The air was still, but a gale-like shriek was climbing. A scarlet presence filled my mind, and I shouted, “Get down!” as a huge shape flashed out of the dark and slammed into the black dragon with a thundering thump. The black dragon tumbled, her tail striking a carriage and spinning it crazily, the horses screaming in their traces while the wheels chattered over the stones.
Fast as a cat, the black dragon was crouched and hissing. Her wings opened and drove wind that forced me to my knees, then rolled me across the ground.
The rushing air settled. I pushed to my feet, a banged knee smarting. The others staggered up. Swaths of the crowd had been flattened like wheat in a storm. They clambered up, exclaiming and sobbing.
The dragons were gone.
Ten minutes later,we waited for Mr. Knightley and Mary to return from the museum building. Harriet and I sat on a stone bench with Mrs. Bennet and Kitty, attended by the two naval officers. A dozen constables were circulating through the clustered onlookers, taking statements and directing coaches. Everywhere I heard the wondering, frightened word “dragon.”
Mr. Knightley emerged from the crowd. “The rest of our party is safe. The Darcys will depart soon, but Mary wishes to stay. She is helping another wyfe who was poisoned with crawler venom. We agreed that this group should proceed to Chathford.” His sweeping hand included Harriet and me. “The sooner the crowd is cleared, the better.”
The officers offered to assist us in finding a carriage. That prompted the rituals that conclude an evening, comforting and ridiculous in the chaotic scene. Once Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Harriet finished thanking the officers, theconversation turned to Chathford House, and Harriet found herself an unexpected authority.
While she described the house in lively detail, Mr. Knightley squatted by me, his forearms on his knees. His neckcloth was missing, and his collar hung open. I stared at my dirtied gloves, not sure which was the greater risk to my sanity and wondering at my calm.
Softly, he said, “Mr. Darcy strongly suggests you stay at Chathford tonight. That creature was interested in you, and Chathford is more secure. Also, the wyverns are injured. Georgiana has soothed them, but I thought you could help.” I shot him a look, and he winced. “I felt I must tell Mr. Darcy what happened at the physic garden.”
That gave Mr. Darcy more reasons to imagine I was his mythic healer. I sighed but nodded. “If we are admitting things, do you know what the Darcys bound?”
“I do,” he said simply.
“Is Yuánchi at Chathford?”
“Mrs. Darcy says no. That is the sole word she spoke in my presence. The crowd’s gossip is of a mad woman stealing the dagger and of rogue draca, but it was the Bingleys’ wyvern that killed that woman. Both the Bingleys and the Darcys are shaken to the quick. There is more to the story, but I could not ask.”
That and the cold air drove a shiver through my body. A moment later, Mr. Knightley wrapped his still-warm coat around my shoulders. I gave him a grateful smile. “We missed our dance.”
He made a dismissive noise, then said earnestly, “You must abandon the inn and stay at Chathford. This is not a time for pride. I will settle the bill in the morning and have your things sent.”
“Pride is not what keeps me from Chathford. But for tonight, I will go.”
“If you will not stay at Chathford, let me arrange other accommodation for you.”
I smiled ruefully. “Would other accommodation be safer?”
“It would not cost you funds you do not have.” Mortified and a little frightened, I stared at the paving stones while he continued, “A musician walks all tiers of life. I notice when Miss Woodhouse forgets her beautiful pelisse on a frosty night.” When I said nothing, he added, “There is neither merit in wealth nor shame in want.”
“I do not require your support,” I said. Emma Woodhouse is rich.
“I know you do not. But you are welcome to my friendship. Now, let us try to find a coach.”
26
RAVING
LIZZY
For an hour,I waited. When Darcy took my elbow, I followed him, docile, until I could wait again.
Where were the pointing fingers? The accusations?
Finally, Darcy assisted Lady Catherine, Georgiana, and me up the stair of our coach, and my daze began to break.
Despite it being the middle of the night, Darcy had found a wagon for hire, and it followed us carrying the wyverns, too hurt to fly. Jane refused to be separated from her golden wyvern, so she and Charles rode with them.
As we clattered through the streets, Lady Catherine was ashen, her jowls sagging as if she had aged a dozen years. Somehow, her ostrich feather still floated above her head. I watched it sway with our motion. It was better than meeting anyone’s eyes.
“The wyverns will recover,” Georgiana said. “I saw worse injuries when the army tried to apply draca in war. Draca are immensely tough.”
