by Maria Grace
She nodded, still holding her breath. At least the little dragons would hatch safely. Perhaps she could convince Rumblkins to watch after them until they were big enough to fly. That way, the barn cats and tatzelwurms might not interfere with them. They might even choose to live in the barn and help keep down some of the flies. She might even visit them occasionally that way.
Even so, it would have been much nicer if they could have lived in the house.
∞∞∞
Several days later, Papa trundled into his study bearing several thick letters from the day’s post. She had tried to tidy the study, but her successes were difficult to see. All the surfaces had been thoroughly dusted—what a task that had been! When was the last time the maid had been permitted in the room? It still smelt of dust and old books, but a little less of dust than it had before.
At least there was a good reason for all his clutter—dragon lore had to be preserved for posterity—though Mama would simply insist he had too many books and should get rid of them. It was probably impolitic to say so, but he would probably sooner get rid of Mama than his books.
Elizabeth sat beside the nesting box, reading to the eggs from Dragon Etiquette Volume 1: Greetings, her throat decidedly raw and scratchy. Maintaining a steady stream of conversation toward the eggs proved more challenging than she had expected. Apparently, she lacked her mother and Aunt Philips’ ability to talk endlessly over all matter of idle nothings. She had run out of things to say halfway through the day before in the midst of dusting.
But Papa said it was good for the eggs to be spoken to, so reading to them seemed a reasonable compromise. He came in just after she had opened the book and started reading, giving her that special look for when he knew she was beyond reasoning with and shaking his head. But he let her remain with the eggs, which was what she really wanted, so all was well enough.
Papa wove his way through the forest of furniture and piles and settled into his favorite wingchair on the opposite side of the nesting box. He laid a stack of correspondence in his lap and thumbed through them.
“Are any of those responses to the letters you sent?” Elizabeth set the heavy book aside and balanced her elbows on her knees, hands clasped tightly.
“It seems so.” Three of the letters bore the blue sealing wax used by the Order, but he set those aside. “I will attend to business first, though.” He used his voice that was not to be argued with.
She swallowed back a sigh. How many times had Mama told her she must learn patience? No sense in wasting the opportunity. At least that is what Mama, and probably Jane, would say.
Elizabeth returned to reading to the eggs. Probably just as well. She was on the section about wyverns, and since Longbourn was a wyvern, it behooved her to be thoroughly versed in their forms of etiquette, especially what one did with one’s wings. That seemed vitally important. Since fairy dragons also had wings, this could be pertinent to them, too—if they could understand, which Papa was certain they did not.
Regardless of the fairy dragons’ ability to understand, the instructions were incredibly interesting. Even though on the surface, it all read as a very dull list of dos and do nots—tedious to remember and painfully detailed—she had recently discovered it was far more thought-provoking than that.
Read on the whole, patterns became evident, both within the species and between them. When one teased those out, the behaviors and rituals actually began to make sense and were not that difficult to remember. Threats, like fangs and claws, were exposed by the dominant dragon, covered or hidden by the submitting one who kept their head lower than the dominant's. The specifics of just how that was done, though, took a great many pages to explain.
Papa grunted and muttered under his breath. “Well, that is a disappointment. It seems Corthwallis has no interest in fairy dragons. His daughter has got herself betrothed and does not need the distraction right now. Staines’ daughter found herself a tatzelwurm to befriend—and I do not envy him that; they are such addle-pates—and does not think it wise to have a little fairy dragon in the house with a young, and likely still ill-mannered, tatzelwurm. I must agree. It is not a good thing for members of the same household to eat one another, no matter how much a course of nature it might be. I discourage it wholeheartedly.” Papa set aside that letter and chuckled at his own joke.
But really, all things considered, it was hardly that humorous.
It was difficult to know how to feel. On the one hand, it was sad that no one seemed to want to befriend these little eggs. On the other, it would be nice to have them close to Longbourn, if, of course, she could keep the chicks safe …
Papa cracked the seal on another letter and flicked at the stiff paper. “Oh, yes, these are much better tidings from Baronet Delves. Old Rowley was a school mate of mine, you know. He lives in Oakforde, twenty or so miles north of Meryton on an estate called Pembroke. He has three daughters and a son, all of whom can hear. The girls, he says, are wild for fairy dragons and would gladly befriend our little clutch.”
“That is good then, is it not?” She bit her lip, forcing her voice to stay light and pleasing.
“All in all, I would have to say it is. The girls are a bit silly themselves, but that should not be a problem. Fairy dragons are not known for being very particular in their choice of Friends.” Papa set the letter aside and resettled himself in his chair.
Perhaps they would be more particular if they had a better choice of Friends. If only silly, inconsequential people were encouraged to be interested in befriending them, of course fairy dragons would seem flighty and mindless. No one would think fairy dragons worthless if the King had one as a Friend.
What an absurd idea, the King of England with a fairy dragon perched on his crown, joining him on official events. She giggled under her breath.
“So, get your writing things out and help me draft a letter to Delves. We shall leave for Pembroke the day after tomorrow.” He pointed toward the little table that she used as a writing desk in the corner by the window. Naturally, he had covered the entire surface with papers and open journals.
“We, Papa?” Could she have heard that correctly? Just in case she did, she sat very still and very straight lest he deny he had said it.
“Yes, I intend to bring you with me. You are proving yourself a good observer. It will be good practice for you to hone your skills of observation. We may discuss your findings on the way home. There is something to be learned from all hatchings, even very insignificant ones like this one. Moreover, the details of the hatching should be recorded. For that, I need your hands. I mean to begin on the dragon hatchings book that I have been intending to write after we return.”
“Am I to help you with that project, too?” She bit her lip and held her breath. Pray let him say yes! What could possibly be better than helping him pen his book and talk to him about it in the process? What better way to learn about hatchings than from the man who had attended more than any other currently alive in the Order?
“Yes. I thought about hiring a secretary from the Order to do the job, but I cannot justify the expense this year. The weather has not been favorable, and the crops have not been as fruitful as I had anticipated.” He leaned back, lifted his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.
Mama had hinted about some tightness in the budget when she had talked about new gowns for Jane since she had grown too tall for her current ones.
“I am afraid you are young for the task, but there is nothing to be done for that. We must not allow it to become well-known that you have assisted me, though, lest the work is looked down upon for your participation. I know you are an accurate scribe, but not everyone will attribute that skill to you.”
Perhaps she should be offended at his concern over how she might “contaminate” the reputation of his work. But the promise of learning so much that others did not know was more than sufficient to make up for it. “I will not disappoint you, Papa. I shall write it very well for you.”
“I know you wil
l, my dear, but now, the letter to Delves.”
∞∞∞
For the journey to Oakforde, Papa presented her with Dragon Etiquette Vol 2: Conversations. She balanced it on her lap with one hand and steadied the box next to her with the other, occasionally clutching both tightly as the old carriage swayed along the rough road. Mama complained the carriage should be re-sprung, but somehow, it did not seem very likely.
Although the tome’s initial illustrations promised a fascinating read, it did not prove nearly so gripping as the volume on greetings. The entire text could be summed up in: Do not speak first, do not disagree, do not offer topics of conversation interesting to humans and—just in case she did not remember from the first time it had been said— do not disagree. Of course, all the strictures applied primarily to major dragons and those larger minor dragons who might think they rivaled a human for dominance and who might prove injurious should they be provoked.
But what kind of basis of a friendly relationship could that provide? Really, it sounded like the way one might talk to a king, not to a friend. She would never have shared all those lovely conversations with Rumblkins under those rules. Then again, he was a very minor dragon among minor dragons and did not expect anyone to care about his opinions. He was quite happy to find someone interested in what he thought and liked—even if it was mostly dried cod and warm milk—and he did not mind differing opinions at all.
Did Papa actually support all those rules, or was this just one of those books that one read because they had to, then promptly forgot in favor of more practical approaches? There were a few of those among his collection, not that he came out precisely and called them that. It was clear, though, there were some he respected less than others.
She shoved the book into her carpetbag and began talking to the eggs again, very softly, so as not to disturb Papa.
Several hours later, including the stop to rest the horses, Pembroke rose on the horizon—a magnificent house on very pleasing grounds at least twice the size of Longbourn, maybe more. The design was very modern—like something out of one of Mama’s magazines—the sort of style in which she wanted Papa to rebuild Longbourn. Light and bright, it was easy to see why Mama liked it so. But there was nothing wrong with Longbourn as it was, so rebuilding was unlikely to happen whilst Papa was master there. He disliked unnecessary changes.
The woods resembled those at Longbourn, with many tall hardwoods and rocky hillsides that probably contained a dragon lair. Papa called these sorts of copses “dragon woods” because so many dragon lairs were established in such places.
Perhaps there were wild fairy dragons here, too. At the very least, it appeared the sort of place that fairy dragons would like to live. Good, her little friends had an excellent chance of being happy here. Next to being happy at Longbourn, it was the best possible thing.
The driver stopped the carriage at Pembroke’s imposing front door. Oak bound with iron, it looked more medieval than modern. It must have been some sort of family heirloom as the image of a rather grumpy basilisk was carved into it. Rough and Gothic, the carving only made the poor dragon look crankier—the sort one would not want to accidentally meet on a dark night—or maybe even in the bright daylight.
A somber and somewhat cranky-looking butler led them inside the manor and to what appeared to be the master’s office. Their driver trundled behind with the nesting box. Elizabeth would much rather have carried it herself, but it would not have been proper.
The office was bright and spacious with doors that enclosed the bookshelves and kept all the volumes neatly contained. A small stack of papers occupied one corner of the desk, but it was neatly arranged and held in place with a paperweight bearing the seal of the Blue Order. If he actually did any work in this room, he just was as different from Papa as a firedrake was to a major wyrm.
“Rowley, old chum, how are you?” Papa extended his hand toward a very proper, not at all cranky-looking gentleman.
Sir Rowley, Baronet Delves, stood head and shoulders taller than Papa. He was very thin, so much so that a mere breeze might blow him away. His movements were a mite awkward, all elbows and knees, but his toothy smile seemed genuine, and his dark eyes were kind. “So kind of you to drag yourself all the way out to Oakforde on behalf of my daughters.”
“I suppose men with many daughters must indeed stick together, no?” Papa shrugged a bit. “May I present Elizabeth, my second daughter.”
Elizabeth curtsied as Mama had taught her.
“Elizabeth has read a great deal on fairy dragons and observed even more of their nature in the Longbourn woods. She will be able to instruct your girls on what to expect during the hatching and how they are to care for the hatchlings afterward.”
Sir Rowley nodded at her. “I am pleased to meet you. My daughters will be here in just a moment. They will be very glad to meet you. I have told them you will be teaching them about fairy dragons. They are at that age where they do not like to be instructed by their father. I think they would listen to you a great deal more readily than they would to me.”
The study door swung open a little farther, and three young ladies, all in white muslin dresses with different color ribbons, appeared. They were all tall and slim like their father, but more willowy than gangly. The eldest looked near maybe seventeen or eighteen and definitely out in society, the youngest probably close to fifteen. They shared similar features but were hardly identical. The youngest was by far the prettiest, the eldest plain by comparison, though she probably did not like hearing that. They did not look like the sort of girls who would much appreciate listening to someone younger than themselves, though.
“May I present my daughters, Emily, Elaine, and Eva.” He gestured toward them in turn. “My son is out right now, but he will be joining us for dinner tonight.”
Chances were his name was Edmond or Edward or Ezra. Elizabeth sneaked a glance at Papa. He had a funny little pet peeve about naming one’s children all starting with the same first letter. He thought it showed an alarming lack of creativity in a parent.
“We are pleased to meet you,” the girls said in unison and curtsied together as though it were something they practiced. Though their expressions were mild enough, something about their dark eyes was not entirely comforting.
“Girls, take Miss Bennet for some refreshments. She can tell you a very great deal about the little dragons that are going to be joining our household.”
“Yes, Papa.” Miss Delves beckoned her toward the door and led the parade to a small parlor near the back of the house. Although they walked very quickly, Elizabeth was left with the impression of a house that was very bright, airy, and full of black and white marble. “The maid will bring some refreshments shortly.”
Fine, modern furniture filled the parlor—obviously, it had recently been redone. Many paintings, mostly portraits, lined the white walls. Crisp dark red drapes flanked the tall windows that looked out onto the garden. Finer than any room at Longbourn, it was tasteful and elegant, perhaps even a bit understated. Not at all to Mama’s taste, but Elizabeth found it quite comfortable.
Miss Elaine and Miss Eva sat on opposite sides of a small, round table inlaid with a scene depicting the establishment of the Pendragon Accords, and stared at Elizabeth.
“I understand you are from a small estate near Meryton,” Miss Delves seated herself between her sisters and folded her hands in her lap. Was that a bit of derision in her voice? “Do you get many travelers there from London?”
Elizabeth settled herself on the remaining chair, an ugly duckling amongst the swans. “Yes, we are but three hours from London. Sometimes it seems there is a steady stream to and from there.”
“Papa said I am to have a season in London soon as I have just come out.” Miss Delves squared her shoulders and lifted her chin in a very superior sort of way.
No wonder she would feel that way, for a girl who was out could hardly be expected to converse with a mere child like Elizabeth.
Even if t
hat child had important information for her. But that was probably an ungenerous thought.
“He promised that for all of us in our turns,” Miss Elaine’s voice contained a rather envious note.
“It is the best place to find husbands, after all.” The look in Miss Eva’s eye suggested she hoped to be adding something new to the conversation.
“So you are very interested in husbands and beaux?” Elizabeth traced the imagery on the table with her fingertip. The artist had gotten part of the scene wrong—
“Of course! I understand how you might not yet be; you are so young, after all. But really, what else is there worth being interested in?” Miss Delves laughed, shrill and thin, as though she were trying to prove something.
The maid brought in a pitcher of lemonade and a generous platter of sandwiches and biscuits which Miss Delves quickly served. Elizabeth tried not to lick her lips.
“I find dragons very interesting.” Elizabeth nibbled the edge of a sandwich stuffed with ham and some sort of sharp cheese. “Your father and mine said I should tell you about fairy dragons.”
“They are small, colorful, and they sing prettily. What more need one know?” Miss Elaine tossed her head and rolled her eyes, mimicking her elder sister’s attitude.
“Well, to start with, I suppose, they have many names. They are also called fly-dragons, humming dragons, European hai-riyo, Lesser hai-riyo.” Elizabeth kept her eyes on her plate. It was unlikely they should be as interested in such things as she was.
“Fly-dragons! Humming dragons? How very silly.” Miss Eva giggled behind her hand.
Miss Delves shared a conspiratorial look with Miss Eva. “They are also referred to as flutterbobs, flufflebits, fluttertufts, flitter-jibbits, and ear-nips. At least according to our brother.”
“Papa says that they are not generally the sort of companion a man is likely to have, so it would not be surprising he does not have a great deal of respect for them. They are, after all, the smallest known of dragon species. The largest is no larger than a man’s hand; usually, they are the size of a small songbird or hummingbird. Usually, the dragon deaf are persuaded to believe them to be hummingbirds.”
