Carrie Bebris - The Deception At Lyme

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. What 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.