A Touch of Night (12 page)

* * * *

Back in London, Georgiana was coming out of the townhouse again, in secret, but she was not alone. Since her last foray into the night she'd kept the object of their care in the attics of the townhouse, and secreted food and drink to him.

It had been the safest place to keep the young man, a thin waif, barely a man and little more than a boy, while the Royal
Were
-Hunters and his colleagues at Cambridge, who had turned him in, lost track of his whereabouts. He now followed her down the stairs, as her heart beat fast.

Zedock Comorant, Lord Wilding would be waiting in his carriage at the same corner he'd waited her when she'd gone with him to assuage the young man's fears when being rescued by a strange man. He'd turned into a wolf in the middle of the classroom and been confined awaiting the arrival of the Royal
Were
-Hunters. Lord Wilding had heard of the event in just enough time to get there ahead of the Royal
Were
-Hunters.

Now the young man, Uriah Jones, walked stealthily behind her, down the ill-lit servant's stairs. From upstairs, the housekeeper's parlor, came the sound of conversation. They should be safe.

Slowly, slowly, they rounded the corner of the staircase to the downstairs hall. Almost out. Almost out of the house.

"Miss Darcy, what I would like to know is what you mean by--"

The housekeeper, who had been waiting in the front all in the dark -- why in the dark? Why waiting? -- had come out just in time to catch Georgiana reaching the last step on the stairs, and now she stood, staring up at Georgiana and the fair, slight young man with a stricken look. "Why!" she said. "Eloping!"

"Eloping!" Georgiana said in shock. "Eloping! No, I have no intention, that is, I'll return... that is..." She shook her head. "I beg you to believe that I am not eloping. Mr. Jones ... I'm merely succoring Mr. Jones who is a friend, or that is an acquaintance, of the late ... of Lord Sevrin."

Looking up at her, as she uttered this disjointed explanation and as the color came and went in waves on her cheeks, the housekeeper looked for the first time hesitant. The mention of Lord Sevrin, and the look of young Mr. Jones, not a patch to that gentleman's cultivated good looks, gave the lie to the idea that this might be an elopement. Still the housekeeper said, "I'm sure, Miss, your companion..."

"Oh, please, Mrs. Roebottom," Georgiana begged. "If we delay, I will not be able to take Mr. Jones where I must take him, and ... and if we don't, he could be put in most grave jeopardy."

Mrs. Roebottom glared, and then the glare softened. For a moment, for just a moment there was something of Mrs. Reynolds in her. She sighed. Then she looked from Georgiana to the young man. "A... like Lord Sevrin, ma'am?" she asked, looking at the young man, who shrunk into the shadows and clung to the wall.

"Like Lord Sevrin," Georgiana said, sounding for the first time assured and also echoing sadly with her longing for her late fiance.

"Well..." the housekeeper said. "Well, I'm sure I wouldn't want anything untoward to happen to the young man. It's just when the second parlor maid told me that you were leaving by the servants' entrance, well! I'm sure it's not what Mr. Darcy would want, either, giving trouble among the servants." And with a creditable return to her former severity she added, "Next time, ma'am, if you would, before doing something so headstrong, tell me and I... I will be of help."

And she stepped aside, opening the door, allowing the two of them out into the night dark street. Georgiana heard the sound of the carriage approaching the corner.

* * * *

It wasn't till they were some distance from Hunsford, on the moonlit road, that the carriage stopped. Joseph, who was riding outside next to the coachman, came around and gave Elizabeth a sealed letter. "The mistress said to give you this when away from prying eyes," he said. "She did not want your friends to see or penetrate the content of her missive." He touched his forelock, then left her. The carriage was soon moving again.

Not sure how much Joseph knew or guessed, but sure of his loyalty, she broke the seal on the letter and read:

Dear Elizabeth,

By now you will have penetrated my deception, or at least suspected it.

If you have not guessed it, though, let me tell you that Jane does not have a fever. I wish it were that simple. Oh, Elizabeth, I don't know how to tell you of it, but I assure you we took all the care we've ever taken in keeping our dear Jane safe in the special room. However, somehow, three days ago she managed to open the secret room and go out into the night.

Dear Elizabeth, we have no idea where your sister might be or what kind of danger she is in. Surely, as you know, we were as careful as ever to put her into the locked room, during her difficult time.

But, oh, Elizabeth, something, possibly some small animal, managed to get through the little ventilation hole at the top of the room adjoining her secret room, which I keep locked. Somehow it managed to open the door and she left during the night. Where Jane might have gone, is anyone's guess.

She's now somewhere in London, alone and undoubtedly frightened. It's been three days and we've done all within our power to recover her. We can only hope that with your special knowledge of your sister, you might yet find her. We shudder to imagine what might befall her in the London streets.

Your fond Aunt,

M. Gardiner.

Elizabeth clutched the letter to her chest, wishing she could change the contents. Erase the words and replace them with something benign. Three days. Jane had been lost in the hell of London for three days. When she had thought Jane ill, Elizabeth had been filled with worry for Jane; now she was devastated. This was almost the worst possible thing that could have happened. All she could think was that she ought to have been there. She had let Jane down.

"Jane, oh Jane," Elizabeth cried, as tears sprang to her eyes. Just then she heard the sound of hooves, frantically chasing the carriage.

* * * *

What a fool he was. He'd come to her a few hours after midnight, seeking to evade anyone who might set watch for him. He'd come with the silly hope she might touch him again. Why did a touch of hers seem worth every risk? He knew he did not have her love, and yet, he could not give her up. So he came to her when he could no longer withstand the power of the moon and the tug of his yearning. He came to her as dragon.

From the air, fortunately yet at a distance, he'd seen the waiting carriage, the house wakened. He'd seen
her
board the carriage and depart. Why? What had happened? This had all the marks of a disaster. An illness at home, perhaps? Her father? Her mother? One of her sisters? He needed to know -- to discover if there was any way he could be of help. Offer her comfort.

He flew back to Rosings as fast as he could, plunged in through the open balcony doors of his room, already changing back to human form as he landed. Picking up his underwear and putting it on, he went across and knocked at the door of the little dressing room, where his servant slept.

"Jennings, wake up man," he said. "I need to go out at once. Get me my green jacket and hunting pants and a clean shirt. Quick, man, hurry."

Seconds later, a sleep-beffudled Jennings stumbled into the room, carrying the pants and a blue jacket. Darcy seized the pants and shirt, pulling them on without Jennings's help, as he handed back the jacket and said, "No. No. The green one." The one Georgiana said highlighted his eyes. Oh, what a fool he was.

Less than two minutes later, fully dressed and shod, he hurried to the stables where he'd sent Jennings ahead to have a groom prepare his horse.

Mounting his horse, he set off in pursuit of the carriage, on the road to London.

* * * *

Elizabeth looked behind the carriage to see Mr. Darcy, in what seemed a desperate pursuit atop a black palfrey.

Mr. Darcy? Chasing her? What could this mean? In her distress and confusion she was without full command of her powers of reason, but wanting to find an explanation that suited her dilemma; she could only think that he'd somehow heard something about Jane from Mr. Bingley. Mr. Bingley was in London. He was a werewolf. Well, a
were-dog
like Jane. Wasn't it true that they all knew each other? Bingley must have sent an express.

She banged on the roof of the carriage. "Stop, stop, Joseph. It's Mr. Darcy."

The man must have heard her because the carriage stopped. Mr. Darcy pulled up near the carriage window and bowed to her, still astride his horse.

"Miss Bennet. I was... that is... I'd gone for a late night... er... walk. I saw you leaving. Is everything quite all right? Is there any way in which I can be of service?"

She shook her head. "I'm very afraid," she said, "that in this calamity no one can be of any help."

"You look very ill. Is this... is your family well..."

"My family..." Elizabeth shook her head. "It is my sister Jane, you see..." She felt a sinking in her heart. He knew nothing after all -- of course, how could he have? She had been foolish to think otherwise. But he needed an explanation. It was the least she could do after he had followed her out into the night in evident concern for her welfare. Not feeling herself equal to explaining the whole to him, particularly in the veiled terms which the nearness of the coachmen would necessitate, she retrieved the letter from her bosom and passed it to him. Would he understand all the implications from it?

Darcy perused the letter quickly, then once again, slower.

He looked at her. "Her time..." he said.

Elizabeth, nodded.

"Like... Mr. Bingley?"

Elizabeth nodded again.

"Good God, how could this happen?"

Elizabeth gestured for him to mind the coachmen, and he choked back what he was about to say and shook his head. His expression became very solemn. He leaned forward, handing the letter back as he spoke softly, his eyes never leaving her face. "Godspeed and good success, Miss Bennet. I fear you've long been desiring my absence."

He then bowed stiffly to her, turned his horse, and spurred it back to his aunt's house at Rosings.

Elizabeth watched him go until his horse had become one with the shadows of the trees and the dark of the night. She barely noticed when the carriage began moving again. He had come and he had gone so quickly it was almost as if she had imagined the whole. She was left feeling strangely bereft. What had she expected? That he would go with her? That he would help? That he would stand by her so she did not have to face such dreadful problems alone?

What did she expect from a man she had but recently rejected? He was probably now congratulating himself upon his escape. He, himself, had told her he wanted a wife for procreation. Why would he want to marry into a family whose blood was as tainted as his own, and thus stand a higher chance of bringing this horror upon his own children?

He would not. Elizabeth feared, very much, that she would never see him again. She couldn't understand why that realization left her feeling so cold and so very lonely.

Chapter Eleven

Elizabeth slept and woke, woke and slept again fitfully, while the wheels of the carriage trundled beneath her along the road to London. Sometimes in her dream it seemed to her she heard great wings overhead, and once, while awake, she twitched the curtain aside and was certain she could see, against the sky, the silhouette of a dragon in full flight.

But she was not a fool and, as they got to London in the cold dispirited light of an overcast dawn, she had to admit that she'd probably dreamed of both the sounds and the shape of the dragon against the sky. And dreaming of it, knowing it wasn't true, made her all the more regretful. He was lost to her, now when she finally understood his true worth. He had no reason to follow her; to fly above her carriage as a fearsome winged escort in the dead of night. She was on her own, and it was up to her, and her alone, to help Jane. Regrets could wait. She had to find her sister.

Joseph helped her from the carriage at her uncle's home, and she had no more than set foot on the bottom stone step of the handsome townhouse than the entrance door opened wide. Mrs. Gardiner stood in the opening, waiting. She received Elizabeth with great affection, but made nothing but the most polite enquiries until -- under cover of taking Elizabeth to her sister, she took her into the room which gave access to the more secret chamber where Jane had been locked. When they were finally alone, she clutched Elizabeth's hands and stared into her eyes, allowing her concern to show on her face.

"You see, Elizabeth," Mrs. Gardiner said. "It would have been impossible for her to have got out on her own. Our security was as good as ever, or so we thought. But we were protecting her from herself -- we never expected someone would attempt to free her."

"Hush, Aunt. Do not fret. I know you did all that was in your power to protect Jane."

"There was some great mischief, and I can only conjecture that something with the power to turn into a very small creature must have found its way into this room. A
were-bat
, perhaps. Or a
were-mouse
."

"Aunt," Elizabeth said, rubbing Mrs. Gardiner's hands in consolation. Calming her aunt was difficult with her own distress rising. She looked at the bare chamber where Jane had spent her nights. There was a small, simple bed and, on the floor, a cushion, where most likely she'd been sleeping. And on the only chair -- in the corner -- lay a piece of embroidery, upon which she'd been working little by little in the evenings, till her urges got too strong and she had changed shape. "Such creatures have never been seen or heard of, or at least have never been recorded in history. Certainly..."

"Oh, I know, but how else can you explain it? How else did she escape from here, but that someone opened that secret door? But no one could have come to the room to open the door because there is only one key to the chamber, and I wear it on a chain about my neck at all times. The only explanation is that someone gained entrance through the too small crack under the window, which we opened barely an inch for ventilation."

Elizabeth sighed. "I have no understanding of it, Aunt," she said. She took off her bonnet and ran her hand through her hair. "And even less do I have a solution. How are we to find her? What has been done to discover her?"

"Everything we could think of," her aunt said. "Your uncle and Joseph have scoured the streets day and night since we found she was gone. We did all we could before we thought to worry you."