To the guest who complained about the footnotes, if you read my comments on Amazon, you will see that some reviewers complained about my use of unfamiliar Regency terms. Anything in a footnote you will not find in the Concise Oxford ie you won't be able to look it up with the Kindle dictionary. The footnotes are there to help people and are also a double check on anachronisms. Why do you feel threatened by them? You don't have to read them.

Thanks for picking up the apostrophe, alix33. I do know the difference (he would have to be a rich tenant :) ) but I frequently get caught out by auto completion and auto correction.

I'm afraid it really was dogskin in those days, though. Although dogs and horses were not farmed for their by-products—people were less sentimental then, or maybe more environmentally friendly—horses got sent to the glue factory via the knacker's yards and dogs were turned into gloves.

Suggestions for the title of Chapter 28 were:

"Something Wick(ham)ed This Way Comes" by Deanna27,

"The Cat's Out of the Bag" by Dizzy Lizzy.60,

"Damnation and Salvation" by Chica De Los Ojas Cafe,

"Picking up litter" or "Litterbug" by Anglocelt,

"Prowling the night", "Things that go bump" or "Pitch black" by phyloxena,

"salvation" or "Lizzy to the rescue" by lupinsboggart,

"KittyRescue" by JAFan1995,

"Rescue" by nessy22,

"Rescue of the beasts", "Off the edge", "Of Fangs and Claws" by Ansujali,

"Litter by the dozen" or "Mighty maiden" or "Unexpected rescuers" by Laura SaintYves,

"Saving the Innocents" by Clara84,

"Detente", "Unexpected Intervention", "Lucky Number 13",

Once Bitten Not Shy by amamama,

Saved by the Cat," "Kitty Litter," "Keeping His Distance," "Loving You from Afar," or "Touch Not the Cat," by Sacredwoman2K,

"Different Kinds of Exit", "Exits in many ways", "T go or not to go", "Cats" OR "Cats and Fangs" (meaning Elizabeth and Misty as well as Mr. Darcy and Wickham - or must it be Claws?) "Wild Beasts" by beaty

Oh so many good ones! Kudos to Deanna27, amamama and phyloxena—especially for "pitch black".

I too thought of "Kitty Litter", Sacredwoman2K, based on Anglocelt's suggestions. Very tempting, but someone will condescendingly flame me on Amazon for sure about anachronisms :)

Finally "Kitty Rescue" by JAFan1995 made me think of "Having kittens" which I think describes how the three major characters in the chapter are feeling.

Such a tough decision. I don't want to give too much away, so I think I will go with "Fangs and claws". Congrats, Ansujali, who also gets a special prize for managing to put in two logged-in reviews for the same chapter. How the hell did you manage that? Different platforms?


Chapter 29 Double-cross purposes

"Well, well, Darcy! You are a sight for sore eyes*!" said Wickham as he stepped from the shadows.

"George. What are you doing here?" asked Darcy, fearing he knew the answer too well, but still astonished that George felt he could importune him after nigh on putting a period to his existence during the debacle of Georgiana's elopement. It was completely in character with George, but still shocking.

"Well, it's good to see you too, old fellow!"

Darcy grimaced. George always knew how to put him on his back foot*.

"Just thought I'd make a morning call, eh?" pursued George.

"Not at five in the morning, George," replied Darcy.

"Seems only natural. You're in Kent. I'm in Sussex. Besides, you know your aunt wouldn't let me put a foot in the door if I came at regular hours."

"Cut line*, George. What do you want?"

"Loan me a pony*, will you, dear boy?"

Darcy sighed. "George I had thought you had turned over a new leaf* when I saw you had joined the militia."

"And so I have," replied George. "The company is convivial but my prospects of promotion are nil."

"A pony is hardly enough to buy you a promotion."

"Make it a monkey* then," offered George.

"If I thought you were engaged in your profession, I might be willing to purchase you a promotion, but you've been gambling again, haven't you, George?"

There was a pause.

"I know your secret," said George quietly.

"What secret?" retorted Darcy baldly.

"Not many people survive a gunshot wound like yours, Darcy. But may be you were not alive in the first place, eh?"

"So you intended to deal me a mortal blow?" said Darcy, too disturbed by the lack of remorse on the part of his childhood friend to consider his words beyond the figurative. After all, George had accused him of being a stick in the mud many times.

"Oh no!" soothed George. "One should never bite the hand that feeds one!"

"That seems rather disingenuous, coming from you."

"I have only ever asked for what should have rightfully been mine as your father's godson. What a paltry patrimony that has turned out to be!"

Darcy forbore to explain the difference between a son and a godson as he had previously done. He appreciated now that the damage had been done when they had been brought up together almost as brothers after the untimely passing of George's father, Pemberley's trusted steward.

"No," continued George, "the pistol was merely intended to make you keep your distance while you conceded to the wisdom of letting Georgie marry me. What choice did I have? If you would not honour your father's intentions, I felt I could only claim what was due to me by matrimony. You brought the whole thing on yourself. I had no idea you would fly at me that way, with your fangs barred."

Darcy paled. His fangs had been smaller then. He had assumed that George's terror had erased that incident from his mind or precluded him noticing anything untoward. After all, George had not taxed him about it in Hertfordshire.

"I was angry, George. You should have known better then to have touched my sister. That is the one thing I could never forgive."

"Very smooth," replied George. "You are learning, dear boy. You are learning. Unfortunately not good enough. I will tell you that I happened to uncover the name of your correspondent when you were in Hertfordshire—Báthory. Strange name that, but oddly familiar. I couldn't remember where I had heard it before."

Darcy realised he was not breathing and reminded himself to respire normally.

"Forgot completely about it till the other day," continued George conversationally. "Found myself drinking with some fellows telling ghost stories. Always good fun round a campfire at night. So you haven't been well since your trip to the Continent? To be more specific—Eastern Europe. Don't like the light?"

Darcy forced himself to swallow.

"So now I know why I encountered you skulking around Meryton..." said Wickham; "why I only ever saw you at evening functions but never in the daylight. You, my friend, are a vampire."

"Don't be ridiculous," returned Darcy in the lightest tone he could manage. He had never been a good liar.

"I thought you would say that. Which is why I decided to do a little surveillance tonight before I confronted you. I followed you to the parsonage. My, my! Miss Elizabeth looks like a tasty morsel!"

Darcy started forward menacingly but Wickham was ready for him. He took several steps sideways to circle Darcy.

"Don't think I've come ill-prepared—a cross, garlic and holy water," he said, pointing to a necklace at his throat and pulling several objects from his pockets with his left hand. "And if that's not enough. I know that this will at least slow you down," he said, drawing a pistol from the folds of his cloak with his right. "To cap it all, the sun is about to rise."

"Why do you believe anyone would listen to your fantastic story?" posed Darcy.

"I am fairly confident of my ability to convince people," smirked Wickham. "Perhaps rational men like yourself might be incredulous, but what say you to the peasantry? A few tenants coming to a very public sticky end is likely to cause riots."

This perturbed Darcy even more. Was George capable of committing murder in the course of blackmail? Darcy sighed, determined not to show his agitation. "George, this endless searching for the main game has got to stop. Sponging* is not a respectable profession. I expect encamping at Brighton has made you dissatisfied. You see the regulars and want to exchange. I can understand that. I will not give you five hundred pounds. In fact, I'm not sure I even have twenty-five upon me, but I will try to find you a better commission in the regulars."

"I fancy a captaincy in a Hussar regiment," said George, quick to seize the opportunity. Although this was not his ultimate goal, which was to cut a dash in London society, he could see it headed him the right direction. Wickham had recently become an admirer of the career of Joachim Murat*, who had been born an innkeeper's son and risen to be a king.

"I am not sure what the situation is after Napoleon's defeat," said Darcy, unwilling to promise what he could not deliver. "I expect the government will be reducing the army in peacetime."

"The casualties at Waterloo were high. I am sure there will be vacancies. I rely on you and your connections," pressured Wickham. "As for now, whatever you have on you will help with my immediate embarrassments."

Darcy retrieved a ten pound note and a couple of golden guineas from his pockets.

"Is that all?" asked Wickham incredulously.

"George, I am staying with my aunt. What need have I to carry around money? Do you have a list of your creditors?"

"Dammit, I am not a baby. They are mostly debts of honour. Just give me the money."

"I can get it to you most likely by tomorrow or the day after. But I give you the money and the promotion on one condition, George—that there will be no more abandoning your profession, no more gambling, and most of all, you must leave me and my family alone. This is your last chance, George."

"Darcy, it is all very well for you to preach propriety. You have never been purse-pinched!*. Try walking a mile in my shoes—an orphan with no friend or relative to shield him from misfortune. Your father's death was a cruel loss to me. Who knew that you, who were like a brother to me, would so callously ignore your father's wishes."

Darcy would hear no more of this refrain. He knew there was some merit to Wickham's grievances but he also realised that George was so lacking in self-restraint that he was potentially a bottomless pit into which the whole Darcy fortune could disappear. Many an ancient family had been ruined by just such a young blood*.

"Where can I find you at Brighton?" Darcy prompted.

"I have an errand in London but I will be back by this evening. Is that fishing hut still down by the lake?"

"Yes."

"Meet me there at midnight."

Inwardly Darcy sighed but as he nodded in agreement, the countryside around them was suddenly bathed in brilliant light as the sun peeped over the horizon and he instinctively flinched. Fortunately they were on the west side of the house. Squinting, Darcy turned his back on George and disappeared inside.

George sauntered off towards the fishing hut. Now that he had some ready*, it was his intention to seek a meal and accommodation in the nearest market town* where he had agreed to meet Denny for their trip back to Brighton. But he was dead on his feet after attempting to follow Darcy last night. it was still a bit early to get a lift in a farmer's cart. He would have a kip* before proceeding.

Luck had initially favoured George last night when Darcy had emerged from the house earlier than he had expected. George had managed to keep up with Darcy as far as the parsonage. That had certainly paid dividends! Peering through the parlour window George had been just in time to see Darcy seducing Elizabeth Bennet. How long has that been going on? George wondered. He remembered meeting Darcy coming from Longbourn on that rainy night with Denny. George had heard that maidens derived a lustful pleasure from having their blood sucked. Had Darcy been visiting Elizabeth even then? If so, Elizabeth was certainly a jade* for she had given Wickham no inkling of an affair. But why should that surprise him? Elizabeth was likely just Mary Younge—prim and proper on the surface and roiling lust underneath.

Wickham had been forced to dive for cover when Darcy chose to leave the parsonage so precipitately after carrying Elizabeth to the couch. It was a pity George had been unable to hear their exchange but he supposed it was a lover's tiff. Darcy seemed to have disappeared into thin air after that—probably in his bat form, thought Wickham. After losing his quarry, George had decided it would be safest to await Darcy at the servants' door of Rosings, where a fellow might slip in and out without notice. But the fiend had not returned until near dawn, resulting in a long and uncomfortable watch.

Finally George arrived at the lake where a fog had settled on its waters. After getting his boots wet crossing an accursed plank, he stepped onto the pier and made his way to the hut, nudging aside a small barrel with his leg that was blocking the way.

An hour later, still sunk in a deep sleep in a wing chair with his boots propped on a stool, George was rudely awakened.

"What the hell are you doing here?" demanded a stentorian voice.

George snapped awake. Struggling for breath, he realised his collar was being held in a vice-like grip. Fighting like a madman he broke free but not before he heard the collar of his jacket rip. Only when he was catching his breath did he recognise his assailant—Darcy's cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, whom George had thought to be still with the Army of Occupation in France. Richard had always hated him and if he had been apprised of the attempted elopement with Georgie, Wickham knew he was dead meat. Eyeing his adversary keenly, George detected annoyance in Richard's eyes but not murder.

"Darcy sent you here, did he?" said George, standing up and brazenly crossing his arms, annoyed but doing his best not to show it.

"I don't need permission to be on my aunt's property but you do. What are you doing here?"

"I was passing through and dropped in to visit Darcy."

"Came to sponge on him, more like," growled the colonel.

"I am on my way to Brighton," said George, refusing to concede anything. "You should know we are training there."

The colonel vowed George's uniform askance. "So you have joined the militia, have you? You ought to keep your uniform in better order. Your boots are muddy; there is a black spot on your breeches and your collar is torn."

George frowned upon discovering the colonel was right—there ways a large spot on his trouser leg. As the state of his collar was entirely the colonel's fault, he ground his teeth but had better sense than to backchat a superior officer, even when they were dressed in a considerably more scruffy uniform.

"My horse went lame and not having the money to hire a job horse to complete the journey, I thought of Darcy, who is generally to be found at Rosings around Easter." Indeed, George's horse was lame, which was why he had not ridden him. But the blacksmith had assured him he would be right after a day's rest.

"You are a bit off the main road," observed Richard dryly as he pulled several guineas from his pocket. "That should get you to Brighton," he said, flinging the golden coins at Wickham. "Take yourself off and if I find you attempting to sponge on Darcy once more, I will make you sorry for it."

George was incandescent but did his best not to show it. How dare Darcy renege on his promise and send his cousin down to deal with him! With a salute and a stiff bow, he pushed past the colonel to escape the hut. He gave vent to his temper by kicking the barrel on the pier aside, only to discover it was heavy when he stubbed his toe. It seemed to be full of some black stuff oozing from one top. Double enraged, George headed off to hitch a lift on the main road, seething with indignation. His luck returned as soon as he crossed the stile. George encountered a farmer's cart almost immediately and got a lift to the inn. As he sat on the tailboard next to the pumpkins, George's mind boiled with plans for revenge.

The cart ride did much to restore George's temper. Arriving at the inn, George assumed his charm like a cloak to bid the farmer goodbye. On the stairs, he flirted with the pretty maid who showed him to his room. When she offered to clean his breeches and mend his collar while he slept, he gallantly kissed her hand, and when that was well received, made his way to her lips.

"You been a fight, have you?" she breathed between kisses.

"You should have seen the other fellow!" boasted George.

Finally George stuck his tongue in her mouth and squeezed her breast before feigning near exhaustion. After helping him off with his boots and breeches and tucking him tenderly into the sheets, the maid closed the curtains and took herself off. George fell asleep with pleasant dreams—after driving a stake through Darcy's dead heart, a forgotten will of old Mr Darcy's was discovered, leaving Pemberley to his godson on condition that he marry Georgiana and take the family name...

When Denny arrived at the inn just after midday, he was informed that Lieutenant Wickham was indeed lodging there. But when he discovered his friend had only laid down to sleep at ten in the morning, Denny had a pint in the taproom before taking himself off to wander aimlessly through the town. Denny was such a simple soul that he had not been in the least angry when George had handed over the communique he had been tasked to deliver and sent him on to London alone. George's explanation that he was short of funds and had a relative in the district he could impose upon had been sufficient explanation. So Denny, who had only gone along to London with George for the ride, had completed Lieutenant Wickham's job for him and agreed to meet his friend at the inn in the slightly out of the way market town. But when Wickham had still not come down by three, Denny decided he would have to rouse him—for they were expected back at camp at sunset.

After explaining the urgency of their timetable to the landlord in the tap, the proprietor agreed to let Denny into George's room.

"George, George!" said Denny, bending over the bed to shake his friend.

"Leave off!" muttered George, attempting to roll over.

"George, we need to be off! Colonel Forster is expecting us back by sunset."

Coming more fully awake, George sat up, immediately intent on conscripting Denny into his plans. But when he saw the landlord still standing in the doorway, he bit his tongue. "Thank you, my good man!" he called to the proprietor. "I slept a little longer than I intended!"

"And no wonder!" said the landlord. "You looked quite fagged when you came in, sir. No hard feelings that I let the gentleman in? He seems quite intent on departing."

"Not at all!" replied George cheerfully. "It is true we must be off!"

"Very well, sir. I'll send Sally up with your breeches."

The door was closed and George drew Denny down to sit beside him on the bed, putting his arm around his shoulder. "Denny, I need your help."

"You know you always have it, George!"

"Things did not quite go to plan. My friend agreed to lend me a pony but before he could get it to me his cousin got wind of the deal."

"Is that bad?" asked Denny.

"Very bad," confided Wickham. "I need your help to convince him that it would be best to help me out."

"Sure. What would you like me to do?"

Before Wickham could answer, there was a knock at the door and the maid entered on being summoned.

"I'm ever so sorry, sir," she apologised. "I managed to get some of it out, but there is still a mark there. You will need to take it to a proper washerwoman. Pitch it was—very difficult to shift!"

Wickham thanked her and dispensed a shilling, then waited for her to leave. A little disappointed, the maid glanced resentfully towards Denny, sitting on the bed in the place she had fancied herself occupying. She had hoped for a more substantial reward for her toil once the handsome officer had rested. Reluctantly she departed.

"It's best if we talk elsewhere," George told Denny, pulling his breeches on. "There's a halfway house on the road to Brighton. Well head off there to wait for the evening. That way, it will look as if we have left the district."

"But what about the colonel? He expects us back at sunset."

"Don't worry," assured George. "We'll pitch him some gammon. My horse went lame didn't it?"

"That won't fadge*," said Denny, shaking his head. "He'll ask why we didn't hire another horse."

"Then we were delayed at headquarters," suggested Wickham. "You think of a better excuse. It's part of your training as a spy—how to get out of sticky situations. I need to formulate our more immediate plans."

As they rode to the halfway house, Wickham mulled over his course of action while Denny punctuated his own deep ruminations with spirited bouts of whistling. George immediately identified Elizabeth as leverage to get what he wanted from Darcy. But George knew enough of the spirited Elizabeth Bennet to realise she could not be easily compromised or kidnapped. The presence of Richard Fitzwilliam at Rosings was an additional complication which also made such a bold action inadvisable. No, George realised he would have to do something that threatened Elizabeth—a near miss that looked like an accident but which Darcy would clearly recognise for the threat it was.

It was a pleasant day and when the warm afternoon sun fell on his breeches, George became vaguely aware of a hot patch on his skin and scratched at it. It was at that moment that his eye fell irritably on the dark mark that the maid had not completely laundered out—pitch, she had said. Where had he come by that? It was then that all the pieces fell beautifully into place—the barrel of pitch at the hut, the thatched cottage that was the parsonage and Elizabeth Bennet.

Over a tankard of beer, Wickham had apprised Denny of his plans. The ensign had at first not been enthusiastic but when Wickham had assured him that no one need get hurt, Denny had acquiesced. Under cover of darkness they had ridden as far as the parsonage, tied their horses up nearby, then gone on foot to retrieve the pitch from the hut. They had taken turns carrying the heavy barrel back to the parsonage. Wickham had retrieved some straw from near the gardener's hut and opened the barred kitchen door with his small sword to let Denny into the house. As George had hoped, the coals were still glowing in the kitchen hearth.

After arranging the straw about the kitchen and lacing it with pitch, Wickham pulled out his watch and instructed Denny to retrieve his also.

"I left it on my nightstand in Brighton," lamented Denny.

Wickham frowned at him. "Here, you'll have to take mine," he whispered, handing over the inscribed watch old Mr Darcy had given him. "Wait fifteen minutes to allow me time to get to the manor house so that I can raise the alarm in a timely fashion. Then light it. Run to the village to raise the alarm there, but don't let anyone see you well enough to identify you, then wait for me by the horses."

Footnotes

*a sight for sore eyes – a person or thing that one is extremely pleased or relieved to see after some extremity. First recorded by Jonathan Swift on 1738 in A complete collection of genteel and ingenious conversation, 1738, but likely not coined by him.

*put him on the back foot - to put him in a defensive position, reactive rather than active. May come from cricket or swordsmanship.

*cut line - get to the point. I'm not sure if this means queue jumping or is a naval term denoting divesting oneself of unnecessary baggage ie cutting the line of a prize ship you are towing so that you can go faster

*pony - £25 (of the order of $2000 in today's money). Money slang like pony and monkey may have come from India where these animals were on some of the currency.

*turned over a new leaf - made a fresh start, reformed your character

*monkey - £500, (of the order of $35000 in today's money)

*sponging — leeching money from someone while doing nothing or little in return. Sponging houses abounded at the time. These were legal institutions where debtors with prospects were confined. They were charged extortionate sums for basic services until they could extract themselves.

*Joachim Murat – Murat was the son of an affluent innkeeper. He studied for the church but ran away to join the cavalry. A handsome dandy who was also very brave, his influence rose during the revolution. A trusted general, he married Napoleon's sister Caroline. As brother–in–law to the emperor and trusty, he was crowned King of Naples.

*purse-pinched — in straightened circumstances habitually poor, first recorded use 1603 - Microcosmos, John Davies

*young blood – a person who does not conform, generally used now in a positive sense to convey a person with fresh ideas and energy, used negatively in the past to describe rash or revolutionary young men.

*ready — cash

*kip — nap

*market town — a medium–sized town, like Meryton, where markets were held, a commercial centre. Bigger than a village like Longbourn or Hunsford.

*jade — disreputable woman

*won't fadge—won't work.