by Maria Grace
Hardly.
Perhaps Mr. Darcy had been wise when he gave up his search in favor of seeking out the other militia company.
Shins, feet, legs, back, all screamed that she had done too much. But that could not be true. The egg had not been recovered. Nothing could be considered too much until it was.
Hopefully, Mr. Darcy’s latest efforts were yielding more fruit.
Papa and Uncle Gardiner were already in the morning room, conversing in hushed tones that the dragon-deaf family members would be unlikely to make out. She slipped in and closed the door behind her.
Cool sunbeams, filtered through heavy clouds, barely made their way through to light the room in a dull glow that turned the blue-green walls muddy and dreary. She rubbed her hands over her arms. Though not actually cold, a chill settled over her shoulders.
An empty cup with the dregs of willow bark tea sat beside a freshly steeping cup. That did not bode well for Papa’s humor.
Coffee fragrance wafted from the table—it was too early for tea to be set out. Hill never brought it until Mama made her appearance. Some cold meat and rolls, a bit of butter and jam lay untouched in the center of the table. Was it still too early to eat? What time was it?
The mantle clock revealed it half past ten, not too early to eat. Was Papa’s appetite ruined by his discomfort or by their recent failures?
Given his current expression, probably the latter.
“If I never see a militia encampment again as long as I live it will be too soon.” Papa huffed and snapped the newspaper open. “I declare I know it better than my own house now.”
Just as she knew the grounds surrounding the encampment better than Longbourn’s gardens. Was it selfish and wrong to wish he might take notice of that as well? Usually he was far more considerate.
A sign of his anxiety, no doubt.
“Feigning interest in joining up was a brilliant excuse to be sure.” Uncle smirked, just a little.
“So will be the bout of gout I will claim when this whole affair is put to rest. I suppose it was far too much to expect that the egg would be so easily recovered.” Papa sipped his willow bark tea.
“Rustle is convinced the egg is no longer with the militia company.” Elizabeth slid into her seat.
“All we know is that it had contact with those—ah—free-trade goods within the past fortnight.” Papa set aside his paper. “That is not to say it is no longer in the vicinity. Perhaps we should resume the search of the countryside. Concealment deeper underground could cover the scent. I cannot help but think some hiding place has been overlooked.”
“We have no way of knowing at what point the egg may have come into contact with the militia or where it might have parted company with them—if as your father suggests it even did so. We have so little to go on, I am afraid that we are in even a worse situation than we were before. Closer to the hatching, but no closer to finding it,” Uncle said.
“I spoke with Walker—”
“I have no very good opinion of Mr. Darcy. Why are you communicating with his companion?” Papa drummed his fingers on the table.
“Hear her out. She does not deserve your spleen.” Uncle offered her a conciliatory look.
Papa smiled tightly. “You are right, of course. Forgive me Elizabeth, I do not mean to denigrate your efforts in this matter. Pray, what did the fine cockatrice have to say?”
“Walker was certain the contact had been within a fortnight, perhaps coinciding with the regiment separating into its two divisions. He and Mr. Darcy have gone to Ware to see if it might be with the other division.”
Papa huffed and chewed his lip. “And why have you not mentioned this to me sooner?”
“Because,” Uncle leaned forward on his elbows, “you have been consumed with searching every nook and cranny of the encampment here. You have not had dinner at home this last se’nnight, dining with the officers instead. Nor have you been accessible for a conversation. We should be glad that Darcy is following up another lead, particularly in light of our lack of success.”
“Darcy is the last person we need finding that egg.” Papa’s lip curled.
“He is the egg’s Keeper, Papa.” Elizabeth kept her eyes on the tablecloth.
“One clearly not worthy of the name or the task. I have been studying the histories and this situation is ripe for disaster even if he finds the egg. The dragonet can hear all the talk around it and will know what has happened—and resent Darcy for it. I say it is best to see him replaced now, before the only alternative is to allow the dragon to eat him and choose a replacement. Have you any idea what chaos that would cause?”
Elizabeth gulped. “That has not happened in nearly five hundred years. Such things do not happen anymore. Dissatisfied dragons hibernate—”
Papa rapped the table with his knuckles. “It has not happened because the Blue Order has been careful to keep watch on Keepers and dragons and intervenes before the situation escalates to such extremes. But I fear the Order itself is now tainted—”
“Just because Darcy’s uncle is head of the Order does not mean that there is favoritism about.” Uncle sipped his coffee. “I like to think most of us realize that maintaining peace and order between our species far outweighs the ties of family.”
“One would like to think so, but stupider decisions have been made. I cannot take it lightly when such a threat to the Pendragon Treaty looms so close. If one dragon turns on its Keeper, even with sound reason, a dangerous precedent is set.”
“Could it really erupt into full dragon war?” Elizabeth whispered.
“Perhaps not if Pemberley replaced its Keeper. Such an event might be managed. But if the egg is not found before hatching? What choice is there but to hunt it down before it can ravage the countryside? And if man kills dragonkind—”
“But it cannot come to that. Surely it would not be good for the dragons either, they would act—”
“They are loath to kill their own, especially a royal dragon. Perhaps they would step in somehow, but even that would not be without consequences more far reaching than I want to consider. Remember the Pendragon Treaty keeps peace between the various strains of dragonkind as much as between our species. Should a wyvern or a wyrm kill a wild-hatched firedrake, war between those species might ensue.”
“Even if it were necessary to preserve the treaty?” She swallowed hard, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
“When so few major-dragons are born, the unnatural death of any of them has the potential to trigger war.”
Uncle dabbed his face with his napkin and served himself from the platters. “There, there, it is not useful to dwell on such negatives. We must focus on the positive. We have at least three, possibly up to seven more weeks in which to act. I feel certain—”
Chattering voices in the hall silenced their conversation. The door swung open and Mama, Kitty and Lydia bounded in. Jane and Mary followed.
“Aunt Gardiner asked me to say she was still helping the children with their breakfast in the nursery, and that she will be down later.” Jane slid into her place beside Elizabeth.
“I am surprised you have joined us, Mary.” Mama accepted Papa’s assistance into her chair. “You and sister Gardiner seem to spend all your time with the children—and those birds of yours. If I did not have reason to think otherwise, I would be convinced that it is more the birds than the children you wish to keep company with.”
“Oh Mama, what a terrible thing to say.” Jane pouted just a little.
“Oh just as well,” Mama waved her napkins as she tucked it into her lap. “At least it has kept Elizabeth’s little bird out of mischief, has it not? Perhaps you might consider offering it to your Aunt and Uncle when they return to London. Mary, you too. I think it would be—”
“No.” Elizabeth, Mary, Papa and Uncle declared simultaneously.
Mama jumped. “Very well then, as you will.” She rang the bell for Hill to bring tea. “So then, Lydia, Kitty, you were in town yesterday?”
Kitty leaned into Lydia’s shoulder, and they giggled, “So many officers!”
“We have learned ever so much of them.” Lydia bit her lip, but grinned anyway.
“Have you now?” Papa leaned back in his chair. “Do tell what sort of intelligence have you managed to unearth?”
What was Papa about? He never attended to Lydia and Kitty.
Kitty and Lydia tittered.
“Go on, girls, do answer him. Your father is interested, and he must be satisfied.” Mama sat up a little straighter in her chair. Did she think Papa had suddenly come around to her way of thinking?
Mary looked aside and rolled her eyes while Jane tried to smile pleasantly. They had not missed Papa’s behavior. Apparently they did not like the way he subtly mocked Mama any more than Elizabeth did.
“Well, we have learned all the names of the officers quartered in Meryton. Colonel Forster, you know of course, he has gone off now, to be married. He will be back very soon though, and has invited us to call upon his new wife.” Lydia ticked off the point on her finger.
Half an hour later, they were still hearing the details of the names and lodgings of the officers of the regiment’s Meryton division. Papa and Uncle listened intently. They probably would have been taking notes if it would not have aroused Mama’s curiosity.
“And that is all you have learned?” Papa buttered a bun and scooped on a spoonful of jam. Did he notice it was blackberry jam—the kind he detested with all the little seeds?
“Oh, hardly!" Kitty bumped shoulders with Lydia, and they dissolved into another fit of giggling.
“Before he left, Colonel Forster said that he expected another several wagons full of supplies to be coming in soon, just after he was set to return with his bride.” Lydia batted her eyes.
“He says those supplies will keep his men well fed and happy for the next several months. I don’t suppose it is more than a load of food and grog—” Kitty added.
“But he did say it would allow him to throw a ball, just like the regiment should.”
“No, it was not the supplies, you feather-pate, it was who was in charge of the supplies.” Kitty wagged her finger at Lydia.
“Oh, well, I suppose you are right. He said that there were three more officers with those supplies—”
“Did he say why they were not with him now?” An impatient edge tinged Papa's voice.
Lydia stopped and looked up at the ceiling, brow knotted. “Do you remember if he said? I surely do not.”
“He said something about the wagons needing repair or some such, I think. They broke wheels, or axels or something like that perhaps, and had to remain behind for repairs. But that is of little matter. The important thing is that there shall be more officers, very soon!” Kitty grasped Lydia’s hands. “Oooh! Officers!”
“There now girls, that is a very good thing. I think we must plan some sort of party to welcome them into the neighborhood.” Mama rose as Hill trundled in with the tea things. “A tea party may be just the thing.”
“I cannot imagine they would enjoy something like that, Mama.” Lydia harrumphed. “A dinner party would be much better, for we know men like to eat.”
“Lydia is right.” Kitty nodded vigorously. “You are known for the fine dinners you host. Perhaps you would be willing to invite Mr. Bingley and his party, too!”
“Oooh! Mr. Bingley!” Lydia squealed. “That would make Jane very happy, I suppose.”
Jane gasped and blushed.
Mama happily picked up the topic, though, and waxed on about Mr. Bingley’s suitability and wealth for several long, very long, minutes. Lydia and Kitty chittered like fairy dragon chicks, agreeing and adding to everything she said.
Papa leaned back in his chair, grumbling under his breath. “From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it for some time, but I am now convinced.”
There was the old Papa back.
Kitty stopped mid-sentence and appeared entirely disconcerted, but made no answer to him. Lydia chattered on with perfect indifference expressing her admiration of Captain Carter, and her hopes of seeing him when they went to Meryton later in the day, as he was going the next morning to London.
Mama was prevented replying by Hill’s entrance. “A note just come for Miss Bennet, and the servant what delivered it is instructed to wait for an answer.” Hill trundled the note over to Jane.
“Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well, Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love.” Mama all but bounced in her seat.
Jane unfolded it with the same care she took with all things. “It is from Miss Bingley, she says:
“My dear Friend,
“If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers. Yours ever, Caroline Bingley.”
“With the officers! I wonder Aunt Phillips did not tell us of that.” Lydia parked her elbows on the table, her lips screwed into a pout.
“The gentlemen are dining out? That is very unlucky.” Mama looked toward the ceiling, chewing her lower lip.
No, that was her thinking face. It never boded well.
“Can I have the carriage?” Jane asked.
Mama waved her finger at Jane. “No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to rain. Then you must stay all night. That will give you opportunity to see Mr. Bingley in the morning.”
“That would be a good scheme, if you were sure that they would not offer to send her home.” Elizabeth pressed her temples hard.
Poor Jane.
“The gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley's chaise to go to Meryton. They cannot send her home.”
“Pray, Mama, I had much rather go in the coach.”
Mama smiled far too sweetly. “But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are wanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are not they?”
“They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.” What was that odd glint in Papa’s eye?
“If that is the case, surely you can spare them once more.” Elizabeth glanced at Jane.
“No, Lizzy, I am afraid your mother is entirely correct. I cannot spare the horses. Jane you must decide if the weather warrants you staying home or taking a risk and riding horse back.”
Jane glanced out of the window. She did not wear her disappointment well. “I cannot decline their kind offer, so I suppose it would be good to have the horse readied.”
“I will see to it. Elizabeth, come with me, I have a letter I need you to write for me.” He rose, and she followed him to his study.
Once inside and behind closed doors she turned to him, “Pray allow Jane the carriage, Papa. I fear if she gets caught in the rain she might become ill again. You recall what happened last winter.”
“I do, child, and I am heartily sorry for this, but with the intelligence your sisters have brought us, this situation has just taken a turn in our favor. We cannot miss any advantage we can take.”
“I do not understand.”
“There are additional men and supplies set to arrive at the regiment, soon. Given what your sisters described and what Darcy’s cockatrice reports, it appears they were separated from the main body at about the right time for them to still have the egg with them. I require you go to Netherfield Park and stay with your sister.”
“Forgive me, sir, but you are to not making any sense at all. I was not invited. How am I to join Jane there?” Best not add that she had no desire to spend time in the company of the superior sisters. “I do not understand what h
as Netherfield to do with any of this?”
“I had not recalled until just now, but two generations ago, the owner of Netherfield was something of an eccentric.” Papa shuffled to his bookshelf and scanned the volumes. “There, on the third shelf from the top, the green volume.”
Elizabeth hauled the library ladder to the shelf and retrieved the dusty, oversized volume. Papa shoved piles on the desk to make space and opened it to a fantastically detailed—and accurate—map of Longbourn estate, even including Longbourn’s cavern!
“Netherfield’s old master had a passion for cartography. He did this one of our estate without permission, but Longbourn knew and persuaded him to feel guilty enough to gift it to my great grandfather along with detailed descriptions of our holdings. He had a remarkable eye for detail.”
“You think there are more maps like this one?”
“Great-grandfather once mentioned the man was obsessed with his maps and spent much of his life making comprehensive maps of all the hillsides and caverns between here and Ware. It is likely that any hiding place the smugglers may use will be on those maps. They could help us determine where the egg might still be hidden or where it might yet be hidden if it arrives with the supplies.”
Elizabeth bit her tongue. It would have been nice to have known about those a se’nnight ago. They might have enlisted Mr. Darcy’s help—no, Papa would hardly have condoned that. Still, whilst it might not have been pleasant to work with Mr. Darcy, it might have improved their chances at success. As it was, Papa’s protracted resentment could undermine their efforts.
“And how precisely am I to get to Netherfield, much less manage to search potentially every room in the manor, known and unknown for maps made two generations ago?” For all they knew, there could be some sort of secret chamber—
“I will have Gardiner send Rustle to Netherfield to convince Jane she has come down with a serious cold and her hostesses that she is far too ill to come home. Dutiful sister that you are, you will go to attend her and be invited to stay throughout the duration of her illness. Bring April with you. She can assist you in your search. Though not as convincing as Rustle, she will no doubt be able to assist with any necessary persuasions.”