North by Northanger (A Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery) (20 page)

Nineteen

“He is the best landlord, and the best master . . . that ever lived. . . . There is not one of his tenants or servants but what will give him a good name.”

—
Mrs. Reynolds
, Pride and Prejudice

P
emberley’s annual harvest feast was a grand event, one to which landlord and tenant alike looked forward. Farmers, laborers, schoolchildren, villagers—all who lived on or near the estate and depended upon it for their livelihoods joined together to celebrate the end of the growing season. Weather permitting, the supper, children’s games, and other entertainments took place under the open sky, and tradition held that once the date had been fixed each year, it could be counted upon to prove fair.

Today had been no exception. The sun had smiled upon the afternoon’s entertainments and continued as the entire company crowded around a dozen long trestle tables to break bread together. Afterward, the dancing commenced in the rustic tenants’ hall, with Elizabeth and Darcy leading off the opening minuet.

Elizabeth was happy to see Darcy relaxed and enjoying his duties as host, the strain of recent weeks having left his countenance at least temporarily. Mr. Harper had come and gone, and now worked to
bring their legal difficulties in Gloucestershire to an end. He had also reported that his initial enquiries into the Earl of Southwell’s activities in France had yielded nothing of concern. By all accounts, Darcy’s cousin was enjoying a quiet visit to the Continent. Elizabeth and Darcy tried not to ponder too hard the irony that in sending their solicitor away to attend to Lady Catherine’s groundless fears of family scandal, a true potential scandal had brought Lady Catherine under their own roof.

Indeed, Elizabeth forced all unpleasant thoughts from her mind as she surveyed the revels going on around her. She considered her first harvest feast as mistress of Pemberley a success. Sounds of merriment had filled the air all day. Supper for six hundred had been served with nary a mishap. And every single guest seemed to be having a delightful time.

Except one.

“I do not know how you can suffer so many people to overrun Pemberley in this manner. They trample the lawns. Their children hang from the trees. Their vulgar voices form a cacophony. I shudder to see this noble house subjected to such indignity.”

Lady Catherine observed the spectacle from an out-of-the-way chair to which she had fled the moment supper ended. Though she often boasted of her own far-reaching benevolence, she preferred to demonstrate it from the farthest reach possible. Sharing a table with common tradesmen and farmers had very nearly put her in need of the services of the apothecary who had been sitting across from her. Elizabeth had endeavored to place her amid the company her ladyship would find the least objectionable—the minister, the schoolmaster—but the size of the crowd overall had convinced Darcy’s aunt that she dined in a mob of the coarsest peasants.

“Pemberley could not exist without these people,” Elizabeth said.

“The quantity of food they consumed was staggering. Not one of them exercised restraint. Commoners always take advantage of a free meal.”

“This is a celebration.”

“They will be celebrating with your ale until every barrel runs dry. I support the principle of noblesse oblige, but you cannot permit the lower orders to exploit your generosity.”

“I shall hold your ladyship’s advice in mind the next time we plan a gathering to demonstrate our gratitude to the very people who provide what we have to give.”

Elizabeth excused herself and began a slow weave across the crowded hall. Perhaps she ought to exhibit more patience with Lady Catherine, but the days leading up to today’s festivities had seen a surfeit of her unsolicited counsel. Her self-imposed exile following their quarrel had lasted but a single day; unable to resist involving herself in an event of so large a scale as the harvest feast, she had soon emerged to perform her sacred duty to criticize and command. She had been full of opinions regarding the preparations and censorious of Elizabeth for not dictating every particular to her staff. Elizabeth, however, had defined her proper role differently; given her inexperience at hosting gatherings for hundreds, she thought it prudent to let the servants perform unhampered the tasks they had been doing for years, while she largely observed and learned. She had expressed her preferences on plenty of points, but postponed significant changes until next year when she would possess a better understanding of what had gone before.

At last, she reached the other side of the room. The noise and heat and closeness of the hall had conspired to render her light-headed, and she sought air and a little space. The doors leading outside stood open to welcome cool evening air into the crowded hall, and to these she headed.

She stopped suddenly. A trickling sensation brought her hand up to her nose. Drops of blood landed on her fingers.

An older woman standing nearby hurried over with a handkerchief, which Elizabeth gratefully accepted.

“Just pinch it for a few minutes, Mrs. Darcy. Here—let us sit down.”

She led Elizabeth out of the hall to a set of steps where she might
attend her nosebleed without the entire community in audience. The stone step chilled her through her dress but she was glad for its solidity beneath her shaky legs. Instinctively, her free hand dropped to her abdomen.

The woman noted the protective position of her hand but quickly raised her gaze back to Elizabeth’s face. Elizabeth recognized her rescuer as Edith Godwin, the village midwife. She had met Mrs. Godwin at a similar fête Darcy had thrown last winter to celebrate their marriage and Elizabeth’s arrival at Pemberley.

“There, now. I think we prevented any blood from landing on your dress. Has it stopped?”

Elizabeth pulled the handkerchief away. Crimson stained half the fabric.

Mrs. Godwin took Elizabeth’s hand in her own and brought the kerchief back up to her nose. “Pinch here another minute or two.” She placed her other hand on the back of Elizabeth’s head for support. Her calm, comforting manner and sympathetic countenance put Elizabeth at ease despite the blood. While the nosebleed itself did not incite great alarm, the suddenness of it had startled her.

When the bleeding had stopped, she thanked Mrs. Godwin again. “I believe I owe you a handkerchief.” She regarded the bloody cloth with slight embarrassment.

“Do not trouble yourself. I am glad I happened to be nearby.”

“I do not know what caused it.”

Mrs. Godwin gave her a swift appraisal that included a deliberate glance at her abdomen. “Pardon me for asking, Mrs. Darcy,” she said kindly, “but there has been talk today that perhaps your family is increasing?”

“I am the subject of gossip?” Her surprise lasted but a moment. Of course such news would not remain secret. Pemberley’s servants had been preparing the house in anticipation of the baby’s arrival, and they interacted so frequently with local tradesmen that the whole village must know of her condition. Too, her middle had grown to the point where even the generous cut of her gown could not disguise
her heavier figure. She was either expanding her family or simply expanding.

“Happy speculation. Folks are excited by the prospect of a new heir at Pemberley.”

“We anticipate an arrival in early spring.”

Mrs. Godwin smiled. “I am happy to hear it,” she said. “And there is the cause of your nosebleed—many women in your condition experience them. It is perfectly normal. A woman in the family way produces additional blood for the baby, and her body does not always know what to do with it all. Simply get in the habit of carrying a spare handkerchief. Or two.”

At the midwife’s reassuring words, Elizabeth’s whole body relaxed. She had not realized she’d been sitting so tensely.

Mrs. Godwin glanced up at the façade of the house. “It has been a long time since there was an infant at Pemberley.”

“Indeed. Miss Darcy turns eighteen soon.”

“I know. I delivered her.” Though the corners of her mouth raised in a half-smile, her eyes were somber. “Your husband, too. Of course, his birth was entirely a happy occasion, while hers was bittersweet. A sad thing it is, when a day that ought to be joyful ends in such grief.” Her face clouded. “In forty years of attending births, I have seen my share of sorrow in the birthing room. Sometimes the infants are dead while still in the womb, and sometimes problems arise during the birth that I cannot control. But Lady Anne is the only mother I have ever lost, and her death still weighs upon me.”

Elizabeth recalled Lady Anne’s letter and her mention of Mrs. Godwin. “She had faith in you. I am certain you did everything within your power to help her.”

“Heaven knows I did. But it was not enough.” She sighed. “Poor creature. After all her losses, she was so hopeful that this time her child would survive—and then she herself did not.”

“Were you present at her other births—the ones between my husband and Georgiana?”

“I was. With the two girls, Maria and Faith, she brought in a
physician and I merely assisted him. But the physician did not attend Lady Anne at Georgiana’s birth.”

“Why not?” Given Lady Anne’s history in childbed, Elizabeth would have expected her to make use of every medical person in Derbyshire. Or to have gone to London for her confinement.

“He was away from home and could not be summoned in time,” she said. “But she had not planned to use him. She was certain that the birth would go as smoothly as her firstborn’s, and wanted, as closely as possible, to reproduce the conditions of his arrival. A good portion of her optimism came from an heirloom her mother had given her when she expected Fitzwilliam, which family tradition held to bring good fortune to mothers in travail. Unfortunately, when her pains started she could not find it, and its absence sent her into panic.”

Surely Mrs. Godwin spoke of the same item Lady Anne had written of in her letter to Elizabeth. “Do you know the nature of the heirloom?”

“It was an ivory statuette of the Madonna and Child. Small—perhaps three or four inches tall. And quite old, from its appearance.”

“Did she not have it at the other births?”

“No. I understand she gave it to her sister, who retained it for some time. After losing one child, Lady Anne was quite upset by its lack at subsequent births. But she regained possession of it while expecting Georgiana, and was convinced it would ensure the infant’s survival.”

Elizabeth hoped her face did not reveal the resentment toward Lady Catherine that this news provoked within her. Why had not Darcy’s aunt returned the statuette sooner? Whether or not it indeed brought good fortune, the ivory had obviously been important to Anne. Why withhold such a simple thing that could have eased her mind?

Anne’s letter to Elizabeth had mentioned something about guarding herself from her sister. She had also mentioned hiding the missing object. Little wonder—if it had taken her three pregnancies to get it back, Elizabeth would have hidden it, too. She resolved to reread the letter in light of Mrs. Godwin’s revelation, and to question Lady
Catherine about the ivory. What a delightful conversation that would no doubt prove.

“Was the statuette ever found?”

“Not while Lady Anne lived. After that, I cannot tell you.”

Elizabeth shivered. The sun had set, and although torches lit the grounds immediately surrounding the house, the night air was chilly now that she had left the heat of the hall. The stone step, once comfortingly solid, was now just plain cold.

“I have enjoyed talking with you, Mrs. Godwin,” she said. She meant it—she instinctively liked the grey-haired woman. “But I should return to the rest of my guests.”

“It has been my pleasure.”

As they rose, the torchlight shone more fully upon Elizabeth’s face.

“You have some streaks of blood around your nose.” Mrs. Godwin reached for the handkerchief. “Here—permit me.”

While the midwife dabbed Elizabeth’s face, Darcy came round the corner. Relief flashed across his features upon sighting his wife.

“I have been searching for you. Georgiana observed you leaving the hall and said you appeared to be in some distress.” He noted her bloody face and the soiled handkerchief with alarm. “What has happened? Are you all right?”

“A nosebleed, that is all. Mrs. Godwin has taken good care of me.”

He acknowledged the midwife’s aid with a nod. “I appreciate your attention to my wife.”

“I am always pleased to be of service to your family, Mr. Darcy.” Mrs. Godwin gave the kerchief back to Elizabeth. “Keep this in case you should need it before you have an opportunity to retrieve a fresh one. But I think the bleeding is ended.” She regarded her warmly. “I am happy for your news. If I can assist you at all in the coming months, do summon me.”

“I shall. Thank you.”

As Mrs. Godwin departed, Darcy examined her face closely. “Did you experience a mishap?” He withdrew a handkerchief of his own and wiped a spot the midwife had missed.

“No, my nose simply started bleeding. Apparently, your daughter caused it.”

He paused mid-stroke. Apprehension spread across his paling visage. “Has something happened to the baby?”

“Not at all. Mrs. Godwin assured me that this is normal for women in my condition.”

“Bleeding for no reason is never normal. I shall send for Dr. Severn.”

“That is entirely unnecessary. And there is a reason. Mrs. Godwin says—”

“I am sending for Dr. Severn.” His tone left little hope of compromise.

“But, Darcy, Mrs. Godwin says there is no cause for concern.” She put a hand on his arm, not realizing that blood from the handkerchief had stained her fingertips. The sight of it unsettled him further.

“Dr. Severn can determine that when he arrives.”

“The doctor will not appreciate coming all the way to Derbyshire to tell us nothing is amiss. Mrs. Godwin has known her share of expectant mothers. If she says all is fine, why trouble him? I trust her judgment.”

“I do not. Edith Godwin failed my mother. I will not risk her failing you, too.”