Carrie Bebris - North by Northanger

“No, no. Not if any of them can be of use or interest to you.”

Elizabeth blinked at his continued indifference. She glanced at Darcy, who appeared similarly dumbfounded by their host.

“You are most generous, Captain Tilney,” she said. “But I cannot imagine a need of ours that would supersede the sentimental value your mother’s belongings hold for you. And we found—”

“As I said, use everything as your own. By Jove, this is fine port, is it not, Mr. Darcy? I believe I shall have a second glass. Can I top off yours?” He began to rise, but Darcy stopped him.

“Allow me.” Darcy refilled their host’s glass but poured no more wine for himself. When he was seated once more, the captain took a long draught and settled more deeply into his own chair.

“Now, forgive me, Mrs. Darcy, if you feel excluded from the conversation for a few minutes. But there are many questions I wish to ask your husband here—”

“Of course.” Elizabeth had expected as much. In fact, the conversational turn was about the only part of their visit that had met her expectations.

The Eye turned upon Darcy and remained fixed for the first time all evening. “So, Mr. Darcy — did you ever meet Mrs. Tilney?”

“Regrettably, I do not believe I had the honor. How long ago did she pass away?”

“Oh, twenty years at least.” He took another sip of wine. “When did you lose your mother?” The casualness of his voice made it sound as if Darcy had merely misplaced her.

“Eighteen years ago this January,” Darcy replied in a much more sober tone.

“And your letter said Mrs. Tilney never visited Pemberley?”

“I do not believe so. Unless I was too young to remember.”

“Did your mother — what was her name — Lady Anne? — ever speak of her?”

“She would have had little occasion to speak to me about Mrs. Tilney. I was a young boy, more interested in my mother’s nursery tales than in her social acquaintance.”

The captain sat forward. “Come, now — did she never mention visiting Mrs. Tilney here at Northanger? Point out mementoes she might have received from her?”

“Not to me.”

“Well, then, to anyone at Pemberley?”

“If she did, I have no direct knowledge of her having done so.”

Even with only one eye showing, the captain’s disappointment was obvious. The curl of his lower lip resembled nothing so much as a pout. “But they corresponded, yes?”

“One might presume they did. My mother engaged in frequent correspondence with many friends.”

“Did she save her letters? — Upon my soul, of course she did! Women always keep that sort of thing. There must be a note or two from Mrs. Tilney somewhere at Pemberley. Nay, dozens! I should like very much to see them.”

Though his glass remained half full, Darcy set it aside. “I am aware of none, but should we discover any, it would be my pleasure to return them to your care.”

Elizabeth sensed an increase in her husband’s natural reserve. He was, she knew, unaccustomed to answering so many questions about his family, particularly from someone of such slight acquaintance.

“Captain Tilney,” she said, “did your mother preserve any correspondence herself? Might there be letters from Lady Anne here at Northanger?”

“Dash it, no. Nothing the old general kept for anybody to find, anyway. Did you ever meet him? Superior billiards player, though I could always best him. By Jove, once when I met him at — oh, but we were speaking of his wife, were we not? Well, one never knows when an old letter might be found. Or what interesting details it might contain about something everybody forgot about ages ago. Only think — a simple note that was nothing but tittle-tattle between friends could reveal some secret nobody else knew. Jolly intriguing things, old letters! I swear, I shall begin saving mine as of this moment just to entertain my heirs after I pop off.”

Darcy’s expression grew still more shuttered. Elizabeth wondered whether the captain’s comment had inadvertently brought to his mind Lady Anne’s final letter. Her husband had not found it entertaining in the least. It had revealed an extent of suffering on his mother’s part that he would just as soon have never known about so vividly.

“A letter can communicate more than its author intended,” Darcy said. “Particularly to those who were never meant to read it.”

“My point precisely!” Captain Tilney drained his wineglass and set it down with so much force that Elizabeth briefly feared for its welfare. “Revelations just waiting to be uncovered!”

“To what purpose?” Darcy shook his head. “Some things are best left buried in the past.”

“Some things should never have become buried in the first place, and ought to be brought to light.”

A flash of lightning cast the room in sudden brilliance. The shadow eclipsing Captain Tilney’s face momentarily receded, exposing the zeal that brightened his lone blue eye. An enormous boom followed. Rain pelted the windows with renewed fury.

The Eye now shifted back to Elizabeth. “What do you think, Mrs. Darcy? If you stumbled across some intriguing hint of forgotten treasure, would you search for it?”

Despite the casual character of his speech, Captain Tilney’s statements held an undercurrent Elizabeth could not define, as if he and they were not quite participating in the same conversation.

“If I thought it could — and ought to — be found,” she replied warily.

Darcy’s jaw had acquired the rigid set she had come to recognize as a sure sign of his displeasure. “Forgive me, Captain,” he said, “but my wife and I have endured a long day of travel, and I can see that she is weary. Would you take it amiss if we retired for the evening?”

The sudden request brought a look of surprise to their host’s face — or, at least, to the Eye — but he recovered himself quickly.

“So soon? But you have not yet — that is, we were just becoming acquainted. Surely you will stay long enough to share another glass of port, at least? Mrs. Darcy may withdraw if she chooses.”

Darcy stood. “Unfortunately, I must decline. Our journey fatigued me also.”

“Well... if you must,” he replied rather petulantly. There was something off-putting about their host. Although Elizabeth pitied the man for his injuries, she did not find him a pleasant individual. “I shall summon Dorothy to escort you.”

He rose, but turned in the direction opposite the bell. He paused and glanced round the walls until he located it.

Elizabeth eyed his wineglass and wondered whether the port or his recent accident accounted for his absentmindedness. “Do let me ring it for you.”

The housekeeper appeared almost before Elizabeth’s hand released the pull. She seemed disconcerted to find the three of them standing, and looked at her employer as if demanding an explanation.

“The Darcys would like to retire to their apartment now,” the captain said.

“Already? Have you finished your conversation?”

“We shall continue tomorrow.”

Dorothy pursed her lips in the same sort of pout Captain Tilney had displayed earlier. “After I see the Darcys to their chamber, I shall return directly.”

The housekeeper was silent as she conducted them through the corridors and galleries. They reached their chamber, which remained free of any hint that they had even brought their personal attendants to Northanger. At least someone had started a fire while they were at dinner, so the room had warmed.

“Our servants?” Darcy enquired again.

“They will turn up sooner or later. Ring the bell if you require anything.”

Elizabeth harbored little hope of anyone in the house actually addressing a need of theirs, especially as the housekeeper immediately left them to themselves without another word. She stared at the door through which Dorothy had so speedily departed. “Just when one thinks this place cannot get any stranger—”