Tense silence dominated the journey back to the inn. The presence of Mr. Melbourne stifled conversation between husband and wife, and Darcy fell into a state of deliberation so deep that Elizabeth doubted she could have elicited more than one-word responses from him had she tried. She passed the time in meditation of her own, attempting to comprehend how a crisis of this magnitude had sprung into being in so little time.
Who could ever have suspected that a simple invitation to renew an old acquaintance would lead to their potential ruin? But the entire visit had been an elaborate hoax, and all the evidence had vanished with the imposters. The only tangible reminders of that night at Northanger were the diamonds themselves.
Had the jewels been left in Mrs. Tilney’s apartment in the first place to tempt them? And then, she and Darcy not taking them on their own, planted in the duplicate walking stick? In whatever manner the diamonds were originally intended to find their way out of Northanger, obviously Mr. Chase had been meant to find them.
Or had he? Darcy believed the author of the anonymous letter and the person who had hidden the diamonds were one and the same, but what if they were not? Had someone wanted to get the diamonds out of the house—either to be discovered by Darcy upon realizing the canes had been switched, or secretly collected later by their concealer—only to be thwarted by the letter writer?
To Elizabeth’s admittedly inexperienced eye, the necklace, bracelet, and eardrops comprised a lovely set but nothing extraordinary. For a family as wealthy as the Tilneys appeared, the sentimental value of the diamonds likely equaled or exceeded their monetary worth. They had belonged to a departed mother, one who had been friends with Darcy’s own.
And the false Captain Tilney had been very interested in the history of that friendship. Why? Of all subjects, why had the perpetrator of this scheme sought information about two women who had been deceased for decades?
To unravel this intrigue, to exonerate themselves, she and Darcy needed to learn more about Lady Anne’s connection to Mrs. Tilney. They had hardly formed a cordial new acquaintance with Henry Tilney today, and thus were unlikely to learn anything more about Mrs. Tilney from her surviving son. They had access only to information about Lady Anne’s life, and those clues lay back at Pemberley.
Who knew how long it would take their letter to reach Mr. Harper, and how much more time would pass before he could effect Darcy’s release? Somehow, Elizabeth needed to get herself and her husband home.
She studied Mr. Melbourne in the waning light. She had to persuade him to discharge Darcy from gaol, but how? Reason had failed. Compassion had won only limited liberty for her that was unlikely to be extended further. How was this man best worked upon?
An idea occurred to her. By the time the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Golden Crown, she had formed a desperate resolution.
“Mr. Melbourne, might my husband accompany me to our chamber? If he is to be incarcerated until spring, I imagine he might like to retrieve a change of clothes.”
“No. I will accompany you upstairs and inspect whatever you wish to send. He can wait here with your guard.”
“Very well.” She had not expected the luxury of another private conversation with her husband. Nevertheless, the magistrate’s refusal disappointed her.
Mr. Melbourne permitted Darcy to hand her out of the carriage. As they parted, she met his gaze. They could not take proper leave of each other with the magistrate hovering impatiently. She wanted to hear Darcy’s thoughts on what they had learned today. She wanted to ask what he intended to do once Mr. Harper returned to England, and whether he wished her to take any additional actions now. She wanted to say things of a more personal nature than Mr. Melbourne needed to overhear.
She read in his eyes the same number of unspoken thoughts.
“May I visit you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Absolutely not.” His grip on her hand tightened. “I will not have you or our child anywhere near that place.”
She would not have Darcy anywhere near that place for long, if she could help it—which she was determined to do.
Mr. Melbourne hurried her up to the chamber, where she gathered she knew not what garments into a valise for Darcy. She could have called Graham and asked him to select the attire, but she wanted to handle his clothing herself, as if some part of her would be packed along with the shirts for Darcy to keep with him.
Mr. Melbourne accepted the bag from her. “Can I trust you to stay in this room while your guard and I exchange places?”
She would rather not have the magistrate’s agent monitoring her every move. “You can trust me to stay indefinitely. A guard is unnecessary.”
“Just because I permit you to remain here at the inn instead of joining your husband in gaol, that does not mean you have been cleared of charges. I cannot risk your fleeing.”
“Mr. Melbourne, you are holding my husband in prison. Where on earth do you think I might go?”
“You could go anywhere, Mrs. Darcy.”
She raised her chin and summoned her most dignified air.
She was mistress of Pemberley.
It was time she acted like it. Time she parlayed the weight of that station into something useful.
“No, I cannot, and neither can my husband,” she said. “Mr. Darcy is responsible for a huge estate. Many people—hundreds of people—depend upon him for their livelihoods. He cannot sit in gaol until the spring assizes. Allow us to go home while we await our day in court.”
Mr. Melbourne actually laughed at her. “Do you believe me so gullible as that? If I permit you to leave, Gloucestershire will never see the pair of you again. And when someone comes looking for you at Pemberley, you will not be there, either.”
“Mr. Darcy and I will swear an oath to return.”
“Oaths can be broken. As long as your husband resides in gaol, I am certain he will appear at his trial. What to do with you until spring, I have not yet decided. But do not hope, Mrs. Darcy, to see this Pemberley place of yours anytime soon.”
“Can we not post a bond to assure our cooperation?”
“Your husband has already asked that. No.”
“But why—”
“Good evening, Mrs. Darcy.”
She maintained her composure until the door was shut and she heard his tread on the stair. Then she picked up a discarded shirt and crumpled it in frustration.
She had tried to act her part and failed. She was yet too new in her role as mistress of a great estate, as matriarch of a powerful family. She had not yet learned how to project a commanding presence, one that garnered the respect of listeners and inspired them to follow her lead. And perhaps she never would. Perhaps it simply was not in her nature. After all, she had gone two-and-twenty years without feeling its lack.
Until today.
Today she felt weak. Inadequate. Overwhelmed. Indeed, the strain of recent events was beginning to take a physical toll in the form of an intermittent quaking in her lower abdomen. She had not said a word to Darcy—even had there been opportunity, she did not want to add to his troubles. But the fluctuations were occurring too close to the baby for her own peace of mind. Even now, she felt a small quiver.
She carefully folded the shirt, placed it back in Darcy’s trunk, and brought her portable writing desk to the table. She wrote the letter to Mr. Harper as Darcy had directed. But it would be some time before the solicitor could arrive. And she did not know how much more of this anxiety she could tolerate.
She withdrew another sheet of paper and began a second missive.
It was time for the strategy of last resort. She might not herself possess the air of indomitable authority required to free her husband.
But she knew someone who did.
Thirteen
“I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I be dissuaded from it.”
—Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Pride and Prejudice
W here is my nephew?”
The voic
e reverberated off the walls and every other hard surface of the room. It set Elizabeth’s spine tingling—and she had been anticipating it. Best of all, its sheer authority sent Mr. Melbourne scrambling to attention. He stood up behind his desk as Lady Catherine and Elizabeth entered the library of the magistrate’s home.
Elizabeth had not been entirely certain how Darcy’s aunt would respond to the second express she’d sent the night before. Given the vigilance with which her ladyship protected the Fitzwilliam name from the slightest threat, Elizabeth hoped she would offer assistance in liberating Darcy as quickly as possible. Her optimism had not been in vain. Lady Catherine had sallied forth so swiftly to defend the family honor that she arrived at the Golden Crown before Elizabeth had finished her breakfast.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” Elizabeth said, “may I present Mr. Melbourne?”
He stretched to his full measure and squared his shoulders. “Good afternoon, your ladyship.” Mr. Melbourne bowed.
Lady Catherine acknowledged the introduction with a nod so cool and slight that it could have been mistaken for simply adjusting the balance of her hat.
“My nephew. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. What have you done with him?”
“He is currently in gaol awaiting trial for grand larceny.”
“Inconceivable! And entirely unacceptable. A gentleman of his stature, sitting in a common gaol for a crime he did not commit—it is not to be borne!”
Her indignation washed over Mr. Melbourne as easily as had Darcy’s. Though he maintained his deferential stance, the magistrate was clearly unimpressed.
“Bear it he must.”
“Not any longer. Mrs. Darcy has communicated to me the particulars of these ridiculous charges against him. They have no foundation.”
“Mr. Darcy had stolen diamonds in his possession.”
“Do you know who he is?” Lady Catherine strode closer. Were it not for the great walnut desk between them, she and Mr. Melbourne would have stood nose to nose. “Mr. Darcy descends from a noble and ancient family. He is the grandson of an earl. His estate rivals that of any in England. A paltry set of diamonds is nothing to him. He could not possibly have taken them.”
“The trial will determine that.”
“His great-uncle was a judge. A good one. He knew a false case when he heard it, and this one is as false as they come.” She rapped her walking cane on the floor. “I want these charges dropped.”
Mr. Melbourne stepped back from the desk. “I will not do that. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy stand accused of a grave offense. I take justice very seriously, and so does the assize judge.” His voice had lost some of its power.
“Then release him until the trial.”
“I cannot.”
“Name the price.”
The three small words hung in the air as the startled Mr. Melbourne stepped back a second time. “With all due respect, your ladyship, I hope I have not given the impression that I accept bribes.”
Lady Catherine huffed with impatience. “I am not offering one. I wish to post a bond.”
“No.” Mr. Melbourne repeated the denial with a shake of his head. “If Mr. Darcy forfeits, the judge will hang me.”
“Mr. Darcy will not forfeit,” she declared. “You will have his word and my money as assurance. My nephew would not jeopardize either.”
“Nevertheless, I will not release him into his own custody. The risk—”
“Then release him into mine.” Lady Catherine assessed him. Her gaze took in not just his person, but his surroundings—the document he had been writing when they entered, the law book lying open before him, the statue of blindfolded Justice on a shelf behind his desk.
“I see your position and the faithful execution of its responsibilities are very important to you,” her ladyship said. “Have you trained at one of the Inns of Court?”
“Yes,” he said, pride evident in his voice. “Middle Temple.”
“Most local magistrates are not so well studied in the law. Have you ever aspired to administer justice in a more exalted role?”
The look of interest that flashed across Mr. Melbourne’s countenance indicated that he had.
“You know,” Lady Catherine said slowly, “many people owe their situations to me, either directly or through my influence. It is one of the duties of the privileged to help others find their place. I think your proper place is not here, serving merely as a justice of the peace. No—I believe a gentleman with your veneration for the law ought to be a judge.”
“I consider the bench the most noble service to which one can be called.”
“The lord chancellor would agree. Did I mention that I share acquaintance with Eldon?”
“Indeed?” His tone was nearly reverential.
“But we stray from the subject I am come to discuss. We were speaking not of Lord Eldon, but of Mr. Darcy.” She gave him a meaningful look. “Your cooperation in the matter of my nephew would earn my personal appreciation.”
He was silent a moment as he pondered the offer she had not—verbally, at least—made. “Perhaps,” he said, “in light of your ladyship’s willingness to stand surety for him, some accommodation can be made.”
An expression of satisfaction spread across Lady Catherine’s countenance. “I sensed that you were a reasonable gentleman.”
“Even so, I hope I do not regret this.” He cleared his throat. “There is also the matter of Mrs. Darcy.”
Lady Catherine sighed heavily and cast a sideways glance at Elizabeth. “I suppose I will vouch for them both.”
“Very good.” He reached for quill and paper. “As soon as I have your signature, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are in your keeping.”
“Admittedly, all did not transpire exactly as I had hoped.”
“We are beholden to my aunt for our limited freedom. We are answerable to her for our every movement. And she is coming back to Pemberley with us until the trial. Who of sound mind would hope for that?”
Like Elizabeth, Darcy kept his voice low. Though they had returned to the privacy of their room at the Golden Crown, Lady Catherine had taken the chamber next door. His aunt had stated an intention to rest after her journey from Bath and liberation of Darcy, but they nonetheless did not wish to chance her ladyship’s overhearing a conversation with herself as the subject.
“At least you are no longer incarcerated.”
They sat by the fire, Darcy in a chair, Elizabeth on his lap. He tightened his arms around her as she leaned against him, grateful just for the ability to talk with her this way again.
“But at very dear cost. You do realize she will still be reminding us of this when our child enters Cambridge?”
“I did not know girls were allowed to enter Cambridge.” She sighed. “Perhaps I made a poor decision. But Lady Catherine was the only person I could think of who had the force to sway Mr. Melbourne, the proximity to travel here quickly, and as much interest as we in preventing society at large from ever learning of the matter.”
Darcy knew he could rely upon his aunt to keep silent—in that assumption, Elizabeth had been correct. Lady Catherine de Bourgh would never risk exposure, for the stigma of a family member tried for larceny would blacken her own reputation. But others—Mr. Melbourne and Mr. Chase, Henry Tilney, the audience of laborers at the Golden Crown—also knew of the affair, and they possessed no such motive for silence. He could only hope that Gloucestershire was far enough removed from London that word would not spread.
“Too,” Elizabeth continued, “should diplomacy have failed, I thought perhaps Lady Catherine’s dulcet tones alone could break you out of gaol. Either way, you would enjoy freedom more quickly than Mr. Harper could arrange it. How soon do you estimate we will see him at Pemberley?”
“It depends on whether he stops at his London office upon returning to England. If he receives the second letter I just sent, he will know to proceed directly to Derbyshire. If, having read only your missive, he travels here after landing, the detour will delay him.” Darcy hoped to
see his solicitor sooner rather than later, so they could immediately begin working on his case.
“He will be a welcome sight no matter when he arrives. I must confess, even your aunt was, today.” Elizabeth smiled at some recollection. “Darcy, you should have heard the manner in which she manipulated Mr. Melbourne. It was really quite understated for Lady Catherine—a suggestion of future favor, but no actual commitment to ever do a thing for him. Do you expect she will indeed use her influence to win a place on the bench for him?”
“If there is one skill at which my aunt excels, it is putting people in their place.”
A knock on the door forced Elizabeth to reluctantly relinquish her seat. Darcy rose and opened the door to one of the inn’s maids.
“There’s a gentleman downstairs, sir, wanting to see you. A Mr. Tilney.”
Mr. Tilney? Darcy, having just started to relax the constant guard he had maintained since his arrest, braced himself once more. He doubted the visit would prove a cordial one. “Show him up.”
Elizabeth’s expression revealed similar concern. “I hope he has not come to express displeasure at your release.”
“Quite the opposite,” said Mr. Tilney as he entered the room and bowed to them both. He carried his greatcoat over one arm and his hat in hand. “I was glad to hear of it, as I went to see Mr. Melbourne with the intention of effecting it myself, if I could.”
“I confess surprise,” Darcy said. “When we parted, you did not appear so inclined.”
Mr. Tilney seemed much more amiable now. His voice was warmer, his manner less reserved. “I am come to apologize for my incivility. I had, as you know, just learned of my brother’s death, and I had not yet recovered from the shock of that news when the magistrate arrived with you—a stranger accused of stealing my mother’s diamonds. The more you revealed, the harder it became to divide sentiment from reason and think clearly.”
“Anyone receiving so much disconcerting intelligence in rapid succession would find himself similarly affected,” Darcy said.
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