Camp Rosings

Once the all encompassing shock has worn off, Will pulls himself together. "Well you're going…I'm going…" he begins lamely. "I'll give you a lift from the airport."

"Really Will, it's fine. I can do it myself."

He shoots her a sardonic look. "It's three hours from Albany. I already have a car rented there. It's fine."

"No, really."

"It's fine," he says again, firmly.

"OK," says Lizzie, quietly.

Will looks up and sighs. "Sorry," he says and runs his hands over his already messy hair. "This can't be much fun for you either."

"What isn't?"

He grimaces. "Meeting my aunt." He smiles, ever so slightly. "This is why I rent a car. So I can get away."

Lizzie smiles back. "She's that nice?"

"Yeah," he says. "She's a regular riot." He smiles again. "Have you booked your flight?"

She shakes her head. "No, I wasn't sure where I'd be flying from."

"OK," he says. "I'll book it now."

"Oh no it's fine."

He rolls his eyes. "Elizabeth, I have clocked up so many air miles as you wouldn't believe. Let me do this."

"But…"

"Seriously," he says, picking up his cell phone. "I have to see my aunt out of duty. You're doing this because you appear to be either incredibly kind or incredibly dumb."

It doesn't come across the way he clearly intended. "Well," he says, registering her raised eyebrows and distinct lack of smile. "That didn't come out they way it was supposed to." He sighs again. "Seriously. My aunt is no picnic. I have air miles just waiting to be used. Just let me do it."

She gives up. "Fine," she says, and slumps into the seat opposite him in the hotel restaurant. "When will it be?"

He fishes around in his pockets for paper, wadded up, and with his phone clamped to his ear with his shoulder, he peels the pages apart, revealing page upon page of beautifully penned tight black lines of words. "Uh…here. Seven on Friday morning. You all right with that?" he asks, between giving information down the phone.

"Fine," she says again.

He looks at her for a moment in silence, and then turns away, talking to someone at the other end to arrange what will surely be, a trip to hell.

Fr: ebethbnet

To: jfbennet

Subject: Welcome to hell

So, we're here. I am alive, despite a mammoth trip across the country with one Will Darcy. I managed to avoid speaking to him much pretty much all the way, through a combination of books, my iPod and sleep. Not that he was bursting to hear my every thought, to know my every whim. His loss, right?

OK, so I said we were going to Lady Catherine de Bourgh's (of De Bourgh and Darcy Advertising- apparently she ran it with Will's Mom before she died- that's a whole other story. You just wait) house right? I speculated on the number of rooms it must have for her to invite the managers of her company along with her family and Charley and Bill's nearest and dearest for this weird company party/ family Christmas/ engagement soiree. We arrived at a number around the hundred mark. Well, once you have fifty rooms, you may as well have a hundred. Anyway, what did not occur to me is that she lives in the Adirondacks. Prime holiday camp land. Are you getting where I'm going? The woman owns what is essentially a holiday camp. But there are no small girls running round with friendship bracelets and badges. Oh no. She owns it as a home. There's a massive house in the middle with prime lake views (I mock, but it is beautiful) right across to the mountains. Then, among the trees, there are like twenty other houses. I kid you not. Well, maybe a few less, but it must be about that when you add in servants quarters (oh yes- above the stables) and the accommodation above the boat house, the gate house...you get the drift. It would appear that Bill is an authority on all things Camp Rosings as he gave us an hour long tour. It felt like double that. Will sloped off as soon as we got here, leaving me stuck with Bill and the many facts he has up his sleeves about ceiling height and how many antlers are in the chandelier. Yes. The tour finally ended at the little cabin that I'm sharing with Bill, Charley, Mr Lu, and Miri, who is here but under extreme duress. Mr Lu (what is his first name? Have we ever known? Anyway) is enamoured of Bill and his facts. Mrs Lu is missing as apparently her mother shattered her pelvis or something. Anyway, she's well out of it.

So the cabin. It's actually pretty nice. Miri and I are sharing a room, and I am remaining blissfully unaware of how Charley and Bill are sorted. I have no wish to know. There's a little living room with a bay window and a seat in it, all over looking the lake which right now, has mist rolling across it. It's pretty cold but we also have a little fire, so it's cosy. Inevitably, soon we're going to have to go across to the big house for dinner, but right now Miri and I are wallowing in the non-Bill, non-Lady Catherineishness of it all. Long may it reign.

Oh, and Will's Mom. Well. We were talking in the car (yes. Like grown ups. Weird.) as he drove, and he was thawing out a bit again. He was telling me about this place and his aunt, and he said how she was the opposite of his Mom and her other sister, so I, making small talk, asked how they're different, and he went quiet for a minute, and then said how his aunt Catherine was incredibly controlling and success focussed, and everything else didn't matter. So I'm like, 'and that's not like your Mom?' expecting to really not just break the ice but smash it. He'd tell me about his Mom. I'd share some classic Mom stories. The time she made me cookies that looked like monkeys because I was sick. The time she tried to teach me to ride a horse and I fell off. You know, funny, happy stories. It would all have been nice. And then he goes, 'my Mom was completely different', not putting the emphasis on 'was', just saying it, and then he clammed up. We had another whole hour of almost uninterrupted silence. And it was then I realised, not only his Mom died but now I remember, George told me that his Dad died too, like ten years ago. The guy is all alone apart from this gorgon of an aunt and a sister, I think. And I kind of feel sorry for him. Not enough to excuse what he did to George, or his terrible conversational manner, but still.

Anyway, we're supposed to dress for dinner. As opposed to going naked one would presume? Miri is freaking out. She already has every dress she brought with her lined up on the bunk. So, I should go and counsel her. Have a nice time. I hope you're all right. I miss you like crazy.

All my love,

Lizzie xxxxx

We grumble all through dressing, through doing our hair and make-up, through putting on our coats again because it is now icy, and then grumble all the way along the little paths to the house, which is lit up at every window, swags of greenery along the veranda, fairy lights along the rails. It is, I have to admit, pretty festive. As we walk through the door, Bill swoops down on us and propels us towards a lady who looks at us suspiciously. She is the least festive person I've ever seen. Imagine Mrs Santa, then imagine her complete opposite. She's bony, with what is clearly a fantastically expensive haircut, a sleek angled bob which slices across her sculpted face with in a shiny, straight, grey swathe. Her outfit is black, head to toe, and probably cashmere, and yet there is not a speck of dust on it, not a single sign that she has done anything or touched anyone since dressing. Anyway, Bill pushes us towards her, and says in his smarmiest of tones, "Ma'am, this is Charlotte's sister, Maria and her best friend, Elizabeth Bennet." I almost feel the urge to curtsy. I resist the urge with everything I have.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says smoothly, and without a hint of sincerity.

"And you," I reply. I can do this. I can. "It's a beautiful house."

"Mm…hmm," mumbles Miri beside me, nodding.

"Thank you," she says, and smiles, though not quite up to her eyes. "I understand that you know my nephew."

"Yes," I say. "I'm working on the Charles Bingley campaign with him."

"He's running it, is he not?"

"Yes."

"Then you work for him, do you not?"

I fight the irrepressible urge to poke her in the eye. "Of course," I say, swallowing hard.

"And have you met my other nephew?"

"No, I didn't know that you had another."

She raises barely visible eyebrows. "Well, of course. Richard is the head of the New Jersey office."

"Oh?" I say.

She almost smiles again. "Yes. He's very successful. Ah," she continues, "Richard, this young lady works for William."

She places a bony hand on the arm of a guy walking past, and he stops, and turns. "Really?" he says. "Bad luck." He holds out a hand. "Richard Fitzwilliam."

"Elizabeth Bennet," I say and shake the hand. He looks a lot like Will. Slightly shorter, not quite as attractive (did I just…? Oh go with it. I can't deny it when my stomach leaps every time the guy smiles) but grinning. Actually grinning. Can he really be related to Will?

Lady Catherine raises her eyebrows again at Miri, who blushes and then mumbles out "Miri Lu," and smiles nervously.

He turns to her, and shakes her hand. "Was that Mary?"

"Her name is Maria" says Lady Catherine, haughtily.

"She prefers Miri," I say. Well I can't help it. Poor Miri was wilting under the gaze of Lady Gorgon herself.

"Miri," says Richard. "That suits you much better. Please call me Rich."

I think I love the guy. Miri smiles properly, and not that slightly strained one she's had for the last few hours, but relaxes. He turns back to me. "And was it Elizabeth? Or do you prefer…?"

"Lizzie, please," I say.

He nods. "Good. Well you've met Aunt Kate. Come and meet some other people."

Lady Catherine stutters something, but he ignores her, and sweeps us along into further rooms. "Ah, you feel that?" he asks as we walk. "The fresher air, the sense that the world may not be swiftly coming to an end?"

I glance up at him. Maybe craziness runs in the family.

"That is what happens when you get a good ten foot away from my aunt. Seriously, she's like the Ring."

"The horror movie?"

He grins. "Well, I meant 'Lord of the' but that still works. Here," he says, and we enter what is presumably the den, or one of the many. It's smaller than the other rooms so far, cosier, and has the first signs of family. Actual photos line the walls, and not just ones of Lady Catherine meeting the Jordanian royal family. Family groups, and holiday snaps cover the wall, and in the bay window, a Christmas tree stands, weighed down with popcorn, messily glittered salt dough, gingerbread, and cardboard stars. Sitting on the couch is a woman weirdly like Lady Catherine, but much less polished. Her hair is sandy, and softly curled up. Her shoes are slipped off, and she is sitting with a little boy, no more than four, in her lap, as she reads to him from The Night before Christmas. Beside her sits a young woman, a little girl in her arms as she leans over and listens too. I seriously never expected to see this here, this kind of cosy familiarity. The younger woman looks up as we walk in, and she stands up.

"Lizzie, Miri, this is my wife, Juliet" says Rich in a low tone

"Jules," she says, and holds out her free hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Lizzie works with Will," he says.

"Bad luck."

"Hey!"

I turn round to see Will, standing in the corner, another toddler sleeping with complete abandonment against his chest, a little head nestled in the hollow of his neck.

Jules grins, and Rich laughs, quietly. "That's what I said," he says.

We sit at a little cluster of armchairs, and I reach out a hand to stroke the downy blonde curls of the girl in Jules' arms. "And who's this?"

"Lucy," she says, and settles her more comfortably, "and Will's got Bella."

I glance up, and catch his eye, watching me. "They're beautiful," I say. Will smiles briefly, and then looks down at his niece.

"And Sam's being read to by his Granny."

"We're actually finished," the said Granny says, and Sam blinks sleepily.

Rich stands up, and crouches in front of his son. "Then it's time for bed, buddy."

"I'm not tired," he says, blinking even slower.

"OK," says Rich, and scoops him up in his arms. Almost immediately Sam's head lolls on Rich's shoulder, and they pause only for Jules to kiss Sam's dark curls, before Rich takes him through another door, and up to bed.

"Did you say you work for Will?" the lady asks as she takes Rich's vacated seat.

"Yes."

"Oh you poor dear."

Jules laughs again, as Will rolls his eyes. "All right," he mutters, and begins to sway slightly, a hand circling Bella's back.

"I'm Kate's sister, Harriet."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Lizzie, this is Miri."

Harriet smiles a friendly smile at Miri. "Are you Charlotte's sister?" she asks.

Miri nods, and manages to cough out a "yes".

Harriet smiles again. "Yes, you've got the same eyes. She's a nice girl." She leans back in the armchair, and sighs. "So, how much will you give me to spike the punch?"

Suddenly I realise that this weekend might not be so bad after all.

So, if you read the last chapter since about Thursdayish, you'll be fine. For everyone else, Charles is back to be being a Senator. Cross referencing my notes (extensive) and Wikipedia (not entirely reliable but the best I have), I realise that my mistake wasn't in referring to him as a Senator when he was in the lower house, but in thinking he was in the lower house when he is, in fact, a Senator. From Massachusetts. Incidentally, he does also have military experience. I haven't entirely decided how much. Let's say- some. (Those who now read the last post will notice that I couldn't work this out twice…sorry for copying and pasting. It's just too hot.)

Anyway, thank you for sticking with this through all my editing back and forth. Hopefully, that's the last of it. Also, anyone fearing that I'm going to get a few more posts in and then lose inspiration, have no fear. I finished writing on Thursday. It is saved in three separate places. Aside from my death, it will get fully posted. It might take a while though. Thanks again. FP.