Netherfield Rogue Dragon Preview, part 3

The plot thickens with a long awaited letter and ciphered journal entries, but who wrote them and what do they say?

Darcy pushed open the sticky window, its panes grimy and smudged. Another night spent in a roadside inn. At least this one was tolerable. The previous night, they had billeted in an abandoned barn when Fitzwilliam deemed the inn unsafe. Given Fitzwilliam’s tolerance for uncivilized conditions, that pronouncement was one not to be ignored.

Tonight’s room was small, like the other inns, but a modicum cleaner. A bed pushed into on corner of the room bore linens that did not appear too stained. The two upholstered chairs and a small table maneuvered into the other corner, near the fireplace did not stink. Barely enough space to walk between them, but it was better than some of the places they had stayed.

Walker should arrive soon. Hopefully he would bring better news than he had from Brighton. For a man as prone to talk as Wickham was, it was suspicious that none—human or dragon—had any inkling of his plans or his whereabouts. He always boasted of his plans and how he would never get caught. Always. How was this the only time he managed to keep his mouth shut on such matters? A man did not change his stripes that way anymore than a dragon changed his scales. What was afoot?

Walker swooped in, bypassing the window sill altogether and alighting on the back of Fitzwilliam’s chair. He turned his back toward Darcy, a signal to release the satchel straps. Darcy quickly removed the satchel and scratched between Walker’s wings as Elizabeth had taught him.

Walker shot him an appreciative I-am-glad-you-finally-learned look.

Fitzwilliam poured a small glass of brandy and placed it near a plate of cold meat on the nearby small table. “When you are ready.”

Walker flapped to the table and swallowed the top most piece of meat whole. Not an attractive sight, watching the large lump slide down his gullet toward his belly.

“You can stop to chew. We will not have to leave this place in haste. It is not like the last inn we tried to stop at.” Fitzwilliam slapped Darcy’s back.

Walker glared, but chewed the next slice; his glare was more for show than anything else.

“What has you so anxious?” Darcy asked.

Walker swallowed a gulp of brandy without spilling a drop-quite an accomplishment for a creature with a sharp curved beak. “Word of a wandering rogue dragon has been spreading among the minor dragons of the countryside.”

“How? From where?”

“I do not know. It could have come direct from the Conclave—such news would be difficult to keep quiet. Even if the major dragons said nothing, all it would take is a single talkative fairy dragon or a wyrm of some sort.” Walker tossed a small slice of meat into the air, catching and swallowing it in a single movement. “There is a general disquiet that is growing among the dragons as word spreads, despite the Court’s assurances that the possible rogue was clearly limited to Hertforshire. The major dragons I have encountered are reassuring their Keeps that all is under Blue Order control, but the disquiet among the minor dragons unsettles them. I fear it may not be long before a botched greeting or an unexpected visitor sets off aggression that could escalate very quickly.”

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are there any diplomatic dragon envoys expected?”

Fitzwilliam slapped the back of the nearest chair. “Bloody hell and damnation!”

“I will take that as a yes, there is.”

“Sir Patrick, the Minister of International Dragon Relations has been working with Vice Chancellor Torrington for the better part of a year to coordinate the visit of a representative of the Eastern Dragon Federation. They got the details of the travel worked out three months ago, I think. The representative is traveling the underground tunnels, meeting our representatives at designated checkpoints. So far all is well, but if there is anything certain about dealing with international politics—”

“—and dragons is that nothing is simple.” Darcy dragged his hand down his face. “How do you know this?”

“Father thought that with my army experience I might be of use to Sir Patrick. I think he is trying to groom me for the position.” Fitzwilliam’s expression suggested there was a great deal remaining unsaid.

Darcy blew out a breath through puffed cheeks. “A lovely, simple plan with so many possible wrong turns.”

“In the literal sense.” Fitzwilliam clutched his temples. “I will write Sir Patrick directly.”

“Yes, I will take it to him myself.” Walker grumbled. “Only because these are unusual days, mind you. Do not get in the habit of thinking of me as some messenger bird.”

“You saw Cait at Longbourn?” Darcy sat near Walker.

“Yes, and she is as well as can be expected. I am sure Lady Elizabeth has said something to that effect in her letter to you. But the strain of dealing with that fool Collins is wearing her temper for certain. Longbourn is not helping either, cranky lizard. He tried to stop me from entering his territory.”

Darcy winced. “Did you inflict too much damage?”

“There was no blood shed, but you will find a few of his head scales in the satchel. Keep them in case you need to remind him of your dominance.”

“You took his head scales?”

Walker snorted something that sounded much like a snicker. “He was too angry to be in good form. Cait assisted me. She was delighted to take out her vexations on such an appropriate target.”

Darcy covered his eyes with his hand and shook his head. “Everything is dominance with dragons.”

“We are not unlike men in that. You just choose to demonstrate it in a rather warm-blooded way. We are much quicker to the point.” Walker smirked. No doubt still enjoying his supremacy over Longbourn. “Enough talk. I need to eat. Pour me some more brandy and read your letters.”

Fitzwilliam saluted and refilled Walker’s cup. Darcy sorted the messages and handed Fitzwilliam several, taking his own to a stained, overstuffed chair in the darkest corner of the room. It stank of the last sweat-soaked person who had sat there, but it was the closest thing to privacy to be found in the cramped, dingy room.

Best deal with Lord Matlock’s letter first. Now, in addition to seeking out Wickham, the Chancellor of the Order expected him and Fitzwilliam to visit all the Dragon Estates along the way and quell rumors of rogue dragons attacking the countryside, whilst quietly gathering news of any discontent regarding the last Dragon Conclave. What were they? Blue Order spies? He pinched his temples hard. At least Matlock had not demanded they deviate from their planned journey to do his bidding. That was something.

But why was he worried over the response to the Dragon Conclave? Was it Pemberley that caused him concern, or Collins? The test of the new marriage articles that resulted in two essentially ordered betrothals? Or something else entirely?

Gah! Now was not the time to speculate on the state of the Dragon State. Focus on the task at hand and deal with the rest as it came.

He cracked open the blue sealing wax on Elizabeth’s thick letter. The penmanship was firm and feminine, strong, but evocative of feeling. Just like her.

My dear sir,

No doubt you are aware that we have made it safely to Hertfordshire and I have taken residence at Netherfield. Uncle Gardiner, Mary and Mr. Collins are welcome guests at Longbourn house, but I am not. Longbourn himself is displeased that I am in the area and continues to refuse to allow me in his territory, as his right. My mother and Kitty have been successfully persuaded that it is right and proper that I take over at Netherfield for Lydia, who is now visiting an ill relation.

I never realized how convenient it might be to have such a wealth of relatives in ill-health.

He chuckled. She probably quirked a brow with a wry little smile as she wrote that.

I was able to attend holy services on Sunday to hear Mary and Mr. Collins’s banns read. No objections were raised, thankfully, but after that things became rather interesting.

 You might not be aware, but Lord Matlock wrote to my father with instructions that our banns be read both at my family’s parish and at the Kympton parish near Pemberley. So whether we were ready for it or not, our betrothal is now part of the public record. It took me entirely by surprise as my father had not deigned to warn me. April and Rustle are pleased with the turn of events though. I hope you are not too disquieted by them.

I am sure it comes as no surprise to you that my mother was delighted at the news, though somewhat vexed that she only learned the news with the rest of the parish. She has taken every effort to enjoy her success as she has called upon her friends this week. Whether that means you will become her favorite son, I cannot say though. She is very fond of Bingley and Collins has the decided advantage of allowing her to live out her days at Longbourn. Still though, Netherfield is merely leased whilst Pemberley has been in your family for generations and that is decidedly in your favor.

Surely that provoked another arched eyebrow as she wrote it. Would that he could see it for himself.

Their betrothal, and he was not even there to hear it for himself, to sit beside her and see her blush as their names were called, to see Mrs. Bennet congratulated on the spectacular match made by her daughter when it was in fact he who had made the better match. It would be difficult to forgive Matlock his interference in Darcy’s affairs.

But then again, it was a subtle way of announcing to any who had not made it to the Conclave that all was well with Pemberley—both the dragon and the estate. Probably a necessary precaution considering the current climate.

At least Elizabeth gave no indication she was put out by it all. Would she tell him though, if she were? Probably, she did possess draconic directness in spades. Not that he would dare complain about it. It was one of her most remarkable traits.

Cait visits me regularly, as much I think to get away from the chaos that is my ancestral home as for me to monitor her progress. Netherfield, with its quiet is much more to her liking at the moment. Her gravidity is obvious now and flying great distances is difficult for her, so the fact she comes to seem me speaks volumes.

In addition to my other tasks, I have acquired, with the help of my uncle, a book from Papa’s library on eggs and egg laying, penned some one hundred years ago. It was tucked on one of the upper shelves in a dark, cobwebby corner that Papa rarely consults. While old, it is the only thing I have, so I shall study it carefully. Do not tell Walker, but I also have arranged to talk to a local poulterer and a falconer to see what I might glean from them. I know he and Cait might be offended. I am aware they are not birds, but I am just searching for whatever might allow me to assist her most effectively when the time comes. There are, after all, no dragon midwives available.

He guffawed—a dragon midwife! Had anyone ever considered such a profession for a species that laid eggs? But somehow it seemed only natural that she would consider such a thing.  No wonder Walker wanted Cait to remain near her.

Hopefully I will have better success in that endeavor than I have had with the reasons I am here in the first place. The Netherfield dragon has kept steadfastly hidden from me, although I have heard rustling in the cellars which I am certain is dragon-based. The local forest wyrms have little insight to offer, although they do not appear in fear for their lives, which suggests the dragon is not unduly aggressive and has an ample supply of food. I am not sure what he is eating though, which is no small source of concern.

The local puck still remains shy and unwilling to talk to me, despite the regular offerings I leave for her and her friends. While these sorts of meetings often require time and patience, I fear I may run short of both.

Lydia left a great deal behind at Netherfield, which I find puzzling. But the greatest puzzle is her journal, which she has begun to write using a cipher provided by—I believe—Mr. Wickham. I am having little luck deciphering it, but I have included a faithful copy of several pages of her journal in the hopes that you or perhaps F will have better success with it. I do not know that it will offer useful information, but for now it is the best that I have available.

He pulled out the copied pages. It would be too much to ask for them to be immediately decipherable—nothing could be so easy. But she was right, Fitzwilliam might be able to make some sense of them. At the very least it would be something to actually do, before they ran mad with all their failures.

I hope your trust in me has not been misplaced as I have accomplished very little, I fear. I warn you, April has scolded several times about how she thinks you should be here, with us, instead of on the road so far away. When you make your way back to us, I fear your ears may be at risk, so you may want to consider investing in a hat with solid earflaps before you arrive.

While I have assured her of the legitimacy of your travels, at times, I think she is right. Your company would be very welcome.

Ever yours, E

She would welcome his company! He pressed a fist to his belly to contain the rising warmth just a little longer. No, it was not a declaration of deepest love, but it was certainly a positive sentiment, one he would appreciate and relish for what it was.

“So what news have you? Is it too much to expect your betrothed has already subdued the rogue dragon and is bringing him into the Blue Order?” Fitzwilliam wandered over and leaned against the arm of Darcy’s chair.

Walker snorted from the other side of the room. “I would have told you directly had that been the case.”

“So then what has your fair one to say?”

“As expected our rogue is a shy creature and not yet ready to communicate openly. But there are signs that he is not looking for a fight for territory nor is in danger of resorting to starvation hunting.”

“Good news to be certain. I expect my father will be impatient for more than that, but it is a start.”

“And she sends work for you to keep you out of trouble.” He handed Fitzwilliam the cryptic pages. “She found her sister’s journal. Sometime recently she began writing in a cipher that was given to her by Wickham. Probably to send her covert messages under the family’s noses. In any case, she cannot make anything of it, but thinks you might. There might be nothing there—”

Fitzwilliam snatched up the pages and brought them to the closest candle. “But it is certainly worth investigating.” He rubbed his hands together briskly, his expression shifting to a subtle relish. Even more than Darcy, Fitzwilliam hated, loathed, despised to be idle and had been complaining bitterly of exactly that for several days.

“So, oh great officer of the King’s army, what say you. Is all abundantly clear and easily read to you?”

Fitzwilliam’s upper lip curled back, and he grumbled. “It is similar to several ciphers that we used on the continent, but not exactly the same. I should be able to sort this out, given a little time. A lot will depend on how complicated a cipher he chose. We can hope that he did not expect her family to be very clever in the matter, and selected accordingly.”

“Considering what I said in Meryton, I do not expect the girl to be very clever, and that could be in our favor as well.”

“She is a silly bit of fluff, to be sure, but do not underestimate her intelligence.” Walker muttered though a large mouthful.

“Indeed?” They both started at the cockatrice.

“Just because she did not demonstrate it to you does not mean she was unintelligent.”

“But she appeared so silly—”

“I do not argue that, but silliness and intelligence are not mutually exclusive. Remember her family actively encouraged her ridiculous behavior. An intelligent girl could easily work that to her benefit—and I think she did.”

Darcy scrubbed his face with his palms. “The last thing we need is a clever woman working with Wickham. He is bad enough on his own. With a crafty partner, I shudder to think what he might be willing or able to accomplish.”

Fitzwilliam turned from the ciphers and grunted under his breath. “This is not your fault Darcy. A rogue dragon in Hertfordshire has nothing to do with you or what happened to Pemberley.”

“I grant you that much, however—”

Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes and tossed his head.

“Do not look at me that way! You know it is true. Had I been more diligent in dealing with Wickham’s treachery in the first place—”

“How many times do we have to go over this? It is not your fault. You packed him into the militia just as my father told you, without hesitation. What more could you have done?”

“I should have realized sooner what he was about.”

“And that would have meant you would have had to stand against your father who found Wickham entirely agreeable. Honestly, Darcy, let us be real about this. Neither you nor I have the fortitude to stand up to our fathers—both formidable men not prone to brook opposition. Had you insisted your father give up Wickham, you might well have found yourself on very thin terms with him—banished to London, away from Georgiana. You might well have been unable to protect her from eloping with Wickham. Where would we be then? Torment yourself all you like, you will get no support from me in that endeavor. I am convinced no man could have prevented the egg from being stolen and no others but you and Miss Elizabeth could have managed to rescue an already hatched drakling from the unthinkable.”  Fitzwilliam harrumphed and turned his shoulder toward Darcy, focusing on the coded pages.

Darcy leaned back in his chair and held in a sigh. No point in giving Fitzwilliam more to critique. This was not their first such conversation, and it might not be the last.  It was not that Fitzwilliam’s arguments were utterly baseless. He had several excellent points, especially about the likelihood that Wickham’s elopement plans would have succeeded. But still…

Little would make Fitzwilliam understand. Perhaps if he had a dragon to whom he was connected. Then he might understand. Perhaps he might befriend one of Cait’s clutch—if the timing could be worked out. If only he might be a Keeper though—he would make an excellent Keeper, far better than his brother who was already destined for position.

Although Darcy suspected Cownt Matlock preferred Fitzwilliam to his brother, that alone was not grounds to overthrow inheritance laws. And wishing his cousin’s demise so Fitzwilliam could succeed him was beyond what Darcy could condone. But there were many men—and women—who would make better Keepers than those who held the role—the image of Anne de Bourgh flashed in his mind—and would never have the opportunity. Perhaps England would be better off finding a way to intentionally assign Keepers to their Dragons, but not without disturbing the entire order of society. It was a compromise the dragons made for the sake of peace.

And none of this brought them any closer to finding Wickham and Lydia, or the rogue dragon, or reuniting him with Elizabeth. That could not happen any too soon.

Find additional parts HERE

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

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