A Touch of Night (6 page)

* * * *

Elizabeth walked out onto the terrace. The moon was an oval, nearing fullness, casting silver light upon the manicured lawns of the garden. Beyond the flowerbeds and topiary was a stand of trees, barren branches raised up to the stars. Even further she could dimly make out the brick walls of the kitchen gardens and the conservatory where all the fresh fruits and vegetables were grown in the middle of winter. The glow of the braziers that warmed these glasshouses tempted Elizabeth to walk out to them. She had always wanted to explore such places but while she had been at Netherfield she had never the opportunity. Now was the time.

The smell of charcoal, moist earth, and growing things assailed Elizabeth's nostrils as she entered the first house of the conservatory. She could dimly make out a tangle of vegetable plants, peas and haricots she realised upon closer scrutiny. The next house was devoted to fruit trees -- peaches and apricots sweetened the night air.

Elizabeth's head was feeling much better now. There was nothing to bring one down to earth and away from the fantastical like beetroots and turnips, strawberries and raspberry canes. She entered the last house and stopped still just inside the doorway, a scream frozen in her throat.

Two strange shapes rose up from unearthly clumps of rhubarb. It took a moment before Elizabeth registered that what she was seeing for the first time in her life was the unclothed male body. Actually two unclothed male bodies, but the closer held her attention more so than the other. It was tall and lithe, muscles firm and accentuated, with none of the softness of the female body. A trick of the light cast by the brazier through the rhubarb leaves tinted the skin green and gold. Mercifully the rhubarb grew lush and tall and hid both bodies from the hips down. Her eyes traversed up the abdomen and chest, to the face.

"Mr. Darcy!" she cried in shock. And then the other body came into focus, as it crouched amid the leaves. "Mr. Bingley!"

Both men appeared dazed. "Miss Bennet," said Darcy, not moving a muscle. Mr. Bingley attempted to hide himself completely in the rhubarb plant.

From all the diverse thoughts that jumbled in Elizabeth's head she was able to grasp at only one thing. "It is just as Wickham said, you are . . . unnatural . . ."

Mr. Darcy paled. "Wickham told you? Miss Bennet, please, I pray, listen. This is not what . . . Please. We are no threat to anyone. What can you gain from making this known? I'm begging you to keep our secret."

Elizabeth did not wait to hear more. She turned and ran through the conservatory, snagging her gown upon netting and poles, gasping for breath.

* * * *

The ball ended and all the guests went home, but Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Bingley were too much concerned with what had passed in the conservatory to give it any notice. How she got home, Elizabeth never knew, but she sat in her window, staring out at the treacherous night, tears streaming down her face at the shattering of all her hopes and dreams for Jane and Mr. Bingley. She saw the dragon fly by, a lonely, haunting voyage through the sky as it danced sorrowfully among the stars and then did one swooping pass alongside her house, close to her window. The sadness in the dragon's eye was more than she could bear.

In the morning Bingley ordered that all their belongings be packed and the house closed as soon as they quitted it. Caroline was surprised at her brother's insistence, but glad to be leaving Hertfordshire just the same. She had worried that Charles would be entrapped by that upstart Miss Jane Bennet and her deceptively sweet smile. Besides, Caroline had her sights set on an estate in Derbyshire -- preferably Mr. Darcy's own.

As they rode alongside the carriage, Darcy turned to Bingley and said again, as if to reaffirm his decision. "We have no choice but to leave. She will be sure to report us to the Royal
Were
-Hunters."

Bingley was not as sure as his friend, but there was no sense in taking any chances. He knew that he could never again look Miss Elizabeth Bennet in the eyes anyway, not after she had seen him naked. And he knew that he had to leave Jane Bennet even though she was the sweetest, most angelic lady he had ever met. He had been foolish to entertain thoughts of love and marriage. Happiness was not for his kind.

Darcy sat upright upon his horse as they cantered towards London. There was only one thing about the entire episode that still confused him. Why had Mr. Wickham so forgotten himself as to denounce Darcy to a provincial girl? Was he seeking to get her to condemn Darcy for him? Sometimes Darcy thought it was he or Wickham. One of them would be the death of the other.

Chapter Six

"Oh, I cannot believe that Mr. Bingley would leave," Mrs. Bennet said over breakfast. "And yet, my sister Phillips says that the house has been locked up and there's no thought of coming back again. I'll always say he used my daughter very ill. Very ill indeed."

"It is true, Elizabeth," Jane said, looking up at her sister, her eyes filled with tears. "Caroline herself wrote to tell me that they've gone to London, to meet with Mr. Darcy's sister. She..." Jane's voice faltered. "She has great hopes that Mr. Bingley means to marry Miss Darcy."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. She would rather cut out her own tongue with a butter knife than tell Jane what she'd seen in the rhubarb. Through the night she'd lain awake, tossing, tormented by the idea of what Mr. Darcy had corrupted Mr. Bingley into. She was quite sure it wasn't Mr. Bingley's true nature. She'd seen the way he looked at Jane.

But she'd read the Plato and the historians of the Roman Empire. She didn't understand the attraction of the vice, but there must be some, since so many powerful people had indulged in it. And however it was, Mr. Bingley wasn't for Jane. Helping herself to eggs and a slice of ham, she said, "I'm sorry to say it, Jane, but I think it's a good thing that Mr. Bingley should be removed from us, and that we should be removed from Mr. Bingley."

She saw Jane's eyes widen at her contradicting what she told Jane just the day before. But Jane was too kind to call her to task about it.

"Bite your tongue, girl," Mrs. Bennet said. "Well... The good thing is that Jane is going to London to stay with my brother, Gardiner. I'm sure that she'll contrive a way to run into Bingley. She is such a clever girl."

"Mama..." Elizabeth said.

"It does credit to your modesty, cousin Elizabeth," Mr. Collins said, from across the table, where he was stuffing his face with fried kidneys. "To mention that it is not right for the lady to run after the man. For a woman's reputation is as lovely as it is frail. And once gone, it is gone forever."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Guess what?" she said. "Oh, never mind. They caught an old wolf out Cunningham farm's way. The
Were
-Hunters think he might have been the one that was getting into henhouses. I hope not, for if they do not catch at least one
were
soon, we'll be declared non-infested, and the RWH will be moved elsewhere. Oh, I hope not."

"Well," Mrs. Bennet said. "You girls must make the most of it while you can. You should walk to Meryton and see the officers."

Mr. Bennet turned the page of the paper and made a sound. "Well," he said. "Brighton has just been declared a most infested locale. They have three dragons, a
were-cheetah
, and--" He looked over the paper at them, his eyes sparkling. "A
were-gorilla
who appears at the pump nightly. Now -- that would be diverting. Why can we never get unusual
weres
?. The least they can do is make sport for us."

"Papa," Elizabeth said. She loved her father dearly, but sometimes he said things that she worried would be hurtful to Jane, or put her in a position of danger.

"Er..." Mr. Bennet looked at his daughter uncomprehending. "Oh come, Elizabeth," he said. "If I were a
were
I'd want to give as much trouble as humanly possible." He flashed a grin, before going back to his reading. "Perhaps I'd lock myself up in my library and thus avoid the moon altogether. And at night I'd let out terrifying howls to scare the servants." He made a sound that might be a growl or a choked off bout of laughter. "Oh, that would do very well indeed."

"Mamma," Elizabeth said, her concern rising at all the talk of
weres
. And if that was not bad enough, she greatly doubted her ability to be alone with Jane without blurting the whole miserable business of the rhubarb. "I think I'll go for a walk to clear my head. Oakham Mount perhaps."

"But, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Collins said. "I wish to speak with you during the course of the morning."

Elizabeth had a feeling she knew what that talk would be about. She shook her head. "Mr. Collins, I'm sure that there is nothing you want to speak to me about. At least nothing that could possibly be important."

"Miss Elizabeth," Mrs. Bennet said. "I order you to listen to Mr. Collins."

* * * *

And so it was that immediately after breakfast, Elizabeth found herself in the small parlor in the company of a very nervous Mr. Collins. She knew he was nervous because he was walking around the room in circles. And, as he walked, his demeanor changed, and he started stooping forward, his knuckles dragging on the ground.

Turning around, he fixed her with soulful brown eyes. "Ook," he said. "Oook, oook, ook, ook." He gestured with his hands, then gestured with his foot. The shoe slipped, and another hand emerged from his shoe.

Mr. Collins sat on his behind, and started picking his fur, pensively.

His fur. Elizabeth blinked. She backed against the table. Mr. Collins was an orangutan. A
were
. He had that reaction she'd often read about in books, though never observed in Jane, of turning to his
were
form when scared. And he was blinking at her out of small, simian eyes and saying, "Ook, ook, oook" with the intensity of feeling that betrayed that he thought he was speaking English. And with a sense of dread and astonishment, Elizabeth realized that Mr. Collins had no idea whatsoever that he shifted forms. And probably neither did most people -- considering that his ape form was so similar to his human form.

The realization shook Elizabeth so that she fell backward onto an armchair, staring wide eyed at him. She'd been so concentrated on Jane, on keeping Jane safe, that she'd never considered there might be other
weres
nearby.

Oh, she knew there was a dragon and perhaps another wolf somewhere -- at least she hoped that the wolf that Jane was so taken with was not the old wolf they'd caught raiding henhouses. But she assumed they were people they never knew in the whole course of their lives. Apprentices to some craftsman, clerks to some firm. The affliction of
weredom
was not confined to the upper classes. On the contrary, appearing as rarely as it did in each family, it could not often appear in nobility. Because noblemen and wealthy people, living as they did surrounded by servants and retainers, were caught out more often than not.

It was only through the utmost care that Elizabeth had kept Jane from being discovered. She'd never expected to meet another
were
in her circle of friends, let alone her family.

She started to shake, and then realized it was laughter, bubbling up from deep within her, from some place she didn't even know existed. It erupted in a burbling stream from her lips, and grew into chuckles, then guffaws.

"Oook?" Mr. Collins said. He looked worried. "Ook, ook, ook?" He stretched a long, brown arm, and picked what Elizabeth hoped was an imaginary louse off her head. "Ook?" he said, taking his fingers to his mouth.

Elizabeth swallowed, trying to get control of her laughter, and managed only to bubble with the occasional giggle as she said, "Mr. Collins, I am afraid I must refuse your kind offer. I'm the last woman who could ever make you happy, and I know you could never make me so."

"Ooook?" Mr. Collins asked, incredulous.

"Oh, no, Mr. Collins. You do me a great honor with your proposal, but truly, I could never aspire to being your wife. I am not worthy."

"Oooo?" he asked. Then, puffing out his chest. "Ook."

"Indeed," Elizabeth said.

And at this, she leaned back in her chair and laughed, wholeheartedly. She laughed till her sides ached. She laughed till she thought she'd cry.

When she was done, Mr. Collins was a sad little shape, knuckling across the garden, towards the road. She wondered how far he was going. And she was sure he was quite safe. How odd that one could be a
were
and yet be perfectly disguised.

* * * *

Collins ambled across the fields, not knowing where he was going, only aware that his hopes in marrying his cousin Elizabeth were all dashed. What is more, she had laughed at him. He was certain of this. Well, blast all Bennets. He had intended to do his Christian duty because of the unfortunate entail, but that was now over. No other female in the household could tempt him. Mary too prissy and prosaic, Kitty and Lydia too flighty and flirty.

* * * *

Though it was the last day of November, it was balmy, almost spring-like day. Charlotte Lucas had gone down to the herb garden to cut some fresh chives for the omelet she planned to prepare for her father's nuncheon. Though he was a knight, their means were so strained that they kept no cook, something that Mrs. Bennet enjoyed to make note of when extolling the virtues of her daughters over those of the Lucases. But Charlotte believed that her cooking abilities would hold her in good stead one day.

She had just placed the bunch of chives into her basket when she heard a rustling in the bushes and looked up to see Mr. Collins loping awkwardly towards her. He looked rather unkempt. His uneven gait she soon put down to the fact that one of his shoes hung from his ear rather than covering his foot.

"Mr. Collins," she cried. "Whatever has happened?"

He looked at her. "Ook!" he said most pathetically.

She thought she had never seen him look more dejected. Or hairy. And then and there she decided that she would marry him. Someone had to see to it that the man received a regular shave.

"Mr. Collins, you must tell me all about it," she said, putting her arms out to him.

Luckily she had found a bench to sit upon, because he hopped up into her lap and began rocking back and forth, crooning.

She had never experienced lovemaking before, though she was full seven and twenty, but she was quite sure that his behavior had gone beyond the bounds of propriety, and she was glad of it. Soon one of her family was bound to come by and see. She would be completely compromised and they would be forced to marry. She closed her eyes and allowed him to stroke her hair, even though his hands were rough and his fingernails rather long. When they were married she would ensure he was always properly manicured, too. The poor man definitely needed a woman to look after him.

"Charlotte, what are you doing on a bench all tangled in a gentleman's arms?" cried her little brother Harry, who had just come up from fishing in the stream.

"Hush!" cried Charlotte. "Mr. Collins and I are engaged. He is going to speak to Papa at once."

"Engaged?" he chortled. "I never thought I should see the day!"

Mr. Collins suddenly bounced off her lap. "Oook!" he expostulated. Then after a look of severe concentration, "Engaged?"

"Why certainly, Mr. Collins," said Charlotte. "I am a lady of virtue. You do not think that I would allow such . . . privileges without us having pledged our troth to each other."

"Oook, troth?"

"You were most persuasive, when you so eloquently told me of your love." She sighed. "And when you told me what a perfect parson's wife I should be. How I should know what to put upon all those shelves in your numerous closets."

Collins' furrowed brow smoothed a little. "Closets."

"Indeed. And how I would humble myself appropriately before your most illustrious patroness. Elizabeth Bennet would never do that."

Mr. Collins could but nod in agreement.

"And of course nothing matches my esteem for you," she added. "It is near as great, but not quite so much, as the esteem in which you hold Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

Collins could not help but be impressed. "Oook," he sighed.

"Now please," she said in the manner of speaking to a deficient child, "take that shoelace out of your mouth and put the shoe upon your foot. You need to go and speak to Papa right away."

And as Charlotte glanced at his foot his need of a wife was impressed upon her all the more. The man had not thought even to wear stockings upon his feet! She smiled indulgently. She realized she was to have her work cut out for her, but she was certain that she would be the making of the man! Not a marriage of the deepest love like Elizabeth was forever harping about, but certainly preferable to living the shadow of a life in the home of one of her brothers or propping up her aging parents in the sunset of their days.