Chapter XXXVI.

Rosings Park, 24th September 1820.

While Elizabeth was waiting for a reply to her letter from her husband,- even though she knew that it could not possibly arrive until late afternoon, she still expected it every minute- she spent her time with her children and her cousin in law, Anne Fitzwilliam.

The latter she had grown to know only since her marriage, when she had persuaded Darcy to invite Anne to Pemberley. In a contrast to her mother, Anne had written a loving letter of congratulations to her cousin and his bride, thus assuring the Darcys of her constant support, despite all Lady Catherine's recriminations.

A year later Anne was with them at Pemberley. What had begun as merely a short stay there, turned into a long one as she found herself in love with her cousin Richard. The romance had an uncertain beginning, as many tend to do, but once both parties had started out upon it, progressed smoothly.

Marriage soon followed and after the event a letter was sent to Kent, informing them of the event. Anne had feared to do so before, concerned that mother had the power to prevent the marriage. The letter produced the circumstances which led to the reconciliation between the Darcys and their Aunt.

Relations had been strained at first, but now some years later, they were flourishing, assisted by the influence of the younger generation. To everyone's surprise Lady Catherine had fallen in love with the Darcy children. It had changed her as a result, so much so that she had been known to remark to her brother on more than one occasion that Mrs Darcy had done 'much good' for her nephew.

Coming from her, this was praise indeed.

Now, as the days were in the first flush of winter, proving decidedly cold to all those of youthful age, the children of the Darcys and Fitzwilliams, along with the mothers of both broods, were doing their best to keep them occupied in the enjoyment that was to be had inside the rooms of Rosings Park.

Of the latter family, there were only three children, Michael, Juliet and Charlotte, all of varying ages and character. At the present moment, all were happily engaged in a game, not caring that their parents were involved in a more serious activity of words and conversation.

"He certainly seems most mysterious, this supposed brother of yours, Lizzy," Anne commented to her cousin in law. Mrs Darcy had just related all the events of the past months to her and Mrs Fitzwilliam was intrigued by the tale.

"That is putting it lightly," Elizabeth replied, glancing idly at the clock on the mantle, which despite all her prayers and desires, had yet to pass beyond another five minutes of the hour. Inwardly sighing, she turned back to Anne, who was regarding her with an amused smile.

Elizabeth chuckled. "I should be ashamed of myself, should I not?"

"Quite," Anne replied laughingly. "One should not be this dependent on one's husband. I am very displeased with you my friend."

"As am I," Elizabeth returned in the same teasing tone. "How did we ever survive without them?" She asked rhetorically.

"Doubtless there is a philosopher somewhere pondering that very question," Anne prophesied solemnly, before causing both Elizabeth and herself to break into laughter. When they had recovered, Elizabeth reluctantly forced herself to avoid the clock. "My father's plan now is to wait him out."

"Using the old adage that wait long enough he will make a mistake?"

"Precisely. Whether that will work or not, is something that neither of us will find out until William and I return to Longbourn."

"How long do you plan to stay after he has come back here?" Anne asked.

"Possibly only a day at most. I must confess as to being anxious about missing anything. A lot can happen in twelve days."

"Indeed, a lot can," her friend agreed.

The Cunning Fish, Meryton.

Foiled. Utterly and completely foiled. The plan could not have gone more wrong if he had contrived it to do so. And now he was stuck here.

The figure mentioned some ten chapters ago was once again sitting in the same pub he had frequented then, only this time in a much more agitated and irritated mood. One night ago he had managed to procure- by foul not fair means, it must be noted -a horse of good energy and had ridden for all his might for the coast. Only to be stopped, beaten up, struck unconscious, disarmed of both money and animal, and returned to this place.

He had awoken to find himself back in the quarters he had rented, as if it had all been a dream. Only the bruises and the sense of exhaustion had confirmed the night before was reality. A through search of the room- once he had gained the energy to conduct one -had proved his worse fears. He had no money, no papers, no authority of any sort that would permit him to travel as far as he needed to go.

To sum up, he was stuck in Meryton for good.

And he liked not one bit of that fact. Timing was precious in his mission. The slightest delay could cause consequences unforeseeable until they actually occurred. An enforced stay at anywhere foretold a deadly future. This was why he was sitting in the bar of the The Cunning Fish feeling very irritated, considerably agitated and extremely angry.

He knew who to blame for this enforced prison- and a somewhat twisted sense of torture, he thought -but had not the means to prove it. Indeed, it was entirely too obvious, which was why he was slightly distrusted of the previously well thought out conclusion. Never put faith in the most likeliest of possibilities, he had learned, as they nearly always turn out to be entirely false.

Also, he could not identify the men- for he was convinced that there was more than one -who had prevented his escape from Meryton, as the night had been its usual damned annoying dark self. The men, whoever they were, had probably been the same ones that followed him so successfully across most of London and beyond.

The reliable shadows. Who had most likely paid off the landlord of the pub to keep him in the building while they reported to their chief, as the man was doing not a very masterful job of spying on him at this very moment.

The stranger sighed aloud in frustration, causing the landlord to pretend to look away for a few seconds. This idle speculation did his mission no good whatsoever. He could no longer dwell in his anger at being foiled by one or more shadows.

He had two options now. Firstly, to continue with his mission, hoping that he can escape his enemies, secure transport and forge papers. Or he could choose the second. Staying here and finding his adversary, do away with him and pray that the delay did not turn out to prove costly and fatal.

It was a difficult decision to make. It would need objective, rational, sound and logical deductive reasoning. Trouble was that his emotions and loyalties were too firmly bound up in both choices. The consequences of choosing either as well, were as yet mostly unfathomable to his increasingly frustrated mind, which was more concerned in blaming himself, rather than anyone else for last night's failure.

For truth be known, no one but himself could really be held accountable for the fracas of last night. He had unwittingly initiated it, by stealing a horse and riding away without bothering first to check if anyone was keeping watch. Travelling at night had not been a particularly intelligent idea either, for it simply invited attack. All in all, his decision to grab the opportunity the moment it appeared looked to him in hindsight to be a wholly idiotic thought and one that he was not, under any circumstances, to repeat.

No, his next attempt required careful thought. It was not a task to be undertaken lightly. Nor was it to be in any way impetuous. In short, he would need a plan which was almost foolproof, because no plan was ever completely perfect. Like a murderer, the planner was always certain, no matter how careful and cunning, to make a mistake and this mistake, however slight, would ultimately spell that person's fate.

So, as long as he was aware of the mistake that he made, everything would be all right, would it not?

Late evening. Oakham Mount.

Lawrence peered uncertainly into the gloom of the rapidly darkening evening that was settling on Oakham Mount. Its late, he thought inwardly. He should be here by now.

Suddenly a rustle of sound came out of nowhere, disturbing the silence. Lawrence turned, and finally caught sight of the figure he had been waiting for. "What took you so long?"

"We had to secure someone to watch him."

"Is this person reliable?"

"He's bribery-able, if that is what you mean. He's trapped for now."

"Good." Lawrence turned back to face the view.

"So," began the figure tentatively, "what is our next move?"

Lawrence sighed. "I'm not sure. I think we are supposed to wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Until they send word," Lawrence replied turning back to face the figure. "You better go back and keep an eye on him. I'll let you know."

The figure nodded and retreated into the darkness, leaving Lawrence alone. Instead of leaving as well, he turned back to the view, even though he could barely make anything out of the night that now surrounded him completely. He could not return to Longbourn yet. He needed to think.

Events were moving quickly. Far too quickly, to his mind. He had thought they had time and it was beginning to look like they did not. Not anymore. He felt angry suddenly, and almost wished his nemesis was standing in front of him now, so he could end the entire thing without anyone finding out.

The anger however, was more directed at himself. For getting himself too closely involved. He was meant to keep his distance, not to bury himself wholeheartedly into the role. Which, and he had to realise this, was what it was. A role. A part he had to play. Not for himself, but for the good of his country. He was not meant to distract himself from that fact, at any cost.

Even if it meant sacrificing his happiness.

Yet somehow, his mind could not shut out the emotions. Every fibre in his body was telling him, almost commanding him to remain, to confess. But even as he realised this, he knew he could not. Why did it have to be this way? Lawrence asked himself rhetorically. It was not meant to happen like this. It should not take only a day. Life was not like that. That sort of thing was only supposed to happen in novels.

Lawrence sighed and turned away from the invisible view. He walked slowly back to the path that led him to Longbourn. His mind should have been contemplating an excuse, but instead it was dwelling on the frustration he felt at his present situation.

He knew full well he had no one to blame but himself. It was him and him alone that had got himself into the situation in the first place and there was little that he could do about it now. He could only hope that eventually, when events came to a head, that what he had planned to do then was right for all of them, least of all himself.