Page 136 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
Gently—affectionately—she placed the crawler on the shoulder of her dress. It ran down her sleeve then along her bare forearm, rows of legs rising and falling. It stopped on the back of her hand, inches from my bare neck.
“I could make it sting you,” she said.
The tail flipped up and over its head. Two sharp points thrust out like curved needles, and an oily drop formed on each point. My nostrils filled with a vile odor. Sour orange and bitter almond.
“Stung in your neck, you would die in minutes,” she said. “Or in your breast, near your heart. That would be more painful, but still quick.”
“We are sisters.” I could not believe the monstrous things she was saying. I did not believe this was my sister.
She flipped her hand, catching the crawler so the tail and stingers protruded from her fingers. She thrust out her tongue and dragged the needle-like stingers across it, leaving twin oily trails that discolored to steaming black. Her tongue curled into her mouth, and her lips worked rapturously. Her eyelids fluttered closed. Her shoulders shuddered.
“I do notwishto do it,” she whispered. Her eyes opened. The pupils swelled, swallowing blue into hollow black. “It is only if one of these women binds. So, sister, do your draca trick. Prevent them from binding. Because if one of those light-skirts binds a wyvern—or anything at all—I will take her draca, then kill her and everyone else.”
46
UNEXPECTED ALLIES
What doyou do when your sister is mad?
There had been an editorial in theTimeson the treatment of mad people. They applauded the regular inspection of madhouses required by the Lunacy Act, but they criticized current medical treatment. Rest and care at home were preferred.
Perhaps we could fix up a room at Longbourn. Or wait until her coronation. Presumably, Napoleon had spare rooms.
My laugh cracked. Maybe I was mad, too.
“He is very bad at it,” Lydia said, misunderstanding what amused me. She had returned her pet crawler to her reticule and was watching the French weddings. The priest was stumbling over the Gaelic text in the binding-of-gold.
The couples had no green wyves or husbands behind them. Did that matter? Maybe that was a Hertfordshire tradition. Otherwise, they seemed knowledgeable about the Church of England’s ceremony. It was hardly a state secret.
I was supposed to be using my draca tricks to prevent them from binding. And to ensure theydidbind. Lydia and Wickham had demanded opposite outcomes.
I laughed again. Could this be any more insane?
With everyone watching the weddings, I turned, examining the trees and the distant hills. I was certain Mr. Darcy was out there. Had he seen us? Wewere not subtle, with dozens of men, three gowned brides, and three chests of gold. Mr. Darcy would know the grounds of his estate from hunting. That was an advantage, even if he was pursued by soldiers.
It was strange they had not captured him when they arrived. Even if Wickham had knocked at the door with a dozen soldiers, I was sure Mr. Darcy would meet them. The assumption of gentlemanly behavior and rule-of-law was too natural. Rather like when I confronted the crowd outside Longbourn. In hindsight, that was rather foolish.
I eyed Lydia. Even sane, my youngest sister was notoriously bad at keeping secrets. “What happened to Mr. Darcy?”
“Wickie was angry over that.” Lydia smiled, amused. “He sent Mr. Darcy to be locked in the wine cellar. The guards did not come back, so Wickie went to look and found them dead.” Her smile widened. Impressed. “Threemen, killed. All the servants were gone as well. They had been in the wine cellar.”
I remembered Mr. Darcy taking a Frenchman’s sword. When he killed that man, he had sworn never to freeze again. But overcoming three men seemed impossible.
More important was their escape. Pemberley House was lightly staffed, but a manor that size required at least a dozen servants. If they had all escaped knowing that Pemberley was overrun, it was a matter of time until word reached the authorities. My best strategy was to be patient and wait for rescue.
But I was not the only one who needed rescue.
“Wickham has done something to you,” I said. “Infected you. Poisoned you.”
Lydia’s gaze did not leave the weddings. “Poor Lizzie misses her Wickham. Is he not more handsome now he is frightened? We pretend brave men are handsome, but I know better.”
“It is not Wickham I care about. It is my sister.”
Her head turned to me, listing at a disquieting angle. “He thought I was a little girl he could tempt with sweets and frighten with scary old books. But I always liked whispering to crawlers. The books just told why. Then Wickie brought a crawler to scare me, and Itastedit. Oh, Lizzie, how he shouted! I have such tricks.”
Scattered cheers erupted, and she turned away, leaving me unsettled.
The weddings were done. All three women—wives, now—hugged their husbands. Andkissedthem, in full view of everyone. How shocking. Of course, they were French.
