Then she recalled that she could.
She turned to Mrs. Wentworth, whom she had kept in suspense while these thoughts had been flying through her mind. “I know that you trust Mrs. Smith, but at this moment, I am not sure I do. Let us listen to them a while—and pray they remain so absorbed in their conversation that they do not notice us through the fog.”
Mrs. Wentworth regarded her with doubt, but nodded.
Elizabeth took Mrs. Wentworth’s arm and led her forward. “After we pass the gin shop, we should be able to hear them. Stand as Mr. Elliot does—close to the wall, with your back to them, blocking me from view. Be sure to remain silent yourself.”
They passed the wooden doors, walked several yards farther, and drew near the wall.
“… and all of this has led you to the conclusion that, your own husband’s fortune having been exhausted, you somehow possess a claim upon mine.” Mr. Elliot laughed again, an eerie, hollow sound in the mist. “My dear Mrs. Smith, what elixirs has your doctor been prescribing that induce such imagination? Smuggling, and gold, and—are there pirates, too, perchance? You could support yourself as a novelist—this is better than Robinson Crusoe.”
“Do not mock me. I know what I heard.”
“And just whom did you hear this from?”
“Mrs. Clay. In this very spot. The morning she died.”
“Impossible. She never would have confided in you. She did not even know you were in Lyme—you are so much altered that I myself did not recognize you until I saw you at Alfred’s christening with Anne Wentworth.”
Elizabeth had seen Mrs. Smith in that “very spot”—on her bench—on that unforgettable morning. It was her customary place, where she sat each day, almost invisible in her familiarity, watching other people.
And, Elizabeth now realized, listening to them.
In all her hours on that bench, week upon week, Mrs. Smith must have discovered the Cobb’s acoustical phenomenon. She was perfectly positioned to overhear all sorts of conversations—including one of Mrs. Clay’s.
“I heard it from both Mrs. Clay and from you,” Mrs. Smith continued. “She took great pleasure in telling you that she had returned to Sir Walter. She did not reveal that she had just married him, only that when she left you the night before, she had put into action a plan that she had initiated after learning of his being in Lyme and of your betrayal. You had been lying to her, but she was again under Sir Walter’s protection, and she wanted her share of the gold now that she was no longer under yours.”
That, Elizabeth at last understood, was why Mrs. Clay had been on the Cobb the morning after her wedding. She had met with Mr. Elliot to continue the discussion Elizabeth had overheard the night before. So long as you live under my protection, my assignations are my business. Her marriage to Sir Walter had freed her of dependence on Mr. Elliot, empowering her to force him into relinquishing the profits she believed rightfully hers.
Or so she had thought. Then she took a tumble off the Cobb—doubtless helped over its edge by Mr. Elliot.
“You have also been lying to me,” Mrs. Smith said, “and I want my share of the money my husband’s property has helped you acquire.”
“Indeed? And do you want Mrs. Clay’s share, too, now that she can no longer claim it for herself? Is that why you caused her accident?”
Silence followed. Elizabeth tried to look past Mrs. Wentworth to see Mrs. Smith’s reaction, but Mr. Elliot yet blocked her view.
“Ha! It was you,” Mr. Elliot continued. “I was guessing, but I can see from your expression that I am right. In the excitement of the ship’s explosion, you thought nobody saw you push her, did you not? But as I was leaving the Cobb, the sound of the blast caused me to turn around. I saw two women on the high wall—one of them falling, and the other with an arm extended toward her. I was too far away to see you clearly, so I did not know it was you until this moment. I still do not know how you reached the upper wall or got away in your pathetic, crippled state. But if you stopped me here this morning to threaten me with secrets, I suggest you consider the magnitude of this one before proceeding further.”
Mrs. Wentworth’s eyes were wide. Indeed, Elizabeth, for all her speculation on the subject of Mrs. Clay’s death, had never anticipated this.
In a moment, however, she realized that Mrs. Wentworth’s apprehensive expression was due only in part to Mr. Elliot’s revelation. The rest was caused by something behind Elizabeth.
She turned round to see Darcy and Captain Wentworth striding toward them. Unfortunately, she and Anne were not the only persons to notice their approach. Mr. Elliot also turned—spying both the gentlemen and their wives.
“Well. Look who is come.”
* * *
“I trust you will explain to me later how you came to be here.” Darcy’s heart had nearly stopped when he saw Elizabeth on the seawall in such proximity to Mr. Elliot. When he and Wentworth had failed to find Mr. Elliot at the Lion, they had decided to seek Mrs. Smith on the Cobb before making the fifteen-mile journey to Sidmouth. They had not expected to find their wives there.
Knowing Elizabeth, however, Darcy probably should have. “I cannot believe Captain St. Clair approved this scheme,” he added.
“Captain St. Clair does not know,” Elizabeth replied. They and the Wentworths had edged away from the face of the wall, to a distance where they could speak without danger of being overheard by Mrs. Smith and Mr. Elliot. “But we will have to share the details later, for at present I must tell you what we have just learned. Mrs. Smith pushed Mrs. Clay off the wall—at least, that is what Mr. Elliot has accused her of, and she did not deny it.”
“Mrs. Smith?” Darcy said. “How is that possible?”
“I do not know,” Elizabeth said. “We might have found out had you and Captain Wentworth not arrived when you did. They have noticed us now.” Both Mr. Elliot and Mrs. Smith were looking at their party.
“Her legs have been getting stronger,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “I have observed her moving into and out of chairs more easily, and walking short distances—a few steps—within the house, but I thought her still quite dependent upon her cane. How she managed the steps here on the Cobb—even I would not venture up Granny’s Teeth—”
“She might have used the other stairs just round the bend, behind the quay—the ones we came down after the ship exploded,” Elizabeth said. “They are not far, especially if her legs are stronger than she has led you to believe. If she took care, she could manage them the same way she managed the stairs this morning at your house. I wager it was she who went up to the nursery and took Alfred.”
“And it is I who will take him back.” Captain Wentworth began walking toward the pair. The others fell into step.
“When we reach them, there is no use pretending we did not hear their discussion—with Mrs. Smith, at any rate,” Elizabeth said. “Look where her bench is, Darcy—she is ideally situated to overhear conversations, and in fact heard one between Mrs. Clay and Mr. Elliot shortly before Mrs. Clay died. I do not know whether Mr. Elliot is aware of the phenomenon; I think perhaps not, for his speech to her was unguarded.” She paused. “For that matter, so was hers—I wonder whether she realizes the whispering effect works in both directions.”
“I cannot believe Mrs. Smith would act so falsely by us,” Mrs. Wentworth said, “or harm Mrs. Clay. She is my friend. We must give her an opportunity to explain.”
As they neared the bench, they were able to obtain a closer look at Alfred. The child was wrapped in a blanket and appeared to be sleeping. Mrs. Smith smiled at the Wentworths. “Why, good morning, Anne.” Mr. Elliot also offered a greeting, but without the smile. Caution pervaded his normally smooth manner.
“Good morning,” Anne stammered.
Captain Wentworth went straight to Mrs. Smith and took Alfred. “You have given us quite a fright, Mrs. Smith. We have been looking for Alfred.”
“Yes,” Anne added. “How did the two of you come to bring him here?”
“I had nothi
ng to do with the child,” Mr. Elliot declared. “He was with Mrs. Smith when I happened upon them.” He glanced at the quay, where the Black Cormorant was docked. The merchantman had acquired her guns since Darcy had last seen her. Darcy wondered whether it was Mrs. Smith or the ship that had brought Mr. Elliot to the Cobb.
“I did not mean to alarm you,” Mrs. Smith said. “Did you not find my note?”
Captain Wentworth passed the sleeping baby to his wife, who held him tightly. As Alfred nestled against her—a welcome sign that he was sound—the anxiety in her face diminished but did not disappear. “No,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “There was no note.”
“I left it in—well, now, where did I leave it? All was such a bustle when we quit the house. The chair bearers were impatient. I had wanted to linger a few minutes more for Mrs. Logan to return, but they said they had other customers waiting. So I decided to bring Alfred with me.”
“Why did you not simply leave him sleeping in the nursery?” Captain Wentworth asked.
“I thought he might enjoy the outing, and the sea air has been so therapeutic for me that I believed he could benefit from it as well. Besides, he was not in the nursery when the chair arrived—he was already with me. I had heard him crying earlier, after Mrs. Logan went out. You were in the study with your guests—I did not think you wished to be disturbed. So I went to the nursery myself to quiet him. He would not settle down without being held, and the sedan chair was due to arrive, so I brought him downstairs with me so that I might watch for it.”
“How did you negotiate the stairs?” Mrs. Wentworth asked.
Mrs. Smith smiled brightly. “On my own legs, I am proud to say. I have been improving beyond your knowledge, Anne! The sea has done wonders for my health. You and Captain Wentworth have been so good to me that I wanted to surprise you some future morning by leaving behind my cane and walking with you all the way down to the Cobb on my own. I am not quite that strong yet—it is a long, steep walk, but I have been practicing by climbing and descending the stairs when you are not at home.”
Mrs. Wentworth regarded her in astonishment. It was not, however, the delighted amazement that Mrs. Smith had hoped to arouse in her friend. It was a sober, wary shock. Her gaze drifted from Mrs. Smith to the wall behind her, and up to the edge of the parapet from which Mrs. Clay had fallen. “And is that,” she said, her voice small, as if muting it would negate the possibility of what she was about to ask, “how you came to be standing on the upper Cobb the morning Mrs. Clay died?”
Mrs. Smith’s cheerful glow transformed into a panicked flush.
“I can explain.”
* * *
Admiral Croft returned to the Wentworths’ home in a great flurry. He entered the sitting room so intent upon his mission that he did not realize he interrupted two people who had been engaged for some time in private conversation.
“I have the warrants,” he announced. “The customs officers and our own forces stand ready. Here—I brought your sword. Where is Wentworth?”
“With Mr. Darcy.” Captain St. Clair rose from the sofa to accept the sword; Georgiana also stood. “They are tracking down Mr. Elliot.” He summarized Alfred’s disappearance.
Admiral Croft frowned. “This is most alarming. How is Mrs. Wentworth taking it?”
“Not well. She is upstairs in the nursery. Mrs. Darcy is with her.”
The admiral nodded. “We will not disturb them.” He looked at Georgiana. “Miss Darcy, please assure Mrs. Wentworth that Captain St. Clair and I have gone to apprehend Mr. Elliot. Sir Laurence, as well.”
“I will, sir. I am sure the news will relieve her.”
Admiral Croft bowed. “Let us make haste, Captain.” He quit the room.
Captain St. Clair put on his hat and girded his sword. From bicorne to boots, he looked every inch an officer prepared for battle.
“You do not expect to fight Sir Laurence, do you?” Georgiana asked.
“If the baronet is as intelligent as he thinks he is, he will surrender without resistance. But if not, I am prepared.” Her anxious expression gave him pause. “We intend to take him alive, if that is the source of your concern.”
“No, it is not.”
Hand on his sword hilt, he took a step toward her. “I had been wanting to warn you of him for some time, but feared you would interpret my words as—well, it does not matter now. When next you see me, Sir Laurence will no longer be a threat to anybody.”
He took leave of her, then went to meet the admiral in the hall. He had nearly quit the room when Georgiana’s voice stopped him.
“Captain—”
He turned round. “Yes, Miss Darcy?”
She advanced until she stood just before him. “Do take care.”
He regarded her a long moment, his eyes full of hopeful determination. “I shall.”
“Show a leg, Captain St. Clair,” called the admiral from the entry hall. “Sir Laurence and Mr. Elliot will not be kept waiting.”
Thirty-Six
“We were a thoughtless, gay set, without any strict rules of conduct. We lived for enjoyment. I think differently now: time and sickness and sorrow have given me other notions.”
—Mrs. Smith to Anne Elliot, Persuasion
“It was an accident.”
Mr. Elliot chuckled at Mrs. Smith’s declaration. “Undoubtedly.”
Mrs. Smith stared at him a moment, appearing to weigh something in her mind, then turned to the others and gave Anne Wentworth her full address.
“I was here that morning, as usual. The weather started to turn, and Mrs. Rooke left to summon the sedan chair early to take me home. She had barely started away when I became aware of a conversation going on above me on the upper wall. I recognized the voices—they belonged to Mrs. Clay and Mr. Elliot.
“I had seen them together on the Cobb numerous times before, but though they sometimes walked right past my bench, they never saw me—nobody notices a cripple; indeed, passers-by avert their gazes to avoid my eyes—and I am so changed that the two of them never realized how close they strolled to a discarded remnant of their past. I saw them in their fine clothes, saw her belly great with evidence of yet another illicit dalliance, and never did anything to draw their attention as they walked past. Betrayed by them both, I wanted nothing to do with them.
“That morning, they argued, and I learned that their treachery had gone further than I had previously known. Moreover, I learned that Mrs. Clay had left Mr. Elliot and taken up residence with your father. The news angered Mr. Elliot, but it incensed me.” Mrs. Smith’s face contorted in disgust. “She made me ill”—her voice shook—“with her loose ways and string of lovers. There I was, impoverished and alone, my husband dead, no fortune to ease my physical comfort, no children to console me. Privation and poor health were my sole legacy from the careless days of our youth, while she had attained everything she ever wanted.”
She fingered her locket, with its miniature of the late Mr. Smith, and turned to Mr. Elliot. “And you—you sickened me in other ways. Not only have you been living in luxury off a fortune my husband’s property made possible, but you—my ‘friend’—kept another secret from me for so many years.”
“You were happier not knowing,” Mr. Elliot said.
“I suspected. When I asked you directly, you denied any knowledge—I had to learn years later from your wife. However, when I sorted through my husband’s papers after he died, I found a note from you proving that you knew from the start. I tore it to pieces, not wanting any reminder of how thoroughly deceived I had been by everyone around me. Now I wish I had kept it, as further evidence of what a heartless creature you are.”
Mr. Elliot shrugged. “It was not my secret to tell.”
“No, it was my husband’s—and hers.”
Elizabeth realized she had read a fragment of that note, and understood the betrayal Mrs. Smith referred to. The portrait of Mr. Smith in the locket his widow now gripped in her fist depicted a man with red hair—as red as that of Mrs.
Clay’s second son.
Mrs. Smith turned back to Anne Wentworth. “If you have not already inferred, Mrs. Clay’s liaisons did not begin and end with naval officers.”
“Oh, Frances…” Anne’s expression softened, and she went to sit beside Mrs. Smith.
While Captain Wentworth attended Mrs. Smith’s speech, he seemed distracted. His gaze strayed repeatedly to the Black Cormorant. Its deck was astir today, though its crew went about their work quietly.
“With my husband no longer able to confess,” Mrs. Smith continued, “I decided to confront Mrs. Clay. I wanted to see remorse in one of them. I wanted to hear the truth from somebody.
“I left my bench and walked to the steps around that bend.” She pointed toward the southern end of the Cobb, where stood the far stairs behind the quay. “By the time I climbed to the top and reached Mrs. Clay, Mr. Elliot had gone.”
Mr. Elliot, too, seemed attentive to the activity aboard the Black Cormorant. His gaze had drifted to the ship, but at the mention of his name it returned to Mrs. Smith.
Captain Wentworth leaned toward Darcy. “She is preparing to make sail.” Only Elizabeth stood close enough to overhear him; Mrs. Smith continued as if he had not spoken.
“Mrs. Clay was looking upon the harbor when I spoke her name. She turned round, and for a moment she did not know me. But then she recognized traces of my former self in my present face. There was no greeting, no warmth of encountering an old friend after a span of years. She only asked what I was doing in Lyme. I replied that I had come for my health. She made no enquiry into how I fared,” she said bitterly, “not even the most minimal civility.
“I, on the other hand, asked after her, and she gleefully announced her new status as Lady Elliot. When I enquired after her boys, she could barely give any account of them—it was clear that they seldom entered her thoughts. The injustice of it overpowered me. Indulged by men of wealth, she had now married one, and would know a life of comfort that surpassed even what she enjoyed during our former years together, neglecting the child that should have been mine even while carrying another.”
The Deception At Lyme m&mdm-6 Page 28
