North by Northanger

Thirty-Two

Darcy wanted to spend a minute simply beholding his wife, but could not indulge the desire until their audience dispersed. So disperse it he would.

He took Elizabeth’s hand and drew her back into their chamber. “My wife needs her rest. Whatever business you have with her can wait.”

That statement alone proved enough to send Mrs. Bennet, who found him the most intimidating of her sons-in-law, scurrying back to her own bedroom. Lydia required only the addition of a disapproving look before muttering her intention to ring for a housemaid again.

Lady Catherine, however, remained, despite uncharacteristic discomposure. His attire seemed the source of her agitation. Unsure whether he yet suffered from a debilitating cold, he had taken the precaution of exchanging his clothes for a nightshirt upon reaching their apartment, so that he appeared to have just risen from bed and hastily donned a pair of trousers before coming to the bedchamber door. For some reason, his state of undress — hardly unexpected, given the hour — evoked Lady Catherine’s disapproval.

“My business is with you, Mr. Darcy,” his aunt declared.

“Then it, too, can wait. You may consider me entirely at your disposal after breakfast. Until then, I bid you good night.” Without further ceremony, he shut the door. And closed his arms about his wife.

Impatient to return to her, Darcy had found the weeks of their separation long. Now it seemed as though twice as much time had passed. His embrace could no longer fully encircle her. He placed a hand on their son and was rewarded with a kick.

“Your child missed you,” she said.

“Did his mother?”

“Oh — were you gone? I had not noticed.”

If the scene to which he had returned were any indication, she’d had plenty of companionship to divert her. “Mr. Wickham did not accompany his wife, I hope?”

“He is not about Pemberley.” She stepped out of his arms and looked up at him. Though the slight distance between them granted him a better view of the face he had longed to see, he did not want to let her go. “How did you come to be in our bedchamber without anyone’s observing your entrance?”

“I entered my dressing room through the servants’ door.” He took both her hands in his, unable to completely break contact. He simply wanted to be near her. “I did not wish to risk encountering anyone before conferring with you, as I did not know whether you had been able to maintain our original pretext.”

“Your illness lasted about a week. You recovered when your aunt began insisting that we summon a doctor.”

“How have I busied myself since?”

“You have been conducting business in the village, visiting every part of the house Lady Catherine was not presently in, and engaging in all manner of outdoor sport. Then this evening you took to bed once more.”

“What kept me there this time?”

Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Indoor sport.”

He laughed. “I am sorry I missed it. I hope I acquitted myself well?”

“Tolerably.”

“Only tolerably?”

“Your mind seemed to be elsewhere. So did the rest of you, for that matter. Where have you been?”

“Most recently, in Bath. After meeting with Henry Tilney at Northanger, I wanted to interview the owner of the shop where you noted the walking stick similar to mine displayed in the window. I decided that I was already so far south that I might as well continue on to Bath and conduct my business as efficiently as possible.”

“And how did you come to visit Northanger Abbey? When you left here, you were headed to Newcastle to question Mr. Wickham about your mother’s strongbox. From Pemberley, one does not travel north by Northanger.”

“I did speak to Wickham. And no sooner did we finish our conversation, than I spied the mysterious Dorothy.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment. “In Newcastle?”

“She was the cause of my first delay. She fled when she saw me, and I spent several days trying to locate her again. My search proved unsuccessful, but my enquiries revealed that she was in fact Frederick Tilney’s mistress.”

“Dorothy and Captain Tilney? My! That elucidates a few matters, does it not? She must have been a better lover than housekeeper.”

“She was never a housekeeper at all, just the widow of one of Frederick’s fellow officers. Until the night I sighted her, she had not been seen in Newcastle since Captain Tilney’s death. I lost her trail there, so I went to report my findings to Henry Tilney and learn whether he knew anything of Mrs. Stanford.”

“And did he?”

“No, but his butler recalled her having visited Northanger once. She and the captain quarreled when he abruptly dashed her hopes of marriage. Apparently, however, she decided to satisfy herself with his fortune if not his hand.”

“Did he provide for her upon his death?”

“Not in any formal manner, according to Henry Tilney. Reports in Newcastle indicate that she quit her rooms there because she could no longer afford them.”

“And headed straight for Northanger, where we encountered her before Henry received word of his brother’s death. Hmm.” She sat on one end of the chaise longue, making room for him to sit beside her. “You said she was the widow of another officer?”

“Yes, a Colonel Reginald Stanford.”

“The dispatch to Henry Tilney did not reach him for two weeks. Might Mrs. Stanford have used her connections to delay the delivery?”

“That is quite possible. Apparently, she was well acquainted with a number of officers. She could have called upon one of them for a favor, or used her wiles on the messenger himself.”

“Either way, the delay provided enough time for her and the false Captain Tilney to meet us at Northanger Abbey.” She frowned. “But what interest had she in us?”

“I have been contemplating that point,” he said. “Mrs. Stanford could have known of our expected visit and, for reasons of her own, wanted it to proceed.”

“So she found someone to pose as the captain, and the two of them met us in Frederick Tilney’s place.”

“Precisely. After we departed and their objective — whatever it was — had been satisfied, the dispatch was delivered to Henry Tilney.”

“Do you suppose their objective was at all related to the true Captain Tilney’s original motive for his invitation? He cited a desire to renew the acquaintance between families, and the false captain seemed to know something of that history. Enough, at least, to enquire into the friendship between your mother and Helen Tilney, and whether Mrs. Tilney ever visited Pemberley.”

“Which she did not.”

“As a matter of fact, she did — and so did the general.” Elizabeth rose and went into her dressing room. She returned a minute later with a handful of letters. “You were a boy of only four, so that is probably why you do not remember. She came to visit shortly after the other nine ivories that match your mother’s were discovered at Northanger. While Mrs. Tilney was here, the statuettes disappeared from Northanger, and General Tilney, convinced she had given them to Lady Anne, descended upon Pemberley looking for them. Here — read for yourself.”

He did, and wished he had possessed this information when he last spoke with Henry Tilney. “The statuettes were never found, and Henry Tilney told me that his father went to his grave resenting their loss. The general often spoke of them, especially to Frederick.”

“Then at some point, he likely shared his suspicion that Mrs. Tilney brought them to Pemberley. Perhaps Frederick, upon noticing your name in the Pump Room book, was reminded of the lost ivories. He invited us to Northanger to learn what he could about them and, if they were indeed at Pemberley, request their return.”

“And when he died before our meeting—”

“His mistress, having nothing but warm memories to show for her years of devotion to him, decided nine medieval statuettes would constitute fair payment if she could get her hands on them. She found someone to pose as Frederick long enough to meet us in his place. When the interview yielded nothing, she used your walking stick to smuggle the diamonds out of Northanger. If she could not have the ivories, she would console herself with jewels. What I cannot puzzle out, however, is how she obtained such a perfect copy of your cane in the short time we were at Northanger.”

“I believe the substitute walking stick was made some time earlier. The Bath merchant recalled crafting it eight years ago.”

“For whom?”

He set aside Mrs. Tilney’s letters. “The gentleman who commissioned it gave the name George Darcy.”

“Your father?”

“No. The purchaser was too young to be my father. The shopkeeper said he was a university student.”

“A gentleman at university in ought-four... That would make him about your age. But who would take such liberty with the name George Darcy? I cannot conceive of anyone’s attempting to conduct legitimate business in another man’s name, except perhaps his son.”

“Or godson.”

Her eyes lit with sudden realization. “Mr. George Wickham.”

“My father financed his education. Wickham may well have ordered the cane and sent the bill to Pemberley. I doubt my father knew, however, that it so closely resembled mine. I myself am uncertain why Wickham would want a walking stick identical to one I possessed.”

“Envy. He wants what you have. Even now, after all your family has done for him, he still believes himself entitled to more. If he could not be a Darcy, he could own a walking stick adorned with the Darcy cinquefoil.” She drew her brows together. “Of course, now we must explain how the cane found its way to Northanger Abbey. Mr. Wickham cannot have been Frederick’s imposter — we know him too well. Even disguised by the bandages, we would have recognized his voice and manner.”

“Wickham was stationed in Newcastle for a year before Captain Tilney’s death, and he frequents the inn where I saw Mrs. Stanford. I have no doubt of their acquaintance, only the extent of Wickham’s involvement in Mrs. Stanford’s scheme.”

“Lydia revealed that they have accumulated considerable debt again. He may have simply sold the cane to help satisfy his creditors.”

“I believe another interview with Wickham is in order.”

“You are not going to Newcastle again?”

“No. It will have to take place here.” Though he loathed the very thought of Wickham coming to Pemberley, he would not leave Elizabeth with her time so near.

“What did Mr. Wickham say during your last meeting? Did he offer any information about your mother’s strongbox?”

“He confessed to returning for it, but said Mr. Flynn caught him and confiscated it. I shall speak to the gardener about it on the morrow.”

“May I? You are indentured to your aunt after breakfast, and heaven only knows how long she will keep you. Too, if he does produce the casket, I should like to bring it in here while Lady Catherine is otherwise occupied.”

“Very well.”

“I hope he does indeed know where the ivory can be found. I must admit, Darcy — I should like to have it with me when our daughter is born. It lent your mother such confidence, and I could use a little more at present.”

Something in her voice made him uneasy. “Have you and the child been well?”

“It is nothing over which to panic, but we did summon Dr. Severn in your absence. My right leg gave me a bit of trouble.”

Dread crept over him. “What sort of trouble?”

“It fell numb for a short period.” At his indication of alarm, she continued quickly. “Mrs. Godwin assured me that she has known other mothers to experience the same problem, with no ill effect on them or their babies.”

“What did Dr. Severn say?”

“To walk less and sit more.”

“And have you followed his instructions?”

“Yes. Though Darcy, I must say, he was most unpleasant throughout the visit. He is due to return this week and stay until I am brought to bed, and I do not know how I will tolerate him.”

Darcy himself found the physician’s arrogance disagreeable. He still had not quite recovered from his shushing. “We have engaged him for his expertise, not his manner.”

“Even so, he could at least make an effort to be congenial. He seems to regard me as an annoyance.”

“Seat him next to my aunt at dinner. You will benefit from the comparison.”

“Or they will recognize each other as kindred spirits and unite against me.”

“If that is the case, you always have your mother as an ally.”

“I wish I had yours as well.” She paused. “Though in a sense, I feel as if I do. It almost seems at times that she is guiding me.”

“Toward the statuette?”

“Yes. But also through this time of waiting. On several occasions when I have been in need of encouragement, I have found it in something of hers. After Dr. Severn’s most recent call, for instance, I discovered a journal she kept while expecting Georgiana. You must read it, Darcy. Whatever unhappiness your parents endured, in your mother’s final months, they were hopeful.”

He was glad for it. From what he could recall of the period of Georgiana’s anticipation, his mother had seemed to have found a measure of peace. Both of his parents had seemed more in accord. He had feared it was a memory more wishful than accurate.

“I look forward to reading it,” he said.

“There have been times, too, when I—” A soft thump in Elizabeth’s dressing room drew their attention.

“Wait here.” Darcy took a candle and went to investigate. The chamber was empty, but he found the pounce pot on the floor beside the escritoire, its powder spilled onto the rug.

“Your pounce pot fell,” he said.

“I moved it when I retrieved Mrs. Tilney’s letters.” She stood in the doorway, ignoring his direction to stay put. “I must have left it too close to the edge of the desk. I have been dropping things more and more often of late, but this is the first time I have managed to do so from such a distance.”

He set the small vessel back to rights. The maid could attend to the powder in the morning.

They returned to the bedchamber. Elizabeth arched her back and put a hand to the base of her spine. He felt a twinge of guilt at having been away so long, forcing her to deal with Lady Catherine alone and work hard to cover his absence at a time when simply moving through each day presented enough challenges for her.

“Is my son a heavy burden?” he asked.

She smiled softly. “Our child is heavy, but no burden.”

He helped her into bed and she lay on her side while he rubbed her back. “Is there anything more I can do to improve your comfort?”

“Inform your daughter that she can commence her dancing lessons after she is born.”

“I shall, but I make no guarantee that the child will listen. What else?”

“Tell me I am not grown exceedingly fat. My mother says I am big as a house.”

“You have far to go before you reach the size of Pemberley.” He helped her roll onto her back so that he could meet her gaze. “And to me, you have never looked more handsome.” He kissed her. “Anything more?”

“Solve this Northanger Abbey puzzle so that we can send your aunt back to Rosings — and never have to deal with the righteous Mr. Melbourne or that officious Mr. Chase again.”

“All three of them would claim that they are only doing their duty.”

“Perhaps they could do it with less zeal. Or redirect it. If Mr. Chase, for example, would only apply his sharp investigative talents to our cause instead of against it, the case would solve itself.”

“It would have to.”

She was pensive for a moment. “Darcy, what do you suppose happened to the nine ivories that disappeared from Northanger? General Tilney sounds by all accounts to have been an unpleasant man, but I have to agree with his logic. It seems terribly suspicious that the statuettes went missing at the same time Mrs. Tilney visited Pemberley, especially after she suggested giving one of them to your mother. And she was so certain after her return that the birth your mother anticipated would proceed smoothly — perhaps because she left behind nine ivories to replace the one Lady Catherine retained?”

“If my mother received the ivories from Mrs. Tilney, she would not have withheld them from their rightful owner when he demanded them back.”

“Even to protect her friend from his wrath?”

He paused to contemplate. His mother had been a woman of strong loyalties, and the general, a harsh man. Darcy doubted she would knowingly abet theft, but if she had accepted the ivories from Mrs. Tilney with the false assurance of the general’s sanction, then later learned he had not consented, might she have kept silent?

“If she did harbor the ivories, upon Mrs. Tilney’s death she would have surrendered them to the general. But none of Mrs. Tilney’s letters suggest any complicity on my mother’s part. In fact, they indicate the opposite.”

Elizabeth sat up. “Perhaps Lady Anne never knew she had them. Consider, Darcy — during her stay, Helen Tilney spent a great deal of time with her hands in the soil of your mother’s new garden. She could have buried the statuettes without anyone’s knowledge. Did you notice how often she referred to the garden after she returned to Northanger? And the quilt she created — it is in the nursery. Its pattern depicts the garden. I believe it possible that she was trying to tell Lady Anne the ivories were somewhere in the garden, without making an explicit statement that would compromise your mother. Perhaps the quilt holds a clue to their whereabouts.”

He reviewed the letters. Indeed, Mrs. Tilney mentioned the garden in nearly every one. “She specifically refers to lilies of the valley and marigolds. The lilies of the valley appear in her condolence letter, but she brings up the marigolds repeatedly.”

Elizabeth laughed softly. “The marigolds. Of course.”

“Why ‘of course’?”

“Marigolds — Mary’s Gold. She buried her treasure with Mary’s gold.”

“If she did, we will unearth it tomorrow.”

They then set aside thoughts of ivories and letters and people from the past. He asked what else had transpired during his absence, and enquired more closely about her health. He was glad Georgiana had seized the initiative and sent for Dr. Severn. He was also glad the doctor was due to return soon and remain with them for the remainder of their wait. Elizabeth’s time approached faster than he cared to contemplate.

The sound of a door opening in Elizabeth’s dressing room drew their notice toward the open doorway. “Who enters?” Darcy asked.

One of the housemaids came to the doorway. “Begging your pardon, sir, ma’am.” She offered a flustered curtsy. “I just banked Mrs. Wickham’s fire one last time before retiring, and I thought I would check yours as well. I did not expect to find you awake. I am terribly sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Thank you, Jenny,” Elizabeth said. “Our fire is fine.”

“Again, my apologies, ma’am. Good night.” She left them, closing the door behind her.

“Lydia’s fire is restored. One crisis addressed,” Elizabeth said as she settled into bed. “Lavish some attention on Lady Catherine after breakfast and a second will be dispatched. I then need only find a husband for Mary sometime between dinner and tea, and all of our houseguests will be content.”

Darcy snuffed out the candle and joined her. “How long do you expect that to last?”

“Approximately six minutes.”