Chapter 20
Elizabeth held out a platter with plum cake to Cerridwen, whom she had been waiting all day to see. “What have you been doing?”
Cerridwen all but snatched the plum cake from her and devoured half of it in a single bite. “I wish Cook would make bigger cakes.”
Elizabeth hid a smile. “Perhaps if you made her a larger pan, she could do so. But not so big that it cannot fit in the oven.” She suspected Cerridwen could happily eat a plum cake as big as the kitchen hearth itself.
She knew better than to offer any to Quickthorn or Coquelicot. Cerridwen was unusual among dragons in having a taste for mortal foods, no doubt from spending so many years away from her Nest.
Cerridwen's gold-ringed eyes brightened. “I could do that. When I am not so tired.” She yawned. “Rana Akshaya had us working on the new Nest all day.”
So Rana Akshaya was wasting no time in founding her own Nest, given the high stakes. Elizabeth was careful not to show too much interest - or worse, enthusiasm. Dragons did not care for curiosity about their lives. “I did not realize she had chosen a location already.”
An image of a cliff face flashed into her head, sent by Cerridwen. Kympton Edge, if Elizabeth was not mistaken, with the village off in the distance. “Not at Pemberley?”
“The Dark Peak Eldest said it could not be too close to their nursery. Rana Akshaya thinks this is a better site, anyway.”
“It seems a good choice,” Elizabeth said.
Any choice that did not involve locating the new Nest in the Pemberley state rooms was a brilliant one as far as she was concerned.
She was happy to have Cerridwen here, but Rana Akshaya had taken over the state drawing room on her arrival, and her entourage had expanded into the other state rooms. Elizabeth was more than ready to reclaim that large portion of her house.
“It is a great deal of work,” Cerridwen sighed. “We burnt away most of the rock, but it is very bare inside.”
Quickthorn said, “It will take time. But it will be ours.”
Perhaps if she worded it carefully, she might venture a question.
“When we first came here, do you remember how upset the Nest was about allowing a dragon companion from another Nest to stay on their territory, even for a few months? They wanted me to break my bond to you and to chase you away! Having a new Nest here must be somehow different. Or will you all still be part of the Dark Peak Nest, too?”
Quickthorn jumped in before Cerridwen could answer. “That is a question for dragons, not mortals,” she snapped.
Elizabeth inclined her head. “My apologies, Honored Quickthorn.”
Then Cerridwen's voice spoke in her head. Ask Companion Frederica, if you wish to know.
“I am so very glad you asked!” Frederica said.
“I was not supposed to tell you unless you did, and I wanted to tell you so badly!
It was Rana Akshaya's idea. I traded my negotiating skills for Roderick's healing, and she called in the debt. Only part of it, she was clear to say, since she still has some other plan in mind for me. Why she thought any mortal would be the best diplomat between two groups of dragons is beyond me. It may just have been that her other choices were worse, since the Eldest at Dark Peak is not angry at me, unlike all our rebellious dragons. But she is a crafty one, Rana Akshaya is! I had no idea.”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, fascinated. If the secretive dragon from India had more depth than a resentment of all things British, she yet to show it to Elizabeth.
“Do you know what Rana means?”
“Is it not her name?”
“No, her title. It means king.”
“Not queen?”
“No, king. Dragons can be kings in India. She was the primary ruler of her country for over five centuries. There were mortal sultans, too, but she was the power behind their thrones. And her Nest - or should I say Nests? Over four hundred dragons! No wonder we seem so provincial to her. In any case, she was quite the politician, apparently. So she gave me my marching orders and sent me off to the Dark Peak Nest. It was fairly easy from there.”
“After all the trouble they gave me over having Cerridwen stay here, simply because she was from a different Nest? How infuriating!” Elizabeth fumed.
Frederica shrugged. “I presented it as being in their best interest. Not only will the new Nest remove the rebel youngsters from their midst, but it will also provide a first line of defense and distraction. Since Nests do not usually share territory, who will go looking for another Nest after they have found the obvious one? Her only condition was that Quickthorn and Cerridwen must be considered members of both Nests. Losing both of her companioned dragons would be difficult. Juniper, one of the senior dragons of Dark Peak, is also joining the new Nest. Apparently that is something of a coup.”
“And this Nest will be obvious?” Elizabeth asked faintly. Just what they needed, another target on Pemberley's back. Or at least nearby. Kympton was but a few miles away.
“More obvious than the Dark Peak, especially since our dragons will be scouting out defensive positions. And - this part was my idea - the Pemberley Nest will serve as an embassy between dragons and mortals.” She beamed as if particularly proud of this idea.
“Many humans want to talk to dragons. This will be the place where they can present themselves.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “Do you truly think Rana Akshaya would be a good ambassador?”
Frederica laughed gaily. “Precisely her reaction, that she had no desire to speak to Englishmen, especially ones who wanted to take even more from her. I expect it will be Juniper for the most part. He thinks it is past time to end the Great Concealment. And perhaps, sometimes, Quickthorn and I will help.”
“What of Rowan?” The gentle red dragon was definitely ambassadorial material.
Frederica stiffened. “He is joining the Nest in Gwynedd.” There was an edge of something sharp in her voice. Was it the reminder that Roderick would soon be leaving?
Elizabeth's heart ached for her friend's pain, especially since nothing would convince Frederica to speak of it. Perhaps she could distract her a little, though. “I am glad it will not fall to Cerridwen. She seems to be carrying more weight than she can bear already. I have been worried for her.”
“Do you know what Rana Akshaya said? That foresight is both a gift and a curse. A gift for the Nest, since Seers offer them protection that no others can, and a curse for the Seer, because their foresight is often a burden. But she also said that Cerridwen’s name will forever be remembered among dragons throughout the world as the one who saved them from the mad dragon.
” Suddenly she shook off the somber mood that had overtaken her and laughed.
“I think she was a bit cross about it, that Cerridwen will get all the credit.”
“That I can easily believe!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
As the servants laid out the dishes in the first course of dinner, Darcy looked around the dining room table with satisfaction.
All of them were there for once – Georgiana, Frederica, Jasper, Roderick, and of course Elizabeth.
With so much to do, it was rare that all of them would take the two hours for a full formal dinner.
It was good to have this moment of normalcy, a reminder of what life could be like once again if they managed to defeat their enemies.
And earlier, Jenny had smiled at him. Elizabeth and Nelly had noticed the new development a few days ago, but this was the first time he had seen it.
What a smile it was! Wide and as brilliant as her mother’s, with an innocent joy beyond his imagining.
He had a hard time tearing himself from the nursery after that, even once she fell asleep in his arms.
Cook had made his favorite dish, too. Darcy helped himself to a heaping serving of the ragout, inhaling the rich aroma. Was there something new in the spicing? Cook sometimes experimented with the recipe.
His mouth watering, he lifted a forkful. Before he could take a bite, though, it was knocked out of his hand and sent flying across the dining room. Then the entire dish of ragout lifted into the air, seemingly of itself, and lofted its way back to the sideboard.
“What fae mischief is this?” Darcy exclaimed, annoyed. A man should be allowed to eat his dinner unmolested.
Instead of an answer, something plucked at Frederica’s sleeve. A squeaky voice cried, “No, lady, you must not touch! It is bad, it is bad!”
Beside him, Frederica looked up sharply from the napkin she was using to mop up bits of ragout which had sprayed onto her dress. Frowning, she dropped the cloth.
Darcy demanded, “Who dares interfere with our dinner!”
There was no answer until Georgiana said, “Mistletoe, show yourself. Fitzwilliam, I asked him to watch your food. He can sense the presence of poison.”
Poison? It could not be true. Or could it? Napoleon wanted him dead, and the wards had stymied his assassins. “Are you saying the ragout is poisoned?”
The air before him rippled, revealing a rickety figure perhaps four feet tall, with strange ears that pointed away from his body. “It is bad, it is bad!”
Darcy's mouth went dry. If it was true, one more minute and it could have been too late – not just for him, but for everyone at the table. “What about the rest of the food?”
The little fae shuffled slowly around the table, stopping to sniff each dish. He pointed a tremulous, spindly finger at the fish. “That is bad, that is bad. Not so bad as the other.”
Elizabeth quavered, “I already had a bite of it.”
Fear stabbed through Darcy. Not his Elizabeth! Would Coquelicot be able to heal a poisoning?
Frederica leapt up and grabbed Elizabeth's hand. “Come. We are going to get that out of you.”
She led Elizabeth from the table to the door. Darcy made to follow them, but Frederica waved him back. “Stay there. Elizabeth will not thank you for watching this.”
He hated it, but it was true. “Send for me if she needs me. Instantly.”
Frederica nodded, and the two women disappeared.
Who had poisoned the food? He beckoned another footman. “Bring Cook here.”
Jasper spoke as the footman bowed and left. “Darcy, is your cook French?”
“Of course, but he has been with me for years.” Everyone who could afford it had a French cook. Could he have been persuaded to treachery by loyalty to his country of birth?
Jasper rose. “Then I will go, too, in case he runs or makes a fuss.” He departed, leaving only Darcy, Georgiana, Roderick, and the fae who was still finishing his circuit of the table.
“All the rest is good, all is good,” the lesser fae pronounced.
Georgiana said, “Well done, Mistletoe. You will be rewarded for this service.”
“Indeed you shall be,” Darcy said, and then a thought made him frown. “Mistletoe, have you been watching all my meals?”
The fae glanced at Georgiana. “As the great lady ordered.”
“Even my dinners alone with my wife?” The idea churned his empty stomach. Did he have no privacy at all?
“Even those, even those.”
Georgiana said, “The food for a private meal can be poisoned as easily as any other.” She sounded defensive.
“You should have asked me,” Darcy snapped. What had he said at all those meals, believing no other ears would hear it?
Georgiana raised her chin. “You would have refused, and I will not risk losing you.”
Jasper burst in, breathing heavily. “Your cook collapsed just before dinner was served. His assistant said he tasted the ragout several times to check the spicing, as is his habit.”
Darcy felt his blood draining from his head. Someone had tried to kill him – and nearly succeeded. “Have him taken to Coquelicot straight away.”
“Already in the ballroom under her care. His assistant is feeling ill, too. Your housekeeper is making certain no one else touches those dishes.”
This must be the work of the French assassins. The King of Faerie had never tried to kill him.
A footman appeared. “Lady Frederica reports that Mrs. Darcy’s problem has been resolved.”
The tightness in his chest suddenly loosened. Elizabeth had been imperiled because of him, and that he could not bear. Except that he was endangering her every single day by his mere presence at Pemberley.
He could stay still no longer. “I will be with Coquelicot if you need me.”
Coquelicot had pronounced Elizabeth free of any taint of poison, but Cook and his assistant were less fortunate. “I can treat their symptoms, but I cannot remove the poison. It will have to make its way through them. I will do what I can to keep them comfortable.”
Darcy thanked her and turned to Cook, who lay on a cot, his forehead beaded with sweat. At least he was awake. And horrified by what had happened.
“I used the same recipe I always do, monsieur,” he said, his French accent more prominent than usual.
“What ingredients were in both the ragout and the fish?” Darcy asked.
Cook closed his eyes. “Butter, of course, and flour. Pepper, salt, and a bouquet garni. And spices. Mace and cloves.” He blinked. “The mace was new.”
“Where did you get it?”
“The cook at Asquith Hall. I met him in town and he offered it to me, saying it was unusually fine quality. But it truly was mace, I would swear it. I smelled it.”
Something could have been mixed into it. “Was he French, too?” Someone the assassins could have influenced, perhaps.
“Of course.” Cook mopped his face.
Darcy frowned. “Had you met him before?”
“No, he is new here. His last position was at Hartfield Hall.”
More likely in Napoleon’s Grand Armée, unless Darcy missed his guess. The assassins had finally managed to strike at him, and it would have worked, had it not been for Georgiana’s fae.
“Did you use the mace for anything else?” Darcy asked. Would there be a mass poisoning of servants later?
“No, I reserved it for upstairs, since there was so little of it.”
One small blessing. He would ask Mistletoe to examine the mace – and everything else in the kitchen.