The Dennis Moore Saga, formerly An Unexpected Guest

By J.L.

Author's Note: The flower mentioned here as Mr. Darcy's favorite is based on a conversation between him and Elizabeth in the conclusion of Lou's story, "The Best Laid Plans," which really started the whole thing. Finally, I would like to thank everyone whose ideas, comments, and other stories influenced my writing: these include the late, great Jane Austen, the members of Monty Python, living or otherwise, and everyone who has responded to my previous postings both here and elsewhere. And the rest, as they say, is history...

Part One: The Darcys

lizabeth Darcy looked over the dining room at Pemberley with a great degree of satisfaction. Tonight was to be very important; it was her husband's 30th birthday. Knowing that he did not want a lot of guests around, she had only set the table for four: the two of them, and Jane and Charles Bingley. There would have been two more guests, but Georgiana was touring Scotland with her tutor, and Colonel Fitzwilliam was in the --------shire, drilling with his regiment. The presents that she had bought were all laid on a table at one side of the room. Another table stood next to it for the cake which would be brought up in a few hours. Looking at the clock, she saw that the time was now seven o'clock; the Bingleys were two hours late. As she continued surveying the room, she noticed that the flower arrangement had not been brought up yet. Ringing the bell, she waited as the gardener came up with a large vase containing that night's centerpiece.

"Thank you, James. It's wonderful. I'm sure Mr. Darcy shall love it," she said as the gardener placed the vase in the center of the table.

"Yes, ma'am. I made extra care to be sure that there were enough lupines, knowing that they're the master's favorite flower," he responded.

Just then, Darcy walked in, and took in the room with a bit of surprise.

"What is all this for? No one told me we were having guests for dinner," he said, with mock astonishment.

"Do not worry, dear; it is only a few close friends. I promised you that I would not subject you to a huge party on your birthday."

"That is good," he replied as he continued to take in the room. Noticing the flower arrangement, Darcy said, "That arrangement is exceptionally beautiful, James. You've really outdone yourself this time."

"Thank you, sir. Will you be needing anything else?" he asked, as he began to move in the direction of the door.

"No, thank you; that will be all," Darcy replied as a deafening crash filled the room.

Glass flew everywhere as a tall man, dressed in black, with a black cape and mask, and two pistols jumped through the dining room window. Brushing a few small shards of glass off of himself, he drew his guns and shouted, "Stand and deliver!"

Darcy, Elizabeth, and James all stood in astonishment of this man.

"Just what is the meaning of this, sir?" Darcy said.

"Stay where you are!!!" the bandit shouted, raising his guns higher. As James began to pull a florist's knife out of his back pocket, the masked man shot him in the chest. James collapsed and Darcy went to him.

"My God!" cried Elizabeth. "Is he dead?"

Darcy checked the servant's pulse. It was slow, and seemed to be getting even slower.

"How dare you! This man was one of my best gardeners, and you killed him!" Darcy said, almost exploding in rage.

"Actually, I'm not quite dead, sir," James said weakly, from the floor.

"Well, then... How dare you! This man was one of my best gardeners, and you mortally wounded him!"

"I really think I'm going to pull through, sir," James said, as he sat up and leaned against a table leg.

"Well, then..." Darcy began, as he realized just how silly this was becoming. "What do you want?"

"Stand and deliver!" he shouted again. "And let what I did to your servant be a warning to you all. You move at your peril, for I have two pistols here. I know one of them isn't loaded any more, but the other one is, so that's one of you dead for sure... or just about for sure, anyway. It certainly wouldn't be worth your while risking it because I'm a very good shot. I practice every day... well, not absolutely every day, but most days in the week. I expect I must practice, oh, at least four or five times a week... or more, really, but some weekends, like last weekend, there really wasn't the time, so that brings the average down a bit. I should say it's a solid four days' practice a week... At least... I mean... I reckon I could hit that tree over there," he said, motioning out the window. "Er... the one just behind that hillock. The little hillock, not the big one on the... you see the three trees over there?"

"Yes," they all replied quickly.

"Well, the one furthest away on the right..."

"Please, sir, just tell me what you want, and you can have it. Gold, silver, fine china, valuable antiques and paintings, rare books; you name it, and it's yours. Just leave us alone!" Elizabeth cried.

"Yes, anything you want," Darcy agreed.

"I want..." he began.

"Yes?" Darcy and Elizabeth said in unison, getting ready to turn over some of the good silverware, or the gold clock on the mantelpiece.

"...your lupines!"

"WHAT???" they all asked incredulously.

"Yes, that's right. I want your lupines!" he said.

"You mean the flowers?"

"That's right, now hand them over!"

Elizabeth quickly took the lupines out of the vase on the table, and handed them haphazardly to the man.

"No, no," he said, waving his pistol at her. "In a bunch, in a bunch!"

Elizabeth quickly bunched them and handed them over.

"Thank you. I shall now take my leave of you," he said as he stood in the window. Turning as he prepared to jump out, he looked at Darcy, scrutinizing him. "Sir, pray do tell me, you do not happen to be the man known as Fwood?"

Darcy's face turned from one of concern for Elizabeth's safety to one of amusement. "Who?"

"Fwood."

"What kind of name is that?" Darcy asked.

"Well, that 's your name!" the bandit exclaimed. Darcy gave him a quizzical look. "Well, isn't it?"

"No, I'm afraid not, sir. You must have the wrong house," Darcy replied. "Now, look! You have the lupines, so just go!"

The bandit looked him up and down once again, shrugged his shoulders, and jumped. As he landed on his horse, they could hear him shout, "On, Concorde!" The horse and rider galloped away into the night.

Elizabeth and Darcy looked at each other in astonishment and shock, and then helped James up off the floor. He was now completely recovered, and bore no signs of the shot that the bandit had drilled into his chest.

"What was that all about?" James wondered aloud.

"I have no idea whatsoever!" Darcy exclaimed. "Hmm... Fwood," he said, turning it over in his mind.

"You don't suppose that Katt or Meesh or one of the others wrote this, do you?" his wife asked.

"No, this is a new writer. But he must spend hours upon hours thinking of this stuff. Some of the fan-fiction writers these days have such warped minds," he sighed.

"Hmm... sounds like your average college kid, to me, sir," James said. "Too much time on his hands... my nephew's just like that. He writes Star Trek fan fiction."

Just then, the butler announced Jane and Charles Bingley. They entered the room, looking disheveled and half-scared out of their wits.

"Oh, Jane!" Elizabeth exclaimed as she ran over to embrace her sister. "You look like you have been through an awful trip!"

"I am sorry, Lizzy, for we are almost two full hours late."

"It is alright, but what happened?"

"We were attacked by a mysterious highwayman while we were coming here from Netherfield. He took one of the presents, and ran off with it!" Bingley said, still in shock over what had happened to him and his wife during their journey.

"You didn't happen to bring... lupines by any chance, did you?" asked Darcy.

"Why, how did you know?"

"A lucky guess."

Suddenly, they began hearing this strange music coming from the background.

"What is that?" Darcy asked.

Nobody knew, but rather began looking for its source, as singing began to accompany the ghostly musicians:

Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, galloping through the sward,
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, and his horse Concorde.
He steals from the rich, he gives to the poor,
Mr Moore, Mr Moore, Mr Moore.

Part Two: The Collinses

Charlotte Collins rushed around the parsonage, trying to straighten up little odds and ends that the maid had missed. She figured that after six months of being married to Mr. Collins, she would have been used to Lady Catherine's monthly tour and dinner at Hunsford. Alas, she always seemed to be hurrying to make their humble abode acceptable to her ladyship. Her husband walked slowly down the stairs, carefully overlooking the house.

"My dear Mrs. Collins, I am sure that you have prepared the house adequately for Lady Catherine's arrival," the vicar pointed out to his wife. "And if you missed something, I know she will be kind enough to point it out to you so the error may be rectified. She is always so kind and condescending in such matters."

Kind, my foot, Charlotte thought. Definitely condescending, but no way on earth is she kind. "I'm sure you're right, Mr. Collins," she responded. Just then, the servant announced Lady Catherine, Miss Anne, and Mrs. Jenkinson, and showed them to the sitting-room. After a bit of brief conversation, they conducted the tour, and apart from Lady Catherine hoping that the curtains in the bedrooms would be replaced soon, all went well. As they sat down for dinner and Mr. Collins prepared to say the blessing over the food (and of course, the ever-beneficent Lady Catherine), a loud crash rang through the room, as the door was kicked in and a tall masked man brandishing two pistols entered.

"Stand and deliver!" he shouted, as everyone stood up in shock. Well, almost everyone. Mrs. Jenkinson fainted dead away in her chair, and Anne was too busy sniffling and wiping her nose with her handkerchief to notice.

"Explain yourself, you hooligan!" Lady Catherine demanded as she pointed her walking stick at the bandit. He responded by shooting her with both guns. The first bullet missed, and struck the glass on the china cabinet which stood in the corner. The second bullet struck Mr. Collins' manservant, who had been there to pour more wine. The servant collapsed to the floor, and Mrs. Collins ran to him.

"My dear Mr. Collins, he appears to be dead," Charlotte said, quite worried for the man's health.

"Actually, Mrs. Collins, I'm not quite dead yet," the servant responded.

"Oh, no! Not that one again! You did that last time! Pick a new plot device!" the readers shouted at J.L. as he wrote the story.

"In fact, I'm getting better. I think I can get up and pour you all some more wine, if you'd like. Perhaps even offer some to our new guest?"

"No," Lady Catherine said, picking up on the fact that the readers didn't want to feel like they were being gypped into reading the same story over again. "In fact, I dare say you shall be quite dead in a moment." She handed her walking stick to Mr. Collins, who promptly clubbed the man over the head.

"Oh, he's dead," Charlotte said.

"Now what do you want?" Lady Catherine asked, becoming more frustrated by the moment, realizing that this had been the silliest scene she'd had to play out since she'd gotten Darcy drunk in Meesh's story about the Darcys visiting the Collinses... well, that and the deathmatch where she'd cane-fenced with Darcy... and...

"Oh, get on with it!" shouted the readers.

"What do you want?" Lady Catherine asked again.

"I want... your lupines!" he shouted.

"Our what?" they all asked.

"I want your lupines!"

"I-I-I can a-a-assure you that th-there are n-n-no l-l-lupines h-here!" Mr. Collins stammered, fearing for his life. He knew that he had no lupines, but would this man believe him?

"Mr. Collins, would you please stop that impertinent stammering," Lady Catherine ordered. "You make it sound as though someone let Edward Ferrars in here!"

"Alright, I've had enough of this!" The bandit pointed a gun at Mr. Collins, and ordered him to go to the garden with him. Charlotte and Lady Catherine protested for his safety, while Anne sniffled away, and Mrs. Jenkinson lay fainted in her chair. It was to no avail; the two men quickly headed out to the garden. Once there, he grabbed Mr. Collins by the shirt, and dragged him forward.

"Now! Where are your lupines?"

"I tell you sir, we have none!"

The bandit pushed Collins to the ground, and waited for him to get back up. Instead, Mr. Collins stayed there, nursing a spot on his right arm where it hit the ground wrong.

"Why don't you get up?" the bandit asked, getting annoyed with the clergyman.

"You hurt me! How do you expect me to fight you? And besides which, that would not be within the limits of propriety for a clergyman to come to blows with an armed bandit!" Collins replied.

"But aren't you 'The S.T.U.D.', Mr. Collins?"

"Sir!" He flushed hearing himself described as such.

"You are known in these parts as 'The S.T.U.D.', are you not?"

"I beg to differ; the only man known in these parts as a 'stud' is Colonel Fitzwilliam!"

"You mean that you don't go around in the middle of the night fighting highwaymen, do you?"

"I have no idea what you are speaking of!" he insisted.

This was the last straw for the bandit. "Fine. Take off your shirt!"

"WHAT?!?" Collins protested, but then he carried through, as the bandit pointed his guns toward the clergyman. As the shirt came off, he revealed a stocky, flabby chest, which was dripping with sweat.

"Eew, sick!" the bandit exclaimed as he turned away from the sight. "Cover it up, for the love of God!" When Collins had done so, the bandit turned around again, and muttered to himself, "Damn. I knew I must have been in the wrong story! Strange, though. That man in Part One really did look like Fwood..." Speaking to the clergyman once again, he asked, "Do you know of anyone who would have lupines?"

"Well, I know that my cousin's husband, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, is quite fond of them," Collins offered, hoping the masked man would take his leave of them soon.

"Oh, you mean Fwood?"

"Who are you talking of? I know of no man named Fwood."

"Never mind. I thank you for your kind assistance. And I shall now take my leave of you!" Whistling for his horse, he jumped on, and rode off into the night, shouting "On, Concorde!"

Just then, Lady Catherine and Charlotte came running out.

"What happened, my dear?" Charlotte asked.

"It is all very strange. He said that I was some sort of 'stud', and then referred to Mr. Darcy by the name 'Fwood'. A most strange individual," Collins remarked. Just then some mysterious music began playing in the background.

"Where is that coming from?" Lady Catherine demanded to know. "Why, from the sound of it, those musicians are facing full west!"

"I do not know, your kind ladyship," Collins replied.

"I must know where that music comes from! If someone does not tell me soon, I shall feel quite put out, Mr. Collins!" Lady Catherine cried, as she led the clergyman and his wife around the parsonage looking for the phantom orchestra, which was now joined by a ghostly chorus...

Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, riding through the night.
Soon every lupine in the land will be in his mighty hand
He steals them from the rich, and gives them to the poor
Mr. Moore, Mr. Moore, Mr. Moore.

Part Three: The Knightleys

It was a lovely spring afternoon at Hartfield, and Mr. and Mrs. Knightley were having a large party to celebrate their first wedding anniversary. The weather was quite warm and springlike, but they decided to hold their festivities indoors, out of deference to Mr. Woodhouse, who said that it would probably be too late in the fall for people to be eating outside. Nevertheless, it was a good, enjoyable meal, apart from Mr. Woodhouse reminding everyone only to take a small portion of the roast, so it would not be too unhealthful.

As everyone sat around the table—Mr. and Mrs. George Knightley, Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, Mr. and Mrs. Weston, Mrs. and Miss Bates, Mr. Woodhouse, Mr. and Mrs. Martin, and Mr. and Mrs. Frank Churchill (they had been invited only because they were in town visiting the Batses)—John Knightley rose to propose a toast to his brother and sister-in-law.

"I would like to propose a toast to George and Emma, for congratulations on their first wedding anniversary, and for wishes of continued happiness, so that we may gather like this for many years to come!" he said, raising his glass high.

"Are you sure that this is the 1808, and not the 1799, Emma?" her father asked as everyone else around him drank from their glasses. "I would not want our guests to be too overpowered by this champagne."

"I assure you, father, it is the 1808. I'm sure that everyone will enjoy it. Do not worry yourself."

As Emma reassured her father that everything was fine, suddenly everything became not so fine. Miss Bates spoke up.

"Oh, yes, well, with all this talk of weddings and anniversaries, it reminded me of something..."

Here we go again. This had better not be about Jane Churchill, Emma thought. If looks could have killed, Jane Churchill would have died sitting across the table from Emma Knightley.

"Why, just recently, Mother and I got a letter from Jane! Of course, she's here now, but it was such a marvelous letter, as always. And we were amazed, because she usually writes on Tuesday, but this time we got a letter on Friday!—FRIDAY, MOTHER!—And I said to Mother..."

"Stand and deliver!" a voice shouted from the other side of the room.

Everyone turned to see who it was. A man dressed entirely in black stood inside the doorway, allowing a slight draught to come in from the hall.

"Excuse me, sir," said Mr. Woodhouse, "but could you please be kind enough to close the door? You're letting in a bit of a draught, and I would be most grieved if someone were to catch cold."

"Oh, of course," the bandit said, shutting the door. Pulling out two pistols, he shouted again, "Stand and deliver!"

"What is it you want?" Knightley asked, standing. The others stood as well, except for Miss Bates who was trying to tell her mother what was happening.

"I want... your lupines!"

"I'm sorry, sir, you want what?" Emma asked, somewhat taken aback.

"Yes, I want your lupines! Now give them to me, or you shall feel my wrath," he warned. "I am a very good shot... well, pretty good... okay, maybe about average... well, there was that one time that I completely missed the person I was shooting at... but that was really more of an exception to the rule... I mean, usually I'm pretty good with a—"

"Oh, get on with it," the readers all shouted. "Don't you have a story about Mr. Collins to write? Anne's started to post it, but there's nothing there except a prologue, which seems pretty silly to be posting, anyway—"

"Oh, get on with it yourselves!" J.L. shouted back. "I know that I promised to write the story about Mr. Collins, but I've got to finish this one first! Just one thing at a time! Now where were we?"

"Well, I believe that the bandit had just threatened to shoot me if I didn't give him some lupines," Mr. Knightley offered.

"I want your lupines!" the bandit shouted.

"Well, sir, I have no lupines to give you. In fact, none of us do, so I suggest that you had better be on your way," Knightley said, firmly.

"Oh, wait, um, Mr. Knightley," Miss Bates interrupted.

"Yes, Miss Bates?" he asked.

"I was just thinking to myself as you were talking with that nice man over there, that your whole discussion about lupines reminded me of, well, Mother and I think that lupines are the most lovely flower in the world—LUPINES, MOTHER!—And it reminded me of a letter that my dear niece, Jane Churchill sent to us two weeks ago. Well, I think it was two weeks ago... now where is it in here?" she said, as she rummaged through her handbag.

"Dear God," Emma said quietly to Mr. Knightley, "not another letter from Jane!"

"Emma, please let her read it just this once. Trust me; you'll be glad if you do," Knightley said, as he slowly began to move toward the door.

"Oh, here it is! I just knew it would be in here somewhere," Miss Bates said, producing the letter from her handbag. Jane blushed at the thought that her aunt would actually have the chutzpah to read her letters aloud in public. "I never go anywhere, and Mother can attest to this, that I just simply refuse to go anywhere without carrying some of Jane's letters. Reading them gives me such pleasure, because Jane always has such interesting things to say and such an elegant hand—why, just a few years ago, Mrs. Knightley, you told me that you thought Jane's writing to be among the loveliest that you ever had seen!"

"Well, I, um..." Emma began, as Miss Bates ignored her and kept on talking.

"Oh, well I'm sure you're correct; you're always right about so many of these things, Mrs. Knightley. Well, in this letter that Mother and I got from Jane a few weeks ago... well, it might have been a little bit longer... um... yes, it's dated February 22nd, which makes it... thirty days has September, April, June, and Novem... about two or three months old now! And in this letter, Jane told me and mother about Frank planning to start a garden—FRANK, MOTHER!—and so in this letter..."

Two Hours Later...

The guests and the bandit all sat back in their chairs as Miss Bates continued to drone on with her running commentary on Jane's letter. As she continued talking, the servants came in and refilled everyone's glasses, served dessert, and left again. While all this happened, Emma found herself and Harriet Martin conversing with Jane Churchill—and she was actually enjoying it. Then again, the alternative was listening to Jane's aunt drone on about flowers. The bandit, who identified himself as Dennis Moore, struck up a conversation with both Mr. Knightleys about local politics, and then, upon noticing that Mrs. Bates had been completely ignored, went over and talked to her. Mrs. Bates seemed to enjoy this. After about five minutes of talking about the dangerous life he led as a lupine bandit, Dennis asked the older woman what kind of flower she liked.

Mrs. Bates struggled to find her voice; she hadn't used it in years. Her blabbermouth daughter had always been talking over her, and was constantly shouting, thinking that she was deaf. Well, now was her big chance to assert herself. Summoning up all of her strength, she quietly blurted out, "Roses."

Mr. Moore was quite pleased that she spoke to him. Bowing slightly to her from his chair, he said, "In honor of you, madame, I shall become a rose bandit for a day."

"...and so I was just thinking that if the kind man over there were to go and ask Frank and Jane for some lupines, the entire situation could be resolved," Miss Bates said as she finished reading the letter." Yes, I do say it could be resolved in a matter of moments—RESOLVED MOTHER!—and everyone would be—"

"Oh, hold your tongue, girl!" Mrs. Bates shouted, standing up to face her daughter. Everyone gasped in surprise, but no one's gasp was louder than Miss Bates'.

"Mother! You spoke! Well, by my word, I never thought I'd hear your lovely voice again, Mother! Do you realize how many years it's been since—"

"Do be quiet! You interrupted Mr. Moore! He was saying some very nice things about flowers to me, and you just cut him off like you cut off everyone else!"

"But Mother!" Miss Bates said, taken aback. "Didn't you hear anything that I said? You seem to not hear me. I was saying that—"

"And another thing. Would you please stop shouting at me? I am not deaf! I'd respond to what you're saying if you'd give me a chance to! In fact that's why I haven't spoken for the last ten years—it's because you simply won't shut up!"

Miss Bates was close to tears by this point. "B-b-but I've tried to be a good daughter! I mean, I've tried to take good care of you and—"

"Don't cry, child! Now what was it?"

"I was going to tell Mr. Moore something about Frank Churchill's plans to grow lupines in the garden that he and Jane have."

"Well, Frank is right here, so why don't you let him tell Mr. Moore about the flowers?" Miss Bates asked.

Dennis looked across the table, realizing that the man with the longish hair sitting across from him was this Frank Churchill that Miss Bates had gone on about for two hours. Standing up and drawing his guns, he shouted, "Stand and defend yourself!"

Frank looked at him oddly, and then very weakly asked, "Pardon me, sir, but do you know if they have started issuing weekend passes at Bedlam?"

"Get up, you stinking pansy," Dennis shouted, waving his guns at him. "Now duel me!"

"Just who do you think I am?"

"You are Frank Churchill, Jedi Knight, aren't you?"

"Uh, no. What's a Jedi?"

"So you don't go running around carrying a ninja sword, and looking for others like yourself so you can take their heads and gain their power through a really cool lightning storm?" he asked.

"Get your cross-references right, stupid!" shouted the readers. "That's Highlander you're talking about, not Star Wars! Now get it right!"

"Oops," said J.L. "Well, let's just pick up again right here..."

"Just who do you think I am?"

"You are Frank Churchill, Jedi Knight, aren't you?"

"Uh, no. What's a Jedi?"

"So you've never met Yoda?" Moore asked.

"No."

"You don't carry around a lightsaber?"

"No."

"Okay! I've had it up to here with this nonsense! First, I go looking for Fwood, and don't find him. Then, I'm looking for some guy called S.T.U.D. Collins, and I don't find him either. And now I find out that I've wasted my time looking for some guy that doesn't exist named Frank Churchill, Jedi Knight. Now, J.L., I'm warning you, don't be so silly!"

"Hey, that's my line!" said The Colonel, as he walked into the room.

"Who are you?" asked Emma, who like the others, was starting to get a bit confused.

"I'm The Colonel."

"You mean Colonel Fitzwilliam?" asked Mr. Knightley.

"No."

"Colonel Brandon?" asked Mrs. Weston.

"No."

"Colonel Forster?" inquired Mr. Woodhouse.

"No. I'm just The Colonel. Now this story is getting entirely too silly, so it's time to put an end to it. Now you gentlemen wearing red who are standing outside in the hall, get ready to make your entrance soon!"

"Huh!" Mr. Knightley snorted. "After tonight, I'd expect just about anything except the Spanish Inquisition to show up!

Suddenly, the doors burst open, and three men dressed entirely from head to toe in red liturgical robes rushed in. They seemed to look like Catholic cardinals, and all wore masks and held small implements of torture.

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" the lead cardinal shouted. "Our chief weapon is surprise... surprise and fear... fear and surprise... Our two weapons are fear and surprise... and ruthless efficiency... Our three weapons are fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency... and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope... Our four... no... Amongst our weapons... Amongst our weaponry... are such elements as fear, surprise... Oh, bloody hell. Why don't we try it over? I'll come in again."

The three cardinals exited, closing the doors behind themselves. Everyone looked around and shrugged at each other.

"After tonight, I'd expect just about anything except the Spanish Inquisition to show up!" Mr. Knightley repeated.

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as: fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope, and a night out with the neighbor... oh gah!!... it's no good, sorry. Anyway, we are the Spanish Inquisition. I am Cardinal Ximinez, and this is Cardinal Biggles and Cardinal Fang," he said, gesturing to the two other clergymen with him. "We have come to arrest a Mr. Dennis Moore for crimes committed against the holy Catholic Church!"

"What crimes, may I ask?" Dennis Moore questioned.

"Cardinal Fang, please read the charges," Ximinez said.

Cardinal Fang pulled out a scroll, unrolled it, and began to read: "Dennis Moore is hereby charged with stealing lupines from the garden at the monastery of St. Stephen's-by-the-Swamp on the date of June 13th, 1813."

"This is too silly for me! I will not be tried for those ridiculous charges!" he insisted. Getting up from his chair, he threw the windows open, and jumped out, running for his horse. Mrs. Bates quickly went after him.

"Please, take me with you! I don't want to stay with that windbag anymore!" she pleaded. The next sound that the dinner guests heard were horse hooves galloping off into the distance, and Mrs. Bates using her newly rediscovered vocal cords, shouting "On Concorde!"

"Well, I guess we won't get to arrest him, will we, Cardinal Ximinez?" Cardinal Biggles asked.

"No, I'm afraid we shall not," Ximinez replied.

"Well, who else can we..." Fang began as strange, mysterious music began to play. Everyone looked around, but none could find the source.

"Now stop that," ordered The Colonel. "That music is silly!"

"No, don't tell them to stop it!" Ximinez protested. "That music is surely from the devil, a clear affront to what the Church stands for! And if the Pope wants it to be examined by the Inquisition, then examine it we shall!"

As the Spanish Inquisitioners and The Colonel began to argue amongst themselves, Emma, Mr. Knightley, and the others quietly left the dining room, and went to the parlor for the remainder of the evening. Yet even as they sat there, they were serenaded by disembodied voices singing:

Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, dumdum alum the night.
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, dun de dun dum plight.
He steals dumdum dun, and dumdum dum dee
Dennis dun, Dennis dee, dum dun dum.

Epilogue

Dennis Moore and Mrs. Bates were never heard from again. It is rumored that they were seen somewhere in the vicinity of Gretna Green, but it has been confirmed by no eyewitnesses. As for the rest of the characters, they were all left to wonder just what happened to them on those odd nights, especially Mr. Darcy, Mr. Collins, and Frank Churchill. For many weeks they would ponder what it was that Dennis Moore knew that they hadn't...

THE END.

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