Page 97 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
“Not a Pemberley man, then. I taught them to search in pairs. Where?”
I opened my eyes and pointed. It was black forest, the same as anywhere else.
“Downstairs, quickly,” Mr. Rabb said. We ran down the curved staircase to the lit hallway below.
He stopped by a window. “Can your tyke see here, even with the candles?”
I closed my eyes. We were closer now. The man was leaning against a tree. The horses’ breaths were warm puffs that dissipated like steam in the night.
“Yes. He is just waiting. With three horses.”
“Waiting for his two companions,” Mr. Rabb said with some relish. “I think I shall reclaim my master’s books.” I opened my eyes to see him squinting into the dark.
“Should we not call for your footmen?” I said.
“A man with a horse can be gone in a moment.”
“I think you are foolish.”
“I survived fighting the American rebels in ’79. I wasn’t much older than you. That taught me a few things.” His weathered cheeks creased in a grin. “A man hearing alarms is frightened, and frightened men shoot poorly in the dark. Mind that you ladies stay here. The master will run me through if you get a scratch on you.”
He touched his hat gallantly, then ran down the hall and eased out the door, a silent shadow that vanished into the woods.
I closed my eyes and saw him again, a warm silhouette advancing toward the waiting man.
Miss Darcy’s hand squeezed my arm, and I put my fingers on hers. “Can you see?” she asked.
“Yes, but it frightens me,” I said. “He is mad. He is walking straight to him.”
The waiting man’s arm stretched, waving a pistol toward Mr. Rabb. The gamekeeper walked faster, turning sideways and weaving, his feet crossing as smoothly as a dance.
Twenty steps apart, the pistol fired, brilliant and hot. I heard the shot, muted through the glass. A horse reared, and the man turned to control it. Mr. Rabb advanced within a few steps and fired. The man fell.
“He has done it,” I gasped. “He is safe.”
The tyke twisted violently in my arms. Hissed. I pressed him to look where Mr. Rabb knelt by the fallen man.
Mr. Rabb lifted a hanging shape. The canvas bag of books.
A writhing, cool mass with dozens of legs poured down the tree above him, burying him in coiling frenzy.
“No!” I screamed. The vision vanished as the tyke forced himself from my arms and scrambled away.
In the darkness, a pistol flashed in the woods.
“What has happened?” asked Miss Darcy.
I ran to the door and threw it open, but I stood, frightened by the blackness beyond the trees. Hiding in that dark was a monstrous foul crawler like the one that killed Denny.
Shouting men were running across the lawn carrying lanterns and torches, pointing where the shots had flashed. Mr. Darcy was with them. I should show them where to look, but my feet were rooted to the step. The memories of that awful day by Meryton were vivid as life. I smelled bitter almond. I saw Denny’s bloodied face. I felt his body go still under my hands.
Like a coward, I closed my eyes and sought the tyke’s vision instead.
Two figures stood with two horses, deep in the trees. Different horses. A different place. I was not sure where the tyke had gone.
One figure was a man. The other was… shrouded in dark. Rank with corruption. Some strange sense detected it—the dark was not truly visible. The tyke’s fear prickled my skin.
The man helped the dark figure mount a horse. No, helped thewomanmount. I saw skirts. The man lifted her from her waist, the way a lover might steal a touch. She settled in the saddle, tall for a woman, and adjusted her bonnet. That gesture was oddly familiar.
