North by Northanger

Forty-One

“Thank you, Mr. Flynn, for coming all the way up here,” Elizabeth said. A fortnight into her lying-in, she had yet to leave her apartment. But she had need of the gardener’s knowledge and did not want to postpone consulting him.

“It is my pleasure, Mrs. Darcy.”

Her daughter slept in a cradle nearby, and he gazed at the baby for a long time. “A pretty one, she is. Just like her namesake.”

She smiled, never tired of hearing compliments about her daughter. “You would certainly know” Just as he would know how to put together the puzzle she could not quite assemble. She gingerly walked to the table where the pieces of Helen Tilney’s quilt were laid out. Jane, her mother, even Lydia had offered to work together to help her restore it. With such a team working upon it, the result would be less than perfect. But the combined handiwork would make their creation more than a mere quilt. It would be an ideal legacy in which to place her daughter.

“Helen Tilney created a quilt whose pattern represented Lady Anne’s garden,” she explained to Mr. Flynn. “The quilt has been damaged, but I am piecing it back together. I have encountered difficulty, however, with several sections that do not seem to fit where they belong. Since you know Lady Anne’s garden better than anybody else, I thought perhaps you could help me.”

“I would be honored, Mrs. Darcy.”

She showed him the sections she had arranged thus far, and the outstanding pieces that no longer fit. “The marigolds simply will not cooperate. Nor will the violets.”

“That is because you have them in the wrong place,” he said. “If Mrs. Tilney made this design, it reflects the original plan of the garden. I later moved the marigolds to a bed where they receive more sunlight. Here,” he said, switching the pieces, “if you think of the garden’s rosette shape as a compass, the marigolds as Mrs. Tilney knew them were at northwest by north.”

The pieces now fell into place — in more ways than one. She not only knew where Lady Anne’s friend had sewn the marigolds onto the quilt.

She knew where Helen Tilney had sown the ivories in the garden.