Title: Irish Fall

Author: dominiquesdh

Theme: Alternate Universe – Historical drama - Romance (free variation based on Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. This fanfic is a sequel of Twelve days in August & Summer's End which took its liberty with P&P at book III chapter II)

Caution spoiler alarm: If you haven't read yet the first books please stop reading here since the summary will probably spoil quite a lot of the story's plot. So be so kind as to look first at the two first books.

s/4454840/1/Twelve-days-in-August

s/5274770/1/Summer-s-End

Warning: This post contains the Prolog and the first chapter.

Summary: We read the year 1801. On August the first, French troops came ashore in Brighton. Nobody was able to stop them and at the middle of the month of August the whole of England's Counties were under French rule. Meanwhile, Geoffroy d'Arcy, commander in chief of the invading troops did meet a certain Jane Bennet in Rosings… This encounter had consequences since Sunday the sixteenth August 1801 Jane Bennet became Jane d'Arcy… Summer's End begian the day following the wedding at an unknown –if late– hour… and Irish Fall begins late at night in mid september somewhere in Ireland.

(Cast: all traditional characters of Jane Austen's P&P, a few new ones, including d'Arcy and a few historic figures such as George, Prince of Wales, Napoleon, at that time Premier Consul de la République Française; Alexander Czar of Russia and others ..)

Disclaimer : The characters I serve here are Jane Austen's even if after two centuries they legally belong to all of us. Only those few I created are mine and I hope they'll bring something interesting to the story.

Remarks:
My story is based on Jane Auten's book for the story and the 2005 movie for the visuals.

Miscs :

A (different) version of this fanfic already exists partially in French. My French reader got book one first and you will have the privilege to get books two and three first.

I'm no English native speaker and from time to time some failures (let's hope tiny ones) will slip into my texts and escape the vigilance of Karen my beta reader. Please let us know if there's a better way to say it in English…

As in book one and two, I'll use US spelling.

This third part is a work in porgress. Forty nine chapters are written and are being edited at this very moment and the story, having found its own life, is already asking to be extended. It was very kind of all of you to read my first stories and it was even kinder for those of you who encouraged me with their comments. It helps a lot to have a feed back to pull you into going on. As said it was quite an adventure and I loved it. I hope this third part will please you as did the others. Let me know your opinion!

This first post will contain the Prolog and the first chapter in order to get a clear posting order in the future.

BOOK THREE: IRISH FALL

Prologue: Dublin Nightmare

Dublin Castle, Sunday the 17th of September, Early Morning before dawn.

"Your Highness, Your Highness, wake up!"

George, Prince of Wales, drugged as usually with laudanum took very long minutes to emerge from his drug induced sleep.

"Yes, yes,…" he slurped. "What's happening?"

"The French, Your Highness. They are assaulting the Dublin Harbor fortification…"

That woke George!

"Bloody Hell," came his outcry. "And I suppose they are winning?"

Governor General Holt was beside his Majordomo and could provide the answer.

"Their canons are definitely better than ours, Your Highness. They can stay out of the fortress' canons range and still hit them with diabolical accuracy. And since their cannonballs explode on contact…"

"We're screwed" grumbled the Prince of Wales while trying to sit up. "How can they be here? A week ago d'Arcy was unconscious and at death's doors and now he is probably here supervising his troops bombing me out of another Royal Castle."

He gave up and made a gesture; soon his manservant squad was pulling him out of bed.

He was presently standing and being dressed.

"How long?"

"Two hours," answered the general. "In two hours all our guns will be destroyed and they'll enter the Harbor."

George sighed.

God, how he hated that man. He was just coming out of a coma and was newlywed, by God! Why wasn't he just madly screwing his wife like any normal man would do while married with such a beauty? And how he hated those idiot directors from Cambridge and Oxford. Had they been just a little more supple He would probably be bombing Napoleon out of France right now!

There were shouts coming from outside.

And if there were shouts of anguish he was sure he could also hear hoorays. Count on the Irish to add insult to injury.

"What is happening in Dublin?"

"We have the first groups in the streets and the meetings in the pubs are becoming noisier. The riots should follow very soon, now."

The Prince of Wales shook his head. Couldn't this idiot do like every normal sycophant and go on lying, go on saying him what he wanted to hear like every other ass-licking toady?

"Will we get out?"

"The road to the south gate is being secured by your Horse guards. We should be able to evacuate."

Thank God for small favors.

"Let's go then and don't forget my father."

Adbul Ahmad Kinali smiled while stowing his blowgun in his casing. As usual, the poisoned horse guard was quietly slumping down in his saddle.

He didn't look like he was dead but dead he was.

Ten seconds later one of his men was replacing the dead soldier on his horse while two others were hiding the body around the next corner where another of his men would don an English uniform to soon replace another dead horse-guard.

And he was only one of twelve Special Forces Squads at work within Dublin Town on this Irish cloudless night.

Soon most of the King's escort would be replaced and the real game would begin.

The poor English sods were in for a big surprise.

Abdul had been with d'Arcy and Napoleon since the French take-over of the Middle East.

At the beginning the French were seen as another bunch of outsiders, heathen outsiders. But thanks to d'Arcy and Napoleon that feeling soon changed.

They have shown respect. Respect for the Faith and respect for the people's leaders. All the people's leaders!

Abdul is Shia and his brother was what the westerners called a priest, an imam, and now he was paid by the Republic to preach his Faith. And to convey a few well-chosen political messages that helped the new rulers to be better accepted. That was alright with his brother and his colleagues. The important point was that they could go on preaching and teaching the Faith.

There was respect for the true Faith and the new revolutionary philosophy had had no problem to convince all those ethnic minorities under Ottoman rule that the Republic was a smarter master than Istanbul.

And now French soldiers were defending Syrian and Egyptian borders while Eastern soldiers were fighting the Consulate's wars in Europe.

And the best of all soldiers were fighting the shadow war d'Arcy himself had taught them.

The carriages were rolling through the country side with his escort thundering around.

Probably going North but George couldn't be sure.

His father was in one of these rare periods of normalcy. He would really have preferred he was ranting as usual.

"A true ruler doesn't run. He stands and fights."

"Fred is the war lord of the family. He'll make the last stand in Dublin. He'll buy us a quarter of an hour–"

"Frederick is an idiot!" shouted his father. "He has no military mind."

George couldn't help but smile.

It was a smart move to speak of his brother. For the next minutes he would take the brunt of his father misgivings. Let's give him some more ammunition against dear Freddy.

"He has military experience… He commanded in Flanders. And we won!"

"He lost half his men" argued his father. "And the other half mutinied because of his poor leadership."

"But he won."

"No," insisted his father. "The other side lost by quitting the battle ground. Fred's an ass!"

On this point we can only agree, father. But if I'm to avoid being at the center of your wrath I've no choice, but to keep on defending him.

"He has fifteen thousand men to defend Dublin. Even he should be able to make a stand with such a mass."

"And that's why we're running, because you're convinced that Freddy is able to make a stand?"

"We run because d'Arcy has proven to be a better tactician and strategist than all our warlords. Fred included. So there is always the risk he will be able to surmount the odds."

"The Scotts will turn coat as soon as the first French soldier is in Dublin," countered his father. "There are no odds. We should have sent them to Canada."

"We have no other troops to replace them and you know as well as I that we couldn't leave Ireland without troops! The natives would have torn us to pieces."

"We should have eliminated the Society of United Irishmen after the '98 uprising," grumbled his father.

"We tried, father, we tried. But since the French postponed their invasion plans we were unable to lure them out of their holes until recently." He snorted. "That changed with the news of the coming of the French invasion fleet; the Society of United Irishmen was as surprised as we that they attacked Brighton and did not land in Kilcummin as predicted. And Holt was so confused that he failed to launch an offensive against them in the first days of the uprising."

"He wasn't confused; he was scared shitless" said George III. "He wanted to send us his troops to defend the homeland. It would have been worth a try–"

"With not enough ships and an uprising at his back? It would have been sheer idiocy!"

"Well," sighed his father. "He didn't get it done before you joined him here."

Now it's my turn…

"You should have stayed and gave him a battle."

"I'd be dead or in his custody now…"

"You've only put off the inevitable. Here we are again running like rabbits before the fox. And we could still end up dead or in his custody! As you see you traded England's homeland for a few more weeks of gluttony."

Why does it always end with that? What would be the reproach if I was an ascetic? Time to strike back!

"Our best troops are in India, father, because you ordered them there. There's nobody left to defend our European possessions but lukewarm Scott draftees and greedy German mercenaries. All hired by you and if I recall correctly against my protests."

"You weren't protesting out of strategic thinking but only because you believed it too expensive."

"Seeing the results it was too expensive!"

"So was the money shoveled into my sons' education and upbringing."

Ouch that hurts. How I hate him when he's not nuts.

He looked out in the night and sighed.

It was time to change subject.

"The Irish, as you know, refused till now to give us open battle. Do you believe that will change?"

"Were they smart they would let d'Arcy's forces do the battling. But since they are Irish they'll come out and fight in the open. Holt will probably win a few victories before he's pushed in the ocean by your d'Arcy."

"He isn't my d'Arcy…"

"There you're right and that's a real shame. Would have loved to have him as commander in chief."

"No more than me, but even if he would have stayed nothing says he would have begun a military career. Or got to the top if he had done! Ours is a rather inefficient way to promote officers."

"Outside the navy you mean…"

"Perhaps, but even in the Navy nothing's sure nowadays. We've just lost two major sea battles against a navy which has lost eighty per cent of their experienced admirals and seventy percent of all their officers' corps."

"Nelson wasn't bested in a sea battle. That d'Arcy has cheated!"

"Putting those guns on those islands was a master stroke. Nelson was totally surprised."

"Without the range advantage he wouldn't have been able to do it."

"But he had it, father, and he still has it."

George III could only swear.

"It has been three years since, why haven't we closed that gap? Why are our gun makers unable to build guns with a better range?"

His son sighed.

"They can but the admiralty had problems replacing their old guns with the new ones. They're too big for our current ships. They tried on the bigger ships of the line but to house those monster guns they had to refit the whole deck plan. It took months for their test ship and the crew just couldn't adapt to the new guns…"

He snickered.

"As often d'Arcy did it better. He built new adapted ships around the new guns. We tried to adapt old hulls to these new guns and we lost months before it became evident that that wasn't the right way to do it."

"We launched new models?"

"Twenty four of them. Twelve at the docks of London and the rest in Aberdeen. I suppose they burned the London ones before getting out. The new Scottish navy will be quite impressive I suppose. Good and bad, money lost all the same."

His father looked him in the eyes and took his hand.

"Sorry for not being at my best these last years. With the French in uproar, I chose a very bad time to go haywire."

"You didn't choose, I suppose," admitted his son, "and becoming crazy isn't the worst."

"No" admitted his father. "The worst is my swinging between sane and insane." He snickered. "Must be unnerving."

"It i–"

His answer was cut by the first rifle shot. It was immediately followed by another single shot soon covered by a volley and shouts. Lots of shouts. Some angry, some surprised.

There was a bump against the carriage. A wail immediately followed by another bump and a loud stomp near the carriage's door.

The door which opened to let a horse guard climb in.

A very unusual brown skinned horse guard who smiled at them while aiming a very dangerous looking three barreled rifle in their general direction.

"Please, Your Majesties" said he with a funny accent, "do me the favor of doing nothing excessive. Your death has been planned into our general strategy but only as a last resort. You're much more useful alive, believe me. That said; let's go to the reason of my being here."

He bowed.

"Sorry to disturb your journey, Your Majesties, but there are a few unexpected changes in your planned schedule the Protocol has failed to inform you about. And the most important is that my master wishes to speak with you…" His smile broadened. "Since he is just now busy liberating another enslaved people he will be unable to join us in the very near future. But be assured that we will provide adequate shelter till the moment he can join us."

Chapter One: Dublin Uproar

Dublin, Wednesday the 20th of September

The whole French staff was looking at the map.

It was a very convincing –and accurate– map of Dublin and its surroundings.

"What's the situation Duroc?"

D'Arcy's expression was grim and upset.

"The town is cleared," answered Duroc. "No more military resistance anywhere. The garrison just collapsed. They surrendered as soon as they could to our troops. Those few who tried to run didn't even reach the suburbs of the city before being murdered by Irish lynch mobs."

He looked at his commander in chief.

"It's even easier than in Brighton. They are armed and equipped but they just have no will to fight. Most of them are Scotsmen and no longer consider themselves bound by the oath they gave George III. They want to be shipped back to Scotland to serve the new Stewart King. We count already twelve thousand prisoners/turn coats".

D'Arcy nodded and looked at those areas where the Irish "freedom fighters" were rampaging. He pointed toward the red figures picturing the Irish mobs.

"I want them stopped, Duroc! I know they are allies but wanton murder can no longer be accepted. I won't cry because of those poor sods who tried to run but I won't accept massacres and the murdering of women and infants."

"I know, Boss, but we are just unable to cordon every British household. We have maps but we have no area knowledge. We just don't know where to go. They know the town much better than us and they'll reach their victims before we even know there's something to protect."

"What about our local guides?"

"They helped us to capture the British troops but they seem to be unable to get information about what their 'friends' are going to do."

"Where's Kennedy? He could perhaps help…"

Duroc made a face and looked at his colleagues.

"They disembarked first thing two nights ago" said Kellermann whose ships had been the advance party of the fleet. "Haven't seen them since…"

"I saw them join Maureen earlier today" added Bessières who as commander in chief of the French cavalry had been the first general sending troops into Dublin. "I'd say by the general direction they took that they went to Dublin Castle…"

A frown came on d'Arcy's brow.

Maureen and Kennedy and Dublin castle…

He looked at Benevento who nodded his agreement before hurriedly quitting the room.

An hour later Benevento was back and the meeting was adjourned in a hurry.

Within minutes d'Arcy was at the Castle.

"Where is she?" he shouted while jumping from his horse.

"In your rooms, Sir, with your mother," answered the soldier who hurried out of the guard house to get his horse. "They just brought her a few minutes ago. Two more were injured."

"Where are the doctors?" he asked while running up the stairs followed by the Colonel whose duty was to secure Dublin Castle.

"Doctor Abd Arraman was accompanying them. And he signaled that his colleagues would be arriving soon."

D'Arcy nodded. Abd Alkader was the best physician of the whole French Army. He was with him since Syria and he had saved him and quite a few of his generals more than once, other officers and troopers not included. And he was the most loyal and dedicated man of his staff. He would do the job.

He finally arrived where his father in law was waiting for him.

"How is she?" asked d'Arcy while running toward his apartments.

"Injured but it's only a flesh wound. The bullet went through her shoulder without hitting a bone or cutting an artery. She'll be fine within a week."

Mr. Bennet snorted while hurrying after his son in law.

"Not so Maureen" said he. "She took the brunt of the volley. Abd Alkader cut three bullets out of her chest. She's lost a lot of blood. We will probably lose her."

"She's not dead yet," shouted d'Arcy angrily. "She's a fighter; she won't let herself die. Are they conscious?"

"Jane's asleep under drugs. Maureen is awake. She refused to be sedated…"

They finally arrived at their apartments.

d'Arcy was soon at his wife's side and took her hands at his lips.

"I can't even let you out of my eyes for an hour and you jump into the fray," he whispered before putting his wife's hand down.

He looked at her mother who was bathing her brow with fresh water and wet linen.

"She's out for the next hours. She was hurting a lot. She wouldn't accept the laudanum but I insisted. No use letting her suffer for nothing."

She pointed toward the other door.

"I demanded the same of Maureen but she refused. I understand why even if it tears my heart apart". She placed her hand on his arm" You can do nothing for Jane for the moment. Go see Maureen. She probably needs you more at this moment."

He nodded.

"I'll be back very soon. You're right: I'll have to speak with Maureen."

Mrs. Bennet glanced at him with a frown.

"She saved Jane… She couldn't have done any better."

"I know," he answered. "I wasn't going to blame her for anything."

He stood up and went to the next room where a low wail was betraying Maureen's whereabouts.

She saw him coming and made a face.

"How's she?" she whispered.

"She'll live" said d'Arcy while kneeling at Maureen's side. "You did your job."

She shook her head.

"Not quite. I couldn't get them all, Boss. There was a whole angry mob!"

"Not important, Maureen. You'll give me a complete report when you're up and–"

"I'm dying," she interrupted. "Doc's eyes said as much. He's a lousy liar." She coughed and a red spray soon stained the linens. "God's got an ugly sense of humor, getting me killed by an Irish brother." She snickered and laughed and coughed and strangled herself.

He helped her to calm herself and took her in his arms.

"Got me in the lungs, the bastard, before I could crush his balls. Squealed like an English pig… But was Irish, s'not enough to stop him… Got his knife in and now I'm drowning in my own blood."

"No you're not," said d'Arcy while opening his emergency satchel.

He took out a little blue vial, uncorked it and placed it against Maureen's lips.

"Shut up and swallow, Maureen."

She shook her head and he lifted the vial so as to spill nothing of his precious content.

"No drugs for me… I want to be conscious till the end. No going out sleeping for me. I want to feel every last moment of my life." She coughed again and he could feel her blood on his face, searing as if made of molten metal.

She gurgled a laugh.

"Who would have thought that I would try so hard to cling to my bitch of a life?"

She coughed again and looked him in the eyes, pleading.

"You'll stay with me, love? I'd like to have you at my side one last time… Just before going to hell to pay for my sins… A last glimpse of Paradise…"

He couldn't stop treacherous tears to moisten his eyes.

"You're not going to die," he insisted while forcing her to open her mouth. "Shut up and swallow, Maureen. It's an order!"

She couldn't resist and soon the blue liquid was disappearing in her throat.

He saw tears welling in her eyes. For the first time in five years, he saw her cry.

"Don't go away… Please… Don't let me down…"

He sat on the bed, took her head against his chest and began to gently rock her.

"I'll never let you down, lass. Never. I'll stay with you. I promise…"

The rumor had spread through all of Dublin in mere minutes. More speedily even than the news of His landing.

His wife has been shot.

By Irish patriots she was trying to stop before they put a church to the torch.

A church full of English scum to say the truth but a church nevertheless. No true catholic should ever go against a church. But they were angry.

So very angry.

And His wife was with kid.
Kids it was said.

Each and everyone who had a say in Dublin had rushed to Dublin Castle.

To try and stop what they knew could happen.

And here they were, most not even able to look Him in the eyes.

Because there was no word apt enough to describe what they were facing.

He'd stood there awaiting them.

They already knew –the tales of what he's done years before in that English Jail had steadily grown for years– that he was a formidable man but just now he was more than a man. He was wrath incarnate and they were all feeling –knowing– that their lives could be forfeit in the blink of an eye if someone, anyone was to make an ill-fated remark.

Fear was seeping from the walls and they knew that anything could happen. Anything!

"It's time to stop this," said a forceful voice coming from behind them.

The whole crowd jumped but d'Arcy just slowly looked up.

They turned and saw a little man walking toward them.

They parted to let him walk through the mass of bodies.

Soon they were facing each other.

D'Arcy opened his mouth but was soon stopped by a forceful gesture.

"Don't even try, son! You're unreasonable and you bloody hell know it. This has to stop! And it has to stop here and now! It was all Jane's fault and you're not going to trash and punish a whole country just because your wife is unable to believe that bad people exist!"

D'Arcy and the little old man looked at each other for very long and very frightening minutes. Everybody in the big room was conscious that everything was depending on the result of the fight of wills they were witnessing.

Finally d'Arcy lowered his eyes and the whole assembled mob discovered it could breathe again.

"You tried to kill my wife!" shouted d'Arcy at them. "I cross two seas to free you and you-try-to-kill-my-wife!"

"We didn't know," said a voice.

D'Arcy snapped in the general direction of the voice.

"And that's an excuse?" he shouted. "Your first night of freedom you go on rampage and become a murdering mob killing and raping innocent people?"

"They weren't innocent," tried the same voice.

"That's not your business to decide! I am the chief of seventy thousand soldiers who invaded and took hold of the country of our archenemy and while I was in charge not one of them has killed or mutilated innocent people. We brought honorable men to be judges in impartial courts which would have been able and willing to bring guilty people to get what they deserve! And what did we get?"

His eyes looked over the people and each one of them was sure he was looking directly at him or her.

"A lynch mob! A filthy ugly fucking lynch mob!" He didn't shout because it wasn't necessary. Each and every one of his words was tearing its fire directly into their souls. "I won't let a lynching mob decide in a country where I took responsibility! If what I unleashed is to be a reign of terror and wanton murder I have nothing to do in such a cesspool and I'm returning where people are decent enough not to attack pregnant wives and innocent babes!"

"It won't happen again," said a woman in the front rank.

D'Arcy turned his gaze in her direction.

"It should never have happened," he said in his most glacial voice. "You had the chance to show to the world that Ireland is home to a fair and gentle people able to forgive and to go beyond what the Brits had done to show themselves as decent human beings. And what did you do?"

He looked once more at each and every one of the people who had gathered in that hall as soon as the news has come to every ear in Dublin.

"You just showed the world that you were just as bloodthirsty and irresponsible as your English brethren!"

That got him a few grumbled retorts.

A few very discreet and hidden grumbled answers but reactions nevertheless!

"Yes, brethren," he insisted. "And since you are not worth the spittle to spit on you, I'm out of here. As soon as my wife and her bodyguard are able to journey I'm gone. Good luck with your lynch mob crusade!"

And out he stomped.

"That went well" said Edward Bennet not quite able to smile so soon after their little stunt. "They are all scared shitless."

"And well they should. This very morning I was at the brink of unleashing my armies on them."

"I wouldn't have let you" said Duroc while sipping his tea. "I quite like that new image of ours. I won't let you go back to our Syrian one."

"You'd follow your orders" countered d'Arcy.

"We'll never know, Boss! I could have remembered that I'm Napoleon's man," he said with a smile.

"Not to forget" added Kellermann "that I'm quite sure that my lads wouldn't have followed you on that ugly path. Irish maids have proven these last hours that they are quite friendly with soldiers freeing them from a foreign and bloody yoke."

"No need to speak any longer about hypothetic outcomes," said Mr. Bennet. "Luckily for Ireland I was there to stop my son's wrath."

"Out there it didn't look like it was stopped," smiled Bessières.

"We are great actors," snickered Mr. Bennet. "I give them half a day and they'll be at the Castle's door begging for forgiveness."

And before d'Arcy could add something he cut him out.

"And forgiveness will be granted! It was Jane's fault and you know it as well as me." He sighed "And speaking of my daughter, you'll have to do something about her very soon or you'll spend the next twenty years running after her trying to save her…"

D'Arcy nodded.

He had gotten three different reports and all had been very specific about everybody trying to dissuade his wife from going on her reckless scheme.

"She–"

"Don't even try, Geoffrey," said his father-in-law who knew exactly what his son was trying to say, "or you're lost. She meant well indeed but she must understand that she can't go on being a liability for you. While we are alone we can probably agree that it is thanks to her the English population of Dublin is still alive and safe but let's be very sure that she never hears that version! Or we'll never be able to reason with her again! She has to understand that she can't just go on hopping between angry mobs and frightened if not innocent civilians. Even for d'Arcy's there's only so much luck left!"

He clenched his teeth.

"Without Maureen she would be dead! And we could still lose her gallant bodyguard…"

"Doc says she'll live" said d'Arcy who knew exactly why she was going to live. Now he owed that witch a life and he knew he would have to pay. "She's shown Irish fighting spirit till the end! And now she'll recover."

Edward Bennet made a face. He had been there and he had seen the three bullet holes and the dagger wound in her chest. Nobody gets such holes and survives. Nobody. He would have to speak to Geoffrey. In private. Because with Jane out under sedation he was the only one who could have been able to do something while Maureen was dying. But before that there was the little problem of his daughter.

"As soon as she has recovered I'm going to have a conversation with her," said he with finality. "A very energetic conversation."

"I'm her husband, I should–"

"No," interrupted Mr. Bennet. "She'll need you afterwards. She's just going to get her first scolding in her whole life. She will be in need of a friendly and loving shoulder. And I'm sure you will be much more convincing in that role than in mine."

Edward Bennet barely could resist to laughing aloud.

"And gentlemen, please take advice from an old inept father. Be really careful what you wish for with your children. I wished for twenty years that my eldest began to show more liveliness in her life. And now, having gotten it, I really regret it."

Next chapter: Conclusions and acceptations

With the return of Elizabeth Darcy, her husband and a very grumpy general...

A last word before submiting you to the subtle and ancient torture of the long wait...

These two chapters are better than they were because of the dedicated help of my new beta reader.

With her advice it can only become better.

Thanks Karen and good work!