by Don Jacobson
Fanny knelt beside her husband and gently turned his head so that his cheek rested against the rich Berber weave. T’would not do for him to cast up his accounts because of the drug and inhale some of the output to his detriment. Regrets coursed through her, colliding with her understanding that she could not have included Thomas in her plot. She gently stroked his hair, the action passing unnoticed by him, so deep was his drugged stupor.
She whispered, “I am sorry, Tom, to have done this to you.
“While you have been styled as one of the most indolent of men, I think that my request that you elevate my role from glorified housekeeper to active participant would have roused your protective instincts. Your “No” would have rattled Oakham House’s windows.
“As for moving the Wardrobe…?”
Your reaction would have been acceptable in an era when ladies were coddled in the assumption that they were naïfs unable to practice the dark arts of deception. However, we are in the middle of the grimmest century the world has ever known. Women have proven they are more than capable of anything which men have found necessary to undertake.
Although I used a “traditional” female method—the drugging of food and drink—to eliminate an opponent, I did not try to draw the sting and protect my man. Better you experience some confusion as Q’s preparation did its work on you at the same moment t’was incapacitating our enemy lest you inadvertently tip our hand.
Bennet’s mild snore broke her reverie. She reached out and brushed back a lock of his hair which had escaped its pomaded prison. He did not appear to have struggled much as he was overcome.
“Rest easily, my love,” Fanny breathed, “I fear that you may awaken with a bit of a headache, although you might lay that to the account of your over-indulgence.
“The true reason, though, I will offer over dinner tomorrow.”
Saying this, Mrs. Bennet rocked back on her heels and rose from the floor in one fluid movement.
She turned to where the other man lay. Her countenance was besmirched by a sudden sneer. Pulling her right foot back, she launched a ferocious kick—one that would have done Arsenal’s Doug Lishman proud—into the unconscious man’s ribs.
“Bastard,” she hissed.
Fanny was unembarrassed to have taken advantage of a man when he was down. She was unconstrained by the niceties men had instituted to regulate combat. She was a mother bear within striking distance of the beast who had dispatched her cub, unmoved by its innocence so intent was he to exact his revenge. She could not, would not, kill the instrument of her nightmare, but she had engineered a fitting demise. Winters would be long-gone from her ken: he shortly to his future and she eventually to her past. A gulf of centuries would separate them, she thought, hoped.
Smoothing her apron, Mrs. Benet stepped over to the armchair where Winters had placed Kitty’s portrait.[cxv] She gathered the gilt-framed painting in her hands and looked down at it.
Ah, my beloved girl, the ineffable sadness you experienced before you rediscovered your Henry is etched in every single brushstroke. You can rest now.
She bent her head and tenderly kissed the oils where the hat met Lady Kate’s brow. Lowering the painting back into its leather-upholstered cradle, Fanny returned to the task at hand. Before she did, though, she pocketed Winters’ check.
I do believe that there is only other one soul to whom compensation is owed. The Five Families will be happy to close out Winters’ account with his neutralization. I will pass this on to Letty with the advice that the Trust should open an account for her mama’s benefit. Money will not return Manfred to her arms, but she may find that being able to shower her grandchildren with unrequested treats may ease her pain.
She squared her shoulders and marched over to the anteroom’s door, knocked, and opened the panel.
Crawley looked up from a stack of papers piled on his lap. He blinked myopically, owlishly, and asked, “Yes, Mrs. Bennet?”
Fanny crooked her finger and motioned him to rise. As he approached her, she reached into one of her apron’s pocket and pulled out the same sling Bennet had fashioned before he carried her away from Longbourn. She draped the cloth around his neck and left the room. Crawley followed behind…
And abruptly stopped when he spied the two bodies on the floor.
He gulped and asked, “Are they? Are they..?”
“Dead? No Lawyer Crawley. Neither gentleman has expired. They merely, although deeply, sleep.
“However, I do require your special talents, sir. I speak of your Bennet bloodline…and your ability to use the Wardrobe. Do not dissemble, sir; I can see it in your eyes. Who are your people? You do understand how the cabinet works, do you not?” Fanny quizzed.
Crawley tilted his head to one side and regarded the lady, unsure about how much he should reveal to an uninitiated soul. He sighed, shrugged, and nodded in acceptance of the idea that if anyone possessed her own knowledge of the Wardrobe, t’would be The Founder’s wife.
He replied, “I am a Johnson, Madam, descended from your grand-daughter Madelyn.
“I received the Keepers Talk when I gained my majority. I am versed in its function, although I have never had the privilege of employing it. I am equally aware that the principle guiding its operation is rooted in the expectation that it divines that which a Bennet needs to learn.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had been waiting impatiently, immediately reacted, “Excellent, young man. Do you believe you can haul that other man…not my husband…across the floor and up to the Wardrobe? I could assist you if necessary but would prefer not to sully my hands by touching that foul creature.”
Crawley did not recognize the man she indicated, but he none-the-less assured Lady Bennet that, while he would find him a burden, he was unconcerned. He privately mused that his past summer vacation at his distant cousin’s seat, Downton Abbey, had been well-spent. The Earl, George Crawley, had divided his relatives into “destruction” crews to help tear down the old decrepit row-cottages that surrounded the home farm. Edward and his brothers had enthusiastically joined in with sledges and shovels. He had recovered much of the muscle tone hard-earned during his wartime service but recently softened with five years behind his desk at the Trust.
He begged Fanny’s help in flipping Winters onto his back. He tipped the sleeper up and slipped the sling around him, anchoring it through his armpits. Then he put his own head and shoulders through the loop and began dragging the prisoner across the floor.
Fanny moved ahead into the antechamber to act as beachmaster, positioning Crawley and his load exactly where she wanted them.
Crawley settled himself on the floor facing the great marquetry doors, the unconscious man, also looking toward the cabinet nestled between the lawyer’s wiry legs. Edward felt like one of his Canadian brethren in the RCAF who waxed poetic about the wonders of skidding down a snow-covered slope on a toboggan. One time, while on leave in Derbyshire, Crawley and the Canadians had scared up one of the long, curled-nose runnerless sleds and gamboled around the hillsides above Thornhill, one of the Family homes designated for R&R.
Winters slumped back against Crawley’s chest, his mouth gaping open as he snored, firmly in the grip of Morpheus’ unnamed lotus-eating brother.
Mrs. Bennet moved to stand above the two men and said, “You can be under no illusion about what I intend to happen now. We will use the Wardrobe to remove this scum from our time.
“Lest you seek to correct me, allow me to offer a bit of information that will clarify matters for you.
“You are a Bennet. So, too, is this connard, although of that he is unaware. Thankfully, we will not have to illuminate him as the knowledge could prove dangerous if he blurted it out in the presence of the wrong persons.
“As we have learned, a Bennet translating through the Wardrobe may carry another…either Bennet or not…with them if they are in close contact.
“By now, you may understand my dilemma.
“As you are aware, I came forward to this t
ime in the arms of The Founder. However, my greatest fear has been that I would be marooned here if Mr. Bennet passed away.
“The same difficulty would be immediately in front of me if I had decided to embrace this…man…and use his Bennet powers to transport myself and him to the time where he would assuredly learn that which he needs to comprehend. I would not be able to complete my cycle because I am not of the Bennet bloodline.
“And, the end I pray for him would preclude his assistance in returning.”
Comprehension illuminated Crawley’s features as he looked up at Mrs. Bennet. He stated in his barrister manner, “Thus, you require me to accompany him into the future so that I may return to our immediate present.”
Fanny nodded and continued, “Yes, you have the right of it. But, there is more that I need of you.
“Once you arrive, you must, without fail, check the where/when using the methods at hand. You may see a clock and a calendar as well as some indication that will assert your exact location. That information is critical for the remainder of my plan dealing with the disposition of this trash.
“Commit it to memory. Write it down if you can. Then return to this here/now…no detours, no delays. If you hear voices of any kind, do not waste a moment.
“Complete your cycle immediately!”
Crawley indicated his assent, and the lady gave her final instruction.
“Now, grab his wrists in your hands. When you are prepared, place his hands against the Wardrobe’s front.
“Go with God, young Edward.”
Crawley took a deep breath and then exhaled, gripping Winters’ wrists as Mrs. Bennet had ordered. Then in a swift movement he slapped the man’s palms against the intricate pattern so lovingly created by Gibbons over two-and-a-half centuries before.
A thousand bees buzzed…and the pressure built…
Lizzy had rejected three efforts on the part of the two captains to muscle their way past her and into the parlor over the past ten minutes.
“Mrs. Bennet said to wait for her. Do you really want to get crosswise with that lady?” Lizzy firmly demanded of her husband and his best friend.
Alois sourly replied, “But, Mr. Bennet insisted that we protect his wife. We were to await his signal. Then the lady insists that we do nothing until she alerts us. How can we bring this to a finish if we are awaiting signs that never come?”
Lizzy’s eyes sparkled with impertinence as she regarded her husband, “I urge you to carefully consider what you say and do next, husband. Do you not recall the rules of marriage?”
She raised a solitary hand, fisted, before she ticked off her points on two fingers.
“Rule Number One: she is always right.
“Rule Number Two: See Rule Number One!
“In a contest of wills between Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Bennet, just who do you think will win?”
Schiller looked over at his compatriot, Robard who chuckled at the man’s chagrin, “Don’t look to me for help. You dug yourself in. Only you can dig yourself out! Besides, Letty has me well-trained.
“In addition, my friend…when your wife asks your opinion, you must remember that she will listen politely to you and then consult her mother to find out what she really thinks.”
Any attempt by Schiller to recover was forestalled by three sharp raps on the door at the far end of the hallway. Both men moved toward the exit from the kitchen. Lizzy stepped aside to allow them to pass. She followed closely behind.
As the three exploded into the room, they were stunned to see Mrs. Bennet seated, fakir-fashion, on the floor with Mr. Bennet’s head cradled in her lap. However, she did not appear distraught as if her husband had been injured. Rather, she held him as if she had been on an outing up on the Heath, and he had fallen asleep, warmed by the afternoon sun, after a satisfying meal.
In addition, the presence of the Trust’s legal counsel added another element of surprise—for Schiller and Robard, but not Lizzy.
Alois blurted, “What happened, Mrs. Bennet? Is The Founder injured? Where is Winters? What is Crawley doing here?
Mrs. Bennet gazed up at the Hauptmann and replied, “Oh, Mr. Bennet has, I am afraid, ingested some sort of sleeping agent. I fear he will be quite insensible for some hours yet.”
This conviction on her part piqued the interest of both men, imbued as they were with their own certitude that their plan to capture Winters included no drugs. Yet, if they sought to press her, the lady disabused them of the notion by answering their second question.
“As for Winters, he is gone.”
Robard shouted, “Gone? Do you mean that he is once again in the wind? After everything we did to salt his tail…”
Fanny cut him short saying, “Captain Robard, Denis, Grandson…I said ‘gone’ not escaped. I assure you, he has not done that. I was using the word in the sense of ‘not here.’
“That disgusting being will never be free. I have organized his future in such a manner that none of us will ever have to concern ourselves with him ever again.
“And, all of this is thanks to the assistance rendered by young Mr. Crawley here. I might suggest that he would find the undertakings of the Trust’s Board of Life Directors to be suited to his talents and discretion. Perhaps, Lizzy, you might speak to your mother about this.
“As for any further explanations, I insist that we wait until we dine en famile.
“We must get Mr. Bennet home and in his bed.”
After Denis and Allie hoisted their somnolent leader up from the good woman’s nested legs, they were too occupied to observe Crawley pressing a folded missive into her hand as he assisted her to her feet.
Chapter LI
Oakham House, February 24, 1951
Bennet family dinners had always been noisy affairs. There was little that Thomas or Fanny Bennet, seated at the head and foot of the table respectively, had ever been able to do when faced with a clutch of persons powered by their natural exuberance augmented by the realization of great accomplishment. Such was the case as the fourteen principals—the Countess Georgiana and Lord David Cecil-Darcy, Earl Thomas and Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Richard and Eileen Fitzwilliam, Lizzy and Alois Schiller, Denis and Letty Robard, and a new member of the circle, Edward Crawley accompanied by his particular friend, Mr. Jared Smythe, a Bennet of the Gardiner line—clustered around Oakham House’s great table. Conversation ebbed and flowed like water rushing over the gravel flats of the Mimram outside of Meryton.
The women earlier over cocktails had explained their suppositions about how the Wardrobe had manipulated the strands of space and time, in the process placing its ethereal finger on the great scales of the Universe. Then they detailed their role in assisting the tipping of that balance in the Bennets’ favor.
In the minutes following the revelations, Bennet sat quietly, sipping a cup of tea, having earlier argued that both his head and stomach remained uneasy in the aftermath of yesterday’s events and thus prohibited the imbibing of anything stronger. Fanny was concerned that his silence was an indication that he was harboring resentment against her for having usurped his authority to engineer the final resolution to the Winters problem. His moods had become deeper and darker in recent weeks, particularly after Dr. Wilson had delivered his diagnosis. Yet, when she had pressed Tom, he patted her hand and assured her that, contrary to her fears, he was proud that she had run a parallel operation: her Plan A, as he put it, to his Plan B.
Never a garrulous man, Bennet had remained Sphinx-like throughout the subsequent meal, allowing his wife, the aristocrats, and the young people to carry the conversational burden. Fanny noted that he did not have his usual appetite, rather taking polite bites of the various courses to add veracity to his compliments to the cook and serving staff, his one concession to speech beyond a single syllable occasionally uttered when pressed to join in conversation. From time-to-time he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as if he was plagued by a stiffness he could not shake.
However, his wife’s concern increased when, toward the end of the meal, he began flexing his left hand and rubbing that same arm in response to what she knew not. When not engaged with this bit of isometrics, Bennet used his napkin to dab away beads of perspiration that continually speckled his forehead.
Fanny was worried enough that she grasped Lord Tom’s hand. Nodding her head at her husband opposite her, she leaned over and whispered, “Please call Dr. Wilson. Tell him I fear that Mr. Bennet’ heart is giving him trouble. Ask him to come instantly.”
The Earl shot a quick glance at his grandfather. Then he stood and asked his wife and Georgie to lead the ladies into the parlor.
For his own part, he, too, began to leave the room, but stopped behind his son and softly said, “Mr. Bennet is too stubborn to let us know that he is in some distress. Will you and the others attend to him while I telephone the doctor? Wilson lives nearby, above his consulting rooms. He may have the goods needed to assist The Founder.”
Bennet had, by this time, realized that the room was not being fooled by his silence and accepted without cavil the help that was offered. He did not attempt to object when Mr. Smythe knelt beside him and reached up to loosen his tie and unbutton his collar. The other men cleared the table and raised Thomas from his chair and stretched him out on the polished surface. Seat cushions liberated from the small parlor elevated his knees.
Within five minutes Wilson had been hustled from the front door by a reception committee composed of Mrs. Bennet and Edward Crawley. The lawyer recognized the medico’s cargo from his own days in Bomber Command: a small green painted oxygen flask accompanied by a rubberized facemask. Moments after he had broached the dining room’s precincts, Wilson had given Bennet two aspirin for the pain and had strapped the mask over Bennet’s nose and mouth. A trembling Fanny tightly clasped Tom’s hand, holding on for dear life as if by sheer force of will she could keep him in this world. The pressure he returned eloquently spoke of his desire not to leave her.
The tightness around Wilson’s eyes told her that the situation was dire. If the look on the younger man’s face had not explained enough, the sound of ambulance bells clattering up the road answered any remaining questions.
