Beginning, Previous Section, Section IV, Next Section
Posted on Sunday, 9 March 2008
"What I fail to understand, Wickham, is why you abducted young Miss Bennet."
A very tired Darcy was sitting upon a hard chair, the only chair provided in the meagre room of the cheap hostelry. Bingley was teetering gingerly on the edge of the bed and Wickham was tied to the bedpost with a very elegant silk cravat, which would never be the same again, and strips of tawdry pillowcase.
While Darcy had seen Lydia safely to the garden of Longbourn, Bingley had kept the unconscious Wickham company, ensuring that he did not become a weasel and escape when he came to. Now that Darcy had returned, it was time to deal with the slimy creature, once and for all. A jug of water poured over his head had brought him out of his stupor and Wickham now faced the two. He should have been scared, but instead, he managed to look as if he had not a care in the world.
"Have you not seen the chit? So well-formed and vivacious! She tantalised me with her round, luscious curves. My lips were ripe for her virgin depths." His eyes gleamed with lascivious intent and he winked broadly as he continued. "Quite a seductive brood of daughters the Bennets have, wouldn't you say? Neither you nor Bingley can claim not to have been taken by their charms. I thought I deserved a taste of the youngest while the two of you were pleasuring yourselves with Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth." The smile that accompanied this statement spoke of the weasel in him.
Bingley rose from the bed, his face contorted with unwonted ferocity. His anger carried him so far as to kick the bound man in the ribs, though he did look ashamed of himself immediately after. "Shut your cursed mouth! How can you defile the names of such pure, innocent ladies with such base accusations? And remember, Darcy and I are gentlemen -- unlike you!"
Darcy held up a hand to stay Bingley. His face was dark with fury and he spoke with a voice held under tight control. "His intent is to anger us -- to make us lose command of this situation and allow him some passage of escape. Do not let him get the better of you with his grotesqueries and falsehhoods."
Bingley looked as if he would like to kick Wickham again, but instead gave him a look of disgust before returning to his perch on the bed. He continued glaring at the reprobate, even as he did so.
Wickham laughed through grit teeth. "Such a performance from the two of you! I have never been better entertained, but Charles you really do need to work on your form -- even Miss Lydia packs a stronger kick than you, and she only a mere girl."
"Her aim was providential," said Darcy. "And her feet better armed. Such pointy toes she had on those dainty boots of hers -- silver tipped I do recall." He smiled rather malevolently at the recollection. "But I do not know what game you are playing at, Wickham. We could easily denounce you for your actions. Do you think your brothers in the ranks of the RWH would stand beside you, knowing what you are?"
Wickham's laugh became stronger. His yes shone with unholy delight. "Denounce me? The two of you? A dragon and a dog? Not to mention the way you hold the were code in foolish admiration. I think not! I may be tied to a bedpost now, but you will see reason before many moments are up and comply with my wishes. You are, neither of you, composed for treason."
"Now we are getting to the point," said Darcy. "Just what is it you want from me?"
"So very little, when you consider all that is at stake," said Wickham in a voice dripping with insincere sweetness. "Think of your puppy dog friend here, and his lady love. One whispered word in the right ear and the RWH would be dragging them both from their cosy kennels -- you should be grateful that it has not yet been done."
"What price your silence?" asked Darcy, his voice like the cold steel of a rapier blade.
"You will not give in to him?" cried Bingley, aghast. "This is blackmail of a most despicable nature. And if you give him anything, he'll only ask for more. You know the villain."
"I am simply enquiring as to his terms, Bingley, before I make him my counter offer."
Bingley was up again, stamping on the bare wooden floor. "I know the counter offer you should make him! That you will char his weasel self till nothing remains but a pile of stinking ash. And then you will disperse that to the four winds."
"But that would be inhuman!" Wickham smirked. "Our precious Darcy, dragon though he is, would never admit to being anything less than human. I have no such scruples."
"That is because," said Darcy levelly, the glint of barely controlled emotion glowing in his hard emerald eyes, "you are truly a weasel to your deepest core and your human form is nothing more than an accident of birth."
"You are just as much an animal as me," said Wickham, his lips curling in anger. "And I have the right to be as much the gentleman as you! More right, for at least I understand both my natures and can exercise complete control over them."
Darcy crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, a look of disdain clearly imprinted upon his face. "So your blue uniform with all its gold braid does not give you the admiration and respect that you crave? Denouncing your own kind has not brought you your heart's desire? I pity you."
"I want none of your pity!" Wickham snapped.
"No. I can see that," said Darcy. "I take it you want my money instead. You always did."
"You have more than your fair share!"
"But it is my fair share. I inherited my estate and fortune, and have earned what recognition it gives me by tending to the needs of my tenants and in the upkeep of the business of my estate. I fail to see what you have done to deserve any of it."
"I was your father's favourite!" cried Wickham, straining against his bonds. "Most likely his byblow. He wanted me provided for -- his will is proof of that."
"If my father had any idea what his well-meant attentions to you would foster, he would have left you in the sphere in which you belonged," Darcy sneered in disgust. "His respect for your good father blinded him to the fact that you bore him no resemblance in character or in deed. Whether you are truly your father's son is a matter up for debate, but you share no blood with me. I have, against my better judgement, already given you ample funds to recompense you for the provisions of my father's will -- provisions which you had no desire to follow. You would certainly not have made a good cleric. You have very little to show for all that I have given you. What is it you expect from me now?"
"Three thousand pounds is a mere pittance! What was I to do with that? No -- this time I want an estate with an income of three thousand a year. Grant me that and I will leave you undisturbed to marry your Elizabeth Bennet, and Bingley his Jane. We shall all be gentlemen of the world together with no hint of the taint in the blood of any of us ever becoming known. Fail me and your friend and his fair one will lose their heads on public display for you and all the Bennets to witness."
"You would be putting your own head upon the block," said Darcy. "My sense of honour can only be stretched so far."
"Denounce me and you are as good as dead," hissed Wickham.
"I will never give in to your demands," said Darcy. "And as much as I sometimes find it beyond enduring, I value my life, if only because I have a beloved sister whose feelings to consider. I will not let you endanger it or destroy it with your schemes."
"Well, then you have no choice but to give in."
"You have not yet heard my counter offer. You would do well to accept it -- the alternative would not be pleasant. I can put you aboard a ship to the Americas where you may live your life out undisturbed -- your return to England would mean sure death."
"Empty threats! I am happy in this country -- I have no desire to leave it."
"Then it seems we are at an impasse," said Darcy leaning back in his chair.
"Am I to be tied to this bedpost forever?" asked Wickham. "That will hardly help your cause. One of you is bound to fall asleep soon. I can change form and be gone in no time. There is no telling when I will next strike once free, but let me remind you, Darcy, that I know all your biggest weaknesses. You are no match for me and I will not rest until I have hurt you as you have never felt pain before in your life."
"I say fry him!" cried Bingley.
"As delightful as that sounds," said Darcy, "I do not intend to have Wickham turn me into something I cannot live with, though I cannot vouch for the damage some other were friend of mine, who does not share my scruples, might do to him. I have no inclination to sleep. Tied as he is, in that awkward position, and wet into the bargain, with the reek of this place growing upon him, he will soon come to realise America is his best option."
The family was more than happy to find Lydia at home and safe in her bed the next morning. Mr Bennet went to Meryton to attempt to do his best, with the help of the Phillipses, to scotch all the rumours about Lydia's disappearance from Brighton. He was helped in this by new reports from that city. It seemed a servant girl had come forth to say that she had seen Miss Lydia forcibly abducted and that she had not gone willingly with Wickham at all. All that was left was to get it around that she had been returned home, properly chaperoned, had not spent as much as a night alone with the man, and had suffered no ill effects from her ordeal. Soon everyone in the neighbourhood believed that Lydia had spent the week, after being rescued, with her relatives the Gardiners in London, and that her father had brought her home with him.
Lydia was kept confined to the house for the first few days until it could be drilled into her brain that talk of the subject was not a good idea, if she wanted to retain whatever shreds of reputation she had left. Mr Bennet did not let his wife go out abroad either. Her shrieks which resounded throughout the house when told that Lydia had been returned to them by a dragon were difficult enough to explain away to the servants. Luckily Hill was completely loyal and an expert at explaining the family's strange behaviour to the startled housemaids. Better the family be thought slightly eccentric than depraved.
Soon nothing of Lydia's trial was secret amongst her family, and Mrs Bennet, with no other avenue to contain her need to discuss the sufferings of her favourite daughter, poured out her worries and woes in letters to her sister, Mrs Gardiner. That lady, with a mind more clear-thinking than Mrs Bennet's, more subtle than Lydia's, and more well-informed on the subject than Mr Bennet's, did some elementary arithmetic and arrived at an outrageous conclusion. She wrote to her niece, Elizabeth, for verification of all her incredible suppositions.
Elizabeth took her aunt's letter out into the little wilderness that stretched upon one side of the house, and sat on a bench to read it.
Dearest Niece,
If all that Lydia reports can be believed, and your mother's frenzied retelling of it deciphered correctly, I can only conclude that we are completely indebted to Mr Darcy for Lydia's return. He has shown himself to be a fine gentleman, worthy of all of our esteem. I cannot doubt that what he did, he did for you. I did not say anything while you were in London, but I have eyes in my head and they told me things you were not prepared to reveal. I could see from all your furtive looks that you had lost your heart to him. And that he was overflowing with admiration for you, was more than apparent. You were both very secretive, but I do not blame you in the least. You have known for many years what it is like to have a loved one afflicted by this terrible condition. To consider marriage to another such must be a decision of some enormous weight. Yes I said marriage, though I know I ought not speak of such a thing before being told of your engagement to Mr Darcy, I cannot help myself. I want to assure you that, even though I know the truth about him -- that not only is he a were like our dear Jane, but that he becomes a dragon, which can be considered a ferocious beast -- you have my blessing, and Mr Gardiner's too. I hope you do not mind that I have spoken with your uncle. He sees it just as I do. A man who is such a true gentleman as Mr Darcy appears to be, and who has shown his love for you by endangering himself with the possibility of discovery while returning Lydia home, could not be a danger to you, even though he takes on the dragon form. And you, as devoted as you are to Jane, have enough practice in keeping weres safe. I think, in fact, that this marriage could be the making of both of you. I look forward to visiting Pemberley when you are married. A tour of the lovely estate by pony trap would be most enjoyable, do you not think? I am all anticipation of the delightful event.
Your loving aunt
Elizabeth dragged her arm across her face, wiping away the ready tears that had sprung from her eyes. She put the letter down and searched through her pockets for a handkerchief to do the job properly. How to answer such a letter?
She felt gratitude that her aunt accepted Mr Darcy's aberration with such equanimity. That she judged him as a man, by his deeds, first and foremost and not by the unfortunate accident of his birth which rendered him capable of being something else.
But what her aunt supposed was not to be. Mr Darcy was lost to Elizabeth; there was no denying the truth. All she had were her memories of his handsome face, his deep baritone that caused such a confusion of emotion deep within her whenever he spoke, the expression in his green eyes that had seemed to speak of his love, and the feel of his skin so warm and silken -- his glowing golden dragon skin -- for the man and beast were inseparable. Loving one came with loving the other. And she loved them both, as one -- for that was who Darcy was, through and through.
She remembered feeling of his heart beating as she lay against his scales, and she wiped away another tear with her sodden little square of lace. Her heart ached for him, in fact, as wanton as it seemed, she had to admit to herself that her entire body ached for him, her arms, her cheeks, her lips. She wanted to rest herself against his unchanged form and feel their skin melt together through their clothes. She had seen his unchanged form in all its glory, and it was a sight she did not think she could ever forget. She felt a blush creep up at the tenor of her thoughts, and attempted to banish them from her mind. Such fantasies were impossible, unthinkable, and certainly not what a demure your lady such as herself ought to be indulging in. Especially when all hope of their coming to fruition was lost to her.
She folded her aunt's letter and attempted to compose herself. She could not answer it, not yet. Putting those words down on paper would make her disappointment that much more a reality. I have no expectations of an offer of marriage from Mr Darcy. Oh! What an unhappy task lay ahead for her.
Darcy felt his eyelids drop and he forced them up. A fire was glowing dimly in the smoky hearth. By the amber light he could just make out Wickham's form, lying at the base of the bed, his arms stretched above him, held in place by gleaming white silk. Bingley was lying across the bed, snoring slightly.
Two days and Wickham had not relented.
Darcy shifted in the hard, wooden chair and took a sip of tepid water from a tankard on the rickety table by his side.
"I will escape," whispered Wickham from out of the gloom. His sharp teeth gleamed. "I will take what you love the most and sully it beyond redemption. I will make your life unbearable, unliveable. I will have what is rightfully mine, in the end."
"What is rightfully yours is a cold, dank, darkened dungeon in the depths of the earth," said Darcy. "If that is what you truly want I will see what I can do to arrange it."
Wickham laughed softly. "You are so very predictable."
Darcy took another drink and stared back at him without answering.
"I will best you," came Wickham's snake-like hiss.
Darcy ignored him. His eyes never strayed from Wickham's recumbent figure, but his mind could not help but escape the bounds of the shabby room and travel through the air on dragon's wings toward the one person that Wickham had threatened the most with his malevolent words. Elizabeth
How he had put her in danger by allowing himself to love her and for unwittingly making his feelings apparent! But then, no one could read him like Wickham. Perhaps because they had grown up together, he had an uncanny ability to know just what Darcy was thinking and feeling. As if to validate this thought, Wickham's sickly snicker came out of the semi-darkness.
The only way he could protect Elizabeth was by giving her up. Having her, holding her, marrying her, watching their children grow up at Pemberley: it had all been a fanciful dream. An impossibility. She deserved a whole man. Not someone crippled with the worst kind of deformity -- part beast -- not wholly human. But no matter what, he would always love her, always keep watch over her. When she married another, the pain would be excruciating, but he would feel happy for her, even through the pain. Happy that she could live a normal life, be a mother, raise a family, without taint and danger of exposure hanging over her head.
And yet, he hoped, sadly, that deep inside, she would remember the dragon and the man, remember them with some fondness. That she would, perhaps, not think too badly of him.
Raucous singing came from the tavern below and noise upon the stairs of heavy feet stumbling. Slurred words: endearments, oaths, bawdy suggestions.
The door burst open and a couple spilled in. A serving wench, her clothes all askew, bodice unlaced to reveal copious amounts of tempting flesh, was arm in arm with a large, oafish fellow with a grin from ear to ear and a bottle in his free hand.
"Ohh!" she giggled. "Company! A fine gennnelman to share our fun!" She fell upon Darcy's lap, threw her arms about his head, and drew it into the soft valley of her ample bosom. "Take your fill luv! I have plenty to go ‘round."
The man stumbled in and knocked against Darcy's chair, sending them both sprawling. "Blast it lass, I seen you first, and paid my money too, so I get first dippings. He may be a gentleman but he will bloody wait his turn!" He reeled for a moment or two and then fell flat upon the two already tangled on the floor. The cheap brandy flew from his grasp, smashing against the hearth and causing the fire to spurt with sudden flame.
"Another one!" cried the wench upon spying Bingley still stretched out upon the bed. "And just as comely as the first! Oh bless you Lord! ‘Tis my lucky night."
Darcy heaved the man from atop him, and extricated himself from the serving wench's frills and laces, and curving mounds of flesh. As he pushed himself up to his knees he was in time to see the form of a rodent escape in a lightning streak through the open doorway.
Before he had time to consider anything, he began to change, clothes ripping as scale and sinew surged. His dragon mouth opened and with a bone-shattering roar and sulphurous burst of steam he lunged for the unopened window, crashing through wood and glass as if it were kindling. His wings unfurled and he took to the sky, the moonlight bathing his dragon body in its luminous glow.
The serving wench's screams split the night.
Posted on Tuesday, 25 March 2008
Bingley awoke to wildly careening shadows and piercing screams. He sat up suddenly upon the bed, wondering what type of unnatural dream had him in its grips, when a sudden breeze from the smashed window sent smoke billowing from the fireplace. The coughing fit he suffered from it proved that the havoc around him was no dream. The girl's screams changed to heaving sobs and the man simply stood staring out the fractured window with a glazed look upon his face.
Pounding on the door rivalled the noise of the girl, and cries of, "This is the landlord! Open up!" spurred Bingley forward from the bed to the floor, strewn with glass and splintered wood.
"I'm coming!" he yelled, rubbing his eyes. Had it been his imagination, or had he seen the sinuous tail of a dragon receding from the shattered window? And where was Darcy or even Wickham for that matter? The mangled remains of Darcy's neck cloth dangled loosely from the bedpost and fluttered in the breeze. He opened the door and a portly fellow in a greasy topcoat barrelled through, followed by two gangly, wide-eyed lads.
"What is the meaning of this noise? I run a respectable establi . . . the window! You shall pay for it and don't be thinking otherwise!"
The serving wench took one look at her employer and began shrieking. "A dragon! A dragon! The gentry cove turned into a dragon before my very eyes!"
The landlord whipped around and surged toward Bingley. "A were? You were harbouring a were here? I'll have the RWH upon you!"
"No!" yelled Bingley, startling even himself at the vehemence in his voice. "There was no were!"
"How can you say so?" shouted the drunk, finally finding his voice. "First there was that overgrown rat that scurried out of here and then the ferocious beast blazing fire."
"I do not doubt you saw a rat!" countered Bingley. "For this place is so squalid it is crawling with vermin, but a dragon -- that's preposterous. Dragons exist only in myth and legend."
The landlord bristled at Bingley's accusation. "This is a respectable establishment," he repeated. "I'll have no truck with shape shifting abominations, gentry or not!"
The serving wench was weeping openly, insisting that she knew what she saw, and the drunk was swaying as he stood, glaring menacingly at Bingley.
"I will not stand for this. Respectable establishment my foot! A man cannot get a decent night's sleep without drunken riff-raff barging into his room and destroying the place. How can you listen to the baseless accusations of two such? Rather, explain what they are doing in my room in the first place. Is this some outrageous swindle? Accusing guests of being weres so that you can profit by blackmail?" Bingley stabbed the air between himself and the landlord with his hand, emphasising his points. "Well, these measures will not work with me. I know people! I can have this place closed and your licence revoked in a heartbeat, and the RWH on your neck!"
Bingley made to leave the room, but the landlord grabbed his arm, forestalling him. "These are not your friends?"
"I associate with such coarse rabble?" asked Bingley, assuming a look of disdain that would have been more at home on Darcy's face than his own. He shook off the detaining hand and strode towards the door.
"But your bill! The damages!" cried the landlord.
Bingley reached into his pocket and threw a handful of notes at the landlord. "That should cover any costs, though little you deserve it!" He had to push through a crowd that had gathered about the doorway and down the hall. He kept up his expression of outrage until he was on the street, then he walked swiftly away towards an area of town where he would most likely be able to flag down a hackney, all the time keeping his ears open for sounds of pursuit.
Once back at his townhouse he quickly packed a case and called for his coach to be readied. There was only one place he imagined Wickham would be bound. That weasel's threat to Darcy about causing him pain could not be misunderstood. It was not Georgiana he was after this time.
"I have it from Hill," Mrs Bennet cried upon entering her husband's study, "who has had it from the scullery maid, who had it from the butcher's boy, that Mr Bingley has come to Netherfield once again! What a good thing for our Jane."
"How so?" asked Mr Bennet, glancing towards his wife. "You said before something would come from his renting Netherfield, and it did not."
"His friend dissuaded him the last time, to be sure, but I have never seen a man more in love than Mr Bingley was with dearest Jane."
"And why should he search her out now, with our family in disgrace?" asked Mr Bennet, not bothering to look up again from the letter he was perusing.
"Why to save her, of course!""
"He had best hunt for that Wickham fellow then," said Mr Bennet. "Making sheep's eyes at our daughter will not do the trick."
"Mr Wickham! How I hate the sound of that vile fellow's name. I said from the outset that he was far too handsome to be trusted."
"It is unfortunate we were not all blessed with your foresight," said Mr Bennet dryly. "Colonel Forster has had no reports of him. I have written to him demanding the scoundrel be caught and transported. And from this letter," he waved the missive he had been reading when his wife had stormed his citadel, "it appears we are not the only family with grievances against him. Widespread debts! Cheating at cards! Philandering! There was nothing he was above doing. A fine fellow indeed! Lucky we are not to have to call him son."
"Ah, but how sweet it would have been for Lydia to have married, and before her sisters too." A dreamy look overspread Mrs Bennet's face.
At that moment there was a knock upon the door. Hill stood in the doorway, and upon Mr Bennet asking her business, announced that Mr Bingley had asked to see him.
"What did I tell you?" Mrs Bennet demanded, triumphantly as she backed out of the room. "Send him in, Hill, send him in! Mr Bennet is quite at his leisure."
Mr Bennet nodded at Hill. "I will see him," he sighed, shaking his head at the foolishness of young lovers. In his opinion there were more important things to be done at the moment than making declarations.
But Mr Bennet was soon to discover that he had misjudged Bingley.
"The man would not dare come to these parts again after his last escapade," said Mr Bennet, when apprised of Bingley's fears.
"I would put nothing past him," said Bingley.
Mr Bennet stared at Bingley appraisingly over steepled fingers. "Why is it that you think my daughters are not yet safe from Mr Wickham's machinations? And why Lizzy most particularly?"
Bingley coloured and stammered incoherently. "He hates . . . Wickham threatened . . . I am not at liberty . . . please do not ask, I cannot say."
"You were in Mr Wickham's company recently?"
There was something about the steely look in Mr Bennet's eyes that flustered Bingley even more. "Yes -- until he changed . . . that is he escaped . . . and Mr Darcy . . . I mean . . ."
"Am I to understand that you and Mr Darcy had him captured somewhere in London but he escaped after vowing revenge -- upon my Lizzy?" asked Mr Bennet in a voice that was as quiet as it was menacing.
Bingley nodded shamefacedly. "We did our best but . . . well . . . the situation became beyond our control. I mean to find him and I know Darcy has not stopped searching for him since he ran off. But I thought it imperative to warn you at once, before I began my search."
Mr Bennet visibly softened and sighed. "You did right, young man. It is unfortunate he slipped through your grasp. When next he is found I will ensure he does not get the opportunity again."
Bingley privately wondered what an older gentleman such as Mr Bennet could do that he and Darcy could not, but then reflected that Mr Bennet had no idea what sort of villain he was dealing with. He had no cause to think that a were hunter like Wickham was actually a shape shifter of the vilest sort.
Mr Bennet leaned back in his chair and casually asked, "What about the reports of a dragon?"
Bingley blanched. "Dragon?" he squeaked.
Mr Bennet enjoyed Bingley's discomfort for a few moments and then relented. "Lydia says that a dragon escorted her home. I wonder if she was simply suffering some strange ill effects of her ordeal that caused her imagination to take control of her mind?"
"Surely that would explain it!" said Bingley a little too eagerly.
"Indeed," said Mr Bennet agreeably. "You have given me a great deal of food for thought. I suggest that you position yourself here at Longbourn to provide protection to my girls in the event that Mr Wickham should try to do something underhanded. I will put some of my men on the lookout for him too. But we must keep quiet about this -- for the young ladies' sakes. We would not want them frightened, would we?"
"Oh, no sir!" cried Bingley, heaving a sigh of relief. "I will do everything in my power to keep them safe."
"And now, I think my wife has been on tenterhooks long enough. Shall we repair to the drawing room and relieve her suffering? If I tell her you have agreed to dine with us that might satisfy her for the time being."
Bingley nodded in confusion, not completely understanding the intent of Mr Bennet's comment. He was pleased, though, to have an excuse to stay at Longbourn and not to go out on a wild goose chase after Wickham. And if being close to Jane was the greater part of his reason for thinking he was following the right course of action in setting himself up as the Bennet girls' protector, he could not be faulted for it.
It was not only Mrs Bennet who was on tenterhooks in the drawing room. She had lost no time in informing her girls just who was ensconced with their father and just what she suspected their topic of discussion to be. Lizzy had glanced at Jane, wondering why her sister had not informed her an understanding had been reached, but Jane's expression only served to prove that she was as surprised as Elizabeth to discover that Bingley was addressing her father. When Mrs Bennet left the room to enquire of cook if there were any fish to be had, Jane leaned over and spoke softly in Lizzy's ear.
"Do you suppose he is telling father just what he is? They have been together for quite some time."
"You do not know? Did Mr Bingley and you not discuss . . ."
"He has never made his intentions known to me -- that is, not in so many words."
"Well he should do soon enough," said Lizzy smiling, and she hugged Jane.
"He might be seeing him on another matter entirely," said Jane. "Cannot he speak alone with my father without it concerning me?"
Elizabeth laughed. "Impossible! A man so deeply in love?"
Jane blushed. After that her mind could not be still. She attempted to apply herself to her needlework, but at every creak of a floorboard she glanced over to the door, expecting it to open. When her father and Mr Bingley did finally enter the room she was so flustered by her anticipation that she could not raise her eyes to the gentleman's face. She attacked the rose she was stitching with more fervour than ever.
"Where is your mother?" asked Mr Bennet to the roomful of girls. "Mr Bingley has graciously consented to dine with us."
"She went to speak to cook," answered Mary.
"Aha! So she has anticipated us. I will leave you in the hands of my fair daughters, Bingley, while I find my wife and inform her which of her expectations have been satisfied. It always helps to keep these things clear. Afterwards I have some pressing business matters to attend to, but I expect you to be well entertained."
Bingley bowed and took a seat upon Elizabeth's invitation. There passed some very stilted small talk until Lydia yawned, announcing that she was fagged, and then left the room with Kitty in tow. Mary pushed her nose deeper into the book she was reading and would not budge.
"The garden is lovely at this time of day," ventured Lizzy.
Bingley glanced from Elizabeth to Jane. "Would you care to take a stroll?"
Jane dropped her needlework upon the table. "Oh yes!" she said quickly, and then hesitated, blushing. "That is, if you would like to also, Lizzy."
"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, Lizzy 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?" Lizzy 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 infliction. 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.
Lizzy 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, Lizzy 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 tête-à-tête. Her mother had no better luck the next morning.
"I suggest you walk to Oakham Mount," she said, after giving up on removing Lizzy from the room. "The view from there is very fine, Mr Bingley -- you must see it. Jane knows the way."
"And Lizzy 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 Lizzy is bound to outdistance you both," she added with satisfaction and an abundance of winks in Lizzy's direction.
"I should like a good, long walk," admitted Lizzy.
Mr Bennet nodded his agreement finally. "I am counting on you to stay with Jane and Mr Bingley," he said to Lizzy, "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 revelled 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.
Lizzy 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 favourite flowers," cried Lizzy, twirling around under the closest of the hawthorn trees.
A figure in a blue 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."
Posted on Friday, 28 March 2008
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 that 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 Lizzy. "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 demeanour 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, fangs 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 shrivelled, 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 Lizzy, 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 direction 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.
Nor would she soon forget the elation she felt when the dragon had come flying out of nowhere. The fear that ran through her when Wickham managed to turn his weapon upon the beautiful beast. The pain that wracked his body from the glancing hit. The mingled guilt and sadness that filled his emerald eyes. The way he had promised his fortune and estate away to free her. And his lithe body that she had barely been able to drag her eyes from until her father had made him cover it up.
Oh how she had wanted him to hold her when it had all been over. She had wanted to cling to him -- feel his warmth -- gain her strength back from the acknowledgement of their love.
But all he had done was offer her his hand to help her up and then stand by her side, so close but about as distant as the moon. For all that he had been willing to give everything up for her freedom, he did not want her. That much was painfully obvious. Their love was as ill-starred as any Romeo and Juliet's -- but unlike that tragic couple's love, it could not survive all the impediments that stood in their way. At least they were both alive -- even if it was only half a life, it was better than none at all.
Jane cut through her thoughts with a comment about their father. "All these years, Lizzy! How did he manage to keep it from us so well? Did you ever suspect?"
"Never," said Elizabeth. "But surely this will make it easier for you and Mr Bingley to make your revelations to papa."
Jane smiled tremulously. "He loves me. He wants to marry me."
"Was there ever any doubt?"
"For me there was," said Jane timidly. "Mama was trying so hard to give him the opportunity to be alone with me so he could declare himself -- but he was so insistent that you always accompany us. I was so afraid he didn't want to marry me after all. But he told me that he knew there was danger from Mr Wickham and that he'd discussed it with papa and papa had given him permission to protect the both of us, so he couldn't let you out of his sight, however much he wanted to be alone with me."
Lizzy laughed and then drew her sister over to a stile. They sat in the May sunshine and let the warmth seep through their bodies, dispelling the recent terror they had been subjected to. After a while the men came striding down the hill to join them.
"Now that is out of the way," said Mr Bennet as he watched his eldest daughter and her swain meet up again, their happiness evident in the way smiles wreathed their faces, "did the two of you not have something of importance you wished to discuss?"
"Would you like Miss Elizabeth and me to walk ahead?" asked Darcy.
"Oh, no, no. I don't think there are any secrets we cannot all share. And I think you have as much to own up to as your friend Bingley, Mr Darcy."
As far as Darcy could surmise, Mr Bennet was not about to be told anything he did not already know, so he resigned himself to the fact. Besides, as Mr Bennet had already exposed himself as a werewolf, there was hardly any danger in his knowing that they were shape shifters too. They were sure of mutual trust. The brotherhood of shape shifters was rarely broken, unless you were completely without honour, like Wickham.
"I know you want the best for your daughter, sir," blurted out Bingley. "But you will have to settle for me, because she loves me despite the fact that I change into a dog."
"I thought it might have been what attracted her to you," said Mr Bennet with a wink.
Jane looked up at her father shyly. "You know about me?"
"Yes Jane. I have known ever since the first change took place, but Lizzy looked after you so well that I thought it best to keep my knowledge to myself. I did, however, put many things in place for your protection. I may be an indolent father, but I am not neglectful."
"And you don't mind about Mr Bingley?"
"You are both of such compliant natures that you will never resolve upon anything, and so generous that every servant will cheat you. But I think having tempers so alike, and such a trait in common, your happiness will be assured - I envy you that openness in your marriage. You might have to be careful on how you raise your children, but with such devoted parents... how can they resent it?"
"Thank you Papa!" said Jane, embracing him.
"You are a good girl," said her father, kissing the top of her head. He then shook hands with Bingley and told him that he had best look after Jane, as he had already witnessed what her father could be capable of if any of his girls were mistreated. Then he turned to Mr Darcy. "Your situation is rather more precarious."
"You know, then, that I am a dragon."
"If I didn't know before today, young man, when you came swooping in at Wickham like an avenging angel, it was a dead giveaway. I also see no other reason for your present state of undress."
Darcy wrapped the borrowed greatcoat tighter around him. "How did I give myself away?" he asked. "I have taught myself to be very circumspect."
"What was circumspect about giving my daughter Lydia a ride home upon your back?"
"I had hoped for her silence."
Mr Bennet chuckled. "Lydia's silence! You certainly don't know my Lydia very well at all if you imagined for one moment she could keep her mouth shut." His face suddenly became serious and he held his hand out to Darcy. "Thank you for all you did for her."
"I felt responsible. Wickham . . ."
Mr Bennet shook his head. "No need to dredge that up again. It's over and done with now. Was there anything else you wanted to make me aware of?" He looked pointedly from Darcy to Lizzy and back again.
Darcy looked at Elizabeth too. A look of longing flickered momentarily across his face to be replaced by a sharp wince of pain. He clutched his injured arm and rubbed it, regaining his composure till his face showed no sign of emotion at all. "No sir," he said austerely. "I think everything we need to discuss has been covered. I have ... all I can hope for. Your daughter is safe."
Lizzy's heart clutched within her. Her safety was all he wanted. He had never wanted her love.
Posted on Tuesday, 1 April 2008
Darcy did not go back to Longbourn with the others, but stayed out in the woods till darkness fell. He found a secluded place in the depths of a stand of old oaks, and lay back against a sturdy trunk, drawing in deep breaths of air with ever increasing difficulty. The pain from his arm was like a living thing, writing through his nerves and clouding his brain.
When the long shadows grew, purple, across the open lands, he did not change into a dragon and fly home to London but made his way across country to Netherfield stumbling like a drunken man -- or a severely ill one.
He was relieved to find a stash of clothes in an upside-down pot by the rhubarb frames, still there from his visit to Netherfield the past autumn. He much preferred wearing his own clothing to Bingley's, which was a trifle tight in the shoulder and short in the leg for him. Though the way he was feeling at the moment, even Mr Hurst's clothes would have done. He needed to get into the house and into his bed. The pain in his arm was excruciating, and a fever had kindled in his body, growing till it felt like an out of control conflagration. He was surprised he hadn't burned to cinders.
Somehow his presence could be explained in the morning; how he had arrived without luggage, a carriage, or even a horse. He'd think of something. Or Bingley would. It didn't signify.
Once in bed, he found no sleep. He sank into unconsciousness only to rouse himself again in fitful tossings and turnings. Delirium possessed him, painting horrific faces and monstrous events before his very eyes. For a moment he thought himself dragged out, to be executed in public. In the next, it was Georgiana dragged out to be executed for hiding a were. And then it was Elizabeth. Always Elizabeth, inhabiting his dreams like an endangered angel. An angel he'd endangered. "Elizabeth!" He called, hoarsely. "Oh, my love."
That is how Bingley found him upon his return from Longbourn. He called for laudanum, a basin of cold water, and a cloth. Then he set about nursing Darcy himself. Of course, he'd never nursed anyone before. And he had no idea how to counteract the poisonous magic from the RWH pistol, but he'd do whatever was in his power to alleviate Darcy's discomfort and hope Darcy was strong enough to survive it. Watching his best friend's face crumple under the pain, he recalled how it was said that strong men begged for death when thus affected.
"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" cried Darcy urgently, then his voice sank down to indecipherable mumbling again.
Elizabeth was neither suffering from a fever or in severe physical pain, but her sleep was very troubled as well. After taking an inordinate amount of time to fall asleep, she had very disturbing dreams. She was watching the dragon fly, beautiful glowing arcs in the sky, when suddenly a blinding red flash brought it tumbling down, down, down, until it lay, in human form, naked and broken at her feet. Blood poured from gashes on his neck. His head was at an unnatural angle. His face was Darcy's -- white and strained. "My fortune and Pemberley," he whispered through blue lips. "But not my hand." And then the body turned into a pile of gold scales, arranged in the form of a dragon, and a gusting wind picked them up and carried them off -- away, away -- and though Lizzy ran and grabbed at them as they swirled by her, all she was left with was empty air.
She awoke with a start, feeling completely bereft. The sense of loss and emptiness almost overwhelmed her. Wickham had said she meant everything to Darcy. But Wickham was wrong. And because Wickham had this misconception, and had vowed to take his revenge of Darcy out on her, Darcy had borne all the responsibility for the cad's actions.
So much so that he was willing to give up his livelihood and his heritage to save her. It had nothing to do with love. It was his duty, and he was a man of duty. And she loved him all the more for it. But she knew her dream of being his wife, and sharing his every day, and communing with his glorious golden other self, riding the waves of the sky late into the night -- none of that was for her.
She got up and walked to the window, opened the casement and leaned out on the sill. She searched the sky, wishing to see the dragon. Dreading to see the dragon and have it come tumbling from the sky like it had in her dream. But she knew he would not be there. She had seen him trying to change form when he had leapt at Wickham to knock the knife from his hand. The flickering back and forth from golden scale to skin that never amounted to anything. It must be a consequence of his injury -- the partial hit from the RWH pistol. He was probably unable to change while the magical poison was in his system.
What had Wickham said? The pain was so unendurable people begged to have a period put to their lives, just to escape it? But that was from a full blast. When he had strode off into the forest earlier in the day he had walked stoically tall, not giving in to the pain he was suffering. Not showing himself affected by it. But that did not mean it was not severe.
She wound her arms tightly about herself and wondered how it was affecting him now. As she stared out into the darkness, she was oblivious to the tears that rolled and dropped, one after the other from eye to cheek to sill.
The next morning Bingley arrived at Longbourn very early.
"These young lovers!" sighed Mr Bennet, still in his nightcap.
Mrs Bennet threw on a robe, rushed out of her bedchamber and down the hall. "Jane, Jane! You must make haste! Mr Bingley is here already!" she shrieked as she burst into Jane's room.
"But mama," said Jane, "I have not yet begun my toilette."
Elizabeth heard the commotion from her room. After a mainly sleepless night she had risen early and was already dressed. She joined her mother and Jane and assured both of them that she would be happy to keep Mr Bingley company until Jane was made ready, and that there would be no need to rush. She went downstairs to find a harrowed looking Mr Bingley pacing the drawing room.
"Miss Elizabeth!" he cried upon her entry. "Just the person a wished to see!"
The first thing Elizabeth noticed about him was the worry etched in his face and the dark circles under his eyes that spoke of a night of no sleep. "Mr Bingley! What is . . . Mr Darcy? Is he . . ."
"Darcy is in a very bad way. I dare not call in the doctor -- I was hoping you would know how to help us."
Fear gripped Elizabeth but she stayed calm and managed to get a somewhat coherent report from Mr Bingley. "I will speak to Hill," she said when he had done. "She is something of a herbalist, and very discreet too. I hope to God she can recommend a cure from herbs she has set by in our stillroom."
Less than a quarter of an hour saw Elizabeth handed up to Bingley's carriage, clutching a basket of herbs. They were both silent on the drive to Netherfield, Bingley intent with the ribbons as he gave the horses their heads, Elizabeth wishing they could gallop even faster as the carriage careened around the curves in the road.
"I will need a kettle to boil water, a bowl of some sort, muslin strips, and a teapot," said Lizzy as she rushed upstairs after Bingley.
When they arrived at the door of Darcy's bedchamber, Bingley suddenly faltered. "It will not be proper for you to be in a gentleman's chamber. You are an unmarried gentlewoman. Tell me what to do, and I shall . . ."
Lizzy pushed his apprehensions aside. "Dash propriety!" she said. "I will nurse Mr Darcy. He was ready to give his all for me. This is the very least I can do."
"But he is in quite a state of disarray!" Bingley blurted.
"May I remind you, Mr Bingley," said Lizzy with some asperity, though a high blush flared on her cheeks, "I have already seen Mr Darcy naked on more than one occasion."
She pushed her way through the door into his bedchamber. The room was stuffy and smelled of illness. The curtains were pulled tightly shut on all the windows, a fire burned in the hearth, and candles circled the bed. It might very well have been a wake, with the corpse displayed amid these flames. A bowl and cloth were on the night table, along with a glass and a bottle of laudanum.
Darcy lay in the amber light, his coverings thrown back to his waist. His head rocked back and forth on a flattened pillow, his body shook with spasms. His right arm was crusted with gold scales and webbing was plainly visible between his fingers. Lizzy let out a gasp of shock, dismay, and fear, and then flew into action.
"Mr Bingley, the kettle at once!" she cried as she ran to the windows and pulled the curtains wide, bathing the room with daylight. She tugged at the window fastenings and raised the sashes, allowing the fresh outdoor air in. Only once she had performed these tasks did she make her way to Mr Darcy.
His head was still moving from side to side. Lizzy was shocked at the pallor on his face, though at her impulsive touch she could feel that he was on fire. His skin was dry and appeared to be stretched over the finely carved bones of his face. Tiny scales gleamed here and there like specks of mica in sand. His lips were parched.
She reached her hand into the bowl on the table, wetted her fingers, and drew them across his lips. She felt his hot breath upon them as he raised his mouth eagerly to the moisture. She prayed that Bingley arrive soon with the kettle for she dared not give him the water from the bowl to drink. Instead she drew a small bottle of lavender oil from her basket, pulled the stopper, and sprinkled a few drops of the fragrant elixir onto the wet cloth. She swirled it around in the bowl of water, wrung it out, and then tenderly stroked it across Mr Darcy's forehead in light, even strokes, her eyes never once leaving his strained face.
The gentle scent of lavender wafted through the room with each loving stroke, kindling with the outside air drifting in from the open windows, and replacing the stale mustiness and overall smell of a sickroom with an aroma both sweet and healing.
Bingley appeared then, burdened by a large kettle, full to the brim, and all the other things Elizabeth had requested.
"How is he?" he asked with some urgency.
"Did he have much to drink during the night?" asked Elizabeth.
"It was all I could do to get him to take the laudanum," said Bingley. "I tried a glass of wine but he only coughed it up."
Elizabeth held out the tumbler that was on the side table. "Rinse this out and then fill it with water before you hang the kettle over the fire. He needs to drink, and before I can make the tea, water will be the best."
Bingley did as he was requested quickly and unquestioningly. "How is he?" he repeated as he handed Elizabeth the glass.
She looked directly into Bingley's eyes and he could see the despair flowing from hers. "I hardly know. I have nursed my sisters through illnesses but have never seen anything so severe -- so frightening. Look how his body convulses. Look how his skin is caught midway between change. I have not sufficient knowledge of such things; I can only hope with all my heart that the herbs I have brought will be beneficial. I told Hill someone had magical poisoning. I didn't tell her it was Mr. Darcy, though I'm sure that the truth can't long be hidden. Oh Mr Bingley! What if I am able to do nothing for him and he should . . ."
"No!" cried Bingley. "Do not even dare to say it. It is not possible. The best and noblest of men die in this stupid way? Not while there is a providence." He looked down at his best friend and wrung his hands together. "What are we to do?"
"Georgiana" cried Elizabeth. "She must be told of this. She must be brought to see her brother before . . . in case . . ."
"I will go for her at once!" cried Bingley. "If you need anything else before I return, ring for my servants. I will instruct them to give you whatever you desire. Just do not allow anyone entrance to this room."
"Thank you!" said Elizabeth softly. "No one shall see Mr Darcy like this, I promise you. And I shall not leave his side."
Bingley took his friend's hand in his and squeezed it hard. This brought Darcy's feverish gaze to him for a moment, and a harsh whisper, "Propose to Jane, Bingley. Go to it. You have my blessing."
Bingley shuddered, as if this evidence of his friend's erratic thoughts shocked him, then with a parting look at Elizabeth, strode quickly from the room.
As the door closed behind him she returned to her patient. She seated herself gingerly on the side of the bed and then, with less hesitation, put one hand under his head and raised it. She brought the glass to his lips and tilted it so water trickled over them and into his slightly opened mouth. He sputtered but swallowed a small part of the water. She repeated the action again and again until the pillow was soaked from water that had dribbled out and down his cheeks, but at least she was confident that a third of the water had managed to make its way down his throat.
Pulling the pillow out from under his head, she replaced it with others she had discovered on the window seat, until she had his upper body propped at a better angle for administering her remedies, then she checked on the progress of her kettle and laid out the herbs that she would need to use, going over in her mind all that Hill had told her of their properties. Blackthorn and pokeroot for fever. Also feverfew. If that did not do it, tea brewed from hyssop, yarrow, liquorice root, and thyme. And no laudanum. She reached for the bottle and tossed it across the room. Hill had warned her that laudanum would only increase his symptoms, not cure them. When the fever finally broke, she had been instructed to administer valerian for a deep and fortifying sleep.
When Jane's toilette was complete, she made her way downstairs only to find the drawing room empty and Mr Bingley and Elizabeth nowhere in sight. She was about to look in the garden when Hill came to the open door and coughed discreetly.
"Oh Hill," said Jane. "Did you see what became of Mr Bingley and my sister?"
"I was just coming to inform you, Miss Jane," she said. "Someone has fallen ill and Mr Bingley required your sister's services." If she thought this an odd arrangement, she gave no indication. "I recommended some herbs and saw Miss Elizabeth on her way. Mr Bingley has left you this note." She handed Jane a folded and sealed piece of paper.
Jane stood in surprise and shock as she read the first letter she had ever received from her betrothed. The note was short and written in some haste as could be evidenced from all the blots and crossings-out. It was not much in the way of a love letter, but it did tell her what she needed to know.
My dearest Jane.
Forgive the sloppiness of my writing. In concern for Mr Darcy, who is suffering greatly from his injury, I have come for your sister. I thought she was the most proper person to manage the task. I have never seen . . . I pray to God he will recover soon and will keep you informed in any way I can. Make some excuse to your family to explain your sister's absence, but to your father the truth may safely be told, I think. Do not worry. When next we speak I hope to have happier news.
All my love to you
When Jane had finished reading the missive, tears were streaking down her face. Poor Mr Darcy! Poor Lizzy! Poor Charles! She had no idea what she was about to tell her mama, but she would have to think of something on her way back upstairs, for Mama would surely worry more about Mr Bingley's disappearance on his first full day of courting than she would think to wonder where on earth Lizzy had got to. Jane did not imagine she would have the great good luck to encounter her father first.
Elizabeth had brewed the tea and managed to force some of it through Mr Darcy's lips. It was foul smelling and most certainly bitter, and he did not swallow it willingly. After administering the beverage, she laid the muslin strips in the clean bowl Bingley had brought to her and layered golden seal, black walnut, and blood root to make a poultice to apply to Mr Darcy's arm to draw out the poison and reduce the pain and inflammation. She poured boiling water over the whole and allowed it to soak for a bit, wiping his brow with lavender water as she did so.
His body was still thrashing about on the bed as she attempted to apply the poultice. She had to lie almost across him to still his limbs and pack the hot compress over his injured arm. She had held herself even closer to him while he was in dragon form, but now he was as a man, and though he was ill and wracked with pain, and her heart was almost breaking with worry for him, she could not help but still be affected by the chiselled muscles of his chest and abdomen, made all the more attractive by the glitter of gold scales that pulsed in and out all over his smooth skin. She placed the muslin and herbs as gently has she could, tears pricking through her eyelids as his body flinched even more. She could not lose him.
She felt helpless and pitiful. Mr Darcy needed some miracle of medicine or he surely would die, but she doubted how much confidence she could place in the simple herbs she had at her disposal. She wished she knew something of medicine and of the magical forces that were at work in his body fighting with his were attributes. All she could do was follow Hill's instructions and pray for Mr Darcy's recovery.
She looked into his face and her heart clenched at the pain and suffering she saw reflected there. His skin was still as pale and taut as it had been upon her arrival. His entire body was still on fire with the fever. His movement had lessened but she feared that it was only because he was becoming ever weaker in his valiant fight. He mumbled some words. "Pemberley, Wickham," were all that she could make out, then he half rose and cried out, "Elizabeth! Forgive me!" stared at her with unseeing eyes, and lapsed into silence again.
She bathed his forehead in lavender water once more as tears streamed from her eyes so quickly it was as if she were bathing him in her own tears. "It is you who should forgive me, Mr Darcy," she whispered. "Forgive me for ever doubting you. Forgive me for never having told you how much I love and admire you." She moved from sitting on the side of the bed to lying next to him, limbs matching limbs, snuggling under the curve of his left arm. She put her arms around him, reached up to stroke his rough cheek, and then pressed her lips to the mixture of scale and skin on his chest. "You truly are the best of men. Do not leave me, Mr Darcy. Please do not leave me. I could not bear life without you. Even if you shouldn't want to marry me, I want to know that you are alive somewhere in the world."
It was well into the night when Bingley arrived back at Netherfield with Georgiana. He helped her down from his curricle and they hurried into the house. He was up the stairs two at a time, his anxiety and impatience driving him, as she followed behind to the best of her abilities.
As he reached the bedchamber door, Elizabeth opened it, her face streaked with dried tears and new, fresh ones following the well-worn marks. Behind her he could see into the room that was lit with dozens of candles. Darcy lay still upon the bed, his body no longer a mass of convulsions. There was no movement at all. His face was like a waxen mask.
Bingley looked from Elizabeth, her tears unstopping, and back to the body so still behind her, and he knew without a doubt that his worst possible fears had been answered. "Darcy!" he cried. "No!!!!!"
Behind him, Gerogiana had crested the stairs, her breath laboured. "Fitzwilliam?" she called. And then she came closer and looked beyond Bingley and beyond Elizabeth. "Fitzwilliam!" she screamed and ran towards the room.
Both Bingley and Elizabeth grabbed a hold of her and held her back from entering the room.
"Please," she sobbed, "Please! I must go to my brother!"
"Don't you realize?" asked Bingley through his tears. "Oh Georgiana! Don't you realise what has transpired? I am so sorry!" And he took her in his arms and they broke down sobbing together.
Chapter Fifteen
Etc, etc Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen