North by Northanger

by Mr. ; Mrs. Darcy Mystery; Carrie Bebris

  “Indeed. Miss Darcy turns eighteen soon.”

  “I know. I delivered her.” Though the corners of her mouth raised in a half-smile, her eyes were somber. “Your husband, too. Of course, his birth was entirely a happy occasion, while hers was bittersweet. A sad thing it is, when a day that ought to be joyful ends in such grief.” Her face clouded. “In forty years of attending births, I have seen my share of sorrow in the birthing room. Sometimes the infants are dead while still in the womb, and sometimes problems arise during the birth that I cannot control. But Lady Anne is the only mother I have ever lost, and her death still weighs upon me.”

  Elizabeth recalled Lady Anne’s letter and her mention of Mrs. Godwin. “She had faith in you. I am certain you did everything within your power to help her.”

  “Heaven knows I did. But it was not enough.” She sighed. “Poor creature. After all her losses, she was so hopeful that this time her child would survive—and then she herself did not.”

  “Were you present at her other births—the ones between my husband and Georgiana?”

  “I was. With the two girls, Maria and Faith, she brought in a physician and I merely assisted him. But the physician did not attend Lady Anne at Georgiana’s birth.”

  “Why not?” Given Lady Anne’s history in childbed, Elizabeth would have expected her to make use of every medical person in Derbyshire. Or to have gone to London for her confinement.

  “He was away from home and could not be summoned in time,” she said. “But she had not planned to use him. She was certain that the birth would go as smoothly as her firstborn’s, and wanted, as closely as possible, to reproduce the conditions of his arrival. A good portion of her optimism came from an heirloom her mother had given her when she expected Fitzwilliam, which family tradition held to bring good fortune to mothers in travail. Unfortunately, when her pains started she could not find it, and its absence sent her into panic.”

  Surely Mrs. Godwin spoke of the same item Lady Anne had written of in her letter to Elizabeth. “Do you know the nature of the heirloom?”

  “It was an ivory statuette of the Madonna and Child. Small—perhaps three or four inches tall. And quite old, from its appearance.”

  “Did she not have it at the other births?”

  “No. I understand she gave it to her sister, who retained it for some time. After losing one child, Lady Anne was quite upset by its lack at subsequent births. But she regained possession of it while expecting Georgiana, and was convinced it would ensure the infant’s survival.”

  Elizabeth hoped her face did not reveal the resentment toward Lady Catherine that this news provoked within her. Why had not Darcy’s aunt returned the statuette sooner? Whether or not it indeed brought good fortune, the ivory had obviously been important to Anne. Why withhold such a simple thing that could have eased her mind?

  Anne’s letter to Elizabeth had mentioned something about guarding herself from her sister. She had also mentioned hiding the missing object. Little wonder—if it had taken her three pregnancies to get it back, Elizabeth would have hidden it, too. She resolved to reread the letter in light of Mrs. Godwin’s revelation, and to question Lady Catherine about the ivory. What a delightful conversation that would no doubt prove.

  “Was the statuette ever found?”

  “Not while Lady Anne lived. After that, I cannot tell you.”

  Elizabeth shivered. The sun had set, and although torches lit the grounds immediately surrounding the house, the night air was chilly now that she had left the heat of the hall. The stone step, once comfortingly solid, was now just plain cold.

  “I have enjoyed talking with you, Mrs. Godwin,” she said. She meant it—she instinctively liked the grey-haired woman. “But I should return to the rest of my guests.”

  “It has been my pleasure.”

  As they rose, the torchlight shone more fully upon Elizabeth’s face.

  “You have some streaks of blood around your nose.” Mrs. Godwin reached for the handkerchief. “Here—permit me.”

  While the midwife dabbed Elizabeth’s face, Darcy came round the corner. Relief flashed across his features upon sighting his wife.

  “I have been searching for you. Georgiana observed you leaving the hall and said you appeared to be in some distress.” He noted her bloody face and the soiled handkerchief with alarm. “What has happened? Are you all right?”

  “A nosebleed, that is all. Mrs. Godwin has taken good care of me.”

  He acknowledged the midwife’s aid with a nod. “I appreciate your attention to my wife.”

  “I am always pleased to be of service to your family, Mr. Darcy.” Mrs. Godwin gave the kerchief back to Elizabeth. “Keep this in case you should need it before you have an opportunity to retrieve a fresh one. But I think the bleeding is ended.” She regarded her warmly. “I am happy for your news. If I can assist you at all in the coming months, do summon me.”

  “I shall. Thank you.”

  As Mrs. Godwin departed, Darcy examined her face closely. “Did you experience a mishap?” He withdrew a handkerchief of his own and wiped a spot the midwife had missed.

  “No, my nose simply started bleeding. Apparently, your daughter caused it.”

  He paused mid-stroke. Apprehension spread across his paling visage. “Has something happened to the baby?”

  “Not at all. Mrs. Godwin assured me that this is normal for women in my condition.”

  “Bleeding for no reason is never normal. I shall send for Dr. Severn.”

  “That is entirely unnecessary. And there is a reason. Mrs. Godwin says—”

  “I am sending for Dr. Severn.” His tone left little hope of compromise.

  “But, Darcy, Mrs. Godwin says there is no cause for concern.” She put a hand on his arm, not realizing that blood from the handkerchief had stained her fingertips. The sight of it unsettled him further.

  “Dr. Severn can determine that when he arrives.”

  “The doctor will not appreciate coming all the way to Derbyshire to tell us nothing is amiss. Mrs. Godwin has known her share of expectant mothers. If she says all is fine, why trouble him? I trust her judgment.”

  “I do not. Edith Godwin failed my mother. I will not risk her failing you, too.”

  She recalled, then, that in the chronicle of birthing horror stories Lady Catherine had shared, she’d said that Anne had died in childbed by bleeding to death following Georgiana’s delivery.

  She released a weary breath. “All right,” she conceded. “Summon Dr. Severn.”

  Dr. Severn, Lady Catherine—what a charming party they were assembling at Pemberley.

  Perhaps she should invite Lydia back.

  Twenty

  When the ladies returned to the drawing room, there was little to be done but to hear Lady Catherine talk, which she did without any intermission till coffee came in.

  —Pride and Prejudice

  Y ou have, of course, already engaged a monthly nurse to assist with your lying-in?”

  Elizabeth sipped her tea and tried to appear appreciative of Lady Catherine’s latest probe into her arrangements for the baby. She had started to search for a recovery nurse who would assist her for the month following her child’s birth, but had not proceeded further than sending out enquiries.

  “I have not yet settled upon one.”

  “You should have secured a monthly nurse by now. The most competent ones are engaged months before their services are needed. Hmph. Well, I suppose your procrastination enables me to assist you in selecting her. Young mothers ought to seek the counsel of more experienced ones in such decisions.”

  Elizabeth had sought such counsel—from her aunt Gardiner, whose good sense she trusted. In fact, her aunt had helped Jane locate her monthly nurse, a woman who had impressed Elizabeth favorably enough that she hoped to engage her.

  “The ideal nurse is between thirty and fifty years of age,” her ladyship offered unasked. “Old enough to know what she is about, yet still vigorous enough to perform
her duties. She must be quick to wake so that she can attend to your needs, or those of the babe, at any hour of the day or night. A mild temper is essential . . .”

  Elizabeth half-listened, her mind less occupied with the present conversation than by the one she’d had with Mrs. Godwin yesterday. She wanted to ask Darcy’s aunt about the statuette, but Lady Catherine had given her no opportunity to introduce the matter.

  “. . . moral character above question. A church-going woman. One cannot trust a person who does not regularly attend church. I was appalled by how few of the people who overran Pemberley yesterday appeared in church this morning. Did they overindulge to the extent that they could not rise from bed?”

  “Many of them live in neighboring parishes. A few are Catholic, and attend a church in Lambton.”

  “Catholics?” Her disdain was evident. “Good English folk adhere to the teachings of the Church of England, not those of Rome.”

  Elizabeth, sensing the imminent eruption of a theological lecture, acted swiftly to contain it.

  “Lady Catherine, I am most grateful for your advice on selecting a monthly nurse. As a new mother, I can indeed benefit from the wisdom of those more experienced. I imagine your own mother offered considerable guidance when you and Lady Anne were in my condition?”

  Her ladyship’s eyes narrowed. “Why should you enquire about my mother?”

  “The countess was my husband’s grandmother. I wish to learn more about his family.”

  “She was a lady of high principle and impeccable reputation,” she declared defensively.

  Elizabeth was uncertain how she had given offense. “I do not doubt her character. Did she take pleasure in her grandchildren?”

  “She never knew them. She passed away shortly before your husband was born.”

  “Oh—forgive me. I did not realize.” She poured more tea into Lady Catherine’s cup and added the one lump of sugar her ladyship required. “The timing of her death must have been especially difficult for Lady Anne—to lose her mother during her own impending maternity. The heirloom she received from the countess—the Madonna and Child statuette—must have provided some comfort.”

  Lady Catherine looked at her sharply. “I have not thought of that statuette in years. But now that you have brought it to my notice, you may return it to me.”

  “It was my understanding that the ivory belonged to Lady Anne, and that she lent it to you when your daughter was born.”

  “She gave it to me. It ought to have been mine all along, as I was the eldest daughter. When my sister conceived first, our mother sent the ivory to her. But it was always my mother’s intention that I should possess it.”

  Elizabeth suspected that was a matter of interpretation. It sounded like the same sort of “understanding” that Lady Catherine had claimed existed regarding a marriage between Darcy and her daughter, Miss de Bourgh. Had either existed beyond Lady Catherine’s own mind? “Yet you gave it back to Lady Anne when she carried Georgiana.”

  “A loan—and only because she had plagued me for years about it. She regretted having relinquished it and asked for her gift back every time her husband got her with child again. She had some foolish sentimental notion of wanting it with her during her confinements. Finally I could bear her entreaties no more and surrendered it rather than receive another letter on the subject.

  “But that ivory has been passed from mother to daughter for nearly three hundred years,” Lady Catherine continued. “Now that my sister is gone, its ownership is without question. It is rightfully mine. Kindly retrieve it, for I want it back.”

  “I do not have it.”

  “Do you insult me with falsehoods? The statuette must be in your possession, or you would not know anything about it.”

  “Indeed, I have it not. I learned of it from others.”

  “Who?”

  “Lady Anne herself. She mentions it in a letter I discovered.”

  “You have been nosing through my late sister’s correspondence? Is that what you have been about in your dressing room in recent days? Oh, yes—I know about all the trunks delivered there. Do you think that servants do not talk? The presumption! To read my sister’s private writings—you, who never knew her, who cannot begin to touch her excellence. Just because you have managed to snare her son and install yourself as mistress of Pemberley—assumed her role here—do not flatter yourself that you will ever fill Lady Anne’s place. Does my nephew know of this?”

  “He approves it. Indeed, I believe so does Lady Anne.”

  The remark nearly sent Darcy’s aunt into apoplexy. “Your insolence surpasses anything I have heretofore witnessed. If Lady Anne somehow observes your conduct from above, I assure you, it does not please her to see you seize so much that by long understanding was to have belonged to another.”

  “Miss de Bourgh?”

  “You have usurped my daughter’s place here, the life that was intended to be hers. And you ruined my nephew’s standing and reputation in the process. Why, he would not be in his current legal difficulties now—this business with the diamonds—were it not for you. He would have been nowhere near Northanger Abbey had he done his duty and gone to France as I asked.”

  “On an errand that has proven unnecessary.”

  “Just because no scandal presently brews, does not mean the errand was unnecessary. The honor of a great and noble family cannot be too vigilantly guarded. You would understand that, if you came from one yourself—if you had inherited a legacy, as my daughter has. But surely even you cannot justify the theft of her maternal birthright. The ivory statuette should ultimately fall to Anne, my sister’s namesake.”

  “It was Lady Anne’s to bequeath where she chose. But if it is a matter of maternal birthright, what about Georgiana’s?”

  “I am the elder of the sisters; my daughter is the elder of the cousins. Surrender the ivory.”

  “I told you, I do not have it.”

  “It must be here at Pemberley. Lady Anne would not have allowed it to leave her possession.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you realize that, too. What else of hers have you rifled through besides her letters? Have you ransacked all her effects in search of the statuette?”

  Elizabeth had reached her daily limit of Lady Catherine’s abuse. “Not yet.”

  “Impertinent baggage! I demand your pledge that when the ivory is located, you will cede it to me.”

  “I make no such promise. Should the ivory be found, Mr. Darcy and I will do with it as we see fit.”

  Lady Catherine suddenly became very quiet. Scorn radiating from her, she gathered the full measure of her pompous bearing, rose, and made her way toward the door with deliberate steps. As she passed Elizabeth, she paused.

  “Not if I discover it first.”

  Twenty-one

  The Black Gentleman has certainly employed one of his menial imps to bring about this complete though trifling mischief.

  —Jane Austen, letter to Cassandra

  Y ou do not honestly believe my aunt came into this room and took the letter?” Darcy regarded Elizabeth skeptically.

  She was in no mood to defend herself to him. Dr. Severn was due to arrive that day, and she anticipated enough disagreement ahead. Darcy had sent a note to the physician by express, and in turn received word that Severn would set out posthaste for Derbyshire. Severn meanwhile advised them to consult a local physician should her affliction continue or worsen until he could arrive. Darcy had been hovering over her ever since, staring at her nose so often one would think she had sprouted a wart.

  “How else can the letter’s disappearance be accounted for?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “To enter your private dressing room and not only read a letter clearly addressed to you, but to purloin it . . . I simply cannot believe her capable of such conduct.”

  “A few days ago, I would have said the same. But since Lady Catherine threatened to seek the ivory herself, I cannot shake the sense that someone is intruding in my personal rooms. Yesterday
I had to empty the drawers of the desk in my morning room to find something I was certain I had left within easy reach. This afternoon I returned from my walk to discover a trunk lid open that I know I closed. And now the original letter from your mother is missing.”

  “Could you not simply have misplaced it? Thrice this fortnight we have had no tea after dinner because you mislaid the key to the tea caddy, only to find it again after we settled for coffee.”

  To Elizabeth’s gratitude, Darcy was gracious enough not to add that on the second occasion she had discovered the key in the tea caddy itself, which had actually been unlocked. Or that her tea was almost too strong to drink some evenings because she could not seem to keep count of how many tea-ladles of leaves she added to the pot.

  Though loath to admit it, she had become increasingly scatterbrained. The Wednesday before the harvest feast, she had entirely forgotten they were engaged to dine with the Vernons until the couple had arrived at Pemberley. And Thursday she turned her chamber inside out looking for her cap, only to spot it on her head when she passed the looking glass. Jane had complained of similar trouble when she was in the family way, and Elizabeth hoped her own distraction was indeed caused by her expectant state and nothing more serious. She also hoped it would not last beyond her confinement. The thought of losing more mental clarity with each successive pregnancy alarmed her—while casting the behavior of other women of her acquaintance in a new light. Perhaps her own mother had been a more sensible woman before giving birth to five children.

  Then again, perhaps not.

  Regardless, she felt certain that the missing status of Lady Anne’s letter to her derived not from her own actions but those of someone else. And she could think of only one other person in the house with as much interest in it as she had. Lady Catherine had become uncharacteristically taciturn since their quarrel over the statuette, and Elizabeth believed Darcy’s aunt genuinely schemed to find the ivory for herself.