The Deception At Lyme m&mdm-6

  The Deception At Lyme

  ( Mr & Mrs Darcy Mysteries - 6 )

  Carrie Bebris

  In Jane Austen’s Persuasion, the Cobb—Lyme’s famous seawall—proved dangerous to a careless young woman. Now it proves deadly.

  Following their recent intrigue at Highbury, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy visit the seaside village of Lyme on holiday. Family business also draws them there, to receive the personal effects of Mr. Darcy’s late cousin, a naval lieutenant who died in action.

  Their retreat turns tragic when they come upon a body lying at the base of the Cobb. The victim is Mrs. Clay, a woman with a scandalous past that left her with child—a child whose existence threatened the inheritance of one of her paramours and the reputation of another. Did she lose her balance and fall from the slippery breakwater, or was she pushed?

  Mrs. Clay’s death is not the only one that commands the Darcys’ attention. When Mr. Darcy discovers, among his cousin’s possessions, evidence that the young lieutenant’s death might have been murder, he allies with Captain Frederick Wentworth (hero of Jane Austen's Persuasion) to probe details of a battle that took place across the sea . . . but was influenced by a conspiracy much closer to home.

  The Deception at Lyme (Or, The Peril of Persuasion) is the delightful sixth installment in the critically acclaimed and award-winning Mr. and Mrs. Darcy mystery series by Carrie Bebris.

  Carrie Bebris

  The Deception at Lyme:

  Or, The Peril of Persuasion

  To my father and my godmother

  Acknowledgments

  I realize, dear reader, that you are anxious to page through all of this front matter and reach the prologue, where the story begins. But it actually begins here. For while it is my name that appears on the cover of this novel, there are a great many individuals who contributed to its creation, and were it not for them, the story you are about to enjoy would not exist in its present form.

  I must, as always, first thank my family. In addition to the very patient and understanding husband and children who live with me during the day-to-day writing, I am blessed with an extended family whose support and encouragement also nurture my creative soul. For this novel, I am particularly grateful to my father for accompanying me to England as my research assistant, for taking countless photos and walking countless miles, for helping me see the navy through the eyes of one who served, and for flinching only a little bit on our first day of driving on British roads.

  I thank my editor, Kristin Sevick, for her editorial guidance, for her belief in this book, and for all her support that enabled me to write the story as it needed to be told; my agent, Irene Goodman, for her sound advice and humor that keeps everything in perspective; and my publicist, Cassandra Ammerman, for her promotional efforts on behalf of me and the Darcys.

  Artist Teresa Fasolino amazes me with her ability to take my novels and capture their essence on canvas. For the painting on the cover of this book, and those of all the Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mysteries before it, she has my continued admiration and gratitude.

  Friends and fellow writers Mary Holmes, Pamela Johnson, Victoria Hinshaw, Anne Klemm, and Sharon Short offered ideas, criticism, and support at critical stages of the book’s development. I am also grateful to the Sisters of St. Joseph for providing a quiet retreat where I could regain my creative focus and write.

  Of the many individuals who answered numerous research questions, I am especially indebted to two people who not only shared their specialized knowledge but also helped me apply it to the unique circumstances of my story: gynecological surgeon and Regency medical expert Dr. Cheryl Kinney, and historical weaponry and military expert Kristopher Shultz. Thanks also to the guides and staff of Portsmouth Historic Dockyards (particularly the HMS Victory), the Royal Marines Museum, National Maritime Museum, and Lyme Regis Museum. Special thanks to Natalie Manifold of Literary Lyme Walking Tours for her private tour of Jane Austen sites with an extended concentration on the Cobb. Closer to home, the reference librarians at Woodbourne Library hunted down all sorts of obscure old books and managed to obtain them for me.

  From the day I joined the Jane Austen Society of North America twenty years ago, its members have generously shared their knowledge, enthusiasm, and friendship, and I deeply appreciate the support I have received since I first started writing the Darcy series. I also thank the Jane Austen Centre in Bath and the staff of Jane Austen’s House Museum in Chawton for their warm reception.

  Finally, I thank you, my readers. Your comments, criticism, and enthusiasm have helped shape this series, and are a daily inspiration.

  The report of the accident had spread among the workmen and boatmen about the Cobb, and many were collected near them, to be useful if wanted, at any rate, to enjoy the sight of a dead young lady, nay, two dead young ladies, for it proved twice as fine as the first report.

  —Persuasion

  “We none of us expect to be in smooth water all our days.”

  —Mrs. Croft, Persuasion

  Maps and Arts

  The quay and southern arm of the Cobb, where the Darcys form more than one new acquaintance … not all of them pleasant.

  The “gin shop,” where a lost hat leads to an unexpected find.

  Far steps on the Cobb’s southern end, scene of a hurried descent.

  Captain Harville’s cottage in Cobb Hamlet, down the lane from the Sheet Anchor pub.

  Granny’s Teeth, site of a shocking discovery.

  Prologue

  The Cobb itself, its old wonders and new improvements… are what the stranger’s eye will seek.

  —Persuasion

  On the southern coast of England, near the town of Lyme Regis, an ancient seawall rises from the water.

  Like a great openmouthed serpent, its head reaches into the sea, its jaw acts as a quay, its body curves round to form a harbor, its tail stretches to the shore. Known as “the Cobb” for reasons lost to time, this man-made barrier more than half a millennium old is but a youthful newcomer to a wild, unstable coast where prehistoric creatures once dwelled.

  Were it not for the Cobb, there would be no harbor, and were it not for the harbor, there would be no Lyme, for the rugged shoreline the seawall faces offers no natural protected anchorage. The construction of the wall proved the making of the town, their fates and fortunes entwined. From simple medieval beginnings, the Cobb, the harbor, and the village together evolved into a thriving port worthy of royal notice.

  In this haven, ships were built and launched, trading vessels unloaded exotic wares, sailors returning from distant lands found welcome, and visitors invested hope and fortunes in the alleged restorative powers of seabathing—all sheltered by a mighty stone guardian from the caprice of the sea and the violence of Mother Nature.

  In the summer of 1815, however, even the Cobb could not safeguard Lyme from the tempests of human nature.

  One

  After securing accommodations, and ordering a dinner at one of the inns, the next thing to be done was unquestionably to walk directly down to the sea.

  —Persuasion

  Elizabeth Bennet Darcy had yet to glimpse the Cobb as she negotiated one of the steep cobblestone streets that wended through Lyme’s cliffside dwellings and shops. The close buildings obscured her view of the renowned seawall and harbor some half-mile distant from the town. Yet even had the breakwater been within sight, her gaze coveted a still more remarkable spectacle: the sea itself. In all her three-and-twenty years, she had never before laid eyes upon the sea, and the narrow glimpses she managed to catch between buildings as her small party walked down to the shoreline only whetted her impatience to behold it unobstructed.

  At last they reached the en
d of Broad Street, where a promontory opened up a commanding prospect, and she stopped to absorb the sight. She could see not only the harbor, but also miles beyond. The sun traced its descent toward the horizon, its rays diffused by clouds into muted green and yellow light that slid across the dark water rolling toward the beach.

  “Is it as you imagined?”

  Had her husband not stood directly beside her, his question might have gone unheard. The wind blowing across Lyme Bay tugged insistently at her bonnet, the ribbons beneath her chin straining to prevent its taking flight.

  “I could not possibly have imagined this.” Though she had seen depictions of the sea, no canvas could capture its magnitude, nor the latent power she could feel even from their elevated vantage point. Tall-masted ships moored in the harbor, their mighty hulls dwarfing the smaller fishing boats bobbing round them with the incoming tide. Still more great vessels anchored beyond the seawall, majestic silhouettes against the horizon.

  She turned to Darcy. “Thank you for indulging my eagerness to walk down to the sea tonight. You and your sister have visited the coast on enough previous occasions that it cannot hold for you the novelty it does for me.”

  “I have never visited this part of the coast before. And I believe my appreciation of the sea is the greater for viewing it this time with you.”

  “Despite my having drawn you and Georgiana out of our lodgings nearly the moment we arrived in Lyme?”

  “The more so, because you did.” Darcy smiled. “I believe you are even more keen to experience the sea than is Lily-Anne.”

  Elizabeth had felt a touch of guilt upon leaving their young daughter with her nurse while the adults walked to the shore. Their family had been speaking with such anticipation about this holiday that although Lily-Anne’s vocabulary was limited, “sea” had been among her most-used words for the past fortnight. The journey to Lyme, however, had tested the eighteen-month-old’s temper beyond endurance. She would enjoy her first sight of the sea in the morning, after the proper night’s rest for which her nurse was now settling her down.

  Georgiana clamped a hand upon her hat. “Lily-Anne would have been carried off by one of these gusts of wind. Do you think it will rain?”

  Darcy glanced at the sky. “Not tonight. However, more clouds are forming, and sunset is not long off. We should continue to the beach so that we can see it and return to our lodgings before full dark.”

  As they descended steps down to the square, another gust swept the cliff, catching hold of Elizabeth’s wide-brimmed straw bonnet. “If I do not adjust my hat, the wind will carry me off,” she said.

  An inn, the Lion, stood not far up the street, with a narrow passage between it and its neighbor that would provide shelter from the wind. They walked to the building, and Elizabeth entered the alley while Darcy and Georgiana waited at its entrance.

  She removed her gloves and tried to untie the bonnet. The wind, unfortunately, had strained the ribbons so taut against her jaw that now, though the ties had slackened in the sheltered space, they formed a knot so tight that she struggled to work it free. She glanced at Darcy and Georgiana, thinking to summon one of them for assistance. They, however, had become engaged in conversation with a couple she did not recognize. The lady appeared of an age similar to Georgiana’s; the gentleman, about a decade older. The animated manner with which Darcy’s sister spoke with the lady suggested the familiarity of previous acquaintance.

  Electing not to interrupt, Elizabeth continued her solitary struggle. As she tried to coax the knot, she became aware that Darcy and Georgiana’s conversation was not the only one taking place near her. Voices drifted through an open window of the inn.

  “Do not deny it—I saw you leave the Sheet Anchor with one of them, and later walking on the Cobb with the other.” The voice was a woman’s: sharp, high-pitched. “You told me you had done with them.”

  “I have not seen either of them in I know not how long.” This voice was male. Cultured. Condescending. “I was not aware they were in Lyme until we happened to meet today.”

  “Do not insult me with your lies; I know you better than anyone. And were that not enough, I have talked to each of them myself. You never stopped. All this time, I thought the business had ended. But you have been carrying on behind my back.”

  Elizabeth tugged harder at the ribbons. Uncomfortable with the accidental eavesdropping, she wanted to secure her hat and move along as quickly as possible.

  “My affairs are none of your concern.”

  “Your affairs? Those affairs never would have begun had I not been so foolish as to introduce you. We came here to meet them, did we not? You allowed me to believe we were on holiday, when all along you were planning these rendezvous.”

  “Of what have you to complain? You are on holiday,” responded the man, who Elizabeth presumed was the woman’s husband. “You spend my money as if you were.”

  “Your money! And where is mine? Where is my share of what they have received all these years?”

  “Do I not provide for you? You are wearing your share. You dine on your share. You drive about town in your share, patronize half the shops in London with your share. So long as you live under my protection, whom I meet and why is my business.”

  “Your business—and you—can go to the devil.”

  “Madam, at times I believe myself already in his company.”

  There followed an expletive which Elizabeth had never before heard uttered, let alone by a woman. She edged away from the window to distance herself from the scene of marital discord.

  “What of the promise you made me?” the wife continued, her shrill voice rising to a volume Elizabeth could not escape despite the increased distance. “Did you ever intend to keep it?”

  “In time.”

  “You have run out of time.”

  “Not quite yet. I suggest you keep that fact in mind.”

  “Depend upon it, I have.”

  A brief silence followed. Elizabeth hesitated to take another step, lest her retreat be heard and her presence realized.

  “I have friends in Lyme, you know.” The wife’s voice was calm, steadier.

  The man issued a low, scornful chuckle. “No doubt you do. Half the navy is ashore. Though in your current state, you hardly present an enticing object.”

  “Certain individuals might be very interested in learning what I know. I am not the only person your affairs have betrayed.”

  “You are hardly guiltless yourself. Unless you are an utter fool, you will keep your mouth shut.”

  The next sound was that of a door opening.

  “Where are you going?” the man said.

  “Out.”

  Though Elizabeth had failed to free her knotted ribbons, she hastened to rejoin her party. An accidental witness to the domestic drama, she had no desire to meet its actors.

  Georgiana and Darcy were alone once more; the couple with whom they had been speaking were now a good twenty yards up the street, slowly negotiating the steep incline.

  “You just missed my friend Miss Ashford,” Georgiana said. “What a delightful surprise! I had no idea of her being in Lyme. She is here with her brother, who comes regularly. In fact, he likes it so well that he leases a house here throughout the year. They arrived a se’nnight ago. They were just come from a promenade on the Cobb, which they highly recommend. Sir Laurence said the view from the top is very fine. They have gone every afternoon, and invited me to join them tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth took Georgiana’s arm and continued walking, hoping to move their party along. “I am glad you have found friends here. Are they Derbyshire acquaintances?” She could not recall having heard the name before.

  “No—their family home is in Somerset. I know Miss Ashford from London; she and I have studied with the same harp master since we were girls. I met her eldest brother once about three years ago, but this is the first time I have seen him since he inherited the baronetcy from his father. He is Sir Laurence now. That makes him so
und older than merely ‘Mr. Ashford,’ do you not think? Yet he is not too old—” She turned to her brother. “I believe about the same age as you, Fitzwilliam. I did not realize until today that you know each other.”

  “We have met occasionally at White’s,” Darcy said.

  Georgiana, noting the unaltered state of Elizabeth’s bonnet, offered her assistance, but Elizabeth declined.

  “It can wait. I am impatient to reach the waterfront.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the inn’s entrance, but saw no one who answered her mind’s image of the couple she had overheard.

  In but a few steps more they passed the Assembly Rooms and arrived at the beach. From here they could see the Cobb half a mile southwest. Small boats bobbed in the harbor created by the semicircular breakwater, which extended at least a thousand feet from mouth to shore. The seawall met land near a cluster of buildings their landlady had referred to as Cobb Hamlet. Separated from Lyme proper by an undeveloped cliff prone to landslips, the harbor and hamlet were linked to Lyme by an elevated promenade known as the Walk, which ran parallel to a cart road that skirted the beach.

  Elizabeth, Darcy, and Georgiana ambled along the Walk, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the sea. Dusk approached, and waterfront activity both on- and offshore was winding down. Vendors packed up their wares; sailors finished unloading goods from recently docked ships; horses pulled the last of the carts toward the Customs House for clearance. Four bathing machines, having long since completed their service for the day, were parked on the beach out of reach of the lapping tide.