Chapter Five

Two attacks within the space of a few weeks made all of Hertfordshire anxious, particularly when the three deaths at the Lucas Lodge ball became common knowledge. The streets of Meryton were unusually empty, and townspeople constantly glanced over their shoulders and whispered theories to each other behind their hands.

The Convocation investigator, Stephen Marsh, arrived two days after the second attack. He interviewed Darcy, Bingley, and many other witnesses, in addition to visiting the sites of the attacks. He sought etheric traces of summoning spells and interviewed every mage of any power in Hertfordshire.

But the origins and purpose of the attacks remained a mystery. Marsh did not even possess a theory about the motive for the attacks and privately suggested to Darcy that perhaps they were random events. Darcy was willing to concede the possibility of coincidence, but he was not convinced Marsh’s investigation was thorough. Marsh held his position by virtue of being a viscount’s son, and Darcy was apprehensive that the man had overlooked key evidence.

The man was still ensconced at the Meryton Inn and seemed to be enjoying the ale they served. Ostensibly he was still conducting his investigation, but Darcy did not expect it to yield any answers.

Several days after the second attack, Darcy, Hurst, and Bingley had been invited to luncheon with the militia officers. However, just before they were due to ride out, they received a note from Colonel Forster. Flooding in a nearby town had washed away a road and damaged houses, and the militia had been summoned to render assistance. The luncheon would need to be postponed.

Bingley was philosophical about the delay, but Hurst was quite vexed; apparently the colonel had an excellent cook, and Hurst had been anticipating the meal with relish. Darcy had been eager for a ride and a chance to escape Netherfield, albeit briefly. Caroline also appeared disturbed by the news of the canceled luncheon, and after a few minutes revealed that she and Mrs. Hurst expected Jane Bennet to visit. Bingley was so delighted by the prospect of her company that he did not notice how Caroline had scheduled the visit for when her brother would be away from home.

Darcy spent the morning writing a letter to Georgiana in the parlor while absentmindedly conversing with Caroline. It was most irritating how she incessantly pressed him with questions when he was obviously occupied with his task. At about the time Miss Bennet was expected to arrive, a sharp shriek pierced the air, followed by the neighing of an agitated horse.

Darcy leapt from his seat and pulled out his sword. Bingley was only a few steps behind him as they raced out Netherfield’s front door. They found Jane Bennet attempting to fight off a trow goblin. It had attacked her horse, which did not appear likely to survive. After dismounting, she had obviously sought the safety of the house but only achieved the bottom step before the goblin had overtaken her.

Old, short, and ugly, the trow was laughing and menacing her with its enormously long fangs. She was fortunate that trows liked to torment their prey. Any other goblin species would have gone for a swift kill. Darcy and Bingley thundered down the steps just as the goblin leaned in for an attack. Miss Bennet pushed the trow’s head away as forcefully as possible, but it grabbed and twisted her arm, breaking it with a sickening crack.

Darcy tackled the goblin, sending both of them on to the dirt of the drive, and his sword flew out of his hand. The trow regained its feet and grabbed the front of Darcy’s waistcoat, drawing him closer to its fangs. He could feel its breath on his cheek.

Darcy reached for the silver knife he kept in a sheath in the lining of his boot. Freeing the knife, he brought his arm up in a vicious strike and embedded the knife in the middle of the trow’s chest, hoping that he had struck the heart. The goblin immediately fell back, writhing on the dirt before falling completely still. By the time Darcy regained his feet, it had disintegrated into a pile of dust.

Darcy turned back to Miss Bennet. She made no sound, but her face was stained with tears as she cradled her broken wrist against her chest. Shudders—from the shock or the cold—shook her body. Bingley hovered protectively around her, wanting to comfort her without doing something inappropriate.

As soon as Bingley’s sisters peeked out of the front door, they hastened to take charge of Miss Bennet. Caroline ordered a footman to summon the healer while Mrs. Hurst helped the injured woman up the steps and into the house.

Alone on the drive, Darcy stared at the pile of goblin dust. He was pleased that nobody had been grievously injured. But why had it attacked Netherfield at that particular moment? Surely this attack was related to the others, but how? They were obviously not throwing a ball.

That was not the only source of his misgivings. Miss Bennet would undoubtedly need to remain at Netherfield for a few days—which would probably bring Miss Elizabeth to Bingley’s doorstep. And she was not conducive to his peace of mind.

***

Although Mr. Bingley’s message had assured Elizabeth that her sister was resting comfortably, she could not be easy until she saw Jane herself. As soon as the note arrived, she donned her warmest cloak and set off on foot for Netherfield, not even considering the danger of goblin attacks until she reached the house. Fortunately, she encountered nothing untoward.

Her arrival in the Netherfield drawing room provoked shocked reactions. “You walked? Alone? Unescorted?” Miss Bingley exclaimed. Her brother was not present, but Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Hurst regarded Elizabeth with equal incredulity.

“Hertfordshire is ordinarily quite safe," Elizabeth assured the other woman. “In fact, recently balls have presented the most danger.” Mr. Darcy’s lips twitched.

Miss Bingley shivered delicately. “I would not consider walking anywhere without an escort!” She gazed adoringly at Mr. Darcy. “But I have my dear Fitzwilliam to protect me.”

Ugh. Elizabeth had no tolerance for protestations of feminine helplessness; it was not reasonable to always expect a man to be available for protection. “I am capable of defending myself,” Elizabeth declared. “I wish I had been here to defend Jane.”

The other women made a great show of being shocked. “How singular!” Mrs. Hurst exclaimed. “Why would you wish for something so dangerous?”

“Surely everyone wants to protect their loved ones,” Elizabeth replied.

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Hurst said as though she was just remembering. “You are the person who applied to the Academy. I am certain I never wished to practice that sort of magic.”

“Where everyone can witness it,” Miss Bingley agreed with a shudder.

“It is not particularly ladylike,” Mrs. Hurst said with a glance at her sister.

Elizabeth had encountered such sentiments many times. They did not bother her…or at least she was adept at hiding it. Mr. Darcy was observing her with marked intensity but said nothing. Well, she understood his opinions on the matter; she could only be grateful that he was not joining the current chorus of disapproval. “Surely there are different ways to be ladylike,” she said.

Mrs. Hurst lifted her chin. “To be truly accomplished, a woman must embroider. And she must possess a certain something in her air.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth and smiled. “Surely there is no requirement that all ladies should be the same. That would be tedious, would it not?”

“Magic,” Miss Bingley sneered, “is never numbered among a lady’s accomplishments.”

Elizabeth’s patience was nearly exhausted. “Magic is a talent, just like dancing, music, or art. Ladies are always told to exhibit their talents. Why should magic be any different?”

“I suppose the difference is in kind,” Mr. Darcy said thoughtfully. “Ladies are not typically called upon to use many kinds of magic, so there is no need to educate them in it.”

“If a highwayman attacked me and I defended myself with a sword, I would be commended—not censured,” Elizabeth replied.

“Certainly,” Mr. Darcy agreed. “Nobody would condemn you for using a sword. But by the same token, nobody would expect you to practice swordplay.”

“Ah, so the difference is practice. It is very well for me to use a sword or magic…as long as I do not use them well.”

“You make a good point,” Mr. Darcy said after a moment. “But it is incumbent upon paladins—indeed all mages—to protect others.”

“Is it truly preferable to take on the burden of protecting me rather than allowing me to learn to protect myself?” she pressed.

“I suppose the paladins’ burdens would be lightened if some women could defend themselves with magic,” he conceded.

“Why would a lady volunteer for anything so violent and dirty?” Miss Bingley sniffed. “Personally, I am quite pleased not to be involved in such things.” She glanced at her fiancé for his approval, but his expression was carefully blank.

Elizabeth shrugged. “Perhaps I would rather be a live woman than a dead lady.”

Mr. Darcy managed to turn a laugh into a cough. “There is some sense in her words,” he said to Miss Bingley, who merely huffed.

Elizabeth supposed grudging acceptance was preferable to violent disagreement, but it was not sufficient. “I often make sense. What a shame I could not do so at the Academy.”

Miss Bingley rolled her eyes. “How long will you task Fitzwilliam with that?” she asked. “The panel was comprised of ten mages.”

Mr. Darcy regarded his betrothed steadily. “The decision was unanimous. It is not unfair to hold me at least somewhat accountable.”

Now he seems to be defending me? Really, he is the most confounding person I have ever met.

She was rescued from the tiresome conversation by Mr. Bingley’s arrival. “Miss Elizabeth!” he exclaimed. “No doubt your presence will be a balm to your sister in her distress.”

“How does she fare?” Elizabeth asked.

“I believe she experienced some discomfort earlier, but she partook of some medicine from the healer and seems to be better.”

Elizabeth was relieved to have at least one sympathetic face in the room. “Will you take me to her?”

“Of course!” He led her upstairs to Jane’s bedchamber.

Elizabeth was pleased to see her sister sitting up in bed and drinking a cup of tea. The healer had encased her wrist in a splint and a sling. But Elizabeth still found the sight distressing. Perching on the side of the bed, she asked, “Are you in much pain?”

Jane smiled tremulously. “Not in the least. Mr. Mayne gave me a potion to alleviate the pain while my wrist mends. It will only need a few days to heal with his help. But I must confess that the agitation from the attack is still affecting me.”

Her sister’s good hand was shaking; Elizabeth carefully took the teacup and placed it safely on the table before embracing Jane. “It must have been terrifying.” Her sister clung to her in a very uncharacteristic way; usually Jane was so serene.

“Oh, Dearest!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “When I think about how close I came to losing you—!” She blinked back tears. “I pray you tell me what happened.”

Jane described the attack. “If Mr. Darcy had not appeared, I do not know what would have happened to me! I endeavored to fight the goblin off, but it had the strength of five men.”

Tears rolled down Elizabeth’s cheeks. First her father and now Jane; the past few weeks had been exceedingly trying for the Bennet family. “We indeed owe Mr. Darcy our gratitude.” She might find the man difficult, but there was no doubting his bravery.

“Mr. Bingley would not hear of my leaving today.” Their host’s name brought a smile to Jane’s lips. “He is anxious that the jostling of the carriage would hurt my wrist.”

“It is very gracious of him to invite you to stay.”

“He is quite the best man I have ever met.” Jane shifted in bed and winced as the movement jarred her arm.

“I should leave you to rest,” Elizabeth said.

But Jane struggled to open her eyes. “Lizzy…You have always said women should learn some magic so they might defend themselves. But Mama never wanted us to know anything beyond traditional spells. Today…I was so frightened, and I did not know how to fight off the goblin. Will you teach me some defensive spells when we return home?”

“Of course.” Elizabeth gave her sister a kiss on the cheek. Jane, at least, would not be one of those women who depended on a man for protection.

She sat with Jane until her sister fell asleep and then slipped quietly from the bedchamber. Making her way to the drawing room, she found everyone assembled as before—as if they had not moved since she quitted the room.

Mr. Bingley inquired about her sister’s health, and Elizabeth was pleased to provide a positive report. Then, before her courage failed her, she approached Mr. Darcy and thanked him for saving her sister’s life—only tearing up slightly. He seemed surprised but accepted her thanks with grace.

Elizabeth took a seat, but no conversation was immediately forthcoming. Perhaps Mr. Bingley’s sisters considered her beneath their notice. “Has the Convocation investigator discovered anything?” she asked Mr. Darcy.

“The investigation is still…young,” he said. “I sent word to Mr. Marsh and he visited earlier to examine the scene of the attack, but I do not believe he found anything of note.”

Elizabeth recalled her father confined to his bed for days and Jane wincing when she moved her broken arm. “I do believe it is a matter of some urgency,” she said when she could be sure of a normal tone of voice.

“Indeed,” Mr. Darcy agreed amiably.

How could he be so sanguine? Elizabeth wanted to roam the countryside, patrolling for goblins—as ill-advised as that would be. “Surely more can be done to protect the people of Hertfordshire.”

Mr. Darcy’s expression was cool. “What did you have in mind?”

“Do we know if a similar pattern of goblin attacks has occurred before?” she asked. “If so, it might help us determine a cause.”

Mr. Darcy regarded her pensively. “That is a good thought. I do not believe anyone from the Convocation has conducted such research.”

Elizabeth turned to Mr. Bingley. “Might I avail myself of your library?”

Before he could respond, Miss Bingley interrupted. “Naturally. You are a great reader and take little pleasure in other activities.”

“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure. I was hoping that Netherfield’s library might possess books that relate to our present situation. I have already reviewed everything in Longbourn’s library.”

“My father was a well-known magical scholar,” Mr. Bingley mused. “I brought part of his collection here, so there may be something of use.”

Miss Bingley wrinkled her nose. “Reading about monsters? What an exceedingly unpleasant way to pass the afternoon.”

Elizabeth managed a tight smile. “I do not expect it will be comfortable reading, but I hope it will be useful.”

She regarded Mr. Bingley expectantly until he stood and showed her to the door. “I pray you inform me at once if I can be of assistance,” he said.

To Elizabeth’s amazement, Mr. Darcy also arose from his chair. “Perhaps I will join you. Two people may research more efficiently than one. If you do not mind?”

“Not at all,” Elizabeth said before hurrying from the room—away from the sour expression on Miss Bingley’s face.

***

Darcy was supposed to be reading, but he could barely keep his eyes on his book and off Elizabeth Bennet. She was bent over the open book in her lap—quite unaware of the pretty picture she presented. Her brow was wrinkled in concentration, and her lower lip caught in her teeth. A tendril of dark hair had fallen over her forehead. Hellfire. Why had he never before recognized his weakness for clever, contrary women? He had no intention of acting on his attraction, but surely there was no harm in admiring her from afar.

He forced his eyes back to the page. Although Bingley’s lineage was not as distinguished as Darcy’s, his family had managed to assemble an impressive collection of magical books. There Be Goblins was an ancient tome that Darcy had read previously, but he hoped there would be something of use regarding their current circumstances.

Darcy had never considered himself to be an iconoclast, yet he found himself increasingly intrigued by Elizabeth despite—or because of—her unconventional beliefs. His fascination was a mystery even to himself. He could not imagine that many men would desire a wife who could work magic beyond flavoring tea or concealing wrinkles.

Not that Darcy desired her for a wife, of course.

Still…he permitted himself a brief moment to fantasize about a world where he met Elizabeth before his betrothal to Caroline. He would marry her, and they would have stimulating conversations at breakfast. She would make an excellent mistress of Pemberley and a wonderful mother for their children. And he would go to her bed at night…

No, fantasies were for fools. Even if he had been unattached, her low family connections and the embarrassing conduct of her mother and sisters would have forbidden any serious thought of romance. And she would never quite overcome the stigma of being forward enough to apply to the Academy, although, strangely, that no longer seemed so great a transgression. Sometimes he wondered if she would have been an asset to the Convocation; it was a shame she was female.

Elizabeth sighed explosively. “I have found nothing that comes remotely close to addressing our current situation. Have you discovered anything of note?”

“I fear not. One would suppose it has happened before. But they all provide the same information: goblin appearances happen randomly—an average of one or two a week throughout the country. Nobody has ever discerned a pattern behind the attacks. Localized goblin sightings are sometimes the work of a rogue mage, but there are no records of a mage summoning above one goblin. It requires a great deal of energy.”

“In any event, what could a mage hope to gain from such random attacks?” Elizabeth asked.

“Investigator Marsh is certain that none of the powerful mages in Hertfordshire are responsible, and he has seen no etheric traces from a strange mage.” Darcy ran his fingers through his hair. “Perhaps our only choice is to kill the goblins when they appear.”

Elizabeth’s eyes were fixed on the carpet. “I wish there were another choice—other than killing.”

“That would be…quite welcome,” he said.

Her eyebrows shot upward. “Mr. Darcy agrees with me? A momentous occasion indeed.”

Darcy could not suppress a chuckle. He should find her pertness irritating, but it was endearing. “Fighting goblins is dangerous. I have lost friends—fellow paladins,” he explained. “I would be quite pleased if there were a safer way to rid England of the scourge.”

“I wish we understood more about the world beyond the portal,” she mused.

“It is a place of fire and torment. What else do you need to know?”

Elizabeth stood and examined the spines of the books on the shelves. “The books do describe it so, but how can they be sure? Nobody has ever visited the goblin world. What if it is much like ours?”

“Their behavior suggests otherwise.”

“Have you read anything by Lawrence Wyndham?” she asked.

“I believe I recall the name.”

She held up a book: The Habits of Goblins by Lawrence Wyndham. “He summoned a goblin repeatedly and kept it contained for several hours at a time so he could study it—before returning it to its world.”

Darcy sucked in a breath. “That could be an exceedingly dangerous practice.”

Elizabeth leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. “But he learned so much! He even taught one of the goblins some English so it could answer rudimentary questions.”

“I did not know they were capable of language.”

“Apparently some of them are.” Elizabeth opened the book to a particular page and read aloud.

“‘They shy away from bright light and loud noises and often wilt in the heat. Perhaps their world is cooler, darker, and quieter than ours. Goblins are pulled out of their world and thrust into ours without warning or so much as a by your leave.’”

She thumped the book closed. “Imagine being suddenly thrown into a world that is too loud and too bright and makes no sense.”

“It would be horrible,” Darcy agreed.

“Perhaps our world drives them insane, and that is why they attack.”

Darcy hesitated before responding. “That is…a disturbing thought.”

“They do not want to be here and do not want to fight us. They simply want to go home.”

Darcy shook his head. “But when goblins arrive randomly, the portal always closes after them. They could not return unless a mage opens another portal.”

Elizabeth sank into a chair. “If a mages could open portals for them, then the goblins might be sent home.”

“It is an intriguing idea,” Darcy said. “However, opening a portal requires time and concentration. It is not easily undertaken as one fights goblins.”

“True.” Elizabeth bit her lip thoughtfully.

He glanced down at the book in his lap. “I will notify you if I see anything that might suggest such banishment is possible.”

Elizabeth’s smile left him briefly dazzled. “I do appreciate your assistance. Most mages would not even listen to my theories, let alone take them seriously.”

“That would be their mistake,” he murmured without thinking. When Elizabeth turned a startled look on him, he swiftly returned his attention to his book.