Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Two attacks within the space of a few weeks made all of Hertfordshire anxious, particularly when the three deaths at the Lucas Lodge ball became common knowledge.
The streets of Meryton were unusually empty, and townspeople constantly glanced over their shoulders and whispered theories to each other behind their hands.
The Convocation investigator, Stephen Marsh, arrived two days after the second attack. He interviewed Darcy, Bingley, and many other witnesses, in addition to visiting the sites of the attacks. He sought etheric traces of summoning spells and interviewed every mage of any power in Hertfordshire.
But the origins and purpose of the attacks remained a mystery.
Marsh did not even possess a theory about the motive for the attacks and privately suggested to Darcy that perhaps they were random events.
Darcy was willing to concede the possibility of coincidence, but he was not convinced Marsh’s investigation was thorough.
Marsh held his position by virtue of being a viscount’s son, and Darcy was apprehensive that the man had overlooked key evidence.
The man was still ensconced at the Meryton Inn and seemed to be enjoying the ale they served. Ostensibly he was still conducting his investigation, but Darcy did not expect it to yield any answers.
Several days after the second attack, Darcy, Hurst, and Bingley had been invited to luncheon with the militia officers.
However, just before they were due to ride out, they received a note from Colonel Forster.
Flooding in a nearby town had washed away a road and damaged houses, and the militia had been summoned to render assistance.
The luncheon would need to be postponed.
Bingley was philosophical about the delay, but Hurst was quite vexed; apparently the colonel had an excellent cook, and Hurst had been anticipating the meal with relish.
Darcy had been eager for a ride and a chance to escape Netherfield, albeit briefly.
Caroline also appeared disturbed by the news of the canceled luncheon, and after a few minutes revealed that she and Mrs. Hurst expected Jane Bennet to visit.
Bingley was so delighted by the prospect of her company that he did not notice how Caroline had scheduled the visit for when her brother would be away from home.
Darcy spent the morning writing a letter to Georgiana in the parlor while absentmindedly conversing with Caroline.
It was most irritating how she incessantly pressed him with questions when he was obviously occupied with his task.
At about the time Miss Bennet was expected to arrive, a sharp shriek pierced the air, followed by the neighing of an agitated horse.
Darcy leapt from his seat and pulled out his sword.
Bingley was only a few steps behind him as they raced out Netherfield’s front door.
They found Jane Bennet attempting to fight off a trow goblin.
It had attacked her horse, which did not appear likely to survive.
After dismounting, she had obviously sought the safety of the house but only achieved the bottom step before the goblin had overtaken her.
Old, short, and ugly, the trow was laughing and menacing her with its enormously long fangs.
She was fortunate that trows liked to torment their prey.
Any other goblin species would have gone for a swift kill.
Darcy and Bingley thundered down the steps just as the goblin leaned in for an attack.
Miss Bennet pushed the trow’s head away as forcefully as possible, but it grabbed and twisted her arm, breaking it with a sickening crack.
Darcy tackled the goblin, sending both of them on to the dirt of the drive, and his sword flew out of his hand. The trow regained its feet and grabbed the front of Darcy’s waistcoat, drawing him closer to its fangs. He could feel its breath on his cheek.
Darcy reached for the silver knife he kept in a sheath in the lining of his boot.
Freeing the knife, he brought his arm up in a vicious strike and embedded the knife in the middle of the trow’s chest, hoping that he had struck the heart.
The goblin immediately fell back, writhing on the dirt before falling completely still.
By the time Darcy regained his feet, it had disintegrated into a pile of dust.
Darcy turned back to Miss Bennet. She made no sound, but her face was stained with tears as she cradled her broken wrist against her chest. Shudders—from the shock or the cold—shook her body. Bingley hovered protectively around her, wanting to comfort her without doing something inappropriate.
As soon as Bingley’s sisters peeked out of the front door, they hastened to take charge of Miss Bennet. Caroline ordered a footman to summon the healer while Mrs. Hurst helped the injured woman up the steps and into the house.
Alone on the drive, Darcy stared at the pile of goblin dust. He was pleased that nobody had been grievously injured. But why had it attacked Netherfield at that particular moment? Surely this attack was related to the others, but how? They were obviously not throwing a ball.
That was not the only source of his misgivings. Miss Bennet would undoubtedly need to remain at Netherfield for a few days—which would probably bring Miss Elizabeth to Bingley’s doorstep. And she was not conducive to his peace of mind.
***
Although Mr. Bingley’s message had assured Elizabeth that her sister was resting comfortably, she could not be easy until she saw Jane herself.
As soon as the note arrived, she donned her warmest cloak and set off on foot for Netherfield, not even considering the danger of goblin attacks until she reached the house.
Fortunately, she encountered nothing untoward.
Her arrival in the Netherfield drawing room provoked shocked reactions. “You walked? Alone? Unescorted?” Miss Bingley exclaimed. Her brother was not present, but Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Hurst regarded Elizabeth with equal incredulity.
“Hertfordshire is ordinarily quite safe," Elizabeth assured the other woman. “In fact, recently balls have presented the most danger.” Mr. Darcy’s lips twitched.
Miss Bingley shivered delicately. “I would not consider walking anywhere without an escort!” She gazed adoringly at Mr. Darcy. “But I have my dear Fitzwilliam to protect me.”
Ugh. Elizabeth had no tolerance for protestations of feminine helplessness; it was not reasonable to always expect a man to be available for protection. “I am capable of defending myself,” Elizabeth declared. “I wish I had been here to defend Jane.”
The other women made a great show of being shocked. “How singular!” Mrs. Hurst exclaimed. “Why would you wish for something so dangerous?”
“Surely everyone wants to protect their loved ones,” Elizabeth replied.
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Hurst said as though she was just remembering. “You are the person who applied to the Academy. I am certain I never wished to practice that sort of magic.”
“Where everyone can witness it,” Miss Bingley agreed with a shudder.
“It is not particularly ladylike,” Mrs. Hurst said with a glance at her sister.
Elizabeth had encountered such sentiments many times.
They did not bother her…or at least she was adept at hiding it.
Mr. Darcy was observing her with marked intensity but said nothing.
Well, she understood his opinions on the matter; she could only be grateful that he was not joining the current chorus of disapproval.
“Surely there are different ways to be ladylike,” she said.
Mrs. Hurst lifted her chin. “To be truly accomplished, a woman must embroider. And she must possess a certain something in her air.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth and smiled. “Surely there is no requirement that all ladies should be the same. That would be tedious, would it not?”
“Magic,” Miss Bingley sneered, “is never numbered among a lady’s accomplishments.”
Elizabeth’s patience was nearly exhausted. “Magic is a talent, just like dancing, music, or art. Ladies are always told to exhibit their talents. Why should magic be any different?”
“I suppose the difference is in kind,” Mr. Darcy said thoughtfully. “Ladies are not typically called upon to use many kinds of magic, so there is no need to educate them in it.”
“If a highwayman attacked me and I defended myself with a sword, I would be commended—not censured,” Elizabeth replied.
“Certainly,” Mr. Darcy agreed. “Nobody would condemn you for using a sword. But by the same token, nobody would expect you to practice swordplay.”
“Ah, so the difference is practice. It is very well for me to use a sword or magic…as long as I do not use them well.”
“You make a good point,” Mr. Darcy said after a moment. “But it is incumbent upon paladins—indeed all mages—to protect others.”
“Is it truly preferable to take on the burden of protecting me rather than allowing me to learn to protect myself?” she pressed.
“I suppose the paladins’ burdens would be lightened if some women could defend themselves with magic,” he conceded.
“Why would a lady volunteer for anything so violent and dirty?” Miss Bingley sniffed. “Personally, I am quite pleased not to be involved in such things.” She glanced at her fiancé for his approval, but his expression was carefully blank.
Elizabeth shrugged. “Perhaps I would rather be a live woman than a dead lady.”
Mr. Darcy managed to turn a laugh into a cough. “There is some sense in her words,” he said to Miss Bingley, who merely huffed.
Elizabeth supposed grudging acceptance was preferable to violent disagreement, but it was not sufficient. “I often make sense. What a shame I could not do so at the Academy.”
Miss Bingley rolled her eyes. “How long will you task Fitzwilliam with that?” she asked. “The panel was comprised of ten mages.”
Mr. Darcy regarded his betrothed steadily. “The decision was unanimous. It is not unfair to hold me at least somewhat accountable.”