Carrie Bebris - North by Northanger

“It is from Mr. Harper,” Darcy said. “He writes that he will depart for France on the nineteenth, and assures me that he will conduct the business quietly” Darcy refolded the letter and set it aside. “So the matter of watching over my cousin is well in hand. If I know Mr. Harper, I will find an initial report waiting for me when we return to Pemberley.”

“Do you anticipate Mr. Harper will learn anything unpleasant?”

“After nearly losing his life, Roger swore that he would not so hazard himself again. It is my hope that he meant it. Nothing would please me more than for Mr. Harper’s journey to prove entirely unnecessary.”

“I suspect your aunt, on the other hand, would be disappointed by the news that he is not courting trouble. She seemed so eager for a crisis about which she could declare her disapproval.” She sighed. “Well, should Roger fail to provide, at least she has me to console her.”

Darcy looked at her oddly. “Given your history with Lady Catherine, you expect your company would comfort her?”

“Not my company, dear, my condition. Instead of working herself into a bother over the purity of the Fitzwilliam name, she can fret over what my involvement has done to the bloodline. With our child not due until March, the vexation will happily occupy her for months.”

Thus far, I cannot say I find Gloucestershire entirely hospitable,” Elizabeth said, drawing her cloak more closely about her.

Darcy silently agreed. The thirty-mile journey to Northanger Abbey had so far proven grey and wet. They had set out from Bath with overcast skies; by the time they reentered their carriage after a stop in Petty-France to take refreshment and exchange the horses, a light drizzle had begun. Thick clouds and rising fog shrouded the Gloucestershire landscape in gloom.

He drew Elizabeth against his side. It was unlike his wife to allow damp weather to dampen her spirits. “You are too harsh. Every county in England receives its share of rain.”

“Oh, I have no objection to the rain — just its falling today” She settled against him. “Whenever one forms a new acquaintance, the parties cast about for innocuous subjects of conversation, and now when we meet Captain Tilney we shall be unable to rhapsodize over the beauty of his native region. We will be reduced to discussing the length of our journey and which plays we saw in Bath.”

“But observations on the weather always offer a fallback for discourse. The rain is actually a boon.”

“Nay, a bane. If the sun shone, we could praise the glorious day at length, as if our host were responsible. But what is there to say about foul weather, other than ‘it rained,’ that does not sound like complaint? No, I am afraid we are stuck, and I reserve for myself the theatrical reviews. You may narrate our travelogue.”

Eventually, the somber atmosphere lulled Elizabeth to slumber. She had been sleeping more now that she was carrying their child, Darcy reflected. He drew her more tightly against him and rested his chin atop her head.

Now that their arrangements with Dr. Severn were in place, he had managed to leave some of his unease behind in Bath. He had secured for Elizabeth the best care his fortune could provide. They were headed back to Pemberley, where she could spend the rest of her pregnancy in the comfort of home. There was little more to be done than wait for March and pray that all went well. In the meantime, he would try not to ponder the irony that an event that promised such incredible joy also carried the threat of unimaginable sorrow. He would try instead to simply look forward to the arrival of their child.

The rain fell heavier, and Darcy heard the low rumble of thunder over the noise of the carriage. A louder crack a few minutes later woke Elizabeth.

“Is it possible that the sky is even darker than before I nodded off?”

“It is, but more than the rain is to blame. Dusk approaches.”

“I wonder that the postilion can see anything in this mist. I hope he does not miss our turn.”

Darcy hoped so, as well. “Northanger Abbey cannot be much farther,” he assured her.

Just as he became convinced that they had indeed lost their way, the carriage passed through a set of great gates. An imposing Gothic structure, the pointed arches of its windows illuminated by candles, rose from the fog blanketing the valley.

“I believe we have arrived,” Darcy said. He assisted Elizabeth from the carriage, and together they dashed to the shelter of an old porch, leaving their servants to attend to the luggage.

Northanger’s housekeeper admitted them to a lofty hall. Darcy gave their names and enquired whether Captain Tilney were at home.

“Yes — he has been expecting you this age.” Catching her reflection in a looking glass, the tall, thin woman adjusted her cap over blond hair starting to evidence grey. Darcy waited impatiently, reflecting that Mrs. Reynolds would never countenance a servant attending to her own appearance before guests at Pemberley, let alone do so herself.

When she was satisfied, the housekeeper returned her attention to them. She noted Darcy’s walking stick and reached for it. “Do let me take that for you.”

He relinquished the cane. When she made no move to also divest them of their cloaks, Elizabeth asked whether she would like to take those, as well.

“Oh, yes — I suppose so.” She appeared less than eager to accept the wet garments, and held Darcy’s greatcoat and Elizabeth’s wrap as far away from herself as possible so as not to dampen her own clothing.

“Wait here a moment while I deposit your things. Then I will conduct you to your chamber. You no doubt wish to refresh yourselves — rain always makes everything so dirty.”

She disappeared behind one of several doors in the hall, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy to exchange perplexed glances.

Elizabeth smiled. “Perhaps we should have paraded through the house in our wet things so as not to trouble her.”

Darcy did not find their reception so amusing. “If her conduct is characteristic of servants here, I begin to share your opinion of Gloucestershire’s hospitality.”

“Now you are too harsh. A warm fire will set all to rights.”

When the housekeeper returned, Darcy asked how soon they might have the pleasure of meeting their host.

“My master looks forward to welcoming you at dinner. We dine precisely at five o’clock every evening at Northanger Abbey. It is now half past four.”

She led them up a broad oak staircase with a heavily ornamented rail. At the top, they entered a long gallery lined with windows on one side and doors on the other. Nothing could be seen through the windows but darkness and splattered raindrops reflecting the candlelight.

They passed to the end of the gallery, where she opened a pair of folding doors. These led into a narrower gallery, with a winding staircase and more doors. The first of these on the left, she opened to reveal a generously sized apartment, with mahogany wardrobes, painted chairs, a canopied bed, and two dressing-closets. A large tapestry hung on one wall. Their trunks, already open, waited for them.

The room was dark save for the light of the candle the housekeeper carried. Darcy and Elizabeth waited in expectation for the servant to light a lamp or candle in the chamber, but the thought apparently did not cross her mind. She stood gazing about the room as if appraising the furnishings.