A/N: Crisis in Netherfield is the current working title. Feel free to send suggestions for another. I have been sent one already. :)

We are in the climax bit of this tale now and racing towards the end. It's looking like it'll pass the 100k word mark - which is more than I'd originally planned. But, when the characters take over, the writer is just along for the ride.

As for a new story that has been percolating, here is a little teaser.

'Mr Bennet has a secret, a secret that changed the course of his life.

His wife knows a part of it, his daughters' too, but over the years, others who knew have forgotten... until only a handful of people know the whole.

Now the neighbouring Netherfield Park is let, and two eligible gentlemen have arrived in the neighbourhood. Could this be the catalyst he has been waiting for?'

17th December

Mr Wickham jumped out of his seat, trying to locate the disembodied voice.

'Who was it?' he asked, panic lacing his previously cocky voice.

'Mr Bennet,' replied a nonchalant Mr Darcy. 'Possibly others.'

Mr Wickham's eyes darted from his former friend to the door, as is assessing an escape. 'You tricked me.'

'I merely encouraged you to admit to your sins. Had you done nothing wrong, then all would be well, but, between you and I, well, we both know the chance of that was miniscule.'

Mr Darcy watched as the other man forced himself to relax. He dropped back into his chair and crossed his legs, a fixed smile on his face. 'I suppose it doesn't matter Darce, you will just have to get me out of it. You always have before. Miss Darcy and now Miss Kitty's reputations depend on it. And while I'm at it, some cash would be nice. £500 would do. For starters anyway. I've a mind to emigrate.'

For a moment Mr Darcy was stunned by his sheer audacity, then he chuckled. The chuckle became a full-blown laugh. Once he had regained control of himself sufficiently to speak, he said, 'Who do you think people will believe, two well-respected gentlemen and two Colonels, or the reprobate son of a former steward who is on trial for theft from his fellow officers, and desertion from the militia?'

Still chuckling, he knocked on the office door to signal that he was finished. The door opened and Mr Wickham was taken away, cursing Mr Darcy, Mr Bennet, and any others he felt had led to his downfall, as he went.

Mr Darcy dropped into a seat and huffed out a long breath of relief. It was over.

He was left alone for a few minutes before his cousin and the Bennets joined him. Colonel Fitzwilliam was smiling, Miss Kitty was still in tears, supported by her sister, and a grim-faced Mr Bennet. Mr Darcy stood, to allow the ladies to sit, and he and the two other men gathered on the other side of the room.

'I had not thought to hear such things about a daughter of mine,' Mr Bennet muttered. 'I am mortified that she could do such a thing.'

'He is beyond charming when he has a mind to be. Even my own father was fooled by him and remained so until his death.'

'Nevertheless, she must be punished for her actions. Not just for what she did with that… but for her thievery and her actions toward Lizzy.'

'Might I suggest another option?' said Mr Darcy.

'What do you have in mind?'

'I think she might do well if she were to be sent to school for a couple of years. I know of an excellent school that takes in girls who have been led astray. It has an excellent reputation for turning girls around and placing them back onto the correct path. She will learn exactly what might have become of her, had she kept on the wrong road. It would also mean she be away from your home for much of the year, which might be a good thing, given recent events.'

Mr Bennet looked thoughtful, then nodded. 'I will give it some thought.'

Mr Collins opened the study door and peered out. All was quiet and still, apart from the sounds drifting out of the music room. He would simply avoid going there.

He crept into the rooms where the doors were already open, searching for small valuables, but without much success. It seemed the ladies must keep their treasures in the bedchambers, but he could not afford to venture up the stairs.

Where were the snuff boxes? A few of the doors in the downstairs passage were closed. He had looked in all those that were open, so the collection must be behind one of those closed doors.

He pressed an ear against one door but could hear nothing beyond. Carefully he turned the knob and peered inside. No, this was not this room he remembered.

Moving to the next door, he suspected it was the room with the closed curtains he had noticed on his way into the house, he again listened but all was silent within.

He turned the knob and peered inside, but it was dimly lit. A fire was burning, but the room was quite large and most of it was in shadow. Still, he rather thought this was the room he remembered. The cabinet on the wall opposite the door, that he could just about make out in the gloom, looked familiar.

He crept inside, pushed the door almost closed, then moved over to peer inside the cabinet. Yes! He had found them, and there were more than he remembered.

He fiddled with the handle, but it was stiff and difficult to open. Eventually it moved and the door flew open, making the items inside rattle as the cabinet shook. The noise made him jump, and he stilled, listening in case he had been heard.

'Who is there,' called a sleepy voice.

A sleepy feminine voice.

He turned slowly as a rustling noise from somewhere in the shadows by the drawn curtains drew his eyes.

'Lydia, is that you?'

Mr Collins moved toward the voice, barking his shin on a footstool and grunting his annoyance.

'Who is it?' The voice sounded alarmed.

He had to shut her up before someone heard. He moved more quickly now, reaching a daybed where a lady reclined. He recognised her instantly, despite the gloom.

'Ah, cousin Elizabeth,' he murmured. 'We meet again.'

Her mouth opened and he slapped his hand down on her face before she could cry out.

He looked her over. It was a shame that a blanket covered her curves. He reached out with his free hand and pulled it away from her. He briefly wondered why her arm was splinted, then realised the great advantage this gave him against the woman that had slapped him to the floor.

'I was hoping to get in and out without being seen, but I have to admit, finding you here like this… helpless…' he gloated, as her eyes widened, 'I must—'

He did not get to finish, as a blinding pain shot through his head.

123

Elizabeth wasn't sure what woke her, but she knew immediately she was not alone. A rustling noise and the stentorious breathing gave whoever it was away. It was vaguely familiar, but she could not remember why.

'Mrs Mason, is that you?'

No reply. With the curtains drawn, the room was dim and with one arm out of commission, she could not even light a candle. Frustrated, all she could do was lie there and hope whoever it was would speak.

Sounds and movement in the gloom, coming her way, a bang and a masculine grunt. Rather alarmed now, she called out again. 'Who is it?'

He moved closer, becoming a little clearer as he drew near. Oh no, it could not be him… Please no.

'Ah, cousin Elizabeth. We meet again.' He smirked down at her and she was about to scream when he covered her mouth with his hand.

'I was hoping to get in and out without being seen, but I have to admit, finding you here like this… helpless… I must—'

As he spoke, she saw a flash of white behind him, and her eyes widened in relief. Help was here.

He did not get to finish whatever he was about to say. There was a hollow sound along with a crash, and he collapsed to reveal Lydia, holding the remains of a chamber pot.

'Lizzy, are you alright? Who is this man and what was he trying to do?' A pause, then, 'Did I kill him?'

Elizabeth wiped a tear from her eye. 'Oh Lydia, my wonderful sister. Thank you for your timely entrance. This, my dearest, is Mr Collins. I have no idea why he is here - just go and fetch some help before he wakes. I do not think he is dead, I can hear his breath.' As Lydia ran off, shrieking for Hill, Elizabeth bemoaned, once more, her helplessness.

He was beginning to stir when Lydia returned with Hill, Mrs Mason, and James.

'Oh, thank goodness you're here. He's moving. Get him out of here please,' she cried. 'Throw him out of the house. He should not be here. This is Mr Collins, to whom my father has banned entry!'

She held out her hand to Lydia, as James and the nurse, who was surprisingly strong, half lifted and half-dragged Mr Collins from the room.

Hill threw open the curtains and they watched as Mr Collins was dropped onto the gravel outside. Before she realised what was happening, Lydia made an excited sound and dashed from the room.

'Lydia, come back! Hill, help me sit up. I need to see.'

Hill helped her raise herself for a better view and they watched as Lydia appeared outside clutching the large vase that usually sat on the hall table. She tossed the contents onto the prone Mr Collins, carefully put the vase on the doorstep, then ran over to the gardener, who protested as she wrestled the rake from his hands.

Elizabeth had a sudden realisation of what Lydia was about, when she ran back over to Mr Collins, who was himself attempting to sit up. Half chuckling, half grasping her side in pain, she watched in awe as her little sister hit a protesting Mr Collins with the rake. He struggled to his feet and staggered off down the drive, with Lydia and her rake in hot pursuit.

They were half-way down the drive, Lydia having scored some fine hits, when the Longbourn carriage and two escorting riders turned onto the drive, slowed and pulled up as the screaming duo reached them.

A/N - Shoutout to beatrizwolfstark for guessing right about Lydia and her stick.