Pemberley- Mr Darcy's Dragon

by Maria Grace

  Rumblkins enjoyed the attentions, even rolling over to present his belly for a rub.

  Rustle did not.

  He was a very different creature to Mr. Darcy’s companion. Though hardly the ratty, unkempt bird April claimed him to be, he had none of the regal bearing of Walker. Almost like a gentleman wearing his best suit standing beside Beau Brummel. Clean and well kept, but somehow lacking in those fine details that set Brummel apart. Walker was definitely the Brummel of cockatrices.

  “When will these flutterbobs get on with it?” Rustle peered over Aunt Gardiner’s shoulder. “It is not a propitious start that they should already keep us waiting.”

  His words were slow and clear, very near to Aunt Gardiner’s ear.

  She half-closed her eyes and concentrated as he spoke.

  “I think, yes—babies of all kinds are that way. Do you recall how little Joshua kept us waiting with the midwife declaring it should be today every day for a fortnight?”

  “Indeed I do. That was very good, very good.” Rustle touched her cheek with his wing. Apparently the discovery she was indeed able to hear had changed his attitude toward her. He would never credit April for the intelligence, though.

  “Tell me again Papa, what do we do when they hatch?” Mary worried one of the flannels between her fingers.

  Papa pointed at a ladle near the pan. Elizabeth ladled out three silver thimbles of broth, now richly colored from the blood pudding.

  “It is best to allow the hatchlings to break free on their own. But if they cannot tear through the inner membrane, I have a small knife to cut through it. When their wings are free, you may pull the rest of the shell away, very gently. Then dry it with the flannel, talking very softly to it all the while. Tell it how welcome it is and offer it the broth. If it drinks, then offer it meat. Assure them there is plenty and invite it to stay. Offer it a name. If it wishes to leave, then take it to the window and allow it freedom to choose.”

  Elizabeth laid her hand on Mary’s back and leaned close. “It will be fine. I promise.”

  April hunkered down in the straw between the eggs and threw her head back. She trilled a high sweet note. Soft cheeps came from the eggs. The one nearest Mary wobbled and rocked.

  A tiny, sharp nose poked through the mottled drab-blue shell. April warbled encouragement. It was a good sign that it had managed to pierce the membrane on its own. The leathery shell tore halfway down and a wet little head poked through. Shiny jet-bead eyes darted back and forth.

  Elizabeth nudged Mary. “She’s looking for a familiar voice. Talk to her.”

  “Ah, what a sweet little thing you are.” Mary whispered leaning close.

  The tiny head twisted toward Mary, eyes fixed on her. She cheeped something that sounded like a question.

  “Yes, it is me. I have been talking to you for the last few days.”

  She pulled one wing free and shook it, sending droplets of egg slime flying.

  Mary reached for the flannel.

  Elizabeth stayed her hand. “Wait until both wings are free.”

  April hopped to the half-free hatchling and pecked at the shell, scolding.

  Impatient little thing.

  Another wing broke free and the hatchling tried to flap herself away from the shell.

  “Now, Mary,” Papa said.

  April side-stepped Mary’s hand as she peeled away the rest of the shell from the hatchlings’ feet. The scraggly, wet fairy dragon wobbled onto Mary’s waiting hand.

  “There you go, dear. Give me a moment to get you tidied up. You will feel much better for it.” She scrubbed it gently with the flannel.

  Tiny feathers fluffed and dried. The soggy hatchling turned into a purple-pink heather-colored ball of fluff.

  Fairy dragon chicks were nothing if not adorable.

  The other egg began to quiver. Aunt Gardiner tended it as Mary offered the fluffy chick broth from the silver thimble.

  She drank it down greedily.

  Mary stroked her back with the tip of her finger. “Slow down, little one, there is plenty. I have meat for you if you like.”

  She warbled far more loudly than her size should have allowed. Papa produced a spoonful of blood and treacle pudding slivers on a china saucer.

  If only Mama knew what her mother’s tea set was being used for!

  April flitted between the saucer and the hatching box as another head tore through its shell.

  Mary offered slivers as fast as the chick could gobble them. “Slow down, you need not gorge. There as much as you want.”

  The chick paused and stared at Mary, blinking, head cocked.

  “I should like to call you Heather, if I may.”

  The tiny head bobbed up and down. “You may.”

  Her voice was so high and thin it was difficult to hear. That would change in time, but for now, it might make it challenging for Aunt to hear the chicks. Would that cause the other chick to look to Mary or her or to leave them altogether? Two chicks could easily overwhelm Mary—

  “Hungry!” Heather demanded.

  Mary obeyed.

  Rustle and Rumblkins crowded close. Heather squeaked and backed away into Mary’s arm.

  Mary held the wet flannel up for Heather to smell. “They are friends, part of the Keep. Do not be afraid.”

  Rumblkins inched forward and sniffed Heather. He licked her soundly, though she shuddered. His raspy tongue fluffed her feathers so prettily, she gave him a bit of a cuddle before returning to Mary’s hand.

  Heather was a sweet little thing. April would have pecked him soundly on the nose.

  Mary held Heather up to Rustle who preened the feather-scales of her wings. She trilled.

  He sneezed and shook his head. “So much fluff.”

  Heather cheeped a question at Mary.

  “You are perfect little one, simply perfect.”

  Aunt Gardiner applied a clean flannel to another newly hatched fairy dragon, revealing striking red-orange plumage.

  “Oh, I have never seen one like him!” Elizabeth whispered.

  He guzzled broth and snarfled down blood pudding, feet secured tightly around Aunt’s finger. His voice was loud and demanding, far easier to hear than Heather’s.

  Brilliant!

  In short order, he accepted the name Phoenix and fell asleep in Aunt’s palm.

  Rustle prodded him and Phoenix roused enough to land a sharp peck on the cockatrice’s beak.

  Rustle jumped back in a flutter of wings. “He will do, indeed he will.”

  Aunt offered Rustle a generous lump of blood and treacle pudding for the compliment.

  One egg remained, forlorn between the abandoned shells. Rumblkins batted at it. The egg toppled over, but did not move further. April landed beside it and pecked at it in an odd syncopated rhythm. She rolled it over with her feet and pecked again.

  “Mine?” Rumblkins batted at it again.

  April snorted and flitted to Elizabeth’s shoulder.

  “Not here, take it away from Heather and Phoenix.” Papa’s voice was grave and sad.

  Rumblkins picked up the egg and trotted toward the door. Papa let him out.

  Elizabeth rubbed the ache in her chest. Rumblkins was the only one who could look fondly upon an unhatched egg.

  “Perhaps you might allow me to examine the hatchlings now?” Papa slipped in beside Mary.

  She held up the sleeping Heather.

  He picked up the fairy dragon and examined her carefully, muttering under his breath. “Yes, yes, very good. Well-formed wings, all her toes. A lovely specimen.” He returned the chick to Mary.

  Aunt Gardiner offered Phoenix for Papa’s inspection. “Not many male fairy dragons are hatched, you know. Perhaps only one in four, I believe. You have a very rare little gentleman there, Maddie. Lovely, lovely color. That dark patch will become an eye ridge, a bit of a crest on his forehead when he is grown. You may find yourself very popular in London once your new companion becomes known.”

  Rustle hopped toward Pa
pa. “I shall warn the cockatrix who come to call that he and his visitors are not to be meddled with.”

  Rustle enjoyed a fair number of female callers, but that might change now. Aunt would probably not want the children exposed to such on-goings.

  “So you find him acceptable, do you now?” Papa returned Phoenix to Aunt and directed Elizabeth to cut another slice of blood pudding for Rustle. “I am pleased to hear it.”

  “What do we do now, Papa?” Mary asked, stoking her check against Heather’s fluff.

  “I have prepared a ‘sick room’ in the attic for you and your aunt. You must go upstairs with the hatchlings and remain there until they no longer require constant feeding and attention. Usually for fairy dragons, that is three to five days. I am afraid that means you shall miss the assembly, Mary.”

  “I have no cause to repine, Papa.” She sighed happily.

  Oh the look in Mary’s eyes! Somehow she looked like a new woman. Elizabeth blinked against her blurry vision. The little companion dragon might be exactly the thing to give Mary the confidence to come into her own.

  “When they return, I shall tell them you both have taken a sudden fever and the apothecary said you must be separated from the rest of the family. Since Lizzy has already been exposed, she is the only one to tend you. Fanny does not like nursing, so I doubt there will be much fuss made over it.”

  Elizabeth snickered. And if there was, the resident dragons would be called upon to persuade Mama to see things their way.

  “Keep the chicks warm and fed. Talk to them, and keep them close to you. They are apt to form very strong bonds with you—one of the fairy dragons’ more endearing qualities.”

  April cheeped and flew toward his ear, but he covered it before she could nip. “That, by the way, is not an endearing trait.”

  April scolded, then alighted on Elizabeth’s shoulder.

  “Now, upstairs with you, and settle in. It will be a long few days for us all.”

  Papa was right on all counts.

  Mama was not at all unhappy to be excused from nursing. She did not ask how the apothecary had come so quickly nor did she bemoan Mary’s expected absence from the upcoming assembly. All told, it was odd how little Mama asked. No doubt, Rustle and April, and maybe even Rumblkins had something to do with that.

  He was also correct that the newly hatched chicks would be a tremendous amount of work for them all. April had required a great deal of attention in her hatchling days too, but those memories had faded over time. They came flooding back with each trip up and down the stairs with victuals and other supplies for all the sick room residents.

  It was a shame that Mary would have to stay at home from the assembly, but then again, perhaps not. She was rarely asked to dance, so maybe staying at home would better suit her.

  For Elizabeth’s tastes, though, enjoying some company and a few lively dances would be just the tonic for too much time in the ‘sick room.’

  “Lizzy, please, help me with my hair.” Jane peeked into the hall and beckoned Elizabeth in.

  Evening sun shone directly in the windows, warming the room almost too much. The golden light suited Jane well though. She glowed in the sunbeams.

  “I have never known you to be so anxious for a ball.” Elizabeth took the brush and smoothed Jane’s tawny tresses.

  “Mr. Bingley will be there. At least he said he would be. He said he was fond of dancing.”

  “And of course, according to Mama, to be fond of dancing is a certain step toward falling in love. No doubt you entertain very lively hopes of Mr. Bingley’s heart now.” Elizabeth twined Jane’s hair into an elegant twist and secured it with pins.

  Where were those ribbons that would look so well with Jane’s dress?

  “Oh, Lizzy, pray do not tease me so.” Jane’s cheeks colored. She pressed her hands to her face.

  “What is wrong? You know I mean nothing by it.”

  “Still, I do not fancy you mocking me in that way.”

  “I was not mocking you. We have always played this game. What has changed?” Elizabeth set the brush aside and caught Jane’s hands between hers.

  Jane looked aside, as though unable to meet Elizabeth’s gaze. “It seems foolish to say. I have only just met him. I am afraid I like him, though, more than I should, I think. Is it wrong to entertain hopes?”

  “Hopes, so soon? Do you not think it very—”

  “Unwise? Impulsive? Foolish? Silly?”

  “I said none of those things. Pray, do not put words in my mouth.”

  Jane rose and wandered to the window casting a long shadow that reached all the way across the room. “I cannot explain it. I have never felt this ... convinced ... of anything.”

  Convinced? Were there dragons involved?

  That was the only thing that made sense. But why would dragons meddle in the affairs of those who could not hear them? Certainly some enjoyed the sport, but Walker was the only dragon at Netherfield and certainly was not the type to make such efforts. No one at Longbourn would do so either, not with newly hatched chicks to protect.

  Still, it was so unlike Jane.

  “Just be careful. Do not attach yourself to him before you discern exactly what kind of man he is. You are apt to think well of everyone, but not all are so deserving of your admiration.”

  Jane drew a deep breath—was she covering up a sniffle? She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her head. “Of course, you are right, and I shall listen. It is unseemly for a woman to demonstrate her feelings to a man who has not declared himself. I will not allow anyone but you to know of my true feelings. You will be proud of my reserve.”

  Jane’s smile was wan and thin, her eyes bright.

  “And in return, I will hope for the best from Mr. Bingley, that your secret hopes—and now my own—might be fulfilled.”

  Jane blinked rapidly. “Thank you. I knew you would understand.”

  “Come now. Let me finish your hair before Mama entreats us to come downstairs.”

  ***

  Papa declined to accompany them to the assembly, as was his usual preference. The standing about hurt his feet and hips. Even the card room held little appeal when it was all he could do to hold the cards, unable to shuffle or deal in his turn. At least Mama did not argue as she usually did, probably counting herself fortunate that he did not insist she remain at home to tend her ‘sick’ daughter.

  The past few days had been so intense, trying to meet the needs of the hatchlings and their new companions while keeping Mama and her sisters unaware. Had it not been for the persuasive powers of the dragons, it would have been impossible. Even Longbourn had to be called upon. He took up temporary residence in the cavern near the cellar and spent many hours inventing viable explanations for the odd sounds from the sickroom and even odder items which Elizabeth brought up from the kitchen.

  Yes, a few hours away, lost in the music and dance steps was just what she needed.

  Sir William Lucas greeted them at the door, wearing his ‘Master of Ceremonies’ sash. Since his visit to the assembly rooms at Bath, he had insisted upon wearing it at every assembly. He did so enjoy those subtle reminders of his importance as former mayor and only titled individual in the room. All told, it was a good thing that he was possessed of such a pleasant disposition or he might be insufferable.

  Charlotte Lucas sidled up to her. “So you are here to see the legendary Mr. Bingley?”

  “Indeed, why else would anyone attend?” Elizabeth chuckled.

  Charlotte was her best friend for a reason. Few so aptly understood Elizabeth’s sense of humor.

  “I have heard he rides a black horse and wears a blue coat. What new intelligence have you?” Charlotte’s brows flashed up.

  Though her features were universally regarded as plain, her wit was sharp and she did not hesitate to make her, sometimes unpopular, opinions known.

  “Very little, I am afraid. We have only been in his presence once, when he and his friend called upon Longbourn. We found his
manners very agreeable. He is in possession of a buff coat as well.” Elizabeth’s eye twitched in a little half wink.

  “So then tales of his fortune must be true, if he is in possession of two fine coats.”

  “So my mother assures us.”

  “So which of your sisters has she claimed him for? Jane or Lydia? I will warn you, my mother has claimed him for me and Mrs. Goulding insists he will do for her eldest niece.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “You should not speak so!”

  “Is it untrue? Does not every mother in the parish seek to claim him in some way?”

  “True enough, but it is not safe to speak so out loud.”

  “Look there,” Charlotte pointed toward the door. “I suppose I must curtail our conversation as the gentleman himself has arrived. With a party of friends as well—surely he will be the hero of the evening now. He brings another gentleman who may very well be as unmarried as himself.”

  Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, two finely dressed women and a third gentleman slowly entered the rooms only to be accosted by Sir William. Given Mr. Darcy’s expression, Sir William was anxious to introduce them to the entire room.

  “He is unmarried, to be sure. Unpleasant, but unmarried,” Elizabeth muttered.

  Why was Mr. Darcy even here? He had significant business to be about. Why was he wasting time at the assembly? Unless it was to try and garner further intelligence on the whereabouts of the missing egg.

  But what could he discover in a public venue such as this? No wonder Papa was so put out with him.

  Sir William approached with Mr. Bingley in tow. “May I present my daughter, Charlotte Lucas.”

  “Charmed to make your acquaintance, I am sure.” Mr. Bingley bowed, all smiles, obviously ready to be well-pleased by all he saw.

  Charlotte curtsied, blushing. It seemed even she was not immune to a charming man.

  “Might I engage you for the first two dances, Miss Lucas?”

  “Yes, certainly.” Charlotte stammered a bit. Since her recent birthday—seven and twenty—fewer young men invited her to dance.

  Good on Mr. Bingley for being so sociable. Still though, it was very obvious of Sir William—he almost demanded Mr. Bingley ask Charlotte to dance. Mama would call it intolerable conceit.