A/N: Thanks for the condolences; they were appreciated. Still working to find my normal energy.

We continue with the fourth arc, Doubting Castle.

Pride, Prejudice, and Pretense

Chapter 20: Little Red Cabin

This done, they sang as follows:

"Out of the way we went; and then we found
What 't was to tread upon forbidden ground:
And let them that come after have a care,
Lest heedlessness makes them, as we to fare;
Lest they, for trespassing, his prisoners are,
Whose castle's 'DOUBTING' and whose name's 'DESPAIR'."

— John Bunyan, Pilgrim's Progress

Just before boarding with Wickham, Lizzy glanced at her phone, Fanny's phone.

Ned had not texted Fanny that he loved her. That meant Lizzy was to board the plane and depart with Wickham.

She couldn't help herself: she felt doubly disappointed — that Fanny was going to Casper, and that Ned hadn't said he loved her.

That he loved Fanny. That Lizzy was going to Casper.

It was stupid to feel like that — unprofessional. Like her tears in her apartment after Darcy closed the door. But the tears had come then, as the sadness did now.

She swallowed the sadness and made herself smile excitedly at Wickham when he stood, grabbed his duffle, and reached for her hand with his free hand.

The flight attendant opened the plane door, and the passengers began to deplane. Lizzy looked out the window. It was sunny and clear, cloudless, in Casper's afternoon.

Lizzy and Wickham were near the front of the plane and so their turn was coming soon. Wickham stood to retrieve their luggage from the overhead bin.

Lizzy blew out a breath when Wickham could not see her, allowing the sadness she had stowed away before the flight a moment of freedom, allowed it to touch her again; she unclicked her seat belt, stood up as much as she could beneath the bin, recomposing her face and her feelings, and eased into the aisle, stood straight.

Wickham was carrying her suitcase and his duffle just ahead of her. The willowy blonde flight attendant who opened the door offered perfunctory goodbyes as the passengers filed past her — but her goodbye to Wickham seemed genuine, aimed to capture his attention.

The attendant had been obviously attentive to Wickham on the flight, subtly dismissive of Fanny, the behavior targeting Wickham, telling him he could do better, and that better was in front of him, serving from the drink cart. Wickham had noticed, of course; but he had done nothing to encourage the behavior. His hand had remained anchored to Fanny's knee.

Wickham nodded to the attendant but did not speak. The woman gave Fanny a quick, envious glance but did not say goodbye to her, not even perfunctorily. Fanny returned the attendant's glance, not with envy but entitlement. Wickham had turned his head and he saw Fanny's face; he smiled at her expression, pleased. Lizzy could tell he thought Fanny was loosening up, warming up as their travel continued: Ned was decreasing, Wickham increasing.

Fanny stepped quickly and was beside Wickham as they entered the Casper/Natrona International Airport. Despite the airport's large title, it was a tiny place, at least in comparison to O'Hare. O'Hare made Lizzy recall the vast and ancient Gormenghast, the labyrinthine and endless castle in the Mervyn Peak novels. Casper's airport was, in comparison, a tiny, thatched cabin in the woods.

But it was neat and clean and as they came through their gate, Gate 1, Lizzy saw a Restrooms sign to her left.

She nodded to it and Wickham nodded at her. 'I'll wait."

Lizzy walked quickly under the sign and down the short hallway to the Women's Room.

She had seen no one standing around the gate, at least no one who had shown any interest in her and Wickham as they entered. Before she went inside, she dug her phone out of her Patagonia bag and held it up, reorienting the camera so that it showed herself to her.

She pretended to be checking her hair, her face.

But she was not interested in her own face, the dark eyes, the hint of circles under them, the blonde hair. She held the phone so that she could see over her shoulder. No one was following her that she could see, or watching her, including Wickham, who was standing some distance from the Restroom hallway, near the gate seats, with his phone out, staring hard at it. His duffel and her suitcase were at his feet. Lizzy quickly lowered her phone, put it back in her bag, and pushed the Women's Room door open with her shoulder. As she did, she tensed for the meeting she expected. Darcy had said someone would be waiting for Lizzy.

The restroom was apparently empty. Lizzy walked in farther and looked again. She could see a pair of women's shoes — filled with a woman's feet — beneath one of the stall doors. The feet were angled so that the woman was standing facing the toilet. The orientation of a man's feet, perhaps, but not normally of a woman's.

Lizzy walked to the sink and put her hands under the faucet; hot water began to run. A moment later, Lizzy saw a blue eye peek through the crack in the stall door, blinking, looking at her. And then the stall door opened.

The woman stepped out. Lizzy blinked. CIA agents, female ones, did not conform to a narrow type, but they were usually lithe, athletic, whether light or dark, tall or short; there was a certain physical and personal self-possession to them, probably due to the Farm, the combat training, their time spent clashing with and fending off toxic male agents.

But the woman who stepped out was not athletic, at least not in appearance. She was short, and almost as wide as she was tall. Her bright floral dress, too snug at the chest and the waist, was belted, the belt white, clashing with her low blue heels. Her hair was reddish blonde and her skin was so pale it seemed translucent. Her cheeks, however, were bright red; she was obviously flustered, excited. She looked less like a CIA agent secretly delivering a lethal weapon and more like a harried PTA mom making a late delivery of bake-sale cookies.

The woman surveyed the room and then looked at Lizzy, using the mirror to look into her eyes despite standing behind her.

"Agent Bennett?" the woman asked in a whisper, then went immediately on. "I'm Agent McDougal. McDougal." She had a huge leather purse over one arm and she plunged her hand into it.

Lizzy readied herself but McDougal produced only a CIA pass case and flashed her credentials — badge, and photograph.

Lizzy turned to face her.

"Hi, Karen. You have something for me?" Lizzy tried not to sound too commanding, too rushed. The poor woman looked slightly terrified.

The woman nodded, putting her pass case away and digging again in her purse, now holding it open with her other hand. She talked as she rummaged, talked fast.

"Wow, I never imagined meeting you. I've heard your name. I was at the Farm after you and you were sorta famous there, high scores in classes and so on and so on. I was barely able to pass. After graduation, they ended up sending me here, to the Casper satellite office. At first, I thought the assignment was a joke. A joke! A spook shipped to Casper! But no — it was my real assignment. And I've been here since. Years."

She looked up then back down. "This is the first time I've carried a gun since the Farm," she looked around again, though the door had not opened, "guns, plural, even if I'm not carrying them both for myself.

" I mainly shuffle papers no one cares about, and read old chatter no one expects to amount to anything. — I'm sorry, I have so much in this crazy purse. My toddler's plastic animals, my whole life." She rummaged with more intensity, then grinned. "Here it is."

She scanned the room again, theatrically, as if she were play-acting at being a spy, then produced a gun, handing it to Lizzy. It was a small revolver, old and a little rusty, with fresh oil smeared on the barrel and onto the grip.

McDougal grimaced as Lizzy noticed the oil. "It was the only gun in the office that could be easily hidden. My old one. It'll work. I oiled it at the office after Agent Darcy called, then stopped at a range on the way here and tested it." The unmistakable odor revealed that the gun had been recently fired. "It's not loaded now, but here's a box of ammunition." She dug around again for a moment before producing the small box and handing it to Lizzy. Darcy wanted a team to follow you but I'm afraid I'm all you've got. I'll tail you until Darcy and his partner find me." She looked into Lizzy's eyes, her blue eyes watery but steady. "I won't let anything happen to you. Don't worry about my Farm scores; this is the real world. And I'll watch my back. Darcy told me what happened in Rapid City." She gave Lizzy a smile with some real bravery in it and Lizzy smiled back as she slipped the gun and the box of ammunition into her Patagonia bag.

"Thanks, Karen."

Lizzy started to go but Karen reached out and grabbed Lizzy's forearm. "That Agent Darcy…he sounded sexy, like…I don't know…Timothy Dalton or something. That voice made my legs tremble — first time I've reacted like that since long before my divorce, before my toddler." She chuckled. "MI-6?"

"Yes, MI-6," Lizzy admitted.

"Spoken for?" Karen's hesitant smile grew into one impish, hopeful, "Married?"

"Not married but, yes, spoken for. Committed."

Her smile twisted into rue. "Too bad. Not many worth having in this line of work."

"No, almost none."

"Be careful, Agent Bennett."

"I will. You too." Lizzy hurried from the bathroom.

Wickham had turned and was looking down the hallway as she came out the door. She walked quickly to him. "Sorry to be slow."

He gave her a searching look but nodded and turned toward the Exit sign. "Alright. There's a car waiting for us at Herz. We still have a drive ahead of us. I want to be there in time for the sunset…"

"So, where are we staying? Can't I know now?"

"We're going to Casper Mountain; that's all I'll say, You'll just have to wait and see the rest."

Lizzy nodded and stepped closer, smiling, hoping she might coax more from him. "Casper Mountain? That sounds wonderful. I love the mountains. Sunset! — Won't we need to stop and get…you know, supplies, groceries? You said something about being off the grid."

"It's a cabin," he said, mirroring her smile. "But that's all I'm saying."

He started toward the Exit sign, carrying his duffle. He left her suitcase to her. She grabbed the handle and rolled it along. She looked back for a moment. Agent McDougal had come out of the restroom and was standing at a distance behind them, now wearing a pair of very large sunglasses and carrying her huge purse in her hand. She was positioned in front of a vending machine

Lizzy turned and caught up with Wickham.

Not married but, yes, spoken for. Committed.

Lizzy wondered at her own words, the certainty she had felt in speaking them.

She needed to rein herself in and slow herself.

Darcy said that word, and I feel like he promised something, but do I know what? Are my sudden hopes distorting my understanding of him, of me? I'm not used to hope.

For years, I've lived without it, or substituted Kellynch's mission parameters for my personal hopes.

She pushed the questions down, the doubts unanswered, reminding herself that she was walking into the unknown with the Wicker Man — trailed at the moment only by sunglassed Agent McDougal carrying her CIA Mary Poppins bag.

"Personal hopes are an encumbrance. Agents cannot carry hope. There is only the mission; its horizons are your life's horizons. A hopeless agent stays alive."

An instructor at the Farm had said that to Lizzy repeatedly.

The road wound and wound, up and up and up the mountain.

Wickham, now wearing sunglasses himself, was driving. He had not been talkative. Lizzy had tried to keep her mind blank, preparing herself for whatever the next few hours might bring.

She was in sunglasses too, mirrored lenses, hiding behind them, eyes unavailable, regretting each passing mile as the car climbed the mountain. She had glanced behind them a couple of times when she had been able to do so without making Wickham suspicious.

But there did not seem to be any particular car tailing them.

Either Agent McDougal was better in the real world than at the Farm, or Lizzy had lost her only present help.

The winding road had reawakened her seasickness, her feeling of being trapped in a vortex, whirling, whirling but now in slower motion. The slower motion seemed more ominous somehow, not a relief, as if the vortex were sure of her now, no longer in a hurry.

It could take its time.

She noticed that Wickham was more watchful now. They must be getting close. She looked at her phone. No signal. It had lost signal earlier, a few miles back.

Wickham noticed. "Off the grid?"

Lizzy nodded.

"Well, it's just us now. Admit it, you've been eager for this."

"Yes," Fanny said, "but — "

"No 'buts'. We're off the grid. — It may not be Vegas, but what happens here will stay here."

The slogan now struck Lizzy as a vague threat but she made herself laugh, modulating the sound so that it captured Fanny's supposed state of guilty anticipation.

The rays of the late afternoon sun were long now, golden, as they shafted through the trees. The scenery would have been beautiful in different company, in a different life.

Wickham slowed the car. A narrow gravel road interrupted the trees on the left-hand side of the road, and Wickham turned into it. It took them down to a cabin, its exterior logs stained red. The roof was metal, dark green. The road — the driveway, Lizzy realized — curled tight against one side of the cabin and ended in the rear.

Wickham stopped the car. Stone pavers covered the ground next to the driveway, forming a kind of patio that led to the back door, the door stationed on the near rear corner of the cabin.

Beyond the patio was a small wooden deck, fenced around, with a charcoal grill on it. The deck led to stairs that went up to the far end of the cabin. Wickham got out and waited for Fanny to get out. They both took off their sunglasses and put them away.

"The Little Red Cabin. Leave the luggage; I'll get it in a moment. The view from the front deck is supposed to be amazing."

Wickham led her onto the deck and then up the far stairs. The front of the cabin had been obscured by trees as they drove in. As she reached the top of the stairs, she involuntarily caught her breath. The deck stood on long stilts, the ground falling away sharply in front of the cabin. The view was stunning, a prospect of rocks and trees and faraway green fields, all unfolded beneath a clear, benign, forever-blue sky.

The sky seemed like a lie.

Casper was visible, but in miniature, nestled near the far horizon.

Even Wickham seemed speechless, but, after a long moment, when he turned to her, his eyes were anything but benign. Hungry. Hungry for me. Fanny.

Wickham moved, and Lizzy could see that the front deck continued in a wooden walkway that led to steep red-stained steps and to another deck, stationed far above, a lookout that would presumably afford a view from above the trees.

"What do you think," Wickham asked, obviously pleased with the place himself. He gestured to the lookout. "There's a waterfall up there, along a path."

"It's amazing. The view…but it's isolated, isn't it?" Lizzy needed to know more about the cabin if she could.

"Yes, the nearest neighbor's a long way away, down the mountain." He turned and headed back to the stairs. Let's go inside. There's a key box on the back door. I paid the owners to stock the place, so everything we need is here. Food and drink."

Lizzy followed him back down the stairs. He punched a code in the box hanging from the knob of the back door and took out the key, opened the door.

He stood aside as if he were going to let Fanny enter first, but when she reached him, Wickham suddenly scooped her up into his arms. Lizzy had to suppress her first response — to counterattack — when she realized Wickham wasn't attacking her.

He was carrying her inside.

Across the threshold.

She looked at him, her face close to his. He was smirking. "Now Ned can't be the first to do that," he said, his pleasure laced with a malice he could not entirely hide from her, "I claimed your threshold virginity."

Lizzy tried to laugh but the action had not only alarmed her, it angered her. It brought back the hopes she had been trying to squelch, and it made her wonder if Wickham had managed to steal something from Darcy, if not from Ned.

A taint of violation that she had felt since she agreed to go with Wickham intensified.

She tasted despair like bile.

Still, she managed to smile. "Put me down, George. I want to look around."

He did and she looked around, trying to ignore the way she felt.

The cabin interior was attractive, rustic, with lots of displayed wood and stone. A massive stone fireplace dominated the living room. The kitchen was simple but impressive, the countertops granite. The refrigerator was an antique, perfectly preserved, and red, matching the exterior of the cabin. Most of the accents inside, Lizzy realized, were red. The pillows, the painting of the bison on the wall, rendered in blue but dominated by red, the throw rugs

Wickham went back out the door and returned a moment later with their luggage. "The master bedroom is this way," he said as he passed her. She steeled herself and stepped into his wake.

The room was large, large enough that the king bed did not crowd it. The remains of the afternoon sun came through one of the two large windows, making the white, nearly transparent curtain glow golden. Wickham put the luggage down and looked at the bed and then looked at Fanny. Lizzy glanced at the bed and then away from it.

"I'm hungry. How about some dinner? I'll see what there is."

She left the room before Wickham could agree or disagree.

The cat and mouse game was beginning.

For how long can I evade the bed that Wickham takes to be fated, destiny? So far, Wickham had made no mistake. But Lizzy wondered about the texts he had received and his reaction to them, especially the first ones after he picked her up in Chicago. Something was happening, she was sure of that.

She put her Patagonia bag on the counter, pushing it back against the splash guard, in the corner, and took off her coat, folding the coat and putting it against the bag. Hiding the gun was crucial but she could not chance doing it yet, but it would make no sense to keep wearing the bag inside. She'd have to chance that Wickham would pay it no attention. So far, he had not.

As if on cue, Wickham came into the kitchen, his phone out, a deep, frustrated frown on his face, his eyes glinting.

"I'm going to have to leave for a little while. Business. The people I'm supposed to meet — to meet tomorrow — now want to meet this evening but at least they're coming partway. I'll be." He paused to think. "An hour or so. Back by 8 p.m.. Will that be too late for dinner?"

Lizzy let Fanny seize the moment. "No, I wasn't…planning on sleeping tonight, anyway." Violation.

Wickham's countenance underwent a transfiguration; his hungry smile returned, starving. He put his phone back in his pocket. "Good. Very good. I'll be back as soon as possible."

It was clear he meant that. His lust, now barely controlled, filled the room suddenly, thickening the air, heating it, making it hard for Lizzy to breathe. It was as if he were groping her already.

He still had his jacket on. He stepped to the back door. "Lock up after I leave. You'll be alone up here."

Wickham hurriedly left, the car engine roaring, and Lizzy locked the door.

Lizzy took the first deep breath she had taken since leaving her apartment.

Then, as she heard the car driving away, she hustled to her bag on the counter and retrieved the revolver and the box of ammunition. She loaded the gun quickly and smoothly, her expertise with weapons apparent had anyone been observing her. Then she carried the gun to the bedroom and stowed it under the corner of the mattress, carefully picking up her suitcase from where Wickham had left it near the door and putting it on the side of the bed that hid the gun, claiming that side.

She went back to the kitchen and took her phone out of the bag. She walked quickly all around the cabin, waving the phone, then went outside to the front deck, hoping for a vestige of a signal. A single bar. Nothing.

The tracker Bingley hid in her purse should let Darcy and Bingley know where she was, but she was hoping to talk to them. To Darcy. No luck, no signal.

No hope. A hopeless agent stays alive.

She put her phone in her pocket after deleting the recent record of her call to Darcy. Ned.

Then she made herself stand still. Breathe. In and out, in and out. After a moment, she felt steadier. She had a plan, but she had little time.

She opened the red refrigerator.

Ribeyes were on a shelf. Fresh broccoli. Cheddar cheese. She opened the pantry door and saw potatoes.

She quickly planned a meal of steak and baked potatoes, broccoli in cheese sauce.

Cans of evaporated milk and cornstarch were in the panty too. Mustard was in the fridge — everything she needed for the cheese sauce.

She found a package of rolls, opened it, and put it on the counter. She turned on the oven to heat and put on water for the broccoli.

Leaving the kitchen, she walked back to the bedroom and picked up Wickham's duffle. He had left it behind. She doubted it would hold any secrets but this was her one chance to look.

She just needed him to make a mistake. One mistake.

She placed the duffle on the bed and unzipped it, opening it carefully, not touching anything inside it until she had memorized where all the items were and how they were folded. Wickham is neat. After she felt like she had stored the organization in her mind, she took a moment and checked the outside of the duffle. There was one small pocket. She unzipped it but it was empty.

Not promising.

She carefully, slowly began to unpack the duffle, making sure that she stacked the items in the reverse order so that when she returned them, she would know that what was on the top of her stack was on the bottom of Wickham's duffle. The expected clothing items were there: a couple of shirts, a couple of pairs of pants, socks, underwear. His leather dopp kit was in the bottom of the duffel, on one end. She took it out and unzipped it. Inside was a hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, a plastic razor and a small tube of shaving cream. A small bottle of aftershave. And there was a box of condoms, unopened. Lizzy held it as if it contained a tarantula, then put it back in the kit. But as she replaced it, she felt a stiffness in the bottom of the kit, and heard a faint sound, the crinkle of paper.

Taking the condoms back out, she ran her hands around the cloth interior of the kit. There was a seam on the side, near the top. She tugged it and it opened with the unzipping sound of velcro. She slipped her hand down into the opening and felt folded, stiff paper. She carefully pulled it out.

It was a map.

She could see handwriting on the map, highlighting too. With maddening but necessary slowness and care, she unfolded the map and put it down on the bed. It was a map of South Dakota. The writing and the highlighting were concentrated near Rapid City. An inked star marked a spot labeled 'Summit Arena at the Monument'. Below the label was a date — tomorrow, and a time, 7 p.m., and another notation, 'Dancer Grand Entry'. Below that was the further notation: '2023 Black Hills Pow Wow'.

Stomach sinking, she turned the map over and saw an architectural schematic taped to it — that was why the map was so stiff. The schematic was unmarked but it chilled Lizzy. Wickham had apparently gone to Rapid City to meet with Bang Fumerton, although no one knew if he had met him. But Fumerton was a bomb maker. The schematics made the inference unavoidable: The Wicker Man was planning an attack on the Black Hills Pow Wow, targeting the Dancer Grand Entry. She stood for a moment, stunned and disbelieving.

She took her phone out and photographed the map and schematics, doing it deliberately to make sure that the details, the notations, were legible in the pictures. Putting down her phone, she folded the map again and put it in the dopp kit, refastening the velcro. Then she forced herself very deliberately to return the other items to the kit and to repack the duffle.

She picked up the phone, needing a signal, some way to send the pictures to Darcy. Wickham had made a mistake.

She went outside and looked around, hoping that maybe Agent McDougal was watching, would respond.

She turned on the front deck lights, then flicked them on and off. But there was no response, only the silence of the trees, the gathering dark.

She looked at the time on her phone. It was now after 7 p.m. She found a flashlight in a drawer and ran up the driveway toward the main road, waving the flashlight, again hoping to alert McDougal — but again there was no response. She ran back to the cabin and went inside, relocating the door.

It was now fully dark.

She clicked on lights in the living room and kitchen. The oven was heated. The water had nearly boiled away. She hadn't noticed. It was close to the time for Wickham's return. She started the potatoes in the microwave and put more water in the pan for the broccoli. She chopped it up and gathered all the items for the cheese sauce.

A cast iron skillet in the pantry would do well for the steaks, and Lizzy put it on the stove, turning the heat on under it.

The next few minutes were a flurry of desperate but controlled cooking as she brought the meal nearly to completion. He needed to believe what Lizzy wanted him to believe, that Fanny had set the scene for her own seduction.

She hurried into the bedroom and opened her suitcase. She fished out the one piece of lingerie she had packed, worried that she might need it as a prop, need it to make Wickham believe the weekend was going to go his way.

She took off her clothes and underwear and pulled the silky, short nightie over her head.

It was lacy in all the right places, teasingly daring but not quite revelatory. The sort of thing Fanny would wear. It fell to mid-thigh but exposed enough of Lizzy's legs to cause Wickham to conflagrate. She brushed her hair and refreshed her lipstick.

Back in the kitchen, she finished preparing the meal and plated it.

Candles were in the flashlight drawer, along with candleholders and matches. She put the candles in the center of the small table and arranged the plates around it.

The meal was ready.

Almost everything was ready.

After one more quick breathing exercise, she took the pretend birth control package out of her purse, took one pill from it and put it on the counter. There was liquor in the pantry, and she found glasses and poured two bourbons, neat. She dropped the pill into the drink on the right and watched it slowly dissolve.

Headlights showed outside. Wickham.

Lizzy unlocked the door and ran her hands over the nightie, smoothing it, feeling more naked, more vulnerable than she ever remembered feeling in her life.

She picked up the two drinks carefully, the one on the right in her right hand, and she posed Fanny in the lingerie.

Dessert on display.

It occurred to her only then that her lingerie was red.

It felt like a sign but she did not know what it meant.

A/N: Leave a review if you are able, please, particularly if you've been reading but not reviewing. Writing is a lonely business; it's a treat to hear from readers. (And with the site malfunctioning, I don't even have the cold comfort of viewing numbers.)