North by Northanger (A Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery) (6 page)

“I did find it curious.” She watched Lady Catherine’s vehicle enter Laura Place, then let the curtain fall and turned away from the window.

“Though Roger inherited a title, he did not inherit a great deal of sense.” Darcy went to the decanter and offered her a glass of wine. Though she declined—the smell of liquor had troubled her since her pregnancy began—he poured one for himself. “To curtail a long saga, he has a habit of offending the wrong people and landing himself in political, social, and sometimes even physical danger. In the past few years, he has expanded his imprudence across the English Channel.”

“Your unwillingness to follow him there displeased your aunt. Have you done so before?”

“Displeased my aunt?” He gave her a wry smile as he replaced the stopper on the decanter.

“Gone to France.”

“The last time Roger tarried there, he nearly lost his life in a duel. I brought him home.”

“Why did you not go on this occasion?”

“I am no longer a bachelor. While previously I might have placed myself at my aunt’s disposal, I now have a wife and child who require my attention. I cannot allow Lady Catherine to consider me at her beck and call whenever the whim strikes her.”

She crossed to him as he sipped his wine. “I am glad to hear it. I much prefer you at my beck and call.”

“Indeed? And what whim presently strikes you?”

“You need not journey to France.” She took the glass from him, deliberately brushing his fingers in the process, and set it down.

He regarded her warmly. “Why Mrs. Darcy.—”

“Only Pulteney Bridge.”

At that, he chuckled. “We are returning to the pastry-cook’s shop?”

“How ever did you guess?”

“We have not yet been there today. The proprietor might feel neglected.” He took her hand, kissed it, and led her into the hall. “Is it to be lemon ice or strawberry this time?”

Six

I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal
.

—Jane Austen,
letter to Cassandra

D
r. Richard Severn was a petite, wiry gentleman with a dark complexion and the eyes and nose of a hawk. He wore his black hair short, his sideburns long, and his vanity like a suit of armor. He entered the Darcys’ sitting room with an air of command and proceeded to interview the couple instead of the other way round.

Rather, the physician proceeded to interview Darcy. He barely spared Elizabeth a glance, and she soon felt as if she could have left the room without the doctor’s noticing.

“This is your first child?”

“It is.”

“And your wife estimates it will arrive when?”

“Early March.”

“I normally return to London on the first of March. She, however, should complete her travel much earlier. The roads, as you know, can be extremely hazardous in winter, and you would not want a rough carriage ride to cause premature birth. I advise you to install
Mrs. Darcy in town well before Christmas.” He withdrew a small notebook and pencil from his bag. “I will note in my calendar when you anticipate requiring my services. You have my direction in London—simply summon me when Mrs. Darcy’s pains commence.”

“My wife prefers our country home in Derbyshire for her confinement. I had hoped you might consider attending her there.”

“Derbyshire? Impossible,” he said, not looking up from his calendar. “It is too far from London. I could take on no other patients—I would have to arrive before I was needed and waste weeks waiting for Mrs. Darcy’s delivery.”

“I would make your sacrifice worthwhile.”

The doctor paused, pencil still in hand, and studied Darcy appraisingly. “How worthwhile?”

“That depends upon how long you stay at Pemberley.”

“Hold a moment!” Elizabeth drew their attention toward herself for the first time in the entire conversation. “Dr. Severn, before we make any arrangements, might you be so good as to describe what I can anticipate when you attend me?”

He regarded her with annoyance. “Have you not a mother or sister with whom you can discuss the particulars of lying in?”

“What I mean to say is, all the women of my family have been brought to bed with a midwife and other women attending them. As a physician, do you assist births differently?”

“My medical training is far superior to that of any midwife,” he said tersely. “What midwife can boast a university education? Should the birth not proceed smoothly, has she the knowledge and instruments to save you or the child? The greatest families in England rely upon me to see their children into the world, but if you prefer the aid of an ignorant old woman—”

“I did not say that. I only wished to know the advantages of having a doctor present.”

“I have assisted hundreds of births, Mrs. Darcy. I am an expert in my profession. Moreover, I am a man of science, equipped to handle not only the common emergencies, but also the unforeseen. I can tell
you tales that would chill your soul about extreme measures I have taken to save a mother or her child after having given up the other for lost.”

Which he then proceeded to do.

Apparently, a woman’s expectant state ranked second only to All Hallows’ Eve as inspiration for one and all to share horror stories. Elizabeth actually shuddered at one particularly disturbing example the doctor offered as evidence of his superiority. There would be no resisting Darcy’s preference for a physician now, and, in truth, she herself had begun to think that perhaps engaging a male accoucheur was the wiser course of action. She could not say, however, that she cared for Dr. Severn himself.

The physician glanced from her to Darcy impatiently. “What is your intent? Do you wish to engage me or not?”

As much as she resented Dr. Severn’s arrogance, she respected his knowledge. She met Darcy’s gaze and read in it his desire to proceed. For Darcy’s sake, she could tolerate him. Should the unthinkable occur, at least her husband would have the small consolation of knowing he had done everything in his power to prevent it.

She nodded her acquiescence.

Within ten minutes’ time, all was arranged. Mercifully, Dr. Severn shared Elizabeth’s belief that his coming to Pemberley immediately was entirely unnecessary—a view that somewhat mitigated her opinion of him. He consented to travel there if needed to respond to specific complaints, but otherwise he would arrive in February and stay until the birth. A monthly nurse—he could recommend several—would then oversee Elizabeth’s recovery for the remainder of her lying-in. The gentlemen negotiated payment, and Dr. Severn departed.

“The interview proceeded more smoothly than I anticipated,” Darcy remarked.

“You thought Dr. Severn would prove more difficult?”

“I was speaking of you.”

Before she could reply, a servant entered and handed Darcy a letter that had arrived while they were engaged with the doctor.

“It is from Mr. Harper,” Darcy said. “He writes that he will depart for France on the nineteenth, and assures me that he will conduct the business quietly” Darcy refolded the letter and set it aside. “So the matter of watching over my cousin is well in hand. If I know Mr. Harper, I will find an initial report waiting for me when we return to Pemberley.”

“Do you anticipate Mr. Harper will learn anything unpleasant?”

“After nearly losing his life, Roger swore that he would not so hazard himself again. It is my hope that he meant it. Nothing would please me more than for Mr. Harper’s journey to prove entirely unnecessary.”

“I suspect your aunt, on the other hand, would be disappointed by the news that he is
not
courting trouble. She seemed so eager for a crisis about which she could declare her disapproval.” She sighed. “Well, should Roger fail to provide, at least she has me to console her.”

Darcy looked at her oddly. “Given your history with Lady Catherine, you expect your company would comfort her?”

“Not my company, dear, my condition. Instead of working herself into a bother over the purity of the Fitzwilliam name, she can fret over what my involvement has done to the bloodline. With our child not due until March, the vexation will happily occupy her for months.”

Seven

Every bend in the road was expected with solemn awe to afford a glimpse of its massy walls of grey stone, rising amidst a grove of ancient oaks, with the last beams of the sun playing in beautiful splendour on its high Gothic windows. But so low did the building stand, that she found herself passing through the great gates of the lodge and into the very grounds of Northanger, without having discerned even an antique chimney
.

—Northanger Abbey

T
hus far, I cannot say I find Gloucestershire entirely hospitable,” Elizabeth said, drawing her cloak more closely about her.

Darcy silently agreed. The thirty-mile journey to Northanger Abbey had so far proven grey and wet. They had set out from Bath with overcast skies; by the time they reentered their carriage after a stop in Petty-France to take refreshment and exchange the horses, a light drizzle had begun. Thick clouds and rising fog shrouded the Gloucestershire landscape in gloom.

He drew Elizabeth against his side. It was unlike his wife to allow damp weather to dampen her spirits. “You are too harsh. Every county in England receives its share of rain.”

“Oh, I have no objection to the rain—just its falling today” She settled against him. “Whenever one forms a new acquaintance, the parties cast about for innocuous subjects of conversation, and now when we meet Captain Tilney we shall be unable to rhapsodize over
the beauty of his native region. We will be reduced to discussing the length of our journey and which plays we saw in Bath.”

“But observations on the weather always offer a fallback for discourse. The rain is actually a boon.”

“Nay, a bane. If the sun shone, we could praise the glorious day at length, as if our host were responsible. But what is there to say about foul weather, other than ‘it rained,’ that does not sound like complaint? No, I am afraid we are stuck, and I reserve for myself the theatrical reviews. You may narrate our travelogue.”

Eventually, the somber atmosphere lulled Elizabeth to slumber. She had been sleeping more now that she was carrying their child, Darcy reflected. He drew her more tightly against him and rested his chin atop her head.

Now that their arrangements with Dr. Severn were in place, he had managed to leave some of his unease behind in Bath. He had secured for Elizabeth the best care his fortune could provide. They were headed back to Pemberley, where she could spend the rest of her pregnancy in the comfort of home. There was little more to be done than wait for March and pray that all went well. In the meantime, he would try not to ponder the irony that an event that promised such incredible joy also carried the threat of unimaginable sorrow. He would try instead to simply look forward to the arrival of their child.

The rain fell heavier, and Darcy heard the low rumble of thunder over the noise of the carriage. A louder
crack
a few minutes later woke Elizabeth.

“Is it possible that the sky is even darker than before I nodded off?”

“It is, but more than the rain is to blame. Dusk approaches.”

“I wonder that the postilion can see anything in this mist. I hope he does not miss our turn.”

Darcy hoped so, as well. “Northanger Abbey cannot be much farther,” he assured her.

Just as he became convinced that they had indeed lost their way, the carriage passed through a set of great gates. An imposing Gothic
structure, the pointed arches of its windows illuminated by candles, rose from the fog blanketing the valley.

“I believe we have arrived,” Darcy said. He assisted Elizabeth from the carriage, and together they dashed to the shelter of an old porch, leaving their servants to attend to the luggage.

Northanger’s housekeeper admitted them to a lofty hall. Darcy gave their names and enquired whether Captain Tilney were at home.

“Yes—he has been expecting you this age.” Catching her reflection in a looking glass, the tall, thin woman adjusted her cap over blond hair starting to evidence grey. Darcy waited impatiently, reflecting that Mrs. Reynolds would never countenance a servant attending to her own appearance before guests at Pemberley, let alone do so herself.

When she was satisfied, the housekeeper returned her attention to them. She noted Darcy’s walking stick and reached for it. “Do let me take that for you.”

He relinquished the cane. When she made no move to also divest them of their cloaks, Elizabeth asked whether she would like to take those, as well.

“Oh, yes—I suppose so.” She appeared less than eager to accept the wet garments, and held Darcy’s greatcoat and Elizabeth’s wrap as far away from herself as possible so as not to dampen her own clothing.

“Wait here a moment while I deposit your things. Then I will conduct you to your chamber. You no doubt wish to refresh yourselves—rain always makes everything so dirty.”

She disappeared behind one of several doors in the hall, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy to exchange perplexed glances.

Elizabeth smiled. “Perhaps we should have paraded through the house in our wet things so as not to trouble her.”

Darcy did not find their reception so amusing. “If her conduct is characteristic of servants here, I begin to share your opinion of Gloucestershire’s hospitality.”

“Now
you
are too harsh. A warm fire will set all to rights.”

When the housekeeper returned, Darcy asked how soon they might have the pleasure of meeting their host.

“My master looks forward to welcoming you at dinner. We dine precisely at five o’clock every evening at Northanger Abbey. It is now half past four.”

She led them up a broad oak staircase with a heavily ornamented rail. At the top, they entered a long gallery lined with windows on one side and doors on the other. Nothing could be seen through the windows but darkness and splattered raindrops reflecting the candlelight.