Page 46 of Dragons of the Great Wyves: Fire and Song
Elizabeth’s sister Kitty emerged. She passed her mother on the path and gaped blankly up at Yuánchi, who swung his sightless head around until his muzzle was a few feet from her. “Goodness,” she exclaimed. “I was starting to think I dreamed I met him. But his poor eyes! And why is he turning black?”
“Kitty!” Mrs. Bennet scolded from the doorway. “Stop gawking and bring Lizzy this moment.”
“Yes, Mamma,” she replied, then frowned at her sister. “It is good to see you. I never believed you were dead. But gracious, you lookdreadful.”
The women milled in the Bennets’parlor. I stood by the front window, one hand resting on the back of the same straight chair in which I once sat, watching sparkling Miss Bennet and cursing my inability to master any rudiment of social grace.
For a modest country household, an impressive crowd had gathered. Elizabeth was visible in fleeting snatches. Occasional exclamations penetrated the din: “Why wearMary’shorrid clothes?” “Madam, your mother is insisting on a bath.” “You can take one of my bonnets. You are very nearly freckled!”
A housemaid arrived at my elbow, blushing furiously and explaining that Mrs. Bennet wished my coat ironed, but I remembered the promise I made to Elizabeth when we landed. I declined and edged through the swirling thicket of skirts until, at a loss how else to intervene, I caught Elizabeth’s fingers. She turned, and we faced each other in the center of a suddenly silent crowd, like a couple frozen mid-dance at a crowded ball.
“Is this too much?” I asked.
“It is so many… I had hoped to see—” Some unseen signal snapped her attention to the front door. It opened, and, dressed in buttercup yellow, Jane Bingley stepped in to behold her dearest sister. They each took a step, then ran to embrace. Tears dampened Elizabeth’s cheeks, and I relaxed.
“Hush, everyone!” Mrs. Bennet said in a penetrating whisper, although nobody was saying a word. “Give the girls a minute.”
Another woman, an older servant whom I had seen somewhere before, stepped carefully over the threshold. She held a sleeping baby—the Bingleys’ daughter, I thought. I met her when she was a few weeks old,but I had no knack for distinguishing infants. The woman craned her neck to look back through the open door and announced in a Scottish brogue, “?The scarlet dragon is turnin’ black as the earl of hell’s waistcoat!”
Mrs. Bennet’s restraint failed, and she rushed to her daughters, launching frilly chaos.
The servant turned to watch the sisters’ reunion, her red cheeks rounded by a happy smile. Hearing her accent helped my memory: she was a washerwoman who served at both Netherfield and Longbourn. More than that, she had provided draca lore to Elizabeth that saved Jane’s life.
I eased around the perimeter and greeted her. “Mrs. Bruichladdich.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, flustered to find a gentleman bowing. She curtsied, child and all.
“Is that Jemma?”
“Aye, sir. Isn’t she a wee darlin’? Mrs. Bingley felt her sister coming—through her wyvern, ye ken—so we came galloping here in the carriage.”
“My wyfe spoke very fondly and favorably of you,” I said.
The washerwoman met my gaze for the first time, her old eyes pleased. “Your wyfe is a grand lassie.” She looked at Lizzy among the bustle of women. “Banrigh nan Dràgon. ’Tis like being in an old song, except for her being English of all things… your pardon, sir. I mean na’ offence. ’Tis only that everyone knows the great wyves were Scottish.”
Her Gaelic reminded me of late nights with Rabb, the Pemberley gamekeeper murdered by the Wickhams. He had regaled me with Scottish history over tumblers of peat-steeped whiskey.Banrigh nan Dràgonwas their name for a great wyfe.
“My gamekeeper told me of the Scottish great wyves,” I said. “Repeatedly, in fact.” She watched me uncertainly—England had a poor record of respect for Scottish heritage—so I added, “It is history worthy of pride.”
“Aye.” Her toothy grin returned. “A Scot carries their fair share of pride. Your wyfe springs of Scotland, if ye ken. The Bennets at least, far back.”
“I have heard that also. I am privileged by association.”
“Och, you’re a good lad.” She frowned and pinched my wrinkled cuff. “Were ye rollin’ in a puddle?”
It seemed unwise to tell a professional laundress I had attempted to wash my own clothes. “A mishap at a brook.” She eyed my collar skeptically.
“Darcy!” a man’s voice exclaimed, and Charles Bingley strode in dressed forbird hunting. He thumped me on the back. “I saw the dragon flying…” He spotted Elizabeth. “Itisher!”
He dragged me into an embrace, pounding me even harder. His unreserved happiness broke some restraint of my own, and tears stung my eyes. The long days of pursuit and the strangeness once I found Elizabeth had made me neglect my miraculous luck.
“You are a good friend, Charles,” I managed between thumps.
Charles pushed me back and gripped my forearms. “Mary wrote us a letter. Only a few lines. It was as short as one of mine! She said Lizzy returned and flew away, and you chased after her like the romantic fool you are!”
“I suppose,” I said with a rueful grin.
The ladies’ reunion had calmed, and Kitty announced, “Let us help Lizzy dress.” She, Jane, and a housemaid tugged Elizabeth away and upstairs. Elizabeth looked back, her glance meeting mine before she disappeared. The ease from her reunion with Jane was gone; she looked anxious.
