The Deception at Lyme Page 3

  She moved faster with each step to keep pace with Darcy’s ever-lengthening strides. They approached the curve, rounded it—

  And stopped.

  The solitary woman they had seen standing on the upper Cobb now blocked their path on the lower. Her back to them, she did not turn this time. Indeed, she took no notice of them at all. And her cape no longer billowed about her.

  It covered her body, lying motionless on the cold, hard stone.

  Three

  The horror of that moment to all who stood around!

  —Persuasion

  There is never a particularly good time to stumble upon a body, but Darcy could not help thinking that this was one of the worst. The sky had darkened to the state of dusk, and the droplets that struck the pavement could no longer be dismissed as sea spray by even the most optimistic observer. Thunder sounded again.

  Sir Laurence came up beside him. “Is she dead?”

  “I see no blood,” Darcy said, “but she does not appear to be breathing.” He transferred Lily-Anne to Elizabeth, who tried to shield the child’s view while he approached the prostrate form.

  Lily-Anne, however, seemed intent on watching him. She wrestled against Elizabeth’s embrace. “See!”

  “Not now, Lily.” Elizabeth drew their daughter closer to her.

  Darcy knelt beside the inanimate form tossed on the ground like one of Lily-Anne’s rag dolls. The lady’s right arm was trapped beneath her, the other hidden with her bent knees somewhere beneath her long cape.

  “She must have tried to descend Granny’s Teeth to escape the storm,” Sir Laurence said.

  “Granny’s Teeth?”

  The baronet nodded toward the wall. Beside them rose a set of steps so narrow that they had escaped Darcy’s notice entirely when they passed them above. “Steps,” in fact, was too generous a word to describe the weathered rectangular stones protruding at uneven intervals from the sheer face of the wall. The flight was so steep and treacherous that only the most intrepid—or foolhardy—individual would hazard it in trousers and fair weather, let alone skirts in a storm.

  Darcy put his hand on the woman’s back and detected a slight rise and fall. “She breathes. I feel broken ribs, however.” The lady likely suffered other broken bones as well, but Darcy could not with propriety examine her. He turned to Elizabeth, who was already consigning their daughter to Georgiana.

  As his wife moved to the other side of the injured lady, Darcy looked about. Had nobody else noticed the inert figure lying on the wet pavement? The quay’s warehouses blocked this stretch of the Cobb from the view of most of the dockworkers, and the attention of those within sight was consumed by the frantic activity of launching rescue efforts and battening down hatches before the storm unleashed its full fury.

  “Good heavens.”

  Elizabeth’s words wrenched his attention back to her. She had lifted the woman’s cape, and now raised her gaze to his. “She is with child.”

  “Is the baby—”

  She reached toward the woman’s abdomen and was silent for several very long minutes. “Yet alive,” she said at last. “I feel movement. She needs a surgeon.”

  “Sir Laurence,” Darcy said, “if you would escort my family to our lodgings and send a surgeon hither, I would be most obliged.”

  “Nay, I should be the one who remains.”

  Much as Darcy would prefer to conduct his family safely home himself, the baronet was the logical choice to go. “You are more familiar with Lyme. You know better than I the fastest way back through the town and where a surgeon might be found.”

  “You will be escorting only Miss Darcy and Lily-Anne,” Elizabeth added.

  Both gentlemen objected to her not seeking shelter, but she refused to yield. “This woman is unconscious, with child, and has just suffered a traumatic accident. If something occurs with that baby before the surgeon arrives, have either of you any notion what to do for her?”

  Darcy and Sir Laurence exchanged glances.

  “Very well,” said Sir Laurence. “I will send a surgeon with all possible haste and return myself after seeing Miss Darcy and your daughter to safety.”

  Lily-Anne offered the only additional objection. “See, Mamma!” The toddler lunged so violently toward her mother that the unexpected weight shift nearly caused Georgiana to lose her hold on the child.

  The baronet reached for Lily. “We can walk faster if I carry her.”

  But Lily-Anne would have none of that, and clung to her aunt with tenacity. Sir Laurence attempted to disengage her, but Georgiana shook her head. “I can carry her. Let us not lose another moment.”

  Darcy watched them depart. Sir Laurence walked between Georgiana and the harbor, so that Georgiana and Lily received as much shelter as possible from the wall. His left arm circled Georgiana’s back to hold her far elbow, supporting her balance on the slick stones and the arm which bore most of Lily’s weight. It was a posture Darcy would have adopted with his wife under similar conditions, and he never would have countenanced such familiarity between the baronet and Georgiana were the safety of his sister and daughter not in question. As it was, the sight of the trio—man, woman, and child—so intimately grouped gave rise to a fleeting image of Georgiana established in a family of her own. Though he had given matters such as her marriage settlement due contemplation, the marriage itself had always been a vague, distant event. He was not ready to admit a specific face into his indistinct visions of Georgiana’s future, but he wondered whether his sister was.

  More lightning flashed, and he forced these thoughts aside. He had a crisis demanding his full concentration. He turned to Elizabeth, who ministered to their patient as best she could. “I wish you had gone with Georgiana and Lily-Anne,” he said.

  She met his gaze. “I could not in good conscience leave.”

  “I would have managed.”

  “I know.” The look she gave him left no doubt of her confidence, nor her devotion. “But just because you are capable of handling difficulties by yourself does not mean you should have to. I would not abandon you to deal with this alone.”

  It seemed, however, that they were no longer entirely alone. Despite the storm and rescue efforts, some of the men working on the dock had at last noticed the injured woman and paused in their activities long enough to cast occasional curious glances their way. Discovering a surgeon among them would be a stroke of fortune too propitious to come Darcy’s way this dark morning, but he approached them nevertheless. They might prove helpful in another way.

  “Do any of you know that lady?”

  “I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her before,” piped a gaunt, pockmarked fisherman. “Comes to Lyme every so often. Usually see her around the Cobb with a gentleman. I’ve not seen him this morning, though.”

  “I did,” said a burly fellow. “Well—I think it was him. Didn’t pay ’em much mind, but she was talkin’ to someone up there on the wall before she fell.”

  “Did you witness her fall?”

  “No, sir. But there was another young lady fell off the wall not too long ago, and I saw that. Thought she was dead for sure, but she recovered. She stayed with the family in that house until she was mended.” He pointed toward a small group of modest cottages in Cobb Hamlet.

  “Does anybody have additional information regarding this lady?”

  No one did, and all were anxious to resume their own business. Darcy returned to their patient. The unfortunate lady had not moved in the slightest since they came upon her. “I hope the surgeon does not arrive too late.”

  “I wish she would open her eyes.” Elizabeth had removed the lady’s bonnet, revealing dark blond hair—and swelling at her temple. “Ma’am? Can you hear us?” The woman’s facial muscles tensed, and it appeared that Elizabeth might be granted her wish. It was the hope of a moment, however, dashed as the stranger’s face became expressionless once again.

  More drops fell from the sky. Darcy removed his coat and placed it over Elizabeth’s s
houlders. The patient received some protection from her own cape, but the weather was worsening, and her likelihood of recovery diminished the longer they waited for a surgeon. He peered toward the beach, barely able to discern Sir Laurence and Georgiana in the misty darkness. They had reached the Walk but yet had a considerable distance before reaching the town. Once there, Sir Laurence still had to locate an available surgeon, who then would have to travel back through the elements to reach his patient.

  “We need to move her to shelter,” Darcy said.

  “I had the same thought. But where?”

  The nearest buildings were the quay warehouses—full of frantic activity and rough workmen. They might provide protection from the rain, but were hardly an appropriate venue for the surgeon to treat a lady, particularly one in a family condition.

  Yet transporting her all the way to town was impractical, if not impossible. Darcy looked toward Cobb Hamlet. As he tried to recall whether he had seen any promising sanctuary there when they had passed through on their way to the Cobb, he became aware of someone approaching.

  “Darcy, is that…?”

  It was. Of all people, the sailor they had encountered on the beach last night—the one who had prevented Georgiana’s fall—now strode in their direction. Darcy presumed he was headed to the quay to assist the other seamen, but he instead came straight to them.

  “Is the lady all right? Oh! I see she is not.”

  “We have sent for a surgeon but need to get her out of the rain,” Elizabeth replied.

  “Of course. How might I be of use?”

  Despite Darcy’s unfavorable previous impression of the man, he appreciated the offer of assistance. “We do not know where to take her.”

  The stranger assessed their options, as Darcy had done a minute ago. He scarcely glanced at the quay buildings, focusing instead on the hamlet. “A naval captain lives in one of those cottages. I do not know him well—have met his wife only once—but they are good people. Let us take her there.”

  He approached the injured woman and grimaced at the head contusion. “Has she been conscious?”

  “Not since we discovered her,” Darcy said.

  “She also has broken ribs,” Elizabeth added, “and is with child.”

  He nodded. “We shall take extra care.” He lifted the edge of the woman’s cape off her and spread it behind her on the ground, then asked Darcy to help him roll her onto her back. “Slowly,” he cautioned.

  When she lay more or less centered on the cape, the sailor slid his hands beneath her shoulders and under her arms. He looked at Darcy. “When I lift her on this end, you lift her by the knees. If you can pull the cape taut to support her back, so much the better. And you, ma’am”—he turned to Elizabeth—“help me hold her head still as we carry her.”

  Given his air of authority, Darcy believed he might indeed be a ship’s officer, as Georgiana had speculated. Under other circumstances, Darcy would have chafed at being commanded as if he and Elizabeth were subordinates, but as the officer seemed to have experience in moving injured persons, he accepted his direction.

  They carried their patient off the Cobb as quickly as the rain allowed. When they reached the naval captain’s home, Elizabeth knocked on the door of the modest cottage. A boy of about seven answered.

  “Is your father at home?” the officer asked.

  “No, sir.” The boy stared at the injured woman, who Darcy believed grew heavier each minute.

  “Caleb, who is at the door?” called a feminine voice from within. Before the boy had a chance to answer, a woman who, given her unmistakable resemblance to the child, could be none but the boy’s mother, appeared beside her son.

  “Good day—” Her gaze shifted to the injured lady. “Good heavens! What has happened?”

  “This lady fell on the Cobb in the storm,” the officer said. “I beg your pardon for the imposition, Mrs. Harville, but your home is the nearest shelter I could think of.”

  Mrs. Harville ushered them in without hesitation. “Poor creature! Here, bring her this way.” She led them through the small main room to an even smaller side chamber that held a bed onto which Darcy and the officer lowered the patient. The injured woman stirred slightly as her cape was removed and handed to a maid with orders to set it out to dry beside the kitchen fire. “Caleb,” Mrs. Harville added, “go with her and bring wood to light the hearth in this chamber.”

  Two small boys—Caleb’s younger brothers, Darcy presumed—moved aside to allow them passage, then hovered in the doorway, observing the scene with wide eyes.

  Mrs. Harville turned back to the patient. “Her head! Lieutenant, do you know where to find Mr. Sawyer?”

  “If Mr. Sawyer is a surgeon, I believe one has already been summoned.”

  “But was it Mr. Sawyer you sent for? So many frauds flock to Lyme this time of year. Mr. Sawyer will know what to do. A friend of ours had an accident on the Cobb last autumn and injured her head. Mr. Sawyer treated her, and she is mended now.”

  “If you give me his direction, I shall go at once.”

  Within a minute, he had departed. Mrs. Harville turned to Darcy and Elizabeth. “Forgive me—in the urgency of the moment I have forgotten my manners. I am Mrs. Harville. My husband, Captain Harville, is out just now. He heard a ship went down before it reached harbor, and he left to see whether he could be of use.”

  Darcy introduced himself and Elizabeth. “We are visitors to Lyme and appreciate your assistance,” he added.

  Mrs. Harville adjusted a pillow behind the patient’s head in an attempt to make the woman more comfortable. “How could anyone with a heart turn away your poor friend? What is her name?”

  “We do not know the lady,” Elizabeth said. “We came upon her as we were leaving the Cobb in the rain. She had already fallen.”

  “Does the lieutenant know her, then?”

  Elizabeth glanced at Darcy uncertainly, then back at Mrs. Harville. “I do not believe so. He was not present when we discovered her; he arrived afterward.”

  “Her husband must be frantic with worry.”

  Darcy reproached himself for that thought not having occurred to him. But without knowing the wife’s name, how might anyone begin to locate the husband?

  “Did those workers you spoke with recognize the lady?” Elizabeth asked him.

  “They had seen her earlier with a gentleman.”

  He wondered whether that gentleman might yet be on the Cobb, searching for his wife. How they had become separated was a matter of speculation for another time, but were Elizabeth missing in this storm, nothing could have forced Darcy to leave the seawall until he had found her, particularly if she were in a delicate condition. If the dockmen to whom he had spoken could provide a description of the lady’s husband, perhaps Darcy could find the gentleman.

  Rain splattered against the glass of the chamber’s tiny, sole window. The last place Darcy wanted to go was back out on the Cobb. The errand, however, could not be delayed.

  “I should talk to those workers again while there remains a chance of finding them still on the quay,” he said to Elizabeth. “But I will not leave if you or Mrs. Harville have need of me here while awaiting the surgeon.”

  Both women assured him of his superfluity. Elizabeth, who yet wore his coat, removed it to return to him.

  “Oh! Let me fetch you Captain Harville’s spare oilskin,” Mrs. Harville insisted. “It is not much to look at, but it will provide some protection from the rain. Mrs. Darcy, I will find you some dry things, as well.”

  The raincoat was well worn—it had obviously weathered many storms at sea—but Darcy was grateful for it as he returned to the scene of the accident. His wet errand was not undertaken in vain; he found the two dockmen just as they were entering one of the warehouses. After soliciting their cooperation, he stepped inside with them.

  “You said you had seen the woman with her husband earlier—pray, describe him to me.”

  The scrawny fellow cleared his throat. “I
don’t think he’s her husband, sir, if you catch my meaning.”

  The insinuation startled Darcy. From the quality of the woman’s attire, he had assumed she was a lady. “Did she appear to be his mistress, or a … more casual acquaintance?”

  “Oh, I’d say they know each other very well. Saw them the day before yesterday, arguing like me and the missus do.” The man laughed. “You know, sir—same argument, different day. Her doin’ most of the talking.”

  “What did they argue about?”

  “Couldn’t say. Something about the air. Maybe the seashore don’t agree with her.”

  Darcy was eager to find and inform the woman’s patron—or whatever the gentleman was to her—and have done with the whole matter. “Can either of you tell me what the gentleman looks like?”

  “He’s a fair-looking chap, I s’pose. No worse than most other gen’lemen.”

  “Can you provide more particulars? His height, his age?”

  “No need,” said the dockman, looking past Darcy’s shoulder. “That’s him right there.”

  Darcy followed the man’s gaze outside, where a gentleman had come into view. He was short, of an age approximating Darcy’s own one-and-thirty years, with agreeable but not handsome looks due in part to an overpronounced lower jaw. Well prepared for the weather, he possessed both an overcoat and an umbrella. He scanned the dock, then ducked into the warehouse to search the faces of those inside.

  Darcy thanked the workers who had identified the gentleman, then approached him.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, but I have urgent news for the family or friends of a woman whom, I have been given to understand, you might be able to identify.” Darcy spoke in a tone that barely rose above the noise of the warehouse activity. Depending upon the nature of this gentleman’s association with the woman, he might not be inclined to admit an acquaintance with her. “She is perhaps thirty years old, with dark blond hair and freckles. This morning she wears a white dress and long grey cape. Does that description sound familiar?”