Lady Catherine de Bourgh was not happy… not happy in the least. She had been left in her coach, all alone a half‑mile from the smithy where all the action was happening. It was unbearable that there was a center of action and she wasn't in it directing things to their appropriate conclusions. Lady Catherine very much enjoyed being of use to people, and you couldn't be of use if you weren't in the mix. At Rosings, you could be certain nothing happened that she did not direct, with the possible exception of the parsonage. There she wasn't quite certain everything was proceeding as it should. She instructed Mrs. Collins most carefully, and she gave every indication of deference and tractability, but on the next visit, she would find the instructions had not been carried out. Additional careful instruction followed, then more checking a few weeks later, and still no compliance. She had to conclude that her parson must have married the stupidest girl in England, and sighed with frustration. How could Mrs. Collins hope to be a proper parson's wife if she could not take the simplest of instructions?

Even worse yet, Mr. Collins seemed to be getting stupider by the day, something she would have previously thought impossible. Lady Catherine had been plumbing the depths of his foolishness for months simply for her own amusement. She delighted in trying to see if she would follow the most ridiculous of instructions. She would tell him to give a sermon praising the Viking god Thor, and he would happily comply, much to the amusement of Anne who could not desist from laughing during his description of Thor's Hammer. If she desired a long-winded tirade about how the lower classes owed obeisance to the upper, Mr. Collins would snap to. Her ultimate prank had been to send him off to with explicit instructions to marry one of the daughters of some random family she heard him mention in one of his endless tirades. The little toad had gone straight off to follow instructions. Lady Catherine considered that her most brilliant prank, but it was only half-successful. He had married someone he only met a week prior, so you couldn't fault his stupidity there; but he didn't marry one of the random sisters, so points off for that.

At any rate, Lady Catherine decided she was woolgathering, not that someone of her station would gather actual wool, and decided it was time to get back to managing the situation. After all, her nephew was marrying the wrong woman, and who else was capable of righting that wrong.

Gathering her haughtiest manner, she descended from the carriage just as another man approached in a dogcart. The approaching stranger was an owlish-bookish man, who had the temerity to introduce himself as a Mr. Slyfeel. Introduce himself… to Lady Catherine de Bourgh! How vulgar could you get? Just the name gave her the oily shivers. Lady Catherine was just ready to give him the sharp side of her indignation, when he told her his business in town. This stopped her cold, and her face turned white as a wedding cake, and she started trembling in fear. This man was Beelzebub himself. This man was her worst nightmare come to life. This man was worse than being married to Louis de Bourgh, or listening to the ceaseless droning of her Fitzwilliam nephew. No, Lady Catherine de Bourgh did not want to cross this man. He must be diverted. He could be the ruination of all.

Lady Catherine looked around for any weapons available to her, and decided her wit and her manner were her only tools, so she must put them to good use.

"Mr. Slyfeel, I appreciate your presence. Might I guide you to an even bigger and better target. You should be seeking a man who is right now, as we speak, engaged in a nefarious operation in that smithy. You must do your duty and call him to task posthaste."

"An even bigger target is the only thing that will dissuade from my course, madam."

"Then let us proceed Mr. Slyfeel. By the way, there are six armed pirates between us and the town and another couple dozen between us and your target."

"Lady Catherine, my business has never required violence, and I do not intend to start now."

"Who said anything about violence?"

"You have a better solution."

"Of course, Mr. Slyfeel. Look and learn. Look and learn. I will need the loan of some of your papers."

"Which papers?"

"It doesn't matter, so long as they look important and official."

Lady Catherine gathered up her skirts, and walked down the road to the first pair of ruffians.

"Gentlemen, would you mind performing some small service for us?"

With a sneering laugh, one of them said, "I'll perform a service for you lady, but…"

Whatever the pirate was going to say was strangled off when he got a look at who was addressing. He wasn't afraid of her… he just couldn't imagine performing the service he had in mind with her.

Lady Catherine ignored his outburst, as she ignored just about everything any man said in her presence.

"I would like to know your name sir, to see if it's on this list", she said while waving the paper under the hapless pirate's nose.

"What list?"

"This list"

"What list is that?"

"I am Mrs. Hurst's banker. She has a minor problem with funding, and I am trying to address it with this list."

"A problem with money"

"Yes, she doesn't have enough to pay all of you. She can only pay half."

The ruffian looked shaken, and asked, "And what is that list?"

"It's the list of the people that will get paid."

"And what happens to the rest of them?"

"To get paid, each man has to kill one of the others, and then go to Gretna Orange to collect their pay."

"How was the list made?"

"We drew lots out of a hat. She's not all that concerned with who gets paid and who doesn't, so anyone who disposes of one of the others will get paid when they get to Gretna Orange."

The two ruffians looked at the list, and looked at each other, then quick as lightning, both drew their knives at the same time and went at each other. By a curious stroke of luck; or maybe Lady Catherine was just better at organizing things than anyone believed; they both stabbed each other through the heart at the same time and dropped like stones.

Lady Catherine pulled her companion back by his sleeves, "Your shoes, Mrs. Slyfeel. We wouldn't want blood on them."

"That worked surprisingly well."

"Yes, most of my schemes do."

"Lady Catherine?"

"Yes, Mr. Slyfeel"

"Can I do the next two?"