by Maria Grace
I took your suggestion and scratched a message to the Netherfield Dragon in the soft cellar dirt, asking him why he was persuading Mary to be disagreeable.
He wrote back to me: Because I do not like you.
I am not sure which surprised me more, that he responded at all, or that he claims not to like me without having even met me. Needless to say, I asked him why, and I currently await his response.
In my idle moments I have been continuing to work at deciphering Lydia’s journal. Without Fitzwilliam’s expertise and experience, I have enjoyed less success than he. But I did come across a phrase that is potentially concerning. I have included both the encrypted characters and my attempt at translating them. I do not know what to make of it, but it does seem significant.
Pray let me know your thoughts and when you might make your way to Netherfield. And me.
Yours, EB
Darcy’s hands trembled just a bit, for so many very good reasons, but those had to wait. He forced himself to turn the page over and stare at the passages from Lydia’s journal. The sheet full of coded characters made no sense, but below one phrase Elizabeth wrote: introduce him to my secret friend.
His hands turned cold as he read the words twice, thrice. Secret friend. He bolted next door to Fitzwilliam’s room and barged in.
“What the devil has gotten into you, Darcy?” Fitzwilliam jumped from his chair, knocking an empty glass to the floor.
“Word from Elizabeth.” He held out the missive.
“She has deciphered—”
“Not very much, but see for yourself.” He turned the letter to the coded passage.
Fitzwilliam scanned the page, his finger tracing as he went. “Introduce … special not secret, special friend? Get me my portfolio.”
Darcy fetched the portfolio from the closet. Fitzwilliam had already spread the paper out on the table in direct sunlight. He pulled notes and a pencil from his portfolio and spent the next half an hour scribbling across the ciphered characters.
“Bloody hell, that girl’s head is filled with fluff and nonsense.”
“Be careful—”
“Not Elizabeth you idiot, her sister. I can only make out enough to be certain that I am not certain of anything. She refers to a special friend, but who that might be is anyone’s guess, much less whom she wishes to introduce to him. I have deciphered that it is a him at least. And that he is tall and handsome.”
“She wishes to introduce someone to Wickham?”
“Or it is possible she means that she wishes to introduce Wickham to someone. I do not know. Lord, I wish I did, but I do not.” He scribbled something out further down the page and wrote something else in its place. “This strongly suggests that she wished to make the introduction near Netherfield, and the date is not long before she disappeared. It is quite possible she never actually left Hertfordshire.”
Darcy’s eyes bulged, and his jaw gaped. “What? She is well-known in the area. How could she possibly remain hidden there?”
“Humor this old army spy for a moment.” Fitzwilliam raised an open hand.
“Spy?”
Fitzwilliam flashed a lean smile and nodded once. Darcy gulped. What else did he not know about his cousin?
“You told me the terrain around Hertfordshire was largely karst, no?”
Darcy slapped his forehead hard. “Caverns. So many damnable caverns!”
“Quite so. You searched a great number of them looking for Pemberley, as I recall. Some of them, if your descriptions were accurate, would be large enough to house a couple. If properly stocked, they could remain there for quite some time. Wickham could easily acquire supplies in the next village over and never show his face in Meryton.”
“We have been on a goose chase whilst Wickham and Lydia have been at arm’s length from Elizabeth all this time?” Darcy clenched his fists until they trembled.
“Considering we have found no trace of them on the road, and as Wickham has never been good at covering his tracks, it seems highly likely to me.”
“That could explain the giggling in the hall and why he said he did not like her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Elizabeth made contact with the dragon—they have left notes for one another, and his last said that he did not like her very well.”
“There is no telling what Wickham could have told him! The dragon could think her very dangerous, indeed.” Tight lines became visible along Fitzwilliam’s eyes.
“We leave for Hertfordshire at dawn then. I will send Walker immediately to warn her of our concerns.”
Dear God, let the warning not be too late! With the current state of dragon affairs, if any blood was shed, war might well be inevitable.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth sat on the bottom step of the dark cellar stairs, her face in her hands. The air smelt of cold damp rock, similar to a dragon lair—perhaps that was why the lindwurm came here. Perhaps not, but it was as good a reason as any. Would that he had never come here at all.
She peeked up, but the wispy script in the dusty floor did not change: Because you are arrogant, selfish and insensitive to others. Dragons were known to be direct, and apparently this one was no different.
Talia scurried out of a small hole in the far wall. She circled the marks and stared at the words. “What is that? It makes you unhappy.”
“Netherfield does not like me.”
Talia’s wing nubs twitched, a dragon shrug, and she approached the stairs. “My Friend’s daughters did not like me. It happens.” She edged closer for a scratch between her shoulders.
Elizabeth obliged. Talia leaned into her, contented guttural sounds rumbling in her throat.
At least the little dragon approved of her.
Elizabeth turned aside and blinked rapidly. Perhaps Talia was right. It did happen. But not to Elizabeth, at least not where dragons were concerned. Certainly some had been less personable than others; that was only to be expected. But outright dislike? That she had never experienced before.
Moreover, it made no sense. Why would he have taken a dislike to her when she had no interaction with him, ever? She wrapped her arms around her waist, rocking slightly. Talia pressed against her leg, wrapping her tail around Elizabeth’s ankle.
How was she to respond to such an accusation? She stood and scratched out the offending words with her foot, leaving the ground smooth and clean. Best not scribble something in haste. He could wait for a well-thought-out response. If it caused him a little discomfort—and to perhaps rethink his own reply—then so much the better.
Talia scampered off, and Elizabeth dragged herself up the stairs. As she closed the cellar behind her, the longcase clock in the parlor chimed eleven.
It was time to meet with Papa. Finally. He had refused to see her at Netherfield—he did not dare offend Longbourn by crossing him so directly. She shaded her face with her hand and rolled her eyes. He had, though, agreed they might happen upon each other at the crossroad between the Netherfield and Longbourn estates. It was outside Longbourn’s territory, but not within the boundaries of Netherfield Park. Stubborn, vexing, contrary man!
At least he had consented to meet with her; that was the material thing and what she needed to remember.
She went to her rooms for her bonnet and shawl. Her cloak hung in the closet—it was odd not to reach for it. But April had been away three days now. What need was there to wear it? April did not need a place to conceal herself, and Elizabeth was not going to meet any major dragons today—at least not a literal one.
She tied the bonnet under her chin, tight enough that it would stay in place should April suddenly land on it. But that was not likely to happen. April was probably with a fairy dragon harem right now, showing the male who could fly the highest and had the sweetest song, two contests she had to win if she was to gain enough of the local cock’s attention to be able to mate.
She yanked a handkerchief from the drawer, muttering as she dabbed her eyes. Yes, April w
as just a little fairy dragon—an incredibly annoying and snippy one at that. But—Elizabeth swallowed hard—it was difficult to be without her constant companion of eleven years now.
What would she do without her faithful Friend?
She tucked the handkerchief up her sleeve as she made her way down the grand stairs, her drab skirts whispering across the marble. Best not think about that now. Meeting with Papa would be difficult enough. Melancholy thoughts would not make it better.
The late morning sun peeked through low clouds, hinting that, just perhaps, it might not rain on the empty fields this afternoon. Green shoots should be appearing soon. A light breeze carried a touch of warmth upon it, enough that it might not make Papa’s joints ache quite so much. Spring was always a most welcome season.
Not far off, Papa leaned heavily against the fingerpost that stood askew at the cross road. Rustle perched at the top of the post, leaning a little drunkenly with it. It would be laughable, except that cockatrice did not appreciate being laughed at. Even lesser members of the species, like Rustle, had their pride.
No doubt the walk from Longbourn had left Papa in serious pain. That would not help his mood. But this was his suggestion. Had she her druthers, they would have met in a place comfortable for him, at the very least, one near a bench where he could sit.
“Good day, Papa.”
He grunted something noncommittal.
“Was the walk very difficult for you?”
“Gardiner drove me here in the coach. Rustle will call him back when he is required.” He did not meet her eyes. “Where is April?”
“She has joined a harem, I think. Pray let Longbourn know; perhaps even suggest he try to be tolerant of them this mating season.”
“Why do you not tell him yourself? It seems you have no compunction about approaching him.” He shifted his weight to one foot and crossed his arms over his chest.
So that was what was bothering him.
“I did not approach him. He came to me, outside of his territory, as I returned from Mary’s wedding. If anyone was out of line, it was he and not me.” She squared her shoulders and stood a little straighter. When had she become nearly as tall as Papa?
“He is the estate dragon—”
“Who left his estate. He does not rule beyond his boundaries.”
His gnarled hands flew open. “If you would simply stop being so stubborn—”
As if she were the stubborn one! “The Order has named Mary Keeper, and she is married to Collins now. That is not going to change.”
He stomped, just a little. It must have hurt. “And you will be married to Darcy without so much as my awareness, much less consent.”
“Had you been at the Conclave, you could have given it.”
“So now you would criticize how I manage Order affairs? Not to mention you assume my approval—”
She clenched her fists and stepped back. “I came to talk about Cait.”
“You have worked out what to do about her egg binding? Tell me and I shall see that it is done.” He reached toward his pocket—was he planning to try and write notes—or have her write them?
“It is not something I can tell you precisely.”
“What do you mean?” A particular low note entered his voice, one that usually presaged a bout of temper.
“I am still sorting out all the information and working out how what the poulterer told me might be accomplished for her.” She turned aside and braced herself.
“Poulterer? She is a dragon, not a chicken!”
“I am entirely aware of that.”
“You cannot apply what one would do with a chicken—”
She sucked in a deep breath and counted to nine. “It is useful information, especially when considered in conjunction with the information in the rather ancient, and I might add, incomplete tome you sent me.”
He stomped over to face her directly. “She will be so comforted and pleased to know you think her no different than a chicken.”
“Those are your words and attitudes, not mine. I would thank you to keep them to yourself!”
“Because you will hear no contradiction.”
She leaned in close to his face, voice barely above a whisper. “Because this is not the first time I have done such a thing! How do you think I came to a solution for Bedlow’s teething or worked out how to manage scale mites in the nest? No dragon lore contained that information. I worked it out by looking to other sources.”
“Had I known that earlier, I would have put a stop to it.” His face turned florid.
Where did he think her information had come from? From some volume she had access to but he did not?
“And cheated how many dragons out of the comfort they have found? Have you forgotten how much relief Bedford found when I worked with the blacksmith to devise a tooth key to remove his rotten tooth? Had he continued suffering, he might well have done himself or someone around him a serious injury!”
“Might, might, might! It is all speculation.” He threw his hands into the air. “You have no idea what would have happened. The tooth might very well have righted itself or fallen out on its own. You do not know. For all we know, you might have interfered with the natural way of things as you did with April’s hatching.”
Her fists knotted of their own accord, her arms quivering. “Are you suggesting we would be better off had she not hatched at all?”
“I am merely saying you have a propensity to insert yourself into dragon matters without thinking it through thoroughly. What appears to be helpful might actually be harmful. If every clutch of fairy dragons were rescued, England would be up to their noses in the worthless little flitter-bobs.”
“So you consider my Friend worthless?”
“Her species is—”
“Is small and helpless and cute—not at all what one might consider a dragon to be. Thus, she is worthless. I am glad to know your feelings on the matter.” Disagreeable, short-sighted man! So assured he was right and the only one who could be. If she looked at his face any longer—she turned her back.
“Tell me how to take care of Cait. I cannot stand here much longer.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?” That got his attention.
“If I tell you, you are likely to dismiss a great deal of what I say and try to manage this on your own. Half-knowledge could easily kill her as well as ruin her eggs. I will not provide you with anything that might encourage that.”
“So you refuse to help her? That will delight the Order.”
“That is not what I said, and you know it. What is more, Rustle has heard the entire conversation.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “See that Uncle Gardiner knows what has been said and understands that Papa has no knowledge as to how to help Cait.”
Rustle nodded and launched from the fingerpost.
“Lizzy! How dare you!”
“You leave me little choice. I will not risk her on your prejudices and ill-informed efforts.”
“And you have suddenly become an expert in laying dragons?”
“I have certainly studied far more than you on the matter.”
“Impudent girl! I am ashamed of you!! Your time at the Order is making you arrogant. You cannot compare your knowledge to mine.”
She walked several steps away, skirt catching in the tall dry grasses on the roadside, each breath dragging, tearing at her throat. “What you know is different to what I know and not what is essential to help Cait right now. Histories will not help her. Rustle will come for me the moment Cait thinks she might begin laying.”
“You know Longbourn will not allow you in the house,” he called from behind her.
“It is your responsibility to see that he does. Whatever it takes, you must do it, or the life of the translator the Blue Order assigned to your house is on your hands. I would not want to explain to the Order—or to Lady Catherine—that something has gone wrong because I was denied access to her.”
“Th
at is going too far. You will not—”
“No, Papa, you have no right to make such demands on me. Have you forgotten? I am—in a large part by your choice—no longer part of your household. Longbourn banished me, and you have made no effort to intervene. I no longer answer to anyone from Longbourn, including you.”
“Disrespectful, arrogant—” He stormed toward her.
She turned to face him and stepped backwards, matching him step for step. “You chose this, not I. Now you must live with it. I will go now, but first I should warn you, there is indeed another major dragon nearby. Longbourn needs to be warned, and my sisters and mother watched closely. The entire dragon state is in an uproar, and the slightest incident could spell disaster.”
His entire countenance changed, pallor creeping across his face. “Do not interfere in matters you do not understand.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Do not interfere.”
“Do you know something about the rogue dragon?” It really was not a question. The answer was evident in his every look.
“Do not interfere, Lizzy.”
“I am operating under direct instructions from the Order. You must tell me what you know.”
“Rogue dragons are dangerous, too dangerous for a woman to deal with. You must not interfere.” He turned his back and shuffled toward the road to Longbourn. No doubt Uncle Gardiner would meet him with the coach soon.
What point was there in following? He was such an obstinate man. No amount of pleading would persuade him. So, so stubborn.
She wrapped her arms around her waist and shambled toward Netherfield, her hands numb, her belly roiling, her shoulders aching. Not only had he thrown her away in favor of Longbourn, he thought her efforts to help dragons no more than foolish experimenting, not worthy of respect, despite the results she had achieved.
She was no more than a foolish little girl in his eyes and would never be more than that. She tripped over a fallen branch and landed hard on her knees. Twittering fairy dragons zipped overhead—it must be a local harem. Was that April there in the lead, flying higher than any of them? The color was right, and the way she dipped and wove looked just like April diving through the halls of the Blue Order. It must be her—but she did not stop.