by Emma Osborne
“I confess, sir, that I am taken aback by your assumptions about these two. Butterflies are by their very nature ornamental, but their presence is the garden is one of necessity and not mere decoration. As to their separate species, I would say in response that perhaps it is not the species that is of concern, but the strictures of propriety that would keep them apart. Who is to say that a butterfly may not love a fox, or a wolf to love a lamb? I say that is entirely unfair.” The man smiled thinly.
“Spoken like a goddess indeed. Cold and imperious as the moon herself.” The man’s tone was lazy, and almost contemptuous, and Elizabeth huffed in frustration.
“If the alternative is to be courted by a pile of weeds, then I am better off among the stars. If you will excuse me.” Elizabeth did not wait for his bow, and turned away from him sharply. His low chuckle stoked her simmering mood and she fought the urge to turn and berate him for his impropriety. What good would it do? Tonight they were all nameless and faceless and she was better off just to forget about the young man’s rudeness. Elizabeth straightened her shoulders, walked towards her mother, and tried her best not to think about the smug smile on the young man’s face as he had insulted her; or the glint of mischief in his eyes as they had met hers.
Chapter 6
Darcy smiled to himself as the young woman walked away from him. He would have to remember to compliment Caroline on her idea for the party theme, as it was proving most entertaining. Although he found himself wondering who had been under the silver mask. It was clear that she knew the young woman who was dancing with Charles, but that had not stopped him from speaking more than he should have. There was something about the determined set of her chin, and the way her mouth tightened when she was angry that intrigued him. Then there was the way her eyes had flashed with annoyance that had captivated him... he watched Charles and his partner whirl across the floor, and briefly entertained the idea of asking the woman in the silver mask to dance, but then he thought better of it.
He had judged Charles’ partner to be of a lower standing based purely on the virtue of their surroundings. Country manners, of course, would come with typically watery country bloodlines, and what was judged a ‘good family’ in this end of the country would not be welcome in the halls of the company he usually kept. He could not allow Charles to make this same mistake his cousin Beatrice had. She was mother to a pack of children and mistress of a house whose fortunes were shared by her husband’s three other brothers. Hardly an ideal state of affairs. They could not afford an estate of their own, and Beatrice’s fortune had gone to settle the debts of her beloved husband’s title and family entail. Entirely disagreeable.
It did not help matters that his friend looked entirely too happy at this very moment. Darcy spied Caroline lingering at the edge of one of the damask pillars, her eyes also trained on her brother and his graceful partner. Her golden mask glittered in the candlelight, and he made the same assessment of her as he had of the young woman who had just been standing at his side. Caroline’s sun goddess was harsh and unforgiving, as capable of blinding and scarring as the moon was of leaving one feeling isolated and small. The sun could be oppressive and powerful, while the moon was aloof and distant… Caroline suited her mask well, and he could not abide her mercurial turns of mood and fiery opinions. She sparred when there was nothing to challenge, and while he sometimes enjoyed her banter, her barbs grew tiresome after a short time. While Charles’ eldest sister may have held some hope that she would see Darcy and Caroline married, he had no illusions about who Caroline really was, and he could never have been convinced otherwise.
As though she could hear his thoughts, Caroline turned her face in his direction, and a smile curved her lips, which had been painted with gold dust. The effect was meant to enhance the exotic look of her mask, but on her complexion the gold made her look flushed and somewhat sickly. Darcy nodded in her direction and turned away before she could be encouraged to join him. He did not particularly want to hear Caroline’s opinions on how the evening was unfolding.
The room was warm, and while he wanted to take off his mask, it was expressly against the rules of the evening. Charles and his rules. He wound his way through the guests towards the conservatory. The young woman in the moon goddess mask stood near a small knot of other ladies, engaged in conversation with one who was wearing a mask depicting the bold scarlet face of a cardinal. However, as the moon goddess spoke to the bird, her eyes followed him, and he suppressed a smile and lengthened his strides. A breath of fresh night air would do him good. The whiskey he had drunk to fortify him before the ball had begun was burning in his stomach and he either needed another drink, or perhaps two.
* * *
Elizabeth watched the arrogant man in the green mask walk out of the ballroom, and seethed with annoyance. All through her conversation with Charlotte, she had been replaying their conversation over in her mind. If one could even call an exchange of thinly veiled insults a conversation.
“Lizzy… are you listening to me?” Elizabeth looked at Charlotte with surprise. Her friend blinked behind the scarlet feathers of her mask, and Elizabeth saw amusement in her eyes.
“I am sorry, Charlotte, I was far away.”
“Tell me what is on your mind, Lizzy, clearly you want to talk to someone about it…” A hint of a smile hovered at the edge of Charlotte’s lips, and Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped as she gave in. The details of the exchange, including her collision with the group of wolf-masked officers, poured out of her mouth and she instantly felt better having told someone about what had happened. When she had finished, Charlotte held a hand to her chin, looking thoughtful for a moment.
“He was wearing a mask with ivy leaves upon it? And he was speaking about the man in the fox mask who, as you will notice, is still dancing with Jane… quite against protocol, I should mention. Why Lizzy, that man was none other than Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. He is a friend of Mr. Bingley’s, and I have it on good authority that he has a great fortune to his name. And Mr. Bingley… why that is he, over there with Jane!” Elizabeth bit back a gasp of amazement and turned wide eyes towards the dance floor where Jane and the newly revealed (yet, still masked) Mr. Bingley were making their way towards the banquet tables.
“A pity that a good fortune cannot purchase an agreeable disposition.” Her hand flew to her mouth, “I must tell Jane that she has been dancing with our host, she will be most embarrassed otherwise!” Charlotte put a hand on Elizabeth’s arm to stop her from rushing over and interrupting Jane and Mr. Bingley’s discussion.
“Wait, Lizzy! If you interrupt them now, you will embarrass not just Jane, but yourself as well. Wait until Jane has been able to come back to us, she will soon enough, you will see. Be patient!”
Elizabeth sighed heavily and wished that she had brought her fan, but as Kitty had borrowed her reticule, her own fan was sitting on her bed. A careless mistake. She tugged at her gloves and looked around the room. She had seen no one else that she had recognized, and had turned down another dance. It was too warm in the ballroom.
“I am very poor at patience, Charlotte; surely you know that well enough by now. I am too warm, and I fear that if I stay in here much longer I will faint. Will you come out into the garden with me?” Charlotte looked towards her mother, who was deep in conversation with Mrs. Bennet and another woman in a bright parrot mask that Elizabeth did not recognize.
“I should stay; my mother may look for me to dance with a gentleman who paid me a good deal of attention at my birthday dance. I do not know if he is here, but if he is, my mother will certainly seek him out and send my father to seek his company.” Charlotte sighed heavily and Elizabeth gripped her hand briefly, giving her a sympathetic smile.
“I suppose I should count myself lucky that Mama does not know which of these fine gentlemen is Mr. Bingley, else we should never hear the end of it.” Elizabeth turned towards the dance floor to see Lydia’s china doll face leaned close to Kitty’s as they spoke with two of the Pru
ssian officers in their black coats and predatory masks. Masked officers in Regimental red who could only be Lydia’s usual dance partners glowered at the interlopers from across the dancefloor.
Elizabeth let out a breath and looked for Jane and Mr. Bingley, and spotted them leaving the ballroom, no doubt headed for the Conservatory and a breath of the cool night air. Elizabeth pulled at her gloves once more and followed them, winding her way through the guests and out into the damask lined corridor. The glass doors of the Conservatory were open wide, and she stepped through into the fragrant air of the makeshift entryway with a grateful sigh. The fragrance of lilies and night blooming flowers enveloped her, and she reached out a tentative hand to rub her gloved finger over the waxen petal of a nearby lily that stood taller than she did.
A shout came from outside, and Elizabeth looked up in alarm, and took quick steps to stand on the stairs that led down to the courtyard. Footmen were running towards what could only have been the stables, and Elizabeth heard more voices calling out in panic. Before she could determine where the noise was coming from, Jane was at her elbow.
“Lizzy! Something is happening in the stables, come with me!” Elizabeth stared at her sister in surprise.
“Come with you? Surely we should stay here?” Jane shook her head vehemently.
“No! Mr. Bingley is worried for his horses, and I cannot bear the thought of the poor animals being hurt. Our own Misty is in his stables! Sure you do not wish to see her hurt!”
“Of course not! But, Jane… surely we should wait…” more shouting caused them both to turn their heads in the direction of the side of the house, and Jane tugged at her sister’s arm.
“I cannot wait, Lizzy!” Jane fled down the stairs, and with a cry of frustration, Elizabeth followed her. The mask impaired her vision, making the courtyard appear eerily proportioned in the torchlight. Shadows loomed large, and carriages towered around them as they ran across the gravel towards the side of the manor. A footman raced past them, dropping his black mask onto the ground as he did, and Elizabeth tugged at the ribbons of her own mask and pulling it free.
As they rounded the corner, the low buildings that made up the stables came into view, and the scene before them was one of chaos and terror.
* * *
Horses had broken loose from their stalls and cantered through the courtyard, streaking towards the fields that surrounded Netherfield Park, kicking up their hooves in their panic, and screaming in terror. Grooms and footmen tried to calm the huge animals, narrowly avoiding heavy iron shod hooves that clawed the air. A large black stallion reared up on its hind legs, and Elizabeth cried out as a groom was struck in the head by a flying hoof. The man crumpled to the ground and lay still and Elizabeth clutched Jane’s arm tightly.
A dappled grey mare galloped towards them, her silvery mane flying and Elizabeth could see the whites of the horse’s terrified eyes and long red gashes in her neck that had bled down her pale hide. Frozen in place, Elizabeth and Jane watched in mute horror as the horse careened towards them. A shout from the dark shook Elizabeth from her stupor, but her feet felt rooted to the cobblestones and a whimper escaped her lips as the panicked animal drew closer. The clatter of hooves striking the ground echoed in her ears, and she shut her eyes tightly.
In the next moment, something solid collided with their bodies, and Elizabeth and Jane crashed to the ground. Elizabeth’s eyes flew open in time to see the heavy hooves of the grey mare strike the cobblestones just in front of her face as the horse ran onwards into the dark, her speed unchecked by their near miss. Relief flooded through her and she struggled to pull herself upright. Hand appeared to help her to her feet, and Elizabeth stood unsteadily as a footman and Mr. Bingley, who had lost his fox mask in the panic, lifted Jane to her feet. There was no sign of whoever had pushed them out of the way of the frightened horse, and Elizabeth, shaken to the core, began wiping ineffectually at the dirt that marred the pale fabric of her dress.
A tall man in a finely tailored coat that Elizabeth recognized was fighting to halter a rearing chestnut mare. The grooms and footmen had managed to gain a semblance of control over the stables, but the danger was far from over. Grooms led horses back to their stalls, including the grey mare, and Elizabeth could see that there were more injured animals. Blood stained their smooth hides and long furrows were gouged in muscular hindquarters. One horse lay dead in its stall, and a groom stood nearby with his cap in his hands and tears in his eyes. Mr. Bingley shouted instructions as the man in the dark jacket pulled a halter over the chestnut mare’s head and stroked her neck, speaking soothingly as her ears twitched and she pranced nervously. However, the man had steady hands the mare seemed to calm visibly as he placed his hand upon her neck.
Jane pulled at Elizabeth’s hand and they skirted the edge of the scene, and even though Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to return to the safety of the courtyard, Jane seemed determined to find something.
“I saw… I do not know what I saw, but something dark was running between the horses, and I thought I heard something… but it could not be. Did you hear anything, Lizzy?” Elizabeth shook her head and allowed Jane to pull her along, but her eyes were still fixed on the man who was leading the now calm chestnut mare back to her stall. He was familiar, but she could not place him… not yet.
With a cry, Jane rushed forward towards the edge of the stable building. Startled, Elizabeth stumbled and almost pitched forward into the dirt, but at the last moment she reached out to catch herself and found herself gripping a thick, sturdy arm. She regained her feet and looked up into the eyes of her rescuer, but instead of a warm gaze, a chill raced up her spine as she met the ghostly pale eyes of the Prussian soldier she had met in the ballroom. He said nothing, and his face betrayed no emotion as she stuttered out her gratitude for his timely rescue.
“Lizzy!” Elizabeth turned her head quickly in her sister’s direction and as she did so, the officer melted away into the moonlit night, and when she turned to excuse herself not a moment later, she found that she was alone. Trying to shake off the cold knot in the pit of her stomach, she ran in the direction of Jane’s call. She found her sister crouched next to the crumpled form of a stable boy. He was sitting upright, leaning against the back of the stable wall and bleeding from many wounds, the largest of which was on his shoulder.
“Fetch Mr. Bingley, we must get the lad inside and see to his wounds. Please, Lizzy! Hurry!” Elizabeth nodded briefly, her eyes on the pale face of the boy. Perhaps it was the moonlight that made his complexion seem so grave, but he appeared to have lost a lot of blood, and his ordeal would surely have been terrifying.
Elizabeth rushed into the courtyard to find Mr. Bingley standing with the man in the tailored jacket, they were talking closely together, but she could hear the word “wolves” as she approached. The gentlemen turned suddenly as she walked up to them and they both bowed sharply to her, and Elizabeth was vaguely annoyed that they could not forget propriety even in a crisis.
“Mr. Bingley, I am sorry, Jane has found… Jane has found one of the stable boys. He is injured and we must get him into the house.” Mr. Bingley’s eyes widened and he rushed in the direction that she had come. Elizabeth waited with the other gentleman, her fingers twisting together around the ribbons of her mask, which she had somehow managed not to drop. She looked around nervously and spied Jane’s mask on the cobblestones where they had avoided the horse’s pounding hooves. She retrieved it quickly and brushed some dirt from the delicate paint.
“I see you have answered my question for me… Miss Bennet, I presume?” Elizabeth looked up to see the gentleman in the tailored coat bowing in her direction once more. The heat of a blush crept up Elizabeth’s face as she looked at the man’s smug expression. Unsure of how to answer she looked towards the corner of the stable. Mr. Bingley, carrying the stable boy in his arms was coming towards them with Jane following close behind.
“You must excuse me.” Elizabeth did not meet the man’s eyes as she
reached for Jane’s elbow and fell into step beside her. She looked over her shoulder to see the man bowing slightly. She recognized him now, with that arrogant tone and smug smile, he had been the man masked in ivy who had spoken ill of Jane and the attention that Mr. Bingley had paid her. She did not need to know his name to know that she disliked him. No matter what his name was, it would not change what he had said or the way she had felt about his words.
Chapter 7
The boy wasn’t heavy, in fact he was lighter than Charles had expected, which worried him. As they rounded the corner of the house and entered the courtyard, which was still choked with carriages, he shouted for a footman.
“Take the boy upstairs and call for clean linens and bandages. Miss Bennet will see to his injuries and we will call the doctor in the morning.” The masked footman nodded briefly and took the boy from Charles, the flash of surprise on his face told Charles that he had also been expecting the boy to be heavier. He would have to speak to the head groom about the care of the stable lads.
Darcy had followed them at a short distance, and he could feel some animosity crackling between his friend and Miss Jane Bennet’s sister. That would not do at all. With a glance over her shoulder, Miss Jane Bennet followed the footman into the house and through the damask curtains that blocked off the house to the guests. There was a small bedroom at the top of the stairs that would do for the boy’s sickroom until he could be moved to the servant’s quarters. Charles turned to the young lady who stood awkwardly between him and the ballroom.