Carrie Bebris: North by Northanger

“Good grief!” Lydia exclaimed. “Does he never stop crying? I cannot listen to it a moment longer. Lizzy, may I use your carriage to go visit Maria Lucas? I have not seen her since I reached Hertfordshire.”

“I am afraid not. Darcy and I depart shortly. In fact, I have already been too long bidding Jane farewell.” She brought the baby to Jane, kissed her sister’s cheek, and stroked Nicholas’s downy hair one final time. “Take good care of your mama,” she told her nephew.

Lydia pouted. “What about your carriage, Jane?”

Jane delayed a response, though Elizabeth suspected she would capitulate just to buy herself some peace. First, however, she addressed Elizabeth. “Write to me as soon as you meet Dr. Severn,” she said. “I long to know what you think of him.”

“So do I.”

“Who is Dr. Severn?” Lydia asked.

“An accoucheur who might attend me in spring.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Can anybody in this house speak of something besides babies?”

October marked the start of the official season in Bath, where members of the Polite World gathered in winter to improve their health and their social standing in a single convenient venue. Mornings were spent “taking the waters,” either through immersion in one of the city’s natural hot baths or by visiting the Pump Room to imbibe a draught of spa water. Evenings were devoted to concerts at Sidney Gardens, plays at the Theatre Royal, public assemblies at the Upper and Lower Rooms, and private parties in the stately town houses of the Crescent. In between, the streets themselves, designed for promenading and lined with any shop one could imagine, offered endless occupation and amusement. Yes, Bath held a cure for any ailment, whether one sought to fortify a weak constitution, a weak claim to society, or a weak wardrobe.

Though Darcy seldom visited Bath, he discovered many familiar names among the announcements of new arrivals in the Chronicle and the Pump Room’s red book. Much of London’s haut ton had migrated west for the winter, as had some prominent country families with whom he or Elizabeth were acquainted. They found, however, no close friends among those known to be in town. Save for their business with Dr. Severn, their two weeks’ time in Bath was their own.

He had written to the physician immediately upon their arrival yesterday at lodgings in Pulteney Street. Dr. Severn had replied that the earliest he could meet with them was the following Monday. So today, Darcy and Elizabeth had elected to visit the Pump Room, where Elizabeth wished to sample the renowned water. Darcy, who had previously tasted the waters at Bath and other spas — and considered the experience sufficient indulgence for a lifetime — left his wife on one end of the busy room and went to procure a glass for her.

The burble of voices nearly drowned out the musicians playing a Hayden quartet. As he passed clusters of patrons, he caught snatches of conversation — if conversation it could be called. The exchanges among the ton while in Bath varied so little from day to day and year to year that its members could have been players delivering the lines of the city’s longest-running dramatic production.

“Did you visit the Upper Rooms on Tuesday? It was a sad crush... ”

“There you are, darling! I declare, I have been waiting for you this age... ”

“For six weeks, I allow Bath is pleasant enough; but beyond that, it is the most tiresome place in the world... ”

Darcy reached the King’s Spring, requested a single glass, and renegotiated the crowded room. He found Elizabeth near the great clock and handed her the water.

“Did you not bring one for yourself?” she asked.

“No, only you. And young William.”

“Wilhelmina.”

“Thomas?”

“Theresa.”

“Francis.”

“With an i or an e ?”

“Drink your water.”

She was prevented from doing so, however, by a bump from the side caused by someone pushing her way through the densely populated room. Water flew out of the glass, dousing her accidental assailant. The woman turned, and both Darcy and Elizabeth gasped.

“Lady Catherine!” Elizabeth stammered.

“Miss Bennet,” spat out Darcy’s incensed aunt. “Forgive me— Mrs. Darcy .”

Despite the water dripping from her left side, Lady Catherine de Bourgh retained every bit of her usual imperiousness. From beneath her elaborate headdress she glowered at Elizabeth in furious silence for a full half-minute, then turned her glare on Darcy.

He offered a slight bow. “Lady Catherine.” A movement to her right caught his gaze, and he realized his cousin accompanied her. Between her mother’s overbearing presence and the noisy crowd, Miss Anne de Bourgh had practically faded from notice. Darcy and Elizabeth acknowledged Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne’s companion, both of whom nodded meekly in response.

Lady Catherine removed a handkerchief from her reticule and attempted to blot the water soaking her sleeve. “I see you have not acquired any refinement along with your marriage, Mrs. Darcy.”

Darcy bristled at the unfair attack on Elizabeth. “I believe it was you who jostled my wife.”

“A lady does not jostle.”

“No, she does not,” Elizabeth said. She allowed the remark to hang in the air a moment. “Regardless of its cause, however, I am sorry for your unexpected shower. I understand one normally prefers to don a bathing costume before immersion in Bath’s famous waters.”

Lady Catherine issued a less than gracious reply and finished dabbing her gown. “I did not anticipate seeing you in Bath, Mr. Darcy. What brings you here?”

Though his aunt would learn eventually that they were increasing their family, he remained too vexed with Lady Catherine for her rudeness toward Elizabeth to reveal the news. “Mrs. Darcy has never visited Bath before,” he said.

“I suppose her father did not take the family to spas,” she said to Darcy as if Elizabeth were not standing right next to her. “As you know, I bring Anne to Bath nearly every year for the waters. I believe them beneficial to her delicate health.”

“We also have business with Dr. Richard Severn,” said Elizabeth. Her openness with his aunt surprised him.

“A physician?” Lady Catherine continued to address only Darcy, but narrowed her gaze. “Are you ill?”

“Not at all.”

“Is your wife?”

“I have never felt better,” Elizabeth replied for herself.

Lady Catherine at last turned her sharp gaze on Elizabeth and subjected her to a thorough visual assessment. “You do appear in good health,” she admitted grudgingly. “One might even say radi—” She suddenly looked as if Elizabeth had just splashed more water on her. “Mrs. Darcy,” she said accusingly, “are you breeding ?”

“I prefer the term ‘carrying.’ ”

The news managed to render Lady Catherine speechless — never a small achievement, though the effect was momentary. Darcy and Elizabeth had, after all, been married nearly a year; their expectation of an heir could hardly have been unanticipated.

“I see.” She stared at Elizabeth further, her expression revealing an inner struggle between equally strong drives to demonstrate haughty disdain and to demand every particular. Apparently, curiosity won out over pride. “We cannot discuss so delicate a subject in a public forum. But I grant you permission to wait upon me in Camden Place.”

“You are too generous,” Elizabeth said.