Page 98 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
The man mounted the other horse and swung a dangling shape over his shoulder. The bag of books.
They rode away together. The tyke turned, picking through brush and trunks illuminated by violet light, seeking me, his side aching.
36
THE DARKNESS OF PEMBERLEY
“Elizabeth, dear.”Aunt Gardiner touched my shoulder. “Can you wake?”
I blinked at the covers of the inn’s bed. Bright sunlight streamed through the window.
I had been delivered back to the inn after midnight by coach, the tykeworm curled on my lap and a shaken Mrs. Reynolds seated across from me. Four armed footmen rode outside.
Mrs. Reynolds’s explanation to the Gardiners was muddled in my memory.
“How is Mr. Rabb?” I asked. My head ached.
My aunt bit her lip. “Mr. Darcy is here. He hopes to speak with you. He will wait while you dress, if you are well enough.”
I sat up, hair hanging in a confused mess. “Yes. I will be down shortly.”
My aunt touched my chin, turning my face toward her. The memory of Mr. Darcy touching my cheek returned.
“Oh dear,” she said, lips pursed in concern.
“Is it bad?”
“You look like you fell off a horse.”
“How delightful.” I sighed. “Well, I do not like to ride, so this spares me the trouble of falling off a real horse.”
I expected a smile, but my aunt only kissed my forehead and left.
I found my looking glass. Impressive. My cheek was a remarkable purple, and my lip cracked and swollen.
But I was alive. A bruise was nothing. How was Mr. Rabb?
I threw on a petticoat and traveling dress, and twisted my hair into a scrambled tangle that could be pinned. Then I joined my aunt, uncle, and Mr. Darcy in the inn’s small parlor.
Mr. Darcy rose when I entered, his eyes widening.
“I am well,” I said, anticipating his question. “It is only a bruise. How is Mr. Rabb?”
Stillness spread before he spoke. “Mr. Rabb died last night. I told you then. You were very affected.”
I sank into a chair, the morning sunbeams swimming behind tears. A murky memory of crying before returned, and of Mr. Darcy’s pained, grieving face. “I remember. I am sorry to ask you again.” I sat until I could speak again. “Did you kill the monster?”
“Whoever shot him escaped.” Mr. Darcy had chosen a chair a respectable distance from me. My aunt and uncle were in the farthest two seats.
“Shothim?” I said. “He was attacked by a foul crawler.”
Mr. Darcy straightened in his chair. “He died from a gunshot. But there were other injuries. You did not say this last night.”
I wet my lips, and my cracked lip twinged. “I was not myself last night.”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “We saw no sign of such a creature, so it must have fled. I will not keep you from your recovery. I wished to be sure you were well, and to deliver this.” He held out a small brown-glass bottle. A folded paper was tied to the neck. “This is the medicine, the extract of rowan flowers. It should slow the progression of disease in your sister. My apothecary wrote instructions. Each dose is small, so this will last six weeks.”
“This is miraculous. I cannot sufficiently express our gratitude.” I turned the bottle in my hand, watching the white surface tip. I drew a breath to ask how to get more, then let it out. He had been so generous that I feared I knew the answer. That six weeks was more than enough.
