A Proper Introduction to Dragons (Jane Austen's Dragons)

by Maria Grace

  Elizabeth tiptoed downstairs, avoiding the two creaky steps between the first and second landings. A quick check detected no candlelight downstairs—everyone was properly in bed! She hurried to the kitchen, hopping from moonbeam to moonbeam.

  A low fire glowed in the fireplace, savory warm smells coming from that side of the kitchen. Probably some sort of stew from the dinner leftovers for the house staff’s breakfast. Cook had a reputation for feeding not just the family, but the servants quite well.

  Along the worktable near the fireplace sat a trio of faceted glass jam pots usually placed on the breakfast table. Elizabeth lifted their lids. Each only had only a small amount left, but together they would feed a hungry fairy dragon quite nicely. She coaxed April out from under the shawl and showed her the jam.

  Warmed by the fire, April quickly hopped to her favorite strawberry jam pot to begin her repast before Elizabeth could spoon out the jam into a proper dish. April’s manners still left something to be desired, so Elizabeth turned her back and wandered deeper into the kitchen. Now was not the time for teaching niceties to a ravenous dragon—even if it was only a fairy dragon.

  How loudly April guzzled and slurped her meal. Exactly what Elizabeth imagined a large dragon would sound like when devouring its prey. Odd, how easily people forgot the essential dragon-nature of fairy dragons. They were adorable, and fluffy, and sometimes a bit addle-pated, but they were still dragons, with the predatory instincts, territorial tendencies, and the pride inherent to the dragon nature. Papa himself often seemed to forget that April was fully a dragon. Would he be so dismissive if she looked more like Rustle, Uncle Gardiner’s very imposing-looking cockatrice? Somehow that was hard to picture. Dangerous-looking creatures seemed far more difficult to ignore. Perhaps that was why they garnered more respect.

  In the dim firelight, the kitchen seemed a very dreary place. It probably was in the daylight, too. Everything was utilitarian and crammed together in what felt like not enough space. Although there were windows, they seemed hardly large enough to bring in enough light to work, especially in the early morning hours when Cook began her day. No wonder she always seemed cross. Perhaps it was not such a bad thing that Mama did not want her daughters in the kitchen.

  How odd—wait, what was that sound? Scratching? Scraping? Thumping? It seemed vaguely familiar, but from where? The noises were louder near the cellar door. She crept toward it. Yes, they were definitely growing louder. She pressed her ear to the cold, coarse door. Whatever was making those sounds was in the cellar below.

  She hurried to find a candle and lit it in the fireplace.

  April pulled her head up from the pot of blackberry preserves. “Where are you going?”

  “I want to see what is making noise in the cellar.”

  “I do not think you should go downstairs. Your mother says you should not even be in the kitchen, and your father said—”

  “He told me to stay away from unknown dragons. There cannot possibly be an unknown dragon in the cellar. That is just silly.”

  “I am still hungry.”

  “I did not tell you to leave your meal. Finish eating. You know where I will be.”

  April harrumphed and returned to her preserves.

  Elizabeth pulled the cellar door open far enough that she could slip inside. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness of the cellar. With no windows to capture even the faint moonlight, the candle offered the only glow to penetrate the blackness.

  The stairs were narrow and irregular and creaky. Cobwebs, complete with a few large spiders, dangled from the walls and the crossbeams that held the floor above her. Cool, dank air that smelt of stone and stale water urged her to pull her shawl tighter.

  “Bennet?” The voice was deep and rumbly, grouchy, and very familiar.

  “Longbourn?” Elizabeth peered into the depths of the cellar as a scaly green head came closer.

  “What are you doing here?” they asked simultaneously.

  “This is my territory. Why should I not be here?” Longbourn grumbled, drumming his foot on the dirt floor.

  “And this is my house. Why should I not be here?” Even in her own ears, she sounded short and irritated.

  “You ae not permitted in the cellar.”

  Why did he have to sound like her father just now? “How would you know that?”

  He leaned close to her face and snorted softly.

  She matched his posture, until her nose nearly touched his. “Why did you come to the house?”

  “My Keeper and I needed to talk.” Something in Longbourn’s voice was unsettling. Clearly he was not happy, but there was something more. Angry, maybe? But even that did not capture it.

  “Oh,” she looked over her shoulder. “I should go then.” She retreated back a step. It was one thing when Papa sounded angry, but a dragon was entirely another.

  “Do not leave. Why would you leave?” Longbourn pulled back and turned his head nearly sideways.

  “I do not think Papa would want me to be here.” Blast and botheration, her voice quivered just when she did not want it to.

  “Something is wrong. What is wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing that is worth worrying a dragon for.” She turned her face away from him—his peering into her eyes was just too intense.

  “Where is the blue fluffletuft? You are never without her.”

  “In the kitchen, eating.”

  Longbourn grumbled deep in his throat. “Why would she be hungry in the middle of the night?”

  Elizabeth pressed her fist to her mouth and huddled in on herself.

  Longbourn sniffed her up and down, snuffling and muttering under his breath. Gently—for a creature his size—he nudged her down the stairs. He sat on his haunches several strides from the base of the stairs and urged her close enough to wrap his wing around her. “Tell me.”

  Why those simple words and a cold scaly embrace should rend the tears from her now made little sense. But they did. It was a wonder he could understand her stammering, sobbing explanations as she poured out her frustrations to him.

  He pulled her tight into his side and held her there until the tears finally receded into soft hiccoughs. She rubbed her face with her sleeve. “I know I am just being silly and stupid.”

  “Silly is a warm-blooded notion that I neither know nor care for. But stupid you are not, not at all. I will not tolerate you being made to feel so.” He thumped his tail in a peculiar but intentional seeming rhythm against the floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling your father.”

  “Pray, no do not! He will be ever so angry—”

  The door at the top of the stairs flew open, banging against the wall. “What is it now? Have you another demand I cannot meet?” Papa held a small candle near his face. Flickering shadows made his wide eyes wild-looking. “Elizabeth!”

  She huddled against Longbourn. If only she could have hidden behind his wing and avoided detection all together.

  “What in Pendragon’s name are you doing here? I told you the Order required you to stay away from all unfamiliar dragons! How dare you disobey a direct—”

  Longbourn slowly stood, growling. “I am not an unfamiliar dragon.”

  “I have never presented her to you.”

  “I did not need you to. I met her when she was out walking, and we became introduced.” Longbourn nodded at her, pulling her a little closer.

  “Elizabeth! How could you—”

  “She did nothing inappropriate—unless you consider not screaming and running away inappropriate behavior.” Longbourn pulled his lips back, not quite into a snarl.

  “It is what most girls would do under the circumstances.”

  “She is not most girls.”

  “Apparently so.” Papa pinched the bridge of his nose and stared into Elizabeth’s face. “That does not change the fact that you have not been made ready to make an acquaintance with major dragons!”

  Longbourn thu
mped his tail a little harder. “We do not share your warm-blooded notion of being ‘out’ in society or not.”

  “She has not learned proper etiquette—”

  “She understands far more than most full Dragon Keepers and is ready and willing to learn more. I have been tutoring her—”

  Papa slapped his forehead and huffed. “You, tutoring my daughter? That is absurd. Major dragons do not—”

  Longbourn smacked his tail hard on the cellar floor. Dust and cobwebs fell from the floorboards above them. “It is not for you to say. We will interact with those we find worthy. Your daughter is worth her salt. I will vouch for her before the Order.”

  Papa’s expression changed, abruptly and dramatically. “Worth her salt, you say?”

  What was that in Papa’s tone? The change was unmistakable, but what did it mean?

  Elizabeth felt as much as heard Longbourn’s rumble. “That is what I said.”

  Papa descended the stairs quickly, nearly tripping on the last two.

  “Elizabeth, collect April and return to your room. You may take the jam pot with you if she has not finished. There is some bread left from dinner on the table near the jam. Get yourself some, perhaps cheese, as well. Go.”

  Longbourn urged her up and steadied her until her knees felt solid again. She dashed up the stairs, skirting around Papa, and into the kitchen.

  It took only a moment to wrap a bit of bread and cheese in a napkin, take up the jam pot, and scurry upstairs, April buzzing wildly to keep up.

  Chapter 9

  Well-sated on jam, April quickly fell asleep, cuddled between Elizabeth’s neck and shoulder, tucked under the counterpane to ensure she did not take a chill. With Elizabeth’s own belly no longer rumbling, she fought to lay still and not disturb April.

  Swiftly moving thin clouds, carried on cold breezes, made the moonlight dance along the floorboards and across the bed. The eerie, angular shapes seemed entirely fitting for the very peculiar events of the evening. She huddled a little deeper into the feather bed.

  What an odd, odd conversation that had been. Longbourn’s unwavering support—heavens! She bit her knuckle lest she lend voice to her astonishment. Finding him in the cellar to begin with had been quite a surprise! A welcome one, to be sure, but entirely surprising.

  How unusual that he should take her side in a quibble with Papa. He was Keeper. Should not his opinions take precedence? Then again, it was strange that Longbourn would take notice of her, a child—a girl child—in the first place.

  What were he and Papa talking about in the cellar? She shifted under the covers. If only she dared creep downstairs and listen in. But it was one thing to listen when one could not avoid it. Eavesdropping intentionally was an entirely different matter; it simply was not done. She would have to wait until someone saw fit to tell her. Uneasy thoughts turned over and over in her mind until she finally fell asleep.

  Not long after sunrise, strident voices roused Elizabeth from a deep sleep. Mama and Papa, fighting, again? She pulled the counterpane over her head, but it did little to dampen the sound. It was early, very early for that. Should not April’s persuasions have had a longer effect?

  “Of course Jane should come out when she turns fifteen. How can you possibly think otherwise?” Mama’s pitch climbed steadily higher. Soon it would match April’s and be impossible for any but dragon-hearing folk to detect.

  “Fifteen is entirely too young for Jane or any of the other girls to be out.”

  “I think that is my decision, not yours, Mr. Bennet.” Mama’s heel came down hard on the floor. Was she trying to inflame Papa’s temper?

  “I do not know what has possessed you, madam, but I am certainly involved in such a decision.”

  “It is a mother’s business to know when her daughters should be out. I declare that fifteen is a fitting age for our Jane. I was out at fifteen if you remember.”

  “I am entirely aware of that.” Papa probably clapped his hand over his eyes. “Jane would be much better off waiting.”

  “But her sisters will not.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” That was Papa’s truly puzzled voice.

  “We have five daughters to marry, Mr. Bennet! Five daughters!” Was that Mama smacking the back of her hand into her other palm? “If we wait too long for Jane to be out, then all the girls will have to wait. Lydia might well be a spinster before she even has the opportunity to come out.”

  “You are exaggerating.”

  “Hardly. Look at the Lucases. Their oldest girl, Charlotte, she is out now—almost twenty she is and how much interest has there been in her? Almost none, I tell you. It is a good thing her younger sisters are far younger than she. Otherwise, they would be growing stale waiting for Charlotte to find a match, if she ever does. Do not forget, there is a shortage of marriageable young men, especially here in the country. Now, perhaps if we were to go to London—”

  “Have you not always said the Lucas girl was plain and ordinary, without fortune or anything to set her apart? Perhaps that might be part of the issue?”

  “Have you forgotten how little our girls have—unless you have managed to set any more aside for them?”

  Elizabeth cringed. Mama and Papa had argued over that very issue several times a month for as long as she could remember. The first argument she had overheard between them was about Papa not fulfilling his promise to add to their dowries.

  “I have already explained to you—I have the situation well in hand. You need not worry for yourself or the girls—” Papa was trying to sound patient, but he did not do it well.

  “There is no assurance that things will play out as you describe. No assurance at all! Good intentions do not always ensure good outcomes. The current heir to Longbourn might not even live long enough to take over. Then where will this plan of yours be? Influenza is known to kill young men as well as old. And the possibility of accidents on horseback, or fires; he might fall down a set of stairs—”

  “You could always provide a son, as you assured me you would when we married.” Why did he have to say that?

  Mama shrieked and cried out in words that Elizabeth could neither understand nor cared to. She plugged her ears with her fingers until the din moved away—probably to some other part of the house.

  Despite the sick feeling in her stomach, she drifted back to sleep with the help of April’s sweet song.

  Shortly after the longcase clock chimed eight times, Mama burst into Elizabeth’s room, clapping sharply. “Up, up, now is not the time to be a lay-abed. Get dressed as quickly as you can. Hill will be here in a few minutes to help you pack.”

  “Pack?” Elizabeth sat up and rubbed her eyes with her fists. Gracious, the sun was very bright this morning!

  “Yes, I said pack. I—I have business in London that cannot wait another day, not another moment. You and your sisters are coming with me.”

  “Why?” The words slipped out before she could hold them back.

  “Do not question me, Miss Elizabeth. Just because your father thinks your future is settled, does not mean you are any safer than your sisters are. I will not have you holding that over them.”

  Elizabeth’s forehead wrinkled. What was Mama going on about?

  “Do not play games with me. You know what your father is about, and he has you convinced that everything will work according to his plan. I can tell you with great assurance; plans do not always work out as they should. Things happen, unexpected things, things that can leave a family in dire straits. I have seen it happen too many times. I do not intend to see that happen to my girls. I will do everything in my power to see you properly situated so that you shall never want. Mark my words; I shall do it.”

  Elizabeth cocked her head and blinked, drawing a deep breath. Was any of this supposed to make sense?

  “No more questions! My head! My nerves! Just do as I said, and get dressed. Hill will be with you shortly.” Mama trundled out, flustered and bustling like an angry hen.

  She pro
bably would not appreciate the comparison.

  Before Elizabeth had time to ponder further, Hill dragged a half-packed trunk into her room. A peek confirmed that Jane’s things already took up the bottom half of the trunk. Hill helped her to finish dressing and turned to packing with barely a word.

  That was probably more disturbing than Mama’s agitation. Hill always had a pleasant word and engaging small talk to share with whomever was near. Mama found it too familiar, but Elizabeth enjoyed it and always found it instructive in one manner or another. Without it, the room seemed colder than it was, and her stomach ached.

  Less than an hour later, Elizabeth had eaten a few bites of breakfast and stood outside the front door, waiting for the family coach, April burrowed deep in the depths of her cloak’s hood. Mama would probably not want her to come, but leaving her behind was not an option.

  The sharp breeze from last night continued to bully thin clouds across the bright sky. The day would be cold and crisp—and very, very strange. Whispers between the maids, ones that they did not intend for her to hear, revealed that Papa had left in quite a temper less than two hours ago. He said something about business that would keep him out all day. The maids were certain that the business would likely be finding some accommodating pub in which to drown his sorrows. Papa hardly ever went out, much less for an entire day. This was serious, indeed.

  The driver pulled the carriage to the front door, and Mama ushered them into the coach, like a mama duck with her ducklings. She sat across from Elizabeth, with Jane and Lydia at her sides. The thin squabs seemed harder than usual, and the coach more confined than it had ever been. Kitty and Mary pressed close to Elizabeth. Her sisters’ expressions ranged from puzzled to frightened to decidedly miserable. Unlike Elizabeth, they had little experience traveling and had no idea what to expect.

  “Where are we going, Mama?” Jane asked as Longbourn House disappeared from the side glass.

  “To London, to see your Uncle Gardiner. He is a good brother and will see everything is made right. Everything will be made right, I assure you, girls. You have nothing to worry about.” Mama put her arms around Lydia and Jane, but nothing in her expression said anything would ever be all right again.