A Touch of Night (8 page)

* * * *

Mr. Collins ran into the back garden to collect Elizabeth and Charlotte who had been strolling about in the warm spring sunshine, picking daffodils and sprays of forsythia to arrange in the parlor.

"Ook, they are come. Ook, ook! Hurry, hurry," he cried.

"Who are come?" asked Charlotte, stroking his arm in a calming manner.

"Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam."

Charlotte looked over at Elizabeth. "This is due to you. Mr. Darcy would not visit so promptly just to see me."

"No," Elizabeth choked out. "You are wrong, Charlotte. I could not imagine that Mr. Darcy has any more desire to see me than I have to see him. Can I not go up to my room instead?"

Mr. Collins began hopping about in consternation, uttering a series of short shrieks.

"My husband insists you welcome our guests with me," said Charlotte with determination.

Elizabeth could see that if she followed her inclination and hid from Mr. Darcy in her bedchamber there was a good chance that her cousin would reveal his affliction to the world. With Lady Catherine's tendency to go on witch-hunts against
weres
, Elizabeth had no wish to put Mr. Collins' life in jeopardy. There was nothing for it but to meet Mr. Darcy.

* * * *

Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, walked along the path through Rosings' park towards the lych-gate that led to the parsonage.

"The parson ran ahead awfully quickly," noted the colonel.

"He wanted to prepare the ladies," said Darcy, his mind in contemplation of one of the ladies in particular.

"He has a most interesting gait."

"I am neither interested in the parson nor his gait," said Darcy impatiently.

"I could not help but notice, ever since our aunt mentioned the visitors at the parsonage, you have become very tense. Has this anything to do with a lady?"

Darcy sighed. He could keep no secrets from his cousin. Colonel Fitzwilliam was one of the few people who knew of Darcy's affliction. In fact, the colonel had sworn to Mr. Darcy senior when he was on his deathbed that he would do his best to protect Darcy from the prejudiced world. That was why they traveled together to Rosings every Easter. Lady Catherine insisted on Darcy's visits, but she had such a hatred against all forms of lycanthropy that keeping his secret from her was paramount.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet knows about me."

The colonel stared at him in shock. "You told a woman? Are you out of your mind, man? I thought you had foresworn love -- don't you see the danger you have put yourself in?"

"I believe she can be trusted."

"Even so -- though I very much doubt any woman can be trusted -- you have put her in danger as much as yourself! Are you besotted?"

"Quentin, you are jumping to conclusions. This has nothing to do with love." Here Darcy colored. "It was a mistake. She came upon Bingley and me just as we changed forms."

"She saw you become a dragon and she did not run away in fear to the nearest magistrate to report you?"

"Yes. No. I mean, she did not see me become a dragon. Quite the reverse. But, yes, she did not run away to report me, or even Bingley for that matter. And there is a regiment of the RWH stationed not far from her home. We quit Netherfield the very next day for fear we would have to go into hiding, but there have been no repercussions. I am assured she has told no one."

Colonel Fitzwilliam eyed his cousin closely. "Are you sure this has nothing to do with love?"

Darcy thought it best to avoid that issue. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had caused him many a sleepless night and not solely because of his fear she would report him. Strangely, deep down he had known she would not. There had been something in her eyes that first night, when he had flown past her window. Something that told him she had sympathy for his kind. The fact that she hadn't reported him only confirmed it.

"It has everything to do with her goodness," Darcy said at last, and the look upon his face when he said it confirmed his cousin's fears. Darcy was a lost man.

"I cannot wait to meet this paragon," said the colonel as he opened the gate and they walked up the path to the parsonage door, and made their presence known. "Say, don't you think this knocker is a wee bit high?"

Darcy didn't even hear the remark. His thoughts were elsewhere. How would she look when she saw him? He could not forget the state of undress he was in when they had last met. Thank the Lord for rhubarb! But still she had seen more of him than any delicately brought up female ought. He was afraid that he would be put to the blush as much as she.

They were ushered down a hallway with a positively vile shade of carpeting to a sunny room made light and pleasing by the profusion of spring blossoms that filled a number of well-placed urns. Elizabeth was employed in arranging the last of the blooms in a crystal vase. The yellow flowers so close to her face cast a glow upon her cheeks that only served to enhance her attractions. He wished he could see her eyes, but they were downcast and remained so throughout their greetings and the introduction of the colonel.

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked from one to the other with increasing interest. It was difficult to tell who was the most flustered.

"Miss Bennet, I have heard much about you," he said jovially.

She cast a quick look up at him and then over to Darcy. Her face reddened discernibly and then she averted her eyes once again. "I hope you do not believe all that you hear, but judge people on their own merit," she said, finally.

"You imagine that what I heard was not complimentary?" he quizzed. And then he smiled a full smile that crinkled up his eyes. "Quite the contrary, I assure you. You have been praised in the highest terms."

Her eyes flew towards Mr. Darcy again and he took the opportunity of speaking to her.

"Your family, Miss Bennet? They are all well?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied. "And your friends?"

"Mr. Bingley and his sisters were in good health when I last saw them."

The colonel raised an eyebrow. Of all the insipid conversations! Could they not do better than that? He decided that maybe it was his presence that was hampering their conversational abilities, so he spent the next ten minutes entertaining his hostess and attempting to bring out her younger sister, while the parson looked on, adding an occasional grunt to the discourse. But his efforts were to no avail, so in the end he called upon Miss Bennet to support him in his contention that Byron was the master that all other poets should seek to emulate, and spent the rest of the visit well pleased by her open manners and teasing wit.

Darcy stood between the wall and the window and contented himself with simply observing Miss Bennet, a small smile playing across his face every now and then.

* * * *

Miss Darcy left her house in the dark of night, long after her companion, Miss Wimblon, had gone to bed. It grieved her and shamed her to be doing something that if found out would more than distress a brother she looked up to almost as a father.

On the other hand, she had to admit that Darcy's being away was the greatest convenience. No other person in the household could possibly have the slightest need of checking her room late at night to see if she was in. Which left her free to act as her conscience dictated, and not according to the dictates of society.

Right then her conscience demanded she follow the opulently carpeted hall where the family bedrooms were at the townhouse, and open a rarely-used door at the back -- a door that led to the servants' staircase. Here, she had to proceed more cautiously because there were people still up. It always amazed Georgiana that servants could be up so much later and so much earlier than their masters, going to bed long after the masters' had gone to sleep and rising very early to make sure everything was ready for their reveille.

Even at this advanced an hour, she could hear voices upstairs, the sound of laughter and then the voice of the housekeeper raised in foreboding chiding. One of the younger parlor maids must have forgotten her place. One thing that could be said for Miss Roebottom, their housekeeper in town, was that she kept things running neatly and well, even if she did it with a far more forbidding mien than the amiable Mrs. Reynolds at Pemberley.

But she -- last of all -- would think she need worry about her young mistress straying.
Such a good, quiet girl
seemed to be the opinion of every servant who came in contact with Georgiana. And perhaps it was true. At least, she tried to be good, and she would much rather be quiet. But there are the sort of injustices in the world to which no woman of breeding and heart can be indifferent. She'd become more and more aware of it since Icarus Sevrin's death.

She pulled her pelisse tighter around her -- she wore all black, the sort of attire a respectable widow might wear. It would not fully preserve her from harm alone on the streets of London, of course. But it would keep her safe long enough.

Outside the streets were quiet and oh, so dark. The first time she'd been out at night she'd been very scared. It was even scarier in the heart of London, because you could see and hear the city -- boisterous fun in taverns, and the steps of revelers out. But you could not see anyone. Not till they were upon you.

She walked to the preordained corner and was so lucky as not to cross paths with anyone. And she'd not stood out at the corner for very long before she heard the trundling noise of carriage wheels. She held her breath, waiting, until she saw the ducal crest on the door.

Moving forward, she was ready when the door swung open quietly.

"Good evening, Miss Darcy," a well known voice said from within.

"Good evening, my lord," she said.

"Are you prepared to do what must be done?"

"I hope," she said. "I have enough fortitude. What is it you wish of me, my lord?"

* * * *

"Don't distress yourself, my dear cousin," Mr. Collins said. "For you see that Lady Catherine and her daughter are far from expecting in others that distinction of dress that they claim for themselves. As long as you wear your best and it's clean, they will demand no more. On the contrary. Lady Catherine likes to have a certain distinction of rank preserved."

They were walking the broad avenue towards Rosings, the many windows of the building shimmering in the evening sun. They'd been invited to dine at Rosings, a distinction that had Maria almost swooning with delight and had kept Elizabeth up all night for quite different reasons.

Meeting Mr. Darcy had unsettled her, not the least because he didn't seem to exhibit the degree of shame she expected from someone who had been caught in such dreadful behavior. On the other hand, she wondered, perhaps she had been wrong? But how could she be wrong in what she'd seen with her very own eyes. Gentlemen didn't normally absent themselves from balls to go rolling around in the rhubarb plants with their friends. Unless something was very wrong with them indeed.

Elizabeth realized that, absorbed in her unhappy thoughts, she'd gone all the way into Rosings and was even now in the process of bobbing a curtsey to Lady Catherine. The lady received that mark of politeness with severely tightened lips. Anne de Bourgh leaned into Miss Jenkinson, who supported her. Behind, near the window, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were discussing something that involved expansive gestures like wings on the Colonel's part, and a sudden, hastily suppressed laugh on Mr. Darcy's. This shocked Elizabeth terribly, as she didn't know Mr. Darcy was capable of laughter. And as she approached to take a seat, she was further surprised to hear the Colonel say, "But you must agree, Darcy, that a bat would suit miss Miss Bingley to a T. Swoop down when you least expect her, tangle herself in you. Of course, bats are rarely orange."

"Quentin," Mr. Darcy said, laughter still in his voice. "I believe our guests have arrived and we're being rude." In the next minute both men had paid their obeisance and after a little frivolous talk, dinner was announced. Elizabeth had the pleasure of being escorted to dinner on the Colonel's arm, and of sitting next to him and across from Mr. Darcy at the table. The food was good, in a solid, unimaginative way. Elizabeth noted that Miss de Bourgh ate very little and coughed a good deal. The colonel ate a great deal and talked non-stop, mostly at Elizabeth herself, though he often directed his pleasantries to the rest of the table. And Mr. Darcy talked not at all, but looked at Elizabeth a great deal.

Elizabeth wondered what particular blemish he found in her, that he stared at her so much. Certainly the man had no interest in, or at least disapproved of, all women, so she must be particularly irksome.

After dinner, partly to escape Lady Catherine's non-stop talk and never-ending stream of advice, Elizabeth retired to the piano, whence Colonel Fitzwilliam followed her. She played desultorily while snatches of conversation from the drawing room reached her.

Lady Catherine was getting unpleasant about something. Elizabeth couldn't quite make out the gist of it, but she thought it was related to Mr. Darcy's sister, Georgiana. "I always disapproved of your father's not leaving me with any say in her care. And in the event, you proved quite irresponsible. If it weren't for the fast work of the Royal
Were
-Hunters, she would now be betrothed to a
were
."

"Madam," Mr. Darcy said, his voice maybe reverential and maybe annoyed. It was impossible to tell.

"And I don't care if he was a lord. Common, debased blood!"

"Madam."

"I daresay if I'd ever met him, I'd have known him straight away for the animal he was. I hear before they beheaded him he changed and roared fit to terrorize the town."

"Madam. That is nonsense. Sevrin--"

"Oh, Darcy, do not be tiresome. You don't mean to tell me you were there? You've always said it was a vulgar spectacle."

"Madam," Mr. Darcy said. And this time the voice sounded strained. Moments later, Mr. Darcy stalked into the piano room. He looked pale and his hands were shaking slightly.

He stood, for a moment, near the piano, looking at Elizabeth's hands, but Elizabeth was sure he didn't see anything. His eyes seemed unfocused. For the first time in a long while, Elizabeth felt a wave of sympathy towards him. However he might have pretended that he supported the
were
laws, it was clear that he suffered greatly over his friend's death.

"It must be very hard," she said, softly. "When a
were
is caught and killed." In her mind there was an image of poor Jane being caught and brought to bay by a regiment in
Were
-Hunters uniforms. She spoke even as her hands played upon the piano, and looked up to see both men staring at her, the colonel with a slightly amused expression that seemed quite out of keeping. An expression of confused amusement, if that made any sense. Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy was looking at her, his gaze softened.

"I just thought," Elizabeth said, and blushed, "that when a
were
is killed, his friends and family are hardly given the time or the chance to mourn. Instead, no matter how good the person was, they are supposed to rejoice that a
were
has been caught."

"Yes," Mr. Darcy said, with some force. "Oh, yes." His hand that had been resting on the piano went up to his forehead and rested there, as if trying to erase a headache.

"Did you ever...?" The colonel cleared his throat. He seemed very amused by the exchange between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth was quite at a loss to know why. "Have you ever met a
were
, Miss Bennet?"

Why did he ask that as if he were laughing at something? Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy to see if they were having a joke on her, then she shook her head and blushed. "No. I have never had that ... It never happened. But I have always thought that they are people like other people and that the good ones are good and the evil ones are evil."

"You are singular in that opinion," Fitzwilliam said, his gaze sharpened.

"I believe that people can't be judged for what they can't help being," Elizabeth said and sighed. "All of us have... evil traits we must fight against. Sometimes I think those more severely afflicted are more worthy when they conquer."

"Sevrin was the best of men," Mr. Darcy said, his voice vibrating with such emotion that Elizabeth did not know what to say. She looked up to see the gentleman looking at her with what, in another man, she would swear was an expression of pure adoration. She didn't know what to do, and was rescued from her embarrassment by Lady Catherine's sharp voice, "Of what are you speaking? I must have my share of the conversation. I must."

"I was merely," Mr. Darcy said, and cleared his throat. "Complimenting Miss Bennet on her piano playing. I have rarely heard something that gave me more pleasure."

"She doesn't play badly," Lady Catherine said. "But to be a true proficient, she must practice more. She should come and practice on the pianoforte in Miss Jenkinson's rooms. She'd be in no one's way in that part of the house."

At this, Elizabeth had to smile to herself, and while Lady Catherine went on expounding on her great love of music, Elizabeth played more to herself than to the gentlemen. At any rate, after a while she looked up and noticed that Colonel Fitzwilliam had vanished and only Mr. Darcy remained, leaning against the doorframe and looking at her with an inscrutable expression.

As she met his eyes, he grinned. "You must know, Miss Bennet, that you have very decided opinions for one so young."

His unconscious mimicry -- or had he guessed those words, or some very similar, had already been used to her by his aunt? -- discomfited her, and she rose quickly and curtseyed. She crossed the drawing room, avoiding Lady Catherine's attempt at conversation. Mr. Collins was ooking reverentially to some long speech of the Lady's. To Charlotte's enquiry, Elizabeth said, "I believe I must go out for a breath of air. I feel a headache coming on."