Chapter 6 Wyves and War
WYVES AND WAR
EMMA
While I pondered why Lord Wellington would ask for me, Mr. Knightley and I ascended to a room I had never seen.
It was on the top floor and very high-ceilinged; the attic had been opened to expose the building’s roof, and much of that had been replaced with hinged copper panels that could open wide.
Below, a huge black-iron telescope rested on a wheeled platform, the tube eight feet long and ten inches across.
Remarkable as that was, nobody else paid it the slightest attention. Mr. Darcy, Lord Wellington, Georgiana, and Mary were waiting, and the ladies had not seen Mr. Knightley since his return. Georgiana hugged him, and Mary squeezed his hands for a long moment.
We gathered at a round table whose surface charted the sky.
The constellations were drawn, and the sun, moon, and planets were inlaid with shining mother of pearl, their paths shown as engraved curves annotated with degrees and dates.
Nebulae and stars were inset beads of different colors.
Beautiful as it was, it had some scientific purpose, but I knew no more than that.
Stargazing was a gentleman’s pastime, popular since the great comet passed two years ago.
A canvas bag rested in the table’s center, wrapping something long and narrow.
We took our seats. The setting felt deliberately equal—six people at a circular table—but everyone’s eyes were on Lord Wellington.
He worked his tanned hands together, eyeing the canvas bag, then he laid his palms flat on the tabletop.
“I came to Pemberley for advice about strange events on the southern front. Mr. Darcy is an authority on matters of draca, and Miss Darcy”—he nodded to Georgiana—“has aided the military by assisting injured draca and wyves. I did not plan to involve others.” His gaze touched me on that last word. “But the situation has changed.”
Surprising me, he gestured to Mr. Knightley, seated to my left.
“I just returned from the occupied south,” Mr. Knightley said. “I went as deep as Brighton, almost the coast. We helped fourteen people escape, three of them children. I suppose those details are not relevant. But when we crossed the line of battle to return, we learned of a new terror.”
He pulled the canvas bag to him and, carefully, drew out a foot-long, scythe-shaped horn. Or was it a shell? Shiny olive-green, it had a pointed tip and irregular bumps on the inside edge. It looked like half a lobster’s claw, but sharper and much longer.
He placed it in the center of the table. Georgiana gasped. Mr. Darcy drew back with an expression of revulsion. They recognized it.
Mary picked it up, using two hands once she felt the weight. She turned it, examining the underside, and her nose wrinkled. “There is an odor. Very faint. Not the ocean… it is like crawler venom.”
“It is a foul crawler’s pincer,” Mr. Knightley said. “A huge one.”
Mary hastily pushed it back onto the table, where it rocked and clacked.
I recognized it now and shivered. Crawlers had a pair of these pincers on their heads, although for the crawlers I had seen, they were the size of grains of rice.
This was unimaginable. To think it had been crawling around Brighton…
Mr. Darcy said coldly, “Lydia Bennet summoned such monsters. They are unnatural. Afterward, we uncovered Wickham’s projects in the forest. He was farming crawlers. Breeding them to enormous size.”
“The French have them now,” Mr. Knightley said. “We collected that pincer while crossing the aftermath of a terrible battle. Many soldiers died to kill that monster, and the enemy has more. And always, there is a woman to control them.” He added, “The battle was at Horley.”
“Horley!” I exclaimed. “But that is in Surrey.” Everyone turned to me, everyone except Mr. Knightley. He seemed to avoid my eyes.
Lord Wellington prodded the pincer with a finger, testing its weight.
“I came to Pemberley to discuss rumors of a Frenchwoman the soldiers call the perfumer. Miss Bennet has discovered her court title, la Demoiselle des Parfums. She is the mistress of Bonaparte, and she controls foul crawlers. One person like that is bad enough, but it seems the enemy has many. The threat has multiplied”—he tapped the huge pincer, making it wobble—“and grown.”
Abruptly, Georgiana stood. She walked to the telescope and stood, silent, her back to us.
Lord Wellington leaned closer. “Miss Darcy had a frightening encounter with Lydia and these terrible creatures—”
“It is the blight,” Georgiana said without turning. She sounded angry, not frightened. “It is spreading.”
Lord Wellington’s compassion became puzzlement. He looked around the table.
“Georgiana has seen visions of a blight,” I said. “A darkness in the east that corrupts life.” In her music room, she had shared that monstrous illusion, vivid and frightening.
For a stretched moment, Lord Wellington’s attention fixed on me. He had asked that I attend. Did he suspect I was the third great wyfe?
Mr. Darcy noticed our interaction, and he frowned, doubtless dusting off his lecture on why I must keep that secret. I could have recited that backwards, but even forwards, his last rendition had seemed quaintly old fashioned in a country where women commanded dragons.
Lord Wellington resumed, “Miss Bennet also reports that the French seek a flute made of dragon claw, one of the artifacts associated with the three great wyves. The artifact we found, the dagger, is immensely powerful. When our enemy stole it, they used it to raise the black dragon and sent her to destroy England’s navy, palaces, and Parliament.
The dagger is lost in Pemberley lake, but I must assume the others are equally potent, and that Bonaparte seeks them all.
” His gaze swept the table. “I asked you here because I know you have kept secrets about these matters. I do not question your motives, but ignorance is a weakness I can no longer afford. What do you know of the other two items?”
I could not answer his question, but hiding my identity felt uncomfortably like dishonesty.
Mary, in her quick factual manner, did answer.
“Queen Mary sought all three items. After her marriage to King Philip, her agents smuggled several tons of Spanish silver into Guangzhou. Soon after, an amulet described as ‘a scarlet Chinese jewel’ arrived at court. The amulet is jade, hung on a gold chain, and holds a scale from Yuánchi. The last reference to the amulet was in 1557, when it was sent”—Mary’s stream of words hitched, then resumed—“to Surrey to be examined.”
Even she was protecting me. I knew what she had excluded. The queen had sent the amulet to “the Witch of Woodhouse,” my paternal ancestor, centuries past. Mary had asked me about the amulet months ago, but I knew nothing of it, and there was nothing like it in Papa’s things after his death.
“Surrey,” Lord Wellington repeated. “The recent French attacks appeared to be probes preparing for assault on Surrey, but I doubted that explanation. The better strategy would be for them to seize the rest of Kent, blockade the Thames, and starve London. Now, though, I understand. They seek the amulet.” He folded his arms, studying Mary. “What of the flute?”
“I told you of my meeting.” Mary met his gaze unflinchingly, but it seemed an oddly terse answer for her.
Lord Wellington apparently agreed. “Miss Bennet, I know we have clashed. If that has fostered your distrust, I am sorry, but for me, it only proves that you are your sister’s equal.
Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy is a great wyfe. Miss Georgiana Darcy is the second.
And you… draca alight on your shoulder. In London, a clandestine network of women even call you ‘Great Wyfe’… ”
Mary laughed bitterly. That was all.
Lord Wellington drew breath, but my frustration at this dance, or my pride, or perhaps the prospect of war entering Surrey made me interrupt. “There is no need to badger her. It is not Mary. I am the third great wyfe.”
Lord Wellington turned to me, surprised. Well, a little surprised. Not a lot. Mr. Darcy, however, was staring at me as if I had lost my mind.
Whatever their reactions, ending the secrecy felt good. Healthy. Keeping secrets had not done me any favors. And it was not like I was shouting the news in a town square.
That led neatly to my next announcement. “So,” I continued, “I shall go to Surrey and find the amulet.”
“Surrey!” Mr. Knightley burst out beside me. “Bands of Blackcoats roam through Surrey. The French army is massing on the border. One does not simply walk into Surrey!”
I gave him a pleasant smile. “Certainly not. I thought I would take the barouche and four. That will make a grand entrance!”
“A grand entrance,” he repeated, stunned.
Gentlemen were so thickheaded. “I am joking. It is two hundred miles. A barouche is completely impractical. What if it rains?” His eyebrows rose farther, so I put my hand on his.
“Listen. What could be more natural than a lady returning home? It raises no suspicion. I know everybody, so I can make inquiries. It is sensible.”
Unexpectedly, Mary supported me. “Emma is right. In Fènnù’s memories, the great wyfe of healing wielded the amulet. Emma senses Yuánchi. She is the amulet’s intended owner. She may find it where no one else could.”
“There!” I said. “It is settled. In any case, it is time I returned to Hartfield.”
“This is wrong,” Georgiana exclaimed, turning from the telescope. “We must stop the blight. It is driven by the broken song, and it is growing stronger. The great wyves must stay together. That is the only way to heal the song.”
“You were just in London,” I pointed out. “When I find the amulet, I will bring it back, and we will all be together again.”
Mr. Knightley placed his hand atop mine. I realized I had held his this whole time.
“I will go with you,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said. “That is very welcome.”
I had hoped he would offer. His depiction of Surrey concerned me, and it certainly ruled out bringing a housemaid as companion.
But traveling with a single gentleman had its own complications.
I could ask Harriet to join us, but I thought she would refuse.
My half sister had been distant since discovering I knew about Papa’s scheme to conceal her true parentage.
People stood, and the formality broke into odds and ends of conversation.
Lord Wellington and Mr. Darcy launched a discussion of iron-barred carriages with Mr. Knightley.
Those had been fashionable a year ago when ladies fanned themselves in wide-eyed consternation at the thought of feral draca. Now there were real risks on the road.
Mary said to me, a little grudgingly, “You are brave.”
“I am going home,” I said.
Mary nodded. She seemed to understand that.
I stepped closer and whispered, “Do you know more of the flute?”
“Nothing that would aid the army,” she said flatly.
She excused herself and went to Georgiana. They spoke softly, their foreheads almost touching, then Mary left without a backward glance. She often left gatherings suddenly. I was not sure if it was a statement or an oversight.
Mr. Knightley drew me aside. And farther aside.
“Yes?” I said when we were jammed by the farthest window.
“I made a serious error. I must tell you unpleasant news. If this changes your mind about the trip, I will explain to the others.”
Was the war worse than he said? “You had better tell me.”
“I misled you about Hartfield. I did call, but I was not received, merely dismissed on the doorstep in a desultory manner.” I opened my mouth in dismay, but he waved that aside. “My dismissal was by your brother-in-law, John.”
John. I could imagine it. Easily. I could practically hear his self-satisfied sneer.
When I did not speak, Mr. Knightley said, “He has declared himself master of Hartfield.”
“I understood you.”
I was an idiot not to have realized. My letters to my housekeeper, unanswered.
My letters to his London residence, requesting my living allowance, returned unopened.
Was my fortune lost, too? As good as gone, certainly.
He might dole out enough to appease my sister’s feeble appeals but never enough to provide me with resources.
What little power I had to counter him came from holding Hartfield.
“What will you do?” Mr. Knightley asked.
“Go to Surrey and claim my home,” I said. “Thank you for trying to spare my feelings. Please do not do that again. A woman alone cannot afford to be fragile.” Mr. Knightley looked distressed, so I said, “I am not angry. Just… not again. Excuse me, I must speak with Georgiana.”
She stood alone beside the black and brass of the telescope. I approached her. “I am sorry my departure upsets you.”
“It is not you. Not really. It is… this disagreement on how to help Lizzy. And the news of soldiers dying. We say that so casually, but I know soldiers who died. They were all so noble and so young.” She meshed her fingers, stretching the way keyboardists did, her gaze on the windows and the darkening north sky.
The evening star had emerged. “I will stay here for a while. I wish to observe marvels that make our world’s trials seem small.
” She knelt and released a bronze brake on the telescope’s platform, then spun the handle on a complex clockwork.
The telescope, slowly, lifted toward the sky.
I rejoined the gentlemen, but the three of them had moved on to bluff, masculine opinions about risks and routes.
Instead, I looked at the crawler pincer. It had repulsed everyone, a corruption of nature.
I drew off my glove and touched it. The surface was cool and smooth. It was inanimate, but before, it had lived. So I waited, stilling myself the way I had when touching Nessy to sense her disease.
A feeling formed. I expected to be overwhelmed by abomination, but instead of revulsion, I felt… pity. Like I had touched someone desperately ill who needed to be saved.