Chapter Thirty-Four

Darcy and his cousin arrived at Pemberley on a blustery winter afternoon. The cutting wind was a familiar feature of their home county to them both, if not a particularly beloved one. Darcy had decided the situation was urgent enough to justify the blatant use of his gift to fly a carriage with Colonel Fitzwilliam, along with their valets and luggage, from London to Derbyshire. Mr. Wickham had concurred. This allowed them to travel the 150 miles in a matter of hours instead of days. They alighted in the courtyard of Darcy’s family home, startling the gardeners working in the yard and the maid sweeping the outside stairs. She ran into the house, to alert the butler and housekeeper Darcy suspected. The subsequent appearance of Jeffers, the venerable leader of the household staff, supported the gentleman’s supposition.

“Mr. Darcy! It is good to see you home.” Jeffers welcomed. “We had no word of your imminent arrival.”

“As you can see, we were travelling in some haste. Please see that the Colonel’s room is readied. Is my sister in?”

“Miss Darcy is in the music room. I must say, sir. that the instrument in that room has become somewhat worn over the years.”

“I see. Thank you, Jeffers.” The older man had been in service to the Darcy family for decades and had ascended to his current position while the elder Mr. Darcy still lived. Since he had known his young master as a boy, he seldom hesitated to offer advice in matters that fell under his expertise. Darcy never remonstrated with him for this impertinence. Instead he valued the aged retainer’s sagacity. He made a note to himself that the piano forte needed replacing, perhaps as a present to Georgiana.

“Jeffers, you old dog!” Richard beamed, slapping the butler on his shoulder in passing. “What sort of trouble have you gotten into while the cat was away?”

“You seem to be mixing your metaphors, sir,” Jeffers replied.

“Bad habit of mine. I’ll endeavor to seek improvement.”

“Very good, sir.”

They entered the house and proceeded to the music room, where they could hear a Mozart concerto being played. Darcy quietly stepped into the room to observe his sister at her favorite pursuit. He had not seen her in some months and was once again surprised at how she had matured. She was tall, and though little more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance womanly and graceful. She was handsome, with sense and good humor evident in her face. She was currently concentrating on her performance, wringing every possible nuance from the instrument. Darcy and Richard stood silently while she completed the movement. Afterwards she turned to the door and offered a gentle smile to her guardians.

“You heard us?” Richard complained.

“I hear everything.” Georgiana replied. Then he stood and moved to them, offering her hand in turn to each. “I am so pleased you have come. I was not expecting you. Did you come because of the attacks? Mr. Preston said he would be sending an express.”

“Indeed. We left almost as soon as we received word. Have you been impacted?” Darcy took his sister into his embrace. “I would not have you hurt for anything?”

She returned the embrace strongly. “No. Mrs. Annesley and I have weathered the crisis with comparatively little intrusion on our daily routine. We have curtailed our regular trips to Lambton until we feel matters are more settled.”

“That was a sensible precaution. Richard and I must talk with Preston and Mr. Harlow to get a better idea of what is going on. Afterwards, unless this requires immediate action, we will be back for dinner. I am looking forward to hearing about your last few months.”

“And I am interested to hear more about your adventures in Hertfordshire and London, perhaps even learn a bit more about this Miss Elizabeth you wrote so much of.”

Richard raised his eyebrow in curiosity at this. “Where have I heard that name before, hmm?”

Darcy ignored his cousin and asked his sister, “The message said that Preston had been attacked. Was he injured? Where is he now?”

“He was not injured greatly, though he is currently recuperating in his home under Dr. McGregor’s care.”

“Then, after changing from our travel clothes, we will go speak with him.”

Mr. Preston was a former infantry captain that had returned from India after the death of his father, a local attorney. He was a wilder that had served with distinction, but returned to Derbyshire with no fortune. He had started as Darcy’s father’s sheriff, while Darcy was at Cambridge. He had performed his duties well over the years, keeping Pemberley safe during Darcy’s extended absences. His gift was aeromancy, the control of air and wind. Darcy found him in his house in Kympton, the village just a half mile from the great house. Before arriving at Preston’s they called at his nearest neighbor, Mr. Harlow, Darcy’s steward and primary estate manager, to collect him for the meeting.

“Please tell me about these attacks.” Darcy commanded.

“Sir,” Preston said. His left arm was in a sling and he had a bandage about his left thigh. But he was moving well and seemed to have all his faculties. “About a week ago I started getting word from my bailiff in Hartshorne that there was some sort of giant bull running amok up there. I went to investigate and found evidence of something causing damage to fields and fences. Even one barn had a busted wall. Looked like something was trying to get to the cows. But I couldn’t find whatever was causing the fuss.”

“A couple of days later we got a report from down south of Lambton that there was some sort of monster there too. Not the same thing. This was some sort of wyvern or flying reptile. It’s been snatching sheep from the pens. I saw this one. Long thing, about the size of a horse, with wings. I chased it for a bit, but it managed to evade my pursuit near the cliffs. I have men searching for it. A good musket ball or five should put paid to it.”

“Finally, three days ago I was attacked whilst riding the fields west of Hailee and was set upon by three gifted attackers. They were a talkative bunch, claimed to be ExtraOrdinaries, flannelling on about taking the battle to your home as the next step in freeing all England from the … might get this bit wrong … the tyranny of the self-something elite. They managed to pummel me pretty good, but couldn’t finish the job before I got away. When I got back I asked Mr. Harlow to send the express.”

The steward took up the narrative. “Preston’s men are patrolling and reporting back regularly. I’ve activated the bell watch. The towers are still there from your grandfather’s time. If any monster is seen, the bells will ring.”

“Thank you both for your diligence and quick thinking. You’ve done well.” Darcy made sure his people knew he appreciated their work. “Make sure the staff at Pemberley know to use their bell should the need arise. Also, have your men be on the lookout for new faces in the neighborhood. Especially be vigilant for a Frenchman who, in London used the name LaFontaine. Although that is likely an alias.”

“His real name might be Jacques deBussey,” Richard added. Darcy looked at him quizzically. “Something W discovered in the last week,” he whispered to his cousin, then turned back to the others. “But really anyone new is suspect and we should be informed.” They all nodded their understanding.

That night the family dinner was a pleasant reunion for the three. Darcy discussed Bingley’s unconventional courtship to Miss Bennet, while avoiding both the violence of the events and Miss Elizabeth where possible. Richard offered amusing anecdotes of his time on the Peninsula, mostly centered on his own foibles and mistakes. Georgiana entertained them with her attempts at hosting some of the other young ladies in the neighborhood in practice teas and dinners. They had even organized a recital at Locksleigh Hall. Mrs. Annesley, of course had chaperoned their efforts. After dinner Georgiana and Richard performed several duets, with Darcy as an appreciative audience.

When the bell watch finally sounded a few days later, Darcy flew Richard to the first tower and was told that the bull had been spotted at a nearby farm. Darcy resumed flight, while Richard sped along the ground. Richard’s was a classical warrior set of gifts. He had the strength to lift a small cannon. His skin could withstand most blades and bullets. He was able to run faster than a horse, and maintain the pace for days at a time. On top of that, he had lightning reflexes combined with the senses and agility of a leopard. And he healed from his rare wounds at close to ten times the rate of a normal man. In the Army he made use of these gifts to excel in combat, which brought him recognition, decorations, and rapid advancement.

Anticipating their quarry, Richard and Darcy were armed with partisans from the armory room in Pemberley. These medieval weapons combined the advantages of both the boar spear and the halberd, and seemed custom made for hunting giant bulls. Richard also carried a heavy sabre, which, in his hands, could cleave through a horse lengthwise, and had from necessity on more than one battlefield.

Darcy, using the advantage of height, found their target first. “It’s attacking the barn. Join me when you get there. I’ll try to hold it. You skewer it,” he called to his cousin.

Darcy slammed into the giant animal from above. It was the size of an elephant, with skin as black as pitch and horns on its nose and head. Even its tail was spiked. And it seemed to exhale short tongues of flame from its flaring nostrils with every heaving breath. Darcy felt the impact in his bones. But the beast seemed unaffected.

With a ringing battle cry, Richard slid on his knees under the creature, attempting to disembowel it with his partisan. The razor-sharp blade scored the hide, drawing a line of blood, but nothing more.

The monster recognized the attack and spun in an impossibly tight circle to slam into Darcy with its massive shoulder. The crown magistrate was sent flying into the side of the old barn, smashing through the thick wood and landing in a pile of manure. Richard is never going to let me live this down, was his first thought.

As Darcy pulled himself out of the barn, Richard was baiting the bull by stabbing at its sensitive snout. He was leading it away from the barn in an effort to avoid any more damage and to prevent further injury to the farmers or their flocks. Finally, the bull had had enough and charged the colonel. Darcy was astounded as Richard leapt high, between the horns and flipped over the back of the beast. He left his partisan impaled in the back of the beast’s neck like a picador’s lance. Landing behind the bull, Richard drew his saber and slashed in the same motion slicing the left hamstring. The attack was not completely successful, but the bull bellowed in pain and floundered as it tried to find its footing on its now uncertain leg.

Darcy flew to the beast’s back and gathered his gravitic gift to increase the pull of the Earth. The bull staggered for a few steps then collapsed to its knees. Darcy increased the pull until the ground began to compress beneath the giant beast. He tossed his partisan to Richard. “Do it.”

Richard caught the polearm and circled around to the side of the animal. Taking care not to be caught in Darcy’s gravity trap, he carefully aimed the weapon, then using all his strength, thrust into the space between the shoulder and the chest driving the broad blade into the heart of the monster. Between the crushing weight and the cold steel, the beast eventually surrendered to the inevitable.

“That’s one . . .” Richard panted.