A Touch of Night (13 page)

* * * *

He should never have flown to London. It was folly, the sheerest folly, exposing himself in such a manner to all the world. Anyone looking at the sky could have seen the dragon. And anyone who saw the dragon would know to call the RWH. If there were beasts that elicited the kinder emotions of men, or doubt as to their dangerousness, the dragon was not one of them.

But to follow upon horse would have taken too long. And besides, Darcy had given in to his deepest desires. He could no longer reason logically. He -- who so often exhorted Charles to control his baser
were
-instincts -- could now do no more than follow his instinct and his most foolish impulses.

But even in foolishness he was cautious. Before changing to his dragon form, he took his horse back to the stables and gave him to the care of a sleepy stable boy. Then he went up to his room, taking heed to listen and make certain his servant had gone back to sleep. Getting a bag from his wardrobe -- a satchel-like sack with a long carrying strap -- Darcy undressed and put into it all his clothes, as well as enough money to see him through, should he need to change shapes in a strange place. He wrapped the strap loosely around his wrist. Then he went to the balcony and jumped, shifting as he did, and spread his wings towards London.

Propelling himself through the night air with powerful strokes, it didn't take long for him to catch up with the travelers. On the road beneath, he could see Elizabeth's carriage, slowly making its way to the city. He wished he could be in the carriage with her, offering what consolation was in his power. But most of all, he wanted to put his arms around her and press her to him, stroke her cheek, kiss away her tears. These were strange thoughts to be coursing through the dragon's mind, but he did not care. All that concerned him now was her safety and her happiness.

Thoughts of Jane and Bingley haunted his mind too. What a fool he'd been to keep Jane and Bingley apart. It didn't make him feel any better that Elizabeth, too, had thought they should be kept apart, that she had no idea that Bingley was a
were-dog
, just as he had never suspected Jane suffered from the same affliction nor guessed they were perfect for each other.

He flew in time with the carriage for a few miles, relishing the knowledge that Elizabeth was below him, and he could protect her from any danger the night may afford. He resisted his desire to fly low, to look in through the windows for a glimpse of her face, her eyes. He knew flying to her would do nothing but increase her distress. And he knew that as much as he wanted to fly above her carriage as escort the entire way, time was of the essence.

Instead, he circled above the carriage one last time, then strengthening the strokes of his muscular wings, set off for London to an area he'd used before, where the blind backs of three buildings formed a sheltered area to land in. The cobbled yard in between was strewn with old furniture and broken prams and other discards of city living -- the kind that accumulate in any hidden space. He landed carefully, avoiding the debris with his taloned feet. As he landed, he willed his human mind to take over the beast, and no sooner had talons scraped cobbles and that it was bare toes searching for purchase as the force of his landing threw him off balance.

Darcy quickly unwound the satchel from his wrist, and in the shadow of a decrepit armoire he dressed himself as best he could. He knew his neck cloth would not pass scrutiny in daylight, but dawn was not yet upon him, and if seen in the still-dark streets, he would be indistinguishable from any other gentleman who had imbibed a little more than was good for him.

Though the landing place was in a less than savory locale, it was a short walk to the Darcy townhouse. In the east, a delicate rose streaked the London skyline as Darcy banged upon his own door. If his butler was surprised to see him unannounced at such an early hour and with no visible means of transportation, he did not show it.

Darcy went up to his study and rifled through his desk drawers. He didn't know what, exactly, he was looking for, but he had to engage in some pursuit until he could safely call upon Bingley.

* * * *

If Caroline Bingley was surprised as her footman showed Darcy into her drawing room, she didn't show it. Instead, she rose from her chair eagerly.

"Mr. Darcy," she said. "So kind of you to come. Indeed, I expected nothing else of your kindness and care for us."

Her greeting momentarily confused Darcy. What kindness was it that he was performing? His visits to his friend were natural, commonplace occurrences. When they were both in town they were always in each other's company. But Miss Bingley left him no time for further conjecture, so eager was she to show her appreciation of his beneficence.

"Tell me what news you have of my brother. How like him to leave without word -- he has no consideration for a sister's feelings at all. But I knew I could rely upon you -- a friend is always in the know."

"Bingley is not at home?"

"Mr. Darcy! You are funning me, to be sure. Why else can you have come than to set my mind at rest? Is it the races at Newcastle? Or has he driven his curricle to Harrogate on some obnoxious dare? The larks young men get up to these days!"

"How long has your brother been gone?"

"These two days at the very least," cried Caroline. "I attended a soiree at Lady Jersey's as the guest of my new friend Elizabeth Elliot, so I had no need of his escort. He said something about going to White's. I have not seen him since."

First Miss Bennet was missing and now Bingley! Darcy could not but believe there was some sort of connection, but he saw no purpose in sharing his concerns with Miss Bingley. Though he abhorred deceit, he believed that the kindest thing to do, at this juncture, was to set her mind at ease until he knew there was truly a need for her to worry.

"If he went to White's, then no doubt it is as you say," said Darcy. "He must have become embroiled in a rash bet that involved a challenge."

"You do not know? I was sure he would have done nothing, however hare-brained, without your approval."

"Madam," said Darcy severely. "I am not your brother's keeper. He has the ability to follow his own judgment. Besides, I have been in Kent and only just returned to town."

Caroline simpered. "And your first thought was to visit me."

"I came looking for your brother -- but I will now go to White's. I will send a note when I discover his whereabouts, but in all probability he will walk through the door before long."

"You are too good," she said as he took his leave.

Darcy walked down the steps and hailed a hackney. If Bingley were missing and Miss Bennet were missing, could it be that they were together somewhere, or had they both been discovered in their changed forms and reported to the RWH? That thought was frightening to consider, but it was a fear that hovered constantly in the back of every lycanthrope's mind. But if any
weres
had been caught recently, rumor would be rife. He directed the driver to take him to White's and then leaned back in the seat. If the RWH had captured any
were-creatures
, the denizens of the men's club would know of it first.

At the club Darcy sat at his usual table and ordered a brandy. He sipped it as he discreetly listened to the conversations around him. He overheard nothing but the usual bored social banter. Some acquaintances approached him and exchanged greetings. All he was able to ascertain was that Bingley had not been seen at the club for over a week. He finished his drink and left.

All day Darcy walked the less reputable streets of London, stopping at the inns and public houses that he passed along the way. Trying not to draw too much attention to himself, he searched the hazy rooms with his intent gaze and listened to the general hubbub with the appearance of disinterest. Occasionally he asked a question of the tapster or a barmaid.

He returned to his townhouse late in the night, weary and dejected. The only thing he knew for certain was that if either Bingley or Miss Bennet had been captured by the RWH, it was being kept a supreme secret. He gave himself up to the ministrations of his manservant, and then sat for some time before his fire in his bed attire. He was no closer to knowing the whereabouts of Miss Bennet or his friend. He felt he was failing them. But most of all, he felt he was failing Elizabeth. He remembered the look of despair upon her face when she gave him the letter that told of her sister's disappearance. He had to erase that pain. He could not fail her.

* * * *

Elizabeth gazed out the drawing room window upon Gracechurch Street. It had been a long and fruitless day. The lamplighter was going up the street, lighting all the lamps as the sky darkened to indigo. Jane was somewhere out there, lost and alone. Or captured by the Royal
Were
-Hunters. Her uncle insisted it was not the case. He said that if anyone had been caught, the news would be on the street, but Elizabeth could not help but let her worst fears haunt her.

She felt completely useless. Since her arrival in the morning, she had done little more than talk with her aunt and uncle, go out for a walk with her aunt through a very respectable neighborhood, and play dispiritedly with her cousins.

All the time she tried to solve the puzzle of where Jane might be. Of why she did not return to Gracechurch Street when the morning light had dawned and the moon no longer had its hold upon her. Of who it was that had let her out of her room. Who could have known she was in there? The room, along with Jane's shifting affliction, was a deeply held secret. But what was more worrying than even that was the idea of a
were-creature
so small it could squeeze through a crack in a casement and release Jane while she was under the influence of the moon. And to what purpose?

The thoughts raced back and forth in her head, but she could make no sense of anything at all. The only thing she knew was that her sweet Jane, whom she had vowed to protect with her life, was gone, and she was doing nothing to get her back. It was insupportable!

Elizabeth was certain she would not be able to sleep, no -- she would not be able to live with herself, if she did not do something. She stood and tiptoed out of the room. Her uncle was still in his study. Her aunt was in the nursery putting the children to bed. Elizabeth retrieved her pelisse and bonnet from the cloakroom and then went out to the foyer. She tried the front door. The bolt had not yet been shot for the night and it opened smoothly and quietly. She slipped out into the dimly lit street. She had no idea where she was going to go to search for Jane, but at least she was doing something.

* * * *

There no longer were lights on the streets Elizabeth was walking. All that lit her way was the silver light from the risen moon, and the flickering glow that seeped from un-curtained windows. She didn't know how long she had been wandering up and down the streets, leaning close to the walls of buildings when people passed by in the hopes of making herself invisible. She had been lucky. There had been a few leers, but no one had accosted her.

Elizabeth didn't know what good she was doing, going from one dark street to the next, or how in the world she was going to help Jane by doing so. But there was one thing she knew for certain. She was totally and undeniably lost.

And as she trudged along she attempted to keep her mind on Jane, trying to guess at where she would go in her changed form in a city such as this. At Longbourn there were fields to run in - pastures, meadows, lanes. Here there was nothing but cobbles and hulking, shadowy buildings rising up. Narrow, winding streets, intersected with darker alleyways. Horses pulling laden carts up and down the roads and skinny dogs slinking in the shadows.

And then Elizabeth had it -- there were parks in the city too. Huge expanses of lawn and trees and flowerbeds. If Jane were running loose in London in her dog form, would she not prefer Hyde or Green Park to the grimy streets?

Elizabeth needed to find a park, but she had no idea how to get to one of the larger ones, even from Gracechurch Street. Lost as she was she had even less hope of discovering one. And on no account would she approach anybody to ask her way until she found herself in a more respectable district.

As she turned down one street and up the next, Elizabeth found it difficult to keep her mind from straying to thoughts of Mr. Darcy. If only he were with her. Just his presence would build up the courage that was failing her, The fear that had her cowering right against the buildings, where she found safety in the deeper darkness. Mr. Darcy with his vivid green eyes, and his gleaming gold scales. Thoughts of the man and the dragon mingled in her mind confusedly.

* * * *

Darcy gave up trying to sleep. There was a moon outside taunting him, and although he knew he could withstand its pull he also knew that either Miss Bennet or Bingley could be caught in its sway, roaming the streets of London in changed form, easy prey to the RWH who patrolled the city more than any other place in the country.

He dressed and went out the front door without alerting his servants. He walked along side streets until he came to the bank of the Thames. The moon shone down upon the river, magnifying its glow. He felt a surge in his body that he had to control. He turned from the river and made his way down a maze of narrow lanes and cavernous closes. He didn't know what it was, but something was drawing him. Something that had more power on him than even the moon.

Darcy felt the tension increase and he picked up speed, almost running through the dark, deserted streets. He heard muted noises that sharpened to the sounds of growls and barking as he turned into an alley a little wider than those he had just passed through. The moon was streaming down upon a pack of wild dogs. These were not the meek, scabby curs that slunk behind market stalls, but true hunters. And they had their prey at bay, trapped against a stone wall that blocked off the alley.

The prey were two dogs -- one that Darcy knew very well by sight, the other a dog that had once been described to him by his friend upon their first coming to Hertfordshire. Bingley and Miss Bennet in their
were
forms! Bingley was standing a little ahead of Miss Bennet, his hackles raised, snarling fiercely. She was bravely facing the pack too, her teeth bared.

Darcy looked about for something -- a stone or a stick to throw at the pack of wild dogs, to distract them, when suddenly, from a darkened archway there came a startled gasp. The pack of dogs turned their heads as one.

"Jane!" cried Elizabeth, stepping out from the shadows. The dogs shifted in her direction.

"No! Get back!" yelled Darcy.

Elizabeth stared across the alleyway at Darcy. The moon held her in its embrace and he could see the look in her eyes. It was something more powerful that fear.

"Get Jane out of here!" she cried, as the dogs rushed towards her, snarling and yapping like a pack that knows its fox is cornered.

Darcy felt as if his head were exploding. He heard his clothes rip and fire rippled through his veins.

"Elizabeth!"

It started as a scream, and ended in a roar as his huge dragon wings unfurled and he lunged forward.