My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey Into Love Everlasting (36 page)

"I was about to," Mr. Burr replied. He finally stood up, stretching his limbs before continuing. "We have a poacher," he said matter-of-factly, his wife releasing another curse, "or most probably a duo or more. They have been plaguing us for a month or so now. Mostly small thefts. It took us awhile to figure out we were missing a number of deer and that the grouse and pheasant coveys were smaller than expected for this time of year considering the egg laying numbers and calculated growth-loss ratios. I got Lew and Sean tracking down numbers on the hare, turkey, and other game populations. We have had the dogs on it, but he, or they, are very clever. Last night the dovecote was robbed."

"They are getting too bold," Mrs. Burr interrupted. "To come this close to our house and the yard where the dogs roam is crazy. Next they'll be attacking the sheep. They took a dozen eggs at least and probably ten birds. We can't be sure as yet since the doves scattered and haven't all returned. Three were left dead on the ground, probably dropped when they ran from Hass and Jen who were prowling on guard that night."

Mr. Burr spat, releasing an evil chuckle. "Jen got one of them. Took a chunk out of his arse."

"But he still got away," Mrs. Burr grumbled.

Mr. Burr shrugged. "We'll get 'im. The dogs are as mad as you, so it's inevitable." He turned to Darcy. "Thought you should know and spread the word about. I had Ollie talk to Mr. Amos since Mr. Vernor's land is the next closest. He said they have noticed a few irregularities as well, but not enough to be one hundred percent sure it was a poacher. Now they'll keep an eye."

"I will talk to Mr. Murphy and Mr. Hughes," Darcy said, referring to his next nearest neighbors, "and let you know if they have encountered troubles. If we work together, I am sure we can catch these criminals. Have you set traps?"

"Yep, a few. I have some men setting up more today. Now that we are getting an idea of their tactics we can be more strategic. But I need more. That's another reason I sent for you, Mr. Darcy. Can I sign for ten of those new spring-traps that Ocktonlee makes? I can get them from the smithy in Matlock, but they are pricey."

Darcy was already nodding. "Of course. Whatever it takes, Mr. Burr. We cannot allow this to continue. I will have Mr. Keith speak with the constable so he can be prepared when the thieves are captured."

"If I let them live long enough to be hanged or shipped to Australia," Mrs. Burr rasped. "I make no promises."

Darcy smiled, not doubting the woman's declaration in the slightest. "As you see fit, Mrs. Burr."

She nodded once and then released a shrill whistle. Mole, who had wandered to the small creek some forty feet away, responded instantly, his massive body darting across the field with graceful power and stopping sharply at her side. "I'm going to search the west for a sign." She gathered her supplies, tucked the musket under her arm, slapped the hat back onto her head, and with another curt nod muttered, "Mr. Darcy," as she stalked away, Mole at her heels.

Mr. Burr had relit his pipe and was puffing contentedly. He was watching his wife walk away and for one fleeting, undisguised moment Darcy saw an expression of pride and love cross his grizzled features. Then his typical imperturbable mien returned, his untroubled gaze turning to Darcy.

"Mr. Holmes wanted to talk to you as well, Mr. Darcy. The fledglings have taken flight and he thought you may be interested."

"Indeed. Thank you, Mr. Burr. Keep me informed."

Mr. Burr shrugged in answer. Darcy smothered his smile, remounting Parsifal for the short ride to the falconry. He immediately decided to pass a pleasant afternoon with the hawks, not overly worried about the poachers as he knew the competent gamekeeper staff would deal with the problem as they had in the past. Considering the frightening determination of Mrs. Burr and the crushing strength of the mastiffs bred to protect Pemberley, he almost felt sorry for the thieves.

Almost.

The falconry was located farther south, on the extreme edge of the gamekeeper's complex. Mr. Holmes, the falconer, lived alone in a tiny cottage tucked under the trees outside of the walled-in area with the mews yards away and semi-attached by a covered passageway.

The Darcy family was one of a few who still practiced the art of falconry. An ancestor of Darcy's, Edward Darcy, had developed a passion for the sport in the early 1600s, when it was still a highly favorable royal pastime. It was he who built the falconry, captured and then bred the birds, and hired the men who served as specific caretakers. Edward Darcy was so enthusiastic about the endeavor that his exceedingly explicit journals with astoundingly precise drawings and diagrams were considered prized possessions among the Darcy family heirlooms.

The passion ebbed and waned over the centuries with not every Darcy learning how to hunt with a raptor or even paying much attention to the existence of falcons on Pemberley lands. Yet, the inhabited mews remained as an indelible aspect of the estate with a falconer always employed if for no other reason than to uphold a tradition.

Darcy's grandfather hunted with a falcon from time to time and did take his beloved grandson along on a few expeditions. Darcy held fond memories of the old man with a fierce peregrine or lanner on his arm. But his father was not interested in the hawks, and upon his grandfather's death when Darcy was twelve, he lost interest as well and did not embrace the sport. In truth, his energies were focused on the horses of Pemberley, his passion for hunting following the typical pattern of the day with the use of a firearm preferred.

It was not until his return from London the previous summer, still grieving and ill from his failure with Elizabeth Bennet, that Darcy began spending time with the hawks. It arose out of a request by Mr. Holmes to update some of the woefully ancient and decaying equipment and facilities. Darcy rode to the gamekeeper's yard, and after one afternoon talking with Mr. Holmes and observing the raptors in action, he was entranced.

In large part he knew it was a mental diversion from his ceaseless dwelling upon Elizabeth--and of course the concentration and commitment necessary to adequately train a young bird did effectively drive romantic thoughts away--but he also experienced a thrill nearly as strong as when he trained his horses. He quickly became addicted, spending hours every day with his chosen peregrine, Varda. Always a quick learner and extremely patient, Darcy and his hunting hawk rapidly built a successful relationship.

Parsifal took it well, the screeching bird no more annoying than a blasting shotgun. Running after a fast-flying falcon with his rider urging him to greater speeds sufficiently pleased the equine. Since his marriage, Darcy had not been able to spend as much time pursuing his new-found hobby as he wished, but the zeal and excitement remained present.

The majestic animals kept by Mr. Holmes were truly magnificent. Primarily peregrine and gyrfalcon with an array of other species added to the mix, all were bred for strength and speed. The falconer was a tiny man, barely five feet in height, with a beaked nose and fine-boned frame that rather resembled a bird. The largest of his falcons, when perched on a gauntleted forearm, looked scarily capable of snapping the limb in half or dropping him to his knees from the weight. But the diminutive, middle-aged man was surprisingly strong, and his rapport with the wild prey birds was remarkable.

One never could completely trust a raptor, of course. Incapable of being truly domesticated, feeling affection, or bonding with their master, they were not pets who desired to please. Rather, they were wild animals with independent wills and intense survival instincts. Life involved killing for the purpose of eating and very little else. The challenge was in learning to control the beast as much as possible and forging a working partnership. The thrill was in the hunt. It was a sport nearly as old as hound coursing and every bit as exhilarating.

For Darcy, who loved to hunt with his hounds, it was even more so as the birds are forever unpredictable. Working and hunting with them was never boring.

"Mr. Darcy, glad to see you," Mr. Holmes greeted, his voice as high-pitched as one would anticipate. "Burr told me you were coming out to see about the poaching problem. Terrible mess that is. I have been on the alert for days, barely sleeping, although I doubt anyone would be stupid enough to attack my hawks. Get a finger bit off, they would. Serve them right if they did. Maybe an eye gouged or earlobe torn. I know Pan and Shrill would not allow anyone to touch them. Varda either, Mr. Darcy, so you need not worry. But I have been alert. Set a few traps around the perimeter just to be sure. Burr said you would get 'im more so he did not begrudge me taking a few. Since the birds do not like the dogs about, I do not have that protection, so it was only fair. I am sure you understand. Of course, it might actually be entertaining to see one of those wretched scum try to take one of my birds! One swipe of Shrill's talons would damage more than Jen's bite."

He paused to laugh evilly, Darcy smoothly interjecting as he had many years ago learned was necessary to stem the verbal stream. "The fledglings have flown?"

"All but Zell. She may never be strong enough to train for hunting, poor sweet. But no matter. She can be a breeder. That makes four new hunters. Mr. Davington wants two, as we agreed, so I have sent word. Since Leo died, I thought to keep one as replacement. Did you have anyone interested in the other?"

They entered the mews--Mr. Holmes continuing to chatter about the newest hatchlings, eggs recently laid, the two latest young to be fledged, flight patterns, hunt statistics, and more in the same vein--with Darcy primarily nodding and commenting in short phrases.

The original mews were built of rubblestone with thick coats of plaster, the remnants of those two-hundred-year-old lofts now used for storage. It was these that needed the most repairing, Darcy endeavoring to restore without altering the unique style. The newer mews, built nearly seventy years ago, were far larger. Constructed of ashlar blocks with a combination of partitioned perches for each bird and open freelofts for limited exercise, these mews were lovely as well as functional. Darcy's grandfather had expanded the structure, keeping the sculpted appearance of the rectangular bricks but adding additional perches and nesting boxes to the already generous-sized mews. There was enough space to easily house three dozen full-grown raptors. Currently the census was twenty-two, most of the larger species of falcon but also a breeding pair of hobby and merlin falcons and a small collection of hawks. Mr. Holmes loved all types of raptor, although he naturally preferred the larger varieties.

Lizzy, on the three trips she had taken to the gamekeeper's facilities, found the whole concept fascinating and was intrigued by the blue-feathered merlin. At less than one foot in height, it was the perfect raptor for a woman to use. Mr. Holmes was instantly animated at the idea of teaching the new Mistress and thus crestfallen when she declined his offer. Unfortunately the fact that Lizzy did not ride made the possibility of hunting with a bird of prey next to impossible. However, she did enjoy observing the procedure, especially her husband with his Varda, a prime example of impeccable breeding.

Darcy greeted the peregrine now. Varda gazed at her master, black eyes steady and emotionless, waiting impassively for him to make the first move. Like many birds of prey, the females are generally larger than the males. Varda was no exception. She stood close to eighteen inches high, her body compact and strong. Mr. Holmes had chosen wisely between the three choices available when Darcy first asked to train a bird. Varda was intelligent, adapting to her expected behavior easily, and establishing a bond with Darcy as complete as one could hope for. Furthermore, her speed, size, and power enabled her to catch bigger prey, adding to the thrill of the sport.

Darcy smiled. "Well, my lady Varda. Since I am here we may as well have some fun. Hungry?" She lifted her black crowned head, yellow-rimmed eyes seeming to sparkle in answer. "As you wish, then," Darcy said with a chuckle, reaching for the thick leather gauntlet, jesses, hood, and bells kept by her cage.

No point in wasting the long ride out to the gamekeeper complex, Darcy thought with a grin. Varda released a screech, apparently agreeing.

A week later the small family gathered in the parlor after dinner. This was typical, of course, and it was also typical for Georgiana to entertain on the pianoforte. What was atypical was that the shy young woman had finally revealed to her admired older brother that she dabbled in minor musical compositions. True to Lizzy's prediction, Darcy was amazed but exceedingly proud. It had taken a bit of prompting, but Georgiana finally agreed to play her music in a miniature concert.