by Maria Grace
The next morning, the cool orange rays of dawn woke her, stiff and sore, still curled in her overstuffed burgundy arm chair near the windows. She unfurled. Oh, her neck and back! Her bed, only two steps away, would have been a far more reasonable place to sleep. Was it mocking her, still made up with its rose and green floral counterpane and bed curtains that matched the soft green of her walls?
She rubbed her eyes, stretching protesting legs and rubbing her cold feet against the smooth wooden floor. What strange dreams! At least that dreadful headache was gone. Perhaps now she could start making sense of the world. She pushed off the small round table in front of her chair to stand, her hand landing on a thick, blue, leather-bound book.
Oh, no.
The book—it had not been a dream. The tome she dreamt she read—it was real.
No, no, no!
She landed in the chair with a thump, chair legs screeching on the floorboards, and pulled the volume toward her. It fell open on her lap to the center of the book where woodcuts of frightening creatures were organized into categories and types.
Dragons.
So very many dragons. All supposedly living right beneath her nose.
It sounded like nonsense of the very worst form. But according to the book, dragons were real. And according to Father, the book was an accurate reference to all she was currently experiencing. Had anyone else told her such a thing, she would have declared it a joke at her expense and forgotten about it. But Father? No, his sense of propriety left no room for a sense of humor.
She clutched the sides of her head, rocking.
What did one do with such information? How did one entirely transform one’s beliefs about … nearly everything? To accept that there were dragons in the world and had been for quite some time? Moreover, they had been at war with men, at least until Uther Pendragon struck a peace treaty with them. Then there were the Pendragon Accords. Those formed the Blue Order, a secret organization of those who could hear dragons—for not all could—purposed to maintain the peace between men and dragons (as well as among dragons, but that was another matter altogether.)
Yes, that was certainly sensible and believable.
That only a small minority of people could hear dragon voices—something to do with preternatural hearing that did not really make sense—only made things more complicated and isolating. Worse still, the rest of the world was susceptible to something called a “persuasive voice” that dragons could use to make men believe the dragons were other creatures, or possibly not even there at all.
How did that even make sense? She swallowed back the bile that collected—again—at the back of her throat.
Naturally, The Pendragon Accords regulated just how this “voice” could be legally used and assured that it would prosecute for illegal usage. Naturally.
She shook her head. Perhaps if she shook it hard enough, these ridiculous notions would fall out and the world would make sense again.
This was all stuff and nonsense. She dropped the book on the table and sprang to her feet, nearly knocking off the dinner tray from last night. It had to be. Dragons were nothing but fairy stories for children and frivolous paintings of old. It was not possible for any of it to be true. They could not be hiding in plain sight, and they could not be prevalent in the whole of England.
She needed to move, to break free of these preposterous tales. She paced three circuits around the room and came to a stop at her little oak table where the ludicrous book stared up at her.
If it was all so nonsensical, why would Father direct her to that volume, and why would it have been in Mother’s room? Why was he not surprised—or even at all critical of any of her symptoms? His daughter was destined for Bedlam, and he was unconcerned? As much attention as he paid to appearances, one would think the whole affair would send him into extreme agitation.
But he was calm. Frighteningly calm.
She reached for a crust of bread left from dinner and gnawed at it along with a few bits of cheese. Her stomach did not immediately turn arsey-varsey. She swallowed a few gulps of cold tea. Oh, that helped.
Wait, what was that? A little pink ribbon poked out near the end of the book. Could Mama have marked a page? She opened the tome at the ribbon and traced the page with her finger.
Induction into the Order
In so far as the Blue Order exists to protect the peace between mankind and dragonkind, all those who hear dragons must be subject to the Order, either by membership in the Order or under the protective custody of the Order.
Blue Order members must constantly be alert for individuals who may have come into their hearing, especially within their own families. Upon the discovery of a new dragon hearer, the discovering member is responsible for bringing the new hearer to the attention of the Order. Failure to do so is a criminal offense of the first order and will be prosecuted as such.
Officers of the Order, Keepers, Honored Friends and Recognized Friends of the Order may sponsor new members into Order. The sponsoring member…
Wait … what? Must be subject to the Order…failure a criminal offense of the first order? She swallowed hard as her hand shook while turning the page. A yellowed scrap of paper no larger than her palm written with a very peculiar shade of blue ink stared up at her.
Blue Order
Certificate of Membership
Elizabeth Anne Stevenson
Is duly admitted to all rights, privileges, and responsibilities of
The Blue Order
Signet number 23091770
This 23rd day of September 1770
Capital Office, London England
A series of official looking signatures scrawled across the bottom of the page. Mama had really been a part of all this. It was real? Mama had been talking to dragons that day in the garden all the while Lady Russell thought it just a silly game?
Anne picked up the certificate and studied it. Incontrovertible proof. This was part of Anne’s legacy and her future.
Signet number? Mama had a signet that she kept on her chatelaine, the one Elizabeth wore now. But Elizabeth did not wear the signet … Anne jumped up and ran to Mama’s room. Thankfully the corridors were empty, so she did not have to explain her mad dash.
She flung Mama’s door open and pelted to the imposing inlaid oak chest of drawers in the adjacent dressing room. Panting, she jerked the top drawer open. No jewelry box. The second drawer stuck. She braced her feet against the bottom of the chest of drawers and yanked with both hands. Wood squealed against wood—was that a protest or a warning? Inch by inch, the drawer gave way.
There! The ebony and onyx inlaid jewelry box! Her hands shook too hard to remove the box, so she lifted the lid. Tears burned her eyes. Elizabeth had long since taken the pieces Mama had left to her, so had Mary. Sentimental as it was, Anne chose to leave hers in Mama’s jewelry box until she finally left home. Yes, it was silly, but it felt right.
She ran her fingertips over Mama’s pearls and the cameo she had so loved. A triple strand of coral beads… so many memories. There in the corner—Anne wrapped two fingers around a cold, hard, brass knob. Heavy, with a loop at the top to hang off a chain—a piece not specifically left to any of her daughters.
Dare she look at it?
No, not until there was sufficient light.
Slow, steady steps, silent steps from stocking feet carried her to the window in Mama’s bedchamber. The striped chair’s warm embrace beckoned, and she answered. Sunbeams caressed and warmed her though her hands remained cold. Holding her breath and biting her lip, she turned the signet seal side up.
A red-flecked, green stone, carved with a dragon that matched the frontispiece of the book she had been reading.
And tiny, precise numbers: 23091770.
She fell back into the chair. Exactly what the certificate had described.
It was real. It was all real.
She pressed the signet to her chest and fought to breathe. The book described the penalties to be enacted upon those who
violated the edicts of the Order. These Blue Order people, whoever they were, were very serious about their rules.
Heavens! She heard dragons now. She would have to be presented to the Order! Did Father know?
Even if he did, all things considered, it would be up to her to ensure that it happened. Oh, merciful heavens!
Chapter 5
The next day, Anne waited until Father had finished his breakfast and retreated into his study. Book in hand, heart thundering, she knocked and waited ten long breaths for him to open the door to her.
“Anne? Why are you disturbing me? I have business to attend.” He blocked the doorway, the sandalwood scent of his shaving oil filling the space between them.
“This is very important, I am sure.” She gazed into his eyes, not giving way.
He stepped aside and allowed her inside, grumbling. “What can you have that could be as important—”
“It is in regards to the Blue Order.” She must remain true to her purpose. Any show of weakness …
He sneered and shut the door behind him. “A band of self-important tyrants and thieves. What from them can be so important?”
Following the ivory stripe on the plush carpet, she stopped at his imposing desk. Several magazines, open to fashion plates illustrating new cuts of men’s coats, took up much of the desktop. She sidled around the dark gold, leather-covered wingchair in front of the desk and carefully moved the magazines aside. Laying the book on the desk, she opened it to the pages Mama had marked.
“These regulations seem very important.” Why could she not look at his face now, but only at the wall over his shoulder and the painting of Kellynch estate that hung there?
“What are they to me?”
That blue in the curtains, on the carpet, covering the armchairs near the fireplace, it was familiar—the same color as the book binding! Even this room conspired to convince her of her new reality! “It is your responsibility to present dragon-hearing members of your family to the Order. It must be done as soon as might be arranged after the discovery of the new hearer.” She pointed out the lines.
“And I believe the same tome also says that girls typically come into their hearing between fifteen and eighteen. You are twenty-two, four years too late for such falderal.”
“But, sir, the penalties listed here are quite serious. You do not wish to risk—”
“And what are they going to do to a baronet?”
“Among other things, your name will be read at a Conclave Meeting on a ‘List of Dishonor’ and you will be shunned by all honorable Dragon Keepers.”
“What is their opinion to me?”
“Have you recently looked at the list of Dragon Estates? So many of the peers are on that list!” Anne pointed to the names. “Do you not care that you will be put out of good company—”
Father snatched the book and stared at the page, his expression darkening as he scanned down. “Ridiculous. None of these people take this dragon business seriously enough to—”
“Do you truly wish to take such an extreme risk, put the name and reputation of the family in jeopardy?”
His complexion turned nearly puce. He would not approve of that color if he could see it. “I have already told Elizabeth that a trip to London while the Dalrymples are not in residence would not happen. How would it look if I were to change my mind for you? No, it cannot be done. I will not travel to London—”
How could he put the family in such danger? He was nothing like the proper Dragon Keeper described in the Annals. “London is not the only option.” She held her breath. No matter how much she disliked the alternative, she had to present it.
“The Order offices are in London.”
“Regional offices exist all over England. Potential members can be presented at any of those offices. The nearest one, the one over Dorset and Somerset, is in Bath. See here.” Anne opened the book again and pointed.
“Bath. Bath. Bath.” He turned away and paced the length of his study, touching the shelves and cabinets bearing his favorite possessions as he went. “That is an interesting notion.”
“It is only a six-hour journey from home, not nearly so much as to London.”
“And the company there—”
“Would certainly benefit from the presence of a baronet.” Anne winced. Sounding like Elizabeth hurt, but desperation demanded extreme action.
“Yes, of course. We would be appreciated there.” He nodded slowly. “That is an interesting notion indeed.”
“You could accomplish your duty to the Order, provide Bath with some excellent society, and permit Elizabeth to mingle in good company as she desires, all at very little inconvenience to—”
He flipped his hand toward her.
She bit her lip and waited three more lengths of the long room.
He turned at the fireplace and strode briskly toward her. “We are for Bath. But make no mention of any of these unpleasantries to your sisters; they do not need to be troubled by such things.”
“And you will present me to the Order?”
He grumbled something that sounded vaguely affirmative. “I will set Shepherd to arranging a lease.”
“Shall I begin preparations?”
“Do consult Elizabeth. She will surely have some opinions.”
Yes, she would; she always did. As long as they ended up in Bath, Elizabeth’s opinions could be accommodated. But would she be able to adjust one more set of demands, those of the Blue Order, as easily? And how was she to manage not resenting one more authority trying to exert its rule on her life?
“When do you think we might—”
“I expect it should take a week or so to make all the arrangements. You might safely plan a departure then.”
A week, she had a week, only a week. To prepare to leave Kellynch; to avoid Lady Russell and her nosy questions; and to refuse Charles Musgrove.
∞∞∞
The drive to Bath only took the expected six hours, but the circuit around the principal streets of Bath that Father insisted the driver make before arriving at Camden Place added another hour and a half to the journey. All in Bath must know the Elliots had arrived and see them traveling as befit a baronet’s family. Whatever that might mean.
The luggage wagon had arrived in the mews of the first-rate townhouse at the corner of the street before them. The houses toward the middle were grander, Mary had observed; but were not available to let for only a month’s stay, Father was quick to inform her. Far be it from him to take a house even slightly less than the best available.
Father, Mary, and Elizabeth hurried inside to investigate the wonders of their new abode while Anne rode on to the mews behind the house to supervise the unloading—what remained of it to be done. The driver and the stable boy who rode the rugged vehicle with him had hurried to get the job done as soon as they arrived. Possibly to avoid dealing with Father and Elizabeth any more than necessary.
After the empty cart pulled out of the mews, Anne wandered to the front of the house, shaking out the skirts of her drab traveling gown. The cobblestones made walking difficult even in her sturdy half-boots; the paths and roads near Kellynch had no such uncomfortable paving. And the way was steep. Was everything in Bath uphill? It had seemed that way when she had been to school here.
Street sounds assailed her. How noisy it was, wheels and hooves clattering against the stone streets. And people’s voices—how they echoed here. Would she ever grow accustomed to the weight of all those sounds? Probably not, it was one of the things she had disliked about the city.
A cool breeze off the river blew away a bit of the mid-day heat and seemed to dampen a little of the clamor. It would be interesting living next to a river like the Avon. Her school had been quite some distance from it. The cool water smell alone was so very different to the Kellynch countryside. Did any dragons live in those waters? She rubbed her upper arms with her palms.
Their townhouse stood on the street corner, facing the river. She had not taken the tim
e to really look at it when the rest had debarked. Tall—four rows of windows faced the street—and faced with yellow-orange Bath stone ubiquitous to the city, it seemed compact compared to the manor, a much better fit for a family party of just four than the sprawling corridors of Kellynch. Other townhouses, nearly identical, lined both sides of the street. No doubt, losing the distinction of a unique home set apart from others like Kellynch manor was would be a difficult privation for Father to bear.
Neat ironwork trimmed the front, black as the front door which bore a rather plain brass knocker. If they would be living there more than a month, Father would insist on having that changed.
“Miss Elliot? Miss Anne Elliot?”
That voice, it seemed familiar. Anne turned.
A slim young woman in a dark green walking dress, with a long, regular face under a wide straw hat, peered at her.
Could it be? “Miss Hamilton? I mean, Mrs. Smith?”
“Indeed! How good to see you, Miss Elliot. I had no idea you would be in Bath.” She smiled broadly and dipped in a short curtsy.
“We have only just arrived today, just within the hour really.”
“Then I really have come at a fortuitous time! Will you be in residence long? My husband and I are living here now, in Pulteney Street. What a goose I am, you already know that since you direct your letters to me there.” Mrs. Smith chuckled, her hazel eyes sparkling even as they had during their school days.
“We are to stay a month, I think.”
“Pray, may I call upon you? Once you are settled in, of course.” There was something unusual about Mrs. Smith. Was it the tenor of her voice or perhaps the way she cocked her head when she listened? Something had changed.
“I would like that very much, indeed. I do not know that I have any other acquaintances in Bath.”
“That is a shame. I know my acquaintance may not be as fine as your father would desire, but I would be happy to arrange for introductions for you, if you wish.”