Beginning, Previous Section, Section IV
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Posted on Sunday, 9 March 2008
“What I fail to understand, Wickham, is why you abducted young Miss Bennet.”
A very tired Darcy was sitting upon a hard chair, the only chair provided in the meagre room of the cheap hostelry. Bingley was teetering gingerly on the edge of the bed and Wickham was tied to the bedpost with a very elegant silk cravat, which would never be the same again, and strips of tawdry pillowcase.
While Darcy had seen Lydia safely to the garden of Longbourn, Bingley had kept the unconscious Wickham company, ensuring that he did not become a weasel and escape when he came to. Now that Darcy had returned, it was time to deal with the slimy creature, once and for all. A jug of water poured over his head had brought him out of his stupor and Wickham now faced the two. He should have been scared, but instead, he managed to look as if he had not a care in the world.
“Have you not seen the chit? So well-formed and vivacious! She tantalised me with her round, luscious curves. My lips were ripe for her virgin depths.” His eyes gleamed with lascivious intent and he winked broadly as he continued. “Quite a seductive brood of daughters the Bennets have, wouldn’t you say? Neither you nor Bingley can claim not to have been taken by their charms. I thought I deserved a taste of the youngest while the two of you were pleasuring yourselves with Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth.” The smile that accompanied this statement spoke of the weasel in him.
Bingley rose from the bed, his face contorted with unwonted ferocity. His anger carried him so far as to kick the bound man in the ribs, though he did look ashamed of himself immediately after. “Shut your cursed mouth! How can you defile the names of such pure, innocent ladies with such base accusations? And remember, Darcy and I are gentlemen – unlike you!”
Darcy held up a hand to stay Bingley. His face was dark with fury and he spoke with a voice held under tight control. “His intent is to anger us – to make us lose command of this situation and allow him some passage of escape. Do not let him get the better of you with his grotesqueries and falsehhoods.”
Bingley looked as if he would like to kick Wickham again, but instead gave him a look of disgust before returning to his perch on the bed. He continued glaring at the reprobate, even as he did so.
Wickham laughed through grit teeth. “Such a performance from the two of you! I have never been better entertained, but Charles you really do need to work on your form – even Miss Lydia packs a stronger kick than you, and she only a mere girl.”
“Her aim was providential,” said Darcy. “And her feet better armed. Such pointy toes she had on those dainty boots of hers – silver tipped I do recall.” He smiled rather malevolently at the recollection. “But I do not know what game you are playing at, Wickham. We could easily denounce you for your actions. Do you think your brothers in the ranks of the RWH would stand beside you, knowing what you are?”
Wickham’s laugh became stronger. His yes shone with unholy delight. “Denounce me? The two of you? A dragon and a dog? Not to mention the way you hold the were code in foolish admiration. I think not! I may be tied to a bedpost now, but you will see reason before many moments are up and comply with my wishes. You are, neither of you, composed for treason.”
“Now we are getting to the point,” said Darcy. “Just what is it you want from me?”
“So very little, when you consider all that is at stake,” said Wickham in a voice dripping with insincere sweetness. “Think of your puppy dog friend here, and his lady love. One whispered word in the right ear and the RWH would be dragging them both from their cosy kennels – you should be grateful that it has not yet been done.”
“What price your silence?” asked Darcy, his voice like the cold steel of a rapier blade.
“You will not give in to him?” cried Bingley, aghast. “This is blackmail of a most despicable nature. And if you give him anything, he’ll only ask for more. You know the villain.”
“I am simply enquiring as to his terms, Bingley, before I make him my counter offer.”
Bingley was up again, stamping on the bare wooden floor. “I know the counter offer you should make him! That you will char his weasel self till nothing remains but a pile of stinking ash. And then you will disperse that to the four winds.”
“But that would be inhuman!” Wickham smirked. “Our precious Darcy, dragon though he is, would never admit to being anything less than human. I have no such scruples.”
“That is because,” said Darcy levelly, the glint of barely controlled emotion glowing in his hard emerald eyes, “you are truly a weasel to your deepest core and your human form is nothing more than an accident of birth.”
“You are just as much an animal as me,” said Wickham, his lips curling in anger. “And I have the right to be as much the gentleman as you! More right, for at least I understand both my natures and can exercise complete control over them.”
Darcy crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, a look of disdain clearly imprinted upon his face. “So your blue uniform with all its gold braid does not give you the admiration and respect that you crave? Denouncing your own kind has not brought you your heart’s desire? I pity you.”
“I want none of your pity!” Wickham snapped.
“No. I can see that,” said Darcy. “I take it you want my money instead. You always did.”
“You have more than your fair share!”
“But it is my fair share. I inherited my estate and fortune, and have earned what recognition it gives me by tending to the needs of my tenants and in the upkeep of the business of my estate. I fail to see what you have done to deserve any of it.”
“I was your father’s favourite!” cried Wickham, straining against his bonds. “Most likely his byblow. He wanted me provided for – his will is proof of that.”
“If my father had any idea what his well-meant attentions to you would foster, he would have left you in the sphere in which you belonged,” Darcy sneered in disgust. “His respect for your good father blinded him to the fact that you bore him no resemblance in character or in deed. Whether you are truly your father’s son is a matter up for debate, but you share no blood with me. I have, against my better judgement, already given you ample funds to recompense you for the provisions of my father’s will – provisions which you had no desire to follow. You would certainly not have made a good cleric. You have very little to show for all that I have given you. What is it you expect from me now?”
“Three thousand pounds is a mere pittance! What was I to do with that? No – this time I want an estate with an income of three thousand a year. Grant me that and I will leave you undisturbed to marry your Elizabeth Bennet, and Bingley his Jane. We shall all be gentlemen of the world together with no hint of the taint in the blood of any of us ever becoming known. Fail me and your friend and his fair one will lose their heads on public display for you and all the Bennets to witness.”
“You would be putting your own head upon the block,” said Darcy. “My sense of honour can only be stretched so far.”
“Denounce me and you are as good as dead,” hissed Wickham.
“I will never give in to your demands,” said Darcy. “And as much as I sometimes find it beyond enduring, I value my life, if only because I have a beloved sister whose feelings to consider. I will not let you endanger it or destroy it with your schemes.”
“Well, then you have no choice but to give in.”
“You have not yet heard my counter offer. You would do well to accept it – the alternative would not be pleasant. I can put you aboard a ship to the Americas where you may live your life out undisturbed – your return to England would mean sure death.”
“Empty threats! I am happy in this country – I have no desire to leave it.”
“Then it seems we are at an impasse,” said Darcy leaning back in his chair.
“Am I to be tied to this bedpost forever?” asked Wickham. “That will hardly help your cause. One of you is bound to fall asleep soon. I can change form and be gone in no time. There is no telling when I will next strike once free, but let me remind you, Darcy, that I know all your biggest weaknesses. You are no match for me and I will not rest until I have hurt you as you have never felt pain before in your life.”
“I say fry him!” cried Bingley.
“As delightful as that sounds,” said Darcy, “I do not intend to have Wickham turn me into something I cannot live with, though I cannot vouch for the damage some other were friend of mine, who does not share my scruples, might do to him. I have no inclination to sleep. Tied as he is, in that awkward position, and wet into the bargain, with the reek of this place growing upon him, he will soon come to realise America is his best option.”
The family was more than happy to find Lydia at home and safe in her bed the next morning. Mr Bennet went to Meryton to attempt to do his best, with the help of the Phillipses, to scotch all the rumours about Lydia’s disappearance from Brighton. He was helped in this by new reports from that city. It seemed a servant girl had come forth to say that she had seen Miss Lydia forcibly abducted and that she had not gone willingly with Wickham at all. All that was left was to get it around that she had been returned home, properly chaperoned, had not spent as much as a night alone with the man, and had suffered no ill effects from her ordeal. Soon everyone in the neighbourhood believed that Lydia had spent the week, after being rescued, with her relatives the Gardiners in London, and that her father had brought her home with him.
Lydia was kept confined to the house for the first few days until it could be drilled into her brain that talk of the subject was not a good idea, if she wanted to retain whatever shreds of reputation she had left. Mr Bennet did not let his wife go out abroad either. Her shrieks which resounded throughout the house when told that Lydia had been returned to them by a dragon were difficult enough to explain away to the servants. Luckily Hill was completely loyal and an expert at explaining the family’s strange behaviour to the startled housemaids. Better the family be thought slightly eccentric than depraved.
Soon nothing of Lydia’s trial was secret amongst her family, and Mrs Bennet, with no other avenue to contain her need to discuss the sufferings of her favourite daughter, poured out her worries and woes in letters to her sister, Mrs Gardiner. That lady, with a mind more clear-thinking than Mrs Bennet’s, more subtle than Lydia’s, and more well-informed on the subject than Mr Bennet’s, did some elementary arithmetic and arrived at an outrageous conclusion. She wrote to her niece, Elizabeth, for verification of all her incredible suppositions.
Elizabeth took her aunt’s letter out into the little wilderness that stretched upon one side of the house, and sat on a bench to read it.
Dearest Niece,
If all that Lydia reports can be believed, and your mother’s frenzied retelling of it deciphered correctly, I can only conclude that we are completely indebted to Mr Darcy for Lydia’s return. He has shown himself to be a fine gentleman, worthy of all of our esteem. I cannot doubt that what he did, he did for you. I did not say anything while you were in London, but I have eyes in my head and they told me things you were not prepared to reveal. I could see from all your furtive looks that you had lost your heart to him. And that he was overflowing with admiration for you, was more than apparent. You were both very secretive, but I do not blame you in the least. You have known for many years what it is like to have a loved one afflicted by this terrible condition. To consider marriage to another such must be a decision of some enormous weight. Yes I said marriage, though I know I ought not speak of such a thing before being told of your engagement to Mr Darcy, I cannot help myself. I want to assure you that, even though I know the truth about him – that not only is he a were like our dear Jane, but that he becomes a dragon, which can be considered a ferocious beast – you have my blessing, and Mr Gardiner’s too. I hope you do not mind that I have spoken with your uncle. He sees it just as I do. A man who is such a true gentleman as Mr Darcy appears to be, and who has shown his love for you by endangering himself with the possibility of discovery while returning Lydia home, could not be a danger to you, even though he takes on the dragon form. And you, as devoted as you are to Jane, have enough practice in keeping weres safe. I think, in fact, that this marriage could be the making of both of you. I look forward to visiting Pemberley when you are married. A tour of the lovely estate by pony trap would be most enjoyable, do you not think? I am all anticipation of the delightful event.
Your loving aunt
Elizabeth dragged her arm across her face, wiping away the ready tears that had sprung from her eyes. She put the letter down and searched through her pockets for a handkerchief to do the job properly. How to answer such a letter?
She felt gratitude that her aunt accepted Mr Darcy’s aberration with such equanimity. That she judged him as a man, by his deeds, first and foremost and not by the unfortunate accident of his birth which rendered him capable of being something else.
But what her aunt supposed was not to be. Mr Darcy was lost to Elizabeth; there was no denying the truth. All she had were her memories of his handsome face, his deep baritone that caused such a confusion of emotion deep within her whenever he spoke, the expression in his green eyes that had seemed to speak of his love, and the feel of his skin so warm and silken – his glowing golden dragon skin – for the man and beast were inseparable. Loving one came with loving the other. And she loved them both, as one – for that was who Darcy was, through and through.
She remembered feeling of his heart beating as she lay against his scales, and she wiped away another tear with her sodden little square of lace. Her heart ached for him, in fact, as wanton as it seemed, she had to admit to herself that her entire body ached for him, her arms, her cheeks, her lips. She wanted to rest herself against his unchanged form and feel their skin melt together through their clothes. She had seen his unchanged form in all its glory, and it was a sight she did not think she could ever forget. She felt a blush creep up at the tenor of her thoughts, and attempted to banish them from her mind. Such fantasies were impossible, unthinkable, and certainly not what a demure your lady such as herself ought to be indulging in. Especially when all hope of their coming to fruition was lost to her.
She folded her aunt’s letter and attempted to compose herself. She could not answer it, not yet. Putting those words down on paper would make her disappointment that much more a reality. I have no expectations of an offer of marriage from Mr Darcy. Oh! What an unhappy task lay ahead for her.
Darcy felt his eyelids drop and he forced them up. A fire was glowing dimly in the smoky hearth. By the amber light he could just make out Wickham’s form, lying at the base of the bed, his arms stretched above him, held in place by gleaming white silk. Bingley was lying across the bed, snoring slightly.
Two days and Wickham had not relented.
Darcy shifted in the hard, wooden chair and took a sip of tepid water from a tankard on the rickety table by his side.
“I will escape,” whispered Wickham from out of the gloom. His sharp teeth gleamed. “I will take what you love the most and sully it beyond redemption. I will make your life unbearable, unliveable. I will have what is rightfully mine, in the end.”
“What is rightfully yours is a cold, dank, darkened dungeon in the depths of the earth,” said Darcy. “If that is what you truly want I will see what I can do to arrange it.”
Wickham laughed softly. “You are so very predictable.”
Darcy took another drink and stared back at him without answering.
“I will best you,” came Wickham’s snake-like hiss.
Darcy ignored him. His eyes never strayed from Wickham’s recumbent figure, but his mind could not help but escape the bounds of the shabby room and travel through the air on dragon’s wings toward the one person that Wickham had threatened the most with his malevolent words. Elizabeth
How he had put her in danger by allowing himself to love her and for unwittingly making his feelings apparent! But then, no one could read him like Wickham. Perhaps because they had grown up together, he had an uncanny ability to know just what Darcy was thinking and feeling. As if to validate this thought, Wickham’s sickly snicker came out of the semi-darkness.
The only way he could protect Elizabeth was by giving her up. Having her, holding her, marrying her, watching their children grow up at Pemberley: it had all been a fanciful dream. An impossibility. She deserved a whole man. Not someone crippled with the worst kind of deformity – part beast – not wholly human. But no matter what, he would always love her, always keep watch over her. When she married another, the pain would be excruciating, but he would feel happy for her, even through the pain. Happy that she could live a normal life, be a mother, raise a family, without taint and danger of exposure hanging over her head.
And yet, he hoped, sadly, that deep inside, she would remember the dragon and the man, remember them with some fondness. That she would, perhaps, not think too badly of him.
Raucous singing came from the tavern below and noise upon the stairs of heavy feet stumbling. Slurred words: endearments, oaths, bawdy suggestions.
The door burst open and a couple spilled in. A serving wench, her clothes all askew, bodice unlaced to reveal copious amounts of tempting flesh, was arm in arm with a large, oafish fellow with a grin from ear to ear and a bottle in his free hand.
“Ohh!” she giggled. “Company! A fine gennnelman to share our fun!” She fell upon Darcy’s lap, threw her arms about his head, and drew it into the soft valley of her ample bosom. “Take your fill luv! I have plenty to go ‘round.”
The man stumbled in and knocked against Darcy’s chair, sending them both sprawling. “Blast it lass, I seen you first, and paid my money too, so I get first dippings. He may be a gentleman but he will bloody wait his turn!” He reeled for a moment or two and then fell flat upon the two already tangled on the floor. The cheap brandy flew from his grasp, smashing against the hearth and causing the fire to spurt with sudden flame.
“Another one!” cried the wench upon spying Bingley still stretched out upon the bed. “And just as comely as the first! Oh bless you Lord! ‘Tis my lucky night.”
Darcy heaved the man from atop him, and extricated himself from the serving wench’s frills and laces, and curving mounds of flesh. As he pushed himself up to his knees he was in time to see the form of a rodent escape in a lightning streak through the open doorway.
Before he had time to consider anything, he began to change, clothes ripping as scale and sinew surged. His dragon mouth opened and with a bone-shattering roar and sulphurous burst of steam he lunged for the unopened window, crashing through wood and glass as if it were kindling. His wings unfurled and he took to the sky, the moonlight bathing his dragon body in its luminous glow.
The serving wench’s screams split the night.
Chapter Fifteen
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