Pemberley- Mr Darcy's Dragon

by Maria Grace

  Heavy footfalls trailed after her. She took him by way of the servants’ door. Perhaps the great Mr. Darcy had never taken such a humble path before. If he objected, he could find his own way.

  Sparkling conversationalist that he was, he said nothing as they made their way upstairs. He did open the door she indicated and held it for her. Some little gallantry, perhaps to soothe his conscience?

  Walker greeted them at the door. “Dragon script, there is dragon script written here.”

  Darcy sprinted to the portfolio, nearly running over April.

  April squawked and dove for his ears. He tried to cover them, but she was faster and drew blood along the left one.

  “Apologize, Darcy,” Walker snapped.

  Darcy looked over his shoulder and nodded. “Pray forgive my clumsiness. Now, the dragon script?”

  Elizabeth shouldered her way through the dragons and laid out the half dozen sheets bearing the scratchy, faint figures Walker called dragon script. “Can you read it?”

  “No, I recognize it, but I am unable to read it. My uncle might be able to—”

  “And my father, I believe he has studied it and reads it as well.”

  “Your father? I hardly think—”

  “That he is honorable enough or learned enough or high ranking enough to have learnt? He is Historian of the Order after all.”

  “I said none of those things.”

  “But you clearly thought them. My father, for all you think him insufficient, is a dragon scholar, a very fine one.”

  “Anything in dragon script is critically important to the Order and must be delivered up to them at once.”

  “It is most properly delivered by way of my father.”

  “And how long then would it take to arrive at the Order? This cannot be delayed. You do not understand the implications here.”

  “Pray tell, why do you assume that?” She planted her hands on her hips.

  Walker and April squawked and flapped, standing on a large trunk in the opposite corner.

  “Look here!” April screeched. “I have peered through the keyhole. There are more in here.”

  Darcy crossed the room in four long strides and knelt before the trunk. He tried the lid, but it was locked.

  Naturally.

  “I think I saw a key in the other room.” Elizabeth raced to the desk.

  She rooted through the desk drawers. Yes!

  Darcy stepped aside to allow her to fit the key into the lock. It took her both her hands to force the key to turn, but it did. They lifted the lid together, sneezing through the cloud of dust the lid left in its wake.

  “There! Look, I recognize the gorge where the militia is encamped!” She grabbed the topmost sheet.

  Ochre dust exploded from the page, hanging like mist in the air, acrid and smelling like old death.

  Her eyes watered and burned. Her chest tightened, hard and sharp, too tight to draw breath as a bitter, rotting taste coated her tongue.

  Darcy coughed and sputtered, clutching at his throat.

  “Out! Get out! It is poison!” April shrieked and dove at Elizabeth.

  Her vision grew fuzzy and her knees soft as she pulled herself toward the servants’ door.

  Walker grabbed Darcy’s coat and yanked hard. “Come now, come now!”

  They staggered into the servants’ corridor, choking and gasping. Elizabeth leaned against the wall and sank to the floor, head on her knees, struggling to force air into her scorching lungs.

  April hovered around Elizabeth’s head. “Cough hard and spit, do not try to contain it.”

  “She is right,” Walker flapped fresh air into their faces. “Cough it out.”

  Elizabeth pitched forward and coughed as hard as she could, bile and spittle splattering the floor. Darcy retched painfully beside her.

  At last the searing pain subsided enough for her to draw a sufficient breath. “What was that?”

  Darcy sat back on his heels and pressed his head against the wall. “Dragon venom, of some kind. I am not sure which. Someone dried it to a powder and coated the maps or perhaps the inside of the trunk with it, so that it would become airborne when opened.”

  “Who dabbles in dragon venom?”

  “That is a very good question. The practice has been outlawed for not less than a century, perhaps two now? I cannot quite think straight, but it has been for all of our lifetimes.”

  “But nothing in that room is that old.”

  “No, it is not. I do not like the implications.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

  “Nor do I.” She dragged in another jagged breath. “I must tell my father. The Order must know.”

  “All of those documents must make it into the Order’s hands.”

  “But how? I do not think it safe to even enter the room right now, and we need those maps.”

  “There must be some way.” Darcy rubbed his eyes with his fists. “I shall send Walker with enquiries to the Order. There must be one there who knows some means of neutralizing the poison.”

  “My father, may know something, we should consult him directly.”

  Darcy groaned.

  “You are so prejudiced against him that you would not even ask?”

  “I said nothing. Feel free to ask him, there is little else you can do here at Netherfield.”

  “Is that to say you are throwing me out, sir?”

  He peered at her, blinking hard. “We must get ourselves to rights. Come, the best remedy now is fresh air.”

  They made their way down the stairs and into the garden.

  ***

  Once they were able to breathe properly again, they parted company and went to their respective rooms.

  Darcy forced himself to the small writing desk near the window, but his hands still shook and his eyes watered too much to focus on the paper. Walker ushered him into bed where he fell into a deep slumber until his valet came to dress him for dinner.

  He cleared the grit from his eyes. Each breath still scorched his lungs and his face and hands stung as though scalded. The airborne venom was nothing to be toyed with. Had their dragons not recognized it for what it was, it could easily have killed them both.

  Why would maps be guarded with such wards? What secrets were contained in the dragon script?

  Walker had warned him not to brave another foray into the map room. Already weakened as he was, he would be more susceptible to the venom. Moreover, since it was already airborne, it would affect him even more quickly. Chances were good it would be lethal.

  He hurried through dressing and dismissed his valet. Just enough time for a quick note to the Order.

  Far from the neat hand Miss Bingley had lauded him for, but it was enough to communicate the relevant facts. He sealed it and fitted it into a small leather satchel. Walker lifted his head for Darcy to fasten the straps around him.

  “I will follow the main road towards Norfolk to see if I locate the remaining militia wagons. If so, I shall try and smell for the egg. I will ask Rustle to accompany me, that I might send word back with him as to my success.”

  “I thought you did not approve of him.”

  “He improves with exposure. Besides, the situation calls for it.” Walker picked at the straps with his beak. “That one is too tight.”

  Darcy adjusted it. “Do you think Rustle will agree to fly with you?”

  “He will when he learns of what happened to Elizabeth. Warn her not to tell Longbourn, not yet. His protectiveness might overwhelm his good sense.” Walker flexed his wings.

  “Good sense? I thought you said his reputation—”

  “He is lazy and complacent to be sure, but his judgement is as sound as any major-dragon’s. Of course where Elizabeth is concerned, he could be very rash indeed. I will return as quickly as I can.” Walker dove through the open window and into the sunset.

  The mantle clock chimed the dinner hour. His stomach roiled. Perhaps he should send his valet downstairs with his regrets. But no, that would
give Miss Bingley reason to turn her hospitality on him. That he could well do without.

  ***

  He ate little at dinner. How convenient that Miss Bennet’s appearance captured the bulk of the conversation. Better still, the ladies withdrew together from the dining room for the first time in days.

  The conversation among the gentlemen was hardly improved without the ladies present. Rather, it gave Hurst the opportunity to share his favorite ribald stories. Bingley laughed as he always did. Darcy allowed his attention to drift inward.

  Miss Bingley’s teasing this morning had been irritating at best, but to have Miss Elizabeth wander into it was wholly unsupportable. Was Miss Bingley unaware that few places in a large house were truly private and that one must always guard their words carefully.

  Especially when one had secrets as large as dragons to keep.

  Had Miss Bingley ever entertained hopes of a union with Darcy, her indiscretions this morning ended them entirely. It was a stretch to consider any woman who could not hear dragons. One who was crass and insensitive to boot, no, that was entirely impossible.

  It was a shame that Miss Elizabeth did not come from better stock, better connections. Everything else about her was entirely suitable. Her connection to dragons was uncanny—

  “Darcy, Darcy?” Bingley peered into his face. “Are you there, old fellow?”

  “Oh, yes, forgive me.” Darcy blinked hard. His eyes were gritty again.

  “What say you we join the ladies now?” Bingley led the way out.

  ***

  Miss Bennet was ensconced near the fire, well-guarded from the cold and attended by the Bingley sisters. Miss Elizabeth sat slightly to the side, gazing absently through the window. Her complexion was pale, and her eyes did not have their usual sparkle.

  Lingering effects of dragon venom, no doubt.

  Near the ceiling, April hid amongst the plaster work, eyes focused on her Dragon Mate. The little flitterbob seemed worried. That was probably not a good sign.

  Miss Bingley's eyes instantly turned towards him. She was at his side, nattering, before he had advanced three steps into the room. She guided him toward Miss Bennet where he was able to pay a tolerable address and bow before Miss Bingley propelled him to the table for tea.

  Bingley, though, took Miss Bingley’s abandoned seat and offered salutations full of joy and attention. He spent not less than half an hour piling up the fire, lest Miss Bennet should suffer from the change of room. Then, he insisted she remove to the other side of the fireplace that she might be farther from the door and its draughts. At her new station, he pulled a chair close and sat down by her, talking scarcely to anyone else.

  Mr. Hurst hinted that the card table might be brought out, and Darcy made good his escape from Miss Bingley’s pointed attentions. Whilst the rest of the company decided they did not wish to play cards, he found a book and a chair near the fire. Not that his irritated eyes and pounding head would actually permit him to read. The appearance of it was all he needed right now to keep the rest of the company at bay.

  Mr. Hurst settled on the far sofa and fell asleep while Mrs. Hurst joined her brother and Miss Bennet. What was Miss Bingley doing, walking toward the book table? The woman did not read—with her mean opinions it was easy to wonder whether she could. But no, she selected a book and a chair near Darcy’s and settled in.

  Heavens above! She had chosen the second volume of the book he had. Did she intend to—

  “Do you find the hero’s speeches a bit ... pedantic?” She blinked at him over the edge of her book.

  “Hardly, I consider him insightful.” He forced his eyes back down to the open pages. The words were still blurred by dragon venom.

  She leafed through several more pages and chuckled. “I think you will enjoy the speech he makes to the heroine. She is so ill-mannered.” Miss Bingley’s eyebrow rose just so and her eyes drifted toward the corner Miss Elizabeth occupied.

  “I find her impertinence provides a foil to the superciliousness displayed by the secondary antagonist.”

  It probably was not right to enjoy the blank look on Miss Bingley’s face quite so much. But it did stop her questions. Perhaps she might actually read the book and discover who the secondary antagonist actually was.

  Perhaps.

  “You cannot be serious, Mr. Bingley!” Miss Bennet hid a smile behind her hand.

  “Absolutely, Miss Bennet! I told your youngest sister, she could name the date of the ball once you had sufficiently recovered.” Bingley grinned and leaned forward, elbows on knees, clearly enjoying Miss Bennet’s pleasure.

  “Charles,” Miss Bingley threw aside her book and leaned over the back of her chair to look at him. “Are you really serious in hosting a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party. I am much mistaken if there are some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure.”

  Bingley waved her off. “If you mean Darcy, he may go to bed before it begins, if he chooses, but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing. As soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough, I shall send round my cards.”

  Darcy peeked at Miss Elizabeth who kept her eyes toward the window. What would Bingley think to know he had already engaged her for the supper set of that ball?

  Miss Bingley sniffed and began a turn about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked well. No doubt many hours had been spent walking with books on her head at her fancy girls’ seminary.

  So that was her use for books!

  Darcy coughed over his snicker and turned the page.

  “Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude.”

  Elizabeth lifted her hands and began to protest. Miss Bingley took her arm, effectively silencing her. They proceeded along the length of the room.

  Miss Bingley sported an elegant, columnar silhouette. Next to her, Miss Elizabeth seemed short and unrefined with her soft curves and definite steps, though they seemed weaker than usual.

  Darcy closed his book. The comparison was not fair though. With Miss Bingley it was all affectation. When the next fashion came through, she would abandon this and chase after that without a second thought. But Miss Elizabeth was genuine, everything about her was real, fashionable or not. She would be the same tomorrow as she was yesterday.

  There was something reassuring in such steadiness.

  “Pray join us, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley called over her shoulder.

  “No, I think not. I can only imagine but two motives for you to walk up and down the room together. My joining you would interfere with either of them.”

  “What could he mean?” Miss Bingley leaned close to Miss Bennet as if sharing a great confidence. “Pray do you understand him?”

  “Not at all, but depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it.” Miss Elizabeth turned her face aside, away from Darcy’s view.

  “I require that you explain these two possible motives, sir, for I cannot fathom your meaning at all.”

  Darcy rose and leaned against the back of the chair. “Either you chose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss.”

  Of course that was patently untrue. Miss Elizabeth knew his hearing to be as acute as hers. She would know better than to attempt to share secrets in his presence. Nor did she have affection enough for Miss Bingley to share secrets with her.

  “—or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking. If the first, I should be completely in your way. If the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire.”

  Miss Elizabeth gasped softly and pressed a hand to her cheek.

  “Oh, shocking! I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?” Miss Bi
ngley clutched Miss Elizabeth’s arm tightly.

  She pulled back a bit to meet Miss Bingley’s eye with a pointed, narrow gaze. “Tease him. Laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done.”

  Darcy winced.

  Miss Bingley pressed her hand to her chest. “But upon my honor I do not. I do assure you that my intimacy has not yet taught me that. Tease calmness of temper and presence of mind! No, no, we will not expose ourselves by attempting to laugh at such a subject as Mr. Darcy.”

  “Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at? That is an uncommon advantage, but one I cannot admire as I dearly love a laugh.” Miss Elizabeth removed her arm from Miss Bingley’s grasp.

  “Do you? In some circles it is thought inadvisable to be so prone to mirth.” Miss Bingley’s eyes narrowed. If she had had fangs, they would have been exposed.

  “I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies and nonsense do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without, Mr. Darcy.” Miss Elizabeth’s eyes were almost fever bright as she turned them on him.

  “Perhaps not, but it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.” He clasped his hands behind his back.

  “Such as vanity and pride.”

  “Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride, where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation.”

  Elizabeth bit her lip and turned aside.

  “I am perfectly convinced that Mr. Darcy has no defect.” Miss Bingley smiled her predatory smile.

  For one who certainly did not know dragons, she had many of their expressions perfected.

  “No.” Darcy stepped toward them. “I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I believe too unyielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever.”