Changeling Child - Part 10

Prologue

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Mary picked out a simple melody, enough to keep her hands occupied and her sisters at a distance, as Diarmait paced. “I have suspected for some time that Wickham has been causing mischief with a greater plan in mind. What his final goal in this created conflict may be I cannot be sure, but he has been targeting the Border Estates."

Mary's hands faltered in shock. The magnitude of trouble that could cause... it defied description. Hastily, she resumed playing before Lizzy could do more than turn her head to look back in concern. "How so? Is Pemberley..."

Diarmait stopped pacing long enough to wave a hand. "Pemberley is not a Border Estate, though it could become one; the grounds are extensive, and there are a number of little-used paths near the borders that could, with some encouragement, lead Underhill. The Peaks and the Lakes District are full of such places."

So Wickham's plan had less to do with Mr Darcy directly, then. Mary shifted to another melody, an Irish air that was probably more suited to a flute than the pianoforte, and listened intently. "Wickham's good looks and honeyed tongue allow him to prey on those who are disinclined to be wary. Of late, he has been seeking out other Changelings, who are used for his dirty work and left behind to suffer the consequences when he leaves."

Mary could not speak for all Changelings, but she hissed in sympathy, understanding the plight well. Struggling to interpret non-verbal communication, Mary had to rely on what was spoken, and hope it was enough. Fates be thanked that she had Jane and Lizzy to model herself after, and to watch over her.

Unbidden, her mind flashed to the Changeling boy who had led to her first encounter with Diarmait. He had trusted without sufficient caution, and it had ended badly for him. How many others, bereft of the guidance, status and patience that Mary had benefitted from, had fallen victim to Wickham's schemes?

Diarmait was still talking, and Mary forced herself to focus on that. "I finally had confirmation of what he was doing when I visited Rosings, in Kent -"

The very familiar name stirred a memory. Several of them, in fact, as Mr Collins could not seem to go ten minutes without mentioning it. “Rosings is a border estate? Does that mean that Lady Catherine…?”

She tried to think of a polite way to phrase her thoughts. Diarmait shook his head and laughed, “No, though you would be forgiven for thinking it, as she certainly has the caprice and arrogance of the Summer Court. Her husband, Sir Lewis de Bourgh, was the last Border Lord, and it was he that the Darcys called upon to rescue their son.”

Mr Collins had certainly implied that Lady Catherine was a widow ruling on her daughter’s behalf, but if Sir Lewis was one of the Fair Folk, then what mortals perceived might not necessarily be the truth. “Is he…”

Diarmait waved a hand. “He lives, but was badly injured in the attempt. His death in the mortal realm was staged, and he returned Underhill to heal. Lady Catherine holds Rosings in trust for their daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, while it is determined if she will be able to take up his seat.”

Mr Collins spoke of Miss de Bourgh in glowing terms, but Mary was learning to take everything he said with a firm pinch of skepticism. “Why would she not?”

Her warrior sighed and came to sit on the bench, looking suddenly weary. “Miss de Bourgh is only half-fae; she will never truly thrive in this realm, and the use of magic only makes her weaker. She is another that I have watched over, and occasionally bring Underhill, though in her case it is for her health. I fear that the time is coming when she will no longer be able to endure the journey.”

Mary changed the melody to something soothing, and pressed her shoulder against Diarmait’s arm. “I am sorry. What will happen then, if she cannot inherit Rosings?”

Jane and Mr Bingley passed very obviously in front of the window, almost like a guard patrol, and they hastily straightened on the pianoforte bench. Diarmait cleared his throat, the faintest red tinge on his high cheekbones. "The usual way, for lack of an heir, is for the Lord or Lady to select a replacement, and 'discover' them as a distant relative who will inherit upon their death. Allow a few decades to pass among mortals, and they can take up a new estate and a new name, with no-one the wiser. A new title, even, if they are determined; Baronets are a Ha’penny the dozen, especially in wartime.”

Mary stifled a wholly inappropriate laugh, trying to lift the pall Wickham had cast over them. “Oh, a little more than that, I should think! The Crown cannot appear to be cheap.”

Anyone with even a passing knowledge of Debrett’s Peerage and an eye for wealthy gentlemen and titles could discern that many a new Baronetcy came about after a significant monetary ‘gift’ to the Crown. That was not to imply that titles could be bought, of course! No gentlewoman would ever be so crass as to suggest that. It was merely patriotism, and a desire to ensure that Great Britain did not feel the pinch of the Warchest too deeply. Nothing more, naturally.

Was that too much sarcasm? Mary thought that perhaps it was.

But Diarmait laughed, and Mary smiled as she rested her hands and let the music fade. Her warrior rose, cleaned and cleared the tea set with a snap of his fingers, and offered her his arm, walking out to rejoin the other two couples.

Lizzy and Mr Darcy were walking in companionable silence, while Jane laughed at something Mr Bingley had said. Mary did not think that her eldest sister had subscribed to Charlotte's advice of showing a suitor more than she felt, but it was clear that she liked Mr Bingley enough to trust him with her true self. Lizzy could trade barbs until the sun went down, but the true measure of her regard was to be found in comfortable quiet, without the need to fill the air with words.

Mary found herself quite pleased for them both.

Mr Bingley inclined his head when he spotted them emerging, "Mr Cathal, I know you have rooms at the Inn, but should you wish a change of scenery, you are welcome to stay with us at Netherfield."

Diarmait considered the offer. "The Inn is convenient, but I will not deny that the noise wears on me. I would be glad to join you."

Mr Bingley smiled - like Jane, he was rarely without a cheerful countenance. "I fear I cannot promise no noise, for I am to host a ball next week. My sister is finalising the cards as we speak, and means to send them this afternoon or tomorrow."

Lizzy sighed, "Then much of tomorrow will be spent in Meryton, I fear. A week is too short a time for six new dresses, but Mama will insist on remaking some of our existing ones for the occasion."

Mary thought of a dress that she hadn't worn for some time. "I don't need a new dress, but I did hear our Abigail wishing to try a new style she saw in a magazine. If I am not to sit on the sidelines all evening, I suppose I can indulge her."

Jane and Lizzy exchanged glances that Mary knew meant horrible things for her pre-dinner solitude. "We can try it tonight, for the dinner at Aunt and Uncle Phillips."

The dinner! How had Mary forgotten? "Wickham will be there, Aunt Phillips invited him yesterday. Should we make an excuse?"

Lizzy frowned. "It is dinner and a card party, and we know to be on our guard. There will be witnesses enough that I do not think he will dare anything beyond words yet."

That was true enough; Wickham was new to the area, and while the rank of a militia officer afforded him certain advantages and protections, it was not a position he could easily leave. Desertion in wartime merited a death penalty, so Wickham would need to be subtle and present at least the appearance of goodness. "Then we should return before Mama comes looking for us. Papa will have had his fill of Mr Collins by now, and Mama believes that a burden shared is a burden lightened, and thus we must all endure him."

Mr Darcy laughed, and promptly looked mortified at having done so. "Forgive me. Mr Collins is my Aunt's parson. I was fortunate enough to escape an introduction last time, but my cousin Anne writes horror stories of the man, when she is well enough to correspond."

Anne de Bourgh sounded like a young lady worth knowing, at least according to two men who did not give praise lightly. Mary hoped for the opportunity to meet her one day.

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