The Dragons of Kellynch (Jane Austen's Dragons Book 5)

by Maria Grace

  She was right; Father would not approve. “I should be happy to meet any friends of yours.”

  “You have not changed at all from our school days! I am so happy you are here.” What had caught the light there, at Mrs. Smith’s waist? A chatelaine holding a signet … just like Mama’s! “Pray forgive me, I am expected back at home. I must go. But I promise to call as soon as I am able.”

  Anne pulled her eyes away from the signet. “I will inform the butler that you are expected and are to be shown in when you come.”

  “You are too gracious.” Mrs. Smith curtsied and hurried uphill.

  Everything in Bath was uphill.

  Five days later, Anne gripped the iron banister as she strode down the wide marble staircase with the perfect posture and grace Elizabeth insisted was appropriate for a lady in Bath, muttering under her breath about the inconstancies of men—Father in particular. He was to have taken her to the Order yesterday, then today, then tomorrow.

  Now it was sometime next week. Possibly. He did not know. Possibly.

  He had parties and dinners, calls to pay, calls to wait upon being paid. Always something more important than what was truly important. Or at least what was important to her.

  His preferences would always prevail. Always. What would it be like to be able to make decisions for herself and make the world subject to those?

  The butler waited for her at the foot of the stairs, a silver tray with a calling card held out for her. Tall, somber and impeccably dressed. Exactly the sort of man Father would favor for the job. “Miss, is this the woman who you requested be shown in if she called?”

  Anne picked up the card. “Yes, show her to the parlor.” He should have already done that, but Father had probably given some sort of contradicting order. At least she had not been turned away.

  The butler bowed and turned toward the front door while Anne instructed a maid to bring refreshments to the parlor.

  Anne’s slippers skimmed along the black and white marble tile as she entered the compact parlor and chose a seat near the gold-draped windows. The parlor faced the diminutive garden in the mews, a far more pleasant and quieter view than looking out onto the busy street corner. The white and gold paper hangings on the walls mimicked swooping taffeta drapes—rather overwhelming for a relatively small room. Ivory and gold wood chairs and tables, and settee with deep gold upholstery helped lighten the space just a little. Though the open windows brought in a breeze, the garden flowers had little perfume and none to lend to the stuffy parlor.

  “Mrs. Smith to see Miss Anne Elliot,” the butler announced from the doorway.

  Mrs. Smith, slim and neat in a brown and red trimmed walking dress, clutched her reticule in both hands. The sunlight caught the chains of her chatelaine—the signet was still there.

  “I am so glad you are come. Do sit down.” Anne dismissed the butler with a nod.

  “I have not been to any house on Camden Place before. It is quite lovely.” Mrs. Smith sat on the white and gold painted settee nearest Anne.

  “My father finds it tolerable. Elizabeth is disappointed it is not grander.”

  “They have not changed either, I suppose?” Her voice was so sweet and thoughtful, just as it had been in school.

  “No. I am not sure people ever do. But enough of that. Tell me of your new life as Mrs. Smith.”

  “What is there to tell that has not been in my letters? You know everything already—I think I must bore you with all the drivel of daily life in those missives.” She laughed a note of self-deprecation. “Through those you know my husband, our household, even the name by which the housekeeper calls the scullery-maid when she thinks I am not listening. Oh, but wait, there is one new thing I think you will find of particular interest. My husband has recently joined in a new business venture. I realize such things are probably not of great interest to you, but I believe his partner is related to your family. Mr. William Elliot?”

  Anne’s eyes grew a little wider. “I am all agog. I had no idea that you would know him. He is our cousin and heir presumptive to Kellynch. I have not the pleasure of an acquaintance with him, not yet. But he is to come visit us at Kellynch at the end of the summer. What can you tell me of him?”

  “He is a well-looking man, with a good education and proper opinions.”

  “You approve of him?”

  “I do not believe I have ever thought of him in a way to approve or disapprove. It is not my place, though I am told that he is excellent company.”

  He did not sound like a man equipped to help her current circumstance. Anne sighed. Usually she was better at concealing her disappointment.

  “You do not seem like yourself, my friend. Would it be untoward of me to ask what is wrong?”

  Dare she? Anne stood and walked to the window, her back to Mrs. Smith. But what other choice was there. “I am in a difficult situation, and I do not know where to turn.”

  “You think there is something I might help you with? You know I am willing to do what I can.”

  Anne pulled at the gold chain from under her fichu and freed Mama’s signet from its folds. Her fingers trembled as blood roared in her ears. Sometimes one just had to take a chance and trust her heart. “What do you know of this?” She held out the signet, still around her neck.

  Mrs. Smith blanched, and her hand went to her own matching piece. “Where did you get that?”

  “It was my mother’s—”

  “You should not have it. It should have been returned when she passed.” Mrs. Smith seemed ready to snatch it out of her hands.

  “I believe it is right for me to have it. I know. I am … a part of her secrets now.”

  “When? How?”

  Anne briefly related her experiences with Beebalm and Shelby and Father’s reactions.

  Mrs. Smith pursed her lips and blinked thoughtfully. “Then, you are a member now?”

  “That is the problem. I am not, and it seems Father is unwilling to do what is necessary to see that I am presented to the Order.” Anne returned to her chair near the windows.

  Mrs. Smith gasped. “This is very serious. Have you been prepared to be presented?”

  “No. Father wants nothing to do with any of it.”

  “You have met the estate dragon at least, no?”

  “No. Nothing.” Estate dragon? She clutched the edge of her seat.

  Of course, that made sense; Kellynch was listed as a dragon estate. That meant there had to be a dragon—a large one. But where was its lair? Did Father even know? He said he had nothing to do with such disagreeable things.

  Mrs. Smith pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I do not presume to judge one of your father’s station, but this is very serious indeed.”

  “That is what I understand as well. I do not know what to do. Father cannot be prevailed upon to do what I think is his duty. Who can I even turn to?”

  Mrs. Smith wrung her hands. “We are not Dragon Keepers, nor do we even have a Dragon Friend, so I hardly know what to tell you. But you are right; this is a grave matter.”

  “I have consulted every book at my disposal, and I do not know what to do.” Would it be wrong to add that the feeling of not knowing was a very strange and threatening one, indeed?

  “You must be recognized by the Order. That cannot happen too soon.” Mrs. Smith chewed her knuckle. “I can only think of one thing, and I am not sure it is a very good idea at all.”

  “Pray tell me. Even a bad idea is welcome at this point.”

  She fingered her signet, staring at it as though answers might be written there. “Though it is strongly frowned upon by the Order for such an insignificant member to act in such an important capacity, I can take you to the offices and present you for membership myself.”

  “But if it is against the rules—”

  “Technically, I should tell one of them that you now hear and allow them to approach you. But that would only lengthen the process and perhaps make things more complicated. If you are only to be in Bath f
or a month, it is possible you could leave before the Order even contacts you. I believe the issue of you remaining unconnected to the Order any longer than necessary is serious enough that they will be tolerant of the violation.”

  “I should not allow you to risk yourself because of my Father’s intractability.”

  “Members of the Order have sworn to hold the preservation of the Pendragon Treaty and Accords above their personal comfort and even their safety. I am quite certain this is what must be done. Have you studied the Treaty and the Accords?”

  “As much as I can.”

  “Good, that will help. You will be tested on your knowledge of them, in detail, particularly because you are the eldest hearing child and likely to become the next Keeper. Above all else, you must know the Treaty and the Accords—not the obscure bits that are only recorded in the Order archives, but the main parts that are printed and available in the home of every Order member.”

  “While I have had no tutor, I have been applying myself to their study a great deal recently.” Anne shrugged slightly.

  “You were always very clever at school. If I could pass their examination, I am sure you will be able to as well. We should do it as soon as possible.”

  “Father has promised he would take me to the Order on Monday next week. If he does not, then perhaps, the next day?” That would give her five more days to study.

  “I hesitate to wait even that long, but yes, you are right. It would be best to give him the opportunity to present you properly first.”

  “I will send you word on Monday, then.” And study like she never had in the meantime.

  Chapter 6

  On Tuesday morning, Anne slipped from the house with no one but the footman and housekeeper the wiser. No one else was awake at the ridiculous hour of nine o’clock—Father and Elizabeth preferred keeping town hours when they were in town, even if that town was not London. Birds cawed and twittered from the rooftops as if to scold the lay-a-beds.

  In half an hour she was to meet Mrs. Smith on Pulteney Bridge. From there, they would walk to the Pump Room—if only they were going for the water! But no, just across the walk from the Pump Room, in an ordinary four-story building with a blue door, her fate awaited.

  The cool morning air tasted of the river and an unusual mineral flavor that was, she was told, unique to Bath—something about the baths there. It seemed very pronounced today as she trod the uphill roads toward Pulteney Bridge. She rubbed her shoulders over her spencer. The red-brown linen that matched her roller-print walking dress should have been sufficient protection against the morning chill. But when the chill came from within, warmth proved elusive.

  Had she been out for any other reason, she would have stopped to admire the bridge’s Palladian-style structure. How many bridges were large enough to accommodate shops along both sides? So unique and unlike anything near Kellynch. Hopefully, she would be able to right that oversight on another day.

  Mrs. Smith approached, blue skirts swishing with each brisk step. Was that the same blue as the binding on the volume containing the Pendragon Treaty and Accords? Yes, it seemed so.

  Odd, neither Anne nor her sisters had any blue gowns. Father had made it clear that he disliked his daughters in that color. Did that have something to do with the Order?

  “Are you ready?” Mrs. Smith touched her arm.

  “I do not think I could ever feel ready for such a moment though I have been studying every moment I could snatch away from Father and Elizabeth’s demanding social calendar.”

  “Good, good.” She slipped her arm in Anne’s. “Then all will be well, I am sure of it. Let us go then and be bold. The Order approves of boldness in its members.” They set off down High Street toward Bath Abbey, dodging peddlers’ carts and tradesmen’s wagons on the street.

  “Even in women? The Order approves of boldness in them as well?” Anne whispered.

  “Yes, they do. It is to do with the—” she leaned close to Anne’s ear and barely said, “—dragons,” and returned to speak as before. “They are different to men and prefer unfeigned candor and assurance in all with whom they deal.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “I am told it is because they are predators and rather that their warm-blooded companions do not behave like prey. Many ladies I know are uncomfortable with it, and some even avoid Order events because of it. But others, I am told, find it pleasing. I do not think I am that sort, though. There are even Ladies among the officers of the Order and Keepers.”

  Women in positions of responsibility, alongside men?

  “I am sure you will not have to worry about such things, though. I do not believe that any are forced into such responsibilities.” She patted Anne’s arm. “All you need to focus on is managing today.”

  Yes, that was good advice. The rest of these heady, terrifying—and possibly delightful—thoughts could wait to be sorted out. Focus on today.

  “There it is, you see.”

  Anne followed Mrs. Smith’s chin point to a blue door in the yellow-orange Bath stone building adjacent to the Pump Room. Four stories tall, with cloudy windows and little decoration, the door color was the only reason anyone might make note of it. Odd that no signage should announce an edifice so important. But it did make sense. Dragons were a secret, after all.

  An unusual number of birds, large and small, perched on the edge of the roof. She squinted and stared—some of those had long serpentine tails! A guard ready to persuade passers-by that there was nothing unusual to see?

  Her heartbeat quickened from slightly anxious to nearly frantic as they stepped up to the door. Perhaps Mrs. Smith’s did, too. Her arm trembled in Anne’s. A brass dragon head holding the doorknocker in its jaws looked down on them.

  Mrs. Smith looked at Anne, and they nodded. Mrs. Smith rapped the knocker.

  A huge man in blue livery—the same distinct blue as the door—opened the door just a fraction, filling the space with his broad frame. “Your business here?”

  Mrs. Smith held out her chatelaine. “I have business with the Regional Undersecretary.”

  “You have an appointment?”

  “No, it is urgent. My friend, she has become conversant with … Pendragon … and is in need of a further acquaintance.”

  He examined her signet more closely. “You do not have the rank to sponsor a new member. How could you have brought her uninvited and unannounced?”

  Mrs. Smith stammered useless sounds.

  “I insisted, sir.” Anne held out her mother’s signet.

  He snatched it from her hand peering closely at it. “This number—it is not yours. How did you come by it?”

  “It was my mother’s—"

  He grabbed a brass watch fob from his waist and put it to his lips, producing a shrill, painful whistle. Three large birds—no not birds, the back half of their bodies were like snakes. What had the bestiaries called them? Cockatrix, cockatrice, something like that, maybe?—swooped down, landing beside them with spread wings as though to contain them.

  The largest one in the center, mottled brown with a glistening black beak that looked as sharp as barber’s razor and wings that spanned at least as wide as she was tall, squawked at her. “I am Wincombe. I have led the guard on this office for thirty-five years. If you can hear me, tell the butler exactly what I have told you. You—” he pointed his wing at Mrs. Smith, “remain silent.”

  “The one in the center says, ‘I am Wincombe and I have led the guard on this office for thirty-five years. If you can hear me, tell the butler exactly what I have told you.’” Anne stammered so fast the words barely made sense.

  The butler looked at Wincombe who squawked and propelled Anne and Mrs. Smith through the front doors into a dark entryway, lit by a sliver of light from a cloudy glass transom window above the door. The vestibule boasted closed doors on three walls and no visible decoration. The butler shut the door and locked it with a heavy bolt. The three cockatrice held Anne and Mrs. Smith in a tight circle with outsp
read wings, hissing and snapping if they twitched.

  “Do not move. Your guard will not be tolerant.” The butler all but ran to the farthest door and disappeared through it.

  “Do not fear, it will be well,” Mrs. Smith whispered. “If we obey and do as we are asked, no harm will come to us.”

  “Is this what you meant by the Order’s understanding?”

  “We are being quite understanding and lenient, young woman,” Wincombe snapped, and the others cawed in agreement. “But do not test our patience.”

  She had already guessed that much. Those beaks were fit to shred meat, and their talons like daggers. Not creatures to be dealt with lightly.

  “What is all this about!” A rather ordinary-looking man in a dark tail coat and trousers, notable only for his complete baldness and pronounced scars on the left side of his head, burst in. His voice, though, it was as shrill as the cockatrice’s squawk.

  “She—” the butler pointed, “has brought a non-member here. And she—” he pointed at Anne, “brings a signet not her own to present to us.”

  “It was my mother’s.”

  “Where is your mother?” the scar-headed man demanded.

  “She is dead. I am heir to her legacy.”

  “Heir, you say? Who was she?”

  “Lady Elliot of Kellynch Hall.”

  Two of the cockatrice gasped and rustled their wings.

  “Kellynch Hall? That would make you Elizabeth—”

  “No, her second daughter, Anne Elliot.”

  “Well, that explains a great deal. Indeed, it does.” The scar-faced man stroked his chin with his fist. “I will escort them from here, Captain Wincombe. Well done. You and your guards may go.”

  Captain? The creature had a rank like a soldier?

  He waved the cockatrice away. “Pray come with me, ladies. I am Peter Wynn, Regional Undersecretary for Dorsetshire and Somersetshire.” He gestured for them to walk with him.

  Anne took Mrs. Smith’s arm. The poor dear was pale and a little glassy-eyed, not without good reason. In all likelihood, Anne was, too. Who could have anticipated such a reception?