Carrie Bebris - The Deception At Lyme

“I called to enquire after Miss Darcy … and, of course, you, as well. All was at such sixes and sevens when we parted earlier, that I could not rest easy tonight without assuring myself of everybody’s well-being. I was saddened to learn from Miss Darcy just now that Mrs. Clay succumbed to her injuries.”

“We, too, regret that turn of events,” Darcy said. “I thank you, however, for your assistance in ensuring my sister’s and daughter’s safety.”

“I was pleased to be of use. Both the misses Darcy are charming ladies.” He tipped his hat to Lily-Anne, who, at last weary of walking, was once more in Darcy’s arms.

Lily burrowed her face into the crook of Darcy’s neck, then peeked at Sir Laurence with a smile. Elizabeth could hardly believe it—eighteen months old, and her daughter was flirting with a baronet.

As he turned to Elizabeth, Sir Laurence’s expression became serious once more. “Miss Darcy told me you were out just now attempting to notify Mrs. Clay’s next of kin. Were you able to locate them? If not, allow me to offer whatever help I can.”

“That is most kind of you,” Darcy replied, “but we have spoken with both her husband and father.”

“Her husband? I understood her to be a widow.”

Darcy paused. “Were you acquainted with the lady?”

“I? No—Miss Darcy had said as much. The fact that Mrs. Clay left behind a child compounded the tragedy, but if she was married, at least the baby is not orphaned. Her death is still pitiable, nonetheless. After we left you on the Cobb, did anyone come forward who had witnessed the accident?”

“Unfortunately, no. Two dockworkers recognized Mrs. Clay and provided information that helped us find her family, but no one saw the event itself.”

No one, Elizabeth thought, except possibly their impressionable young daughter. As her anxiety began to return, however, a new thought struck her. “What about the gentleman who helped you carry her to the Harvilles’ cottage?” she asked Darcy. “Perhaps he witnessed her fall?”

“If he did, he said nothing of it, and I should think he would have.”

“We were all so concerned by the immediate need to remove her to a safe place and treat her injuries that perhaps he simply never thought to tell us.”

“Surely he would have mentioned it,” Sir Laurence said. “I am glad, however, that someone happened along to assist you. I did not feel quite right about leaving you to deal with the crisis alone, despite the commission entrusted to me and which I was honored to fulfill. What was the gentleman’s name?”

At precisely half-past seven, a confident rap sounded on the Darcys’ cottage door. Lieutenant St. Clair had arrived.

A servant admitted the long-anticipated visitor and announced him to Darcy, Elizabeth, and Georgiana. Their guest entered, carrying a leather-bound wooden sea chest.

Georgiana released a faint gasp; Darcy better concealed his own surprise. The man just arrived in their sitting room was the officer they had passed on the steps at the beach the evening before, and who had assisted with Mrs. Clay. On official business tonight, he wore his full dress uniform. The dark blue coat with its stand-up collar formed a striking contrast to the white waistcoat and breeches. Gilt-brass buttons accented the white lapels and cuffs, and a single gold epaulette rested on his right shoulder. A sword hung at his side. From tall cockade hat to highly polished buckled shoes, it was a uniform meant to impress, and it did.

Lieutenant St. Clair appeared as surprised as they to discover that he had already met Gerard Fitzwilliam’s family. His gaze took them in, lingering on Georgiana before finally reaching Darcy.

“Well,” he said, “this is a happy coincidence.”

“Indeed.” Darcy had not decided yet whether “happy” was the term he would use, though St. Clair’s quick-thinking aid with Mrs. Clay had raised him higher in Darcy’s regard. Darcy gestured toward the sea chest. “Please, let me relieve you of your burden.”

He moved forward to assist St. Clair, but the sailor set the chest onto the floor in an easy motion. “It is no burden, I assure you. I only regret that I have been unable to deliver it before now.”

“We appreciate your having kept it in your custody all this while.”

“That commission has been my privilege.” The officer’s manner was all that any bereaved family member could wish from an emissary of the service for which his cousin had given his life.

Darcy made the proper introductions between St. Clair and the ladies, whom the lieutenant acknowledged with a bow.

“It is a pleasure to meet you on more stable ground, Miss Darcy.” The allusion to Georgiana’s slip on the steps brought color to her cheeks. “I trust you suffered no ill effects from our first meeting?”

“I am quite well, thank you.” Despite her evident self-consciousness, Georgiana answered with composure, even offering him a faint smile.

“I am relieved to hear it.” The lieutenant’s gaze rested on her a moment more before turning to Darcy. “Had I known during our previous encounters that you were the party I was engaged to meet tonight, I would have taken the liberty of introducing myself before now.”

“All of our thoughts were occupied by more pressing concerns this morning,” Darcy replied.

“They were, indeed. I regret that our rescue efforts proved insufficient to save Mrs. Clay. When I called upon the Harvilles this afternoon to enquire after her, they told me her fate. At least, however, the child survives. Is he yet with the Harvilles?”

“No, with his father,” Elizabeth said. “Sir Walter Elliot.”

“Sir Walter? I understood Mrs. Clay to be under the protection of a Mr. William Elliot.”

“It seems to have been a rather complicated state of affairs,” Darcy said.

“We are grateful that you came along on the Cobb when you did,” Elizabeth added, “else I do not know how we would have found a safe place where Mrs. Clay—Lady Elliot—could deliver her child, let alone have transported her there. Did you simply happen upon us, or did you witness the accident?”

“As I approached the quay, I saw her on the ground, with you attending her.”

Disappointment crossed Elizabeth’s countenance. Darcy, too, wished that Lieutenant St. Clair had been able to put to rest her doubts regarding the cause of the accident.

“I assumed at the time that she was of your party,” St. Clair continued, “though I later realized that you were merely passers-by, like myself. How did she come to injury? I expect she fell from the upper wall, or descending the steps?”

“We do not ourselves know with certainty,” Darcy replied. “We had seen her on the upper wall not long before, but paid her little mind. After lightning struck the merchant ship, we took the far steps to lower ground and found her as she was when you arrived.”

“When you saw her before the accident, was anyone with her?”

“No.” It now struck Darcy as odd that Lady Elliot had been on the Cobb unescorted. Propriety dictated that women of her status did not roam public streets unaccompanied, let alone in such a delicate condition.

“I suppose, then, that we shall never know the particulars,” St. Clair said.

“Nor will her child,” Georgiana said softly. Until now, she had followed the conversation in silence. Like the rest of them, she wore a sober expression—they spoke of a tragic matter, after all—yet hers held something more, and Darcy suspected what might occupy his sister’s thoughts. Their own mother had died within hours of giving birth to Georgiana. The circumstances had been far different—she had died peacefully, in her own bed, their father at her side—but Georgiana possessed a heart that could not help but empathize with the baby Lady Elliot left behind.