Page 20 of Scales and Sensibility
“When Bonaparte was bravely defeated by our armies, you mean,” said Mr. Hawkins, with more resignation than hope.
Elinor moistened her lips. “But you must have seen a number of adult dragons yourself in the past few years, Mr. Aubrey, since they were first imported to England.”
“Oh, yes. Ladies’pets.” Mr. Aubrey’s voice held the same note of disdain with which Sir John had uttered the earlier word “scholars.”
“Ahem.” Mr. Hawkins looked pointedly from his friend to Elinor and back again. When Aubrey didn’t react, he said, “Mrs. De Lacey herself—”
“Oh, I know, all the ladies who follow fashion must have them, andwe’reall meant to be grateful just because they pay to bring dragons here for study. But, Hawkins, even you can hardly claim that the true pinnacle of dragonhood comes from riding about on a lady’s shoulder at a ball. Of course they’re hardlymagical, as some fools in history thought, haha...”
“Ha,” Elinor repeated faintly. “Ha?”
“…But when you think of the size they must once have been, before the larger ones were hunted to extinction—when you think of the mark that they made upon history and legend…well!” He sat back in his seat and shrugged. “One can hardly look at such a degradation with any pleasure.”
Sir Jessamyn let out a cheep of protest as Aubrey’s petting hand retreated. The scholar nodded to him courteously in response. “Not that I blame the dragons, of course.”
“Of course.” Mr. Hawkins rolled his eyes.
“But Mr. Aubrey,” Elinor persisted, “those facial markings—”
“And I still fail to understand what could possibly be essential about my presence at Hathergill Hall!” Aubrey scowled at Mr. Hawkins. “My colleague isexpectingme in Wales, you know. Heclaimshe’s made some very interesting discoveries related to the work of a local dragon breeder. It’s all nonsense, of course—his theories are impossible—but who is to convince him of his foolishness if not for me?”
“And you will,” said Mr. Hawkins. “Only wait a single week, for my sake, please.”
“A week!” Aubrey sighed dolefully. “And what exactly am I to do during this week? Sir John may have a vast quantity of dragon scholarship in his library, as you say, if he is a great reader…”
Elinor let out a strangled cough.
Mr. Hawkins winced. “I only said that hemight, not that he definitely would. But the point is, old chap, Sir John wouldn’t hear of refusal. If you don’t come, I can’t either, and…” He slid a wary glance at Elinor. “…Well, you know why this visit matters to me.”
Mr. Aubrey banished discretion with an impatient wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, pretty girl, large dowry, salvation, I remember.” Beside him, Mr. Hawkins closed his eyes with a look of pain, but Aubrey took no notice as he lifted a sheaf of papers and shook them in the air. “Of course I want the best in the world for you, man, but what of my own work? How am I supposed to accomplishthatat Hathergill Hall?”
“Surely a scholar can work anywhere,” Elinor said, taking pity on both of them. “Isn’t most of the work you do that of the mind, sir?”
“Well…” He shrugged irritably. “I suppose so. But those dragons in Wales—”
“I have several questions about my own dragon, actually.” This time, Elinor was the one who aimed a wary glance across the carriage. “He’s been displaying some…ah, some decidedpeculiaritiesrelated to those facial markings, and—”
“Indeed?” Aubrey’s face brightened. “What sort of peculiarities have you noted? In detail, if you please.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Hawkins. “Do tell us, Mrs. De Lacey. Please.”
She smiled weakly. “You could hardly be interested, sir. Perhaps later, when Mr. Aubrey has a moment for a private consultation—”
“Oh, nonsense.” For the first time since they’d met, Aubrey set down his papers and firmly pushed aside the book he had been reading. He even gave Elinor a sickly-looking smile—his best attempt at ingratiation, she supposed—as he added, “Hawkins is far less ignorant about dragons than most laymen, I assure you.”
“It’s true.” Mr. Hawkins gave Elinor a rueful smile. “Trust me, after so many years of friendship, it’s impossible to avoidsomeknowledge of the species.”
“He won’t cause us any trouble with stupid questions,” Aubrey said briskly. “I have him well-trained. So, Mrs. De Lacey! Exactly which peculiarities have you observed? And exactly when did they begin?”
“Ah...” Elinor looked from one expectant face to the other. “I really think it would be better if—”
A rap at the glass window cut off her words—and made her realize for the first time that the carriage had rolled to a stop.
These windows might not open, but Sir John’s bellow, trained on hundreds of hunting fields, was more than capable of reaching through a mere layer of clear glass.
“Mrs. De Lacey!” He waved expansively. “My humble home! At your service!”
Hathergill Hall spread before them: expansive, grey, and only too nauseatingly familiar. Elinor’s stomach plunged at the sight.
