The Deception at Lyme Page 6

  “Mr. Elliot might take the news more gravely.”

  “Though Sir Walter does not wish for us to communicate any news to his cousin, I do feel that Mr. Elliot ought to be informed. Yet even Mr. Elliot—whatever his relationship was to the former Mrs. Clay, and for all his professions of concern—could not trouble himself to remain at the Harvilles’ during her travail, and gave us vague directions by which to find him. Do you truly think he will be any more moved by Lady Elliot’s death than Sir Walter was?”

  Darcy stopped in front of the Lion. “Let us find out.”

  * * *

  Although a bored attendant at the Lion confirmed that Mr. William Elliot numbered among the inn’s guests, the gentleman was not at home—truly not at home—when Elizabeth and Darcy called. By this point nearly to their own cottage, they went home to check on Lily-Anne and Georgiana before making any additional attempt to locate the elusive Mr. Elliot.

  Thankfully, they found all well with Georgiana and their daughter. Georgiana described how they and Sir Laurence had reached Broad Street and sent a surgeon back to the Cobb before the rain increased to an intensity that prevented them from continuing up the steep hill home. Their small party had taken refuge in a pastry shop, where they warmed themselves over tea and cake until the rain ceased and they could resume the walk to the cottage.

  “As distressing as the circumstances were,” Georgiana said, “Sir Laurence was a reassuring presence. He knew just where to go and what to do, and took very good care of us. He was exceedingly attentive to both me and Lily-Anne, and our conversation in the pastry shop was so diverting that I felt guilty whenever I recalled that the two of you were dealing with such a dreadful situation while I enjoyed his company.”

  “Pray, do not feel guilty any longer,” Elizabeth said. “I am glad one of us had a day that was not miserable.”

  “Two of us,” Georgiana corrected. “Lily-Anne found Sir Laurence delightful, once she warmed up to him. He was so good with her, Elizabeth—it was charming to watch them together at the pastry shop. I think my niece is quite smitten.”

  The animation in Georgiana’s eyes as she spoke of Sir Laurence made Elizabeth long to ask whether Lily-Anne’s aunt was smitten, as well, but she forbore. Georgiana’s regard for the baronet was evident; it was too early to quiz or tease her about its developing into something more.

  Besides, Elizabeth was not in playful humor. Though happy that Georgiana and Lily-Anne had escaped the worst of the day’s events, she yet felt the weight of Lady Elliot’s untimely demise. Women died in childbed with tragic regularity, but Elizabeth could not help wondering whether she might have survived had she not also suffered a serious accident.

  The company of her own child, however, helped lift Elizabeth’s mood. So, too, did a bath and fresh clothing. As her maid completed a simple arrangement of her hair, Elizabeth watched Lily-Anne play on the floor with her two favorite dolls. When the servant left the bedchamber, Elizabeth called Lily-Anne to her. Lily approached the dressing table, set her dolls upon it, and climbed into her mother’s lap. Elizabeth embraced her, saying not a word.

  Lily asked to go for a walk. Elizabeth wished she could indulge her daughter immediately, but she and Darcy had agreed to make one more attempt to call upon Mr. Elliot. They also felt they ought to return to the Harvilles’ home. Upon reaching their lodgings, Darcy had sent a note advising them to expect Sir Walter or his emissary to call for the infant, but both he and Elizabeth wanted to take more formal leave of the generous couple as they ended their involvement in this whole unfortunate event.

  “I am afraid a walk with me will have to wait, Lily. Do you want to play with Betsy and Maggie a while longer?”

  Lily-Anne scooted off Elizabeth’s lap and reached for the pair of dolls on the dressing table. They were cloth dolls, gifts from Elizabeth’s sister Jane, and their appearance was proof that they were well loved. Privately, Elizabeth and Lily-Anne’s nurse referred to the dolls as Bald Betsy and Mangled Maggie. Once upon a time, Betsy had possessed red hair fashioned from yarn, but as Lily liked to carry her by it, most of the strands had disappeared. Maggie owed the preservation of her own hair to a sewn-on cap that matched her dress. However, Lily had decided that gumming Maggie’s stuffed legs was her preferred remedy for teething pain. After six teeth, the doll looked like the victim of a horrible carriage accident.

  As Elizabeth tied the laces of her half-boots, Betsy and Maggie stood on the edge of the dressing table and engaged in a lively dialogue intelligible only to Lily-Anne, who performed it with great spirit. Unfortunately, the conversation took a hostile turn when the dolls shouted “no-no-no” at each other and Maggie knocked Betsy to the floor.

  “Lily-Anne Darcy! That is not a nice way to play with your dolls. Pick up Betsy and treat her gently. Maggie should apologize.”

  After Maggie delivered the apology, Lily-Anne turned to her mother. “Walk now?”

  “Not yet, sweetheart—”

  Elizabeth reconsidered. The rain had ceased some time ago; Lily-Anne could come with them to call upon the Harvilles. Surely they would not mind. They had children of their own, after all, and Lily might enjoy meeting the youngest boy. As for their stop at Mr. Elliot’s, Lily-Anne’s presence would provide the perfect excuse to keep the call brief—if they even found him at all.

  “Yes, Lily. Let us take that walk now.”

  Eight

  “I venture to hint, that Sir Walter Elliot cannot be half so jealous for his own, as John Shepherd will be for him.”

  —Mr. John Shepherd to Sir Walter, Persuasion

  Elizabeth and Darcy’s second visit to the Lion proved equally fruitless; Mr. Elliot still had not returned. They therefore proceeded to the Harvilles’ cottage. By the time they reached the shore, however, Elizabeth regretted her decision to bring Lily-Anne along. While the streets higher up the hill, near their own cottage, had begun to dry following the storm, those closer to the beach were still wet and dirty. As a result, Darcy wound up carrying Lily-Anne most of the way, a circumstance that pleased neither the child who wanted to use her own legs nor the father who had already endured a long day. Darcy bore it with fortitude; Lily-Anne, with better humor than Elizabeth anticipated. All three were grateful to finally reach Cobb Hamlet and the Harvilles’ home.

  Mrs. Harville was happy to see the Darcys. She, too, had changed her attire and tidied her appearance since the morning’s exertions. “My husband is on his way to your cottage,” she said. “You must have missed each other en route. We thought you would want to know that Mr. Elliot has returned.”

  “Mr. William Elliot?” Darcy asked.

  “Yes, the gentleman you brought here earlier. He has been preparing his own lodgings to receive the injured mother and child. Poor man! He took the news of Mrs. Clay’s death very hard.”

  “Has Sir Walter Elliot been in communication with you?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Sir Walter? Not at all.”

  While Elizabeth cast a puzzled glance at Darcy—which he returned in kind—Mrs. Harville bent to meet Lily-Anne’s eyes. “And who is this young lady?”

  “Our daughter, Lily-Anne,” Elizabeth replied.

  “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Darcy,” she said with exaggerated formality. “I have a little boy not much older than you. Would you like to meet him?”

  Lily-Anne looked to Elizabeth. After receiving a nod of permission, she accepted Mrs. Harville’s hand and went inside.

  Elizabeth turned to Darcy. “Mr. Elliot means to take the baby?”

  “Apparently he is ignorant of Sir Walter’s interest in the matter.”

  They entered the house to find Mr. Elliot holding the newborn. The child was well swaddled and sleeping.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy,” Mr. Elliot greeted them. “I did not expect to see you again.”

  “We tried to call upon you at the Lion,” Darcy said. “That is where you are staying, is it not?”

  “For the time being. As soon as Mr. Sawyer
assures me the child is strong enough to travel, we will remove to my house in Sidmouth.”

  Mrs. Harville was in a corner of the room, where she had led the newly acquainted Lily-Anne and Ben to a basket of wooden blocks. Ben took up a cube and handed it to Lily, who set it on the floor and reached for another while Ben began amassing his own stockpile. The toddlers content, Mrs. Harville returned to the Darcys.

  “The undertaker has collected Mrs. Clay.” She sighed. “Poor dear! But I have heartening news, as well. I may have found a wet nurse—Mrs. Logan, a young widow whose husband served as a midshipman under Captain Harville. They were married scarcely a twelvemonth when Mr. Logan died, leaving her in the family way and with little on which to live. Her lying-in was a few weeks ago—a tiny little girl, smaller than Mrs. Clay’s child—and sadly, her baby died the day before yesterday. I went to see her this afternoon and broached the subject of nursing Mrs. Clay’s son. She is amenable, but we did not discuss particulars. I thought the business arrangements would be more properly handled by the child’s rightful guardian, but was not certain who that might be. When I returned home, Mr. Elliot was here and said he would take the child.”

  “Indeed, someone must look out for the little fellow,” Mr. Elliot said. “It is the least I can do for his mother.”

  The infant released a cry. For all the challenges the baby had faced simply entering the world, he apparently possessed a healthy set of lungs.

  “There, there,” Mr. Elliot said matter-of-factly. “Go back to sleep.”

  The baby, however, only increased the volume and urgency of his mewing, and strained his limbs against the blanket that swaddled him. Mr. Elliot, discomposed by the suddenly restless creature, tried to shift the child to his other arm, neglecting to support the infant’s small neck. The blanket loosened still more in the process, releasing its captive, who was now a noisy mass of flailing limbs.

  Darcy, who stood closest, took the baby from Mr. Elliot before the gentleman dropped him. In Darcy’s firmer hold the infant ceased his wails and thrashing. The baby’s response triggered a memory of holding Lily-Anne this way on her first day of life, the awkwardness he had felt despite his outward show of confidence. He had forgotten how lightweight a newborn is; how tiny its fingers, how fragile its frame. Lily-Anne suddenly seemed impossibly big in comparison.

  The baby began to fuss once more, and Darcy did what came naturally to him in such situations. He handed the child to Elizabeth.

  “We shall sort this out, little one,” she said as she took the infant.

  “There is nothing to sort,” Mr. Elliot said. “The child is obviously hungry and must be fed soon. If Mrs. Harville approves of Mrs. Logan, I am satisfied. Where can I find her? I shall take the child to her now, and settle whether he will board with her or she will return with me to the Lion.” He shook his head. “What a dreadful shock. I had thought I would be bringing both Mrs. Clay and my child home with me.”

  “Your child?” Elizabeth said.

  “Surely you assumed as much. I confess that I am not proud that he was born out of wedlock—I had intended to rectify that situation before her lying-in. Obviously, the events of this morning caught me unprepared.”

  Obviously, Mr. Elliot was unaware that Sir Walter had already “rectified” Mrs. Clay’s marital status. “In searching for you, we met Sir Walter Elliot. He claims the child as his.”

  Darcy’s announcement seemed to amuse Mr. Elliot. His lips curved into a half-smile. “Does he? I am all astonishment. Sir Walter is not the type of man to dally with a woman of Mrs. Clay’s station, nor to acknowledge a natural child if one resulted from such a liaison. Regardless, Mrs. Clay has been living under my protection long enough that no one can question my claim.”

  “According to Sir Walter, she was under his protection when she died,” Darcy said. “They wed yesterday evening.”

  The smile faded. “Indeed? Yesterday, you say? What fortuitous timing that would be, were it true. But Mrs. Clay was here in Lyme yesterday. Neither she nor Sir Walter are residents of this parish, and she was not absent long enough to have traveled to Kellynch and back without my knowledge.”

  “He states they wed by special license.”

  The muscles of Mr. Elliot’s pronounced jaw tightened. Calm control, however, quickly asserted itself. “And who witnessed this felicitous event?”

  “I did not ask, as I had no reason to doubt his word on the matter,” Darcy said.

  Mr. Elliot turned an earnest gaze upon Elizabeth. “As a parent yourself, Mrs. Darcy, you will understand why I cannot relinquish custody of the infant until presented with evidence that this alleged marriage in fact occurred. Indeed, if Sir Walter has such an interest in the child, why is he not here arranging for proper care of him?”

  Darcy had been wondering the same thing. Sir Walter had been only too willing to delegate the retrieval of his son to a servant, but where was that servant? Their own stop to refresh themselves had delayed them sufficiently that Darcy had expected to find the child gone by the time they reached the Harvilles’ home. “When we left him, Sir Walter indicated that he would send an emissary presently.” He addressed Mrs. Harville. “Yet you said you have received no communication from his household?”

  “None. This is the first I have heard of Sir Walter’s involvement.”

  “By whose authority did the undertaker collect the remains?”

  “Captain Harville’s,” she said. “As no one else was here to assume responsibility, Captain Harville took charge. Mr. Elliot approved when he returned.”

  “See?” Mr. Elliot turned a smile upon Elizabeth. “Sir Walter clearly takes no interest in the matter. You and your husband must have mistaken his meaning in regard to his connexion to Mrs. Clay and his intentions for the child. Pray, hand me back the boy, that I may convey him to his nurse.”

  Rather than relinquish the baby, Elizabeth held him still more protectively. “I think it premature for you to take him anywhere until the issue can be discussed with Sir Walter.” She looked to Darcy. “If you call upon the baronet again and advise him of the present state of affairs, he might come attend to this matter in person.”

  The baby started to cry again. Mr. Elliot flinched. “Madam, how long must we endure these wails before you take pity on the poor child—on us all—and allow him to nurse? I insist upon delivering him to Mrs. Logan posthaste.”

  Darcy could see that pity did occupy Elizabeth’s heart, and that she was acutely conscious of the infant’s distress. He also could read the distrust in her eyes as she regarded Mr. Elliot. It matched Darcy’s own.

  “While this confusion with Sir Walter continues, resolving it must be your foremost concern,” Elizabeth replied. “I shall take the child to Mrs. Logan myself, or we can summon her here.”

  Mr. Elliot frowned and stepped toward Elizabeth. “Indeed, I would rather—”

  “Accompany me than transport a crying child?” Darcy finished. Mr. Elliot turned toward Darcy with an expression that indicated he had intended to end his sentence with an altogether different sentiment, but Darcy continued quickly. “What gentleman would not? You make an excellent suggestion, Mr. Elliot. Let us leave the infant in the very capable care of the ladies while we call upon Sir Walter to settle this question without further delay.”

  Mr. Elliot stared at Darcy. Elizabeth caressed the infant’s back in slow circles and murmured indistinguishable words. The baby quieted again, though clearly his state of calm was but temporary. The only voices yet sounding were those of Lily-Anne and Ben, engaged in steady jabber as they divided the few remaining blocks, oblivious to the dissent among the adults in the room.

  “Of course, time is of the essence,” Mr. Elliot said at last, “which is why I—”

  A sudden wail sounded from the corner. Ben lay half sprawled on the floor, his lower lip quivering. Lily-Anne stood over him. In her hand was the last block.

  “Lily-Anne Darcy!” Elizabeth strode to their daughter. “One does not push people. W
hat has come over you today?” Her face was scarlet with mortification as she turned to Mrs. Harville, who was soothing the bewildered Ben. “Did she hurt him?”

  Mrs. Harville shook her head and laughed softly. “He is only surprised. You forget that he has two boisterous brothers who are bigger and far less gentle. I think he spends more time on the floor than on his feet.”

  “Nevertheless, her behavior is inexcusable.” At Elizabeth’s prompt, Lily-Anne apologized to Ben and offered him the block. The two-year-old accepted the offering and added it to his trove. “I assure you,” she said, “this simply is not like Lily-Anne.”

  The toddlers’ tempest had awakened the infant once more. He now fussed in sympathy, though the principals had made peace. As his volume increased, Mr. Elliot shifted uncomfortably until he appeared on the verge of himself breaking down.

  “I cannot tolerate his cries any longer.” He turned to Darcy. “If you insist upon consulting Sir Walter before allowing me custody of my own son, then let us proceed.”

  The gentlemen headed for the door, and opened it to find another man just approaching the house. He was a medium fellow—medium height, medium build, middle-aged, his grey hair neither long nor short, his countenance not striking yet not altogether plain. He was modestly but neatly dressed in a dark brown suit, its sole embellishment a black band round one arm.

  Were he not immediately in their path, he might have blended into the busy street and gone entirely unnoticed by Darcy. Mr. Elliot, however, stiffened and pulled the door shut behind them as the stranger reached the house.

  “Mr. Elliot.” He spoke in a clipped tone. “I did not expect to meet you here.”