Pemberley- Mr Darcy's Dragon

by Maria Grace

  Desperately.

  But if that were the case, why did she keep bringing up Elizabeth Bennet? It made no sense.

  Bingley warned him not to encourage her. How did one not encourage a woman when one was not certain what encouraged one in the first place? Did he mean it was wrong to even talk to her?

  Gah, this was exactly why he hated London and the marriage mart there. If he could find other Meryton lodgings, alone, he would. But it would open him up to questions and attention he did not need.

  In the meantime, avoidance seemed the best alternative. But doing so when one was confined inside a house, even one as large as Netherfield was a task beyond his powers.

  ***

  The end of the rain could not have been more welcome. Darcy rose before dawn, penned a note for Bingley regarding his plans—or at least what Bingley should know of them—and left.

  There was little need to hurry since no one but him kept country hours, but still, the rush—to finally be doing something!—was invigorating.

  The bracing air revived his spirits. His man would not appreciate the state of his coat and boots when he returned splashed with a substantial layer of mud. But delaying until the roads dried would drive him to Bedlam. The militia’s barracks rose before him.

  Walker flew high overhead, surveying the encampment from his unique vantage point. With any luck, he would spot the most likely hiding places in the surrounding countryside, making their search a brief one.

  His horse, though nervous on the best days, was difficult to manage. The creature had never much liked Walker’s presence and became skittish when the cockatrice was near. But this was extreme. Could it be the horse smelt a dragon egg? That was a heartening thought indeed.

  Walker screeched and dove at something in the bushes ahead. Terror slithered down Darcy’s back.

  Even knowing Walker’s voice, his shriek still raised a visceral response. Had Walker found their quarry?

  Darcy urged his horse into a trot, but it balked.

  Damnable creature!

  He leapt down and tied the horse off on a tree branch.

  Ahead, the bushes rustled and growls—deep, dangerous, dragon growls—resounded.

  Bloody hell, what had he found there? He sprinted for the sounds.

  “No!” A female voice screamed.

  Not a scream of fear, but of authority.

  Miss Elizabeth.

  Of course, she would have to be here.

  He broke through the undergrowth into a small clearing overhung with heavy branches.

  On the ground between two large trees, Walker and another cockatrice faced each other. Wings extended, necks outstretched, they hissed and clawed the ground, churning up dead leaves and debris. The other cockatrice was slightly smaller, rather shabby by comparison, but his courage was to be commended. Not every dragon would stand up to one clearly its superior.

  Miss Elizabeth, a lumpy market bag slung on her shoulder, jumped between them, arms outstretched, holding her cloak open to make herself as big as possible.

  How did she know to do that?

  She dragged her feet in the dirt, mimicking the dragons’ clawing and flapped her cloak enough to give the impression of wings. “Both of you cease this behavior at once. I will not have it. You are civilized creatures and will act that way immediately.” She looked from one dragon to the other. “Now take two steps back. Both of you, now do it. I will drop my cloak and introduce you properly and politely. No more shrieking and hissing out of either one of you.”

  The two dragons backed off, slowly, hesitantly, but they did obey. She lowered her arms, allowing them to see one another again. Both cockatrices extended their wings, beaks snapping, but they did not shriek.

  “Much better.” She slid back a bit and curtsied to both dragons. “If I may introduce you—”

  Both snorted.

  No doubt they would rather fight.

  She cleared her throat. “That was not a question. I will introduce you, and you will accept the acquaintance, just as Longbourn has accepted both of you as visitors into his Keep.”

  Walker, then the other dragon, flipped his wings to his back, but kept his head lowered, still ready to fight.

  “Walker, companion to Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, may I present, Rustle, companion to Mr. Gardiner of Gracechurch Street, London.”

  The cockatrices eyed each other warily, heads bobbing as they circled Miss Elizabeth.

  She stood her ground as though unaware of the danger she put herself in.

  A dragon less civilized and well-mannered than Walker might well injure her or worse for forcing an introduction upon him.

  She growled deep in her throat—a draconic sound she must have learnt from Longbourn. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.

  Both cockatrices stopped and stared at her.

  So did Darcy.

  “I have neither time nor patience for this posturing. Enjoy your dragon pomposity later. We all have the same errand today, and it is more important than your pride.” She waved the two dragons together. “Go on now. Now I say.”

  Her tone carried all the authority—and confidence—of a major-dragon.

  The cockatrices met in front of her and bowed to one another. Rustle bowed lower. Walker plucked a scale-feather from the back of his head. Rustle yipped and Walker gulped the scale down, cawing softly.

  Dominance was established with no bloodshed.

  And Walker seemed satisfied. How was that possible? He always wanted a taste of blood first.

  Miss Elizabeth crouched and reached down to them. They hopped toward her, craning their necks toward her hands. She scratched them simultaneously, and they rolled their heads into her hands.

  “That is much better, much better.” She looked up at Darcy. “Good morning, sir. I imagine we are on the same business?”

  “Walker?”

  Walker contorted himself to look at Darcy whilst contriving to remain under Miss Elizabeth’s ministrations.

  “That is undignified,” Darcy muttered under his breath.

  “She knows where to scratch.” Walker closed his eyes.

  Rustle pressed his head into her hand, but looked at Darcy and growled.

  She pulled away. “No, that is Mr. Darcy. Papa and Longbourn have recognized him. There is no need for that sort of display.”

  Rustle scowled but stopped.

  After one more scratch, Miss Elizabeth rose and straightened her cloak.

  “You should not be here.” Darcy offered Walker his forearm as a perch.

  “Why precisely is that? We share the same concern and the same directive from the Order.”

  “You do realize you are skulking about outside an entire camp full of soldiers.” Darcy gestured toward the distant barracks with his free arm.

  “Indeed, I thought I was outside my favorite millinery shop.” She adjusted her bonnet.

  “This is not a joke, madam. I cannot imagine your father would condone the danger you put yourself in.”

  She looked away. “I have Rustle here with me. I am far from unguarded.”

  Apparently Bennet had odd ideas of what was appropriate for a young woman, even in the company of dragons.

  “But you have not brought the fairy dragon. No doubt you do not wish to endanger her. Does that alone not tell you something? Pray, does Longbourn approve of this?”

  Walker chirruped something that sounded like support.

  “He does not know.”

  Something about the look on her face suggested she did not like keeping secrets from Longbourn.

  “You are then aware of the very great risk you are taking, not only with yourself, but with Longbourn and even Rustle, and probably Walker as well. If, god forbid, anything, were to happen, it is quite clear—” –dangerously, alarmingly clear— “—that your friends would be intolerant of the offense and respond in the most dragonesque of ways. It will be difficult for even a pair of adept cockatrices to persuade over three hundred men, that their companion
s were not dragon casualties.”

  She hung her head, shoulders bowing. Rustle edged back against her legs and extended one wing around her.

  “You see how uncomfortable they are.” Darcy lifted Walker a little higher, so he could look her in the eye. “They were listening when Longbourn mentioned an aunt—”

  She lifted her hands as if to push him away. “Mr. Darcy that is quite enough. I am entirely aware of my family’s history. I am not insensitive to Walker’s and Rustle’s concerns. But desperate times require sacrifices of us all, do they not? No doubt you can see, my father is unable to actively search himself, and my uncle is required to attend the colonel with him. The Order has demanded we assist you. What other choices are there?”

  “You are a young lady alone!”

  “There is only one solution,” Walker chirruped. “You must work together in this matter.”

  “No, the solution is for her to return to her home and cease this improper cavorting about.”

  She dodged around Rustle and stood nearly toe to toe with Darcy. “You think this cavorting, that I am here for pleasure and flirtation? That this is my idea of sport?”

  Her eyes burned with mesmerizing intensity.

  Darcy edged back. “I misspoke; it was a poor choice of words.”

  “Indeed it was. I take my responsibilities to dragonkind quite seriously.”

  “And you imply I do not?”

  She rose up on her toes. “I am not talking about you at all. Only what the situation requires. And in that case, Walker is quite correct. We are both here to search for the missing egg. We can do so more effectively if we work together and cease these petty arguments.”

  “And if we are caught together, your reputation will suffer. It is not right for us to be together without a chaperone.”

  “You think I want to be compromised? By you?” She rolled her eyes. “I am promised and all but betrothed to a cousin, the heir to Longbourn, so you have nothing to worry about, sir. I have no need to seek a husband.”

  Something about the tone of her voice—resignation mixed with regret. What kind of man was this cousin?

  What did it matter to him?

  “Besides, Walker and Rustle are adequate chaperones, well able to convince any who we may encounter of the propriety of our company.” Her shoulders fell a little.

  Would it have been so disagreeable to be caught with her? She was the only woman he had ever met who not only heard dragons, but had the heart of one herself.

  He shook his head. Where had that thought come from? He glanced at the cockatrices, but they were engaged in conversation with one another in a language reserved for their kind alone. Besides, Walker was above playing that sort of game with him and the other would not be capable of influencing Darcy so easily.

  “I have a task to accomplish, and I had best return to it. Am I to proceed alone?” She stepped away.

  “No.” Walker blocked her path. “Darcy, if you do not go with her, I shall.”

  Darcy huffed. It did not help that Walker was right. “Very well.”

  The cockatrices chirped and lifted their beaks into the wind.

  “There is egg scent in the air,” Rustle said.

  “That means it is here, does it not?” Miss Elizabeth asked.

  “Perhaps, but we only know for certain that something here has been in close contact with an egg.” Walker snorted. “It is strongest on this side of the camp. Near that hillside.” He pointed with his wing.

  The dragons took to the air and Darcy and Miss Elizabeth followed. She picked her away around the rocks and up the steep path, ignoring him when he offered his hand.

  Obstinate, headstrong girl. Proud as any dragon!

  Walker would probably blame him if she fell, and Longbourn would certainly hold him accountable for any mishap.

  “Pray allow me to assist you.” He extended his hand again.

  “Take his hand,” Walker squawked. “Do not argue, and do it now.” He swooped a little lower over their heads.

  She huffed and took his hand in a surprisingly strong grip.

  Just over the rise of the hill, Rustle landed in front of an opening in the stone outcropping. An arm span wide and slightly shorter than Miss Elizabeth in height, it was an ideal place to secrete something valuable.

  The cockatrices, with their keen night vision hopped in first.

  A moment later Walker called, “Come in.”

  Darcy removed a bit of touch paper, flint and steel from one pocket and a candle from the other. He struck a quick spark that lit the touch paper and then lit the candle from that. Miss Elizabeth took it from him while he snuffed the touch paper and returned the items to his pocket.

  Taking the candle back from her, he led the way into the hillside cavern.

  Just inside they paused, allowing their eyes to adjust to the candlelight.

  Darcy could not stand upright inside. The cavern smelt of cold stone, stale and lifeless. The jagged ceiling sported low hanging rocks that threatened to seriously injure the unaware. Stones from the size of his fist upwards to small boulders littered the floor, probably fallen from above. The dirt around them showed evidence of boot prints and trails of items dragged into, and probably out of the cavern. Perhaps this hiding place had been used before, perhaps often.

  They followed the caws of the dragons deeper in, beyond the reach of the sunlight. The flickering candle flame bathed the walls in eerie dancing light.

  “There—” Miss Elizabeth pointed half a dozen steps beyond.

  A stack of crates and several barrels lay just behind a large pile of stones. The dragons perched on the topmost crate.

  “I smell egg.” Walker scratched at the crate.

  “No, it is this one.” Rustle jumped down onto a large barrel.

  Miss Elizabeth opened the market bag and withdrew a small pry bar. The way she held it suggested she knew how to use it—probably would not be afraid to make a weapon out of it if forced to it.

  Uncommonly well prepared for such an uncommon assignment.

  “Sir, what are the physical properties of the egg? Size, weight?” She asked, rolling the barrel away from the crates.

  He handed her the candle. “It would just fit in the barrel, I believe. Perhaps five stone in weight?”

  “How much does that barrel weigh, another stone perhaps. So, if it contains the egg, it should weigh just more than six stone?”

  “Half of what it would weigh full of brandy. Clever.” He squatted and wrapped his arms around the barrel. He grunted and lifted it, contents sloshing. “No, that is far too heavy.” He replaced it.

  “Then the crates perhaps?” She handed him the pry bar with a look that said she could have managed happily on her own, but was humoring him for the sake of the dragons, or possibly his pride—it was difficult to discern which.

  They lifted the lids on the crates, but found only tea, tobacco and one with French lace. After restoring it all as they found it, they hastened away from the cave.

  “I wonder if Clarington is aware he has smugglers attached to his militia,” Darcy muttered.

  “That is not your business, Darcy. Do not become involved in it.” Walker perched on Darcy’s forearm and stared him in the eye. “I know you are awfully committed to such human conventions, but this is neither the time nor place for your quaint moralities. There are much bigger concerns to contend with.”

  “As much as I do not like to side with lawlessness, explaining how we came upon the goods of free-trade men would be difficult at best. I fear it might cause widespread searching—” Miss Elizabeth looked over her shoulder.

  “That could see the egg, if it is here, uncovered by the wrong people.” Darcy clutched his forehead and grimaced. “You are right. The excise men can wait for their victory until Pemberley is safe.”

  Miss Elizabeth bit her lip. “It seems that the egg is either in the hands of smugglers or of one who is doing business with smugglers, perhaps using them to transport the egg along with
smuggled goods.”

  “The regiment was just on the coast, well situated to receive goods from France.” Darcy bounced his fist on his chin.

  “Could someone be trying to remove the egg to the continent?” Her face lost a little color.

  “No, I am quite certain that is not the case.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Walker, are there other caches like this one?” Darcy turned his shoulder to her.

  “Several and they all smell of egg. Come.” Walker launched. Rustle followed not far behind.

  “I asked you, how do you know smugglers are not trying to take the egg from England.” She crossed her arms over her chest, brows drawn low over her eyes.

  “We should follow them.” Darcy hurried down the stony hillside, leaving Elizabeth to find her own way down.

  ***

  Walker and Rustle uncovered four further hoards of smuggled goods, all of which had been in contact with Pemberley’s egg. The egg itself though remained stubbornly absent. Walker insisted the traces could not have been over a fortnight, perhaps just a se’nnight, old. So, it had likely parted ways with the goods when the building parties separated from the regiment, one to Meryton and the other to Ware.

  But the hillsides were full of small crevices and caverns, some deep enough to impede Walker’s sense of smell. They could not consider their search complete until they had scoured them all, a task that would take days, even weeks. All the while, the egg might be with the company at Ware.

  Even the cockatrices agreed, the expedient thing was to part ways. Miss Elizabeth and Rustle would continue their efforts in the hillsides farther removed from the encampment. Rumblkins and April would join her. They would watch for wayward soldiers and persuade them away from her. Hardly ideal, but it was better than nothing.

  Tomorrow he would ride for Ware. It was only common courtesy to pay his old friend Clarington a call. And if he was not actually in Ware with his regiment, so much the better.

  ***

  Elizabeth gripped the banister for support as she trudged downstairs for breakfast, groggy and sore, despite having slept far later than usual. Though several days had passed since her last foray into the hillsides, the days of fruitless searches still took their toll. Who knew there were so many caverns, grottos, cavities and fissures in the hillsides? Was it possible they had searched them all?