by Sarah Hoyt
"I would never elope Papa, as you very well know. And he's not my Mr. Bingley."
"I think he is," her father said, looking up with a slight smile. "Or very soon will be. You see, your mother has decreed it so."
* * * *
Jane's look at Elizabeth wasn't as anguished as it might have been. The moon had started to wane and therefore her urge to change was lessened and more easily controllable. It was just the hopeless look the sisters were used to trading when their mother thought of matching Jane to someone. All Mrs. Bennet's machinations were for naught, due to Jane's condition, and both girls did their utmost to avoid any uncomfortable situations she contrived to place Jane in.
While helping her sister get ready to go to Netherfield, Elizabeth reminded her of the dangers of any gentleman forming an attachment for her.
"You have no reason to imagine I would have forgotten," said Jane, who looked very beautiful, with her hair arranged in an upward sweep and flowers woven through her curls. "Surely you don't think me so inconsiderate that I would risk cursing an innocent family with my blood."
"An innocent family indeed," Elizabeth said. "Any family should be lucky to have you amid them, no matter what your blood." They had discussed this many a time. They knew, from books and police accounts written in the papers that the curse didn't hit every generation. In fact, just a few weeks ago, a Lord had been arrested in London whose family had never -- to the knowledge of anyone living -- had a were amongst its members. But the man -- Elizabeth couldn't help thinking of him as a poor man -- had been found in lion form in the middle of Town one night, and had been arrested, tried and beheaded within the week. She shivered at the thought. She would do whatever she had to do to prevent such a fate befalling her sweet Jane. "And there is no guarantee it would show in the children. I'm just afraid of a husband who would not understand your need."
Jane made an impish face, worthy of Elizabeth. "Oh, as to that, there is no problem, then. I shall marry Bingley and you shall come and live with us. That way you can be at hand to hide my changes."
"And to teach your ten children to embroider cushions and play their instruments very ill indeed," Elizabeth said, and grinned. "Go, and I hope you enjoy your evening with the superior sisters."
"Elizabeth, they're not so very bad."
Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at Jane, so it reflected in the mirror Jane was looking into. "No, they are far worse. But you'll always think the best of people. So go, because it looks like rain, and though this might mean you get to see your Mr. Bingley, I don't want you soaked to the skin on the way there."
However, as fate would have it, it rained while Jane was on the way to Netherfield, and in the way of such things, Jane, who, in her other form, was fairly impervious to rain, immediately fell ill and had to stay at Netherfield.
Elizabeth could imagine her sister's torment and refused to sit idly at Longbourn while her sister was bereft of a friendly shoulder to cry on. Instead, she insisted on walking to Netherfield to visit the very next morning.
She arrived early in the morning and much to her astonishment saw Mr. Darcy in the gardens. He looked tired and disoriented and his cravat was askew, something she found surprising for he had given every appearance of being a fastidious man. This led Elizabeth to again consider the conversation she had overheard between Mr. Darcy and his friend at the assembly. It seemed almost as if he was just now returning from a night of debauchery.
She hoped to avoid his notice, but the very next moment he looked up. His eyes widened upon seeing her and, she was sure, he stared at her petticoats, which were three inches deep in mud. And though his green eyes remained attractive, even while widened to their extreme extent, she was sure they were filled with disapproval and something more. Possibly contempt. How could he judge her after whatever indiscretions he had come from? Elizabeth tossed her head and turned away from him. She walked quickly up the carriageway towards the front steps as Mr. Darcy stood, silent and brooding, beneath the overspreading bough of a great oak.
The butler showed Elizabeth into the breakfast room, where Mr. Bingley and his sisters were still partaking of their first meal of the day. After the initial greetings had been exchanged, Elizabeth asked to be taken to her sister, and a maid was summoned to perform this service. Just as she exited through the doorway, Darcy entered from an adjoining salon.
"Mr. Darcy!' cried Caroline. "You will never guess who just traipsed in and disturbed our meal!"
"I imagine it was Miss Elizabeth Bennet," said he, imperturbably."
How uncouth she is!" continued Caroline, as she wondered at Darcy's accurate guess. "Running all over the countryside and barging in uninvited just because her sister has a trifling cold."
"It shows sisterly compassion which I find very pleasing!" countered Bingley.
"Yes," said Darcy, "but does so slight an illness necessitate such lively concern?"
"Not at all," cried Caroline. "And what a figure she presented! Her petticoats all covered in mud and her hair positively windblown! You would not want your sister to make such a display, would you Mr. Darcy?"
He shook his head, and then excused himself and went up to his room. He could not erase from his mind the look he had seen upon Miss Bennet's face when she had spied him in the garden. It was one of disgust. His appearance had indeed been disheveled, but nothing to what she would have seen if she had happened upon him not fifteen minutes earlier. Then he had been completely naked. He would have to secrete his cache of clothing deeper in the bushes. This morning had been much too close a call.
* * * *
Elizabeth sat by Jane's bedside and waited for her to awaken. Her hair was sweaty and brushed back from her face. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyelids fluttered and then opened.
"Elizabeth," she sighed, her voice weak and hoarse.
"Do not speak, dearest, just rest. I am with you now and all will be well."
"He was here, last night," whispered Jane, her eyes sparkling and feverish. "In my room."
"Who was in your room?"
"The were that ran with me."
Elizabeth smiled and took her hand. "Oh Jane! He could not come inside this house, let alone find your room. You must have been dreaming."
"But it was so real. So real. He was beside my bed, watching over me."
"Your description is more that of an angel than a were ," said Elizabeth.
"Elizabeth! You, of all people must know that weres are not inherently evil. I believe that even in their animal form they have compassion, just as humans do."
"Dearest Jane! You have more tender feelings than most normal humans do, but all weres are not like you. Certainly in their human form they are civilised and know right from wrong, but are they always cognizant of their true feelings when under the influence of the moon? And would a were you ran with recognize you as you are now?"
Jane hung her head. It had been such a compelling idea that she had wanted to believe it, but Elizabeth must be right. How would the were have come to her and known her? It was a dream. No more than a foolish romantic dream. And yet . . .
"Do not worry about it," said Elizabeth, stroking Jane's cheek. "You sleep, dearest, and get well. I will be here by your side."
* * * *
The doctor was called to see Jane and his advice was that she not be moved, though both Elizabeth and Jane were anxious to return to Longbourn. Caroline, seeing that she had no choice but offer her hospitality to Jane until she was well enough to return home, invited Elizabeth to stay and nurse her, thus relieving herself of the burden she had no wish to take part in. Miss Jane Bennet was a dear, sweet girl, but she and Louisa had better things to do than cater to the wishes of a country nobody.
Elizabeth spent the rest of the day with Jane and only went below stairs to partake of the evening meal with the family. Mr. Bingley asked after her sister in a most solicitous manner, offering anything that was in his power to provide for her comfort, and even Mr. Darcy politely said that he hoped Miss
Bennet was feeling better. Caroline and Louisa declared how desperately sorry they were for their friend and then began to speak of the latest London fashions, and Mr. Hurst had no time for anything but his food. Elizabeth could not return to Jane fast enough. She was so fast, in fact, that she had omitted to bring some new reading material, and the volume Miss Bingley had provided on Jane's night table, Of Witches, Weres, and Warlocks , did not appeal to her in the least.
It was quite late and Jane was at last sleeping peacefully, when Elizabeth made the decision to find her way through the slumbering household to the library. She pulled her robe close about her and held her candlestick up high. Silently she followed the corridors to the main staircase and then descended. If she was not mistaken, the Netherfield library was next door to the drawing room. There was a chill draught running through the lower hallways, and as she passed an open door, her candle blew out. She almost stumbled as darkness enclosed her, but after taking a deep breath and letting her eyes become accustomed to the looming shadows, she started forward again. Then she heard a noise -- a slight scuffling and an earnest whisper. Light glowed dimly from the open doorway. She stopped, unsure whether to retrace her steps or continue on to the library. The whispers became more distinct.
"Listen to me. You are with me now -- let me hold you till the urge passes."
"I can't help myself. It is strong. So strong."
"You can overcome it."
"Darcy -- you don't understand. There is a desire that fills me more than ever before."
"I understand your desire. Do you think I do not have it? But now is not the time. Think of your sisters and your guests -- they must never even guess at this thing we share."
Through the doorframe, silhouetted against the banked fire, Elizabeth could see two men in what could only be construed as an ardent embrace. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley! The impassioned words that had gone between them spoke of something far deeper than mere friendship. Elizabeth blushed furiously at the thought of what that must mean and then turned tail and ran upstairs to the safety of her sister's bedside.
* * * *
In the morning, with the bright winter sun shining in through the bedchamber window, Elizabeth could hardly credit what she had seen the night before. Could that walk through the darkened house have been all in her imagination? A dream? It was too gothic to be real -- the snuffed candle, the mysterious voices, the image of two men in close embrace. She looked at the discarded book upon the nightstand. She had not read much of it, but what she had read, and her previous suspicions of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley being engaged in some kind of nefarious activities, might possibly have brought on confused dreams. It was easier to believe she had dreamed it than to believe that they were lovers.
At breakfast she observed both of them and found Mr. Bingley just as charming as ever. And just as concerned for Jane's welfare. And Mr. Darcy was just as silent and withdrawn as always. His eyes did not rest upon Mr. Bingley with any more warmth than when they rested upon her -- which they did all too often. But the look in them was indecipherable.
Elizabeth decided that she must indeed have been dreaming, and made sure to ask Mr. Bingley if she could borrow some books from his library. He immediately apologized profusely for not thinking of it before, and she went up to her room with a half dozen volumes of poetry and plays -- all light, bright and sparkling -- to ensure that her nighttime horrors were not repeated. The next two days went by without incident.
It was on the third night, in the drawing room, while Mr. Hurst and Mrs. Hurst were engaged in a game of cards, Elizabeth sat reading a book, Mr. Bingley paced desultorily back and forth and Mr. Darcy wrote a letter to his sister -- while Caroline admired everything he did, from the way he wrote his letters to the speed of his writing -- that a conversation took place which Elizabeth would have given something to avoid.
It really could not surprise her that the conversation should come across through the good offices of Caroline, whom Elizabeth had already determined to be smitten with Mr. Darcy. Being smitten with Mr. Darcy was, of course, the height of bad taste but atop of it all Caroline seemed to be insane or deluded and so far gone as to consider Elizabeth a rival. In her effort to mark her territory and exclude Elizabeth, she was practically bending over the table upon which Mr. Darcy wrote, and making comments about Mr. Darcy's sister, Georgiana. How intelligent, accomplished and amazing Georgiana was. And how, as soon as she came out, she would be a famed beauty, and how...
Amid the flow of inane talk, she said, "Oh, and pray ask Georgiana if she saw the execution of the were-lion in London, for I heard it was most amusing."
Elizabeth glanced up, struck, staring at a woman who could refer to the death of a human being as amusing. At the same time she realized that Mr. Darcy, who was looking up, had gone deathly pale. For just a moment she met his eyes, and she thought she could read compassion and understanding in his gaze. The realization so stunned her that she didn't say anything. Mr. Darcy didn't speak, also, and Caroline was suffered to go on, in her light way, giggling, "Imagine a terrible were in one of the best families of the ton, and having kept it secret until he was twenty eight, too. He must have started changing shapes a good fourteen years ago, if not sooner. Imagine hiding it from everyone. I'm so glad they caught him. He might have changed in the middle of a party and... eaten me."
Mr. Darcy, still pale, let his mouth drop open, as though in astonishment.
Chastisement came from a strange quarter. Mr. Bingley, usually so easy going, had turned around, "Caroline! You must know that Lord Sevrin was at Cambridge with Darcy and I, and he was all that could be proper and civilized, poor soul. I can't believe you, of all people, would gloat over his execution."
At that moment Mr. Darcy found his voice, and boomed, in a tone that left little chance his paleness was due to compassion, "Miss Bingley! Surely you don't think the spectacle of a were execution is appropriate for the eyes of a young lady of my sister's delicacy and upbringing?"
And Miss Bingley was left speechless, in the crossfire from two so disparate directions. Were the subject not so distasteful, Elizabeth would have laughed.
Instead, she remained quiet as Caroline tried to defend herself, "Well, everyone knows how dangerous weres are. And this is why the were laws say they must be killed as soon as possible. Surely the law has our best interests at heart and..."
"I've always wondered about that," Bingley said, and there was a hint of an odd tremor to his voice. "I've always wondered if truly weres are all dangerous, or only some of them, and whether the others suffer needlessly for the misdeeds of a few."
Elizabeth blinked, disbelieving. If the man was telling the truth, and this was truly how he felt, perhaps there was no great harm in Jane's feeling tenderly towards him. Perhaps he was the one man in a million to whom she would dare entrust her sister's happiness and her very life. If indeed that strange nighttime scene between him and Mr. Darcy was only a dream, or her heightened imagination. From her observation of Mr. Bingley, his heart was more likely to belong to her sister than to his friend. And though she had sworn she would do her utmost to ensure that Jane and Mr. Bingley did not fall in love with each other, the idea of someone who cared about Jane enough to overlook her disability was a very heady thing. She was jerked out of these happy thoughts by Mr. Darcy's response to Bingley.
"Oh, Charles, do not presume to expound on things to which you've given little thought." He was still pale and, weirdly, his eyes looked scared.
Elizabeth wondered why he looked scared. Perhaps he was coming down with some illness?
"Of course your sister is right, and the were laws are meant to protect us. Still, poor Sevrin, he always seemed like a decent chap. But you know, he must have done some depredations in a secret life we knew nothing about."
Mr. Bingley looked as if he might argue, but the two men exchanged a look that Elizabeth couldn't begin to understand, and he shrugged. "Perhaps you are right. You are always a deeper thinker than I."
&nb
sp; "Well, you tend to think with your heart, Bingley, which doesn't entirely speak ill of you."
But Elizabeth was disgusted with how easily Mr. Bingley would give in to his disagreeable friend.
"Oh, Jane," she told her sister that night, after relating the conversation. "The man is odious. How he could speak of a gentleman he knew to be a decent chap and yet rejoice in his death. I cannot wait till we can return to Longbourn and are out of Netherfield for good."
Chapter Four
The day after Elizabeth and Jane returned from Netherfield, Lydia and Kitty came from Meryton all excited at some news.
Giggling, they tripped into the drawing room, and Lydia said, "Guess what is happening?" And then immediately after. "Oh, you'll never guess, so I'll tell you. We're getting a regiment of the Royal Were -Hunters. They're camping at Meryton, in response to people's complaints that they've seen a dragon flying around at night. Because some farmers also say that their hen houses have been broken into by wolves that are too cunning to be natural, we've been declared an infested shire. This means we get the were -hunters all to ourselves for months." She fanned herself, as she fell into a chair. "Oooh. Gold Coats. I can hardly wait."
While Elizabeth and Jane traded a horrified look across the room, Mrs. Bennet gazed fondly at her youngest daughter. "I liked a Gold Coat well enough in my day," she said. "When I was being courted by your father," she sighed, "there was a colonel Colonel Cummings of whom I thought exceedingly well." She frowned. "But then he was found tied to the hitching post outside the church, stark naked, with some very rude words painted on his bottom. He swore the werewolf had found him, overpowered him with were strength and done this to him. But no one could believe that a were would have such a sense of humor and so the colonel left the region in some disgrace." She sighed again. "And I married your father." She rallied. "However, you must know that were -hunters receive bounty of ten thousand for each were denounced and twenty thousand for each were killed. So, as long as they're good marksmen, all of you could find good husbands."