Then a thin, pitiful cry rose from the hedgerow.
Elizabeth’s head snapped up. “Pippin.”
Apollo pricked his ears and started in the direction of the sound, barking low and insistently. Elizabeth followed, her heart pounding. Behind a clump of leafless hawthorn, she found the little spaniel caught fast in a rabbit snare. The wire had cut into her hind leg; the white fur was matted with a trace of blood.
“Oh, Pippin!” Elizabeth cried, dropping to her knees. “My poor darling, what have they done to you?” She reached carefully to untwist the cruel wire. “Easy, sweetheart, easy. You are safe now.”
The dog whimpered softly, licking her fingers as she worked the snare loose. When the last loop fell away, Pippin collapsed into her arms, trembling but alive.
“How sweet,” Lydia murmured, half whispering to Kitty. “Apollo must have stayed with her through the night.”
Elizabeth glanced at the greyhound, who stood close by, tail still, gaze fixed upon them both. She felt a strange shiver—not of fear, but of awe. It was as if he had known precisely who deserved his anger and who his care.
“There,” she said softly, stroking Pippin’s head. “It is over now. We must get you home before loss of blood and cold lead to your death.” She rose, gathering the spaniel close against her shawl. “Come, Lydia, Kitty—we must hurry.”
Apollo fell into step beside her, his long stride easy and silent, his eyes never leaving the little bundle in Elizabeth’s arms.
As they made their way back toward Longbourn through the fading snow, the last traces of mist curling behind them, Elizabeth felt the tremor of Pippin’s heartbeat against her own—and thought, with a rush of gratitude, that loyalty came in many forms, but none purer than this.
***
BY THE TIME ELIZABETH reached Longbourn,the house was in alarm. Pippin lay trembling by the hearth, her paw bound hastily with a strip of linen while Hill rushed to summon Mr. Jones. Mrs. Bennet lamented the ruin of her rug from blood stains and her nerves in equal measure, but Mr. Bennet’s expression was grave.
When they were alone, Elizabeth told him everything—of finding Wickham on the road, his offer to help, and his bitter talk of Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy. Mr. Bennet listened without interruption, his brows drawing together.
“So,” he said at last, “if Mr. Darcy counts this man a scoundrel, which judgement do we believe? Best I send word to Netherfield immediately. Surely, he can clarify thing.”
He wrote a short note, sealed it, and gave it to a stable boy. “Ride fast,” he said. “Tell Mr. Darcy his dog is found, and that I would have speech with him at once.”
Elizabeth watched from the window as the boy disappeared into the mist at a gallop. Behind her, Pippin gave a faint, weary whine, and Elizabeth at once knelt to stroke the little dog’s head. Apollo stood close beside them, his slender frame curved protectively around Pippin, his watchful eyes never leaving her.
“All will be well soon, my girl,” Elizabeth murmured, her hand gentle upon the soft curls. She was not entirely sure whether she spoke to the trembling spaniel, or to herself, or to some greater uncertainty waiting just beyond the fog.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Longbourn – December 1811
THE GENTLEMEN OF NETHERFIELD arrived only moments after the stable boy who had carried Mr. Bennet’s message, their greatcoats lightly powdered with snow. The boy had plainly ridden faster than any carriage could travel, for Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were still brushing the frost from their cloaks when they stepped into the hall. The air within Longbourn was warm and faintly scented with the liniment Mr. Jones had applied to Pippin’s paw.
“Where did you find them?” Darcy asked the moment he crossed the threshold. His tone was controlled, but the strain beneath it was evident.
“At a small farm near the edge of Meryton,” Elizabeth replied, rising from her chair. “Pippin was caught in a rabbit snare. Apollo stayed beside her until we found them.”
Apollo, lying by the hearth, thumped his tail once at the sound of his master’s voice, though he kept it tucked close as if in apology. Pippin lifted her head and gave a faint, grateful bark, the sound soft but certain.
“Mr. Jones has already tended to her,” Elizabeth added. “He used a salve of honey and turpentine for the wound, and wrapped it with fresh linen. He says it will heal in a few days’ time.”
Darcy exhaled slowly, his gaze softening as it fell upon the two dogs. “The stable boy told us of Pippin’s wound.”
Bingley, cheerful even through his concern, looked from one dog to the other. “What amazes me most is that Apollo has never strayed far from Netherfield since Darcy arrived. It seems he broke all habit for friendship’s sake.”
Elizabeth managed a small smile. “Pippin has a will of her own, Mr. Bingley. Perhaps she persuaded Apollo that adventure was worth the trouble. One or the other must have slipped away to find their companion, and together they made a jolly excursion of it.” She drew a steadying breath. “If I were to hazard a guess, I should say Pippin came to Netherfield sometime in the night, and the two of them contrived to escape again.”
Mr. Bennet’s voice carried from his place near the fire. “Then thank Heaven for Pippin’s influence, for it was that same trouble that saved her life.”
Darcy bowed his head slightly. “Indeed, sir. I owe Miss Elizabeth, Miss Lydia, and Miss Kitty more gratitude than I can express, for both their courage and their kindness.”
Kitty and Lydia exchanged delighted looks, giggling as though they had just been honoured by royalty itself. Elizabeth’s cheeks coloured faintly, but before she could reply, Mr. Bennet cleared his throat and gestured toward his study.
