Jane Austen: Blood Persuasion (20 page)

“You must wait here and pray both Anna and I return safely home,” Jane said. She turned to her mother. “Ma’am, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

She flinched as Mrs. Austen approached her, wondering if her mother would strike her again. But her mother’s voice was gentle and hesitant, tears standing in her eyes. “My dear, I shall pray for you. But will garlic help? I could dig up the garlic beds, although I fear mice may have eaten them—”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I regret that is merely rumor.”

“Who did this to you?” Mrs. Austen touched Jane’s bruised face with gentle fingers roughened by her work in the garden.

“Duval, ma’am. It will heal.”

“I should like to hit him! How dare he!” Apparently having forgotten she herself had struck Jane minutes ago, Mrs. Austen gathered her daughter into her arms. “My poor child. My poor, brave child. Bring my granddaughter home, I beg you. And guard your soul against those wicked creatures.”

Chapter 19

S
he had tried to be calm and rational with her family, fearing hysteria or helpless weeping, and she thought she had succeeded, but at a cost to herself. As she left, she pulled the brim of her hat low over her face to hide the tears. She had not dwelled upon the dangers that might lie ahead, moved to pity at the sight of Cassandra’s shocked incredulity. They had immense faith in her, her sense and courage, but would those qualities be enough? She wondered when she had stopped being the flighty one, the irresponsible youngest child, and suffered a sea change into becoming a responsible woman.

She wished she could undo these past couple of weeks, don her spinster’s cap with pride, and settle herself in the dining room with pen and ink and paper, retreating into the worlds of her own creation. She touched her finger to her hat as she passed the Reverend Papillon, who, prayer book tucked beneath one arm, was doubtless off to perform good works among his (mostly) exasperated parishioners. Papillon raised his hat and looked at her in confusion, almost certainly finding her familiar but not able to identify the strange young gentleman.

She turned into the driveway of the Great House and saw a familiar figure walking toward her. She would know that arrogant, graceful strut anywhere, the tilt of his head, the angle of his hat, the way he swung the walking stick that contained a deadly blade; the features that all these years had haunted her dreams and assembled themselves into the faces of her fictional gentlemen, from the wicked to the virtuous, but never the foolish ones.

Yet she saw how grave his face was as she approached, his usual expression of detached irony replaced with an uncharacteristic seriousness.

He bowed. “I should not embrace you, as much as I should like to, for I see you are in some distress.”

“I have spoken with my family.”

“William said you would do so. And . . . ?”

“They were not particularly receptive. At first they thought I was mad, and despite my efforts, I think they have little conception of the danger Anna is in.”

“And what of your danger?”

She shrugged. “Oh, they think me equal to the task, whatever the task might be. None so capable as Jane, you see. I suppose it comes with donning breeches.”

“Did the breeches shock them?”

“More than anything, I think.”

They had reached the front door of the Great House, and Luke led her into the Great Hall where the household had gathered. They stood in a silent semicircle around the great stone fireplace, their attention drawn to the box of mahogany and ivory that William held. When he saw her, he placed the box carefully on the mantelpiece and came to greet her.

“I must ask again: You are sure you wish to join us, Jane?”

“I am, sir.”

“You are more at risk than any of us. You wish to remain mortal, yet you place yourself among us when passions run high and you are exceptionally vulnerable, ready to hurtle into a metamorphosis. Similarly, you are not so mortal that a graystone knife cannot cause you grievous harm. There is no dishonor in retiring from the fray.”

“It would be a great dishonor to me if my niece came to harm, sir.”

There was a murmur of approval from the assembled Damned, who certainly valued loyalty among family members.

“I shall fight, sir. You taught me well. But I shall have nothing to do with your knives.”

“I should not expect it of you. You were with us at a time of great disorder, when we abandoned many of our proper traditions. Today you will see how these things are done.” He smiled at her with great sweetness, but his kindness made her want to weep. This, she was planning to give up, these most perfect friendships with William and Luke, and with Clarissa who came to her side and affectionately tipped the hat from her head.

“What an ill-mannered young sprig you are,” she said. “I am glad you are with us, Jane.”

She drew Jane aside. William and Luke and Dorcas were deep in conversation, the box taken down from the mantelpiece. “You are not the only one who will not use graystone blades. I shall not. William and Luke must, because of their status among us. Do you want a knife—by that, I mean a regular weapon?”

“What will happen?” Jane asked.

“William has written a formal declaration of hostilities. Tom has delivered it, and we await the response.”

“Why not attack them by surprise?” Jane looked at the group of the Damned. “We are equally matched in numbers.”

“Because they are the Damned, too. It was different when we fought the French. Those were extraordinary times.”

“And these are not?”

“Not yet,” Clarissa said. She led Jane to a large wooden box, scarred and dented with a rope handle, and threw its lid open. Inside, knives and swords were piled.

Jane knelt to select a knife, balancing one and then another in her hand, running her thumb across blades. “So there is to be some sort of duel, and then we all fight?”

“More or less. We fight if the duel is inconclusive, and if we are lucky, the graystone knives will serve more as a display of strength than anything else. Proprieties must be observed.”

“I see,” Jane said, although she had little understanding. She slipped the knife she had chosen inside her boot and loaded her pistols.

The Damned clustered around the box of graystone knives murmured quietly in Greek, William asking each of them a question and receiving a response. Blasphemously, it reminded Jane of Holy Communion, except that instead of bread and wine, each received a knife safely stowed in a small leather sheath, which was strapped to the bearer’s wrist on their outer clothing.

“They vow to use the graystone wisely and with respect,” Clarissa said. “Each swears fealty to William. They will use the weapons only as a last resort, but chances are the fight between William and Duval will be enough.”

“I’m amazed you trust him,” Jane said. “He has broken his word once.”

“I am concerned that Tom has not returned,” Clarissa said, and Jane had the impression that she had spoken out of turn in mentioning Duval’s betrayal. Clarissa crossed to the window. “Ah, here he is.”

In a few minutes Tom had entered the room and bowed to William.

“The challenge has been accepted. In two hours, and it is to take place on the grounds here.”

“Very well.” William bowed. “What the devil took you so long?”

Tom smiled. “They offered refreshment. Duval has some remarkably pretty girls there—no, Jane, you need not look at me like that; your niece was not one of them. Duval keeps her to himself by all accounts.”

Luke left William and Dorcas and came to Jane’s side. “I see you are armed, Jane. When was the last time you fought hand to hand?”

“I regret I have had few opportunities recently, unless wrestling with a particularly tough dinner,” Jane said.

“I very much doubt you’ll need to fight, but a little practice would not come amiss.” Luke unbuckled the leather strap that fastened the graystone knife onto his coat sleeve and laid it reverently aside. He removed his coat and Jane hers.

She gripped the knife, the worn wood smooth against her palm and fingers, the balance fine and true. Her feet took on a fighter’s stance before she even realized what she did, light, ready to dart and shift.

The knife clattered onto the floor.

Luke raised his eyebrows as he withdrew a dagger similar to hers from inside his waistcoat. “I trust you won’t throw your weapon away so readily.”

She shook her head, one hand at her mouth, hoping the pain in her canines would subside. “I did not think that fighting you would cause this. A sudden pain—”

“Pardon my indelicacy, but are you
en sanglant
?”

“No. My teeth are merely sensitive. It takes me by surprise when I least expect it.”

“It is to be expected. You and I fought together quite often as I recall. Among other things.”

To cover her blush, she lunged for the knife, spun, and aimed low at his belly.

He laughed and pivoted with graceful economy of movement, so her blade whooshed past him.

“I’m rather fond of this waistcoat. I shall have to make sure you do it no damage.”

He blocked her next few attacks with very little effort and a cool smile as though mildly entertained by her efforts. She, however, became out of breath and frustrated, until she realized his intent was to irritate her and make her lose her concentration. When he changed to an attack, she was ready, blocking his blow with a clash of blades, ducking and rolling to escape him, and almost succeeded in slashing his hamstrings behind the knee.

A small group of Damned who had gathered to watch offered a thin patter of applause.

“Better,” he said.

Their blades met, clashed, slid, jarring her wrist and arm, and she landed with a sudden thump on the floor; damn him, he had caught her off balance and tripped her.

“Not bad,” Luke said. “More?”

She looked up at him as he stood over her and considered kicking him, or even biting him—no, not that, and oh, her teeth ached again. She knew he would treat her less gently if they continued, and if he wounded her, she could accept no help or healing from him, for almost certainly his breath on her skin would catapult her into a metamorphosis. And that she could not risk, however much she desired his touch.

She shook her head. “I shall have to take my chances. I think you understand why.”

“Of course.” He offered her his hand with great courtesy.

She rose without his assistance, knowing she should not risk the touch of his bare hand upon hers, however much she might desire it. And yes, desire made her slow and clumsy as much as a dozen years of trying to forget, trying to behave as befitted a woman of her circumstances. Doubtless he knew how she felt, unless, in a gentlemanly manner, he declined to enter her mind.

She turned away to hide at least her face from him and stowed the weapon in her boot.

“Jane.” His hand was on her shoulder, and even with its leather protection, the graystone knife at his cuff wafted a cold breeze against her neck. “I know this is difficult for you. Should you wish to—”

“I thank you for your concern. I have become somewhat irritated at being told that I do not know my own mind; I daresay it is no more than most women suffer, but I find it reprehensible.”

“Of course.” He bowed. “It is an honor to have you join us once more, Jane.”

“You need not worry that I shall endanger anyone with my lack of strength or practice. I have learned some prudence over the years.”

Luke bowed and excused himself, saying that he and William must talk some more.

“I expect they talk of a succession, should . . .” Clarissa, still clad in women’s clothes, ran her thumb over the blade of one of the steel knives. “I must change into men’s clothes. Will you and Dorcas come with me? We can dine—that is, we can take refreshment, if you like.”

“Certainly.” She doubted she would be able to eat, but she knew it was best to remove herself from Luke’s disturbing presence. She went upstairs with the two women, and they passed some time drinking tea and admiring a new gown Dorcas had acquired, while Clarissa changed into coat and breeches.

“Will Luke succeed if . . . if things go badly with William?” Jane asked.

“Almost certainly. There has been friction between them, but a leader must by nature take a contrary path sometimes,” Clarissa said. “It is likely that the fighting today will be more formality than anything else.”

Dorcas said nothing, but Jane noticed her place her fingertips on the leather sheath that held her graystone knife, as though it could determine a good outcome to the fight.

Jane submitted herself to having her hair tied back, her coat and hat brushed, and her boots removed and handed to the footman who brought her a plate of cold meat and bread. Grumbling, Clarissa tied Jane’s neckcloth, complaining that if she were not so prudish, Luke would do a far superior job. The footman returned the boots, now sporting a high sheen.

Clarissa, murmuring that she had another task for the footman, left the bedchamber with him, returning after a quarter hour with shining eyes and a general air of satisfaction that Jane recognized. The scent of a healthy young man hung around her.

“I suppose you did not leave any for me?” Dorcas inquired.

“I regret not. I recommend Peter.”

“That
was
Peter.”

“How can I tell? They all look the same in livery,” Clarissa said.

“Or out of it, I daresay,” Jane murmured.

“I suppose I shall have to go downstairs and find something for myself,” Dorcas said after tugging the bellpull several times without receiving a response. “It’s so difficult to find good help these days.”

Jane nibbled at a piece of bread, knowing she should eat but lacking appetite. The possibility that the duel, or however the Damned wished to refer to it, might be more than a formality and escalate to real fighting and destruction weighed heavy upon her mind. What if she could not rescue Anna? And how would things change with her mother and sister and Martha now that they knew the truth about her?

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and Clarissa bade whomever it was to enter.

Raphael stood in the doorway. “It is time, ladies.”

“Do you join us, sir?” Jane asked.

“I must. He is my brother and my Creator. I suppose everyone has drummed the dangers of your actions into your ears?”

“Yes. I am mightily sick of it. I am well aware of the risks, as indeed you must be.”

He bowed. “Come, then.”

He led them downstairs and outside the house to one of the meadows dotted with ancient oak trees. William, with Luke close at hand, and the others stood beneath the spreading branches of one tree. Dorcas and Clarissa joined them, and Jane and Raphael stood a little apart, as though in agreement that they were not quite participants, but not merely onlookers.

Duval and his followers stood beneath another tree.

It was a fine late spring day, a slight breeze ruffling the new green leaves of the trees and rippling the grass of the meadow. Skylarks sang, invisible, above in a blue sky.

“They have chosen blades,” Raphael said to Jane.