Netherfield Rogue Dragon Preview, part 2

Join Elizabeth in getting to know the Netherfield dragons (yes, dragons!!) See who she meets.

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Nicholls met them at the door. Her hair, totally white, was tucked under a frilly white cap that made it difficult to detect where her hair ended and the cap began. She was young to have lost all the color in her hair, but she wore it as a badge of authority that none in her domain dared question. Over average height and build, she might be easily overlooked except for the efficient way she carried herself that encouraged everyone to get out of her way and allow her to carry on with her business.

She ushered Elizabeth and Uncle Gardiner inside, obviously confused and clearly made uncomfortable by her confusion. They were not expected. Were they there because of Miss Lydia’s sudden departure? One could hardly blame her for her confusion, but it needed to be addressed quickly before it became out of control and troublesome.

Still in the vestibule, Elizabeth and Uncle, with the persuasive assistance of April, offered her the official explanation, carefully crafted by the Blue Order. Lydia had been called away to attend a sick relation—gracious just how many sick relations could a single family have?—or was the Blue Order just that lacking in imagination? Elizabeth had been sent in her place to assist in preparing the house for its new mistress. Rooms must be cleaned and inventoried, by Elizabeth herself, with the staff to assist as she required.

Nicholls hesitated to accept that persuasion. It was just too much to ask her to believe that Jane could be so exacting a mistress when she had seemed so very sweet during her earlier stay at Netherfield.

Dragon’s blood! Elizabeth should have realized this sooner. It was hard not to slap her forehead in frustration. Dragon persuasions could only go so far with most people. In truth, it was to Jane’s credit that Nicholls balked. Elizabeth fought back a pang of guilt at sullying Jane’s reputation as mistress of the house before she even had opportunity to take residence.

Finally April—dear ingenious little soul that she was—hit upon a suggestion Nicholls could easy accept—it would be a gift to Jane to return to a home that was already arranged to her preferences. Moreover, Elizabeth was a most considerate and loving sister to attempt giving a gift on such a grand scale. Uncle Gardiner added his support to the notion and their subterfuge was complete.

Uncle Gardner took his leave and Nicholls showed Elizabeth to her chambers—a large lovely room in the family wing. She fought not to clutch her temples against a burgeoning headache.  No point in raising more questions. Perhaps Mary did have a point about dragons imposing unfairly upon those who had no say in dragon affairs.

Her previous stay at Netherfield had been as a guest of questionable welcome, so she had not been in this part of the house before, except fleetingly in search for maps that might have led them to Pemberley’s egg. Today she could stop and take in her surroundings.

Morning sunlight streamed through a pair of large windows, flanked by damask drapes in golds and blues, flooding all the nooks and corners with light. The spacious room and attached dressing room were filled with subtle dragon imagery, the kind that could easily be overlooked by the dragon deaf, but stood out to anyone acquainted with the Blue Order. The feathers on the paper hangings in both rooms were not peacock, but amphithere. The paintings, landscapes like those hung in the drawing room, all contained tantalizing hints of draconic influence. Mahogany dragon claws clutched balls on the furniture’s feet, resting on a burgundy carpet bearing subtle swirling dragon silhouettes.

One piece might have been a coincidence, perhaps even two, but no one acquired so much dragon inspired decoration without doing so intentionally. Moreover, this was not the work of a single generation. At one time, Netherfield had been a dragon estate, it had to have been. But what happened to its dragon? There had to be some record of it, somewhere. Why did Papa not know? Or did he, and he never saw reason to mention it? Why would he, though? The concerns about Netherfield only came to light at the Conclave.  Somehow, she had to get a message to him and ask.

Alone in the spacious chambers, the weight of the last se’nnight descended upon her—a dragon-weight upon her shoulders, slowly forcing her to the floor. A rogue dragon might well be slithering in the cellar below her, a dragon that could well destroy the fragile fabric of dragon society that the Blue Order held together.

Mary might be a Keeper now, but she hardly understood the enormity of what that position actually meant, not just to Longbourn and the Bennet family, but the whole of England. Perhaps that danger did justify impinging upon those outside the order. If the country fell into dragon war, everyone had so very much to lose.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her head on them. Somehow, it all fell to her to find a way to resolve the matter with no bloodshed—warm or cold—and she had absolutely no idea as to how she would accomplish that.

April nestled against her cheek and trilled softly, the song soothing the edge of her anxiety. “Darcy should be here with you. He would not have permitted them to speak to you so. They should not have said those things. They do not understand.”

“Darcy is doing what he must. I am sure … yes, I am sure, if he could, he would be here with us. And you are right, he is very protective. I have no doubt Collins would not have spoken out in his presence. Mary just does not know any better.”

“She should, and she will. I will have a talk with Heather. She cannot permit her Friend to act so inappropriately.”

Elizabeth swallowed back a giggle. “Do you really think Heather capable of such a thing?”

April tossed her head in the fairy dragon equivalent of an eye roll. “You listen to me.”

“I suppose you have a point.” Elizabeth pushed up from the floor and glanced around the room again, hands on her hips. “But we should set all that aside for now and find some place to begin.”

April flittered to the bed post. “We should ask the Netherfield dragons what they know.”

“Netherfield dragons?” It was difficult not to be offended at the notion there were local dragons who had not made themselves known to her.

“The local fairy dragons are too twitterpated to be of any real use. But there are several minor wyrms—wild ones—who live in the woods near the folly and there is a shy puck living near the poultry yard. If there has been a major dragon about, they are likely to know.”

“So near the house? Does not that seem rather close for a wild dragon?”

“She is not wild. She was friend to a tenant who lived on the estate some time ago—perhaps in your grandfather’s day. After their death, she chose to stay, but did not find another friend. She is very shy.” April landed on the windowsill and pointed toward the poultry yard with her wing.

“Do you know if there is anything that the puck particularly likes?”

“You mean does she have a hoard? Yes, pucks always have a hoard. Her friend was a seamstress. She loves yarns and threads of all sorts. The wild fairy dragons often try to steal from her hoard to make their nests, so she is not very fond of my kind.”

“Well who could blame her? There is hardly a greater offense to a hoarding dragon than to steal from their hoard. Do you think she might like some of that pretty cherry colored twist I have in my work bag?”

“That shade of red is an uncommon one. I think she would like that very well.”

“Then let us find where my trunks have gotten to, and you can lead me to our shy friend.”

 

The poultry eaves were some distance from the house, at the edge of the kitchen garden. Perhaps she should speak to Nicholls as whomever was in charge of the garden was—kindly put—rather neglectful of their post. Clearly rabbits had been in the garden—a great many of them it seemed. In some places little seemed to remain of what should have been new plantings. Perhaps it was a very good thing a family was not in residence now—the dinner table would definitely suffer. How would Jane manage?

April led her to the edge of the woods. Several rabbits bounded out of the underbrush and into a hole concealed by a tall spiky holly bush.

“Here.” April hovered over the holly.

“Are you certain? Did you not see those rabbits?”

April snorted and tossed her head. “She is a peculiar dragon.”

That was not saying very much. Most dragons had their own peculiarities. “In what way?”

“She is a puck; they are all a bit odd.” April landed carefully on the uppermost holly branch, carefully avoiding the prickles.

“If you mean they hoard valueless things, we have been over that already and I have come prepared.”

“That is not the only way in which she is odd.” April pulled a prickly leaf rom between her long toes.

“So are you going to tell me or just leave me to guess?”

“It is the rabbits. She likes rabbits.”

“Likes rabbits? You mean like Pemberley and her dogs?”

“At least the dogs live in her dragon lair.”

Elizabeth crouched and peered into the hole. “You mean the puck lives in the warren with the rabbits? Pucks are house dragons—unless she has been mistreated, why would she—”

“She is peculiar, just as I said. It seems she wants to protect her rabbits from foxes and weasels and the like. Apparently she does it very effectively, too. Considering the condition of the garden, the warren seems to be doing very well.”

“I should say.” Elizabeth thought a moment and headed back to the house.

April flew after hear. “Are you giving up already? That is not like you, what is wrong?”

“I am not giving up, only realizing that we must take a different approach. You said she is shy, and I have already scared the rabbits back into their holes, so it is unlikely she will come out and talk to me, at least not today. So we must make a proper introduction.” She pushed the kitchen door open. “Help me convince the cook to provide me with some nice vegetables.”

April cheeped her skepticism but assisted in persuading the cook that it was the most natural thing in the world to provide Elizabeth with a tin plate of cut up carrot tops, broccoli trimmings, cauliflower leaves and a few apple slices that she did not like for her pie—and not question the reason why.

Elizabeth brought the kitchen castoffs to the holly bush and arranged them prettily on an old, slightly battered tin plate. She added the cherry colored twist at the front edge of the offerings and pushed it close to the rabbit hole.

“Now we wait.” She stood and dusted off her hands. “Do you think you can persuade Cook to prepare such a plate for us for the next several mornings?”

“The woman is quite a gudgeon, it will not be a problem, especially since she has little taste for vegetables herself. Do not ask her to part with anything sweet though, that would have her balking very quickly.”

“I will keep that in mind.” She sighed just a little. It was not surprising that the puck would not be personable and ready to talk, but it still was a bit disappointing. Where were creatures with Lydia’s personality when she really needed them?

That thought proved both auspicious and wrong when April introduced her to the wild wyrms living in the deeply shaded woods, near rather broken-down folly. Though the weather-worn look might be considered fashionable, in this case it appeared more a matter of neglect than intent. The roof was caved in and the trim around the door way half fallen off. A strong storm might bring it down completely. At least the little stone bench nearby was solid enough for her to sit on and talk with the pair of forest wyrms that appeared out of the leafy floor litter at April’s first call.

And talk they did! Heavens above, did those wyrms chatter.

Unusually friendly for wild dragons, they curled up their long, smooth, scaly bodies at her feet. Dark and mottled, they blended into the dead leaves and loam that surrounded them. The dominant one, a male dared rub its furry lionesque face against her ankles, almost like a cat. Such an audacious move, trying to mark her as his own territory. April dove at him, pecking at his head until he kept a more respectful distance. The smaller female proved less apt to claim territory, but far more vocal.

In furry-purry voices they talked over one another offering their observations on any and everything above ground. They spoke so fast, it was hard to make out most of what they said. Funny how most thought fairy dragons were brainless dolts—those people had never tried to talk to wild wyrms. But when Elizabeth asked about the night of the Netherfield ball, they became very, very quiet, staring at her with wide almost frightened eyes.

“Have you heard any dragon voices that are new to the territory?” She leaned down close to hear them.

The smaller one turned on her tail and disappeared.

The male rose up like a cobra ready to strike, his mane extended like a hood, and hissed. He wove back and forth in a hypnotic pattern. “Not a safe question. Do not ask again. You do not want to know such things. You do not want to know.”

Elizabeth allowed her eyes to glaze over, and she nodded blankly—exactly what the wyrm would have expected from his machination. No point in allowing him to know she was immune to his efforts, at least not right now.

He leaned his head close. “Scratch my ears.”

April chittered overhead whilst Elizabeth scratched behind his ears, and he muttered something halfway between a purr and a hiss.

“Come back and bring us chicken feet.” He suggested as he slithered away.

April flew after him scolding.

Elizabeth leaned back and chewed her lip. For having told her nothing, the wyrms had implied a great deal.

“The nerve of that creature, expecting you to bring them treats after they have been so utterly presumptuous and unhelpful.” April landed on her shoulder, feather-scales puffed indignantly.

She scratched under April’s chin. “I realize he overstepped himself, but we have only just met. It really is hardly surprising that should be testing the waters with me.”

“You have lived here all your life. He well knows your reputation. Why else would they be demanding chicken feet?”

“It was hardly a demand, dearling. I have not taken offense and neither should you. In fact, I think it rather considerate of them to have told me how to coerce their help in the future should I require it.”

“You are far too forgiving of their rudeness.”

“They confirmed the presence of another dragon, one who gives them pause. That is valuable.”

“They said nothing of the sort.”

“And that was telling. What is more, I am now certain that it is a lindwurm we are dealing with. Only another wyrm would bother with minor wyrms in the territory—they are rather bullying fellows toward smaller wyrms. Though lindwurms are not as powerful major wyrms, their forearms are intimidating to the minor wyrms more than major wyrms. Considering the male was driven to try and persuade me away from my questions, it seems clear enough evidence to conclude the nature of the Netherfield dragon.”

April harrumphed. “It seems odd to be to celebrate the discovery of what we already knew.”

“Every bit of information is useful. We also know that this lindwurm desires secrecy—so he must not be especially aggressive for a major dragon. The evidence from the house implies that the dragon can also read and write. I have a feeling we may be dealing with a scholarly dragon, rather than one interested in dominating a territory. That would be decidedly in our favor, I think.”

April hovered in front of Elizabeth’s nose. “You liked all those arguments with Chudleigh’s friends at her salon?”

“They did get a mite heated to be sure, but I still find it preferable to be able to discuss issues rather than just worry about being eaten in a fit of pique.”

“I suppose there is that.”

 

Upon their return to the house, Nicholls met them with household books in hand and led them to the housekeeper’s office just off the kitchen. Neat and snug, it resembled Hill’s office at Longbourn with shelves of linens and china lining one wall and stores of the more expensive food stuffs along another. Near the windows was a plain utilitarian table which probably doubled as Nicholls’ writing desk. Plain, white walls made the space bright and emphasized the lack of decorations—and dragons—in the room. Unlike Darcy House whose staff was largely, if not exclusively dragon friends, it seemed Netherfield servants were not.

Nicholl’s opened her books and immediately set to work, efficient and business-like as the best housekeepers were. With Elizabeth in residence, meals must be considered. The regular laundry day was approaching, would the new Mrs. Bingley desire that schedule be kept, or would she prefer the task to wait until she returned? Would Miss Elizabeth prefer the maids cleaned the rooms as she inventoried them or should they proceed on their own?

The meeting required several hours and far more quick thinking than Elizabeth preferred to offer. Running a household was her last priority, but since it was the guise she used for being here, somehow she had to find the wherewithal to pretend it was her only purpose. Exactly the sort of subterfuge Mr. Collins found distasteful.

“What do you wish done with Miss Lydia’s things, Miss?” Nicholls shut her book—did that mean she was finally finished?—and looked at Elizabeth expectantly. “She left quite a bit in her chamber. I am surprise she would not have taken it all with her. Perhaps she was expecting to be back soon? So you think she will want it sent along to her?”

“I am not sure. Perhaps it would be best to let me pack it up. I should be able to tell whether to send it along or kept until her return.”

“I will take you to her room.”

Lydia had been ensconced in the guest wing, near a servant’s passage.  Not exactly a high-status room, but according to Nicholls, it was what she wanted. And of course, Lydia nearly always got what she wanted. But why would she deviate so far from her usual demand for the best?

Elizabeth swallowed back a sigh and entered the small chamber. “I will call if there is anything else I need from you.”

With a quick curtsey Nicholls trundled off. April launched from her shoulder and buzzed about the narrow chamber.

Though relatively small, two windows brought sunshine into the chamber making it rather cheery and bright. Clearly it had been decorated with young, female guests in mind. Gauzy blue curtains fluttered in the slight breeze that slipped through the edges of the windows. Dainty floral paper hangings matched the bed curtains and coverlet. Fairy dragons that looked a great deal like little birds hovered over the flowers on the paper hanging and yet another landscape, much like the rest in the house hung over the little bed. Subtle carvings of wyrms coiled around the legs of the oak dressing table. So even here, the décor bespoke the presence of dragons.

How odd, Lydia had left a great deal behind. That was not like her, who preferred to bring far more than she needed on any trip. Even if they were walking to town, she somehow contrived to bring an extra-large reticule with who knew what inside.

Two trunks remained in the room, the closet was full of gowns—why did she think she would need a ball gown and evening dress to manage the house whilst Jane was away? Several morning dresses and day dresses were there as well. It seemed she might have only taken one of each with her? How strange.

No cloak or pelisse hung in the closet, so at least she was not likely to be cold, wherever she was. That was a good thing. But it did not feel so very important.

Elizabeth opened the smaller of the two trunks. One stocking and one glove lay crumpled within. Careless girl! No doubt she would miss those.  What chance that their mates were tossed in the press near the closet? She tugged open the sticky drawers.

Of course, with no one to watch over her, Lydia had not bothered to fold her body linen, it was just shoved carelessly in the drawers. It would serve Lydia right if she just tossed it equally carelessly into the trunk, but no, she had been taught far too well. Mama’s voice would be lecturing in her head for weeks if she did such a thing.

April cheeped a little laugh as she roughly folded the linen and placed it in the trunk. Not as neat as Mama would have liked, but enough that she need not feel guilty about it. So very much left behind. What was Lydia doing without all her clothes? None of this made sense.

What was that? Elizabeth withdrew a slim mustard-yellow book from between two petticoats. Did Lydia actually keep a commonplace book? She sat on the edge of the bed in a sliver of sunbeam and flipped it open. A journal? Who would have thought Lydia had the patience to record her thoughts in a journal.

It was not at all proper for her to read her sister’s private meditations, but … and once again Mary’s voice was ringing in her ears. One more compromise of human courtesy in favor of dragonkind! But no, this was about more than the dragons, it was also about her sister’s safety and protecting the family reputation. And those reasons demanded she read Lydia’s journal.

She tucked the nagging guilt back into a relatively harmless corner of her mind and turned the page. Typical Lydiaesque rambling, pages and pages of it. Much like her conversation—effusions of fancy which said very little. She flipped several pages ahead.

Wait, what was that? Suddenly everything was different. Lydia’s enthusiastic scrawl was replaced by an odd, cryptic mix of numbers, letters and symbols. A cipher? Why would Lydia be using a cipher in her journal?

She turned back pages until she found the place where the writing had changed and read the entries just prior.

A new game Wickham was teaching her, to play like British spies. In that way they could write letters to one another and no one would know to accuse them of impropriety? Heavens, what subterfuge, what utter disrespect toward her parents, toward society in general. This was the very sort of thing Mr. Collins should be concerned about, not judging the efforts of the Blue Order.

Had Mr. Darcy not already disabused her of her compassion toward Mr. Wickham, these entries would surely have accomplished it. She forced her eyes back to the page. Apparently, learning the cipher was difficult and Wickham became impatient with her mistakes, so Lydia would have to practice and what better way than to practice in her journal? And so the gibberish began.

She scanned through all the remaining pages, but no helpful key to the cipher existed. Perhaps it was elsewhere… She scoured all the shelves and drawers in the room, checked between the mattresses, under the bed, even the undersides of all the furniture and drawers. Nothing.

Why? Why did that have to be the one single thing the feather-pate would choose to bring with her?

Elizabeth shut the trunks with a bit more force than necessary. At least she would have something to keep her occupied when she could not sleep—which seemed to be a very likely outcome.

Find additional parts HERE

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How did Elizabeth and April become friends? Find the story HERE 

 

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