Page 84 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
“If you… I understand if you prefer not to accompany us,” he said. “We shall return promptly.”
A ridiculous, desperate idea occurred to me.
“I would enjoy a tour,” I said. I rotated, considering the many exquisite options. Down through the gardens. Up toward the woods. “Which way?” He nodded to the gardens, and, without a glance back, I shot past him at a pace my aunt could not hope to match.
After a surprised pause, there was a flurry of steps. He caught up beside me.
We whooshed up a charming stone bridge that crossed the stream.
“In 1765, my grandfather visited a unique bridge…” began Mr. Darcy. And ended, as I raced down the far side without breaking stride.
Next, the path followed an elegant S through fractured black rock that sparkled with silver crystals. Stony edges sketched skeletal ridges sunken in ivy and moss. They seemed scattered at first, then hinted at musculature and limbs lost beneath waves. Morning glory trumpets spread like foam.
I realized the rocks sculpted a breathtaking, submerged draca, the twining neck completed by charcoal gravel on the S of the path, as we virtually ran from the far side.
“That was a garden,” noted Mr. Darcy in a dry tone.
There was a grassy clearing ahead. I made for it at full speed then stopped in the center.
Mr. Darcy arrived, puffing. My aunt and uncle were nowhere in sight.
“I am here on an urgent errand,” I said before I lost my nerve. The wondering look returned to his eyes. “You showed great trust in your communication to me. I must return that by sharing a most private topic, some of which is unknown even to my aunt and uncle.” I filled my lungs. “You may recall that my sister Jane was gravely ill at Netherfield.”
“Of course. I was most concerned for her.”
“She had been stung by a foul crawler.” Horror crossed his features, then puzzlement. Because she had not died. “Jane survived because I treated her withraw draca blood, taken willingly from the Hursts’ bound draca.” His eyes widened. “But I was unaware of a risk from treatment. An unbound wyfe, in love, must bind once she is treated with draca blood. My sister was in love, you see.” My eyes were beginning to tear, but I forced myself forward. “Because she has not bound, she has fallen ill. It is a form of binding sickness. Due to my intervention.”
Mr. Darcy was bent forward with shock. I saw his expression change as he understood all this implied.
I dashed a hand over my eyes, angry to appear weak. “Will yousaysomething?”
“Even before you told me this,” he said, “I have thought constantly of your feelings on my intervention between your sister and Bingley. I have dwelled endlessly upon my actions.”
“I do not admonish, sir,” I said tightly. “I have spoken from urgent necessity, not for any personal reason.”
He straightened. There was a nod. “Of course.”
“I am in no position to require your help, but, from your sense of decency, I hoped you would share your knowledge of this ailment, and how to treat it.”
“May I ask her symptoms?”
“She is… at first, she was increasingly reserved, then… then she…” A barrier broke, and words flooded out. “She eats only under duress. She is wasting away. Her awareness of reality is sundered. She lives in fantasy, other than speaking of the man she lost. She barely knows even me.” My voice broke at the end.
Mr. Darcy took several harsh strides over the grass, then back, as if desperate to move.
“I have never heard of this cause for the illness,” he said, “or even that draca blood can treat crawler poisoning. However, the symptoms you describe are binding sickness. From my reckoning of the date, the progression is slower for your sister than is usual. I can only speculate why. Perhaps because she needs to bind, rather than having had her binding broken, it is less severe.”
Hope grew in my heart. “You mentioned Pemberley has a collection of writing on draca.”
“You are, of course, welcome to use the library. I caution you that I have studied the contents, and there is no mention of this form of the malady.”
“Still, I will try.”
He nodded.
I braced myself for my next request. This, I feared, would be rejected. “I have wondered if Mr. Bingley would wish to be notified of Jane’s condition.”
There was no hesitation. “I am sure he would. With your permission, I shall write to him.”
