A Touch of Night

by Sarah Hoyt

  "Of course. And Mary too if she is inclined. The more the merrier!" She grinned teasingly.

  "I'd as lief stay by the fire and read," said Mary.

  "Shall we go out then?" said Bingley eagerly, holding his arms out to the two young ladies.

  When the girls had found shawls and the three had walked some distance into the garden, heading for the little wilderness on the side of the lawn, Elizabeth finally spoke what was uppermost in her mind.

  "What has happened with Mr. Wickham? My sister Lydia tells me Mr. Darcy saved her from him. Is he at large or has he been dealt with?"

  Bingley did not forget his promise to Mr. Bennet not to reveal his true business or the danger he suspected Miss Elizabeth to be in, but he also could not withhold the complete truth from the ladies. Not after all they had been through together in London.

  "Unfortunately, Wickham escaped, but Darcy has gone after him."

  "As a dragon, or as a man?" Elizabeth wanted to know.

  Bingley tried to rid himself of the image of Darcy flying off into the night after the weasel, the serving wench screaming, the reek of cheap brandy in his nostrils, the reeling drunkard, the angry landlord. The awful fear of discovery that had gripped him and given him the strength to extricate himself from the mess. What exactly had happened? He had fallen asleep and now Elizabeth Bennet was in constant danger from the most underhanded creature he had ever come across. And Jane -- his dear, sweet, angelic Jane -- she was in even deeper peril. He hadn't been able to tell her father of the threat to Jane, knowing that he had no idea of his daughter's affliction. And now Darcy was out there, riding the night winds in dragon form, using his extra-sensitive sense of smell to sniff out that weasel Wickham.

  "I hardly know," he responded truthfully. "As man by day and as dragon by night I would imagine, but I can only surmise."

  "But what if he should be seen?" asked Jane in a hushed voice.

  "Darcy will be careful, you can trust in that," said Bingley with as much conviction as he could muster.

  Elizabeth glanced at him, fear alive in her eyes, and then walked ahead of the couple to give Mr. Bingley the opportunity he needed to declare himself to Jane. She had hardly gone two steps when they caught her up and Bingley took her arm again, setting himself between them.

  "I have a great desire to see the rose garden," he said jovially, turning them from the wilderness and guiding them to an area much closer to the house. "Roses are my very favourite flowers."

  "Mine too," said Jane with a smile.

  Try as she could, for the rest of the day and into the evening, Elizabeth could not manage to leave Jane and Mr. Bingley on their own. It seemed that the gentleman was just as desirous as her sister not to be given the opportunity for a tete-a-tete. Her mother had no better luck the next morning.

  "I suggest you walk to Oakham Mount," she said, after giving up on removing Elizabeth from the room. "The view from there is very fine, Mr. Bingley -- you must see it. Jane knows the way."

  "And Elizabeth would enjoy a walk too," Jane insisted.

  "Is there not somewhere closer to Longbourn we can all three explore?" asked Bingley, signalling Mr. Bennet desperately with his eyes. He did not think taking the ladies into the countryside a good plan with Wickham still upon the loose. "It might be overtaxing to walk a great distance."

  "Nonsense," cried Mrs. Bennet. "All my girls are great walkers, especially my two eldest. Why Elizabeth is bound to outdistance you both," she added with satisfaction and an abundance of winks in Elizabeth's direction.

  "I should like a good, long walk," admitted Elizabeth.

  Mr. Bennet nodded his agreement finally. "I am counting on you to stay with Jane and Mr. Bingley," he said to Elizabeth, "and not charge ahead as is your wont. Propriety must be respected at all times."

  "Oh pshaw, Mr. Bennet!" said his dear wife. "Whenever did you care so much about propriety? I am certain our Jane will come to no harm if she and Mr. Bingley dawdle along the way now and then."

  "My dear," admonished Mr. Bennet. "If you have forgotten the scandal Lydia recently put us through, I have not. Though I have complete trust in Mr. Bingley as a gentleman, people do talk, and talk is the most dangerous thing I expect to transpire, but it cannot be discounted."

  As the ladies were preparing to leave the house, Mr. Bennet took Bingley aside. "You will not be alone," he said. "Someone will be scouting the underbrush all the way along. I believe it will be safe enough for the outing. After all we cannot cage them."

  "If we told them of the danger, will not they understand the need to stay close to home?"

  "I will not have my daughters live in fear," said Mr. Bennet gruffly.

  Bingley could only relent, though he did not have a good feeling about the proposed expedition. He walked with a lady upon each arm as he had done the day previous when they had toured the garden. The weather was fine and the prospect appealing. Upon every rise there was a new vista of the countryside to exclaim about. Birds were singing and the air was fresh. The lively conversation his two companions added to the beauties of nature helped Bingley overcome the lingering feelings of trepidation. Instead he reveled in the closeness to the lady he loved and let himself imagine a perfect world where they could live together free of the worry of exposure. A world where they could run together through the fields in their other forms just as freely as they now walked through the verdant landscape.

  Elizabeth cried out at the sight of a hawthorn grove in full bloom -- frothy sprays of blossoms dusting each tree in a pink mist.. She broke free from Bingley's light hold upon her arm and ran down the slope in delight, weaving in and out of small bushes.

  "Wait, Miss Elizabeth," cried Bingley, urging Jane forward. "Remember your promise to your father."

  Jane, slightly startled, ran alongside him.

  "Let me introduce you to my favorite flowers," cried Elizabeth, twirling around under the closest of the hawthorn trees.

  A figure in a gold coat sifted itself from the shadows behind her and an arm, liberally ornamented in gold braid, slipped around her waist and drew her hard against a solid body.

  "I knew it was only a matter of time before your watchdog would let you slip from his lead," an all too familiar voice whispered in her ear. Then he called out in clear and ringing tones, "Stop right there, Bingley. I have the upper hand again."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bingley stopped with such suddenness that Jane, who had been running by his side, her hand through his arm, almost fell over. He pulled her behind him and faced Wickham.

  "Unhand her!" he cried.

  Wickham only tightened his grip on Elizabeth with his left arm as his right swiftly went to his belt and produced an evil looking pistol, as gold coloured as the liberal embellishments on his coat. "You know what this is, Bingley," he sneered, waving the pistol menacingly. "A favourite weapon of the RWH!"

  Bingley knew, and instinctively took a step back. It was no ordinary pistol. It worked by way of magical fields to cause injury to shape shifters in their animal form. A widening beam, rather than a bullet, could more easily find its target. The pain was agonizing and prolonged -- reportedly victims cried out to be killed quickly and relieved of their suffering. There were very few such pistols in existence and only the highest ranking officers had use of them.

  "Where did you get that?" he asked, knowing that he could not now change form and leap out in attack. He would protect neither Bennet sister by committing that sort of suicide.

  "Weasels can infiltrate locked rooms with some alacrity. Even garrison gunrooms!" Bingley spat on the ground. "Do not think I am the only protection these ladies have. There are men following along with us in the bushes. You cannot get away with this!"

  "Mr. Bennet's stable lads?" Wickham laughed, a malevolent, calculating laugh. "I have already dispensed with them."

  Elizabeth gasped and struggled to get free, kicking at Wickham's ankles.

  "You Bennet girls do like to kick -- but I will not be got t
hat way a second time. I do like your spirit, though. I shall enjoy taming you once I have got rid of these two curs. A pity to miss out on a beauty like your sister Jane, but I cannot let it affect me. You are my object, my dear."

  "Why me?" cried Elizabeth. "I can mean nothing to you."

  "But you mean everything to Darcy," Wickham said, his smirk creasing his face, eyes not leaving Bingley, pistol unwavering. "And therefore it will be a that much sweeter when I ruin you."

  A mighty roar split through the hawthorn copse and a lustrous gold and green and form came swooping in from the side, straight towards Wickham. He pulled the gun around and aimed just as a scaled wing knocked it from his grasp. It went off with a momentary red flash that was almost completely wide of its mark. An acrid smell filled the air, and as the dragon turned towards Wickham, advancing menacingly, one wing hanging limp, it contorted, hunching over, and writhing before them until scale and sinew was replaced by skin, glistening with sweat and covered with a fine layer of dust.

  Darcy crouched before Wickham, naked, his right arm limp at his side, his face emblazoned with pain, his teeth clasped on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "Set Elizabeth free," he hissed through his teeth, "or I will not answer for my treatment of you."

  The gold pistol was lying three yards off, half under a bush, but Wickham had rearmed himself with a blade that glistened under Elizabeth's chin.

  "She is as good as dead if you do not let us go," he grinned. "And you, Darcy -- you will wish you were dead in no short order. But your suffering will be of long duration, I am afraid. This has come about better than I ever expected."

  "You cannot get away with this!" cried Bingley, taking a quick step forward. Darcy held his hand out to his friend. "Stay," he said. "Elizabeth."

  Bingley stopped again, his eyes on the glinting edge of steel. You could tell his whole body strained to move forward and it took the greatest willpower to keep him from attacking Wickham.

  "Yes," said Wickham. "Take care -- I keep my knives sharp. A false move on my part could be deadly. Killing Miss Elizabeth is not my intention." He increased his hold upon her waist, kneading his fingers over the muslin barrier of her gown into the soft flesh of her abdomen. He leaned his head forward and kissed her temple. She flinched at his touch and the inadvertent movement caused a drop of blood to appear on the tip of her chin. "You see what I mean?" Wickham's voice was silky smooth. "It is very, very sharp." He grinned.

  Darcy stood, cradling his damaged arm against his side. "Take me and do what you must to me. I am prepared to endure anything you can think of," he said harshly, "but release her."

  Wickham threw back his head and laughed. "You are in no position to bargain with me. I will have my way with your enamorata, and the pain you will derive from that will be a thousand times worse than anything I could inflict upon you directly. And far more exquisite a delight for me."

  Darcy winced as a quiver of pain shot from his arm through his body. He looked at Elizabeth, his brilliant eyes reflecting a tumult of emotion that by far overrode the agony his injury caused. "Forgive me. I have put you in this danger." The words were inadequate, but his whole demeanor spoke in ways words never could. "There is nothing I would not suffer..."

  "You cannot take the blame for the actions of a madman," she said, her voice quivering but adamant.

  "He is not mad," said Darcy, stepping closer. "And I do not believe he would kill you. It is me, after all, that he wants to ruin." He tore his eyes from Elizabeth and raised them to the dark face hovering over hers. "You have succeeded, Wickham. I am at your mercy. Free Elizabeth and you may have my fortune. Hurt her in the smallest way and you will get nothing."

  "Your fortune?" asked Wickham. The knife eased a few inches away from Eizabeth's neck.

  "Yes. All my money. Pemberley. Everything but what belongs to my sister."

  "And once I let her go," he asked, his grip about her waist slackening ever so slightly, "what is to hold you to this promise?"

  "My word," said Darcy, taking another small step closer. "My word as a gentleman. Bingley is my witness. When have you known me to go back on my word?"

  Bingley, his mouth agape, nodded.

  "I will send an express to my man of business. He will bring the papers and I will sign everything over to you."

  "Until then, I will keep Miss Elizabeth hostage," Wickham said, turning the knife aside to rub the back of his hand along her cheek. "And see to her every comfort." The knife no longer at her neck, Elizabeth ducked her head down, shoved her right elbow hard into Wickham's abdomen, and tried to twist herself out of his grip. Darcy lunged for the knife hand, almost in flight through the air, though his form did not change. Bingley dove for the bush where the were-hunter's pistol was half-hidden.

  The knife flew into the air in a twirling spiral, sun glinting off the blade. Elizabeth was thrown to the ground as Wickham grappled with Darcy. Skin and scales pulsed in and out. Sulphur gusted, and then Wickham's uniform puddled in a heap of gold braid and buttons, and a dark, sinuous streak of fur slithered from Darcy's grasp.

  A large weasel stood before them, head erect. Bingley grasped the handle of the pistol, finger shaking on the trigger, but could not bring himself to fire. Knowing what the pistol could do, even as he hated Wickham, he could not bring himself to inflict that pain on a human being.

  "Elizabeth is safe," cried Darcy. "We must let him be. He is defenceless and unharmed. We cannot kill him."

  "And give him Pemberley?" asked Bingley, incredulous.

  "He has my word!"

  A wolf bounded out of the underbrush, fangsEli bared, and threw himself upon the weasel, grasping it by the neck with its great jaws and giving it a fearsome shake. And just as quickly as it had come, it dropped the slack body and bounded off.

  They were frozen in a tableau -- Jane, back from the group, her hands covering her mouth, Bingley, standing by the bush, gold pistol limp in his hand, Elizabeth, huddled on the ground, and Darcy, naked, one arm crooked with pain, hunched over a pile of empty clothes. They all stared at the lifeless form of the weasel with its bloodied neck and lips curled back in a rictus smile. And as they watched, it changed; tail shriveled, limbs grew, until there lay Wickham, his neck pierced and bloody, his head at an unnatural angle. His blue eyes staring.

  Jane shrieked once, then began to heave with sobs. Bingley threw down the pistol and ran to her. He put one arm around her and stroked her back with his other hand. "Jane, Jane," he said. "Jane, my sweet Jane." She hid her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

  Darcy offered his left hand to Elizabeth, and pulled her up to her feet. He would have liked to take the same liberties with her as Bingley was taking with Jane, but he was too much aware of his naked state and of the inescapable fact that he was responsible for the ordeal she had just gone through. If he had kept his desires in check and hidden from Wickham, she would never have been made a target. He was the guilty party. He alone.

  "That was a werewolf?" asked Elizabeth after some moments. "Who?"

  Darcy was about to respond that he had no idea, when Mr. Bennet came through the trees. He walked up to them purposefully. When he got closer it was apparent that his clothes were in some disarray, but this did not seem to affect him in the slightest. He was frowning a little, as though in deep thought.

  He walked directly up to Darcy and said, "Honour is one thing, but my daughters will never live in fear, not if I have any say in the matter. And some creatures are better removed from this world and the company of others."

  "Father!" cried Elizabeth, as she understood who the werewolf had been.

  "Well, well, my dear." He took her hand and smiled down at her ruefully. "We all have our secrets." And then he turned to Jane. "Come, my dear."

  Bingley led Jane by the hand up to her father's side and then addressed him.

  "We have something we would like to talk to you about."

  "Yes, I believe you do," he said. "But not here, with that," he jerked his head in the di
rection of Wickham's body, "lying so close by. We can discuss it as we stroll home." He then took off his greatcoat and handed it to Darcy. "It is all very well to have a fine physique, but I would still rather you did not flaunt it in front of my daughters. Country habits are different from those in town. We observe greater decorum here." Only the slightest twinkle in his eye showed that he found this humorous.

  Darcy accepted the coat gratefully and put it on with all speed.

  "Come to think of it," said Mr. Bennet, "as distasteful as it may sound, for the safety of all present we must do the same for Wickham. Jane, Elizabeth, you go ahead and we will join you presently."

  Elizabeth took Jane's hand and walked away quickly with her. She understood the need to dress Wickham. Explaining his dead body would be difficult enough, but with those wounds and naked, it would be a lot worse. The last thing they needed was a battalion of were-hunters prowling the environs of Longbourn.

  "Oh, Elizabeth!" said Jane as soon as they were some distance from the men. "I was never more frightened in all my life. To think Mr. Wickham was so wicked and so intent upon harming you! To think that there are such wicked people in this world. And to think papa . . . papa killed him! Papa!"

  "Jane, think only that papa did what he had to do to protect us. Which must show his love for us. As for the details of it..." Elizabeth put her arm around Jane's waist and brought her close as they walked down the hill. "Try not to think of any of it, and soon it will be as if it were a bad dream."

  "But it was real and . . ."

  "And we are now safe. That is all that counts, in the end."

  It was easy advice to give, but much more difficult to follow. Elizabeth knew there would be blue marks on her body where Wickham had held her against him so firmly, his fingers digging deep into her flesh. She did not think she would soon forget the hardness of his body as she was drawn back against it, or the smell of his breath when his lips came close to her face, their repellent touch when he pressed them to her temple. The animal stench of his sweat. The trepidation that the threat of his intentions inspired in her. And then his body lying there, naked and broken.