Whew, this chapter is insanely long. It's also, in my humble opinion, the best installment of the three. PLEASE review if you enjoy reading this, I'd love to know what you thought about it and how I could improve my writing in the future!
Two things I'd like to mention: Firstly, this story has over 20 reviews now. Thanks everyone!
Secondly: Since I am currently brain-dead, and I've got absolutely no ideas for the next chapters, I've decided to introduce a thing (I know, very descriptive.) I am thinking that I'll write my next few chapters based on prompts from you guys, but here's the thing: the prompts can only be a word or a phrase. For er example, if your prompt was 'hedgehog', I would have to somehow involve hedgehogs in the next chapter. I think that would be super fun and creative both for me and you guys. So, if you think that's a good idea, please leave me a review with your prompt in it.
Enough blabbing from me - enjoy the story!
The carriage was indeed waiting in the drive, harnessed to two powerful black horses that were stamping and pawing the ground in anticipation. One of them whinnied loudly, and the Doctor frowned at it. "Language!"
A footman bowed and opened the carriage door, holding out a hand for Clara to take as she stepped inside. She refused it – an unwise decision, as her wide dress actually got stuck in the doorway. Sensing that the Doctor was coming up behind her, she hissed, "If you shove me I will kill you." She finally managed to squeeze through and decided to carry on as though nothing had happened. Fortunately for the Doctor, she didn't see his smirk.
Suddenly Clara registered the presence of Mrs. Bennet, who was staring coldly at her, as though being a friend of the Doctor's automatically made you someone to be glared at. Due to the woman's considerable girth, there was only room for one person to sit next to her. Jane and Elizabeth, sitting opposite their mother, had left room for one person to sit between them. Clara glanced back at the Doctor. His eyes held a silent plea: Don't make me sit next to Mrs. Bennet. Please.
She shook her head imperceptibly. You sit next to her.
No, you.
You.
Please?
Sorry, mate. You're on your own.
His eyes flicked to her dress. But I got you a nice outfit.
Thanks for the outfit. Now go sit next to that toad. Clara smiled and sat in the space between the Bennet sisters, allowing her dress to flow out onto the floor. With a heavy sigh, the Doctor seated himself next to Mrs. Bennet and scooted away from her as far as possible, looking for all the world like some sort of spider, hunched miserably as he was against the window.
"You'll be the talk of the ball in that dress," Elizabeth told her admiringly.
"I certainly hope not," Clara answered, frowning, imagining how embarrassing it would be if Mr. Darcy fell in love with her instead of with Elizabeth.
The driver started up the carriage, cracking his whip in the air. "You just missed my father and Mary," Jane explained, raising her voice so as to be heard over the clip-clop of the horses' hooves. "They went for a walk to town. And Kitty and Lydia sent their apologies that they were not able to see you off; they left for Meryton some minutes ago."
Clara recalled that in Pride and Prejudice, all the Bennet sisters had attended the ball. Evidently, not everything in this parallel world was like the book.
After that the carriage ride progressed in merry conversation. Even the Doctor began to take part, regaling amusing stories of events that Clara wasn't sure had really happened to him or not (He only began to participate, however, after Clara had shot him a death glare that said, Be social. Now.). Mrs. Bennet, on the other hand, maintained a stony silence the whole way to the Bingley estate. Even the prospect of a ball was not enough to make her forget her disdain for the Doctor.
About twenty minutes later, their carriage pulled to a stop in front of an imposing mansion, outlined in golden light cast by the sun. Eager to escape the confines of the vehicle – and Mrs. Bennet's glares – the Doctor shot to his feet, opened the carriage door, and hopped outside before the horses had even stopped moving. Clara gracefully gathered her crimson skirts into a heap and stepped out after him, followed by Jane, Elizabeth, and their mother.
She eyed the mansion with interest. Its white walls contrasted sharply with its dark roof, which was lined with spires. More windows than she could count were set into the front wall, and two solid pillars stood on either side of the mahogany front door. The mansion was surrounded by rolling fields and clumps of trees, and a brook that fed into a rippling pond was nestled into the hillside in the distance.
Stones crunched beneath the horses' hooves as the carriage rolled away again, presumably to the carriage-house that was to the left of the Netherfield Mansion. As it departed, Clara realized that someone was whispering behind her. She glanced back. Mrs. Bennet had her hand on Jane's arm, and was urgently murmuring a list of instructions in her ear. "Remember, tonight is the night that you must fully win Mr. Bingley's heart. Smile freely and often and say yes if he offers you a dance. You may dance with someone else if they ask you, but not too often. Eat very little, stay as near Mr. Bingley as possible, be as witty as you can…"
Clara barely managed to suppress a giggle. If only Mrs. Bennet knew that her instructions were completely useless – Jane and Mr. Bingley would end up together with or without her silly advice.
The party of five headed for the mansion's front door, where a footman clad in red and white was waiting. He bowed and opened the door for them, his good breeding not allowing him to ask who the two unexpected guests were. The Doctor glanced up at the ceiling as they entered and his eyes almost popped out of his head. "Clara, that's a Cryston chandelier!" he hissed in Clara's ear. "There are only four of them in the entire universe! They're made on the planet Kylor, out of pure Cryston. Cryston is an extremely rare allotrope of the element Durinium. One ounce of it costs a billion billion Earth dollars. How on earth did a Cryston chandelier end up…well, on earth?"
Clara hadn't heard a single word of his impressive speech. She was too busy admiring the house itself – and the people inside it.
Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of varied content. Swarms of people milled about them, chattering happily and occasionally breaking into bursts of laughter. As Clara stared about the entrance hall, her eyes wide, a young gentleman with red-gold hair and twinkling blue eyes hurried over to the party. He had eyes only for Jane, so Clara supposed he was Mr. Bingley. He was sharply dressed in a TARDIS blue coat and white stockings. "Welcome, welcome!" he cried jovially. "It is a pleasure to have you all here!" His eyes flicked to Clara and the Doctor and he started noticeably, but regained his composure in a remarkably short amount of time. "And whom might I have the pleasure of addressing?"
"I'm John. John Smith. And this is Clara, my…" He cleared his throat. "Wife."
Clara smirked at his discomfort, but said nothing. Instead she smiled gratefully at Mr. Bingley. "We are ever so honored to be here," she assured him, performing a tiny curtsy.
Jane took it upon herself to explain their presence. "They are travelers coming from Blackpool whom Elizabeth met earlier today. We thought perhaps we could entertain them a little before they had to leave town."
Mr. Bingley smiled widely. "An ever so noble enterprise. Well, friends of Jane are friends of mine, and I bid you both welcome." He nodded pleasantly to Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet and took Jane by the arm. "Come, we are about to eat."
Clara and the Doctor trailed behind Jane and Mr. Bingley as they went into the dining room, which was opposite the front door. "Did you hear a word I said about the Cryston chandelier?" the Doctor asked.
She frowned. "The what?"
He sighed. "Never mind."
In the middle of the dining room was a long table adorned with a creamy white tablecloth. In fact, it was a very long table – it was set for thirty people. Never a man to forget his manners, Mr. Bingley had two more chairs placed at the ends of the table to accommodate the arrival of the two unexpected guests. "I bid you all, eat and drink to your heart's content," the gentleman instructed his guests. "The party has only just begun."
At once the guests began to seat themselves. Mr. Bingley sat at the head of the table, since he was the host of the affair. Mrs. Bennet, thankfully, planted herself as far away from the Doctor and Clara as possible. Clara found herself sandwiched between Elizabeth and the Doctor. Two young ladies who looked rather like Mr. Bingley were seated across from her, eyeing her with disdain. On the right of the two ladies was an extremely handsome, distinguished-looking gentleman with dark hair and fashionably scruffy stubble. Clara found herself eyeing him appreciatively until she realized that he was Mr. Wickham (AN: Not sure I included him in the summary I wrote. Let's just put it this way: he's kind of an unsavory character.) Wrinkling her nose in disgust as she remembered his character defects, Clara hastily looked away… and found that Elizabeth was obviously admiring him as well. She wondered if she should warn her against him and eventually decided against it.
As soon as everyone was seated, two footmen marched into the room, each of them bearing a silver platter. They silently progressed around the table until they had served every last person, and then they left the room as suddenly as they had come.
Clara eyed the thing that had just been placed on her plate with some trepidation. It was white and bowl-shaped, and was topped with a mass of sauce that looked like vomit. "What is this…?" she asked hesitantly out of the corner of her mouth so that only the Doctor could hear.
"I believe it's baked oyster," he replied thoughtfully. He picked up his oyster and took a large bite of it. "It's not bad, either."
"Ewww, that's vile." Clara pushed her plate away. She looked up to see the Bingley sisters staring at her as though she had grown a third head. "Stomach problems," she explained feebly. "Can't eat… certain things… like oysters."
To her relief, the next course consisted of a hearty leek and potato stew, which was rather good. Clara demolished her entire serving and found herself wishing for more, but decided that it probably wasn't in the nineteenth-century etiquette book to take more than you were given. The next course was brought out a few minutes later on a large silver platter. It was a colossal hunk of unidentifiable meat. She thought that it might be chicken, but she really couldn't tell. However, it didn't taste too bad, and she was able to eat her whole portion. "Doctor, what was that?" she asked him. "Tasted a bit like chicken. And beef."
"Well, I'll try mine and tell you. Could be beef or some kind of steak thing. Could even be both, but I don't think they've discovered meat-grafting technology just yet. Hang on." He cautiously cut off a chunk of the meat and placed it in his mouth. "Yeah, I can't really tell. Think it might be venison."
Clara stared down at her plate as her stomach did a slow roll. "I just ate Bambi," she muttered unhappily. "Ergh."
Two more courses later (pasta with tomatoes and cheese and a platter of fresh fruits and cheeses) Clara was feeling quite full as well as quite content (apart from the memory of the mystery meat). The conversation around the dinner table had been both intriguing and stimulating, and she had participated enthusiastically. No one seemed to remember that she was an uninvited guest. Or maybe they did remember, but they were just too polite to mention it.
Plum pudding and wine were served to everyone, and the talk turned to lighter matters. "Are you enjoying yourself?" Elizabeth asked her earnestly.
"Oh, yes. Very much." Clara caught Wickham smiling lazily at her and frowned at him. How long had he been staring at her? "Very much indeed."
Wickham, suddenly realizing that he'd been caught in the act, leaned across the table and hastily engaged Elizabeth in conversation. Clara's gaze flicked over to the Bingley sisters. "…what a gaudy dress," the one on the left whispered, eyeing Clara scornfully. "And what a horrendous accent! Did you ever hear the like? She's certainly not from such a sophisticated area as we are."
"Cow," Clara muttered venomously to herself. "Who does she think she is?"
Finally the conversation died away and Bingley rose to his feet. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think I speak for us all when I say… Let the dancing begin!"
A round of applause rippled around the table as everyone rose to their feet and made their way to the ballroom, which was adjacent to the dining room. The ballroom had a high ceiling which sported two crystalline chandeliers and a floor of pristine white marble. The walls were lined with windows that overlooked the hills. A string quartet was stationed in one corner.
Clara settled herself in one of the chairs placed at intervals around the ballroom and watched with interest as several couples proceeded to the middle of the room. As the string quartet launched into a cheerful waltz, the dancers began to swirl and sway, the vivd, shimmering dresses of the ladies whirling hypnotically. Clara grinned as she noticed Jane dancing with Mr. Bingley, her eyes shining with affection.
Two gentleman were standing against the opposite wall, conversing with each other. Clara wondered if either of them were Mr. Darcy – she hadn't been able to determine which of the gentlemen was him yet.
She recognized Elizabeth among the crowd, dancing with a gentleman with ginger hair. She looked absolutely miserable. Clara watched in sympathy as the man, blissfully ignorant of his inability to dance, trod on Elizabeth's feet. "D'you think that's Mr. Collins?" she asked the Doctor, who was leaning against the wooden wall next to her.
"I suppose so," he grunted.
Clara noticed that he was standing in a hunched fashion with his back to the crowd. "What are you doing?"
A green light flickered briefly on the wall, accompanied by the gentle buzz of his sonic screwdriver. "Scanning the walls."
"I thought your screwdriver didn't work on wood."
"Exactly. It doesn't. I was scanning it because I thought it didn't look exactly like wood, and I wanted to see for myself."
"And?" she prompted.
"And… it's not wood."
"Well, obviously. What is it?"
"It's Dargentum, a substance that looks and feels like wood but has a very different chemical composition. It can only be found on the planet Kylor. That's odd… the chandelier in the entrance hall was from Kylor too… something's going on in this house."
"Do you think the person who built it is an alien?" Clara wanted to know.
He unobtrusively slipped his sonic device back in his pocket. "Maybe. I don't know."
Clara gazed at the guests, suddenly seeing them in a new light. What if one of them were actually an alien?
Her inner musings were interrupted as a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder. She glanced up and her heart sank as she discovered that Wickham was standing in front of her, smiling roguishly. "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?" he inquired, his voice deep and mellifluous.
"Do I look like I'm single?" Clara snapped, gesturing to the Doctor. "I've got a partner, thanks very much. Bye." She stood up, grabbed the Doctor's arm, and marched away, leaving Wickham staring after her in shock.
"That was rude," the Doctor breathed in her ear.
"I don't care. He's a jerk. I'm not dancing with him."
"Yes, but now that you told him that, we have to dance or he'll come ask you again," he complained.
"Well, I'd rather dance with you than with him. I think," Clara added uncertainly. "Can you even dance?"
"Erm, I think so. My last two regenerations could, but I don't quite know all the things this body can do just yet. Hang on, can you dance?"
"Let's find out," she whispered mischievously, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He awkwardly placed a hand on her waist and gripped her hand in his. "Wait, I suppose I should ask you… may I have this dance?"
Her mouth twitched in a smile. "Of course." A second later, the music started up again.
They began to sway in time with the other couples, spinning in a slow circle as they did so. Clara's bold red dress fanned out behind her, drawing the admiring eyes of many of the ladies, and even some of the gentlemen. She caught Elizabeth's eye and winked. She was now dancing with a dark-haired man with an imperious face and a firm jaw. Presumably, he was Mr. Darcy. Lizzy didn't look any happier dancing with him than she had while she had been dancing with Mr. Collins. Little did she know how greatly Darcy would surprise her in the coming days.
Clara allowed herself to be carried away by the music. The Doctor lifted his arm and she twirled in a full circle beneath it, coming to rest on his shoulder as he supported her with his other arm. He stared down at his petite companion and smiled fondly to himself.
The dancing continued in the same fashion for the next few minutes, a series of spins and twirls. Finally, as the music swelled to a crescendo and then died out, Clara curtsied to the Doctor and he performed a small bow in return, following the example of the other couples around the room.
"I suppose you can dance," he conceded.
"So can you."
The string quartet appeared to be on break, so the dancers began to talk amongst themselves. The Doctor took Clara's arm and led her a short distance from the group. "We should go. Holes in the walls between universes usually don't last very long. The one we fell through will probably close soon, and if it does, we'll be trapped in here."
Clara was about to argue, but then she thought better of it. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. We've been here long enough."
He nodded silently, glad to see that she trusted him enough to listen to him. "You can go make our excuses for leaving early."
"Always leaving me to do the grunt work," she teased him. Then a thought struck her, and the smile faded from her face. "Doctor… I don't suppose we could ever come back here, could we?"
He shook his head once. That was all the answer she needed. She sighed and turned away, preparing to make her goodbyes.
Elizabeth suddenly intercepted her path. "Clara, there you are. How did you enjoy the dancing?"
"It was great," she answered, her spirits buoyed by Elizabeth's cheerfulness.
"Well, I'm glad you managed to enjoy yourself. I have had the worst luck with dancing partners. First Mr. Collins and then Mr. Darcy. I assure you, Mr. Darcy is the most stubborn, impertinent, insufferable man you will ever lay eyes upon. Do you know, he insulted me to my face last time I saw him! I only accepted his offer to dance because I was so stunned that he asked me that I did not know what to say. I wish never to see that man again."
Clara stifled a laugh. "Give him a second chance. You never know. He might surprise you."
"You speak as though you know him yourself," she commented with some surprise.
"Sort of, yeah." Clara clasped her friend's hands. "Listen, I've got to go. My sister is waiting for me. I've stayed too long already."
"But how will you go? There is no carriage."
"Erm, I think my… husband… told the driver where we'd be when he went to collect my dress."
"Are you sure you cannot stay another hour?"
"Perfectly sure."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Will you perhaps be coming through here again on your way back to Blackpool? It would be lovely to see you again."
Clara sighed. She hated to lie to Elizabeth, but it was the only way she could possibly explain her reason for never coming back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mention this to you before, but my sister lives in France. We only happened to pass through here because it was on the way to London, where we're going to take a boat across the Channel. But after we get to France and see my sister… well, my husband has decided to move to Italy. He says there's more business there for him. Something like that. I don't think we'll be coming back here again." She was almost stunned by how easily the lie slipped out of her mouth. Being with the Doctor had evidently greatly improved her lying skills.
Elizabeth's face was despondent. "That is wretched news. Well, Clara, I am ever so glad you could stay, even for just a few hours. I will miss you sorely." She threw her arms around Clara's neck and hugged her tightly.
Clara hugged her back. Although they had only met a few hours ago, she felt as though she had known Elizabeth her whole life. "I'll miss you too. Thanks so much. For everything."
Elizabeth drew away and fumbled for something around her neck. She held her hand out to Clara. "I want you to have this, as a reminder of your stay here. It has been mine as long as I can remember, but now it is yours."
Clara gasped. Elizabeth was holding a thin golden chain that bore a pearly-white, swan-shaped pendant. She cupped her hand under Elizabeth's, and the necklace was poured into her palm. "I don't know what to say," she breathed. "Are you sure?"
She nodded assurance. "Keep it, and think of me."
"I will," Clara promised. "Thank you, Elizabeth. And please give Jane and Mr. Bingley my apologies."
"Apologies for what?" Mr. Bingley's voice queried from behind her.
She whirled around. Both Jane and Mr. Bingley were eyeing her with curiosity. "I'm sorry, but I have to go," she explained simply. She knew that Elizabeth would explain later that she wouldn't be returning.
Jane, however, smart as she was, seemed to perceive an inkling of Clara's intentions. She hugged her affectionately. "Farewell, Clara. Good luck with your travels."
Clara returned the embrace. "Good luck with Mr. Bingley," she whispered into her ear.
Jane blushed and stepped back as Mr. Bingley stepped forward. "It has been a pleasure to have you here, Miss Oswald." He gallantly bent and kissed her hand.
Clara cleared her throat and unobtrusively attempted to wipe the kiss on her dress. "Erm, thanks for accommodating me on such short notice."
"My pleasure." He smiled at Clara one last time and led Jane back to the group of dancers. Clara walked back to the Doctor and slipped her hand underneath his elbow. As they left the ballroom, she glanced back and spied Elizabeth watching her. She managed a parting wave with the hand that wasn't holding her new necklace before the Doctor closed the door behind them.
Together, they left Netherfield Hall in silence. By now, the sun had set completely, and the sky was alight with thousands of gently shimmering stars. "It looks so beautiful, without all the pollution," Clara breathed softly.
For once the Doctor was in agreement with her. "It does."
"I wonder how many of those stars you've taken me to. Probably at least – hang on." Clara stopped in her tracks as something she recalled something that Mr. Bingley had said to her before she left.
"What's wrong? Did you leave something behind? I really hope not, that would be–"
"Shut up. Just shut up." Clara held up her hand to ensure that he stopped speaking. She replayed the moment in her mind, trying to make sure that she was remembering the instance correctly and that she hadn't just imagined it.
She wasn't imagining it. "Doctor, back there when we were leaving, Mr. Bingley called me Miss Oswald after he kissed my hand."
"Well, that's your name, isn't it? Unless you've decided to – "
"Just listen. He called me Miss Oswald… but I never told him my last name!"
The Doctor frowned. "What? Rubbish. That's not possible."
"Doctor, I'm telling you, I know what I heard!" she shouted. "He called me Miss Oswald. And then he – ow!" A stinging pain suddenly stabbed the back of her hand – the same one that Mr. Bingley had kissed. She couldn't really tell in the dark, but she was certain that her hand looked different than before. "Doctor, shine your sonic screwdriver on my hand."
The urgent tone of her voice told him that he had better listen to her. He fished around in his pockets, muttering something that sounded like, 'shouldn't have got these pockets made to be bigger on the inside', and finally fished out his screwdriver. He pressed a button and a beam of piercing green light snapped on from its tip.
Clara's breath hitched. In the light, it was easy to tell that a dark red rash had suddenly bloomed on the back of her hand. "That was not there before."
The Doctor's eyes widened. He took Clara's hand in his and peered at it intensely. "I know what this is," he stated grimly. "And I know what it's from."
"Is it dangerous?" she demanded.
"No. You'll be fine in a day or two. But we have to get back to the TARDIS right now. Mr. Bingley's DNA is on your hand, and I want to scan it before it fades away, just to make sure that I'm right."
"Don't be ridiculous. DNA doesn't fade away," she scoffed. "And right about what?"
Instead of answering her, he took off across the drive, racing through the meadow near Netherfield like a jackrabbit. "Doctor, I can't run! I'm in a dress!" she called after him.
Of course, there was no response. Clara muttered some choice words under her breath before hitching up her skirts, dropping Elizabeth's necklace around her neck so she wouldn't lose it, and jogging after him.
The half hour that followed was the longest half hour of her life. It was spent running across the fields of the English countryside, tripping over rocks and trying to avoid stepping in puddles. When the TARDIS was finally in sight, Clara almost burst into tears of relief. The Doctor was waiting for her in the doorway, silhouetted in white light. Clara stumbled up to him and collapsed against his chest, gasping for breath. "Good cross-country practice," he commented cheerfully. "If you take cross-country, that is."
He didn't sound tired at all. Clara, absolutely furious, thumped her fist against his shoulder. "I… hate… you," she croaked. "Never again."
He glanced at her dress and noticed that the rim of the skirt was completely saturated (Clara, thinking a puddle was a rock in her exhaustion, had tried to kick it away and had instead splashed herself with water). "You're ruining the dress!"
"And whose fault is that?" she hissed, dragging herself into the TARDIS and crumpling to the floor in a heap of crimson folds. "Oh, right: Yours, for making me run across the whole of England in this!" She gestured weakly to her outfit, simultaneously brushing her bangs off her forehead.
The TARDIS's engines hummed amusedly, as though she were laughing at Clara's predicament. Clara wearily shook her fist at the time machine, having no more energy left to yell.
The Doctor was wise enough to refrain from saying that the 'whole of England' was probably an exaggeration. Instead, he crouched down next to Clara and sonicked her hand.
"What are you doing?" she asked exhaustedly.
"Absorbing the DNA from that kiss." He stood up and crossed over to the TARDIS console, plugging his screwdriver into a small hole in the structure. "The TARDIS is ready to leave, and I've already programmed her to automatically close the hole in the wall of this universe after we fly out of it, but I want to scan this DNA first." As he spoke, one of the screens built into the console lit up and started flashing strings of numbers. It emitted a soft pinging noise at the display stopped on one of the strings. A green check mark popped up next to the number on the screen, and the Doctor nodded his head in satisfaction. "I thought so."
"Thought what?" Clara grunted, somehow managing to pick herself up from the floor.
"A while ago," he began, "a prisoner escaped from the planet Kylor. This news was universal. Everyone knew about the escaped prisoner. He was a notorious criminal, a native Kylorian. Absolute mastermind, too. He could do anything he put his mind to. Which is dangerous, when you're a criminal.
"Anyway," he continued, maneuvering around the TARDIS as he prepared to take off, "He managed to escape from the prison. He needed somewhere to hide. And so he thought, where better to hide than in a different body, in a different universe? It was a good solution. Even I've done that – hidden myself in human form. Poor Martha, I don't think she enjoyed that little adventure very much… never mind. Well, this prisoner fashioned a new body for himself – a human body. He made himself human. He made himself forget that he was ever an alien from the planet Kylor, and he gave himself false human memories.
"It was a great way to hide – but he overlooked one crucial detail. When you change your body like that, you have to hide everything that you used to be – your consciousness, your thoughts, everything – inside some object that can be easily accessed again. And then you have to give it to someone, so that they can give you back your real self if necessary. But this prisoner, he made a fatal mistake. He kept the object he'd hidden his real self in."
"So when he became a human, he forgot that his real self was inside that object," Clara finished.
"Exactly. The prisoner just vanished. No one could find him. The trail went stone cold.
"But," he murmured slyly, "when he left, he couldn't resist stealing one last time. There were reports of two things missing from the mansion of the Prime Minister of Kylor: a Cryston chandelier, and, well… the outer layer of Dargentum that encased the house. Don't ask me how the prisoner managed to steal it, I have no idea. But when the prisoner vanished, the chandelier and the Dargentum vanished at the same time. When I saw them at Netherfield tonight, I began to suspect that something was wrong. But this DNA on your hand confirms it, Clara. Kylorians' most distinct feature is that their spit has the same chemical composition as poison ivy. It can cause rash. Just like that rash on your hand there. And the remnant of their spit dries up really quickly, as though it were never there – which is why I wanted to get you back to the TARDIS as soon as possible, before the kiss faded away."
"Oh my stars," Clara breathed, beginning to piece it together.
"When he landed in this universe, he built himself a place to live, making sure to use the materials he had stolen from Kylor. And then he changed his biological composition, making himself human. He forgot everything: he forgot he'd built the house, he forget he'd stolen material, he forgot he was a Kylorian prisoner. He believed he was a man from London with two sisters – he must've bribed them somehow while he was still an alien to pretend to be his sisters. He came down here from London, saw the house, decided he liked it, and moved in."
"Oh my stars," Clara murmured again. "Mr. Bingley is an alien!" A thought suddenly struck her. "But what about Jane? Is she safe with him? I mean, I don't want her marrying an escaped prisoner. And how did he know my name?"
"Perfectly safe," the Doctor promised. "He chose a good personality for himself when he was creating his identity. Mr. Bingley is a good man. He'll never remember who he used to be. As for your name… well, to be honest, my reputation precedes me. The prisoner probably knew I was out there and realized that I would try to capture him again. While he was still an alien, he probably spied on me to make sure I didn't come after him, and, well… if he spied on me, he must have seen you as well. I suppose your name stuck with him even after he became a human. And he probably doesn't even know why he called you Miss Oswald. In fact, I bet he's wondering about it right now." The Doctor winked at his companion and pulled a lever on the console. "Now let's go to Jundmon. And you might want to change your clothes."
Clara looked stricken. "Oh no, I left my clothes back at the Bennets' house. I wonder how Mrs. Bennet will react to that." She suddenly perked up. "Well, Mister, that means you get to take me shopping."
"I can't wait," the Doctor sighed drily as the familiar groaning noise of the TARDIS's engines filled the air.
"Mr. Bingley is an alien! I still can't believe it!" Clara's infectious laughter rang through the TARDIS as it faded into nothingness, a barely visible square indent in the grass the only sign that it had ever been there.
Bit nervous about that explanation of the whole alien thing at the end; I hope it was easy to understand. Also, just a random side note, I thought it would be super adorable if Clara and the Doctor had a conversation with their eyes:D
Thanks for reading. I look forward to reading your prompts and reviews!