Chapter 9 Royal Jewels
ROYAL JEWELS
EMMA
“Miss Woodhouse. It is not safe here.” Mr. Knightley’s hand touched my forearm.
I did not want to look away from where the woman died. The sole remnant of her presence was a sheen of water on the ice, already vanishing as it froze. But his hand drew me, insistent, so I turned.
The shore was thirty yards distant. The river was abandoned. We stood alone, actors on a blue-white stage.
Ashore was chaos. People ran and fell. Arms flailed—men struck each other. Scattered cries reached me, filled with slurs of race. What had this to do with a dead woman?
Harriet was running with the Darcys. She waved frantically, and I raised my hand. They ducked around a squall of men in belted black coats and vanished in the confusion.
“We will meet them,” Mr. Knightley said. “I told them to take Miss Smith while I came for you. It is better that she does not wait among these louts.”
“Thank you,” I said. We began walking. The ice was so cold it felt gritty, not slick. By the time we reached the dock, the chill was biting through the soles of my boots.
Mr. Knightley pulled me to a half-run along the planks.
One of the cropped-hair men rushed out of the crowd, his thin face dangling reddened jowls.
“Get the witch!” he shouted, his hand stretching for my face.
Mr. Knightley stepped between us, grabbed a fistful of the man’s collar, and turned, bending so their hips collided hard.
The man flew over Mr. Knightley and crashed to the dock, shaking the planks and sprawling onto the ice.
Mr. Knightley’s arm had already retaken mine.
In three steps, we were among the crowd, his touch leading me, ducking low and stepping fast, then waiting tall and firm while a knot of bodies swirled past.
We turned into a quieter alley. He asked, “Can you continue this pace?”
“Of course,” I said. “No, wait!” I lifted my hands between us, shocked by dissymmetry—one was gloved, one bare.
My breath caught, braced for terrors, but Mr. Knightley’s face did not swell with pustules.
Miasma did not flood the ground. I gritted my teeth, then pulled the lone glove off and dropped it behind me, out of sight. “I am ready.”
We hurried down one street, then a second. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“The school.”
The Martin School. Would Harriet still insist on her tour? Surely I could dissuade her after this.
I thought of the man rushing toward me. “Does your musical training include sending men flying head-over-heels?”
Mr. Knightley’s lips were a grim line. “I believe I mentioned that I have encountered horrible men.”
“I have encountered horrible men.” My skin crawled at the memory. “My last encounter with Mr. Elton was vile. That does not mean”—we reached a large wooden building, and Mr. Knightley opened the door for me—“that I can toss him over my shoulder.”
The Darcys looked up, and Harriet, red-eyed, rushed over. We embraced. Without gloves, the wool of her borrowed coat was scratchy against my palms. I rarely touched her clothes directly. It seemed profoundly intimate.
“Are you well?” Lizzy asked me. “We were worried that you would… react poorly to what we saw.”
“I see horrors every day,” I said. “I recover.”
“You see false horrors,” Mr. Darcy said.
“They are real to me.” Of course, their reality was in the moment, like nightmares. Afterward, I could comfort myself they were illusion. Today, a woman had truly died. My throat caught. Then I remembered something else. “Lizzy, were you hurt?”
“No,” she said dismissively. “Just… affected. A tremendous power stirred.”
I looked at Mr. Darcy and found him watching me. He looked quickly away. I remembered touching him and felt a blush rise.
We were in a modestly sized, empty schoolroom. Ten small chairs and desks formed two loose ovals. Papers with childish script were tacked on the wall, titled “When I Bind” and decorated with pencil drawings of fantastic draca.
Mr. Knightley strode down the aisle between the chairs, then back, his motion furious and his jaw corded. “That woman was whipped,” he burst forth. “I attend the Freedom Society. I have seen the scars on escaped slaves. Their healing wounds. What barbarians do such acts?”
“She was no slave,” I said. “She was white.”
“Yes.” Mr. Knightley’s mouth twisted. “When I saw her injuries, that shocked me. Am I so despicable that I expect my kin to be beaten but am dismayed when a white woman is hurt?”
Mr. Darcy stepped into Mr. Knightley’s path and caught his shoulders so they faced each other.
“I have seen you challenge injustice many times. You are only surprised because this was unexpected. Your anger has never depended on the color of a person’s skin.
” Mr. Knightley sucked air through his teeth, then clasped Mr. Darcy’s shoulders in return.
He nodded, and his furious tension diminished.
I heard voices in the next room, then a knock at the door. A woman in a good, practical dress, like a governess, stuck her head through. “Mr. Darcy, Mr. Tinsdale is here.”
A barrel-chested gentleman in a charcoal tailcoat and waistcoat rushed in. He had an aura of importance, somewhat undermined by overgrown eyebrows and a shock of disordered, straw hair.
His eyes went round when he saw Lizzy. “Mrs. Darcy! I heard a wyfe was burned. You cannot imagine my relief.” His gaze scanned the room and fixed on me, curious.
Mr. Darcy stepped forward. “Miss Woodhouse, may I present the Honorable Mr. Tinsdale. A member of Parliament.”
“At your service, madam,” Mr. Tinsdale said, his solid hand swallowing mine as he bowed. My curtsy was sober and suited for mourning.
Mr. Tinsdale rose quickly from his bow and gave his coat an agitated tug.
“I cannot stay long. There is a riot at the docks and stories of witches battling with draca. The Darcy name is circulating. When the Council of War hears that another dangerous event occurred in Mrs. Darcy’s presence, they will call an emergency meeting.
I must hurry there to prevent reckless decisions.
” He dug his fingernails into his bushy eyebrows. “Were you there?”
“Yes,” Mr. Darcy said. “It was another attempt at assassination. By a wyfe bound to a bronze firedrake.”
Mr. Tinsdale drew a sharp breath. “The wyfe who sank the Dapper.”
“I believe so. She was coerced. She had been terribly abused.” Mr. Darcy turned to Lizzy. “She said she could not kill you.”
“I heard her,” Lizzy said. “Despite her fear, she refused to attack me with her drake.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Darcy said. “Or perhaps she could not attack. Draca perceive great wyves. Her drake may have rebelled. You were not alone. You stood with”—his eyes flicked between me and Mr. Tinsdale, then he finished—“all of us.”
“It was her choice,” Lizzy said. “She defied her captors and saved her true weapon to take her own life.” Lizzy lifted a small vial between her thumb and forefinger.
“She drank from this. It reeks of sour orange and bitter almond. Crawler venom. I felt the filth of its potency. Her control of her drake became absolute… until she died, leaving her draca in an agony of remorse.”
“Crawler venom?” I said. “Would that not just kill her?” Foul crawlers were small, dangerous pests, like armored, multi-legged worms with stingers—a sting that was lethal.
Mr. Darcy answered, “A powerful wyfe can tolerate small doses of venom. It strengthens her control of draca. It also addicts her and destroys her mind. But this explains how she was able to compel her drake to attack the HMS Dapper.”
Lizzy bent and carefully placed the vial on the floor by her feet. “I could have found her.”
“You must not blame yourself,” Mr. Tinsdale said. “No one could find one woman concealed in London.”
“A wyfe bound to a drake?” Lizzy gave a rough laugh. “I could find every drake in London within minutes. I needed only to try!” She stomped her boot, smashing the vial. Mr. Tinsdale looked very taken aback.
“You had no reason to suspect she was in London,” Mr. Darcy said.
Mr. Tinsdale cleared his throat. “Mrs. Darcy, I suggested that we meet because we agree it is inadvisable to escalate our war with the French. But the Council will insist that you be kept safe.”
“I wore a long coat and plain bonnet. I thought myself unrecognizable.” Her lips twisted. “One woman concealed in London…”
“Your husband is well known,” Mr. Tinsdale pointed out. “And rather apparent, even in a crowd.”
Lizzy looked up from the smashed vial, but she watched me, not Mr. Tinsdale. “I will be more observant. Assure the Council that I will protect myself.”
Mr. Tinsdale seemed dissatisfied. “I can arrange guards.”
Lizzy’s answer was a whisper. “I will summon guards.”
“What of that brutalized woman?” Mr. Knightley broke in. “Who did this? We cannot allow such conduct on English soil. It is an abomination!”
Mr. Tinsdale gave him a cool look. He made no move to introduce himself. That was an oversight for the higher ranked gentleman, bordering on rude. Or had they met before?
“Did you see the woman’s pendant?” I said. “She wore rags, but that was jewelry fit for a queen. A gold wyvern with a flaming breath of huge sapphires.”
Mr. Tinsdale’s fluffy eyebrows rose. “The Pendant of Fiery Justice! That is royal jewelry, made for the first Queen Mary to celebrate her binding. But it is a dragon, not a wyvern.” He shrugged, abruptly self-conscious. “I am rather an aficionado of Tudor history.”
“I have read of the pendant,” Mr. Darcy said. “Some claim it gave Queen Mary mastery of draca.”
“Like the crawler venom you described,” Mr. Tinsdale mused. “We must recover the pendant.”
“The sapphires, perhaps,” Mr. Darcy said. “It was melted.”
“Oh,” Mr. Tinsdale said. Solemnly, he added, “What a loss.”
“There were worse losses,” Mr. Knightley said pointedly.
Mr. Tinsdale frowned but nodded. “You must be fatigued. I will leave you to recover while I attend to the Council.” He bowed and hurried out.
Immediately when the door closed, Lizzy said, “Emma. Why did you touch Darcy?”
Mr. Darcy stiffened, and his face whitened. I could not guess his emotion. Outrage? Embarrassment? My own feelings were more obvious. My cheeks were heating.
“I beg both of your pardons,” I said. “With the panic, it was an… impulse. I intended no impropriety. It will not happen again.”
She shook her head. “I am not accusing you. Or asking you to apologize. When you touched him, I sensed a… change. What did you feel?”
I pinched the seam of my sleeve, drawing my fingers to the cuff while the silk whispered. “I thought I would faint. Then a scarlet strength drew me. It was like it spoke. It filled me when I… made contact.”
“It is imperative that you return with me to Chathford,” Lizzy said.
Harriet had recovered enough to fold away her handkerchief. “What about the river?” she exclaimed. “The water froze. Like magic! Was that woman a witch, after all?”
Lizzy shook her head. “There is no such thing.”
I thought of how the river froze when Lizzy’s feet touched the ice.