Scales and Sensibility by Stephanie Burgis
Chapter 6
Elinor walked into the second-floor drawing room ten minutes later with a rapidly fluttering pulse hidden behind her gown and Sir Jessamyn perched alertly on her shoulder. Both of their gazes went straight to the big, scarred wooden table in the center of the room...but for very different reasons.
Shining platters of traditional English breakfast foods covered the table, from toasted cheese to eggs to slices of cold chicken and assorted jellies. Sir Jessamyn wriggled so hard with delight that he nearly fell off Elinor’s shoulder.
Elinor, however, barely noticed the mountain of food or even the teapot that steamed enticingly at the center of the table. She was too busy staring in horror at the empty chair beside Benedict Hawkins.
“Mr. Aubrey hasn’t left already, has he?”
The other two men had already pushed their own chairs back from the table to rise and bow to her; Mr. Hawkins paused halfway from his seat, frowning. “You know Aubrey?”
“Who’s Aubrey?” Sir John’s voice was muffled by his own waistcoat as he bowed with a subservient flourish she’d never seen from him before.
Elinor swallowed hard as she searched for the right answers to give them both. Of course, there would be no reason for Mrs. De Lacey, of all people, to know of a young dragon scholar at Cambridge, no matter how brilliant. And as Sir Jessamyn seemed to have somehow turned her into an impossible vision of Mrs. De Lacey…
Panic fluttered against her chest. She fought the urge to turn and flee.
Sir Jessamyn craned his neck towards the table. His mouth hung open. His glittering golden eyes fixed on the chicken.
If she tried to leave now, he might well commit mutiny.
“Are you feeling quite well, Mrs. De Lacey?” Sir John started forward, holding out his arm. “Allow me to—”
“No!” She jerked away—then tried to mask her reaction by reaching up to adjust Sir Jessamyn on her shoulder. “Thank you for the offer, but....” She smiled weakly. “I don’t require any assistance, Sir John.”
The very last thing that she required, in fact, was for her uncle to touch her arm—which was far thinner than it currently appeared as the deliciously curved arm of Mrs. De Lacey—and feel the difference between illusion and reality.
Benedict Hawkins was watching her with a thoughtful frown. When she met his gaze, though, he only walked around the table to pull out a chair—the same one that she had sat in last night. “Mrs. De Lacey.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hawkins.” She sat, holding her chin high and making sure not to brush against him by so much as a hair.
She’d only dared this breakfast meeting in the first place for the sake of seeking Mr. Aubrey’s advice...but now that she was here, it made sense to take advantage of the (terrifyingly impossible, magical) illusion and eat one final hearty meal. If she did somehow manage to escape afterwards, she would very likely go hungry for quite some time; and if, instead, Sir John realized who she was, he would certainly order her hauled off to prison on charges of dragon theft immediately afterwards.
Elinor didn’t think she could face either prospect without a bracing cup of tea.
Both men were frowning now at Sir Jessamyn as he leaned precariously over her shoulder, gazing at her still-empty plate with glittering golden eyes. Elinor shook her head at the sight, relieved to finally be back within a realm she understood.
“Yes, I know. You haven’t eaten for hours, and you’re going to starve to death if you wait any longer. Just give me a moment, will you?” She reached for a pair of serving tongs.
Sir John reached them first. “Allow me, Mrs. De Lacey.” He was still frowning at Sir Jessamyn, though, even as he piled heaps of meat and eggs onto her plate without waiting for her reaction. “Apologies for not arranging the proper service, ma’am, but I didn’t want any of those witless inn maids overhearing our conversation. They will talk, y’know, no matter how well you pay ’em, and as you may have gathered, there’s been a bit of an uproar within the family.”
Elinor raised her eyebrows and set one hand on Sir Jessamyn’s warm scales, as if to hold him in place. It was a good excuse to keep her hand well out of her uncle’s reach. “Uproar, Sir John?”
He sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t bother you with it if you weren’t such an old friend of my wife, but…”
Benedict Hawkins interrupted. “May I ask how you long you’ve had your dragon, Mrs. De Lacey?”
“My dragon?” Elinor widened her eyes, feeling her breathing shorten. “Do you take a particular interest in dragons, Mr. Hawkins?”
“Not...generally,” he said. “But that one looks remarkably similar to one I saw just last night. The resemblance is striking.”
“Exactly what I’ve been thinking!” Sir John waved his arm so vigorously in agreement, he sent a pile of eggs flying from the serving tongs onto the bare wooden table.
Sir Jessamyn cheeped in protest at the lost food. His head snaked out to anxiously mirror the path of the waving serving tongs as Sir John continued, “That blue and green face, and those wings—”
“The golden markings on my dragon’s face,” Elinor said sharply, “are said to be entirely unique. Surely they cannot be found on any other, less superior dragons you may have seen!”
Sir Jessamyn wriggled in protest as her fingers tightened around him. As Elinor dropped her hand, she found Benedict Hawkins watching her steadily.
“Yes,” he said. “You’re quite right. That is the one point of difference I can see.” He paused, then added, “The only one.”
“Hmm. The only difference, you say?” Sir John leaned closer to peer suspiciously at Sir Jessamyn.
With a squeak of dismay, the little dragon scuttled back, burying his bright face behind Elinor’s hair. He had always been terribly nervous around Sir John, from the very first day he’d come home from the breeder.
Please don’t chuckle, Sir Jessamyn, Elinor begged silently. That would give everything away.
Two dragons might look startlingly similar without proving anything conclusive…but for two such dragons to both share Sir Jessamyn’s own nervous weakness? No one would ever believe that the great Mrs. De Lacey would choose to travel around the country with a dragon who couldn’t contain himself in company.
She arched away as her uncle leaned closer, his breath far too hot. “Sir John, really—!”
“Beg pardon, ma’am.” His sigh of frustration ruffled her hair, smelling of whiskey and the peppercorn seeds he he liked to chew. Still, he sat back obediently. “Just trying to get a better look.”
Sir Jessamyn vibrated nervously against Elinor’s neck, and her spine stiffened in response. I made a promise. She might not have funds or a future, but she could at least keep anyone else from frightening him now.
Elinor glared at her uncle with every bit of outraged haughtiness she could imagine from the woman she’d read so much about. “Would you care to tell me why you have been gaping at my dragon in such a vulgar fashion, Sir John?”
Sir John scooted his chair back as hastily as if she’d slapped him in the face. “Well—that is—”
A strange exhilaration filled Elinor as she rose to her feet, tossing her napkin onto the table with dismissive flair. “Your local villagers may bow and scrape, but I do not personally find it amusing to have any gentleman breathe onto my neck without permission—or to ogle my dragon with such rudeness!”
She snatched up a thick slice of chicken to pass to Sir Jessamyn; his head snaked out to catch it with lightning speed before returning to the safety of the back of her head.
Sir John loosened his neckcloth, breathing hard, as he scrambled to his feet. “Mrs. De Lacey, I beg you—”
“I fear I have made an error in choosing to visit your family,” Elinor said coldly. “Please inform your wife and daughter that I am once again...indisposed. You needn’t pass on any apologies.” She turned her back on him pointedly and started for the door, ignoring the choked protestations coming from behind her. “I shall start back for London directly.”
And just in time, she finished silently.
If she was quick enough, she would be long gone before he discovered that the great Mrs. De Lacey had never officially arrived at the inn after all—and had certainly never stabled any carriage or horses there.
It would be a local mystery—fodder for gossip for weeks to come—but Elinor and Sir Jessamyn would be safe. By the time Sir Jessamyn’s illusion faded, they would be well away. And then…
Well, she would think of something after that…she hoped.
Benedict Hawkins’s voice stopped her only two feet from the door.
“Mrs. De Lacey, if you please—do you know what happened to the girl who was staying in your room last night?”
Ohhh... Even knowing that she shouldn’t, Elinor stopped walking. She took a deep breath, her eyes still fixed on the brass door handle that led to safety. “Which girl?”
“There was a young lady,” Benedict Hawkins said. “She began the night there, at least, and—”
“I arrived in the middle of the night.” Elinor didn’t turn around. She didn’t dare. “The room was already empty.”
“Were there any signs of distress? Anything left behind that might give a hint of where she’s gone?”
Elinor couldn’t help herself. She turned and met Benedict Hawkins’s intent hazel eyes—which were, for once, completely free of laughter.
“I’m concerned about her safety,” he said quietly. “She had no money and no one to help her. I don’t see how she could survive on her own. I meant to give her what little I could before she left, but—”
“On her own?” Sir John’s face reddened with remembered rage. “She had my daughter’s dragon, sir! She stole my daughter’s dragon, impudent as you please. She’s no doubt sold it on already to the first blackguard she met. Wretched girl! After everything we did for her—”
Elinor forced her words out through gritted teeth. “Of whom can you possibly be speaking, Sir John?”
“My niece.” He spat out the word. “Well, my wife’s niece, anyway. Her fool of a sister married a man who couldn’t handle his investments or his horses. He overturned himself and his wife in a carriage ride and left three daughters for someone else to look after. My wife insisted we ought to take one of them in to help our daughter Penelope, but—”
Benedict Hawkins choked. “Oh, good Lord. I beg your pardon, Sir John—and Mrs. De Lacey. I just—I’m afraid, I was so distracted, sir, that I hadn’t quite put it all together until now. As we weren’t properly introduced, I hadn’t heard your surname, but—well, of course. Your daughter must be Miss Penelope Hathergill, then?”
Sir John blinked, interrupted in mid-flow. “Well…yes.”
“So the girl who was here last night—Miss Elinor Tregarth—is her cousin?”
“Unfortunately.” Sir John shrugged. “That minx couldn’t care less for family loyalty, though. Yesterday afternoon she made a fool of herself with a hysterical fit in front of my daughter andmy wife, and then she fled the house in disgrace with Penelope’s dragon—who cost me a pretty penny, I can tell you. When I catch up with her, she’ll learn her lesson!”
Elinor forced her breathing to remain steady as she watched Benedict Hawkins absorb the news. Different emotions chased themselves across his face…but he ended up shaking his head with a wry half-smile.
“She did say she knew Miss Hathergill,” he murmured. “I suppose I understand, now, why she didn’t share any further details.”
It shouldn’t matter what he thought of her. It didn’t. After all, Elinor would never see him again after today. And yet...
“Perhaps there is more to the story than you’ve yet heard, Sir John,” she said. “You weren’t in the house yourself yesterday, were you?”
“No,” he said, “but—I say, how did you come to know that?”
Elinor shrugged lightly with her less-burdened shoulder, while Sir Jessamyn quivered against her hair. “You would hardly have waited so long to chase her down if you had been at home when this supposedly occurred.”
“True enough.” He sighed. “It was the first thing I heard about when I arrived home, though. I can assure you of that. Before I even washed off my dust, I had the whole story from my daughter, so you may trust that I have all the facts in hand.”
Elinor raised her eyebrows. “Is there no other side to the story but Penelope’s?”
“How could there be?” Sir John snorted. “No, that wretch walked off with the dragon, all right, and she couldn’t have had any intention but to sell it. There’s no other reason for her to have stolen it—well, except to hurt my daughter, that is. Penelope says she was always perishingly jealous and showed it with all sorts of ill-tempered remarks. We’re well rid of her from our household.” Sir John took a long swig of his ale and squared his shoulders. “All the same, I’ll have to spend the rest of the day chasing after her now to see justice done—she must be halfway to London by now, thinking to live high off the profits from her crime.”
Elinor’s fingers tightened around the skirts of her dress. “Perhaps you should simply let her go. She can’t be worth such exertions on your part, surely.”
“I’d rather not do much more traveling,” he admitted. “But if you imagine my daughter will ever let her go…” He shuddered. “If you only knew how upset this has made Penelope…”
“You may not catch up with her at all,” said Benedict Hawkins. “If she hasn’t gone to London—”
“Where else could she go? There’s nowhere else big enough for her to make that kind of sale and then vanish. She don’t have any other family left but her sisters, and they can’t take her in—but I suppose I’ll have to see about them now, too. I’ll write tonight to those poor fools who took the other girls in, to warn them of their danger.” He shook his head dolefully. “They ought to know to expect Miss Elinor on their doorsteps—and more than that, as one sister’s turned out to be a thief, it’s only fair that I warn ’em not to trust either of the others.”
Elinor’s throat tightened. “Surely that can’t be necessary.”
“Ha! If you think Penelope will ever let me rest without seeing justice done—”
“Perhaps we can give Penelope something better to think about,” Elinor said swiftly. “I hear she plans to début soon?”
His big shoulders slumped. “In just five days. But with that dragon gone and no time to order up a new one for her—”
“I think you had better forget the dragon entirely.” Elinor listened to her own words with disbelief. How was her voice remaining so calm?But then, it wasn’t her voice at all…and that would have to make all the difference from now on. “A dragon won’t be necessary for Penelope, I assure you. She will have something far better on her side.”
Her uncle frowned. “What could be more fashionable than a dragon at my daughter’s début ball?”
Benedict Hawkins’s frowning gaze rested on Elinor’s face. Sir Jessamyn shivered against her shoulder, still hiding his own face from Sir John.
Elinor thought longingly of the door handle and of freedom, still close enough to touch. Think of Rose, she told herself. Think of Harry.
She lifted her chin. “Penelope will have me,” she said coolly. “You’re in luck, Sir John. On the condition that you abandon these tedious and petty schemes of revenge—which are far too vulgar for me to associate with in any fashion—I believe I shall condescend to visit your family after all. What could ever be better than that?”