Pemberley- Mr Darcy's Dragon

by Maria Grace

  “I deserve neither such praise nor such censure. I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.”

  “In nursing your sister, I am sure you have pleasure. I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well.” Bingley returned to his seat.

  “You are very gracious sir. Thank you.” Miss Elizabeth walked towards the table with the only books in the room.

  “If you do not find any of these to your liking, pray help yourself to any you find in the house. Netherfield seems to be filled with books. There is a dedicated library upstairs, Nicholls will show you if you wish. But there are books in nearly every sitting room, parlor, and closet. I dare say, if they were all collected together in a single place, the collection might be rather considerable.”

  Miss Elizabeth’s countenance brightened, far more than might be explained by being a great lover of books.

  “What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Darcy!” Bingley said.

  “Speaking of Pemberley,” Miss Bingley leaned forward, a little too much, “is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring? Will she be as tall as I am? How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners, and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

  “It is amazing to me how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.” Bingley shook his head and chuckled. “They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

  “The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.” Darcy glanced at Miss Elizabeth.

  She cocked her head, and her eyebrow rose as if to meet his challenge.

  “Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

  “You must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.” Miss Elizabeth stared directly at Miss Bingley.

  The air between them crackled with electric tension.

  “I do comprehend a great deal in it. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word. Besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.” Miss Bingley folded her hands on the table before her. Everything in her countenance suggested she believed the air, manner of walking, address and expression of her current company sorely lacking.

  Miss Elizabeth drew breath to speak, but Darcy cut her off. “All this she must possess, and yet she must add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

  “I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.” Miss Elizabeth turned to Bingley and curtsied. “Thank you for welcoming me into your libraries, sir. I believe I shall go and select something now and return to my sister. Good night.”

  They watched her leave and shut the door behind her.

  Too bad he could not go after her. A book would be far better company than Bingley’s superior sisters.

  “Eliza Bennet is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own, and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art,” Miss Bingley muttered and fanned the cards in her hand.

  Darcy cleared his throat. “Undoubtedly, there is meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.”

  Miss Bingley stared at him blankly and batted her eyes.

  ***

  The next morning, shortly after breakfast, the Bennets—or rather the female Bennets—descended upon Netherfield like some sort of plague. No doubt the apothecary would follow soon behind them.

  No, that was ungracious and beneath him. But only a little.

  As soon as their carriage rolled up, Walker took to his wings and disappeared. If only Darcy had the same liberty. As it was, the Bennets were ushered into the narrow breakfast parlor, after they first saw to Miss Bennet, giving him nary an opportunity to escape.

  “My dear Mrs. Bennet.” Bingley rose and bowed. “How do you find Miss Bennet this morning? I hope she is not worse than you expected.”

  Miss Elizabeth helped her mother to sit down, just two places from Darcy. How very thoughtful of her.

  The breakfast parlor was definitely too small to accommodate so many people—so many ladies, all talking at the same time. All the places at the oblong table were taken, and surely all the oxygen in the room must be used up with so many words flying so fast.

  “Indeed I have, sir. She is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.”

  No, it is not time for her to go. She must not be removed.

  What? Darcy cast about the room. The little blue fairy dragon perched on the top of the floor-to-ceiling curtains, hiding in their folds.

  Why was that little featherpate involved? What manner of trickery was this? He glowered.

  Talk to her, she will make you understand. It is necessary.

  Darcy huffed and frowned.

  This is not about your dragon-deaf friend. It is for Pemberley.

  Pemberley? Darcy squeezed his eyes shut and pressed them with thumb and forefinger. What was Miss Elizabeth playing at?

  “Removed! It must not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal.” Bingley waved his hand for emphasis. He was such a gudgeon—especially when dragons were involved.

  “You may depend upon it, Madam.” Miss Bingley sat up a little straighter, her tone as cold as the morning’s mid-November frost. “Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she remains with us.”

  Mrs. Bennet made a show of dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “I am sure, if it was not for such good friends I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world—which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry I hope, though you have but a short lease.”

  How quickly the topic turned when the fairy dragon stopped her whispering. Did that Bennet woman ever stop for breath?

  Bingley laughed. “Whatever I do is done in a hurry, and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.”

  Miss Bingley rolled her eyes. She was right, this woman bordered on insufferable—nothing like either of the eldest daughters.

  “I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is not it, Mr. Bingley?”

  “When I am in the country, I never wish to leave it. And when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either.”

  Netherfield ball.

  What was that consarned fluffbit whispering about now?

  “You know, Mr. Bingley,” the youngest Bennet girl—was it Lydia?—batted her eyes, “those four and twenty families we dine with are frightfully bored right now. And you did promise a ball. Do you recall? It would be a shameful thing indeed if you failed to keep your promise.”

  Bingley’s forehead knit as he took on a faraway
look.

  “A ball you say?” Miss Bingley asked. “I can honestly say this is the first I have heard of such a thing.”

  Not it is not. It has been discussed for quite some time now—since you took the lease.

  Bingley’s brow knotted. “I recall now, yes, indeed I do. I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement, and when your sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the very day of the ball. You surely would not wish to be dancing while she is ill.”

  Lydia clapped softly. “Oh, yes! It would be much better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given your ball, I shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he does not.”

  “Two balls this season, what great fun is that!” The other younger sister bumped her shoulder to Lydia's.

  What was the girl’s name?

  “Indeed you are correct, Kitty. Is he not a fine example of true gentleman-like behavior?”

  Miss Elizabeth cringed. Who could blame her?

  With one further round of effusions of thanks for their care of her eldest daughter, Mrs. Bennet and her younger daughters departed. Miss Elizabeth escorted them out, the fairy dragon discreetly departing with them.

  Neither returned to the breakfast parlor. No doubt she was mortified at her family's display. Any rational creature would be.

  The Bingley sisters did not hesitate to offer their own observations, all at Miss Elizabeth’s and Miss Bennet’s expense. Darcy excused himself. There were questions he needed answered, and those answers would not be found in the breakfast parlor.

  Where would she be? He stalked to the front hall and listened for female voices.

  “She is upstairs in the small library on the sunrise side of the house.” The fairy dragon hovered just in front of his face.

  He jumped back. “That is a most annoying habit ...”

  “April, my name is April. It would serve you well to remember it, if we are to work together.”

  “And why precisely will we be working together?”

  She zoomed closer and nipped his ear.

  Darcy shooed her away. “I will not have that. Stop it at once.”

  “Then you might want to stop saying very stupid things indeed.” She buzzed back and forth in front of him. “Well, get on with you, upstairs now. There is no one else with her. You will be able to talk freely.”

  She took off toward the stairs. Darcy jogged along after her.

  “Why are you convincing the house—”

  “She will explain it all. This way.”

  Darcy grumbled under his breath, but she was right. Miss Elizabeth would provide much quicker answers. It might take hours to get a straight story out of a fairy dragon.

  She led him to a smallish room in the public wing of the first floor, near the guest rooms. With east facing windows, it was still dim and cool with morning light. Bookcases lined three walls and comfortable chairs for reading clustered near the center of the room.

  What a delightful place to retreat. Why had Bingley not shown him this room sooner? It would certainly have made his evenings here more pleasant.

  Miss Elizabeth stood three rungs up on the library ladder, scanning the top most shelves of the little library.

  “I have brought him.” April flew up to Miss Elizabeth.

  “Oh, very well, I suppose you are right. Pray excuse me a moment, Mr. Darcy.” She picked her way down the ladder and approached him.

  “Are you going to explain that fairy dragon’s performance this morning?” Darcy folded his arms over his chest.

  Miss Elizabeth shrugged and took a seat near the book shelves. She gestured for him to do likewise. “Will you not tell me of your trip to Ware?”

  They stared at one another.

  The clock chimed.

  April chirruped and scolded, flying from one to the other, nipping both their ears.

  Darcy yelped and grabbed the side of his head. “Where did she acquire such an appalling habit?”

  “Longbourn taught her.”

  Darcy clutched his forehead and groaned.

  “It seems we are both in possession of information the other needs. Though my father does not agree, it seems in the best interest of the Order for us to work together in this instance.”

  “Am I to understand your father—”

  “Is not privy to this conversation. In this case, he is my problem, not yours. Let us put the dragons’ interest above our own. I assume that your trip to Ware was not as profitable as you hoped?”

  “No, it was not. Clearly the egg has not been recovered.” He drummed his fingers along his arm.

  “But you have returned here, which is to suggest—”

  “Yes, I still believe the egg might arrive here. There are several wagons of supplies—”

  “That are yet on their way here. We have come by the same information, sir.” She met his gaze with a steady confidence few men possessed.

  “But that does not explain why you are inserting your presence at Netherfield.”

  “My father is not convinced we have done all that is possible to find the egg. He thinks it is here already. But even if it is not, as we discovered, there are far more hiding places than we imagined. He recalled that the previous master of Netherfield was an amateur cartographer, obsessed with mapping every crevasse and cranny of the surrounding area. Papa believes that there are maps somewhere in the house that will point us directly to the most likely hiding places for the egg. I am here to find those maps.”

  Darcy leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling roses. “I must say, this is the first truly welcome news I have had in quite some time.”

  “If we find them.”

  “Did your father have any insight into where they might be found?”

  “Sadly no, and it does not seem that Netherfield’s last owner had a great penchant for organization. I have yet to find rhyme or reason behind the placement of anything here.” She glanced at the bookshelves behind her.

  Darcy threw up his hands. “Naturally.”

  “It is entirely possible that they are not even in a library—and by the way there are at least two other rooms with sufficient quantities of books to bear the name as well. It is as Mr. Bingley said last night, there are books strewn about in every room I have looked in. No doubt the rest of the house is similar. And there are closets, trunks, boxes and attics to be considered.” She dropped her face into her hands.

  “Can the fairy—that is April—can she read human script?”

  “I am right here, you may speak directly to me,” she sniped.

  Of course he should, that had been rude.

  “Are you able?” he asked.

  “I have never learnt.”

  “But could you identify maps?” He stalked toward the globe in the corner of the room. “Like this, but flat, spread on a single sheet of paper.”

  April landed on the globe and looked down on it. She hopped off and perched on the table and studied it. “I think I could.”

  “Perhaps, if you are willing, you and Walker might assist in the search. You could start in the bedrooms and closets and the like. Places it would be difficult for us to explain our presence. If you could simply identify those rooms that contain maps—”

  “Yes, yes,” Miss Elizabeth knelt beside the globe and looked into April’s eyes. “That is a very good idea, as long as Walker will agree to help. She is far too small—”

  Darcy rose and opened the nearest window. He unfastened his watch fob and raised it to his lips. The whistle was shrill and thin, something only dragons or those who heard them could detect.

  Elizabeth covered her ears and winced.

  She was right, it was a dreadful sound.

  Walker swooped in and perched in the window frame. “Are they gone?”

  “Yes, the callers have left.”

  “You mean my mother and sisters.” She offered Wal
ker a scratch. “It is all right, I know few dragons can tolerate them with equanimity.”

  Walker leaned into her hand, all but cooing.

  Darcy scratched his head. He had almost become accustomed to Walker’s odd ingratiating behavior whenever Miss Elizabeth was about. He explained their plan.

  “Work with the flutterbob? The sky toned, fluffy-pate with nary a lick of sense—”

  April shrieked and flew at him, yanking a feather from the top of his head. “You will stop your whining and do as you are asked. You proud, arrogant, unfeeling creature.”

  Darcy tensed to intervene. Walker might well injure or even kill the little dragon for her attack.

  Miss Elizabeth gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

  Walker pulled his head back, turned it to the side and peered at her with a dragon version of a smile. He bobbed his head in a bow. “As you say Lairda April. We shall join our efforts in search of these maps.”

  April cheeped and her eyes glittered. She hovered very close to Walker and touched her cheek to his.

  Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. What game was Walker playing, applying a courtesy title to a fairy dragon?

  Did it really matter until they found the egg?

  Walker flew out of the window, whilst April zipped into the hall, in search of maids to persuade to open windows for him. Darcy left for the sitting room on the opposite side of the house, said to contain a considerable book collection.

  At least Miss Elizabeth brought some useful occupation in her wake, far preferable to simply waiting about for the militia to arrive.

  Mr. Darcy’s suggestion to involve the dragons in the search had been a good one. So good, it was embarrassing that Elizabeth had not come up with it herself. The Bingley sisters must be getting under her skin more than she realized. Jane’s ‘illness’ still required Elizabeth’s attendance; far too much of her time was spent keeping company with Jane and her hostesses.

  April and Walker made a surprisingly good, if querulous team. Even their quarreling seemed more for sport, at least from Walker’s side, than true animosity. Amidst all their bickering, they were effectively able to rule out a number of rooms that Elizabeth and Darcy would have had to otherwise search themselves.