These are small pieces of fanfiction (ficlets) that do not conform to the drabble word limit but are less than one thousand words long.

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Toady Collins

May 2006

"You are too hasty,'' she cried. "You forget that I have made no answer. I thank you for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposal, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline.''

"I realise that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept when he first applies for their favour. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.''

"But therein lies the crux of the matter, sir. You are not a man, you are a toad."

"But this is a temporary condition," he croaked. "My benefactress, Lady Catherine, was only venting her disappointment that Prince Darcy refused to marry her daughter. Believe me, I was a more than willing target for her wrath. The transformation will fade in a few months ... a year at the most. It is no impediment to our marriage."

"Upon my word, sir,'' cried Elizabeth. "Your hope is rather an extraordinary one after my declaration. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. I do not want an amphibian for a husband!''

"Perhaps I can ask her Ladyship to transform you too? You would make the sweetest frog there ever was!"

"Indeed, Mr. Collins, your praise of me is unnecessary. You must give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment of believing what I say. I do not want to be turned into a frog at all. You could not make me happy, as man or amphibian, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who would make a good toad."

"When I do myself the honour of croaking to you next on this subject I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given me; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty to toads, because I know it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a toad on it's first application.''

"Really, Mr. Collins. You puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have said appears to you as an encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as may convince you of its being one.''

"In that case, can I have a kiss instead?"

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A mere Parsonage (Northanger Abbey)

May 2007

Mr. Henry Tilney pointed through the trees. "Look."

"Is that your home? It's lovely!"

"I'm pleased that you think so." A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and he studied the darkening skies. "I fear we may be about to get a little damp."

Catherine would have suggested they race back to Northanger, but a crack of lightening sounded close by. "Oh! A storm! Shall we be struck down, do you think?"

He smiled indulgently. "I doubt that would happen, but if you are concerned, we could weather the storm in the parsonage. I am sure my housekeeper will make us some tea while we wait for the weather to clear."

Catherine stepped through the door of Woodstone Parsonage, only to be accosted by an enthusiastic Newfoundland puppy and two or three terriers. Mr. Tilney welcomed her to his home before going to look for his housekeeper. While he was away, Catherine felt comfortable enough to explore some of the rooms downstairs. She came upon an unfurnished room, which looked to be a drawing room.

"Oh! Why do not you fit up this room, Mr. Tilney?" she asked when he returned. "What a pity not to have it fitted up! It is the prettiest room I ever saw; it is the prettiest room in the world!"

"You approve of it then?"

"Most certainly! If it was my house, I should never sit anywhere else."

"Although it is not yet finished, I assure you, this room waits only for a ladies taste."

Catherine felt herself blush. "Well, I mean ... that is to say ..."

Henry Tilney moved closer to her, pressing a finger lightly to her lips and reducing her to silence. "I would not, for all the world, wish to make you uncomfortable in my home, Miss Moreland. However, it would be dishonest of me not to advise you that Mrs Brown — who had no expectation of my visit — has gone to see her sick sister in the next village. We are entirely alone." He paused, running his finger lightly over her lips. "If you wish to return to Northanger, we will leave immediately."

Catherine's attention was drawn to the windows, which reached to the ground. At the bottom of the garden she could see a sweet little cottage, surrounded by apple trees.

"Why would I wish to return?" she asked, looking up into his eyes. "I am already home."

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A Gentleman and a Stranger

October 2007

Mr. Bennet's expectations had been dealt a blow. Rather than being as absurd as he had hoped, he had watched Mr. Collins across the dinner table with a growing disquiet.

On more than one occasion he had glanced across at Elizabeth, but she had smiled with that twinkle in her eye that showed herself amused by his cousin’s behaviour.

She suspected nothing.

Instead of retiring alone to his book room, as was his wont, he invited the clergyman to join him. When they had arranged themselves in the chairs before the fire, Mr. Bennet studied his guest more closely. There was something strange about him; his behaviour so subservient as to be almost absurd. Surely no one would ever take him seriously?

But Mr. Bennet knew his sire too well.

“There is no need to stand on ceremony with me, Collins. We are alone now.”

The man sitting in the chair opposite studied him silently under dark brows. As if coming to a decision, he straightened in his chair; like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, Mr. Collins transformed. Gone were the cringing toad like mannerisms, and in their place was a knowing smile. “My father always said you were uncommonly intelligent ... for a Bennet.”

His mind now alert, he replied, “I doubt he was ever so charitable.”

Collins’ lip curled. “Oh, do not doubt me. It was always spoken with a touch of regret.”

“Had he been alive you would not be allowed within ten miles of Longbourn. What reason have you for coming now?”

Collins stretched his legs out lazily in front of him, crossing his booted heels. “That is no secret. Now I have a good house and sufficient income, I intended to marry; and in seeking a public reconciliation with the Longbourn family, I mean to choose one of your daughters to be my wife.”

“I appreciate your consideration, but I would suggest you look elsewhere.”

“But the Bennet daughters are, by all accounts, known to be handsome and amiable ... and for once, common report has been proven correct. Why should I not choose one of them?”

Mr. Bennet looked at the man in front of him. This was no cringing sycophant. He did not doubt that he had the sharp mind — and the dubious morals — of Collins senior; all cleverly concealed behind a façade of inept piety.

“Your servile flattering might win approval from my wife, but my daughters are altogether more discerning. But even if you were to gain the interest of one of them, you know that I could not countenance the thought of marriage between you.”

“Yes, I do, although I admit that I was sadly dim to begin with. I never did understand why pater hated you so fervently, or why I found it so difficult to please him. Had it not been for my sainted mother, I might never have seen the light, so to speak.”

He reached inside his coat, drawing out a silver chain. From it hung a locket. He tossed the whole into Mr. Bennet’s lap. “I found it among his possessions when he died. She wore it every day of her miserable life. As you would expect, it holds an image of my father ... her true love.”

Mr. Bennet broke open the two halves of the locket and stared at the youthful face inside. It was a face he hadn’t seen for a long while.

It was a face Frances Bennet had known well.

It was the man she had married.

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An Aversion to Marriage

October 2007

“What on earth are you doing?”

Sighing, he pushed the whimpering half-dressed maid behind him and refastened his breeches before turning to face his furious wife. “My dear, I thought that would be obvious ... even to you.”

“But you said you were going shooting!”

“Well, in a manner of speaking ...”

Her little fists balled in fury. “Hateful, despicable man! You ought to know by now that I am not to be trifled with!”

“If only,” he whispered under his breath.

“How can you lower yourself to molest a lower class girl like that when you refuse to do your duty to your name and your family!”

Lewis de Bourgh’s smile was wolf like. “I don’t believe I’ve ever refused you anything, Catherine. I am more than willing to do my duty ... every night of the week if you wish it. You have only to say the word.”

Lady Catherine de Bourgh turned and fled in a flurry of skirts, leaving her husband unsatisfied again. If only she had not been quite so naïve and ignorant on their wedding night, and he a little more gentle, things might have been easier for both of them.

He had never had a problem seducing women before. It was a shame his own wife couldn’t be as complying as the maids who served her.

Perhaps she would improve with age?

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Poor Darcy!

April 2008

(Inspired by the Word of the Day for 10th April, which was ... Penury)

"It’s no use, Bingley. I have to face facts. I’m ruined."

"Surely things cannot be that bad?"

"I do not see how they could be any worse," he replied sadly. "I will have to sell the town house, of course."

Bingley’s voice quivered. "And what of Pemberley?"

"Perhaps, if I mortgage it to the hilt and sell my horses, carriages and a good proportion of the outlying properties, I might be able to escape the threat of penury."

"But what of the family jewels and your art collection?"

"Naturally, they will be the first to go ... along with Georgiana’s dowry and anything else worth sending to auction. Even then, taking into account the cost of maintaining Pemberley, my income will drop to little more than that of a clergyman with a generous living ... which must materially lessen my chances of marrying anyone of consequence."

Clearing his throat, Bingley said, "Have you considered marrying for money? Caroline has twenty thousand, you know. I am sure she would be amenable, once I explain the situation."

A noise outside the door, sounding not unlike a muffled shriek of outrage, distracted them for a moment. Both men ignored it.

"I am not in such dire straits that I need to marry for convenience just yet. Besides, it would be unfair of me to make an offer to any woman now. Pemberley will have to be leased, and I will be reduced to renting somewhere smaller, or accepting the generosity of my friends and family. What sort of life would your sister have if I were not able to support her in the comfort she so rightly deserves?"

There was a long silence before Bingley sighed. "You are right, of course. At least this is a salutary lesson to me, not to gamble my fortune on the Exchange!"

"Yes, I hope this is a lesson we can all profit from. Does your invitation to Netherfield still stand?"

"Of course! I am not the sort of man to cut a friend just because he has a few financial problems. You are welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Thank you, Bingley. I am in your debt."

After a few moments of silence they heard the click of footsteps across the parquet as someone stomped angrily down the corridor. They waited, listening closely to the silence before Darcy let out the breath he was holding. "Do you really think this will work?"

"Knowing my sister, yes. If she thinks for a moment that you are not the prize matrimonial catch everyone says you are, she won’t waste another second trying to trap you."

Darcy frowned, even as he relaxed a little. "I do feel uncomfortable, tricking her in this way. It is rather dishonest, do you not think?"

"No more dishonest than listening through keyholes to private conversations! It is no more than she deserves. At least your visit to Netherfield will be more comfortable now that you don't have to worry about Caroline misbehaving."

"Yes," he replied with some reluctance. "I suppose some disguise is necessary at times. It is a shame that the other ladies of my acquaintance cannot be so easily fooled."

Bingley smiled sympathetically at his friend. "Poor Darcy! I understand your desire, but I can only help with my sister. You will have to find another way of discouraging your other admirers."

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After Three and Twenty Years

September 2013

Written for the Beyond Austen Flash Fiction Challenge theme: Anniversary

The gothic arch of the church porch framed an old oak door decorated with curled iron hinges and thick stud nails. Thomas Bennet removed his hat and paused, his palm resting a moment on the rough wood grain before he pushed it open and entered the silent sanctuary. He passed behind the last row of pews and down the central aisle, his gaze rising toward the light coming through the stained glass of the chancel window. How many hours had he spent studying the intricate lines of lead between the coloured panels while listening to the drone of Mr. Thompson’s lengthy sermons?

Three and twenty years ago today he had married Mary Gardiner in this very church. His father had tried to warn him, advising his eldest son to think carefully before contracting an alliance with such a frivolous, flighty creature, but the young idiot he was back then would not be swayed from his course. Captivated by her youth and beauty he had at first enjoyed her lively humour. Alas, his wife’s weak understanding and illiberal mind had soon shattered what little real affection he had felt for her, leaving their union little more than an empty shell.

If he had realised the lifelong grief his decision would cause he might have chosen differently, but the time for regret was long past. The peace of his library and the pride in his two eldest daughters remained his only solace in life.

He slipped into the front pew and frowned at the crucifix on the wall. He would never call himself a perfect example of a husband but he did his best under difficult circumstances. Although his dreams of domestic happiness had been overthrown, he had remained faithful rather than seeking comfort outside his marriage. Instead of repaying Mrs Bennet’s foolishness with argument and discord he stayed out of her way whenever possible, retreating to his library or the glories of the surrounding countryside.

Despite those efforts he had no peace from Mrs Bennet, nor could he dream of a comfortable future for his daughters. He had been generous with his wife while hope of a son had remained, and now that happy event was beyond all prospect it was far too late for economy. His eyes sought out the carved oak beams supporting the roof, as he sent a heartfelt appeal to the heavens above. Was there no hope of a respite from his wife’s incessant chatter?

His shoulders drooped as he shook his head. No amount of prayer would ameliorate his hopeless situation.

A rustle overhead gave him a start. It almost sounded like wings. He glanced up to the rafters where a sparrow flitted from beam to beam, trapped within the high ceiling. Thomas Bennet felt sorry for the poor creature, knowing how it felt to be locked in a cold, lonely existence of his own making.

As he wandered back down the lane towards Longbourn, Mr. Bennet took a moment to enjoy the starlings squabbling over berries in the hedgerow and a pair of squirrels gathering their winter supplies. Or maybe he was only postponing his arrival at home to face his bickering younger daughters and Mrs Bennet’s plaints about her fractious nerves.

Despite his reluctant progress the sight of the stone gateposts came far too soon for his peace of mind, and he felt the familiar heavy weight of despondency as he strolled down the drive and entered his family home.

He looked around for Mrs Hill, who would normally appear to take his coat and hat, but the hallway was empty. He listened for voices, but heard nothing. He was about to retreat into his library when running footsteps sounded above. Then someone knocked on the door behind him. As none of the maids were nearby, he opened it.

“Ah, good morning, Mr. Bennet. I see you, at least, have not succumbed to illness,” Mr. Jones said as he entered carrying his large brown bag.

“Is there a reason why I should have?”

Jones smiled. “Only that I understand your wife is not in the best of health. The note I received was quite explicit about that.”

“She seemed normal when I saw her last.” He saw no need to add that he had crept out of the room before she had woken.

“Did you hear that Netherfield Hall has now been let? A young man from the north, I understand.”

Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I think you spend far too much time with my wife and her intimates. You sound like a gossipy woman.”

Just then, his eldest daughters came down the staircase. Jane ushered Mr. Jones upstairs to see his patient, while a stony-faced Elizabeth followed Mr. Bennet into his book room.

“Should I be concerned that you look so grave, Lizzy?”

The twinkle in her eye belied her serious demeanour, and the corner of her mouth twitched. “Mama is ill, but her life is not in danger.”

“And you cannot tell me the nature of her illness?”

This time her lips curved into a mischievous grin. “I would not wish to spoil the surprise.”

Fifteen minutes later a pale Mrs Hill showed Mr. Jones into the library. “It is as I thought. Your wife is suffering with laryngitis and will need to stay in bed. I have described the treatment to Miss Bennet. She knows what to do.”

“Are you telling me that my wife has lost the ability to speak?”

“Oh no, she can move her mouth, but her vocal chords make little sound. I am sure her voice will return in a day or so. In the meantime I have instructed her that she should make no attempt to talk, to allow the inflammation to subside.”

Thinking back to his prayers in the church, Mr. Bennet sent his silent thanks to God for providing the respite he had so craved. To have his wife silenced after three and twenty years—no matter how briefly—truly was a miracle.

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