Netherfield Rogue Dragon Preview, part 4

 

An unexpected visitor in the middle of the night…

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Elizabeth pushed up from the narrow cellar steps. How many hours over the past days had she sat here silently waiting staring at the boxes and barrels and trunks piled along the dark, dank walls, hoping that stubborn dragon would reveal himself? Far too many. Without April’s help in persuading Nicholls otherwise, the housekeeper would be thinking Elizabeth well on her way to daft by now.

Perhaps she was.

The damp cold had sunk into her joints, and she ached down into her bones. The cramped stairs that offered no padding did nothing to help matters. She was tired of hurting.

No doubt April had been correct. Lindwurms had an excellent sense of smell. Unless she could find a way to cover her very human scent, he would know she was there and would probably stay away. Botheration. Stubborn old lizard.

She stretched her back and shoulders and trudged upstairs. Sleep; it was dark and late and that was the only thing left to do for now.

At least her room was warm and the featherbeds were soft. She slipped under the blankets and dreamt of dragons.

 

“Wake up, but do not move,” a sweet voice whispered in her ear. Elizabeth stopped herself just in time and leaned into April just a little bit.

“Open your eyes, but do not move otherwise. On the dressing table, near the window.”

Elizabeth’s heart raced, but she held her breath, trying to remain as still as possible. Slowly, carefully, she peeked her eyelids open and turned only her eyes toward the window.

Silhouetted in the moonlight a beagle-sized dragon stood on the dressing table, between the mirror and water jug. Clearly female, the four-legged, long-tailed dragon sported a frilled hood, half-extended, ready to help her appear larger if startled. She turned her head this way and that, examining, considering the situation.

April rested her head on Elizabeth’s cheek, trilling softly. “You are welcome. Please come.” Sometimes her song had the same effect on dragons that it did on people.

The little puck’s hood relaxed just a mite.

“We have some dried meat you might share with us if you come a little closer.” April flitted to a closed box on the bedside table halfway between the bed and the dressing table. She lifted the lid just a mite with her long toes.

The puck lifted her head and took a deep breath. Her long tongue flashed out and licked her lips.

“I would like to share with you.” Elizabeth whispered as softly as she could. She pressed into the featherbed and turned her head just slightly toward the shy dragon, the bed linens rustling softly as she moved.

The puck jumped back a bit and her hood flared to full spread. Moonlight shone through the thin spots in her hood, giving the impression of a large lace veil.

“You are quite lovely like that.” Elizabeth whispered, rolling to her shoulder, but keeping her head on the pillow.

April opened the box a little more. “Share with us.” She plucked a sliver of dried meat and tossed it to the dressing table.

The puck gobbled it up with a flick of her long tongue, smacking her lips.

“There is more, if you come closer.”

She crept to the edge of the dressing table, and April threw her another sliver.

“More?” The puck’s voice was soft and furry.

April hopped a piece of meat to Elizabeth’s hand, and she tossed it, trying not to move too much or too suddenly. The treat bounced against the dressing table stool—the intended target—and hit the floor.

The puck chased it down and seemed to swallow it whole.

Elizabeth threw another piece, closer to the bed and rose on her elbow.

In a single movement, the puck scooped up the treat and scrambled up the bedside table. Nearly eye to eye with Elizabeth, she jumped back hissing slightly, hood flaring again.

April hopped to the table and handed a shard of meat directly to the puck. “I am April, Friend to Elizabeth. She has been leaving the plate for your furry friends and the silk twist for you. She is safe.”

“I am not blind. I know.” She gobbled down another sliver of meat.

“Would you tell us your name?” Elizabeth asked, April trilling softly in the background.

Moonlight shimmered off the puck’s bright eyes. She sat back and scratched a wing nub with her hind foot. “I am Talia.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Talia.” Elizabeth nodded just a bit, not enough to concede dominance, but enough to make clear she was no threat. “I understand you were once friend to a seamstress who lived nearby.”

“I was. She died.”

April offered another shaving of meat, but Talia was slower to take it.

“And she had no kin to take you in?”

“Her daughters could not hear, and they did not like the furry hoppers she kept either.”

“So you took over their care—for your Friend.”

Talia bobbed her head, her hood relaxing back along her neck.

“That is a very noble thing for you to do, worthy of a great friend.”

“I like them. They are warm and quiet and soft.”

“Indeed they are. And their noses are very cute when they twitch. Do their whiskers tickle as much as they look like they do?” Elizabeth sat up very slowly.

“Not so very much when one becomes used to them.”

“You protect them, I imagine? There are many enemies about, dogs, foxes, stoats …”

Talia shuddered. “Yes. Too many creatures find them satisfying to eat.”

“Do you need to protect them from other dragons as well?”

Talia leaned back and hissed. “You want to know if the blue one wants to eat them.”

“Blue one? Is he a large dragon?” A blue lindwurm, those were rare in England, usually from the continent. But that made little sense.

“Too large to be bothered with my furry hoppers.”  Talia glanced toward the meat box.

“That is good to hear. Has he been about for a long time?”

“No. He does not like you very much you know.”

April withdrew more meat and set it near Talia.

“I had no idea. I have never met him. How can he already dislike me?” Elizabeth moderated her tone carefully. It would not do to have the puck think her angry.

“Every dragon in the county knows you have made Longbourn very irritated.”

“So Longbourn has been very disagreeable?”

Talia swallowed the meat with a little shiver. “Horrid. He has been taking his temper out on every dragon that crosses his territory or even comes near.”

“I am very sorry to hear that. It is wrong of him to behave so.”

“It is wrong of you to upset him. Anyone with sense would know that.”

“Sometimes dragons are wrong.”

Talia snorted, poking her head into the box and pulled out a rather large piece of meat.

“Is the blue one afraid of Longbourn?”

“Don’t know.” Talia muttered through a mouthful. “The blue one does not like to fight, though.  It is hard to keep peace with an angry neighbor.”

“That is very true. When you see the blue one again, would you give him a message from me?”

Talia skittered back, hood flaring a little. “I will not tell him anything that will make him angry with me.”

“I would never ask you to do such a thing. I just hope you would tell him that I am not as terrible as Longbourn makes me out to be. that I would very much like to have a conversation with him.”

“I might.”

“If I continue to put out plates for your furry hoppers and perhaps a little colorful twist for your hoard, might it be more likely?”

Talia turned her back, but cocked her head as though in thought. “Green worsted wool.”

“You want wool?

“To line my nest. It helps keep my hoppers warm.”

“Then I shall endeavor to acquire you a whole ball of green worsted wool.”

“I might talk to him.”

April laid another piece of meat at Talia’s feet. She gulped it down and scurried away into the darkness.

“That was interesting.” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her knees and laid her chin on them.

So they were dealing with a large blue lindwurm, who did not like to fight and was cowed by Longbourn’s temper. She sighed—full out dragon war was just a little less likely, but she still needed to talk to the lindwurm. Perhaps little Talia would help. It would certainly be worth a trip into town later this morning for green wool to encourage her assistance.

 

3/17

The next day after breakfast, she placed a plate heaping with vegetable trimmings, a ball of green worsted wool and a bobbin of blue thread under the holly bush. Hopefully Talia would appreciate the offerings and would not become greedy at her good fortune. It was difficult to tell with pucks, but she seemed to be a largely retiring and agreeable sort, so that boded well.

The garden and warm sunshine were a pleasant change of scenery. Far too many hours had been spent combing through dark, dusty rooms, servants’ passages, and sitting in the cellar itself. Not that those had been entirely unprofitable endeavors. She now had a wealth of paintings to study, some very modern looking, a large scroll in rather messy dragon script to decipher, and a deeper appreciation for the draconic lineage of Netherfield itself.

A book hidden away on the upper shelf of one of the small libraries proved quite interesting. Apparently, the estate had been named in some of the original Pendragon documents that drew up the territory boundaries for the original English dragon population. A rather powerful drake had been the first Netherfield. He served as the leading dragon of the county. But all traces and records of him disappeared about two hundred years ago. What had happened and why had his duties never been transferred to another dragon, but left to fall to the wayside? Perhaps one of Papa’s forefathers had recorded something in the Longbourn records about it. But it was not terribly likely, only Papa and his father had been Historians and meticulous record keepers.

She would need to talk to Papa about that, but he had made no overtures about wanting to speak to her.  None of her family really had. Mama and Kitty were easy enough to forgive, subject as they would be to Longbourn’s persuasions, but Mary and Papa were another matter. No, now was not the time to become maudlin. No point would be served in that.

“Miss Bennet!”

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder.

One of the scullery maids scurried toward her. “Nicholls said you would want this directly.” She handed Elizabeth a thick, folded letter barely stopping as she rushed to her next task.  Nicholls did not believe in allowing the girls free time to get into mischief.

Was that her style of management or a suggestion from the lindwurm so as to reduce the likelihood of discovery? Likely as not, it was a combination of both. Embracing draconic suggestions happened far more readily when it was in line with one’s own inclinations.

Mary’s precise and regular handwriting graced the neatly folded missive. She closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. Was it wrong to feel a bit of dread? Mary’s unpleasantness was totally understandable, but it was exhausting. Staring at it was not going to make it any easier, may as well face the dragon quickly.

 

The wedding is Monday, March 23 at 9 o’clock. Please come.

Walker asked that I send this along to you. He is with Cait right now but will see you before he returns to Darcy.

M.

 

So she was invited to the wedding. That was more than she had really expected. But did Mary actually want here there, or was it a matter of preventing questions as to why her sister who was so close by would not be at the wedding? Perhaps being at the wedding would make it easier to explain why she was not at the wedding breakfast. Oh, that definitely was uncharitable and not a worthy thought at all.

Even if the frustrations—and all told the loneliness—was eating away at her, it did not behoove her to indulge in that kind of thinking. Besides, folded within Mary’s note was a thick letter from Darcy. She smiled in spite of herself, a little of the lonesomeness fading.

She hurried to the maze—ironically where she had overheard Miss Bingley and Darcy talking all those months ago—and found a stone bench in a sunbeam, under a white wood lattice arch. She curled up on the bench and leaned back against the now bare lattice, the warmth of the bench sinking into her joints—or was that the warmth of knowing the letter was from him?

He had written in ink this time. Hopefully that meant his accommodations were better and he was less hurried this time.

 

My dear Elizabeth,

Since you inquired directly in your last letter, I am pleased to say, we are warm, fed and dry and reasonably comfortable this time. I cannot pretend to be less than pleased that this segment of our journey has taken us past establishments that F deems safe enough for us to stay in. Although I loathe saying it, I am glad you are not with us presently. None of these places are fit for you and it gives me peace of mind to know you are safely away at Netherfield. Somehow the thought of a rogue dragon there seems less dangerous than the ruffians we must rub shoulders with. I realize that must sound a bit odd, all told, but I feel certain that you would agree.

 

He was right. She pressed the letter to her chest. Had anyone else every understood her so well?

 

I regret I have nothing in the way of good news to report from our efforts. Wickham and Miss Lydia seem to have disappeared without a trace. Neither man nor dragon seem to have encountered them. It is unusual for Wickham to be so discreet in his movements. If nothing else, his typical failure to pay his debts usually makes him easy to trace.  F is beginning to suspect that they did not make their way to Gretna Green after all. But we shall continue our efforts in this part of the country for a little longer to be absolutely sure.

Lord Matlock is making sure he gets the most out of our efforts by having us visit the dragon estates along the way to keep a watch on the increasing concerns about a possible rogue dragon. Despite all efforts to let people know that it is definitely contained in Hertfordshire (and pray tell me that I am correct in that assumption!), the very notion causes so much unrest that I am not sure we are believed.

I pray you have made greater headway than we have as the situation grows increasing tense among both the dragons and their Keeper. What is worse, the minor dragons, especially those unattached to Friends, are spreading the alarm, making everything worse, as they are apt to do.

 

Had Papa any idea how dangerous the situation had become? Perhaps if he did, he would be more forthcoming with assistance. At the very least, Uncle Gardiner needed to be made aware of these changes.

 

F has made a little progress in translating the pages you sent. He says the cipher appears to be based off one used in the army. I have included his partial translations as well as what he has deduced so far in terms of breaking the cipher. I am afraid that what he has gathered from your sister’s journal is mostly concerning ribbons and hats and of little application to the current situation. Still, I am hopeful that you will be able to put what I have enclosed to good use.

Have you been able to make contact with the Netherfield dragon yet? I had a thought in that regards and it may be a very bad one, but I trust in your graciousness not to laugh at me for it. There is evidence that the dragon is able to read and write. Have you considered perhaps leaving a written message for him, rather than simply hoping he will grant you an audience? As I write this, it does sound ridiculous and perhaps it is, but I thought it worth sharing the notion with you.

 

He went on to discuss the sorts of things that people wrote to one another of in normal letters.  News of shared acquaintances and loved ones, in this case though dragons and Keepers. Georgiana and Pemberley were doing well. Though Pemberley missed them, the letters they had sent her were keeping her spirits up. She was making progress under the Blue Order tutelage. She was now able to hold a pencil, which was the first step in being able to write. In fact, the little drakling had insisted on making her mark on Georgian’s last letter.  Perhaps it was not so normal to have a dragon signing a letter. But dragon keepers were hardly normal. Still though, the conversation was welcome…and warm and rather witty. He expressed himself very well on paper, even if he did not do so in person.

She set the letter aside and turned her face to the sun, eyes closed.

His idea about leaving a written message for the lindwurm was unconventional, but it was a good one. Since she had made no other headway, there was little to lose by trying it. The cellar floor was covered in soft dirt in which she could scratch a bit of dragon script that no one would recognize as a message. Much safer than chancing that a piece of paper might be picked up. Yes, she would try that tonight.

She ought to write to him immediately and let him know that. It would probably make him smile. His letter sounded so tense, and yet so concerned for her. It would be good to send him some news that would please him, especially since that was probably the only news she would have that could.

Find additional parts HERE

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

 

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