North by Northanger

by Mr. ; Mrs. Darcy Mystery; Carrie Bebris

  The reverie lent her breathlessness context. Her body was no longer her own—she had a tiny passenger that would only grow larger in the coming months, and she would have to start remembering that. Meanwhile, her respiration steady once more, she completed the walk to Lady Catherine’s.

  Darcy’s aunt greeted her with all the condescension Elizabeth had come to expect from her. She received Elizabeth in the drawing room, where Anne de Bourgh and Mrs. Jenkinson also sat. Elizabeth could not recall a single occasion upon which she had seen Miss de Bourgh without Mrs. Jenkinson at her side, and wondered whether the poor girl ever enjoyed a moment’s solitude. Or whether Mrs. Jenkinson did, for that matter.

  “You appear breathless, Mrs. Darcy,” Lady Catherine observed.

  “Camden Place is a steeper climb than I anticipated,” she said. “But I was rewarded by the view as I reached the top.”

  “You walked?” Lady Catherine uttered the word as if Elizabeth had confessed to turning cartwheels. “For heaven’s sake, why did you not hire a chair?”

  “It is a fine day, and I wanted the exercise.”

  “And were repaid for your foolishness by fatiguing yourself. You are too headstrong for your own good—and that of the child you carry. Shame on you for thinking only of yourself. Does my nephew know how you conducted yourself here?”

  He did not. Normally, Darcy encouraged her love of walking, but now that she was in the family way, she could not predict whether he would approve of her traveling by foot all the way up to Camden Place. So she simply had not told him of her intent before he departed their lodgings upon errands of his own.

  Her silence proved answer enough for Lady Catherine. “I thought not.” She turned to the other two ladies. “Mrs. Jenkinson, I have matters to discuss with Mrs. Darcy that are unsuitable for the ears of a young lady not yet married. This would be a convenient time for you to escort Miss de Bourgh to the Pump Room.”

  Mrs. Jenkinson, who had developed an intense interest in the carpet pattern when Lady Catherine began chastising Elizabeth, rose with alacrity. Anne appeared more reluctant to leave, the words “unsuitable for the ears of a young lady not yet married” having offered the tantalizing promise of conversation different from her mother’s usual repertoire.

  Her ladyship waited until they had departed before fixing Elizabeth with her gaze once more. “Now then. When do you expect this child?”

  Though she bristled at Lady Catherine’s commanding tone, Elizabeth resigned herself to submission—within limits. Cooperating with the interrogation seemed the most efficient way to bring it to an end.

  “March.”

  “When in March? March is thirty-one days long. Did not your mother help you estimate any more precisely than that? When I carried Anne, I knew exactly which day the child should come.”

  “Early March.”

  “Hmph. I suppose that is the best you can do.”

  “The sixth of March at twenty-three minutes past four in the afternoon.”

  Her ladyship was not amused. “You will, of course, want to spend your confinement in London, where the best physicians may be found. Dr. Skinner in Harley Street is the man you want. He is an older gentleman, so he knows what he is about. He attended me at Anne’s birth, and I advise all the young mothers of my acquaintance to use him if he will take them as patients. He attends mostly peers’ wives, but I will speak to him.”

  “We are already engaged to meet Dr. Severn on Monday.”

  “And who is this Dr. Severn? I have never heard of him.”

  “He is highly recommended.”

  “Where does he practice? Here in Bath?”

  “Mostly in London, though he comes to Bath each winter for the season.”

  “He is a poor choice, then. What if your child comes early and he is still in Bath while you are in London?”

  “I do not intend to be in London at all. I shall remain at Pemberley for my confinement.”

  “Pemberley? Whatever for? Neither Dr. Severn nor Dr. Skinner can attend you at that distance.”

  “Mr. Darcy hopes to persuade Dr. Severn to come to Pemberley when my time approaches.”

  “And if this Dr. Severn will not?”

  “Perhaps I shall simply ask the local midwife to assist me.”

  “A midwife?” From her ladyship’s tone, one would think Elizabeth had said “milliner.” “With the most learned physicians in the country available to you in London, you would settle for the aid of some provincial woman?”

  “My mother delivered all five of her daughters with the assistance of our village midwife and had no trouble.”

  “Your mother was fortunate. Do you have any idea what can happen—to the child and to yourself?”

  “I realize there are dangers, but—”

  “You young women think you know what to expect, but you are entirely ignorant of the trial before you. I myself labored for a day and a half, and surely would have died of exhaustion without Dr. Skinner. Or take the case of my neighbor Mrs. Anderson, who lost a healthy son in a breech birth. Had she used a physician instead of a midwife, he might have survived. I could offer countless more illustrations.”

  Which she then proceeded to do.

  As much as Elizabeth wanted to disregard these examples simply because it was Lady Catherine who offered them, she found she could not. She had heard similar stories, and had not been insensible to them, but today the cautionary tales seemed to settle on her heart in a way they had not previously. Her fatigue at climbing Landsdown Road had left her more aware of her increasing physical vulnerability, an unpleasant reality that she would have to take into consideration whether she cared to or not.

  Nevertheless, she soon had heard as much from Darcy’s aunt as anyone could be expected to tolerate for one visit. “Lady Catherine, I appreciate your concern and your counsel. I will accord the matter due thought.” She rose to go.

  “A London confinement, Mrs. Darcy,” her ladyship repeated once more. “You cannot possibly contemplate anything else. Do not forget that my own sister lost three babes after Fitzwilliam, then bled to death bringing Georgiana into the world. Consider the effect the loss of you or your child would have on my nephew. Whatever my feelings toward you, I would not have him suffer the torment his father experienced.”

  Neither would Elizabeth. She also could not help but think that her own death would hardly be an altogether agreeable event for herself.

  Her ladyship insisted on not only ordering her carriage for Elizabeth, but also accompanying her to Pulteney Street. Elizabeth supposed Lady Catherine wanted to tattle on her for having arrived in Camden Place under her own power, but as it turned out, she had an entirely different issue she wished to bring to Darcy’s attention.

  Darcy had returned from his errands and greeted Lady Catherine’s arrival with evident surprise. “Mrs. Darcy and I had not anticipated the honor of a reciprocal visit so soon.” He glanced to Elizabeth with amused curiosity as her ladyship settled herself in the sitting room. “You must have enjoyed a pleasant tête-à-tête.”

  “I have advised your wife on several subjects related to her lying-in. She would do well to heed my counsel.” Lady Catherine waved her hand. “Mrs. Darcy, you may excuse yourself now. I have a matter of family business to discuss with my nephew.”

  Elizabeth stiffened. To dismiss her like a servant from her own sitting room! Though a moment ago she would have welcomed the opportunity to escape her ladyship’s presence, she now wanted to remain in the room solely on principle.

  Darcy’s expression lost its amusement. “If it is family business, it can be discussed in the presence of my wife.”

  “It does not concern her.”

  “Then it does not concern me.”

  Lady Catherine bristled. She looked at Elizabeth resentfully, then back at Darcy with an air of calculation. Elizabeth sensed that Darcy’s aunt wanted something from him and was weighing how much cooperation on her own part would be required to obtain it.

  �
�Very well,” she said finally. “I suppose you will only divulge our conversation to her the moment I leave.” She spared Elizabeth one more glance, then declared, “Southwell is gone to France again.”

  The travel arrangements of Darcy’s cousin hardly constituted the momentous news Elizabeth had anticipated after such a dramatic preface. Darcy, however, closed his eyes and sighed.

  “Has he—”

  “I have no particulars yet. But you know how poor his judgment is, especially in regard to a certain individual. He narrowly avoided a scandal last time.”

  “I remember.” He rubbed his brow wearily. “What does his brother think of this?”

  “The news reached me only this morning, so I have had no opportunity to discuss it yet with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Even so, the colonel is needed with his regiment at present and therefore is not at liberty to sail off to France and serve as his brother’s keeper.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “If you can idle away weeks in Bath, you can go to Paris long enough to make a few discreet enquires. Someone must determine what his lordship is about and intervene if necessary to avert disaster. Else he could finally succeed in undoing himself, and all of us in the process. The political and social repercussions—”

  “Would be grave indeed, I realize.”

  “Then we are agreed. You will go.”

  “No, but I shall send an agent in my stead. My solicitor, Mr. Harper, possesses sufficient connections in Paris to learn what we need to know. If my cousin indeed places himself in jeopardy once more, I will proceed as appropriate.”

  “I would prefer that a member of the family undertake this charge.” Determination radiated from the former Lady Catherine Fitzwilliam with such intensity that Elizabeth thought the potted palm would bend under the force. But Darcy had inherited more than his Christian name from his mother’s family.

  “If you wish to journey there yourself, I have no objection.”

  Confronted with the resistance of her nephew’s equally strong will, her ladyship was forced to concede—though with an expression that clearly indicated annoyance. “If you can testify to Mr. Harper’s dependability and discretion, I suppose I am satisfied.” She rose. “At present.”

  Before the wheels of Lady Catherine’s departing carriage had rotated a full turn, Elizabeth sought an explanation from Darcy. “I do hope you intend to enlighten me as to the subject of that conversation?”

  “You were likely able to surmise most of it. Have you ever wondered why, in entrusting Georgiana’s guardianship jointly to me and one of my cousins, my late father chose Colonel Fitzwilliam instead of the earl?”

  “I did find it curious.” She watched Lady Catherine’s vehicle enter Laura Place, then let the curtain fall and turned away from the window.

  “Though Roger inherited a title, he did not inherit a great deal of sense.” Darcy went to the decanter and offered her a glass of wine. Though she declined—the smell of liquor had troubled her since her pregnancy began—he poured one for himself. “To curtail a long saga, he has a habit of offending the wrong people and landing himself in political, social, and sometimes even physical danger. In the past few years, he has expanded his imprudence across the English Channel.”

  “Your unwillingness to follow him there displeased your aunt. Have you done so before?”

  “Displeased my aunt?” He gave her a wry smile as he replaced the stopper on the decanter.

  “Gone to France.”

  “The last time Roger tarried there, he nearly lost his life in a duel. I brought him home.”

  “Why did you not go on this occasion?”

  “I am no longer a bachelor. While previously I might have placed myself at my aunt’s disposal, I now have a wife and child who require my attention. I cannot allow Lady Catherine to consider me at her beck and call whenever the whim strikes her.”

  She crossed to him as he sipped his wine. “I am glad to hear it. I much prefer you at my beck and call.”

  “Indeed? And what whim presently strikes you?”

  “You need not journey to France.” She took the glass from him, deliberately brushing his fingers in the process, and set it down.

  He regarded her warmly. “Why Mrs. Darcy.—”

  “Only Pulteney Bridge.”

  At that, he chuckled. “We are returning to the pastry-cook’s shop?”

  “How ever did you guess?”

  “We have not yet been there today. The proprietor might feel neglected.” He took her hand, kissed it, and led her into the hall. “Is it to be lemon ice or strawberry this time?”

  Six

  I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal.

  —Jane Austen, letter to Cassandra

  D r. Richard Severn was a petite, wiry gentleman with a dark complexion and the eyes and nose of a hawk. He wore his black hair short, his sideburns long, and his vanity like a suit of armor. He entered the Darcys’ sitting room with an air of command and proceeded to interview the couple instead of the other way round.

  Rather, the physician proceeded to interview Darcy. He barely spared Elizabeth a glance, and she soon felt as if she could have left the room without the doctor’s noticing.

  “This is your first child?”

  “It is.”

  “And your wife estimates it will arrive when?”

  “Early March.”

  “I normally return to London on the first of March. She, however, should complete her travel much earlier. The roads, as you know, can be extremely hazardous in winter, and you would not want a rough carriage ride to cause premature birth. I advise you to install Mrs. Darcy in town well before Christmas.” He withdrew a small notebook and pencil from his bag. “I will note in my calendar when you anticipate requiring my services. You have my direction in London—simply summon me when Mrs. Darcy’s pains commence.”

  “My wife prefers our country home in Derbyshire for her confinement. I had hoped you might consider attending her there.”

  “Derbyshire? Impossible,” he said, not looking up from his calendar. “It is too far from London. I could take on no other patients—I would have to arrive before I was needed and waste weeks waiting for Mrs. Darcy’s delivery.”

  “I would make your sacrifice worthwhile.”

  The doctor paused, pencil still in hand, and studied Darcy appraisingly. “How worthwhile?”

  “That depends upon how long you stay at Pemberley.”

  “Hold a moment!” Elizabeth drew their attention toward herself for the first time in the entire conversation. “Dr. Severn, before we make any arrangements, might you be so good as to describe what I can anticipate when you attend me?”

  He regarded her with annoyance. “Have you not a mother or sister with whom you can discuss the particulars of lying in?”

  “What I mean to say is, all the women of my family have been brought to bed with a midwife and other women attending them. As a physician, do you assist births differently?”

  “My medical training is far superior to that of any midwife,” he said tersely. “What midwife can boast a university education? Should the birth not proceed smoothly, has she the knowledge and instruments to save you or the child? The greatest families in England rely upon me to see their children into the world, but if you prefer the aid of an ignorant old woman—”

  “I did not say that. I only wished to know the advantages of having a doctor present.”

  “I have assisted hundreds of births, Mrs. Darcy. I am an expert in my profession. Moreover, I am a man of science, equipped to handle not only the common emergencies, but also the unforeseen. I can tell you tales that would chill your soul about extreme measures I have taken to save a mother or her child after having given up the other for lost.”

  Which he then proceeded to do.

  Apparently, a woman’s expectant state ranked second only to All Hallows’ Eve as inspiration for one and all to share horror stories. Elizabeth actually sh
uddered at one particularly disturbing example the doctor offered as evidence of his superiority. There would be no resisting Darcy’s preference for a physician now, and, in truth, she herself had begun to think that perhaps engaging a male accoucheur was the wiser course of action. She could not say, however, that she cared for Dr. Severn himself.

  The physician glanced from her to Darcy impatiently. “What is your intent? Do you wish to engage me or not?”

  As much as she resented Dr. Severn’s arrogance, she respected his knowledge. She met Darcy’s gaze and read in it his desire to proceed. For Darcy’s sake, she could tolerate him. Should the unthinkable occur, at least her husband would have the small consolation of knowing he had done everything in his power to prevent it.

  She nodded her acquiescence.

  Within ten minutes’ time, all was arranged. Mercifully, Dr. Severn shared Elizabeth’s belief that his coming to Pemberley immediately was entirely unnecessary—a view that somewhat mitigated her opinion of him. He consented to travel there if needed to respond to specific complaints, but otherwise he would arrive in February and stay until the birth. A monthly nurse—he could recommend several—would then oversee Elizabeth’s recovery for the remainder of her lying-in. The gentlemen negotiated payment, and Dr. Severn departed.

  “The interview proceeded more smoothly than I anticipated,” Darcy remarked.

  “You thought Dr. Severn would prove more difficult?”

  “I was speaking of you.”

  Before she could reply, a servant entered and handed Darcy a letter that had arrived while they were engaged with the doctor.

  “It is from Mr. Harper,” Darcy said. “He writes that he will depart for France on the nineteenth, and assures me that he will conduct the business quietly” Darcy refolded the letter and set it aside. “So the matter of watching over my cousin is well in hand. If I know Mr. Harper, I will find an initial report waiting for me when we return to Pemberley.”

  “Do you anticipate Mr. Harper will learn anything unpleasant?”