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The Vanishing

Chapter 11 - Escape from Downton Abbey

"Shall I give him the kiss of life?" France asked, he was already puckering up and trying to get Austria onto the floor.

"Is he breathing?" England asked, shoving France out of the way.

"Out of the way, men! I know artificial insemination!" America declared.

"Artificial… oh never mind," England sighed.

"Honhonhon!" Francis giggled in a way that made England cringe.

"He's still breathing!" Finland said, holding his hand to Austria's mouth.

The Austrian appeared to be frozen. A grimace on his face (but that was always there someone pointed out), his violet eyes wide open in a surprise and one hand still holding his teacup.

"So he's not dead?" Italy cried. "Oh mamma mia! I'm so happy!"

"Really? How interesting…" England said quietly.

"What do you mean, dude?" America asked.

"Italy was the one who poured the tea," Finland said quietly.

"He made the tea!" Russia said.

England sniffed the teapot carefully. "It smells of… almonds…"

"Poison!" France cried, horrified.

"I made special herbal tea!" Italy said. "Honestly, I did! I would never ever ever ever poison Papa Austria!"

"Yes but did you attempt to poison Mr England? I think you did…" Russia pointed out.

Italy burst into tears.

Romano put his arm around him and scowled at everyone, "Look what you did! He would not harm anyone. He's too stupid!"

"I mean I like you, little Italy dude, but Russkie dude has a point. You were the one who made the tea… and so I, as the superpower here and so the leader, say that you are the guilty one and arrest you in the name of the President of the United States of America!" America declared.

Everyone ignored him.

Spain came back in, still holding a dripping spoon. "What's going on?"

"Italy tried to kill Artie but poisoned Austria dude instead," America said, pointing dramatically.

Spain looked appalled at this, "There is no way that Feli would do such a thing!" he put his arm around Feliciano and pulled him to his chest. "Don't worry little Italy, I will protect you. I'll protect both of you…" he added, looking at Romano (whose scowl deepened).

England was unsure about all this, "Let's get this straight… Austria is still alive?" he asked Finland (who appeared to be the only one not accusing anyone and was sensible).

"Yes, he's breathing. He's just stiff as a board."

"Honhonhon!" Francis sounded utterly delighted.

"Shut up France!" England shouted. "Let me think…"

"Someone help me to get him up so we can lay him down somewhere," Finland asked.

Russia came forward and picked Austria up and carried him to the music room. The Russian managed to unbend the Austrian's legs (Finland ensuring the Russian didn't break them) and stood him up against the piano (the teacup was still in the Austrian's hand).

"Well he's not faking!" Finland called to the others.

"Hmm…" England was deep in thought.

"Yes, he's such a hypochondriac! He once spent a whole century in a wheelchair for no reason," France told them.

"I dinnae like this at all," Scotland said finally, having watched the whole scene. "I'm going to make a run for freedom and get help." With that the Scotsman stomped out of the kitchen by the back door, thankfully taking his small growling terrier with him.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry, Signore England! I didn't mean to… and I didn't mean to fall over your brother and wake him up or to poison Mr Austria or…" here Italy was interrupted.

"Never mind that now, lad," England said. "The tea you used, where did you get it from?"

Italy sniffed and pointed to a box of teabags on the counter.

England frowned. "They're not the teabags I brought. I only drink PG Tips or Yorkshire Tea," he said.

Italy shrugged.

There was a commotion outside and America yelled, "Hey ladies! Put down your embroidery and come see this!"

They all hurried into the music room from where America was gesticulating and yelling.

"What the bloody hell?" England asked.

And well might he ask. They all stared out of the large window as Scotland, with 'Wee Bertie' balanced on his tartan tam o'shanter, sat on a ride-on lawnmower and was churning up the lawn that had once got into the quarter-finals for 'Best Garden of the Year 2001'.

England winced - not at the destruction of a once-fine lawn, but at the sight of his older brother's white hairy legs as the Scottish Nation sat astride the lawnmower.

"It's a shame Denmark wasn't here. He loves ride-on lawnmowers," Finland said sadly.

"What's everybody doing? Oh my God! Uncle Austria!" it was Lily. She came into the room and looked horrified at the scene before her.

England turned away from his brother's zig-zagging across the garden that had been designed by Capability Brown (who would surely be turning in his grave) and looked at Liechstenstein.

"Where have you been, young lady?" he asked in the stern voice he used when his colonies had been young and were being boisterous.

Lily was looking with concern at Austria's rigid body and looking very pale and shaken. "I've been in the bath," she explained. "Surely, you don't think I was responsible for this, do you?"

"Yo man! Look at him go!" America grabbed England in his excitement and also Russia (who was stood on his other side) and pointed out of the window at Scotland's traverse across the lawn and into the topiary bushes.

"Don't touch me," Russia growled.

Scotland shouted, "Alba! Freedom!"

America muttered to Arthur, "What's Alba?"

"It's an old name for Scotland," England muttered back.

They watched as Scotland, with Bertie on his head, ploughed straight through the topiary bushes (which England hated so much) and came to a juddering halt.

England turned to Lily, "I'll talk to you, later…" he said in a mysterious way. "But at the moment, I need to sort out my idiotic brother…"

"Do you suspect her, mon ami?" France whispered to England as they headed out into the garden.

England shook his head, "I'm just keeping someone on their toes," he whispered back.

"You zink ze kidnapper is still among us?" France whispered.

England nodded and put a finger to his lips. "I zink… I mean I think… that teacup was meant for me!" he whispered dramatically.

"Oh mon dieu! Zat is obvious!" France blurted out.

"Shut up! Fermez las bouche!" England said, completely slaughtering the French language.

"Hey Uncle Hamish, whatta ya doin'?" America asked when he reached the Scotsman.

Scotland fell off his seat and lay on the lawn (or what remained of it). "I dinnae know, laddie. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Is there much damage? This garden is supposed to be open for tourists next week."

England and France looked around. It looked as if the garden had been subjected to an elephant stampede.

America said, "It looks like a movie set!"

"Aye laddie, that's what we were hoping for," Scotland sounded pleased.

"It reminds me of the trenches in World War I. Or the Battle of Normandy…"

Scotland stood up and dusted down his kilt. He looked around. "It's nothing a bit of weeding won't fix."

"You've gouged out half of the lawn. Destroyed six flowerbeds. Demolished two topiary bushes. That one that looks like a rabbit is no more," England pointed out.

Russia joined them, "The bunny!" he exclaimed looking very sad. "I really liked the bunny!" He turned to Scotland, "You are a hooligan!" Russia told the Scottish Nation.

"Aye, I am that," Scotland admitted, quite proudly.

"Pretty soon there won't be any of us left." France said sadly.

England nodded.

"You know who it is, don't you, mon ami?" France asked him as they walked slowly back to the house, trying to dodge the mud churned up by the lawnmower which now stood like a broken testament to Scotland's impatience.

"Yes, Francis my little loon, I do." England said. "But don't tell anyone."

"Eet eez a Nation, you think?"

England nodded and then said, "Of course it's a bloody Nation! Who else knows we are here?"

"The KGB!" Russia said, suddenly appearing behind them.

"Where the bloody hell did you come from?" England almost yelled before realising who he would be yelling at.

"Secret ninja, da?"

England shuddered. "I have an idea, my little pervy friend," he said to France.

"I'm not pervy!" Russia said behind them.

"Not you!"

"I'm not little!" Russia said.

"I didn't mean you!"

"Neither am I your friend."

"Oh." England had no idea what to say to that.

Russia grinned at him like a loon and patted his head, almost hammering him into the ground, "Never mind Mr England! I heard what you said and…"

"All of it?" England asked. France, he noticed, had shimmied off to the house.

"Da! And I agree!"

"You do?"

"Da! I think someone is out to get you, England!"

"Me? But…" England spluttered. Had the Russian been listening? Had the Russian heard him and France discussing that it was a Nation and that he suspected who it was?

"Da!" Russia looked very cheery about this. He leaned in close to England, "I think they have been after you all along!" Russia said and began humming for no apparent reason.

"Me? But why?" England was appalled, for the thousandth time that weekend.

"Because you shout and tell people off and swear a lot and steal people's fairies." (America sniggered very loudly at this.) "I don't think any of the other Nations like you!" Russia said breezily. "But don't worry. I will protect you. You can count on me!"

England went very pale and hurried into the house. Where was everyone?


They were in the music room, having trailed half a ton of mud over the ancient carpets, they were all still looking out of the window (along with Austria, who bizarrely and quite grotesquely, had been propped up there as if he were looking along with them).

"What are ye all looking at?" Scotland said. He came in with America, patting the American on the head and saying "Aye yer've always been ma favourite nephew!"

"We were looking at you!" Finland said.

"Aye well, I think ye could all help me oot by making the garden look a bit more presentable before the tourists arrive next week. This house has to look a bit more spick and span before then yer know!" Scotland said, nonsensically.

"But Mr Scotland, it was you that made the mess!" Lily pointed out.

"Aye wee girlie and yer can all help make it right again," Scotland said. "They're filming that series Downton Abbey here next week."

"You are kidding me!" Lily exclaimed.

"I love that series!" America yelled.

England looked at the wasteland that was now the garden, the ruined fuse box and the mud on the carpets. "Well, good luck with that," he said ruefully.

"Right men, let's get this cleaned up, wash these carpets and help my Uncle Hamish Scottishland get this place ready for Hollywood, baby!" America yelled. He then added, "We might even find the other guys while we do it…"

England shook his head. It was hardly as if the other Nations were hiding under the dust. But he left them to it anyway and strolled back into the kitchen.

He found, to his annoyance, both Italy and Russia following him.

"I didn't poison you, Signor England. Honestly I didn't…" Italy was squeaking at him.

England nodded. He was putting the teabags used by Italy into a plastic bag.

Russia patted Italy on the head so hard that Italy fell over. "I think you are very small for a Nation, da? You should come and live in my house. Especially if you go around poisoning other Nations," Russia was telling him. He then turned to England, "Why are you doing that, England?"

"Evidence," England said and was about to say something else. But didn't believe he could trust Russia, also he didn't know if someone was listening…

"Hmmm… I understand," Russia said, nodding.

England doubted that he did. But he picked up his coat along with the bag of teabags (now encased in a supermarket carrier bag) and prepared to leave.

"Signor! Don't leave! I implore you!" Italy clung to England's right leg and was momentarily dragged along the kitchen floor as England attempted to leave by the back kitchen door.

"Little Italy. I think it is best this way. Let Mr England leave for his doom…" Russia said, almost quite chirpily.

"Nooooo!" Italy cried dramatically.

"Actually my fellow idiots. I have a cunning plan!" England declared, trying to extricate himself from Italy.

"Idiot?" Russia loomed over him.

"Er I mean… not you of course, Russia."

"That's okay then," Russia stepped back.

"Please Signor! Stay! I'll make you nice pasta!"

"Will it be poisoned?" Russia asked, interested.

England undid the back door and, finally shaking his leg free of Italy, he stepped out. "Try to dry out that phone of yours, Russia and when you do, ring the authorities, just in case I don't make it!" he called and headed out.

"He's so brave!" Italy cried and burst into sobs.

Russia pounded Italy again on the head (whether intentionally or not, it's unclear).


Outside, England, watched by unseen eyes, headed towards the garage at the rear of the house. He kept looking around and tensed every time he heard a sound.

The noise of random shouts from the house began to recede and he felt truly alone in the fog that the surrounded the grounds.

He knew what he had to do. It was, he thought, their last chance before they were all kidnapped and what then? Their fate left unknown to the rest of the world. Who could save them now? With these rather dramatic thoughts he went into the garage. Slammed the door shut behind him and surveyed the scene. There were no cars in here of course, but hidden under a dusty tarpaulin was the only road-worthy vehicle that could potentially get him to the nearest civilization.

He pulled the tarpaulin off and located the key for the vehicle. It was where he'd guessed it would be - in the ignition. So far so good.

A pair of anxious eyes watched through a hole in the wall…


Inside the house…

"If we help you clean up, will we get parts as extras in the next series, Mr Scotland?" Lily was asking Scotland.

"Yeah!" America agreed. He was currently using Austria's rigid body to clear the cobwebs from the ceiling, as if the Austrian Nation was an extend-able duster.

"Aye I think yer all can, lassie," Scotland said, taking a swig from his hipflask.

"Yay!" said Spain and began to lift one of the ancient moth-eaten, mud-covered rugs off the floor, "Give me a hand, Romano to clean this rug!"

"Why should I? I don't want to be in no dumb English soap opera!" Romano retorted.

"Is that what it is?" Spain asked. He scratched his head. "I had no idea! I thought it was a documentary about the English!"

"So did I!" America yelled but carried on using Austria as a dusting contraption anyway.

Lounging on a chaise longue (which was surely designed just for him) was France, sipping from his wine and flicking through a House & Country magazine, ignoring the chaos around him.

Spain did not appear to have been damaged by the blow to his head, apart from a slight increase in doziness and clinginess to 'his' Italies. He realised then that one of 'his' Italies had disappeared. "Where is Feliciano?" he asked.

"Dumb brother's probably making pasta pizza," Romano grumbled.

But Italy burst into the room, shouting and waving his arms in the air, "Everybody everybody! Mr England has gone!"

Everybody stopped in their tracks. Even America - still holding Austria aloft by his ankles. France dropped his wine glass. Finland stopped dusting and looked around.

"No! This is an emergency, men! Battle stations!" America roared.

"Where has he gone, leetle Italy? Tell me! Oh my poor heart…" France grabbed Feliciano and shook him until the Italian's teeth rattled.

Spain, always a step behind everyone, just stared and said one long, "Ooooh…"

Romano grumbled, "Humph… who cares…"

It was Russia who restored order by strolling in and saying, "Mr England went out of the back door…"

France dropped Italy with a flump. "Oh Feliciano, you little scamp! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"He said he was going to find help…" Russia said slowly.

"Dude Artie riding to the rescue? That's my job!" America looked distraught.

"But I think he has met his doom," Russia added sadly. He then turned a ghastly smile on Italy, who promptly fainted.

"Oh no, poor Signor England!" Spain said.

"Actually, he's right there!" Lily exclaimed. She was stood near the window and was pointing. "Driving down the driveway!"

"But I thought all the cars were bust, man?" America yelled, dropping Austria on his head and joining her.

"They are…" she said.

She was right. And America was right. All the cars were indeed 'bust'. England was driving round the house and down the long and winding driveway on a… golf cart.

"What's that? That ain't no car!" America said.

"That's ma golf buggy," Scotland exclaimed.

"He's a genius!" Italy said, coming round to consciousness.

"He's crazy, man. How fast is that thing going?" America asked Scotland.

"It has a top speed of 10 miles per hour," Scotland replied proudly.

"I didn't know you played golf?" Finland asked.

America propped Austria up against the door - in effect using the Austrian as a doorstop - and ran out of the door to catch up with England.

Russia joined Lily, Spain, Romano and Finland at the window, "Do you think he will make it to the village?" he asked.

"I don't think he'll make it to the main road," Finland answered.

"We should make bets," Lily said.

"That's just dreadful!" Spain said.

"Is that because you have no money?" Romano said.

Spain nodded.


Out on the driveway, England chugged along in the golf buggy. America jogged alongside him.

"Yay! Artie dude! When you get to the village can you ring my Prez and bring me back some potato chips?" America yelled.

England nodded. The blasted thing was not going as fast as he'd expected. He cursed the damn thing. He had not even got to the end of the drive yet. But he was determined to get help. This was it - their last chance.

Italy ran up behind them, "Signor England! Let me come with you! Mr Russia was scaring me and they're now taking bets and I don't have any money!"

England sighed and tried to ignore him. In fact he tried to run over the little Italian by steering close to him. But the damned idiot misconstrued and jumped onto the buggy. (By now the speed had slowed to a desultory 5 miles per hour - America had to slow down his jog and was now speed-walking alongside him.)

"Oh Mr England!" Italy said, hugging the Englishman. "I'm so glad I'm with you!"

"I'm bloody not! Get off me you little moron! This buggy isn't big enough for the both of us."

"Oh Mr England, you don't mean that?" Italy wailed miserably.

England was scrunched up in his seat with Italy sat beside him. "Stupid bloody foreigners," he muttered to himself as he steered the buggy down the driveway. He ignored America yelling a verbal shopping list at him. He could see the end of the driveway but there was a huge iron gate across it.

"Alfred! Open the bloody gate!" he yelled. He adjusted his tie and prepared to drive on towards the village. He couldn't remember which way he had to go, but surely there were signposts?

America nodded and saluted, running ahead in great bounds, the American flung open the gates and yelled, "Go Artie go! For freedom and victory!"

Arthur nodded and saluted back. He put his foot on the pedal with a determined look on his face. After all, he was Great Britain.

The buggy shot forward in a sudden burst of speed and then stopped. The engine - such as it was - died.

"What the bloody hell?" England exclaimed.

"Oh no, could it be something to do with that dial there?" Italy pointed to the petrol gauge. It read 'empty' mockingly at them.

England put his head in his hands and groaned aloud.


Meanwhile at the house…

"Well that didn't last long…"

"I know, who bet ten pounds he would make it? Really? Come on pay up…!"

"I was so sure…"

France, however, was having no part in any of the wagers. He wandered into the kitchen and sauntered/swaggered into the cellar, singing a bawdy French song to himself about debagging English Kings. He was a little drunk and therefore, a little brave. He giggled to himself as he picked through the bottles of wine. "Honhonhon… ah oui… which one shall I drink? Zis one or zis one?"

The Frenchman slow-danced with a wine bottle, holding it tenderly to his cheek. "Ah je t'aime so much…" he murmured lovingly to the wine. But then something caught his attention. A pair of silk stockings were thrown at his head.

"Qui est ce?" France asked, utterly delighted. "Zis is going to be wonderful!" He crept towards the door and peered out, already undoing his trousers in anticipation.

But it was not going to be wonderful. France was coshed over the back of the head and everything went black…

***To Be Continued ***