Chapter 20 Wyvern
WYVERN
Charlotte and I lingered after breakfast. The dining parlor of their little home was charming in the morning, sunlit and decorated with ornaments of crochet and ribbon. I recognized Charlotte’s craft.
Outside, Mr. Collins was already at work with a hoe.
“He has organized your garden beautifully,” I said. Even this early in the season, there were rows of young plants.
“I agree. I think we shall feed ourselves, and more. Mr. Collins is insistent we help the poorer families. Lady Catherine aids those in Rosings Park, but outside our parish, they are not so lucky.”
That was an aspect to Mr. Collins I had not known.
In a setting like this, I saw why Charlotte was happy. She was mistress of her own house and helping others. They might have a family. Perhaps fatherhood would reveal hidden depths in her husband.
Mr. Collins was attempting to move a large pile of leaves. It tumbled over, and a great number of insects flew out. I watched him run in circles.
“I encourage him to work in the garden whenever possible,” Charlotte added with total unconcern. “The exercise is very healthful.”
Charlotte would be a wonderfully calm mother.
She added, “I saw Mr. Darcy arrive yesterday. He stopped stock still when he saw you.”
“Well, he quite surprised me. I had thought myself free of him.”
“Is he so persistent?” Charlotte sounded intrigued.
“Not persistent. We simply encounter each other too often.”
Mr. Collins was waving a tree branch at the insects. I doubted that would succeed.
“He was very attentive to you,” Charlotte said.
“Mr. Darcy? I thought him strikingly silent.”
“Silently attentive.”
Thinking of Rosings reminded me. “Have you seen the Rosings wyvern?”
“A few times when it flies overhead. I have no wish to approach closer.” I hmphed, for I had been about to suggest we visit. Charlotte smiled. “You could go, Lizzy. I am sure the gamekeeper would assist you. Perhaps you would encounter Mr. Darcy.”
I groaned. “I should have asked how long he was staying. Well, he is easy to spot. If I stay alert, I shall avoid him.”
“He is destined to marry Miss de Bourgh.” Charlotte pronounced that hesitantly, as if it were a delicate subject.
“Really?” I did not recall them even speaking.
“Her ladyship is quite open with her plans. She and his mother, Lady Anne Darcy, were sisters. The alliance of Pemberley and Rosings is greatly desired by Lady Catherine.”
Mr. Collins had now draped muslin over his head and was crawling while patting the ground, trying to find his shovel by touch. “Well, they shall make an excellent pair. Miss de Bourgh will whisper behind her fan, while Mr. Darcy says nothing.”
I approached Rosings obliquely, keeping a wary eye out for tall gentlemen, then strolled around the back of the manor. Then farther, to see the remaining side.
No draca house.
Where would they hide a wyvern?
An older man was leaning on a fence and watching my circuit. He wore good but worn leathers with a battered hat and had various pouches slung on his person. That was almost a uniform for gamekeepers, so I walked over.
“Ma’am,” he nodded.
He was about my father’s age, but wiry and vigorous with a weathered complexion. He seemed amused to meet a lady walking.
“Good morning. Are you familiar with the local animals?”
“A bit,” he said with a smile. “What would you be looking for?”
“A wyvern.”
“Well, that’d be a handful for a lady.”
I folded my arms. “I wish to see it, not carry it.” He snorted, and I decided to try flattery. “The Rosings wyvern is most famous.”
“Aye.”
His intonation was familiar. “Are you Scottish?”
“That I am. Been in England a long time. I thought my tongue had lost its brogue.”
“I understand there are Bennets in Scotland.”
“Are you a Bennet, then?”
“I am. Our family has Scottish ancestors.”
“Lang may yer lum reek.”
What on earth? I chose “Quite” as a reply, which works in most circumstances. One grizzled eyebrow rose.
Perhaps I should ask directly. “Where is the Rosings wyvern kept?”
“Well, you don’t so much keep a wyvern.”
“No draca house?”
“No ma’am. They do not require a house. They fly.”
“Our family’s drake flies, and he has a house.”
“You have a drake?” Both eyebrows rose. “What have you named him?”
“Named him? I would not name a draca.” This felt like a test. Draca were not pets.
“You think draca don’t have names?”
“If they do, they are not chosen by people.”
He thought about that. “Well, let’s see if she’ll come. It’s a rare day when…” His voice trailed off.
I heard rushing wind and turned as a powerful bronze shape winged to a graceful landing, scattering leaves and sand, and billowing my skirts.
“Good gracious,” I said.
Her body alone was twice the size of any draca I had ever seen, heavy and muscular like the Hursts’ lindworm, but two-legged like our drake.
The size of a hunting dog, fifty pounds or more.
Her wingspan was only a few feet more than our drake’s, but her wings were much deeper and heavier, with prominent bones and bands of sinew that flexed under the skin as she tucked them away.
I crouched to be level with her head, and we examined each other. Her neck was stout, not sinuous like our drake’s, and her head larger. Almost like a spaniel, if spaniels had no ears and were clothed in shining bronze scales. She was curious and alert, studying me while I studied her.
And her eyes…
Her eyes were remarkable. Stunning. Every draca I had seen had black eyes, but hers shifted color in the sunlight like a spinning crystal, flickering through purest green and blue and red.
“Incredible,” I breathed.
“Aye. That she is.” The man crouched beside me and clicked his tongue. Loosening her wings for balance, the wyvern took two waddling steps forward. Close enough to touch. “She likes you.”
“She is beautiful.” I touched my fingertips to her neck. The scales were smooth and warm. That was the same as other draca I had touched.
There was a surprised laugh beside me. “You’re a bold one.”
“Me?” I was not sure which of us he meant.
“You, lassie. ’Twas years before I touched a wyvern. Only seen two other women do it, ever.”
I touched the leading edge of her wing. It was a thick as my thumb, and it felt… powerful. Our drake had the same sense of toughness but was built on a finer scale. Almost delicate by comparison.
“She is both like our drake, and different.” I looked at her feet. “Her talons are large.”
“Not talons. Claws.” He held his hand in the air, mimicking a claw with three fingers and his thumb.
“Hunting birds—raptors, like an owl or an eagle—they have talons. Talons are spears, sharp at the tip, so”—he pinched his fingers and thumb together—“birds drive them into their prey, then carry it to their nest. But flying draca, wyverns and drakes both, they hunt large game, and they don’t nest. They eat where they kill.
So they have claws, edged like a razor their whole length.
No good for carrying game. They’d cut through and drop it.
But if you want to kill something… aye, that’s a sight.
They can twist their foot for the strike, to cut with either the big rear claw or the three front claws. A weapon to behold either way.”
“I have seen our drake fight.”
“Have you now? You’re ruining all my perceptions of fine English ladies. I thought they embroidered all day.”
I touched the burnished arch of a claw where it rested beside my skirt. Like our drake, the wyvern stood with her claws spread, and each foot spanned wider than my stretched hand. Most of that was claw. “I embroider also.”
“Well, I drink also. We both have our bad habits.”
I laughed and turned to him. “Are Scottish ladies different?”
“The great dragon wyves were Scottish.”
“What made them great?”
“War, ma’am.”
I turned back to the wyvern. “War does not appeal to me.” The shifting eyes were running through oranges and blues and yellows. It was mesmerizing. “Have you been the Rosings gamekeeper long?”
“Not Rosings, ma’am. Just visiting. I’m gamekeeper for Pemberley.”
I shot to my feet, and the wyvern backed in surprise.
I was sure I would discover Mr. Darcy lurking, but no one was near. I turned a full circle to be sure he was not sneaking about on those long legs.
“You all right, ma’am?” The gamekeeper had stood also.
“I… I have remembered a commitment. I must depart.” I thought through what I had heard. “You mentioned two other women who touched a wyvern. Who were they?” I had assumed he meant Lady Catherine and her daughter. Now, I was not sure.
“Lady Anne Darcy was one, my master’s late mother. Lady Anne was sister to Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Two sisters, and two bound wyverns. That tells you the strength of the bloodline. I was Pemberley gamekeeper for Lady Anne, and I miss her greatly. ’Course, her wyvern is gone with her.”
“And the other?”
“Miss Georgiana Darcy. Never been a draca she couldn’t touch.”
I said goodbye and began walking back to the parsonage, rather distracted.
The stretched shadow of the wyvern’s wings flashed across the ground at my feet. A minute later, it passed again.
child
I stopped among the trees. I was sure I had heard someone speak. But there was nobody.