“Oh really Darcy… a wolf?... if it even was one, is probably miles away by now,” argued a pouting Caroline.
The smile disappeared from Darcy’s face. Caroline never once considered anything but what she wanted at any given moment. If only he could have invited Charles and Jane alone. Sighing he did not waver. “Even if it is, I will not permit the least possibility of harm coming to any guest of Pemberley. We shall return immediately.”
Georgiana hated confrontations such as these. When her brother had married Lizzie such occurrences had ceased to exist. Perhaps it was due to the now limited visits from the Bingley’s. Resolving to assist her brother she immediately offered a solution.
“Everyone! Please listen, my brother is correct as always. Do let us return and partake of Elizabeth’s fine luncheon. I have been made aware of a secret surprise that she has planned as a treat. How many of you have ever tasted pineapple? I guarantee it will be something you shall not forget.”
The thoughts of food, especially a rare delicacy, sent a murmur through the crowd. As most of the members were male, it was easy to divert their attentions. Returning to her horse, Gareth offered her a hand up, wincing slightly from the pressure of her weight. Alarmed, Georgiana stepped back down and politely demanded the cause, allowing the rest of the riders to advance without them.
“Have you been hurt?”
“It is nothing, just a scratch from one of the cow’s horns. Forgive me for delaying our return.”
“Nothing? I shall be the one who determines that. Remove your glove and allow me to examine it.”
“No really, besides it is not a sight for ladies. I shall have a physician attend it once we return… I promise.”
“I know how you men are… the next thing you know there will be a fever and infection. I insist you allow me to at least clean it. There is some water in my saddle bag.”
Gareth was forced to comply. Georgiana stood with her arms folded, tapping a foot and refusing to mount her horse until he did so. It was some distance back to the house, and if he did not allow him to assist her on her horse, she’d be forced to walk. Removing his glove, he put forth his hand, palm up to expose the gash inflicted by the cow. It oozed slightly where the skin was torn. Not deep, it would only require a good cleaning and bandage. Removing her own gloves, Georgiana took the water and generously splashed the affected area. Crusting blood ran from the cut and Gareth flinched at the stinging pain. Georgiana smiled indulgently, as if he were a small child with a skinned knee.
“Men are such babies. I am almost finished,” she said as she dabbed the last of the dirt from the still bleeding cut. Once bound, it should heal nicely.
“There is just one more thing to do… it ensures healing,” she promised and before he could object, swiftly raised the open wound to her lips, offering a kiss. Shocked at the intimate contact, Gareth attempted to pull away, but it was already too late. The contact of his blood with Georgiana’s mouth, rather than the innocent, childlike attempt at to pacify, did not end in a brief moment. Unwilling to break the contact, her eyes closed as some unnatural force compelled her to suck deeply at the wound. Rather than the metallic taste once has when accidentally biting a lip, Gareth’s blood was enticingly sweet, a forbidden nectar. His fear of her contamination finally broke the spell as he gently wrenched her mouth from his hand. For a moment, it was as if she were in some sort of trance, unaware of her actions. Shaking off a bit of dizziness, she recovered herself and finished binding the wound with a spare handkerchief.
“There… all better, you will see. My brother used to do that for me every time I managed to hurt myself as a child. Sometimes I would fake an injury just to have the attention. Please don’t tell him I told you… he would be quite embarrassed.”
Gareth only stared at her and slowly nodded. It was as if she had no memory of what she had done. He only hoped that this would be the end of it. Resolving to now leave Pemberley immediately, for fear of a growing attachment that would only end in tears, he quietly assisted her to her horse and rode back in silence, listening to her hum some unknown happy tune.
~Eight~
Later that evening…
Georgiana was still humming to herself as she dressed for dinner. It was generally the habit of the ladies to rest before the long evening festivities, but she was strangely energized. Dressing quietly, as to not wake Mary and Kitty Bennet, who snored gently in the dim room, she made her way below. With at least two hours before the guests were scheduled to reassemble, she wandered about the quiet house, eventually finding herself in the kitchens. Here, it was business as usual, with a number of servants scurrying about in preparation for the meal.
“Hello, Miss Georgie,” greeted the portly cook, not looking up from where she stirred a sauce over the great oven.
Georgiana was no stranger to the kitchens. As a child, with no other playmates, she often sought out the busy center of the house as a diversion. Over the years, she could even produce a passable meal. Waving to the cook in reply, she continued out to the scullery. This was near the door to the kitchen garden and the place where supplies were delivered. As she entered, the strong smell of fresh meat assaulted her nostrils. Two maids were busy straining a large bucket of fresh sheep’s blood in preparation of making sausage. Georgiana wrinkled her nose. Blood sausage and its cousin, blood cake, were never a favorite of hers. Once, after a considerable bout with influenza, the family physician had ordered that she consume a portion at every meal to bring up her strength. It brought back an urge to run from the room, but today, she was oddly compelled to stay. Peering over the vat in which the servants now poured oats and flour, she watched as the added ingredients took on a pinkish hue before being consumed by the deep crimson fluid.
Why did it not bother her today? This question rung in her mind for a moment in its peculiarity.
The scullery maids, in need of more flour, left her alone to fetch another heavy bag from the pantry. As soon as they exited, Georgiana grabbed a dipper from the array of cutlery and sank it into the mixture. Quickly drawing it to her mouth, she took the thickened mixture in deep gulps. She could not get enough. A once dreaded medicinal had now become some sort of nectar. Hastily replacing the item, after having rinsed all traces of her actions, she ran outside into the gardens.
Her gnawing stomach, having been satiated, now provided a renewed sense of energy as she skipped her steps through the winding path between the herbs. Not exactly a ladylike pace, she did not have a care who observed her. Allowing her thoughts to wander along with her feet, she daydreamed about a future with Gareth. He had been particularly attentive for the past week. With each day, her regard for him only grew stronger. If only this autumn festival could last forever.
*****
Gareth Devlin was also lost in his thoughts. Unwrapping the unnecessary bandage on his hand, he examined his now perfect skin. No sign of the cut from earlier that day remained. He had never questioned his unusual ability to heal, but now he must conceal it. Hopefully Georgiana would not demand to inspect it again. The fear of her becoming like him had subsided. It was rare indeed for that to happen so quickly, but she was a Darcy. The connection could make her more susceptible. Only time would tell. He resolved to watch her closely. The last time this sort of thing had happened, it had been deliberate and the transformation was extremely fast. Ewan had been reprimanded severely for his actions, but it had not changed the fact that he had been irresponsible. The lady in question had not responded well with the explanation of how her life had changed. In the end, she had chosen to end her own life rather than live as they did.
Sighing, he hoped to avoid this with Georgiana. Not only would he feel intense guilt, but also a betrayal of trust. How would he explain to Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth? It was clear from the image in the portrait gallery that there were members of this branch of the Darcy family who were afflicted, but how much did the current family know? When was the last time a Pemberley Darcy carried the condition?
; Making his way to the large Pemberley library, he found Fitzwilliam Darcy alone, sorting through some papers. Knocking softly on the open door, he was bid to enter with a smile.
“I trust you have been enjoying your stay?”
“Yes, immensely.”
“It was rather unfortunate to have our hunt cut short. Nasty business, I hope your hand is not much worse for it. My gamekeeper has extra men out looking for a possible wolf or feral hog. I trust they will sort it out soon.”
“I am sure they shall,” he replied, ignoring the remark about his injury.
Gareth was suspicious that it was a result of Ewan’s carelessness once again and not some animal, but he kept his own counsel. Besides, he had a purpose for this conversation.
“Georgiana took me on the most delightful tour of the house earlier. I must say, there have been vast improvements since my previous visit.”
Darcy chuckled, “I hope they meet with your approval. It has been over ten years.”
“Too long... And yes, they are definitely agreeable, especially the gallery. I noticed a portrait of what had to be a common ancestor. The resemblance to myself was most unnerving.”
“Well, you are hard to miss in a crowd… and Ewan. I have not seen much of him during his visit, except around the ladies.”
“He seems to be behaving himself… thank God. I must apologize for his presence, I did not know he was coming.”
“No need, he is family too.”
“Speaking of family, and that portrait. Georgiana mentioned that the family genealogy was a bit of a pastime for you, one that I share. I was wondering if you had any records of anyone else with my physical description. It seems to skip generations.”
Darcy eyed him curiously, but was happy to share any information he had. Perhaps his cousin had a private medical concern for the inquest. As there was still considerable time before they would be expected for dinner, Darcy led Gareth to a small locked glass door set into one of the larger bookcases.
“In here are the family diaries, going back to the early 1400’s, just about the time Pemberley was built. Please feel free to borrow and read what you like. I can also arrange for someone to take you into the attics and see if there are any more portraits that show a likeness.”
“I would be most appreciative.”
Smiling wryly, Darcy handed him the cabinet key with instructions as to its keeping.
“Well then, I shall leave you to it. Elizabeth is expecting me shortly to review her plans for the closing ball tomorrow. In reality, she does not need my assistance or advice, but I do love that she seeks it anyway.”
“You are a most fortunate man to have her.”
“I well know it! I only hope the same for my sister.”
Gareth watched as his host left the room. What had he meant by that last remark? Had he observed the attention given to Georgiana? Of course he did! That man knew just about everything that happened under his roof. The only question that remained was did he approve? Georgiana was getting harder and harder for him to keep from his mind. In an effort to chase the image of her face, he reached for the oldest book in on the shelf. An hour or so of reading should do the trick. Turing the aging pages he noted the date, January 1405 and began to scan for any mention of people like him. After a few minutes, he found what he had been searching for.
January 17….
Today marks the joyous occasion of my sister’s wedding and perhaps it is that which has made me particularly reflective. My only wish is that mama could have been here to celebrate with us. It is not that I harbor any ill feelings, the time for that is long past. I do not blame her for sending us away, but I have never understood why she choose to stay. It was not as if Polwys Tor was her family home, but it is said, that when she married Papa, her devotion was complete to her new life. Even though over fifty years has passed, I can close my eyes and clearly see the fires that burned in the eyes of the villagers, reflected in the torches they also carried. I put this testimony into writing so that my descendants may realize that we were not to blame. Instead, we were victims of circumstance, ones we could not change.
The great pestilence had come slowly to our corner of the world, while other areas had long suffered periodic bouts for years, we had remained safe. However, our safety was not to last, come it did and whence it arrived, it took life with unrestricted alacrity. Between the years of 1355 and 1360, the Black Death took near half our village, every family had lost significant numbers. And that was the problem, no one from the Tor had been affected. In the beginning, when the death toll was at its highest, none paid any heed to who had survived and as to reasons why. It was only after the third and fourth waves of sickness that our strange immunity was noted… at first with curiosity… later with anger and fear.
The surviving members of Polwys village had just finished the burial of the plague’s most recent victims and had sought to drown their troubles at the only tavern in town. The Hawk’s Claw was generally a reputable establishment, having been run by the same family for generations. It boasted four comfortable guest rooms in addition to a private dining hall far from the common area. It was here, in the privacy of the dining room, which an angry mob had formed. Well into their cups, they had assembled to discuss the best way to prevent any more sickness. Having listened to physician and priest alike, the solutions they suggested fell on deaf ears. A superstitious lot, they were reduced in their humanity by grief and sought a violent outlet for their feelings of helplessness.
“It’s those Darcy’s up at the Tor. Freaks… every last one of them. I never see any of them getting sick… ever!” snarled Arne Miller as he pounded a meaty fist on the thick oaken table. His actions sent the ale cups tumbling and his listeners scrambled to save their drink. Some nodding in agreement. Arne had lost both his sons in the most recent epidemic, his wife some two years past. He was now alone, save his sixteen year old daughter Carwyn, who still lay abed. Fearing rash actions, Reverend Michael Cranmore stood up and attempted to placate the restless men.
“Now gentlemen, who are we to question the will of God? I caution you to consider what you are saying. Hasn’t Sir Ian been a gracious landlord? As was his father William before him?”
Some nodded, but refused to look up from their drink. This speech did little to calm Arne and his followers. Further incensed, the large man stood up and glared down at the slender priest.
“Where was God when my Marian was taken? And my boys? I say that there is evil at work here and it serves the Darcys! It must be stopped if we are to survive… who is with me?” he shouted and stomped out of the tavern on his mission of revenge for a crime that had not been committed.
All this was told to me later, after their anger had been fed. The priest had crept in secrecy up to the Tor the day after the carnage to offer what condolences he could, but it was too late. My father was dead, beaten by the brutish hands of Arne Miller. My mother Susannah, had hidden me and my sister away, but we could hear the shouts and the sounds of bone being crushed through the observation holes set into the upper gallery. Too small to reach the peephole, we had been spared the sight, but the rational pleas of my parents had easily reached our ears. Within the week, we had been spirited away to safety. Our maternal Grandmother’s family had come from Hertfordshire. It was here that we would find a haven, and eventually acceptance into the community.
Looking back upon that now, it is truly with God’s grace that we have had this opportunity. No one here questions our unusual appearance, and whether by politeness or apathy, do not seem to notice our unusual longevity. Despite Elise being well into middle age, she can pass for one twenty years younger. We have chosen not to divulge this particular detail, and her new husband believes her to be some years his junior. Despite the falsehood, the happy pair are a love match. My only regret is Elise’s attachment to our childhood home. As mother is now quite aged, and Daniel Devlin a younger son, it was agreed without hesitation that they would take up residence at Polwys before the
end of the year. I have relinquished my claims as heir as a wedding gift. It will be hers to do with as she wishes. With the completion of my own estate house, I will continue to seek my own happiness. Having christened the place Pemberley, I hope to create my own family line, separate from that of Wales, but I will miss her greatly.
Gareth turned the next page of the diary to reveal a striking charcoal drawing of Pemberley at its birth. The house itself had not changed much over the years, only the landscape had grown up and been modified to suite more modern conveniences. The rest of the volume contained some fifty or more entries, but he had found what he had sought. Yes, the Darcys currently living here did possibly carry the same inherited condition. Perhaps, once he had the chance to view the stored portraits, he could piece together a family tree. It was with these thoughts that he was absorbed when Georgiana found him. Having been preoccupied, he had not heard her footsteps and was unaware of her presence until he felt her breath upon his ear.
“Find anything interesting in those old tomes?” she asked politely as she bent over his shoulder.
The close proximity of her form startled him. He could smell the faint floral scent of lilies as they wafted from her hair. It was a bit intoxicating and he moved to put a safe distance between them. Looking into her inquisitive eyes, he thought he saw the briefest of ice blue fire flash within. What had happened to the shy, reserved girl from last week? Perhaps it was just his imagination, or wishful thoughts, but he would continue to look for any other signs of a possible transformation taking place. Hopefully, it was just an irrational fear and nothing more.
“Oh just looking through some old family diaries. Your brother was kind enough to allow me free access to the documents. I found our common ancestor… a Philip Darcy.”
The Transformation of Georgiana Darcy Page 6