, darling!"  "Really, Char?" Elizabeth asked - for this did not exactly chime with any picture she had of herself.  "Oh, a bit!" Charlotte said.  "Or at least, that you would do as you did, and do as you pleased, and hang anyone with anything to say on the matter!"

The waitress interrupted their musings at this point, popping up at their table with a notepad, a pencil and an expectant air. Elizabeth ordered the goulash, and Charlotte the meat and potato pie, both cheap, wholesome, filling and well recommended at St. P's by impecunious 

medical students. (The very same, Elizabeth fancied, who had had very little patience for Lydia, the time the whole pack of Bennet girls had infested the place not so very long ago! She only hoped, on this basis, not to be too well remembered by her, herself!) "Well, darling," she commented, when they were rid of the pest, after much fussing about coffee and fancies — "It's much too long since last I saw you! You must tell me simply everything you've been up to, in the interim!" Charlotte looked a little sad at the request — elizabeth divining that the reason being that they had, not so very long ago, almost lived in each others pockets, and known each other's business before anyone except jane might be privy to it. "I am only sorry Jane could not come too! but you know how it is — to get an afternoon off is a very different business for a fourth year with final exams on the horizon, than it is for a lowly probationer, whose absence on the ward will barely be noticed, even if not sanctioned!" "Oh, i am sure that is not true, Lizzy," Charlotte commented. "For wherever you go, you at the least make yourself useful and valued, and very often make yourself loved and wanted!" "My love, you are very much biased in my favour, in all things," Elizabeth said. "And I must say, how heartily I approve of it, and miss it when it is gone as a quality in those around me!" "Oh, you

Charlotte put a hand to her hair, a little self-conscious, and smiled awkwardly.  "And your clothes," Elizabeth added — putting out a hand to feel the delightfully soft indigo linen of Charlotte's dress, and then to her really marvellous silk shawl.  "How beautiful they are — and always could have been, except that you were forever dressed as the orphan cousin, my love!"

"Oh, well, I am sure these are very superficial matters, Lizzy my love," Charlotte began to protest — although Elizabeth contradicted her bluntly, as well as talking over her, to say, "No!  My love, they are not superficial at all!  But even if they were, you are not only a pupa become a butterfly, my darling — but 

that is a momentous matter, in itself!  But you have done more than that — have gone against your father's wishes — and your mother's, for you know she never will set her own will up against him — and sent yourself off to art school!  and that, my dear, is half of what I want to hear!  how is the Slade treating you?

sunnily as ever, even though it might be through gritted teeth.  "How about we fix a date, eh?  Don't you want me to come and see your dear little abode, now that you've escaped the dreaded environs of Longbourn?"  It wasn't that she wanted to have a row, or anything.  

Nor did she really, particularly, want to insist on a long, deep, conversation, thrashing out each and every little particular, and everything that they'd never discussed, not really, not properly.  But she would — by god — like an invite to come and see the artwork of her oldest friend in the world, barring Jane, 

after she'd spent the last two years or so fishing for it, and having Charlotte play dumb and avoid the issue.  Even now, there, look: Charlotte was suddenly avoiding her eyes, and finding her goulash absolutely fascinating.  (Which, by reputation, it was not: perfectly good, filling and a ribsticker, but not fascinating, not SSDR standard.)

But then, almost visibly she could see Charlotte resolving to deal with the issue, to face it head on.  Not surprisingly: Charlotte had always had guts: how else had she run away from home at twenty-five, when most spinsterish young women would be too embarrassed to have left it so late, hanging on and on in order to 

placate unpleasable relatives, a little older and further from their dreams every year, until suddenly they were forty, then fifty, and then goodbye to any life of their own worth the name?  No: charlotte had absconded in the middle of the night — good God! -

saved a little money, from what work her family considered acceptable, and x — running off to the capital to take what work she could and apply to every art school, design school, industrial design and architecture course she was or was not qualified for,

until finally she banged so hard on the doors of the Slade that they let her in, despite a barely adequate school leaving certificate (after she'd been kept home to look after her siblings half the time) and no portfolio beyond a few sketches of the Longbourn area.  

"Well, I suppose it would be nice for you to meet Georgie," Charlotte said now, a little hesitantly.  "Although I don't know exactly how good your schoolgirl French is, now?  You know she's from one of the French colonies in the West Indies — I mentioned it, I think?"

she had, here and there — just barely, and not much else, beyond that Georgie was her room-mate, had an immigrant father working on the car production lines in Dagenham, and had herself saved money working in the car plant canteens, to get the cash together to pay art school tuition.

It wasn't that Elizabeth was angry — when would she ever get angry with Charlotte, old pal of her youth?  she was just a bit stirred up, that was all.  and troubled, with thoughts and doubts she'd tried to quell, since leaving school — or running off from it.

"Yes," she said now, a little heavily.  "You've said before, how she prefers to speak French, and there wouldn't be any point to me calling if you're not in, and — Charlotte, you don't — you never have seemed all that keen on keeping up with me — well, these last couple of years. 

On keeping in touch, or me being a part of your life anymore, or — or meeting anyone important to you, or even someone who's in your life, a part of it.  Charlie — you know, you can tell me.  Are you still mad at me, for abandoning you? for-" and here she talked over charlotte, who was trying to interrupt her with well-meaning denials,

"for running off to the smoke after my melt-down, and being — well, you know the state I was in.  I know I was incommunicado half the time, I didn't keep in touch like I should have, and — well, it wasn't as if I didn't know what your life was like, back home.  I should have-

"Darling, it's all right — it's all right!" Charlotte tried to soothe her, patting her hand and lowering her voice to a soft hum.  "You shouldn't worry yourself-"  "Oh, well, maybe I should," Elizabeth said, sharply, but all of the sharpness for herself.  "I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to think about it, but 

you were having at least as hard a time-"  "Not really," Charlotte interjected.  "At least as hard a time," Elizabeth said, determinedly, because she ought to have said these things a good long time ago, and heavens, why hadn't she?  "And you were the one who helped me keep it together, and stopped me absolutely

having a real breakdown.  And instead of sticking around and helping you out too, I ran off to the Gardiners, and then just disappeared, not keeping in touch or anything for weeks, months at a time -"  God, she felt dreadful.  Elizabeth rather made it a point to think as little as possible about these things, most of the time.  

She wasn't crying — Lord, when did she ever cry, even when she perhaps ought?  But she was a bit shaky, when Charlotte pulled her chair closer, and put an arm around her, gentle and unobtrusive.  "Lovey!  Lizzy, calm down.  there are things you should have said?  Well, maybe I ought to have said it a long time before now — you know, you don't have a thing to worry about.  Lizzy, you decamping and re-making your life — taking a hold of it by the scruff of the neck, giving it a bit of a shake — it didn't ruin anything for me.  It inspired me.  It saved me, darling."

there would be time enough to discuss and debate the whole damn thing with Charlotte, once she had made some real progress on the issue, and could report some gains and distance come, with the way ahead clearly signposted and the possibility of a place at med school more than the merest dazzling fever dream. But as well as her own most secret, thrilling, held close to the chest news, there was also the matter of Jane. And, Elizabeth very sadly concluded, she simply could not pass on the news of Jane's current highly stirred-up emotional state to Charlotte — very dearly as she would have liked to. To get charlotte's opinion on the matter, her clear head and cool analysis would have been a godsend, in a problem so knotty and difficult of resolution that she hardly well knew how to begin to advise jane on it — or at least, to advise her in a manner to which she might take heed, instead of nodding solemnly, and then tossing her cap to the winds and happily disregarding everything Elizabeth might caution her with on the matter.

it did nothing to assist, to consider the fact that if Jane had been able to get some time free to come and have lunch with Charlotte herself, also, then there was very little doubt about the fact that she would have disclosed all to Charlotte within minutes of arrival, and sought her counsel into the bargain. However much chagrin it might cause Elizabeth to acknowledge it! Yes, there was little doubt in her mind that Jane would take a good deal more notice of Charlotte's opinion than of her own — but then, Charlotte was an older and a wiser head, in many instances, and though she and Elizabeth often failed to agree, and Elizabeth stuck stubbornlyto her guns on most occasions, still she herself had much respect for charlotte's opinions and her ideas. she was a cool head when everyone was running about the place squealing about imminent disaster , a veritable chicken Little of wisdom and sanity on most occasions. Yes, Jane would have talked to her about the whole darned Bingley thing — damn the fellow. But that, she sadly concluded, did not mean that

she herself was in a position to do the same, and blab Jane's secrets to no matter how dear a friend. Lord, but she wished Jane had tried a little harder to get to skive for the afternoon, and sit at a cafe table with herself and Charlotte, gabbing away about old good times and new surprises! How much easier it might have been! But she did her best to put it out of her mind, since what was so was so and could not be otherwise. No doubt all three of them would be meeting up again in the near or middle future — and given Charlotte's undertakings to take a look at her calendar and arrange a date for herself to meet the mysterious lady who shared her life, then it had damn well better be sooner than later! Given a little warning, Jane would no doubt be able to accompany her,

they could both finally get to meet Georgie Lambe, and Jane would be able to have a lovely confiding chat with Charlotte — no doubt disclosing everything she had been doubtful of advising Elizabeth of, for fear of being too severely disapproved of! It would be simply delightful! And thus she came to a definite conclusion and decision, and was able to focus upon her sponge pudding, which was surely a blessing. Steamed sultana pudding and custard, as if she were right back at school, and how delightful that was — well, one delightful aspect at least. She had never minded school food as such, not being a fussy eater but only a hungry one, after knocking heads and bashing shins on the hockey field.  a moment's quiet was no bad thing — but after only a fleeting moment, enjoying the peace of the tea-rooms, the low autumn sunlight and the soft buzz of chatter from the tables about them — Elizabeth had a vague odd feeling of something in the background she ought to be taking better notice of. It was an irritant much like an unremoved label itching away in the back of a new blouse, but hanged if she could detect exactly what the matter was.

the busy thoroughfare outside in the Lambton high street had had people up and down it in the last half hour non-stop. A good many had stopped to read the menu posting in the window, for the tea-shop was a popular watering hole for the small town. There was a young man stood outside, engaged doing exactly this at this very moment. For a second Elizabeth couldn't make out his face, obscured by the posters and the menu in the window. Then he moved, and with a glimpse at his face, she was at least sure of one thing — he was awfully familiar and she was quite sure she knew him from somewhere. Giving it a moment, she let her brain do the work of fishing for an identification -and then in a flash, she had it. It was George Wickham.  Whether this be good or bad news, she could hardly in the first second have said. Her feelings on the matter were strictly mixed — for at this point, had she not had mixed reports and differing accounts of his character (including his own?) Perhaps it was fortunate that it was not left up to her to decide whether to acknowledge him, or to seek him out, for she could hardly have told whether it would be a good thing, or what to do for the best at all. But instead and in fact,

at that very moment she unwittingly caught his eye, and — that was that. A beaming smile immediately crossed his face, and — with no great surprise on Elizabeth's part, and a little dubiousness regarding what welcome she might receive him with — he pushed open the tea-room door and walked immediately over to her table. "Nurse Bennet!" he cried out — and reached forward to take her hand — and then her other hand too, seeming quite unwilling to let them go. Elizabeth felt a little uncomfortable, for she had not risen, and there she was sat at table, with a man holding her hands, and the rest of the tea-room's clientele taking a discreet interest in the spectacle, she was quite sure! With a very slight tug, she freed herself, and gave a slightly artificial smile. "Why," he said, seeming oblivious of any awkwardness, "I have been wondering this many a day if we should encounter one another again, some time. And here we are!" "Here we are!" she agreed — her smile a little more sincere, now, for non sequiturs and obvious statements tended to tickle her funnybone. "And this is my friend Charlotte — Charlotte Lucas," she added. "She is here too! Charlotte, darling, this is Mr George Wickham — a lawyer, up in the smoke like you — although he used to be a doctor! Impressive, eh?" Charlotte extended a hand, with a friendly expression on her always friendly face. "How accomplished of you, Mr Wickham — or should I say Dr?" "Oh, i'm only very technically still a medic," he assured her, leaning in a little to shake her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you lovely ladies! May I ask what you're up to in Lambton, this fine morning? Did you duck and run, escape the wards, Nurse Bennet?"

"Oh, they do occasionally let us out for a breath of air and the mental health benefits," she assured him, twinkling in his general direction. "Not for long, but now and then! Would you like to sit down and have a cup of tea with us, Mr Wickham?" "Oh, I'm sure we got to first name status at the Forster's party," he protested, however. "George, remember! And you too, Miss Lucas! I'd love to stop for a cuppa — but to be frank, I have a rather important meeting, and I unfortunately can't cancel it. Otherwise, I'd love to stop and chat with you two girls!" "How awfully sad," Charlotte said — and she did sound genuinely regretful, so that Elizabeth couldn't help giving her a quick and curious glance. "Well, perhaps another time," she said politely. "But I certainly hope your meeting goes well, for you." "Oh," Mr Wickham said, consulting his watch, "I don't have to run off quite this instant — perhaps a minute or two won't hurt." And the waitress — who was proving herself more and more helpful, actually a diamond in the rough — was quick and handy about providing a third cup, so that in moments they were sitting and chatting like old friends — which, going by Elizabeth's memory of it, was very much George Wickham's stock in trade. She felt very comfortable with him all over again — and really, what a very nice face he had! Perhaps Mary Crawford had a bit of a thing for him, and was a trifle bitter as a result — one never knew, after all. "So, you're an artist, Charlotte?" he asked, after they'd shared a little chit-chat. "How bohemian and exciting for you! I'm positively envious! And you, Nursie," he added, turning to Elizabeth. "What

"How are the wards treating you, lately? Is the drudgery grinding down your spirits, or are you bearing up relatively well? I must say from everything you had to say last time we spoke, I wouldn't have pictured you as the kind of girl willing to slave away in the wilds of Derby

shire forever without access to the high life and the bright lights of the big city! or am I wrong, Nurse- are you dedicated to your vocation, unshakeable in your devotion to the sick, the dying and the swinging the lead?" He leaned in towards her now, with what he no doubt imagined was a very engaging smile — well, in fact, it was an engaging smile, or would have been if she hadn't been put on her guard already, a bit. And if he hadn't managed to be surprisingly patronising, and assuming, frankly. she would have freely confessed herself a bit

predisposed in his favour, no matter what doubts and reservations she might be subject to, after her interactions with his seeming nemesis. and yet, it seemed he was set upon reversing all her bias in his favour, since his words were well designed to have her rethinking her prior

position! She would have answered - perhaps with insufficient forethought - but charlotte, eager to come to her defence as ever, was in there quicker than she herself could think or speak. "Why, I don't know what you mean, mr Wickham, I'm sure! Lizzy is very dedicated to her work, I am sure - is the most hard working person, and the most selfless, that I may ever have encountered, and I make no doubt of it!" She might as well have said, "And see what you make of that, mister, and yah boo sucks to be you!" as far as making clear her prejudice and her

predisposition in Elizabeth's favour quite clear were concerned. As a result Elizabeth felt herself obliged to jump in and to ameliorate the damage, saying, "Oh, as far as that goes, I am sure we have a rather good time here at St. P's! In fact, there's a Halloween ball due in

a matter of barely weeks, which should be an absolute riot, going by accounts of past events — and practically everyone I'm the least bit acquainted with is bound to be attending! So you see, I doubt I'm missing out in the least by working my fingers to the bone, out here in the sticks, Mr Wickham."  And as a matter of punctuation, she made sure to dimple herself silly at him, so that he should not mistake the fervour and sincerity of her meaning — not that she was entirely sure of the sincerity of those dimples, but when one must dimple, one dimples, no mat

matter what one's reservations upon the subject, or the object of one's dimpling. and, in response to her dimples, and Charlotte's rather disapproving reply, Mr Wickham's response was speedy, and pacifying. "Oh! Good lord, I do hope you didn't take me to be implying anything else,

Miss lucas!" he said, beaming now at charlotte. (And elizabeth did not exactly know how charlotte could have taken him to mean anything else -but still, social conventions were conventions, and going by Charlotte's expression, she was at least somewhat pacified by his assurances. Still, the stiff and faintly offended air she had taken on was not quite, not altogether amended, and now she said, "Well, I think I must go and buy some cake from the ladies at the counter — I have visitors tomorrow, and not a thing to offer them, Lizzy! Mr wickham, if you will excuse me?" she added — in place of which, she might has well have added, "Here I go, and without a care as to if you excuse me or not!" to the fellow, who had managed to eradicate all the initial positive impressions he might have given, with a careless and self-absorbed lack of

consideration for the perceptions of others regarding his behaviour. In any case, Elizabeth had plenty else to do, and a good many other demands upon her time and energies — fine too many to be running around after fellows lacking in basic good sense, and mopping up the hurt

feelings from their oblivious behaviour, or pointing out to them where they might have gone astray. And Charlotte had taken both bag and coat with her to make her purchases, and clearly did not intend to come back to resume the acquaintance — therefore Elizabeth felt rather that she had better join her pal, and leave Mr Wickham to the contemplation of his social tone-deafness. Upon deciding this, she stood and gathered her own things together — but shone a bright smile upon him in the doing of it, since why go out of one's way to alienate any and all,

however dubious a fellow might or might not be, depending on whom one asked. "Well, awfully nice to see you again!" she said brightly. "I must be off and make sure Charlotte doesn't let them foist off the day-old teacakes on her, now!" And she would have turned, and left him

to his own contemplations, and that might have been that — except that George Wickham sprung up himself, and caught her newly-gloved hand, to keep her from going. "Oh, Nurse, i do wish you would give me just a minute — now that we have a minute alone!" he said, now. It was a bit off, if you asked Elizabeth — a bit much, and she didn't care for a fellow quite so oncoming, nor any of her pals that she was aware of, for that matter. But his expression was quite urgently sincere, and on that basis she adjudged it reasonable to tarry a moment — at least

to see if the fellow had anything more worthwhile to say than what had come out of his mouth thus far today. And for an instant she thought she had wasted her time, and would be waiting a while indeed for any such thing — for she could very well see him hesitate, and search for

the words with which to express himself. But in a split-second he had it, grasped the gist of his ideas, and said, "You see, Nurse Bennet — Elizabeth? — I hardly liked to say while your friend was with us. It's only, that it's very much to the point, you mentioning the Halloween ball at St P's. To tell the truth, I already had heard of it, having so many old friends at the old place. And I have thought of you, a good many times, since we met at the Forsters' — and I have to confess, I did think — it entered my head — to see if you were planning to attend

yourself, and then perhaps to suggest that we might go together!" He was still holding her hand: and Elizabeth rather thought, that if she had any sense then she would have tugged it away, by now. On the other hand, he was a very attractive young fellow: and his hair was a more

buttery gold than she remembered it — and then there was his smile, too. And perhaps she was every bit as much of a susceptible fool as every other girl she knew, for all she might mock them for it and hold herself a little aloof, at least in theory. "But you didn't," she pointed out, now — and congratulated herself for it, as she watched the slight discomfort manifested on his pleasant face. "Very true — a dashed good point, Nurse," he conceded, now. "But then, you know only too well why that might be — for didn't we have quite a long

discussion at the Forsters', about my history at Pemberley, and with the Darcy family?" It was true enough: although Elizabeth was also uncertain of how far it might be relevant, given her subsequent experience of Mr Darcy, and receiving Mary Crawford's implied opinions, and such.

But if she were to give George Wickham the benefit of the doubt — as she rather felt herself obliged to do, as one not in possession of the full facts of the matter on either side, but only conflicting assertions and viewpoints — then yes, it might explain much. "I would have liked to call you, and ask you to the ball. What fun it might have been!" His expression was very serious, and in fact he was a little closer than was socially acceptable, but then — what young man speaking in a low voice to a girl he considers attractive enough possibly to date, is not

generally standing a little closer than he strictly ought?  "I felt myself reasonably comfortable to attend at the Forster's party," he explained, now.  "Forster being my old senior house-surgeon, on my registration year, and a good pal of sorts, as far as one's boss might be so.

Even though I knew quite well that Darcy might show up, still there's something comforting about knowing you have friends there to back you up, should there be something in the nature of an ugly scene.

But a ball — an affair with all the good and the great of the hospital, their most distinguished donors, old friends and allies of the Darcy family-"  He hesitated, and gave an expressive shrug, and raised an eyebrow at her.  It would have been futile to pretend she did not understand exactly what he meant.

"Faint heart never won fair lady!" she reminded him, lightly — regretting his caution, his cowardice a little — but then, only a little.  Should a man not be a man, if he wants the girl he wants?  

"Oh, very true!" he admitted, quite cheerfully.  "But in this case, I'll freely confess my heart a little too faint to risk being turfed out of my old stamping ground, or a public scene that would distress quite a number of people, or some such drama — for such a thing is quite possible, based on my past experience of the family!"

"And — whatever I might think of the brother, and whatever bad feeling may remain between us — I would not distress for the world that dear good girl Georgiana Darcy!  The sweetest creature, and for her sake I'm quite willing to swallow my pride and

give the do a miss — much as I might regret it, and the loss of present company!"  There was a laugh in his eyes — a regretful laugh — as he said it, and whatever the truth of the matter, he was really a most charming fellow and it could by no means be gainsaid.

"She did seem very fond of you, at the Forsters'," Elizabeth said, remembering the fact.  It lent a little verisimilitude to his regrets and his tales, after all — and perhaps he had been very hard done by, after all, and Darcy a weathervane who might commit a munificently generous act one minute, and the next 

destroy the career of the old pal of his youth?  Elizabeth resigned herself to a state of hapless ignorance, without certain answers of any kind: and in any case, Charlotte had evidently finished with her purchases, and was giving her a very meaningful look from across the shop floor.

"How is lawyering treating you, then, Mr Wickham?" Charlotte enquired politely, to which George Wickham gave a rueful smile.  "Put it this way, dear lady — I'm of a mind with Shakespeare on the subject!  God made me for a sawbones, not the paper-pushing and money-robbing lark!"

"And I must hope she enjoys the ball to the fullest — for I shan't be there to witness, or to assist," Wickham said regretfully, with a little sigh.  "And indeed, the same goes for you, Miss Elizabeth — I hope you have the most wonderful time, and only wish that I might be there to beg a dance or two from you, and enjoy your company!"

It was a kindly thought, and an abortive would-be gentleman caller is still a gentleman caller, near enough — and Elizabeth wasn't so very flush with any such that she could be affording to despise those fellows who were showing any interest, currently.

"Thank you kindly!" she said pleasantly.  "I'll be thinking of you when I'm showing off my moves on the dancefloor!  I'd better be off now, before Charlotte quite gives up on me — but it's been awfully nice to meet you again!"  She bade him a reasonably warm farewell, and 

carried out her plans, for it was perfectly true that Charlotte was standing at the counter looking a trifle exasperated, and all but openly checking her watch and giving Elizabeth darkling meaningful glances.  She joined her buddy, thus: and when she chanced to look back a moment later,

Wickham was gone, the tea-room door just gently swinging on its hinges in the wake of his exit.  "Good riddance," Charlotte sniffed, as she took the bagful of cakes being proffered her by a member of the counter-staff.  "You usually have better taste than that in gentleman callers, Lizzy

, I must say.  Whatever possessed you to strike up an acquaintance with the likes of such a dreadful fellow?"  Elizabeth wasn't quite convinced of the fairness of this: and besides, Charlotte was rather inclined to take sudden and irrational dislikes to folks, and sometimes especially to 

any admirers and camp-followers that Elizabeth herself might acquire along the way.  Just as an aside, a comment and a perfectly true one at that — although nothing she was going to comment upon aloud, for now was not the moment, and not the way she'd set off upon such a discussion in any case.

More to the point was to pay the bill — which they promptly did — and then to exit the place, with a nod and a tip and a very pleasant little chat with their waitress, who was not at all such an awful old bat as she had seemed at first assessment, Elizabeth was glad to find!

They were out into the open air, then, after a pleasant meal: always a cue to stop, to stand and get one's bearings, after all.  And so doing — with a little initial chat about where they might engage upon a little window-shopping, and what were the best clothes-shops and bookshops in town, 

— their conversation was arrested, due to Charlotte's attention suddenly being stolen away from Elizabeth.  Instead, she straightened up, stiffened, and rather discreetly nodded her head across the street — clearly not in greetings and acknowledgement to any acquaintance, but rather

as an indicator to Elizabeth to discreetly direct her attention in such a direction.  Which Elizabeth — not being averse to a little gossip, or scandal, or merely having all the pantheon and melodrama of human life enacted on the public stage pointed out to her —

promptly did.  Well, well, well indeed and well again.  It was George Wickham, on the other side of the street.  And not George Wickham alone — but a George Wickham absorbed deep into a clearly fascinating and in-depth conversation, with a lady.  The lady herself was of less fascination —  

a young woman of freckled — highly freckled — complexion, rather thin and weedy looking, and with a truly virulently ginger head of hair.  Her expression was somehow sulky, despite her thin smile as she conversed with old George, her bosom underwhelming, her clutch upon her bag making noteworthy her bitten-to-the quick manicure.

This said, even from across the street Elizabeth's discriminating eye could discern that her clothes were — well, Elizabeth was a little envious.  And the handbag!  She herself would clutch onto a handbag as luxe and lovely as that one as if her very life depended on it!

Well, it must be awfully nice to be loaded, was all that Elizabeth could regretfully conclude, with as little envy as a girl subsisting on a probationer's pay could possibly manage, given the circumstances.  Ah, to be a rich girl eking out a generous trust-fund!

Charlotte whistled softly and under her breath, now, for the same reasons as Elizabeth's hefty sigh, she assumed.  "Lovely dress, isn't it?" she observed now, rather wistfully.  And it was.  "Oh, who gives a monkey's?" Charlotte asked, rather scornfully.  "Look at the fellow, though!  Absolutely perfectly rude to you, just now — an absolute bounder, a cad, Lizzy!  And see him now — making up to that ginger female, and I bet

she has a bob or two — not that that'll have anything to do with it, ho no!"  And she might have carried on for ten minutes or so — for when Charlotte got a bee in her bonnet, it tended to buzz on at length to the extent of wearying her listeners a mite.  But Elizabeth said, 

aiming for some measure of charity at least, "Oh, well, Charlie, what on earth is it to do with me?  I hardly know the fellow, after all!  It's not as if he's been squiring me about the place for months, or something!  Although," she conceded — taking another and very carefully inconspicuous 

ganders at the fellow, and his coppery companion, "he did mention having an urgent appointment, preventing his dining with us, now didn't he?  Well, I'm willing to bet we're looking at the appointment in the flesh right now, how about you?"  "Oh, without doubt," Charlotte said — with such a disapproving look that it shook a laugh out of Elizabeth, and

"And for that matter, he was just now, while you were buying your bunstuff, halfway apologising for not asking me to the ball himself, but that he cannot go, it seems!"  Which was only the truth, although to explain why to Charlotte was not necessary, it seemed to Elizabeth.

She pulled at Charlotte's arm, and urged her on like an unruly mare, to get her to move along and make progress, in their intention of an afternoon's shopping, or shopping without getting their wallets out, by and large.  She left Mr George Wickham behind without any great regret, 

for all his lovely buttery hair and unreliable charm.  An afternoon with her best girlfriend, how much better than unreliable men, or giving them a thought or a hoot about them!  They did indeed have a delightful time: Elizabeth did actually buy a scarf, and a book, and — well, that was her discretionary expenditure for the month

quite spoken for, so one could only hope it to be worth it overall!  they reached the Lambton rail station in the early evening, for Charlotte to make the journey back to the smoke.  Elizabeth was only a little, uncomfortably aware that they had not, in the event, discussed

all of the things she'd had a mind to discuss with Charlotte, after these good few years of barely seeing each other beyond the odd special day out, like this, and barely talking about the things that still simmered just under their shared consciousness, 

hardly acknowledged and most certainly never thoroughly aired out and talked through, chewed out and settled.  But after all, was it really so necessary as all that?  Some things were maybe better off never talked about, and was denial such a terrible thing as all that? had an undeservedly bad rep

Especially now that Charlotte had another special friend, this Georgie Lambe, who given Charlotte's excellent taste would no doubt prove to be a true gem. How else?  And then perhaps Elizabeth need not live with that niggling little feeling of guilt, that accusatory voice saying that she had

abandoned a good friend in a moment of crisis, a friend who was having her own crisis, and who relied on her a good deal in a multitude of ways.  But she let the thought go, altogether, as Charlotte's train arrived, and Charlotte grabbed her for a hug that was more of a clutch, that was tighter and 

spoke louder and more clearly than any of the light chat and fun they had had the whole afternoon.  (Oh, elizabeth hoped very dearly that this Georgie was a good friend and good to Charlotte: was worth all the devotion and warmth in this good girl's heart!  And the thought 

sparked off another thought, so that she pulled back a little, and prodded dear Charlie in the chest, with a very solemn expression on her own face.  "And you needn't think I'll forget about our agreement!  So think on, lass: either you go through your calendar and sort out a date for me to drop in for tea — or else

I won't be waiting for no invitation, just turning up on the doorstep with a bottle and a sleeping bag!"  She was pleased to make her dear girl laugh: and hug her the tighter for it, pulling her back in with a fervour that brought back a good many odd moments, here and there, never discussed in all this time.  

"I absolutely promise, love!" Charlotte vowed, with only the faintest trace of dampness at the corners of her eyes.  "You've frightened me too much to welsh on you now!"  And then the stationmaster blew the whistle, and there could be no more delaying.  Charlotte hung out of the door-window 

as the train eased slowly out of the station, and waved with an expression mixed of regret and affection, calling out goodbyes.  Elizabeth could still feel the force of her hug, and it was echoed in her head by all the other embraces shared between them — most particular that year, or most of a year, after she was practically kicked out of school after leaving certificate — as near booted out, unofficially, as made no matter, and

in essence for no worse a sin than speaking her mind — since to give her some very undue credit, Caroline Bingley had to the best of her knowledge made no formal complaint about being shoved into a stack of lunchroom chairs, no doubt thinking that the quicker the matter be hushed up and moved on from the better.  But that year she had had no-one, really, to turn to except for Jane and Charlotte -

and Jane had been off for her own first year at St. Pemberleys', and though her letters were invaluable, and every one pored over for its support and affection, still a letter was very little substitute 

for her actual presence.  Her mother had been of no use at all — had been very much inclined to blame her for the whole affair, indeed, as well as for anything else that came to mind, and to push the idea of going for a nurse as a vastly preferable substitute to her original plans — seemed, in truth, vastly cheered and invigorated by the destruction of her second daughter's ambitions, and that was the facts of it, little as she would ever speak it to her father or to Jane.

Her father himself she had scarcely been able to bear to discuss it with, beyond the absolutely necessary hashing out of the practicalities of the matter, and how C. Bingley's filching the financial award and the scholarship had put medical school out of the realm of practical possibility.

And the younger girls — even Mary — well, it wasn't as if they hadn't wanted to help, wouldn't have been willing listening ears to talk over the whole disaster.  But in essence that was the greater part of the problem — they were only too willing, vastly stirred up themselves by the matter, and 

in fact Elizabeth had found that it didn't help a bit.  Rather, their vast indignation and highly outraged responses only made her feel that bit worse, their inability to keep a cool head and analyse the situation making it difficult for her not to sink into the pit of despair, rather than thinking about the next step from this point.

so that, in the end, it was Charlotte's shoulder she cried on, as her best bud in the local area, and in Jane's absence, or only very unsatisfactory and occasional presence.  They had been close to begin with: how surprising, then, that they should become that much closer, clinging together in the middle of her own crisis, and Charlotte's ongoing?

There had been many midnight confidences: many a grieving and comforting hug.  There had been a kiss, or two, after a glass or more of wine: and how much better, perhaps, if they'd discussed it at the time, instead of going back to normal the next day, and pretending it had never happened!

But now, standing on the cool and breezy station platform, Elizabeth resolved to worry her head about the whole thing no longer.  They were both, it seemed, in a vastly better place now, than then — set upon new careers, independent, self-supporting, making their own choices (and her mother could stuff it, even if she thought she'd got her own way at this point.  Might she well be in for a great surprise!)

Charlotte was in a good place — and Elizabeth looking forward to meeting her new ladyfriend.  And herself?  She felt herself at a pivotal point, as she stood there with people milling about the station, kicking about the fallen leaves and standing reading timetables.  There was the past: good and bad, and still only the past, its bonds loosening.

And then all the mystery of the future — especially considering the favour Mr Darcy had done her, what lay in his gift, no matter what an unfortunate geezer he might be in other ways.  (The sour old git!)  She would be very well indeed, she resolved now.  And as she set off on her own train, back to the woods and nooks, the caves and crannies and follies and grandeur of Pemberley, she felt as if she were walking into a fairy-tale.

*** There were a great many things going on at St. Pemberley's beyond preparations for the upcoming Halloween ball, for a young probationer in the thick of an exciting and arduous first year.  A great many, in theory: and yet in practice, it didn't always feel like it, in the days and weeks upcoming.

It wasn't as if the job itself ever went away: there were ward shifts, lectures and exams to think about, no matter what might be going on in one's personal life and social life!  As well as that, there was her semi-secret about the favour from Mr Darcy to bear in mind.  She worked on her file of 

scholarship papers, contact lists, pre-med programs home and abroad and limitless other such, whenever she got a spare minute: but increasingly began to think Darcy's advice well-grounded, to focus initially on doing well in her nursing course, as a good grounding for 

a future medical career, demonstrating grit, intellectual ability and fortitude, staying power, rather than dumping the course and focusing only on her applications and remote future hopes.  And of course, beyond that, there was Jane.  (Jane, and worry about Jane, filled in any unused nooks and crannies of time she might have at her disposal.  But

she was barred from discussing the issue with the girl herself, hashing it out thoroughly enough that she felt she had truly got her point across with Jane — since wiser and more senior heads than theirs had bumped together, seemingly, with an end result of 

Jane being moved back to nursing in emergency intensive care at the annexe, very shortly after Charlotte's visit with Elizabeth.  It was truly most inconvenient: the more so because 

Elizabeth had had just about enough time to get used to the unexpected luxury of having Jane around for consultation and company with an unused degree of convenience, as a result of

her applying to change permanent wards.  And here was all that good work undone!  However, theirs but to do or die, and certainly not to reason why!  Jane was therefore rendered 

a good deal less easily available, for comfortable sisterly chats about, oh, the upcoming Halloween ball, and about one Charles Bingley, and whether Jane was still intending 

to stag it up for the ball, and brooding about the flowers and highly significant note sent by the wretched geezer.  Not that Elizabeth was entirely unsuccessful in rooting out the girl for

what she would certainly have wished to be the most intimate of heart-to-heart chats — and yet it seemed as if Jane had gotten wise, and become a little gun-shy when it came to confiding her inmost 

heart to one who had been used to consider herself Jane's dearest friend, as well as a most beloved sister!  Not that she admitted as much, or would have called it so: and yet Elizabeth could not get 

as much as five minutes of candor out of the girl, not even a definite aye or nay regarding her intentions as far as the ball, and the Bingley were concerned.  This much she was confiding, one morning, to one Em Woodhouse, but

during a practical involving the correct bandaging of arm and collarbone fractures, worth a good five per cent of their end of term course-marks, and therefore requiring the very highest degree of concentration.

Well: as much as to say confiding — in fact, she was proffering perhaps half the relevant information, and thus perhaps mystifying Em somewhat regarding the actual point and the issue, since 

it was obviously inappropriate, unethical and scandalously unpleasant-hoggish to be passing on information that Jane had confided in her, or would not freely have disclosed to Em herself.

In essence, then, she was complaining in a low voice to Em, as they worked together on bandaging the dummy that had experienced, allegedly, a very nasty fracture to the upper arm and collarbone, that about 

the arbitrary and immensely inconvenient switching of Jane's assigned fourth year ward.   Perhaps she was a little too caught up in her wildly sad plaints on the subject: or at least, 

she failed to notice that sister Eliot — deputizing for Sister tutor, and roaming about the practical wing seeking whom she might devour, since that was the essence of her duties as sister tutor's deputy for the day during an exam-level practical —

was in fact roaming rather closely to the pair of them — and then closer still.  This fact, however, was brought efficiently home to her, when Sister proved near enough to lean in and join in their discussion.

"I think you'll find, Nurse," she said, in a voice as quiet as Elizabeth had mistakenly thought her own, "that that particular style of bandaging is more likely to increase crepitation, rather than to keep it to a strict minimum.  Over the limb, not under, Nurse!  Also

another word of advice: all ward postings, being under advisement from Senior Nursing School Sister and Home Sister, are carefully thought out, from the point of view of the greatest advantage of the patients, rather than the nurses — although of course

the convenience of the nurse involved is likely to be factored in whenever possible.  I'm sure you understand, Nurse — and will not let this little issue try your patience too sorely!"

It was a little arch, a little coy — but Elizabeth had rather taken to Sister Elliot from the beginning of the course, and would not have held it against her.  In any case, she was hardly in a position to do so, being the one in the wrong, and instead 

she found herself blushing and stammering to a surprising degree, for a girl usually possessed of, well, quite so much self-possession as she usually flattered herself to be in possession of!  And Sister Elliott promptly swanned off in the direction of the opposite end of the practical hall, with

leaving Elizabeth a little flushed and with eyes cast down, and Em very quietly giggling, while trying to stifle it as best shemight.  She leaned forward to Elizabeth — while the aforementioned was attempting to

re-bandage the highly criticized bit of bandaging, and only thanking Heaven that today they were practising on a dummy, not on another nurse, or still worse a live and injured patient.

"It's a good job she's a bit of a sweetie," she hissed, now, grinning and right blue eyes gleaming with amusement.  "Imagine if it'd been Sister Russell who caught you!  Or sister Watson!"

"I can't bear to imagine," Elizabeth muttered — trying to work faster and more accurately even as they spoke, since this counted for a good five per cent of their final grade!

"She was good about it, though — especially considering she could have just thrown me out, or marked me down."  Since a good many School Sisters, of Pemberley's and other nursing schools, were terrors as if being a terror were an indispensable qualification for the job.

"Especially about Jane.  Do you know, I wonder if she'll be going to the Halloween ball?  I daresay I don't think I know of anyone who isn't — it'll be rammed, considering the final headcount.  But

"Can we still count on you to make up one of the numbers? Are you still set on going stag, or are you tempted to let one of your devoted slaves squire you to the dance, eh?" She said it in a thoroughly teasing tone, but there was an element of sincerity in the question. A girl

like Emma Woodhouse, with a dozen or so camp-followers at any given moment, could not be completely relied upon to make up one of the group if an outing promised to be a girls-only affair. Not that Elizabeth would hold it against her, if she'd decided to acquire an admirer and companion of the male type for the night — it was good to know in advance what kind of party one was embarking upon, that was all. "No fear!" Em pronounced, in any case, with a firm expression and her lips quite set in a line. "I'm all for female solidarity, darling — men may have their uses, here and there, but you can only rely on your girl-friends in the end! Bugger the chaps! It's a ladies-only party for the night of the ball!" And Elizabeth would have hoorahed, at that, except that Sister Elliott was regarding them from a distance with a scrut

scrutinizing expression, and she judged it better to keep her response low-key and muted, the better not to be collared and escorted out of the crucial, vital, final-marks-relevant practical. They worked on for a few final moments in silence: then, Elizabeth could tell, by the

sudden near-suppressed near-seizure of Em's shapely form in her neat as a new pin uniform, that a thought had seized her. (And did not bother to enquire what it might be — because when a thought seized Em, you were always guaranteed to hear all about it in very short order, without the trouble of asking about it. Indeed, Em leaned over promptly to whisper in her ear — Sister being a little nearer all the time, and this being her method of keeping discreet and not attracting attention, not that Elizabeth altogether thought it a wise or effective one. "But what about dresses?" was Em's sudden epiphany, it seemed. Not a profound or important one, it might seem to readers of the male sex: indeed, only the ladies in the audience can truly know how vital, indeed how earth-shattering such considerations might truly be, in certain circumstances. In fact she had already given the matter some thought: but had had enough of other issues giving her grief, that it had not yet reached the top of the heap in terms of importance and prioritization. "I haven't decided yet," she said quietly — fixing the

final pin, and settling it down with a flattening hand. "Me neither!" Em exclaimed, looking delighted. "Oh, darling, let's go shopping and choose something divine, shall we? I can get off tomorrow, what do you say?" What Elizabeth might have said, to be perfectly frank, was

that there was no way in hell she could afford the kind of high-end deluxe shopping emporiums favoured by Em, who was backed by a nice little trust fund and not bothered by tiny details like expense when it came to choosing a new dress for a special do. She searched for some more tactful way to put it, and finally came up with, "I don't think I'll be getting anything new, Em, love. I'll probably zing off home and pick up my nicest frock there — I've been saving up some time off and I can probably squeeze in a weekend to do it. I'll drag Jane along with me if I can manage it, and if she can get the time off too. I mean, you're awfully welcome to join us and see the home-front at Bennet headquarters, if you'd like to!" "Oh, darling, that sounds lovely," Em said vaguely, in a way that clearly semaphored 'Good God, that sounds absolutely savage and there's no way in hell I'll be volunteering two of my days off to spend it en famille with your dreadful bunch of family members, by your very own account!' And, given some of the stories that Elizabeth had told her over the past few months, she could

hardly very well blame the girl. In addition, the thought wasn't a half bad one: she had some quite decent dresses at home, quite suitable for a ball or at least adequate, and Kitty and Lydia's seamstress skills weren't half bad besides. When she and Em finally finished off the

bandaging, pinning and stitchery they were required to do, and were dismissed from the practical — with a slightly severe look upon dear Sister Elliott's face, though a bit of a smirk too, if truth be told — the dear one had a sense of humour and there was no doubt about it! Well, as said, by the time they had embarked upon their escape, and a few free hours, Elizabeth had decided that yet — it was entirely worth using up her remaining days off, to go home, sort through her wardrobe, and save spending on a new frock that would just about wipe out her meagre savings. and now, all there was to do was to persuade Jane of the matter! In the event, it was a job not initially entirely an easy one to bring Jane around to her point of view. And Elizabeth had her own suspicions about the reason for that. No doubt Jane was wary of laying herself open to being harangued upon subjects she would rather not address again with her younger sister, for fear of being further judged and scolded, or at least jawed at as Elizabeth tried to get her to see sense! But the idea of the trip was a pleasant one, Elizabeth knew,

More to the soft-hearted and affectionate Jane, quick to forgive a flaw and celebrate what was good in a dear one, than to the cautious and cynical Elizabeth — and besides, Elizabeth knew full well that Jane had too much good sense and canny willingness to seek out a bargain — as

a Bennet, had been brought up to such as to a necessity of life — not to prefer putting together a pleasing outfit out of what she could find in her old wardrobe of her old homestead, rather than shelling out a fortune for a dress she might wear five or six times in its lifetime!  Thus, Jane was brought around to the notion of a weekend shared at home — with a few preconditions and rules involved and required by her, left inexplicit, but with Jane insisting that Elizabeth must be 'nice' and not rag on at her on old subjects that were quite worn out. She was quite convinced that Lizzy must know what she meant! And Lizzy, therefore, since the outing was quite necessary, went along with this, only with her fingers crossed behind her back, in case it should prove absolutely necessary to have a word or two, here and there — or at least, if she should find she could simply not restrain herself on the issue. They both had enough days holiday left over — just about — and thus, with the time off booked, a Thursday afternoon found them both back on the Lambton station, this time headed for Longbourn, and how nice was that? This was Jane's frequent exclamation — and Elizabeth assented to it, by and large, with only the most discreet and unobtrusive raised eyebrow, here and there. Very nice, in some respects, she thought privately. And in others, some others, not so much, possibly!

Still, even a third-class rail journey with dearest Jane was delightful — even with a bag of sandwiches each brought from the nurses' home kitchens, and a flask of tea. In a way, it was even more delightful than arriving at Meryton station, tipped up out into the cold and tolerating the bus-ride to Longbourn, since their father was too occupied in his duties as a general practitioner to collect them, and their mother considered learning to drive unwomanly and unrespectable.  Thus they were under their own steam to actually get home to the dear old homestead, and it was a long day indeed, and yet not without its compensations.  Certainly it was very pleasant — despite all she knew of the follies and foolery of her sisters, most of them — to be greeted at the gate of the farmstead by Kitty and Lydia flying out of the house, to fling their arms about herself and Jane with a great many cries of joy, and a good deal of competition between them as to who could retail five or ten items of local gossip before the other one got her mouth open, since what else did a sister come home, for, if not to learn with all possible speed that old Mrs Long had a gentleman caller, old farmer Knockstead, who was eight years her junior, imagine it! And that Lady Lucas had been bragging all about the neighborhood about her new frocks from Paris, although it didn't matter a lick what she'd paid for them, because Kitty had got a look at them going around to visit Maria, and they were too simply hideous to possibly describe, which just showed you that you couldn't possibly buy taste!

"Don't worry about it a bit, my dears!" she repeated herself, now. "As to you, Jane dear, I know full well — from my own experience, and who would know better? — that as a fourth-year, your time is scarcely your own, and I'm only glad to read your letters and see your face once a term or so!"  She went on to sniff a bit, and added, "Although as to you, Lizzy! I'm sure I don't know what you do with your time, for us to hardly see hide nor hair of you!  But still, I suppose you know best what and where your time and presence is most required!"  That left a moment, for Lizzy to grovel and assure her of her daughterly devotion — a minute she used to gaze out the window, appreciate the birdsong and resolutely think that she could outwait the Devil and hell itself, if it prove necessary.  Finally her mother gave up, with a bit of a flounce, and instead continued — ""Not that we begrudge you your time, your freedom — not a bit! — or a bit of fun in between your work and your studies, for that matter! This ball being a case in point, eh, girls? Very right and proper, that a hard-working nurse should have a little bit of time to let her hair down and a dance or two with the young gentlemen — don't you think so, you younger fry, eh?" This got her a dutiful chorus of agreement — or dutiful in Mary's case, at least, and passionately affirmative in the cases of Kitty and Lydia, but when would that not be the case? "Have you got yourself a young man yet, Jane?" Kitty cried out now, with Lydia chorusing, "Oh, do tell us if so, I do think you would be the meanest shrew ever if you didn't!"

"Oh, give her a bit of peace for heaven's sake, do!" Elizabeth countered them, possibly just a mite irritably. She might have expected a bit of support on the issue from her mother — had she had not sufficient experience and wisdom to know better. "Oh, leave them be, Lizzy,"her

mother said, comfortably. "Unless you are already such a confirmed old maid — at all of twenty — that you can't bear talk of young men, and pretty girls like Jane having young men! Come now, are you jealous, Lizzy?" This, of course, leading to a great amount of taunts from Kitty and Lydia — Mary abstaining, having found a book and therefore something better to do — of "Ah, Lizzy, how sad! Lizzy has not a young man, or cakes and ale, and therefore none of us must ever have a little canoodling with a handsome fellow!" The 'canoodling' bit came, as hardly needed mentioning, from the direction of Lydia — and though their mother might have quelled them at that point, still she did not do so. "Why, I don't know why you need be so cross, Lizzy," her mother said, settling herself more comfortably, and pouring them all another cup of tea. "For you're quite a handsome girl yourself — or you might be, if you ever bothered to make the most of yourself, instead of wearing nothing but black half the time, and spending your money on cigarettes and books! As if one Mary in the family were not enough! You could have a chap yourself if you cared to have one, I make no doubt of it — therefore I conclude you don't care for the menfolk. But that's no reason to begrudge Jane, when that lovely face would be wasted as a spinster forever, eh, Jane , love?" It was a relief in a manner, to have her mother's fickle attention wander in Jane's direction. But not so much, when she saw the discomfort and indeed alarm on Jane's face: which was half the reason she had sought to quell the younger girls in the first place. She had reason to know, after all, that Jane would

not welcome a concentrated focus on her love-life. If she could have come up with a way to alter the direction of the conversation, she would immediately have taken it. But, for once, she was not quite quick enough — and her mother was straight in there. "So, Jane darling, tell me

what about the young men at St. P's? Has one of them caught your eye, yet? And as far as that goes, is there one of them squiring you to this dance, my love? I am sure — quite sure — that you must have them queuing up to take you out and show you off, my pretty darling! Now,take pity on a mother's natural curiosity, and tell me all, love!" Oh, it was painful to Elizabeth's heart, to see how suddenly panicked and fraught was the expression on Jane's lovely face — every bit the fox hearing the howl of the hounds and the halloo of the hunter's horn, as it searches for a way to its sett or any other safe hidey-hole. "Oh, fie to the men," she said, now, with sudden inspiration descending upon her. "All of us girls are going stag, mama dear — not that we won't be the belles of the ball, and certainly we'll be dancing all night fit to wear out our dancing slippers! But honestly, you're quite right — (and this was carefully calculated catnip to Mrs Bennet's favourite subject) — "for with a girl as beautiful as Jane, why, it would be nothing but folly to pin her down to just one partner for the night!  Now, tell me I am wrong, Mother!" And if Mrs Bennet could — ever — tell Elizabeth that she was wrong, there was no doubt she would do so. But one might visibly see her turning over Elizabeth's argument — considering it — and finally, finding it good. "Well, my girl, you make a

very good point, and I am quite willing to concede it! But given that, Jane dearest — leaving quite aside the matter of the ball — tell me a little of what gentleman friends you have at St. P's! For in your letters — I do not repine or complain, my love — you give us all the news

and we hear about your course work, and your studies, and we hear all about your friends — and that's all very satisfactory, and lovely to hear about, my darling! But there's never a mention of any man friend — I notice these things, my love! And you know, your old mother is not quite a fool!" she added, with her voice a little severe, and shaking a finger in Jane's direction. "No, mamma," Jane said now, very quiet, and with her chin tucked in and her head turned down, and if any minute she said, "May I go to my room, Mamma?" as if she were all of ten years old, then Elizabeth would have been not one bit surprised! "For a girl as beautiful as you, to have not one admirer or boyfriend in an old heap as full to the brim with handsome young doctors and medical students as St. Pemberley's, well, my girl, it simply beggars belief!"  "Hear hear!" cried Lydia now, sat sideways in the old upright chair in the corner, and scoffing teacakes as if her very life depended on it. "I'm perpetually dying to hear about your exciting life with all those gorgeous fellows — and we never get word one of it in any of your simply screeds and screeds of stories about boring old ward rounds and going on nice quiet walks with dull old staff nurses and whatnot! What we want is the hot stuff, sis! The top gossip! Come on, divulge, or we'll find a way to make you!" she gestured threateningly in Jane's general direction — although the threat was somewhat subdued by the fact of her brandishing a teacake, rather than a gatling or a hammer. Elizabeth could see that this whole business was liable to devolve, quite shortly, into a general melee, if she didn't do something about

it, and that right quick too.  She thought furiously, and a happy inspiration sprang into her mind — causing her to announce, with the greatest casualness, "Why, speaking of handsome fellows!"  She could easily have gone straight on, not being short of ideas, but 

some imp of mischief within her made it quite impossible not to wait, just for a second — and to watch her sisters, barring Mary — still immersed in a weighty philosophical tome — and her mother — the most fascinated of all — subside in their arguing and 

wrestling, and grow quiet, with their eyes quite trained upon her.  Very much like a troop of meerkats, awaiting a truck on the road!  She let the pause drag on a moment longer — cleared her throat — and tried to hide the smirk, when her mother snapped out, "Well?  What are you waiting for, Lizzy!?  If you have some interesting news or information for us, why don't you just

tell us about it and have done!" Her impatience once begun would have no end: thus Elizabeth replied, "Well, you know, Mamma, I do think we have been quite lucky in our acquaintances, now that you come to mention it at St. P's!  For a start off, I don't know if Jane mentioned that

good old Cuffy himself came to visit us not so long since?" At this her mother scoffed: not surprisingly, since she had imbibed all of her husband's prejudice against poor Cuffy and then added some of her own to it, on the basis of his not being eligible husband material as a first cousin, besides being from the well-to-do branch of the family and therefore being the source of her envy and discontentment. "I wouldn't boast about it if I were you, Lizzy!" she exclaimed now, very tart. "That bounder of a fellow! And always boasting of his money and property, as if it were the very most important thing in the world! Besides offering your dear father a positively insulting sum for the greater part of his property here — as if he would let it go for so very little, when it has been passed down from father to son all of these generations, cared for and valued by all of your esteemed ancestors!" (This, being the same woman who cursed out the tiny estate and landholdings on a regular basis, for bringing in so little money, costing so much in outgoings on a regular basis, and generally being not worth the trouble it caused in terms of status and income added to the family's credit.) "Well," Mrs Bennet sniffed, "what did the fellow have to say for himself? A lot of nonsense I don't doubt, for once his mouth runs it never stops!" (Takes one to know one, Elizabeth was very careful not to say — and yet she was sorely tempted!)  Jane said now, "Oh, he was really very nice, Mamma! And he bought us a heavenly lunch, besides — and brought along his friend,too. Guess who it was? You'll never — and none of the rest of you, either!" She beamed around at

the girls — before Elizabeth couldn't resist cutting in, actually leaning in to lean against Jane, and grin a little at their mother — to say, "Renember going to see Love's Labours Lost, girls?" Even Mary perked up at this — being a great devotee of the theatre and the language,

in her scholarly way — and Lydia positively shrieked. (Kitty joining in, although fairly clearly not entirely sure why.) "Good Lord!" Lydia cried out, now. "Lizzy Bennet, you're not telling me that you've gone and palled up with Harry Crawford!" "Harry Crawford!" Kitty squealed, clearly too moved for more than two words — and Mary threw down her book, and came and leaned on her knees against the table by the fire, with her face a little pink. (Good God, but was Mary capable of a little crush herself, perhaps?)  Mrs Bennet, in the meantime, was beginning to look a bit het-up and annoyed, and plunked and pushed some plates about the table so that they should all know it, and pay her proper attention. "Dear me, girls, have you all lost your wits?" she demanded now. "What on earth are you talking about, Lizzy — and

what is it that you've said to send your poor sisters quite doolally?" Upon this, Jane took it upon herself to explain that they had struck up a passing acquaintance with Harry Crawford, who was a fairly famous young actor all the girls had seen in a couple of Shakespeare 

productions. "No, not palled up with, Lydia! Not best buds!" Elizabeth insisted, as the great daft handsome young creature started getting vastly over-excited, and announcing she was 'coming to stay' at St. P's and was determined that she was going to get acquainted with famous and gorgeous young thespians also, on account of why shouldn't she if they — Jane and herself — did so? "What, are you going to be a nurse, too? I pity the ward sister stuck with you, Lyds, and that's the truth!" Elizabeth said drily in response. "Good heavens, what fun, though, my loves!" their mother exclaimed, looking vastly intrigued, and possibly — certainly — a little jealous. "Well, I must say I don't think Lydia goes so far wrong! If you're keeping such glamorous company, maybe we should all come and visit a good deal more often!" Which was more nakedly and brazenly honest than Elizabeth had been expecting, and left her a little dumbfounded at its shamelessness — except Mrs Bennet was always perfectly unaware of her own motivations, never mind how transparent they might be to all around. "Well, you'd be wasting your time, Mamma," she said plainly, however. "We only scraped acquaintance with him through his sister, who's a second-year at St. P's — and he's a good deal better acquainted with Cuffy, so if you'd like more glamorous circles to mix in, it's Cuffy you ought to be cultivating!

"Well, if that isn't just typical," Mrs Bennet announced, in a sulkingly pettish manner which Elizabeth — and the rest of them, for that matter — was only too familiar with.  "The fellow simply hogs all the luck, and for that matter always has done.  What I don't know is

what the swine's ever done to deserve it — perpetually grubbing after money as he always is, just like his dreadful father!  I hate the very sight of him, I declare!"  And Elizabeth could see that this promising beginning was set fair to become a positive hate-fest, something that

would neither edify nor elevate in spirits any one of them — and indeed such public displays, since all too often they were indeed public, to one degree or another — never did anyone any good, helped a single body, nor failed to palter with the truth in some manner or another — generally leaving only Mrs Bennet refreshed, renewed, invigorated and eager to turn her delicate attentions to someone else who possessed something she envied and wished to destroy.  She

said pacifically, now, "Well, you never know, mamma — I'm sure it seems as if he might have improved in recent years, and not surprising either, considering how very long it is since last we saw him. I must say I was surprised, and got along quite well with the chap all things

considered, when I was never the greatest fan of his up until this point — I don't suppose his buying us such a bang-up slap-up meal did any harm, either, to be sure!" And she could feel, herself, that she had gone rather too far — had gone as far as actually praising, in some measure, one officially disapproved of by Mrs Bennet, which was as much as to invite a storm of vitriol as if she had been busy glad-handing the very devil himself. It was fortunate indeed that Kitty saw fit to interrupt at this point and perhaps to save them from a full-on foot-stamping -tantrum throwing family bust-up. "Oh, Lizzy, do you think we might ever meet him?" she asked now — her rather pretty eyes positively starry, and she might as well have clasped her hands to her bosom and sighed deeply at the very thought — oh, and then she did in fact do that very thing. Lydia screeched with a laugh like a howler monkey, and barged her in the ribs with a very notably pointy elbow. "Good Lord!" she exclaimed. "I admit I've got a bit of a pash for the fellow myself — but Kitty here's absolutely silly about the fellow,

and cheerfully slapping her knee.  It said something that Jane — sweet and even-tempered Jane, more inclined to give a subject serious consideration than to make mock and point the finger — was the one to respond.  "Oh, Lyds!  Honestly, I do despair!  Do you really imagine that

that's how we spend the vast majority of our time?"  And — good on the girl — she was actually laughing, now, almost as helpless with it as Elizabeth herself.  But not quite, because she was still capable of speech, and putting it to good use.  "Do you think that 

that's what a nurse's job entails?  Flirting with patients — " and here she had the grace to flush slightly, and momentarily to catch Elizabeth's eye — but rallied, herself, and moved on swiftly.  "And meeting handsome celebrities down from London, and dancing — what did you say — dancing the night away!

With good-looking medical students, I suppose, and rich doctors, and — oh, honestly, girls!  What do you imagine a nurse does — what Lizzy and I do?  Do you think we just make patients cups of tea, and make eyes at the doctors when they do their rounds, and 

give each other manicures in the staff room, after a crafty cig in the sluice?"  From being honestly amused — in a slightly shocked way — Jane had gone — in a manner very unusual for her, vanishingly rare in fact — to being truly annoyed.  And no doubt it helped not at all, when Lydia said pertly, not in the least abashed,

"Well, no, not most nurses — but you and Lizzy seem to, all right!"  Elizabeth would be of the opinion, in retrospect, that given this level of provocation Lyds was extremely lucky that Jane was naturally of such a peaceable and affectionate nature — since she was bigger than Kitty, of quite impressive muscle tone and 

all together a good deal more capable of making her feelings known in a non-verbal manner.  Judging by the look on Jane's astonished face — her well-loved and normally very peaceable face — it was a dashed good thing that their mother chose this moment to intervene, and 

to say, "What a very foolish girl you are, Lydia, when it comes right down to it!  Why, I dare swear that Jane and Elizabeth work harder every day of their lives than you could possibly ever dream of!  You would be very grateful to have them on the ward, should you ever be ill or in an accident!  By golly, you should be so lucky!  I should like one of my old ward sisters to have to hear the things you have to say, for you would never hear the end of it!"

Indeed, Lydia and Kitty barely heard the end of it in any case: for Mrs Bennet had once — who could possibly forget it — been a nurse herself.  It was thus one of the few topics on which her darling and favourite, Lydia, and Lydia's subordinate Kitty, could not bet on getting a free pass to spew out any number of ludicrous and egregiously stupid opinions, without being 

pulled up on it and told exactly where they got off.  After quite a lengthy peroration — absolutely a sermon, and quite well-argued, Elizabeth would have conceded — it was a rather subdued and gloomy Lydia who muttered, "Well, I suppose it'll be me for the washing-up this afternoon, anyhow," and was indeed proved right in the end,  It only took another ham sandwich to cheer her up, however — and to pipe forth, as one who

knew no better and could not be repressed, no, not even when she would be well advised to pipe down and shut it, going on past experience — "Jaaaane! Oh, Lizzy, well: I am sure you are both the most marvellous nurses in the world, and a benison to the sick and the suffering everywhere, — simply everywhere -! — " this delivered in the most unctuously wheedling tones imaginable, and really it was a wonder what Lydia thought herself so very sly, so crafty, and indeed a proper little actress — good God — especially since it was followed with -"and I am sure you are two of the nicest, kindest, most dear sisters in the whole world ever too!" (Hear hear! piped up Kitty, who would also follow Lydia to the gates of hell, or at least had never learned any better yet.)  "Good luck with that," a measured and quiet voice interjected, from the corner, and that was Mary — dear Mary, with her commentary on the family games and fights and feuds only too often absolutely spot on! Lydia, however, pretended to ignore her — and continued, "But I do just wonder — Lizzy, darling — Jane, lovey — do you think you could possibly — oh, just too possibly, it would be so very nice — get us tickets for this ball that you're going to have so much fun at?" Her eyes were popping out of her head with a positively lunatic sincerity, and for all of her needling irritations, Elizabeth was hard put to it not to laugh. Lyds was, at least, always amusing.

still busy with a book of quite astonishing scholarship, judging by its cover. Although one never knew: and if Mary were capable of a crush upon the reprehensible Harry Crawford, who knew but that she was concealing some startling harlequin romance beneath its respectable covers? "Oh, Lizzy darling, a ticket for me!" Lydia urged. This brought forth the most very protesting mew from Kitty's wordless lips: and catching on to it, and not eager to lose the moral support of her most trusted lieutenant, Lydia was quick to add, "A ticket for me and a ticket for Kitty! Oh, and a ticket for Mary — you might as well, since she's getting quite pretty for all that she's as useless at talking to boys as a bicycle basket, and a proper old maid already with it!" This brought forth a slightly outraged throat-clearing from Mary's direction, also: and Lydia promptly corrected herself. "Spinster, then! Spinster!" It was tremendously reassuring, and a comfort as warm and homely to Elizabeth as a cosh in the back pocket on a dark night, to remember that she had thought about and considered the possibility of just such a plea, in the hours leading up to their train ride home, and the jolting and bouncing bus ride to Longbourn. Thus she had a whole quiverful of possible answers ready for the girls: and had coached Jane upon the matter, also. "Sorry, love," she said promptly, now — although perhaps a bit too gleeful about it, giving the game away with her cheery grin and twinkling eyes as she beamed in Lyd's direction.

"You know, you could if you liked, Mary!" Elizabeth said now, speculatively — for she and Jane had discussed the issue on the train, and agreed that Mary, trailing behind them as an appendage at the ball, was about as much as they could be expected to cope with — but also that she 

would without doubt be a great deal better behaved and more civil and a benefit to have at the dance, as compared to the youngest two.  (Who would without doubt be a total nightmare and conduct themselves in such a manner as to bring undying shame upon the Bennet family, not less than 

"The guest accommodation in the east wing is a bit pricey, I believe — but you could probably sleep on the floor in one of our rooms, although you're not supposed to really.  What they don't know won't hurt 'em!  What do you say, love?"  "Well, I'll think about it," Mary said with pursed lips and a pensive expression, her little half-moon specs falling down her nose and her curls escaping from her loose low bun.

And that might have been that, if they'd had any luck at all, and anything resembling a normal family. But instead of that, Lydia jumped up, burst out, "Well, I do think that's just the outside of enough, taking Mary and not either of us! It's simply not fair! Do you think it's fair, Kitty? I think it's a

bloody swiz and a swindle, and I'm not going to speak to either of you again as long as you're at home, you might as well know it now!" Elizabeth would have been half inclined to laugh, had she not known Lydia a mite too well not to take it seriously — for the girl could be in as lovely a mood as you might wish for, and still she could go off half-cocked at any moment and completely blow her top, as every one of them knew at this point only too well. And there she went, too, running off away and upstairs, and unsurprisingly the faithful Kitty following on behind her like a well-trained Scots Highland terrier — rather a similar expression, too, for that matter, and the same equably compliant temperament. They all sat a moment in a quiet, unsurprised silence — and then Mrs Bennet said, quite undisturbed and in a persuasive tone

"Oh, girls, won't one of you go and have a chat with them? They're awfully stirred up, the silly things — but you know how it is, when the young ones don't get to take part in what you older girls are up to! I daresay you used to feel the same way yourselves!" There it was, then

herself and Jane coaxed into going and doing a bit of placating and talking Lyds out of her huff, and trying to enlighten Kitty as to most of what was actually going on, as she looked vaguely confused but fiercely willing to take whatever industrial action Lydia had in mind. Never mind Mrs Bennet actually taking her maternal duties seriously — or even conceiving of them as her own, if she could shuffle them off onto Jane or Lizzy, or even Mary at a pinch, rather than take on any disagreeable chore or difficult heart to heart. That was their pleasant afternoon over for the forseeable future, then: and Jane traipsed off, now, to sweet talk Lyds out of her temper, and try to get her to see some sense, while Elizabeth joined in with the daily woman, who opportunely arrived at just that moment, to give the house a bit of a once-over before their father got home — since their mother was as little likely to take responsibility for that as for any other type of job around Longbourn, so long as there were other willing hands at large. And Mary sat at the kitchen table shuffling through some books and paperwork, while Mrs Bennet disappeared off into the garden, allegedly to cut some nice flowers for the table, although Elizabeth knew perfectly well it was to avoid getting roped into doing anything she considered disagreeable and would rather avoid if she could. While drying the crockery at the kitchen sink, Elizabeth took her

chance to have a further word with Mary, saying, "Look, love — are you quite sure you don't want to go to the ball with us?  You've done awfully well in your exams — we're all awfully proud of you.  But there's more to life than just hitting the books, sweetie!

It could be rather fun — and," she added, wondering if it might do the trick, after all, since Mary was looking doubtful as heck and very much as if her refusal was a forgone conclusion, "I rather think — don't, for God's sweet sake, let word slip to either Lydia or Kitty — that 

Harry Crawford might be attending — or, at least, we're on about half a promise that he's thinking about it. What do you say, eh?"  And — oh, definitely — there was a slight look of thoughtfulness in Mary's pretty pale grey eyes, behind the half-moon lenses.  But 

then she seemed to shake herself, rather like a duck that's gone for a deep dive in the lake and has its feathers properly ruffled and soaked — and said, "Oh, Lizzy, it's awfully nice of you — but I don't think I'd better.  Look," she said, holding up her pile of paperwork, "these are all the 

college and scholarship and bursary applications I've got to get through, before I can even be considered for the courses I'm putting in for!  Good job I'm taking the year off and working for Mrs Long on the smallholding — it's going to take me all year to

the workman worthy of his hire. No doubt she ought to have expected that Mrs Bennet would have taken the opportunity, out labouring in the garden, to brood upon the injustices done her two youngest daughters, and now to begin to lecture Elizabeth on the subject. Yet she had

not, and was quite unprepared on the subject!  As a result she got it in the neck for the next ten minutes at least, Mrs Bennet wittering on about how unreasonable she and Jane were being, about how very silly any rules about the age of folks attending the ball must be, given the relaxed and free and easy environment they were all living in in these wonderful advanced 1960s, and in general about how one silly little rule was not at all important enough for them to deny Kitty and Lydia the wonderful opportunity to attend a St. P's ball for the first time! Elizabeth let her talk herself out, as

she had generally found this the wisest course when Mrs B had gone off on one and was meandering herself to a peaceful state of talked-outness, having jawed the ears off of all those unfortunate enough to be in her vicinity. That once done — for the time being, at least — she

restrained herself — very forcibly, and with some difficulty — to merely saying, "Well, if you think so, Ma! I mean, if you think it might be worth it — overall — to risk me and Jane being chucked out of St. P's — with Jane in her fourth year, and all — for breaking the rules — for the sake of letting the little ones go to a dance and flirt with a few med students!" And there was, oh, so much more she could have added — indeed, it was difficult to believe that one could get away with saying so much, without Mrs B having the slightest understanding that she was being most openly mocked and derided — being so comfortable in her own idea of her authority, and the respect that she expected to be held in by all in the slightest contact with her, never mind her own daughters, that one could say a damn good deal without her understanding her own delusions, and that her assertions were being held up to public mockery and disbelief. "Oh, well, I don't know," she said now, resless and dissatisfied. "I don't know at all, Lizzy, now you put it like that!" Which was about what Lizzy might well have expect

expected of her, given that Mrs Bennet's habits and manner of operation had always and invariably included expecting both to have her way, in any and all things — and yet also to evade and be excused any consequence she might not like, that resulted from having that way and 

insisting upon it. To have her cake, and to eat it and everyone else's into the bargain, in short! But Elizabeth contented herself with this vague and short-tempered acceptance that she might not get her way and have to be content with that, from her mother — it being a good deal better, and less inflamed, than many a response she had had of her over the years, and as a result of considerably worse and more egregious behaviour, in addition. She was only hoping that Mrs Bennet would let it go, and not recall and revisit her discontents, when they were

joined by the rest of the girls.  Which was not too long to be awaited, thank the Lord: and ten minutes later, a great and parlous thunder in the vicinity heralded the return downstairs of Jane, accompanied at some speed and singing at the tops of their voices, by the two younger girls.

Elizabeth had been busy, finishing off giving the silverware a much-needed polish with a soft cloth at the draining board of the old pottery-ware kitchen sink.  She was surprised at her task, with a soft hug from behind: and, a little startled, turned to find the embrace was from Lydia.

Who had ceased in her singing (or caterwauling, you might have more accurately put it) — and kissed Elizabeth on the cheek, saying, "Sorry, sis!  Tantrum over: I just get a bit worked up, what with you two home again and everything up in the air.  See, I'll be good!"  That was a very mischievous light in her wicked eye: but

her slightly chastened air bespoke a Lydia who'd had a right good old jaw-worthy talking-to from Jane, and been obliged to promised to make good upon its requirements.    Kitty also proffered a peck on the cheek, with about as much of an air of understanding what 

the charges, her plea and the verdict of the judge and jury consisted of as she ever did — bless the fluffy-headed little idiot!  Mary appeared now also: from whatever nook or corner she'd secreted herself away in, no doubt with a pile of books and a mug of hot chocolate and 

very little intention of joining the rest of them in their revels and infighting until the end of time — except that she did always relent and join them, in the end, too kindly and too attached to remain forever in the world of books and learned hypotheses, whatever her true preferences.

It was a very short step, then, from there, to Mrs Bennet announcing, "Well, girls, how about we get on with what we originally planned for the weekend, then, eh?  Come now, darlings — where are your dresses, your scarves, your jewellery and your finery, eh, Jane my love, eh, Lizzy?  Come on, now, let's to work, let's 

see what we can do if we dress up our pretty dolls, girls!"  And Elizabeth was thankful enough for her mother's good temper — however temporary it might be — that she was right glad to co-operate and participate in all of the fun and revelry that ensued 

in quite short order.  Kitty and Lydia ran off to bring — well, as it turned out, it seemed to bring downstairs every blessed stick and rag of clothing that she and Jane possessed and had left at home instead of taking with them to St. P's, which they had brought out in readiness for

old-tyme family expeditions to see both Lydia and Kitty's school theatrical productions, both of which they were absolute fiends for, and would audition with the same zeal and competitiveness as if they were rada trained actresses cat-fighting over a part and scratching each other

eyes out for the privilege. Since nursing training — no, scratch that, in essence since she'd had her meltdown and run off to the capital, Lizzy had barely attended a one of these invariably hilarious events, a sad thing which made her rather sad, truth be told. But this evening took her right back to those good old times. Not least since Lydia all too often appointed herself, at minimum, assistant wardrobe mistress — a role to which she was in fact well suited, since the only area at school or at home where she excelled, and put her back into the subject

was needlework, most likely since she had a vested interest in producing a wearable end product. and now, being so used to the idea, it seemed that Lydia again considered herself mistress of the wardrobes. At this instant, she leapt up, her face full of moment as one who has

just had a stupendous thought. "Oh, I'm such a frightful idiot!" she cried out now — and, though for many the first instinct might be contradiction, or asking what on earth she was talking about, Elizabeth was by no means inclined to disagree. Jane, however, of softer stuff, said immediately, "Oh, no, darling! But what do you mean, anyhow?" to which Lydia exclaimed, "Why, it's a masked ball, ladies! Masked!" And, getting no reaction but uncomprehending looks, she added, "Which means you need masks!" Now, that was a little more reasonable:

and Lydia gave a skittish little jump in the air, crying out, "Don't worry, girls! Lydia will save the day!" she promptly ran off upstairs, leaving the rest of them mooching about the livng room, poking and prodding at great piles of garments they'd barely got started on

examining. when she came back, she had a hatbox swinging from one pretty finger, with a coy look on her face. Coming up to Jane and Elizabeth, she simpered, "Want a look, ladies? check out what I've made for you with my own fair hands!  Penny a bag, ladies!" And she tossed the box in Elizabeth's direction, only narrowly avoiding taking her eye out or knocking her block off, but then, Lydia... Elizabeth opened up the box, taking the lid off, with jane hanging over her shoulder, honestly intrigued. "Oh, Lyds!" Elizabeth exclaimed, once she'd clocked the contents. she was

most honestly impressed, and that despite the fact she'd seen the quality of Lydia's work before, and knew well enough that she was a highly-skilled craftswoman, when she chose to be. Inside the box were two masks suitable for a masked ball, for a lady: one silver and black, and

one pink and sequinned. Instinctively Elizabeth reached for the silver and black one, and Jane for the pink, and Lydia laughed. "That's right! Isn't it funny, how you just know which one is meant for you" She and Jane tried them on, both oohing and aahing over just how pretty and delicate they were, and Mary and Mrs Bennet joining in. "Oh!" Mrs Bennet cried, clasping her hands, clapping them, dancing from foot to foot like one fit to be tied. "Oh, My clever Lydia! Girls, aren't they marvellous? Isn't she a crafty one?" "Oh, I didn't spend more

than half an hour or so on them both together," Lydia disclaimed hurriedly, embarrassed oddly as she sometimes was by any praise not relating to her pretty face and figure. But Elizabeth would have none of it, oddly moved: and impulsively hugged the girl, who squirmed and laughed

and pushed her away, still downplaying this truly lovely gift and all the effort and work involved in it. "thank you, darling," elizabeth said nonetheless, and very sincerely too. Jane kissed her cheek, and Lydia shrieked, batted her off with a box of light cardigans, and went to pour herself more coffee, pretending herself to be quite unmoved, but secretly smiling just the same. Elizabeth left her mask on a while: she liked how it felt, the pretty silk ribbons holding it in place and the rustle of the silvery edging about her eyes: it was a lovely thing. and jane's was a very nice bit of work, too, of course, but Lydia had judged very cleverly what each of them might like, and hit the target bang on. Jane's mask was in essence a fascinator: with a little pink-painted metal rod at the side, to hold in place and play with

had only the very barest trace of interest in the whole subject — meaning that, just so long as she be clothed, decent, and not looking too remarkable or about to stand out in a crowd, then

Mary was very much inclined to consider her job in dressing herself completed for the day, and indeed a job well done. this was a thing which was much inclined to drive poor Mrs Bennet quite frantic, and

had been doing so for a good many years now — to such an extent that it was not unknown, even now, for that good lady to drag Mary back inside the house when she was setting out for the day,

to re-do her hair, or insist she put a different blouse on, or a more ladylike pair of shoes than the victorian-style laced boots she favoured. And indeed, when she'd been in single figures,

and a scrabbly, moody, bookish little brat with no interest in dolls, parties, dolls' tea-parties or anything girly and what Mrs Bennet might consider appropriate and suitable for a girl her age,

nor indeed any apparent inclination to become what anyone might describe as decently socialized, then often enough it was that Mrs Bennet was dragging her back into the house in order

to scrub her face of the inky thumbprints resulting from a great deal of reading, and not a whole lot of face-washing. Of recent days, the face-washing aspect was but a dim memory,

(or hopefully so): and yet it was by no means unknown, even of recent days, to have the matriarch of the Bennets bewail and complain to anyone who might listen — to Mary's sisters, most often -

upon taking a good look at the outfit in which Mary Bennet proposed to go outside and take on the world — "Girls! Oh, Good Lord, have you seen what mary is thinking she's going to wear?

How on earth does the foolish girl think she'll ever catch a man in that get-up?" Too used to this plaint, Elizabeth and her sisters when so questioned were much inclined to only shrug their shoulders,

with a sympathetic look in Mary's direction should she still be present — and if she was, then generally Mrs Bennet also got an answer along the lines of, "Oh, for heaven's sake, ma! How do you

why would I even want to? You seem to assume that that's all there is to life — but I don't need to dress in any particular way to get a book off the shelf — or a scholarship — or decent exam results!

There's more to life — a good deal more — than merely men, marriage and babies, you know!" And then, usually, this would result in something approximating world war 3, since to Mrs bennet

there was indeed very little else in life half as important as these three things, and to say anything against them, or to diminish them in importance, was to go against her most holy credo, and

that was something you just didn't do, as a Bennet girl — not unless you wanted to go to war, of course. but today, on this rather nice afternoon, when they'd all managed to rub along together at least passably well,

Mrs Bennet was a good deal more invested in the subject of Elizabeth and jane's clothes, especially for the ball, rather than in the idea of mary being dressed according to her specification and requirements

This enabled Mary to drift quietly into the background and have a nice quiet life for the day, as far as was ever possible with Mrs Bennet restlessly roaming around seeking whom she might devour

But although the atmosphere might be pleasant, still mary was as little fascinated by the subject of dresses and balls as she ever had been, and although she made a good deal of dutiful efforts still she was

clearly a good deal less than fascinated, and even more clearly longing for a quiet nook and a book, and a good deal less of stupid frilly dresses and ridiculous masks, and endless talk of stupid dances and men. Still, she put in a good deal

of effort considering her lack of any real enthusiasm, and only every so often requiring Mrs Bennet to engage in a bit of chivvying and vigorous ‘encouragement’, very much in the style of a

fluffy and well periwigged, like an old-style hanging judge in full regalia, Old English sheepdog chasing after a reluctant and rather bored black sheep, wandering off from the activities of the flock. So, they all participated in the search, the eager finding and

eventually – after a good deal of time, and a good deal of coffee, and an even greater amount of silly playacting from Lydia and Kitty, of general chat and local gossip and getting distracted on the part of

well, all of them, except perhaps Mary, who was forbidden a book by mrs bennet and therefore probably most had the best concentration of any one of them – well, after all of this, and all of this time, then

finally, both elizabeth and Jane might be said to have – well, not a single dress, it was true – but at least, a few options narrowed down to only the most serious contenders, apiece, and all of them laid out

on the drawing room sofa, for the whole pack of them to evaluate and express opinions upon. So that Jane’s three were one: a delicate, rather ethereal orange voile confection, with cap sleeves and

a sweetheart neckline : a pale pink slip of a thing, long but with narrow straps, in satin with a duller finish than usual and a spray of artificial flowers at the shoulder. and last of all, a white velvet tube dress with long sleeves and a high neck,

rather glamorous and Hollywood, and a bit over-egging the pudding if you asked Elizabeth, which Mrs Bennet did not as she was rather violently in favour of it. None of them were actually Lizzy or Jane’s own dresses, but rather

And eventually Lydia was having such dratted difficulty with that darned zipper, that she leant up against the armchair she was by, and mimed putting her foot up in the small of Jane's back, as she

cried out, "It's no good, Janie, it really isn't, not a bit — what I need here is a corset, and maybe a donkey to pull at it!"  and she also mimed yanking at the cords of a corset, to pull in 

Jane's waist and facilitate getting the gosh darned zipper done up.  To which Elizabeth replied, calling it across the room from where she was having her own troubles with 

the black velvet number, "Chinny reckon, Lyds dear?  I'd refrain from saying so, next time: and see if you can get that zipper up, will you, darling, without: else I'll be across there and have you out of here by your back hair, 

young lady!"  "Ma!" was Lyds scandalized squeal, in response to this.  "Do you hear what Lizzy said to me?"  And for once, Mrs Bennet was wise as serpents in her response, saying, "Not a word of it, darling!  My earwax is playing up something chronic: but mind you, I'd heed her and stick by

what she has to say, if you want to hang on to that nice plait you have, Lydia!"  Oh, it was ructions and riots all along the way: and Jane was even minded to stuff a false hairpiece down the back of Lydia's jersey, so by that you could well see

how far things were gone and in what a state of mania and hectic silliness even the sweetest of them had reached.  But the project was too great, and gone too far to back out of it now: and eventually

both Elizabeth and Jane had tried on all three of their finalist dresses, and it was donw to the moment of judgement.  Of course they were not to be allowed to make such a momentous decision on their own, either one of them -

or certainly not without the rest of their sisters, and certainly Mrs Bennet, chiming in with their own very decided and vociferous votes and opinions on the subject.  In the end Jane had decided upon the white dress,

even though Elizabeth personally had grave misgivings regarding it, and feared that Mrs Bennet had exercised her maternal right to weigh in and use some undue influence in order to influence

Jane quite unduly, but then, what else might ever have been expected?  For herself, she opted quite definitely and without qualm or second thought, second guessing, for the grey dress — even though

the choice was met with cries of dismay from Kitty and Lydia, and Mrs Bennet got in a bit of a huff and got herself out of the room and disappeared into the kitchen, where she banged things about a bit

and audibly muttered to herself at some length, before reappearing with a second bottle of vino and a grim expression, which devolved eventually into resignation, as she sipped at a glass of the red stuff. 

"Well, no doubt you know best, Lizzy," she announced, now, even though the look on her face was positive proof and evidence that she thought no such thing.  "But I will say, it's no dress that will

attract the attention of the menfolk, and that's sure and certain!"  Which pronouncement was received with a whoop of hilarity from Lydia, who was rolling around in fits of laughter before finally 

shrieking, "Yes, quite, Ma!  No dress, that's what you ought to go in, Lizzy: that'll get you some looks from the menfolk, all right!"  Which cheeky bit of wit got her a prod in the chest from

a pull of the plait from her mother, who said rather tartly, "And that's enough cleverness from you, young lady! Now, Lizzy, jane: have a parade around for us, let's see just how lovely you can look 

when you take a little care about it!"  And — since their mother asked for so very little of them — at least when she was a good couple of hundred miles away, which was fortunately most of the

time, these days — both Elizabeth and Jane complied, to a whole lot of only mildly sarcastic oohs and aaahs, from Lydia and Kitty, a great deal of sighs and squeals and pulling at their shoulder-straps, 

and adjusting their seams with the greatest fussiest precision, from their mother.  Even Mary seemed to feel herself moved to say, "You do both look awfully nice, you know," as if a mite surprised

at just how much difference a whole afternoon of primping, fussing, prodding, stitching, face-painting and hair-fussing, accompanied by a lot of squealing and arguing, could make.

"My girls!" Mrs Bennet said now, quite fondly, and pinched their cheeks, each of them, Elizabeth and Jane.  It was moderately endearing: and Elizabeth found herself not altogether sorry she

had come home to visit.  It seemed to put a line under their endeavours: and therefore she began to unbutton her own chosen dress, with its fancy little side-buttons instead of a zipper.  

and hooks and eyes: quality, as Mrs Bennet was fond of commenting, and stitched on, each one, with love by a distant cousin, related somehow more closely to Cuffy and his sour old dad, rather than

to the Bennets, and a hand-me-down she was only too glad to accept and to have handed down in her direction.  It was a beauty, no matter what Lydia and Mrs Bennet might think!

"Oho, not so fast, there, Lizzy!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed, however, with a hand on her arm, and a rather smug expression upon her face.  "Don't be going thinking that we're quite done yet!"

Jane, trailed by Mary and the two youngest. (These two last swanning into view singing and hallooing, and if elizabeth didn't know darned well that they'd barely had enough to get

more than merry, then she might have suspected that they were very near legless. As it was, she knew full well that especially Lydia, in the full flow of high spirits, could replicate such a state

with not a drop of ale inside her, and did so only too often as far as Elizabeth be concerned. The youngest promptly flopped back onto the kitchen easy chairs, and Mary opted for the window-seat

where she promptly settled down and sat in her rather lovely dress, gazing into space and playing with a ringlet of hair, looking quite out of it to a slightly concerning degree. however

she then perked up a bit, and said to Jane, "Oh, Janey, do you think that Henry Crawford will really be at the ball? And will he really get us tickets to see the play, do you think?" So that

established the cause of her rather spaced-out behaviour, and failure to immediately track down the nearest book and bury her nose in it, forgetting the very presence of her companions.

Elizabeth's attention was not captured over-long, however — since she spotted now, that Mrs Bennet was investigating the contents of various cupboards, and due to a suspicion that

the good lady might be searching out another bottle with which to enliven proceedings, Elizabeth made sure to call out quick, "Well, Mamma, I am sure you will have a cup of

coffee with us? Eh, jane? here, i will get the cups out!" But Jane — who was quick to take a subtle hint in some subjects and areas, and exasperatingly unable to catch on to one's drift in others, in this case

Understood, with just a glance passing between them, exactly what Elizabeth was at. And, quick as a flash, she commented, "Oh, Lizzy, you need not worry a bit — see, I have all the cups and saucers

ready here to go. Now, mamma, how do you want your coffee? And, pray tell, what do you think of these yellow ribbons that Kitty wanted me to have on my hair, instead of the white ones?

For I do in fact think they might be more becoming, but I find I cannot decide finally? What is your opinion on it?" and that was that — for in seeking out the lady of the house's opinion

on la mode, she had her reeled in and hooked on the line, serving her up a cup of coffee without a moment for Mrs Bennet to demur or to go searching again for a bottle, too thoroughly distracted

for the idea to even recur to her, when she could instead be pulling jane's ringlets up to the side, wondering if pink — pink! — might be an even better idea, and loudly rejoicing the fact that she had the prettiest daughters in the neighbourhood,

far outdoing Mrs Long's niece or any of Lady Lucas's children. the thought brought to mind for her, clearly, the subject of Charlotte Lucas. "Why, Lizzy, have you seen her at all lately?

I wonder how she is doing now? What a freakish and hare-brained thing for the girl to do, to go off to London without a word to anyone! and Lady Lucas says she has trained as an artist,

but why must she go off to the Smoke, or to college even, just for that? 'Tisn't as if it were something actually useful, like nursing like you and Jane, dear girls! or even teaching, or accounts — something that

has any use or purpose in the world, and might get her a nice little job in Meryton, so that she could come home and be of some use to her family, as her parents get older! To be sure, I will admit that

she had some talent in a small way from being quite young, and always did do quite nice watercolours of the local beautyspots. But what a hare-brained thing, to go running off to college to wear a beret and a smock and think herself

some variety of Parisian producer of oil paintings and so very much more refined and artistic than the rest of us!" Mrs Bennet had to wave a hand before herself at this point, since she was

getting herself into such an irritated and aerated state. "I expect that she thinks she will get herself a very fancy and well-to-do husband as a result of it, but I could tell her a thing or two and put her right on that matter!

Men don't look for girls who think themselves terribly gifted and special to wife, and I'm one who ought to know it, and you'd think a dreadful plain girl like Charlotte would have the sense to know it too!

Well, I hope that she may sell a painting or two with all of her training and fooling around with paintbrushes and putting on such airs and graces, for she won't get a husband out of it worth a damn, and that's flat!

This increasingly infuriated lecture was, as Mrs Bennet so often found herself without knowing it a bit, inadvertently and unintentionally funny — drop dead hilarious, in fact. It was a trial for Lizzy to catch jane's eye, and

— for Jane knew a great many things shared in confidence regarding Charlotte Lucas, full well as many as Elizabeth did, and one of them was that the getting of husbands was not well likely

to feature high on that dear girl's list of priorities! Elizabeth would have dearly loved to bust out laughing, but nevertheless she managed to restrain herself, and merely to advise her mother that, "No, mamma, I have not seen Charlotte this little while."

Jane did try to interject, beginning to say, "Oh, but she is such a nice girl, mamma! And so talented — I have one of her paintings she gave me one birthday, and I treasure it still! As to husbands, well -"

I don't doubt that Charlotte will bring home a nice boy, one of these days..."  thus Jane protected her friend, although even she — even the gentle Jane! — found herself obliged to tip the wink and 

grin very slightly in elizabeth's direction.   One might wonder, what exactly Mrs Bennet's reaction might have been, had Jane suggested the possibility of charlotte Lucas bringing home a 

nice eligible young woman, one of these days — but it was largely, Elizabeth considered, much wiser not to make the experiment, no matter how amusing it might potentially be.

The results could be also disastrous — after all, Mrs Bennet's head might blow right off, and that would be a dreadful mess to clean up.  "It's not as if she were a girl any longer, even," Mrs Bennet sniffed now, "and I don't know why I don't just come straight out and say

that she must be a proper old maid by this point, no matter what Dolly Lucas might have to say about her 'taking her time' and 'finishing her training'!  When you and Lizzy, Jane, might take your pick, any day of the week, I am sure!

Elizabeth gave jane a nod, just the slightest nod, and a faint bulge of the eye, to indicate that it would be so much better not to correct her or to comment, to mention that in fact she'd

seen dear Charlotte not a bit that long ago, and how very much they had had to say to each other.  (And how well Charlotte was looking, and doing — a thing absolutely bound to

put such a one as Mrs Bennet into the foulest mood ever known to man or beast!  Jane took the hint, and prudently kept her pretty mouth shut — only hurrying to refill Mrs Bennet's

coffee cup to offer that good lady further distraction.  It was a good moment, then, for Elizabeth to pick, to hear the faint hush and click of the front door opening, too soft and faint for the rest of them

to catch, busy as they were with chatting and arguing and all of the general hoo-hah that was unavoidable when the whole clan of the Bennet women got together and shared their news.  

Thus she quietly headed for the kitchen door — picking her way over the legs, bags, flailing arms and shrieks of Kitty and Lydia, who were arguing over who would get to borrow

Mary's dress for a school dance first, and still more important than that, who had first dibs on Harry Crawford, when they should go to see him in his new play.  There was plenty enough going on that 

her exit was barely noticed, except perhaps by a busy Jane much occupied in pacifying their mother, and she slipped out, to be the first to greet her father on his return home.  He was just inside the front doorway, setting out his medical bag on the

corridor stand and hanging his umbrella and coat up on the hooks.  He looked up as she approached, hearing her feet on the clicky-clacky parquet wooden tiles, and the serious and lugubrious

expression on his tired face lightened immediately, a wide smile springing up on his lips instead.  "Lizzy!  Well, you are a sight for sore eyes and a half, I don't mind telling you!  come here, girl, 

and give your old father a hug, why don't you?"  This indeed was exactly what Elizabeth proceeded to do, and it did her heart good to see the old man again, after a fair while of absence.

But as quickly as he pulled her into a bearhug fit to crush her ribs, old Dr Bennet put her away from him again, to get a better look at her than the quick glance he'd been afforded. 

and he whistled teasingly as he did so, shaking his head to see her so dolled up and dazzling — or so he said, making her laugh.  "Seriously, Lizzy!  Dolled up and dazzling!  Wait till the med students and the first-year 

housemen get a load of you in that gear — you'll have to fight them off!  What brings all this on, my love?  Not that I mind a bit — in fact I'm firmly of the opinion that all of my daughters ought 

to wear ballgowns to the dinner-table, every day of the week, and the breakfast table too, for that matter!"  At this, Lizzy found herself unable to resist popping the mask back on her face to add to the effect, 

and couldn't help but giggle at the stunned expression on his face.  "Honestly, Daddy?" she asked, letting the mask drop now.  "didn't our mother say a word to you?"

"Oh, that you were coming, home, love?" he said now, shrugging a little, and setting his hat down on the hallstand.  "To be sure, I believe she must have said something about it — or at least, 

she must have done, for I was fully expecting to see you and dear jane when i arrived home this evening.  I suppose most likely she did say something about..."  and his eyes crinkled up beneath his bushy salt and pepper

brows, as he pushed a hand through his leonine old well-salted head, thinning a little in back, but overall still a vigorous, dedicated, professional country doctor.  "I take it there's some kind of a do involved?" he suggested finally,

and Elizabeth laughed and struck him in the chest of his old good blue suit with the mask she still held.  "No, to be sure!" she announced, and gave him a bit of a twirl in the lovely grey voile.  "Don't you know?  this is the new probationer uniform at St Pemberleys!"

"A vast improvement!" Dr Bennet approved, with a clap of the hands and a twinkling grin.  Then they were burst in upon, for Jane at least was observant and occasionally quiet enough

to hear that they were not alone, but that their father had finally come to an end of a busy general practitioner's day of work, and come home to join them.  She was first to greet him after Elizabeth,

and for all their mother commented often and disapprovingly upon Lizzy being his favourite, still he was openly happy and joyful to see Jane also, and she him.  The rest of the girls, being used to see

their father on a daily basis — being lucky enough to see him thus, whether they saw it so or no, was what Elizabeth thought! — were not precisely excited in the same manner to have him home. 

But they were pleased enough, or at least amiable, even if this manifested for Kitty and Lydia in wails and cries about how far away their visit to the theatre was, and could he not take them to see a show some way earlier?

All of this, without the least explanation as to what it was they were talking about, and barely even a greeting, but since this was their regular habit it did not discombobulate Dr Bennet in the slightest, but as was his usual wont he simply ignored them until they became too pressing to do so.

Mary ambled in after the younger two, looking a little shy — and although their father glanced her way with a quick greeting, it was a moment before he gave a double-take and

took another look at his school-marmish scholar of a third daughter.  Possibly it was only that none of them had ever seen Mary look so pretty, presentable and well-dressed before, in her life or in theirs!  And, indeed, as if she had brushed her hair, washed her face and taken off her glasses, before taking up a book...

He was, also, every bit as astonished, and a bit more, with her appearance than he had been with Elizabeth's.  "Good God!" he exclaimed, with a look as much startled as approving.

"Well, that's certainly a heck of a dress, my love!" he observed to jane, giving her a forthright look over his half-moon spectacles.  "Not that it isn't very flattering, I'm not saying that!  Well, they won't miss you coming, that's for sure.

Where on earth did you buy that?"  Elizabeth laughed, and leaned into her sister's side, looping her arm through Jane's.  "As if!" she cried.  "It's one of Auntie Mo's creations — and I must say, 

she outdid herself this time!  I was in favour of something a bit more muted — but now," she added, looking critically at a slightly blushing Jane, in her Ice Queen get-up — "I have to say I approve.  Have you ever seen anything so glamorous?

They're going to be thinking that Hollywood's come to Lambton at the St P's ball!"  Jane wriggled, and giggled, but she looked both mollified and comforted by Elizabeth's words, having been a little bit

thrown by her father's initial reaction.  "Is that you there, Mary?  Or do I wonder and doubt?  I declare, if it's you then I'd never have recognised you!  What on earth have you done with

yourself?  What's happened to all your black sweaters, and your glasses, and — hold on, girl, I know what it is!  You're not carrying a pile of books everywhere with you!  What brought this on?"

Both Kitty and Lydia found this joke absolutely hilarious, and began to poke Mary in the ribs with the very hilarity of it, until she grew irritable and did some poking back with her own elbows.

But she was rescued by Mrs Bennet bringing up the rear and only somewhat delayed, brandishing her coffee mug as she announced, "Oh, my dear, what a joker you are!  But

all of your joshing aside, you must admit that dear Mary looks absolutely lovely — and indeed, now that I now how positively feminine and delightful she can look, I'll have no more of

all this uncombed hair, black wool and rucksacks nonsense!"  She raised her cup to her husband as if for a toast, and Elizabeth did wonder if, left unsupervised, she had after all found

means to Irish her mug.  It would not, by any means, be the first time.  And now Mary looked positively appalled, and distinctly nervous, the poor love!  Elizabeth felt a little pang for her — what had they set in motion? — and

patted her shoulder, saying, "Don't worry, love!  I'm sure she'll leave you your spectacles, at least!"  Mrs Bennet gave a 'hm, we'll see about that', and leaned forward to give her spouse of a decade or two a kiss on the cheek — unwonted indeed, and

"Heavens, Mary girl — could it be that our two St Pemberley's girls here-" and here he nodded at Elizabeth and Jane — "Are dragging you along to a social do there?"  "It is," Mary said, nodding a little pettishly.

"and I didn't get so much as a vote in the matter!"  "But think, girls!" their father said solemnly, looking around at each of them.  "Is this a good idea, really?  Think, Mary — you know, that in the middle of 

doing the twist with some over-muscled rugger-bugger of a houseman, you can't just take fright in the middle of the dancefloor, and run for cover to take cover in the St. P's library, thou knowest!"

and it produced a startled look on the face of Dr Bennet, suggesting that if it be a new development to be permanently adopted, then it was not an altogether welcome one.  Lydia gave a loud Heeeee in response to this.

(And Elizabeth was confirmed in her original suspicions — for if it were a matter of only the purest coffee in her mother's mug, then she was a red-arsed baboon, and in matter of purest fact she was not.)

"Come on, girls, stop all of this standing about in your finery, and getting in your father's way," Mrs Bennet announced loudly now.  "All of you — off to your rooms, and change into your regular

your regular day-dresses, put away your fancy gear before I serve up dinner, eh?" "And what delicious concoction will you be serving up as queen of your kitchen tonight, my love?" Dr Bennet enquired quite amiably, for all her greeting had startled him almost visibly. "I look

forward to it with unbearable anticipation!" (And there was less facetiousness in this assertion than might be supposed, for Mrs Bennet was a cook who might, regarding some dishes, have served as underchef in any decent Parisian kitchen, and in that kitchen she was indeed a queen.) But now her face fell, at her husband's enquiry, and she almost dropped her coffee cup as she uttered a squawk fit to shake the rafters of the old farmhouse. "Oh, good Lord! Oh, lawks almighty, girls! why, if you haven't distracted me so much, with all this silly fiff-faffing about dresses and balls and young men, that I haven't gone and clean forgotten to put the leg of lamb in the larder into the oven, as it ought to have been this hour or two past! Well, girls, really, this is too bad!" And she looked appealingly to her husband, for his confirmation on how very too bad it was of the Bennet girls to prevent her cooking a decent evening meal for her doctor husband, and not for the first time. Dr Bennet, however, was too wise a one to be drawn in: he merely murmured, "How very unfortunate!" and put his hat on the hallway table, slipping past Mrs Bennet and the girls in the direction of his study. "No doubt you will call me when this oversight has been rectified!" But all was not lost: for although Mrs Bennet was still wailing and dismayed, Jane said almost instantly, "Well, that is too bad, Mamma, I must agree. But not to worry: there is some leftover roast beef in the cold box, and we can pad it out with beans and barley, and make a big tray of shepherd's pie, can we not? With spinach and peas out of the garden, and I am sure it will be every bit as toothsome

as your roast lamb would have been." This masterstroke cut Mrs Bennet's panic down by about half: and, charmed, she patted her eldest daughter's cheek lovingly: and then turned to the rest of the rabble. "Well? Don't just stand there, like the great gawks that you are: what are

you all waiting for? Get changed, for heaven's sakes: get yourselves into the kitchen, into the garden, and let us for for the Lord's sake have a dish to put on the table before your poor father dies of hunger, and after a hard day's work too!" she shooed them all off upstairs with a good deal of vehemence: and the next fifty minutes or hour or so were spent gathering vegetables, peeling vegetables, peeling potatoes, boiling barley, grinding cold beef and a thousand other tasks that Mrs Bennet was only too happy to find for each and every one of them, now that the fun and frolics of their foolish afternoon were over. And, once the work was done, they did indeed put together a perfectly tolerable meal for the evening, even if it were not a patch on Mrs Bennet's justly famous roast leg of lamb. Elizabeth felt a little wiped out after all of their

jollity and their labour: and although she enjoyed the meal, and all the casual chaffing and banter around the dining room table with her great fools of sisters, her dear father, her — ahem — mother, still she found herself a little quiet overall, with her natural spirit and

vivacity diminished from its normal abundant levels. her father must have noticed it: for when they had eaten their fill of shepherd's pie, and the soft fruit and clotted cream that had served as a dessert with some hastily mixed-up biscuits, he excused himself from their company and to his own study with a marked and meaningful look in elizabeth's direction, which she recognised and understood very well. After ten minutes or so had gone by, thus, Elizabeth herself also slipped away from the merriment and the silliness that reigned in the dining room, and

hied herself instead to her father's study. When she slipped inside, she found him with his feet up at the desk and deeply engaged with one of his favourite golden era detective novels, as she had only expected with too much certainty. But he put the book down as she entered the

room, a pleased smile on his tired, lined face. "Lizzy! Sit down there, my love, and talk to me! For I fear that, so long as so much as one of your sisters be near, neither one of us shall be able to get so much as a word in, do you not feel the same?" Elizabeth laughed at this and did not comment further, as a matter more of tact and sisterly feeling rather than one of essential disagreement. Her father lifted his glass of scotch to his lips and hesitated. "Shall I pour you a glass, Lizzy? Have you got into bad hard-toping ways, off at St. p's? Say it ain't so: for my good scotch evaporates away fast enough, without a second old sot to encourage it in its disappearance!" Elizabeth laughed, and assured him she had not yet acquired a taste for the hard stuff, which indeed seemed to relieve him somewhat. "Well, and I applaud

you for it: but then you have always been a sensible girl, Lizzy, whether it be in relation to men or clothes or dresses or scotch. I don't doubt you continue so, up at old St. Pemberley's, too! But I would not know," he added, giving her a scrutinizing, uncertain look. "for we

see mighty little of one another these days, isn't it so? I tell you, it does the old ticker good to see you two girls back at the homestead! But tell me, Lizzy, how goes it for you — and for Jane, too — up at one of the great teaching hospitals: and studying nursing there, which we both know to be a long way from your original intent?" His eyes upon her were very searching, and troubled also. It wasn't as if Elizabeth didn't know already that her father had been, and no doubt still was, a mite heartsore over her professional troubles. In the absence of a son to carry on family traditions, it had given him a tonic when she had announced her intention to study medicine, and she half -thought that it was as much a loss and a grief to him for her to be obliged to give up that ambition, as it had been for herself. And now, she had

Indeed it was no stretch, for any of her daughters who were familiar with her culinary skills, to conceive of her as a chef in an outstanding Parisian kitchen, with a total mastery of her craft. Nor, for that matter, could anyone deny — however much they might like to — that Mrs

Bennet was an outstanding seamstress — and, so far as that went, and for that matter, had been by reputation an excellent practical nurse. It was not a stretch of the imagination, by any means, to picture her as a fashion designer, with her own label, her own couture house, or for that matter a stern but highly efficient matron of a large teaching hospital such as St. Pemberley's. Elizabeth had found herself forced to wonder, a time or two, if a good deal of Mrs Bennet's issues of temperament and character — her flaws, as one might fairly put it — had

a strong relationship with her views on sex, professional life and the home — i.e. that woman was born to serve, that men were by very nature superior and born to rule and to dominate, and that for a woman to wish to excel professionally was about as natural as the proverbial fish

with cycling aspirations. Elizabeth had heard these views espoused about ten or twenty thousand times over the course of her childhood and adolescence — and sometimes thought that the lady did protest a bit overmuch, and that Mrs Bennet's fervour to keep Woman in the Home was half the cause of her rankling resentment of any woman who did excel, and its root a repressed and twisted desire for her own life that wasn't dependent and centred around serving a man. But heigh-ho: no matter what Ma had to say, that wasn't a route that Elizabeth had the least intention of pursuing herself, and there was no way that Ma Bennet could make her. (No matter how she might delude herself on the issue.) It was a little sad, that was all: and Elizabeth sometimes wondered just how different her mother might have been qua mother, if she'd also been a feted professional seamstress, or the feared and virago-like Matron of St. Jude's or St. Basil's. They would never know, that was all: and if only her own stunting had not led her to the desire to similarly stunt her own daughters, and drag them away from all professional aspirations in the pursuit of the male of the species instead — as if they were harlots with no other interest in the world!

to decide whether, and how much, to tell her old Pa — but really and in all honesty, there was no decision to be made, and well she knew it. So she swivelled around the 'visitor' chair in front of his desk, and plumped herself down in it in the tatty old smock she'd put on in

order to cook and peel potatoes, and Elizabeth silently thanked the Lord that she'd had a brief, concise, but comprehensive discussion of precisely this issue with darling Jane coming down to the old homestead. To wit, that Jane was not, on pain of death or at the least very strong disapproval and some pulling of her pigtails, to utter word one about one Fitzwilliam Darcy, esquire, M.D. — and not about any interesting suggestions and offers he might have thrown into elizabeth's court with his large brown envelope of fascinating data and contacts. No!

Elizabeth herself would have given a good deal to be able to confide in her father her good news — but she knew better than to do so, when she had no certainty of the eventual outcome. Thus she only said to him, "Oh, it's going grand!" with a cheerful grin, even knowing that he

was a good deal too wily an old coot to be in the least deceived, and already had his own opinions upon the subject before she might even open her own mouth. "I like nursing a good deal more than I ever expected," she continued a little hurriedly, to avoid being challenged upon the subject, therefore — and indeed, it was in large part the truth. "Have you read all of my letters home? the girls on my floor and in my set are grand — well, to be quite honest, half of them are as mad as a loon, but still — they're grand girls!" And she offered her father an ingenuous smile. "I'm looking forward a ton to the masked ball — and we had a visit from cuffy the other week, that was a laugh and a half!" "Now there's a treat for you," her father said drily, but then he was not likely to have any other opinion to offer where Cuffy was

where good old Cuffster was concerned.  And who knew where such thoughts might lead, considering all old familial grievances and disputes, and thus Elizabeth was in some haste to head them off at the pass.  "And, just think of it, not only Cuffy," she added lightly, swinging around in the creaking old swivel chair.

"But one of my pals — she's in the set just up ahead of me, a second year, Mary Crawford — well, you remember me and the rest of the girls went up to London to see a bit of shakespeare last year?"  "As you like it, wasn't it?" the good doctor assented, nodding, for if anyone was a bit of a buff of the Bard then it was he.  "Damn good production, you all said — only wish

I'd been able to find the time to throw it all in and go with you, too!"  "Oh, Daddy, me too," Elizabeth said sincerely — although in all truth, if he'd had a mind to, then the good doctor Bennet could perfectly well have

with half of the silver-gilt rubbed off its chrome machinery, and splits and tears in the worn old brown leather of the upholstery.  He could have found the time, or declined to

answer every Tom Dick and Harry and their non-urgent non-essential medical calls, or indeed got a locum in for the night, just this once, in order to squire the Bennet womenfolk up to  

the bright lights of the big city for a night of wonderment and magic at the theatre, lost in the metre and rhyme of the Bard.  But he had not, because he never did, and Elizabeth did not know whether to blame or to admire him for it, knowing

as she did, that a good half of it was due to his undeniable dedication to his vocation, a job which sucked up at least three-quarters of his life and yet he regretted it, clearly, not for a moment.

And then there was the rest of it, and if Elizabeth suspected that on occasion, Dr Bennet was only too glad to make the excuse that he simply could not get away from work, that his patients needed him, that

it was a terrible shame and he was awful sorry, but he just couldn't get away for a moment! — in the covert cause of avoiding spending an evening in the company of the bennet womenfolk — of spending an evening in the company of the good lady Bennet — well,

it wasn't as if Elizabeth couldn't sympathise with it, as if she hadn't done the exact same thing a time or two, or as if she were in a position to criticise!  Still, the subject was best left off at first opportunity, and she merely continued, 

"Well, Daddy, you won't believe it, but the actor in it — he played Benedick, absolutely marvellous, and I know we were all going on about it a bit much even at the time, but it's the truth — 

well, it turns out he's Mary Crawford's brother! Would you credit it — and not only that, but he used to study medicine right here at St. P's, and got dashed close to graduating too!

"And, believe it or believe it not, he's awfully good pals with our own Cuffy, and the pair of 'em are liable to be attending the very masked ball that the girls are going absolutely crazy about, too!"

"So you see," she added pertly, with a light in her dark eyes that expressed all of the grin that she was repressing, "you underestimate the nursing life at St. P's at your peril!  It's the high life we probationer gals are living, and 

don't you forget it, mister!  Who needs Hollywood, when we've got Hollywood coming to us — well, as near as makes no difference, or at least Pinewood or Elstree, and I think that's jolly well

close, or in fact even better — closer to home, and you can't beat a good old Ealing comedy if you ask this girl!"  She beamed at her dear old pater, and felt that that was a job well done, and any of his

concerns, any niggling irksome worries, must surely be assuaged by such a performance.  And yet, there he was, leaning a little forward with his elbows on his nice cherry desk, with

a faint extra crinkling around his tired, rheumy old eyes as he looked at her, with a thoughtful, doubtful look to them, too.  "Is that so, Lizzy my love?" he asked her.  "Well, an' I am right glad for it, then.

"I will admit," he added, snuffling a bit, and his tired face more creased than ever, "that I have been worried, a mite, here and there — that you might find it hard to adjust, to 

lower your sights a little and truly settle in to a nursing career — to find the satisfactions and fulfilments it can offer, for I can assure you they are there if you keep an open mind, and 

for that matter your dear mother could tell you too — for she was a terrific nurse in her day, and any of her set would tell you so, and for that matter her nursing tutor too!  Do not underestimate the woman, Lizzy: for

Do not underestimate your mother, Lizzy: for I have made that mistake before now, and lived to regret it!"  The expression on his face was somewhat satirical, and the nature of those underestimates of Mrs Bennet

left to Elizabeth's imagination: and she, most probably wisely, concluded that these were most likely things better left unsaid and not investigated too closely, for one who valued a quiet mind and 

a peaceful heart.  Thus she turned her mind aside from the side-issue, and merely said, "I know you have, Father.  But really and truly, it isn't necessary.  I will admit that initially, I was more than a little half-hearted

about going into nursing.  It was Mother's idea, and you know it, and I know it too!"  she held up her hand when he was about to comment, in a hurry to avert his saying anything in criticism of her mother that

she wouldn't be able to help but agree with, and yet would feel herself obliged to prevaricate and offer some amelioration of any such entirely justified point of view.  and it wasn't even the main point: the main point being,

quite obviously, merely to put at rest dear Daddy's mind about the whole issue of her going for a nurse instead of a doctor.  for the time being, and who knew what the future might hold: but 

the less said the better on that issue, and Elizabeth was not one who would wish to raise glad hopes, only to dash them to the ground at a later date.  her own amongst them, and she was jolly well opposed to that last too.

Thus Elizabeth jumped up and skipped around her father's worn yet lovely old writing desk — as good a metaphor for the man himself as any — and draped her arms around

his grizzled old neck, dropping a kiss on his lined old forehead.  "And you really ought to quit worrying about it!" she scolded him, cheerfully.  "Because I can assure you, 

I've since had ample time and opportunity to completely come around to the idea — and, Daddy darling, as an old St. P's man, you really ought to  have some idea of the magic the old place can work!

I'm simply having the time of my life there — as Jane could no doubt tell you — and loving all the things I'm learning in my coursework too!  the lectures are simply fascinating — I'm currently a little bit challenged by the practicals — but I don't doubt that I shall prevail — most of the patients are absolute dears, and the ones who, ahem, aren't, well, I'm sure they're a suitably challenging learning experience!  And Sister tutor and Home Sister are absolute ducks, and my ward sister Sister Elliot is a total sweetie!  Maybe I never would have thought it — and

I certainly never would have believed I'd catch myself saying it — but quite possibly, dear old Mamma was right after all — If only about just this one thing!"

Her father's wide-eyed look of horror in response was no doubt heavily pantomimed — or so Elizabeth diplomatically chose to think.  In any case, she could not help but laugh

when he removed his half-moon spectacles to polish them vigorously, muttering in an aside, "Good God, Lizzy, perhaps it is the truth — but for the good Lord's sake, don't be repeating that 

in a hurry in front of your mother!"  Oh, it was shocking — and Elizabeth honestly disapproved of how the Old Man sometimes talked about the font of life, the womb from which she had sprung — but it was also frequently hilarious, and honestly what could one do?  She was a Bennet, and anyone who wasn't a Bennet just didn't have a hope of understanding!  In any case, she danced off lightly, and

take on the new thing and evolve out of what you thought was surely set in stone.  I wish you much happiness of it, Lizzy love: and I think you are of such a happy disposition, so ready to

find the best in all around you and to make something of each fresh new day, that surely the day may come you think that nursing was the best thing that every happened to you: or at least,

that you lost nothing by being set off on a new adventure, for a happy soul can find the beauty in whatever direction they look.  It is a great comfort to me, to think it so, my dear."  His smile was benevolent, and as of one truly comforted:

"A good nurse, you know, is no small thing to be, and you don't need your mother to tell you, in order to know that: but truthfully, Lizzy, in this she's quite right all along!  It is indeed 

one of the finest professions to which a young woman may aspire: a good nurse beautifies the life of her patients, brings them comfort, ease, relief from pain, lends them a little emotional security, 

reassures them and eases their fears at the most vulnerable moments of their lives."  And what could Elizabeth well do, but to smile and to nod, to bid her good father goodnight, and then

to shut his study door quietly, and to stand outside it a moment and just to breathe quietly, leant against the wall, besmocked and barefoot, the trace of a smile left on her face quite wry and rueful.

It was a sweet thing, indeed, to know that her father thought so very highly of her: higher, indeed, than she could possibly feel herself to deserve.  But who would complain of that?

What young woman of any sense and honesty?  Oh, it would have been sweet — it would have been very nice indeed, and brought heart's ease to elizabeth, if she could have felt it acceptable and

reasonable to give her father just the littlest hint about the whole darned Darcy business!  And couldn't she?  Maybe, possibly, just the very tiniest hint, something that barely alluded to the whole damned issue?

Regretfully — oh, how regretfully — Elizabeth came to the unbudging conclusion that no, in fact, she could not.  Oh, dammit, but she had much better not!  Not for a good long time, anyhow: even if it made her want to stamp her unsocked feet and

and generally having a right old tizzy out there in the hallway where anyone might stumble across her.  And that was not a good idea, nor something she chose to adopt as her first choice

when frustrated in her plans.  So instead — after a bit of concerted deep breathing and steadying of her delicately frazzled nerves — Elizabeth hied herself off to bed instead, since she could hear her sisters

setting off to do the same, sounding very much like a herd of wildebeest or wild buffalo in their delicate, rattling rampage up the stairs of the dear old homestead, hooves sounding like the big bass drum of the orchestra, and assaulting one's delicate eardrums with their jolly old cries of goodnights to one and all, and most especially

to the reverend matriarch of the house, old Ma Bennet.  This being since any failure to bid her farewell for the night would be greeted with the utmost umbrage, as every one of them well knew, whether consciously or unconsciously.

Therefore elizabeth herself — carefully bearing this fact in mind — tripped downstairs a moment or two, to give Caesar his due and make obeisance to the progenitor of her existence, since  

any failure in this respect would not fail to make life barely worth living, at least for the remainder of their visit home.  And, that duty once done — and given a bit of a cool and sniffy response,

no doubt due to Elizabeth sneaking off to spend a bit of time with their father, instead of remaining with the riotous, noisy throng of the dining room — she could safely excuse herself and

retire to her dear familiar old bedroom, which was almost a stranger to her after all of these months spent in the confines of the St Pemberley's nursing home residence hall.

It was pleasant beyond words to settle down for the night in her own bed, and surrounded by her own things: still pleasanter to be vaguely conscious of Jane across the hallway, in similar circumstances, and the rest of the girls dimly chattering in the distance, down the hallway.

It had been a long day — an awfully long day.  But still, that dress was lovely, and she would have a jolly good time at the masked ball in it, Elizabeth was certain.  And Jane's: well, not what she would have chosen herself, but 

well, still...  She yawned, relaxing now.  And had a thought, as sleep crept up on her — that it was a sad thing, she had not been able to confide in her father.  But still, at some future point,

if things fell into place and she really did her homework, and if Fate smiled upon her, and if Mr Darcy came through with that letter of recommendation if she should get an opportunity somewhere...

Then she might truly be free to tell her father everything and omit nothing, and o what a frabjous day that would truly be!  How happy it would make him to hear it, and elizabeth herself to be able to tell it!

It was a delightful, truly delightful last thought before sleep.  And Elizabeth snuggled into her blankets, cozying up with her eyes tight shut and a smile upon her lips, comfortably expecting the waters of Lethe to pour down upon her and swoop her off into blissful unconsciousness...

It would not have been an unreasonable thing, if elizabeth had expected that to be her last thought before sleep o'ercame her.  but there was one last thing: an image of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esquire, M.D., F.R.C.S., planted upon the screen of her mind, an unexpected image slipping in unannounced to take its place before her mind's eye.

Very proud and pleased with himself, he looked, there uninvited inside her head and as she pictured him.  But, after all, pleased with himself in this instance, for his own benevolence in doing Elizabeth an uncalled for, unexpected kindness, and who — even elizabeth — could fault him for that?

A handsome fellow, she thought vaguely, barely able to formulate a coherent thought at all, or make sense of it once she had.  Oh, yes, a handsome fellow: no matter what you thought of the

chap otherwise, his character, his conduct and all the rest of it — to concede him well-made by nature and pleasing in his lineaments was about the minimum even such a grouch as elizabeth herself might concede.

One last tendril of thought disturbed her, persisting and insisting itself upon her for her further attention: and that was to wonder if he might show his face and make an appearance at the masked ball at St. P's?

None of her business if he did, or should, of course...  none o' her business, no not at all...  hmmm.... quite...  And of course, even if he should, behind the mask then she might never know of it, that being all of the beauty of a masked ball...   And finally, Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn — a.k.a. Nurse Bennet of St Pemberley's teaching hospital, Lambton...  was finally, and most truly, asleep.

The Sunday, then, was the second and last day of their stay — a nurse's leave being a precious and scarce commodity, and most especially for a probationer!  But they enjoyed it to the hilt, both elizabeth and Jane, as far as they could

and in a somewhat bittersweet manner — for it was the last day seeing the girls and the aged parents, after all, or would be for a good while now.  And on the other hand, it was the last day they would be seeing Mrs Bennet

for a good long while now, and hem hem, and quite possibly the less said on that issue the better.  Oh, it's difficult to be a good daughter sometimes, and especially in respect of certain mothers!

Why not, of course: and in fact it was most highly likely, since the top brass of any teaching hospital, and certainly St. Pemberley's was one to be included in this grouping, to make an effort to show willing and make their presence felt at any of the major social do's of the hospital social round!

Of course, if the bingleys should actually attend the event (which was a worrying and a contentious thought in itself), then it was exceedingly likely, Elizabeth thought, that Mr Darcy

would accompany them.  As he had every right to do!  And, it being a Sunday, then the greater part of the day — certainly all of the morning, and a little of the early afternoon — was taken up

in attendance at the little parish church associated with the village of Longbourn, where they, the Bennets, were the original and the most notable residents, even in these dwindling and diminished days for the family.

Of course it barely need be said, that attendance at a church service is a momentous and a very serious occasion, and one which ought be taken seriously by every parishioner.

The bringing together of the body of the church, the communing of each and every attendant with God, these are holy and sacred matters, and without doubt ought to be treated as such!

It also cannot be denied, however, that even in our shockingly secular age, to see and to be seen at one's local place of worship is not only a matter of practising one's religion and maintaining one's faith, but

but also a social occasion, and in a small village such as Longbourn, an important one too.  Elizabeth, she was proud to be able to attest in her heart, was very conscientious in making sure

that at least a good forty per cent of her attention at any given point was upon the service, the sermon, the parson or the hymns the congregation was singing, and if she could possibly

stretch that achievement out to fifty per cent then she did so — or possibly, would have done so.  The same and better might be said for the lovely and virtuous Jane, she was quite sure: and

and so far as Mary went, just so long as someone was careful to check her handbag before entering the church, and make sure that she was in possession of no novel or book of essays, then

it was fairly certain that her attention to the sermon would be assiduous, since she considered it at least of more use and education than the conversation of her neighbours.

Mrs Bennet, as everyone in the neighbourhood knew, and as a matter that could not possibly be denied, considered each  visit to a service as simply an opportunity for ravenous and unstinting gossip and scandal-mongering, and

and an opportunity to tear down her dear darling neighbours, destroy their reputations and launch all-out attacks upon their standing in the community.  She would, of course,

have been pearl-clutchingly outraged at any such suggestion, any breath of a word that might suggest her less than a devout Christian and a blessing upon all who surrounded her!

Her father's attitude to church attendance was something Elizabeth preferred, generally, not to consider too closely.  They had never discussed the subject in depth, since Elizabeth suspected there were things that she would be happier not knowing related to the subject.

He had at the very least vaguely hinted at the possibility that he was in fact agnostic when it came to religion: and elizabeth, who thought herself not half smart enough to disprove God, only hoped that the matter would never come to him announcing himself outright atheistic.

As a local country general practitioner, of course, it was a matter of policy, and of diplomacy, to attend a local church at least here and there, and certainly when the matter could not be avoided.

Dr Bennet did, in fact, evade attendance at church here and there, when he could: but he was too downy a fellow to think it politic to never attend at all, and therefore sprinkled out his attendances throughout the 

ecclesiastical calendar, as thinly as he could possibly manage it. thus his relations with his patients, the local medical authorities and the local community were kept strong, and 

his influence with medical consultants and hospital departments maintained, for such occasions as his patients might require it.  there, the Bennet church-going habit in a nutshell: barring 

Lydia and Kitty, of whom generally the less said the better.  They had been lectured, told off, preached at and screeched at often enough, by this time in their careers, to understand at least that

seated in the row before them.  Now, given the example of Mrs Bennet, they were more likely to restrain themselves (mostly) during the service, before hieing themselves off to a gaggle of their local buddies

to screech and giggle about so-and-so's dress, or such-and-such's new boyfriend, in a way that made Jane and Elizabeth sigh a little, and thank heaven fasting that at least they'd kept a lid on it during the service.

But now, during an all too brief visit home, it was nothing to worry about.  Elizabeth enjoyed the service, tried to pay attention to the sermon, but mostly gazed up and around at the lovely stained glass windows of the church 

(paid for with previous generations of Bennets' money, back in the days when those generations were genteel and prosperous enough to throw their cash around for the benefit of the local community, and to bolster their own egos and reputations).

She felt a great peace and quietness, in the haven of her own home church, that seemed more important than catching every word of the chinless new curate and his wise words about Eccleasiastes or whatever verse it was he was babbling on about.

And then at a quiet moment in the service, one of the transitions between prayer and sermon and hymns, Elizabeth leaned over to hiss a whisper in Mary's ear. (Who was sat in the pew before her, since

enough folk had brought guests and visitors to the service that some of the Bennets were edged out of their own family pew, that Bennets had been occupying for generations now, and

rarely had the well-polished wood been besmirched by an alien rear-end daring to seat itself down and take up a hymnbook, taking a space that was by now after all these centuries a Bennet's by right and usage.

they were her badge of rebellion, and as such did not augur well for her attendance at St. P's masked ball. thus, elizabeth — sitting down on the edge of the bed to perch there grimly, getting in Mary's way as much as possible -

beamed sunnily at her mother, and observed, "Cheer up, ma! Just think of it, you're getting rid of us all over again for the duration! And you'll be getting shot of Mary, too — at least for a few nights, when she

comes to stay with us and attend the ball! Eh, Mary?!" This was greeted, as might well be expected, by a sour grunt and by Mary's lifting up her magazine to hide her face the more efficiently.

mild and scholarly nature, and yet it was undeniable, and had served her well in rounding out her college applications to point out that she was a force to be reckoned with on the hockey field.

It was by no means the case that Elizabeth went down without a fight, nor that she had no resource to counter this assault. Was Mary not providing her, even with every lobbing of a weathered and fly-blown crabapple, with

ready to trip up the unwary. And good use was made of them, in terms of firepower in a primitive state. Not only by elizabeth and Mary: not only by Kitty and Lydia, indeed! For although Mrs Bennet

admonished all four of them to begin with — as a dutiful, conscientious, conventional-minded mother ought — still, in the end, and as chaos raged around her from the Amazons who had sprung from her loins,

the protests and admonitions of Mrs Bennet began to ring increasingly hollow and insincere — and in the end, temptation got the better of her, and this respectable matron of the town of Meryton joined in, joined battle and picked up an apple — much as eve must once have done, but with not half the trepidation.

It was perhaps inevitable — and impressive, too, what a warrior she proved herself to be, with a powerful bowler's arm and a markswoman's eye for a target. And a jolly good reprehensible time was had by all,

with the exception of Jane. Who stood on the sidelines, wringing her hands and imploring them to behave themselves — to think of what might happen, what breakages and injuries — and to put down the apples!

Except that not even Jane — not even sweet, saintly, darling Jane Bennet was a perfect angel always — not quite! And who can say what cajoled her into it in the end — her mother's stentorian roar to get in line and protect the front line, dammit! Or

to her — yes indeedy, jolly all the best of good luck to Captain Jane and her strong right arm — not that she needed it one bit! And, after a very decisive three minutes or so, the total rout

of all opposing forces had been most thoroughly accomplished, and the whole pack and boiling of Bennet females littered in a most haphazard and random fashion about the attic of the old homestead,

most of them quite limp and exhausted by their heroic, nay spartan efforts at conquest and territory-poaching. It was indeed quite pleasant just to slump where she half-lay, elizabeth

found, her head against the iron bed-frame and getting a dint in it thereby. So pleasant, in fact — with the rays of late-summer sun filtering through the dormer window, and the whole crew of them giggling intermittently,

with an occasional faint cry of oh, jolly well played, janey — and Ma Bennet, past her prime, sat heavily on the middle of Jane's mattress and sinking a good dint in the middle with her plates of meat splayed out much in like the aforementioned hippopotamus, red- faced, and

red-flushed and yet triumphant, a Spartan matron of war -

And Elizabeth shouted back up the stairs to their mother where she was lumbering after them, as they all clattered down in a colossal dust cloud of arms and legs. “don’t forget, keep an eye on Mary’s dress, ma! We wouldnt want it to go missing again,now would we -perhaps you ought to put it away under lock and key, just to be on the safe side!” Oh, and there is not an atom or a trace of gratitude in the world, for she cried it out just following upon Mary’s mothering them along on their way to the train station:but perhaps it was not the wisest course of action to do so with Mary right behind her on the stairs, poking her in the back and kicking her in the shins as the pack of them half-fell down into the hallway.It is a perilous thing, indeed, to love a laugh, and to be prepared to do just about anything in this world for the sake of it! But amusement was in short supply, and panic was plentiful, as they rushed about catching hold of last-minute remembered items, and hugging each other,

and calling out all manner of glad, if slightly premature farewells. Then, as Mrs Bennet followed them into the great redstone kitchen of the farmhouse, she gave a great screech, so great a screech that even every last one of her daughters, well used to all manner of screeches emanating from her general direction, was stopped in her tracks. “Oh, heavens!” Mrs Bennet lamented, now, with her hand to her mouth. “I forgot to give the message at church, to Mr Gadsby, to let Mrs Long know that we would be ready for Jacob to pick you up at three!” This was not notably good news. The arrangement had been made, that Mrs Long’s young gentleman caller – Jacob Avens, a local farmer, and a sprightly young sprig of seventy-three, five years younger than Mrs Long – would drive Elizabeth and Jane to the station. (this being, ostensibly, since Dr Bennet had as always, a good deal of paperwork to complete. But elizabeth knew, as well as any of the rest of them, that it was truly because he hated farewells, and to say goodbye to any of his daughters.

so you see, with the instant of their train’s arrival on the platform growing ever more imminent, this was dire news, and Ma playing the tragedy queen over it was for once more than understandable.  But once again, today, Mary stepped in and saved the day: or rather, flung down the magazines she had been stuffing into a harrods bag for their journey, and cried out, “I’m on it! Hang on, I’ll run down to aven’s farm and tell him to step on it!” And promptly she was out the door and running out the yard, and down the village high street, fleet as any Diana. (she had, in fact, swept the board at the last village fete athletics events, and if anyone could possibly pass on the word of Farmer Aven’s presence and battered old Vauxhall being required, it was Mary.)  It was good news, too, in more ways than one: since it gave Elizabeth and Jane ten minutes at least, to make a pot of tea, and take a cup in to their father’s study, for a last few minutes with the old fella, before they should return to St. P’s. He greeted them with a kind of melancholy

absence of mind, and they had at least a few minutes longer of each other’s society, sipping tea and discussing their prospects for a good journey. Jane seemed a little on edge, and pink-faced: Elizabeth was apprehensive, not that she would discuss recent interesting developments in Elizabeth’s life, for she had been too clear and detailed in her threats regarding such an eventuality! But, perhaps, that dear jane might let slip something of her own matters of the heart. For Dr Bennet was an old St. P’s man, and would not approve of a daughter of his falling in love even with a former patient! But Jane held strong, like the good sensible girl she was. And when the shout went up from Lydia that Mr Aven’s landrover was at the gate, and Kitty ran up the stairs to bash on the door and tell them to get a move on, not a word had been uttered to discomfit or to distress: not a word of truth or import, but still, how much better to leave on a pleasant note! And Dr Bennet took their faces one by one in his hands to kiss their brows, and to say,

“I wish you both the most amusing and comfortable of journeys, my loves! And that you enjoy your resumption of work at good old St. P’s, and be sure not to forget – be good, be kind and be industrious, in all things, if you can – and if you can’t, then at least be merry scoundrels!” And he sent them off packing with another kiss each, to the cheek – and shut his study door behind them with a quiet promptness, signalling his clear intent not to participate in any grand familial farewells. It was exactly as Elizabeth had expected, and exactly as it always was – and yet Elizabeth could not help feeling a little pang as they dashed down the stairs and out of the door and out of the house, running through the yard to where Mr Aven’s landrover was humming at the gate, and the cheery old fellow humming a bit of Mozart too – the Magic Flute, if Elizabeth were not mistaken. Mrs bennet and the girls crowded around them, at the gate, with

many a hug and a kiss and a cry of greeting and farewell. If Elizabeth had not been resolute, then they might have been sorely delayed in getting to the station – perhaps delayed enough to miss their train altogether. But she took a hold of jane by the elbow, where she was being patted on the cheek and enjoined to be sure to bring a nice young doctor home next time, and firmly steered her into the back bench of the motor, following on behind and ignoring all cozening and protests as she did it. They leant out the windows, then, and waved an enthusiastic goodbye, before Mr Avens stepped on the accelerator. At this point, Elizabeth had been in grave doubt regarding their chances of making it to the station on time.Mr Avens, however, proved her wrong, demonstrating only the most notional comprehension urged on by Mrs Bennet as to the urgency of his responsibility of such a thing as a speed limit, and

got them to their destination in very short order indeed – with two or three minutes to spare, in fact. Enough, at least, to thank Mr Avens profusely, to scramble out of the landrover and claim all their bags and packages, and then to run like heck for the appropriate platform, as the announcement of their train’s imminent arrival boomed out over the tannoy. They made it – just barely, but they made it. And, job done, and collapsing into their seats breathless with laughter, after stuffing their cases into the overhead rack, it was a pleasant feeling to be beginning the journey back – back to St. P’s, back to nursing, and back to all the complications of the life of a young nurse in training. Elizabeth eyed her sister thoughtfully across the train’s table, as she tumbled out a couple of ham sandwiches out of the paperbag Kitty had stuffed into her pocket moments prior to departure.

Janey was pink-cheeked and laughing and gay, now. the stimulus of their frantic departure, and a pleasant weekend home, had done that for her. But she had had melancholy moments, just the same and might have more to come. pining over charles bingley. Elizabeth caught her dear sister’s hand, and grasped it, and smiled at her, a little fiercely. None would break Jane’s heart, if she had anything to say to it – not Charles Bingley, nor any other fellow. she vowed it to herself, quite fierce. Well, it might mean she had to bump the fellow off, if all else failed, and she gave a little shrug of the shoulders. god help the mister, who came between a Bennet girl and her sisters! There was more besides, to ponder over. There was the ball, oncoming – and the years’ finals and practicals to get through. There was the astonishing kindness of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, no matter what a boor he might be otherwise. there was that odd, awkward smile she had surprised him in, in the car park of the hospital’s east wing. It was with a vision of

That smile, ambiguous in mood and yet really – Elizabeth could not deny it – with something quite engaging about its shy warmth – that she gazed out the window for a good few minutes, at the rapidly receding woods and hills of Meryton’s rural outskirts and she thought of it a time or two, too, for the rest of the journey. A girl must occupy her mind with something, after all. and a handsome young man – do we not all know and acknowledge it? – is as good a thing as any other. so the journey whiled away, travelling to St. Pemberley’s: where a good deal more rascally amusement and venturesome escapades no doubt awaited her. Onwards, to St. Pemberley’s, and Elizabeth smiled to think it. How sweet a name it was, after all.