1801

   Elizabeth Bennet was a happy, cheery girl. To the delight of her father, she loved to read and showed sign of intelligence. But to the dismay of her mother, she loved the countryside too much. She seemed always to be running about, playing with animals and climbing trees.

    Her mischief often landed her sisters and friends in difficult situations. One of those circumstances occurred when she was ten years old.

    It was a bright summer day. Elizabeth was playing, together with her neighbour Luke Lucas and her younger sister Kitty, near the main road to London.

    “Let us play throw,” Elizabeth challenged Luke. He was the elder by two years but had only grown taller than she was in the past few months. His new vertical advantage was a fact she disliked a great deal.

    She picked up a small piece of rock from the ground and pointed to the tall oak tree. “Whoever’s stone reaches a branch taller will be the victor.”

    Kitty clapped her hands with delight and agreed to the game. Luke shook his head. “I do not want to play with girls,” he said and continued to kick the tree absently.

    Elizabeth stepped closer. “What do you have against girls?”

    “You make mischief and put the blame on me if we are found out.”

    “I do no such thing!” Her hands were fisted on her hips. “You are only afraid that I can throw higher than you.”

    “It is a stupid game anyway,” he replied and started towards his house.

Kitty looked at her sister with a frown and decided to follow Luke.

    “Coward!” Elizabeth shouted after them. “Traitor!” She stalked off in the opposite direction. Bending down to pick up stones, she threw them aimlessly to vent her frustration for nearly quarter of an hour. She was nearer to the main road than she had realised and did not, in her temper, notice that a grand carriage was passing by.

    Her last throw struck one of the horses.

    The steed startled, reared up. The driver was unable to control the other horses, with the result that the carriage tipped to one side and crashed noisily to the roadway.

    Screams and yells emanated from within it. Then within seconds, silence returned again.

    With her hands over her mouth, Elizabeth stood frozen on the spot. Her first instinct was to run home and hide. She had killed an entire carriage of innocent people!

    But then moans became audible. Elizabeth ran nearer to the source and saw that the sounds came from a young man sprawled in the roadway with one of his legs trapped beneath the top edge of the carriage. He was tall, she noted, with dark curly hair. His feature was very handsome and he was immaculately dressed.

    “Are you well, sir?” Elizabeth asked in a trembling voice.

    “How are my men?” he asked. She left him and ran to check on other men – four of them – strewn upon the roadway.

    “They are unconscious but breathing,” she reported back to him.

    “Help me get free then. I need to see to them.” He struggled to get his leg out but the carriage would not move. He gave a shout of pain and frustration, and then looked askance at Elizabeth’s form. “You are too small. Perhaps you had best run and ask for help.”

    She shook her head. “I must help you. I accidentally startled your horse. I am truly sorry,” she admitted, with tears in her eyes.

    She then put her small hands beneath the roof of the carriage. With a sudden surge of energy and a loud scream, she lifted the tip of the carriage up from the ground by several inches.

    Both of them were flabbergasted by her strength. When the young man did not immediately move, she yelled, “Pull your leg out. I cannot hold it any longer.”

    He moved back immediately and pulled his leg free, just before she gave out another scream and let the carriage drop back to the ground. Stunned, she sank down beside the young man, panting heavily.

    “However did you summon such strength?” he asked, gazing at her in astonishment.

    She shook her head. “I do not know.”

    Before she could stand up and help him, she heard another carriage approaching. As soon as she glimpsed it, she knew that it bore Sir William Lucas, and she felt a thrill of panic. Surely he would tell her parents.

    She said quickly to the young man, “I am truly sorry about this incident. I hope your servants will recover soon.” Then she scrambled away from him.

    “Wait!” he called after her. “What is your name?”

    She only shook her head and ran to hide in the bushes. Once concealed, she waited until Sir William and his servant had taken care of the young man and the men who had accompanied him before she turned, at last, and returned home. Her mother scolded her for making her dress such a mess and for coming home late.

    Elizabeth later learned from local gossip that the young man was called Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, and that he was from Derbyshire. By the public account, he and his servants were well enough to take another carriage and continue their journey to London four days later. She was relieved to find that Mr. Darcy had made no mention of a young girl’s involvement in the accident.

    At first, Elizabeth thought back upon that incident with shame and incredulity. She later tried lifting heavy objects, on several occasions, but the Herculean strength of that disastrous day never returned to her. Slowly, with the passage of time, she forgot about the whole debacle.

    However, the accident immediately sprang back to her mind on the day, ten years later, when she encountered Mr. Darcy again – this time at the local Assembly. Evidently he had come to visit his friend Mr. Charles Bingley, who had recently rented Netherfield Park, which was located only three miles from her home.

***

1811

    Mr. Darcy’s appearance at the Meryton Assembly drew marked attention. Sir William Lucas remembered the young man whom he had rescued some ten years earlier, and he did not hesitate to declare him as his friend. But Mr. Darcy was reserved and distant in his manner. He bore with the people to whom Sir William introduced him, answering direct questions about his long-ago injury and his well-being since that time. However he did not engage in extended conversation or dance much throughout the night.

    It seemed apparent that Mr. Darcy had grown into a fastidious and arrogant man. He is no longer the caring master who worried more about his men’s safety than his own. And he finds me not handsome enough to dance with. Well then, I shall not waste my time upon him. Elizabeth decided as she walked purposely very near to him and then crossed to talk with her good friend Charlotte Lucas.

    She told Charlotte about his haughty remark concerning her not being handsome enough to dance with, and the two young women had a good laugh together. Elizabeth noted that their playful manner seemed to attract his attention, but not in any positive sense. Indeed, his gaze conveyed censure and a frosty disapproval.

    He must think us savages, without any refined manner. I wish he would overset a wineglass upon himself. That would certainly make him less handsome, at least for a moment!

    Within moments, it seemed, Mr. Darcy had moved over to the refreshment table, where he did indeed pick up a glass of wine. At the same instant, Elizabeth’s youngest sister, Lydia, dashed past him in her haste to greet a local boy. She knocked against his elbow as she passed, with the result that he tipped the wine over his fine clothes. Due to the crowded room and her preoccupation, Lydia did not even notice the mischief she had dealt the man.

    With a scowl at the young girl, Mr. Darcy took out a handkerchief and tried to absorb the stain. Mr. Bingley’s sister, Caroline, rushed to his side. She sympathised with the gentleman’s mishap. When she raised her gloved hand and attempted, with a napkin, to help him wipe away the wine, Mr. Darcy backed away. He bowed to her abruptly, turned on his heel, and left the hall for the back room.

    Elizabeth watched the entire sequence of events with uneasy wonder. Did that happen because I wished for it? She wondered, but she could not bring herself to believe it. Why do strange things happen when I am around Mr. Darcy? Should I follow the man and attempt to apologise to him? If I do, surely he will think me a mad woman.

    She decided, instead, to venture out onto the balcony for some much-needed air.

    Gaining the relative privacy of the balcony, Elizabeth was startled to find that the weather had changed. Earlier in the evening, when she arrived at the Assembly with her family, it had been warm and calm. Now, the wind was picking up sharply, and the clouds were travelling fast.

    She rubbed her hands over her arms and decided that she had best return to the ballroom. It was altogether too cold and windy on the balcony for comfort. Her hair and dress would be a sight if she lingered there for long.

    As she turned to leave the balcony, a flash of lightning pierced the sky, and a rough gust of wind shouldered through the tall trees.

    Ching!

    The sharp sound of an object dropping onto the balcony floor attracted her attention. She turned back, narrowing her eyes to keep them open against the strong wind.

    On the stone floor by her feet was a tiny shiny item. She bent to retrieve it, then walked quickly back into the room.

    Moving to a quiet corner, she examined the object. It was a quill…but a strange one. The length was about two-thirds that of a normal writing quill. The feather itself was in the most extraordinary hues of blue. The barrel was exceptionally thick. And at the tip was a piece of metal, apparently affixed to protect the sharp point.

    She stroke along the feather, and a sudden answering shiver ran through her body. The unexpected sensation made her press the barrel harder than she intended, and several drops of golden liquid dripped from its tip. It looked much like ink but when she put her fingertip out to touch it, the liquid evaporated immediately.

    A quill filled with golden ink that vanishes? Very strange indeed! Where did it come from? Who made it? She could not think of a single plausible answer. Stymied, she decided to tuck the quill away so that she could examine it more closely later.

***

    The night ended triumphantly for the Bennet family, for the rich Mr. Bingley had shown marked interest in Jane Bennet, Elizabeth’s eldest sister, and he had danced with her several times. Mrs. Fanny Bennet, however, was cross with Mr. Darcy over his slight of her Elizabeth. With their own estate entailed away and no male heir in sight, the Mistress of Longbourn had made it her avowed mission to marry off her daughters to rich men.

    When, after a short, happy discussion concerning the successful Assembly, the family retired to their respective bed chambers, Elizabeth found that she was still alarmed by the events of the night. First, the belated re-appearance of Mr. Darcy after a ten-year hiatus was highly unusual. Second, his tipping over of the wine as if in direct accordance with her wishes was as unbelievable as it was undeniable. And thirdly, the discovery of the brilliant blue quill filled with vanishing ink was a puzzle that defied her not inconsiderable intellectual prowess.

    She did not feel at all ready to sleep, and so she took out the quill from her reticule in order to examine it further. Sitting down at her little writing desk, she placed the tip against a fresh piece of paper and attempted to draw with it. But no golden liquid was forthcoming, and nothing appeared on the paper.

    Biting her lip, she shook the quill and pressed the barrel more firmly before starting to draw with it again. Still the paper remained blank.

    Before she decided to take out her usual inkwell and dip the special quill into it, she made one last effort, this time trying to write her name: Elizabeth Bennet.

    It worked! Her name appeared neatly in gold on the paper.

    How very strange! Perhaps the quill with golden ink only works when writing names. With a shake of her head, she wrote again: Jane Bennet. But no ink was forthcoming. Jane’s name was invisible.

    Strange, indeed! One after another, she made a try of her parents’ names, then of Mary, Kitty, Lydia, Charlotte and others, but none produced visible results.

    With a sigh of frustration, she considered abandoning her efforts to solve the mystery in favor of simply going to sleep. But her own name was still visible, golden and glistening in the light from her candle.

    A sudden gust of wind outside rattled the trees, producing an eerie sound that reminded her of what she had heard on the balcony during the evening she had spent with the newcomers in the neighbourhood.

    Freshly inspired, she wrote out the names of the Bingley party: Mr. Bingley, his sister Mrs. Hurst, her husband Mr. Hurst, and his other sister Miss Bingley. Still no words were visible on paper.

    Thus far, Elizabeth had deliberately reframed from writing Mr. Darcy’s name. At last, however, when no other prospect presented itself, she attempted his name, with a shaking hand: Mr. Darcy.

    The two words appeared under her name, firm and sparkling.

    How can that be? Why does the magic quill work only with his name and mine? What can it mean? Is it…magic? Disquieted by the thought, she told herself sternly, more likely the quill is simply defective. Elizabeth dropped the quill on the table with a sigh of frustration.

    Abruptly, lightning flashed, brightening the room. It illumined the quill, from which a puff of blue smoke emerged.

    Elizabeth backed away from the table hastily and scrambled onto the bed. Seconds later, when the smoke dissipated, she was stunned by the sight of a man standing inside her room, near the window.

    She opened her mouth to scream but the man raised his hand, and not a word came out from her mouth.

    “Do not scream!” the man said. “I do not intend to bring harm.”

    Elizabeth trembled as she took in his attire. He was wearing a long blue robe that covered his body from neck to toe. The fabric looked like silk, smooth and shiny, with a cloud depicted in white on the front. The unfamiliar man was tall, with long blond hair.

    Elizabeth scrambled under the sheet and gathered the bed clothes to cover her body. She was only wearing a night gown and did not intend to expose herself to a stranger’s view.

    After swallowing several times to calm herself, she managed to suppress the urge to scream. Gathering her wits, she said, “I demand you to leave my bed chamber immediately, sir. It is most improper for you to…visit me here.”

    He raised his hand and pressed it to his forehead. “I do apologise. I forgot the restrictions of your society. I will change so that you will feel more comfortable speaking to me.”

    Change? Comfortable? She wanted to protest that she could never feel comfortable speaking with a stranger who appeared out of thin air...

    Before she could say a word, another puff of smoke erupted, and the mysterious man…turned into a woman. The blond hair was still long and unbound, but the facial features and body were now clearly womanly.

    Is he – no, she – a ghost? Elizabeth, having already experienced too many strange happenstances in a single night, swooned. The last word she heard was spoken by  the ghost in a tone of undisguised exasperation: “Women!”

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