North by Northanger (A Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery) (7 page)

They passed to the end of the gallery, where she opened a pair of folding doors. These led into a narrower gallery, with a winding staircase and more doors. The first of these on the left, she opened to reveal a generously sized apartment, with mahogany wardrobes, painted chairs, a canopied bed, and two dressing-closets. A large tapestry hung on one wall. Their trunks, already open, waited for them.

The room was dark save for the light of the candle the housekeeper carried. Darcy and Elizabeth waited in expectation for the servant to light a lamp or candle in the chamber, but the thought apparently did not cross her mind. She stood gazing about the room as if appraising the furnishings.

“This seems a pleasant room,” Elizabeth said. “Though perhaps a bit dim.”

“Yes . . .” She suddenly seemed to remember herself. “Oh! Indeed.” She crossed to the room’s sole lamp to light it. For some reason, the task proved a challenge, and she struggled with it so long that Darcy found himself nearly overcome by the urge to seize the lamp from her and light it himself.

Eventually, she achieved success and set the lamp in the center of the table. It sputtered, not quite committed to remaining lit.

“This chamber belonged to the late Mrs. Tilney,” she said. “The apartment has gone unused since she died, despite its being the nicest in the house. Can you imagine?”

Darcy had more difficulty imagining himself retaining her as a
senior servant. Perhaps in her middle or late thirties, she was considerably younger than Mrs. Reynolds, but the true gulf between them lay in their professionalism. Captain Tilney must maintain far more relaxed expectations than did Darcy.

“The master thought it was time the apartment saw some use,” the housekeeper continued, “so we hope you find it comfortable.”

The room was not remotely comfortable at the moment—the air within was cold. Though a Bath stove occupied the fireplace, it sat empty and unlit.

“If you do not require anything else—”

“A fire,” Darcy said.

“Oh! Of course. I suppose someone will see to that while you are at dinner. I shall leave you now to dress and come back to escort you. As this is a large house, the master requests that you not wander it by yourselves.”

She closed the heavy oak door. Thunder rumbled outside, drowning out the sound of her receding footsteps.

Elizabeth looked to Darcy with an expression of bafflement. “All right, I concede. Would you care to remark upon the oddity of our reception, or shall I?”

“I would, but we have not time.”

Though their luggage was present, their servants were nowhere about—an unaccountable dereliction. They rang the bell, but with such a short span in which to make themselves presentable, they seized the first suitable clothing they could find in their trunks and began assisting each other while waiting for their summons to be answered.

Five minutes later, they were still waiting.

“I cannot fathom where our servants have gone,” Elizabeth said as Darcy fastened the back of her gown. “And why has no one else answered the bell?”

Darcy could not spare a moment to formulate a guess. He had missed a button and had to fasten her gown all over again. “Captain Tilney will be enjoying dessert before I finish these buttons,” he said.

“It seems rather inconsiderate of him to make us rush so.”

“As a military man, he no doubt values punctuality.”

“As a host, he ought to value the comfort of his guests.”

She winced as she caught sight of her hair in the looking glass. The damp weather had set each lock conspiring against the others. She left the mirror and pillaged her trunk.

“I cannot find my hairbrush.”

“Is there not one on the dressing table?”

She glanced at its surface. “No. Perhaps in one of the drawers.” She opened the dressing table drawers in rapid succession, but the search proved unsuccessful. Darcy, meanwhile, approached the looking glass and struggled to tie his neckcloth in record time.

A large, old-fashioned cabinet of ebony and gold stood in a nearby recess. “Should I try that cabinet?”

“Unless you have decided to accept the present state of your hair as satisfactory after all.”

“I cannot meet our host like this. He will mistake me for one of the hedges.”

She crossed to the cabinet. A key extended from the lock; she turned it and unfolded the doors to reveal a wall of small drawers. These she slid open one by one. “Empty . . . empty . . . handkerchiefs . . . gloves . . . empty . . . stockings . . . more handkerchiefs . . . oh, my!”

He glanced at her reflection in the looking glass. Her countenance held astonishment. “Have you discovered the crown jewels?”

“No. Only a hoard of diamonds.”

“Is that all?” He made a final adjustment to his cravat.

“Darcy, I am quite serious.”

He brought the lamp over and looked into the drawer himself. A diamond necklace, bracelet, and pair of eardrops glittered back at him. The set appeared very costly—hardly the sort of thing he would leave in such an unsecured location for years. “The family must have forgotten about these.”

They closed the drawer. The next contained a superior treasure—a comb. Elizabeth seized it and hurried to the dressing table.

_________

Somehow, they managed to achieve full dress by the time the housekeeper reappeared. Elizabeth enquired into the whereabouts of their maid and valet, and received a blank look in response.

“They are
your
servants—I am not responsible for supervising them.”

“Nor did anyone answer the bell.”

“It must have gone unheard in the bustle of dinner preparations.”

Though she found these replies less than satisfactory, Elizabeth let the matter drop as they hastened to join Captain Tilney on time. She did, however, note the displeasure in Darcy’s face as the housekeeper sprinted down the corridor expecting rather than inviting them to follow.

“Do you suppose all guests at Northanger are treated so attentively?” she said under her breath.

“If so, it is little wonder that our host seeks new acquaintances,” he replied. “No one ever returns.”

Despite the speed at which their guide led them, the housekeeper walked gracefully and carried herself with as much dignity as one would expect in a servant of her status. She conducted them back through the great gallery, past portraits of long-dead ancestors and paintings of the abbey’s various incarnations.

“How long have the Tilney family lived at Northanger Abbey?” Elizabeth asked.

They reached the central staircase before she finally answered. “A long time.”

Contrary to Elizabeth’s expectation, they did not meet their host in the drawing room and proceed to the dinner table; rather, the housekeeper escorted them straight to the dining parlor. It was a spacious room, richly appointed, with an enormous chandelier overhead and a long table set for three. The chandelier was unlit, forcing the entire burden of illuminating the vast chamber on two candelabra standing at attention on the table and an indifferent blaze in the massive marble hearth. These lights made a noble effort at dispelling the
shadows that cloaked the room’s perimeter, but proved inadequate to the task.

One place setting rested at the head of the table, with the other two across from each other about a third of the way down. The housekeeper directed them to the latter, informed them that her master would arrive momentarily, and departed.

They took their seats. Though Pemberley boasted a grand dining parlor and Elizabeth had enjoyed the hospitality of others similar in scale, she felt dwarfed by the proportions of the room.

“Perhaps it is the absence of our host,” Darcy suggested in response to her observation.

“Or of proper lighting. I can scarcely see my silverware.”

Lightning flashed. Elizabeth jumped at the sudden sight of the housekeeper behind Darcy. She had not noticed the servant reenter the room.

“Captain Tilney sends his most sincere apologies. He feels indisposed at present and must settle for a tray in his chamber. He urges you, however, to enjoy the meal after your long journey. He will meet you afterward in the drawing room.”

“If the captain suffers indisposition, perhaps he would prefer to receive us in the morning,” Darcy offered.

“No—he is quite decided upon meeting you tonight.”

“I hope his complaint is of a minor nature,” Elizabeth said. “Is the captain an older gentleman?”

“Not at all. He is of middle years, and still quite fine to look upon.”

“Has he a wife?”

“No,” she said sharply.

She brought in the first course—some sort of soup Elizabeth could not quite identify, though Darcy almost became far too personally acquainted with it when the housekeeper’s inattentive serving threatened to pour it into his lap. They were soon left alone again, with only the sounds of the storm for company. Rain pelted the windows, and cracks of thunder punctuated their conversation.

Darcy met Elizabeth’s gaze in the flickering candlelight. “And you thought a visit with Captain Tilney sounded intriguing
before
we left Bath.”

“This is certainly one of the more interesting places to which you have brought me since our marriage.”

“More interesting than Mr. Dashwood’s town house?”

She smiled. “Mr. Dashwood’s residence had only an antique looking glass to lend it character. Here we have already encountered a housekeeper who cannot keep house but who can materialize out of nowhere, been installed in an apartment last used decades ago by the home’s dead mistress, and played hide-and-seek with a mysterious host who never appears. All this, and we have not yet been within these walls a full hour. Even Mr. Dashwood’s town house cannot compete with the allure of Northanger Abbey. Indeed, I think only the castle of Udolpho holds more charm.”

“Are you wishing we had declined the captain’s invitation?”

“Indeed not! I find this all excessively diverting. But if we discover a black veil anywhere on the premises,
you
can raise it up.”

She tested the soup and glanced back at Darcy. “Mock turtle?”

“Certainly a mockery of something.”

The soup was followed by successive courses that invited speculation as to whether Captain Tilney’s indisposition was merely an excuse to avoid the fare. Or perhaps a digestive ailment caused by it.

When they finished the meal, the housekeeper escorted them across the hall, through an antechamber, and into a grand drawing room. Pier glasses and other mirrors lining the walls endlessly reflected the light of dozens of candles, surrounding them with hundreds of tiny points of light that somehow did not seem to dispel the darkness.

In a chair near the hearth, partially shielded from their view by a firescreen, sat a figure swathed in bandages. Strips of white cloth wrapped his head and obscured most of his face, exposing only a
single eye and his mouth. The coverings extended down his neck, where they met the edge of a blanket draped over his shoulders.

The housekeeper crossed to him. “Sir, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are here.”

“Excellent.” He rose to his feet. “At last, I am able to bid you welcome.” The blanket slipped off one shoulder of his stout frame, revealing that he had use of only one arm. The other was splinted and strapped to his side. He indicated two chairs on the other side of the fireplace and invited them to sit.

The housekeeper helped him back into his own seat and restored the blanket around his shoulders. She then placed a glass of port in his hand and brought another for Darcy.

“Thank you, Dorothy,” the captain said. “You may go.”

The servant appeared reluctant to leave. She repositioned the firescreen, nearly knocking it over in the process, to provide her master’s damaged face more protection from the heat. When stable once more, the screen cast Captain Tilney’s face in shadow. She then adjusted his blanket again, refilled his glass, and hovered about for another minute or two. Finding no further tasks by which to demonstrate her extraordinary domestic skills, she at last departed.

“Forgive my not greeting you upon your arrival,” Captain Tilney said. “Find it difficult to move about the house these days—deuced injuries, but that is the risk one takes when serving His Majesty, hey?”

Despite the profusion of bandages, he spoke with ease. Elizabeth took this verbal facility as an encouraging sign that their host did not suffer too terribly from pain—unless drink dulled it. His one good eye, however, appeared bright and focused.

“I trust Dorothy saw to your comfort?” their host continued.

“Yes, although—”

“Capital. I intended to join you for dinner, but then discovered myself unequal to it. Feeling well enough now, though, to share a glass with you.” He raised his wine in salute.

“Captain Tilney,” Darcy replied, “if you would prefer to postpone—”

“No, no! Upon my soul, I have been looking forward to meeting you more than you can guess. Deuced poor luck, getting injured during the few short days I returned to my regiment last week.” He muttered something about an accident. “Devil take me, I must look a sight, all bandaged up like this. I hope my appearance does not put either of you ill at ease?”

In such a potentially eerie setting as an ancient, shadow-filled room with a storm raging outside, a shrouded figure with a Cyclopean gaze could well have inspired discomfort in his unprepared guests. And Elizabeth indeed found herself disconcerted by Captain Tilney—but not because he seemed remotely ominous. The Eye, rather than fixing upon one of them with a penetrating stare that sent shudders down the spine, instead shifted rapidly between her and Darcy, never resting on either of them more than a moment. She had difficulty reading the captain’s temperament with his gaze bouncing around so, and his manner—surprisingly animated given the extent of his injuries—contributed to the impression that he was exerting himself overmuch to win their amity. She felt herself and Darcy to be trespassing on the invalid’s recovery by their very presence at Northanger. The poor man ought to be in bed, not forcing himself to fulfill his duties as a host.

“Your kind hospitality toward us cannot but render us perfectly easy,” Elizabeth assured him. “However, we do not wish to begin our acquaintance by fatiguing you, and entertaining strangers can prove tiring for someone in the best of health. Perhaps Mr. Darcy and I should return, or you can visit us at Pemberley, on a future date, when your strength is restored.”