Carrie Bebris - North by Northanger

Confronted with the resistance of her nephew’s equally strong will, her ladyship was forced to concede — though with an expression that clearly indicated annoyance. “If you can testify to Mr. Harper’s dependability and discretion, I suppose I am satisfied.” She rose. “At present.”

Before the wheels of Lady Catherine’s departing carriage had rotated a full turn, Elizabeth sought an explanation from Darcy. “I do hope you intend to enlighten me as to the subject of that conversation?”

“You were likely able to surmise most of it. Have you ever wondered why, in entrusting Georgiana’s guardianship jointly to me and one of my cousins, my late father chose Colonel Fitzwilliam instead of the earl?”

“I did find it curious.” She watched Lady Catherine’s vehicle enter Laura Place, then let the curtain fall and turned away from the window.

“Though Roger inherited a title, he did not inherit a great deal of sense.” Darcy went to the decanter and offered her a glass of wine. Though she declined — the smell of liquor had troubled her since her pregnancy began — he poured one for himself. “To curtail a long saga, he has a habit of offending the wrong people and landing himself in political, social, and sometimes even physical danger. In the past few years, he has expanded his imprudence across the English Channel.”

“Your unwillingness to follow him there displeased your aunt. Have you done so before?”

“Displeased my aunt?” He gave her a wry smile as he replaced the stopper on the decanter.

“Gone to France.”

“The last time Roger tarried there, he nearly lost his life in a duel. I brought him home.”

“Why did you not go on this occasion?”

“I am no longer a bachelor. While previously I might have placed myself at my aunt’s disposal, I now have a wife and child who require my attention. I cannot allow Lady Catherine to consider me at her beck and call whenever the whim strikes her.”

She crossed to him as he sipped his wine. “I am glad to hear it. I much prefer you at my beck and call.”

“Indeed? And what whim presently strikes you?”

“You need not journey to France.” She took the glass from him, deliberately brushing his fingers in the process, and set it down.

He regarded her warmly. “Why Mrs. Darcy.—”

“Only Pulteney Bridge.”

At that, he chuckled. “We are returning to the pastry-cook’s shop?”

“How ever did you guess?”

“We have not yet been there today. The proprietor might feel neglected.” He took her hand, kissed it, and led her into the hall. “Is it to be lemon ice or strawberry this time?”

Dr. Richard Severn was a petite, wiry gentleman with a dark complexion and the eyes and nose of a hawk. He wore his black hair short, his sideburns long, and his vanity like a suit of armor. He entered the Darcys’ sitting room with an air of command and proceeded to interview the couple instead of the other way round.

Rather, the physician proceeded to interview Darcy. He barely spared Elizabeth a glance, and she soon felt as if she could have left the room without the doctor’s noticing.

“This is your first child?”

“It is.”

“And your wife estimates it will arrive when?”

“Early March.”

“I normally return to London on the first of March. She, however, should complete her travel much earlier. The roads, as you know, can be extremely hazardous in winter, and you would not want a rough carriage ride to cause premature birth. I advise you to install Mrs. Darcy in town well before Christmas.” He withdrew a small notebook and pencil from his bag. “I will note in my calendar when you anticipate requiring my services. You have my direction in London — simply summon me when Mrs. Darcy’s pains commence.”

“My wife prefers our country home in Derbyshire for her confinement. I had hoped you might consider attending her there.”

“Derbyshire? Impossible,” he said, not looking up from his calendar. “It is too far from London. I could take on no other patients — I would have to arrive before I was needed and waste weeks waiting for Mrs. Darcy’s delivery.”

“I would make your sacrifice worthwhile.”

The doctor paused, pencil still in hand, and studied Darcy appraisingly. “How worthwhile?”

“That depends upon how long you stay at Pemberley.”

“Hold a moment!” Elizabeth drew their attention toward herself for the first time in the entire conversation. “Dr. Severn, before we make any arrangements, might you be so good as to describe what I can anticipate when you attend me?”

He regarded her with annoyance. “Have you not a mother or sister with whom you can discuss the particulars of lying in?”

“What I mean to say is, all the women of my family have been brought to bed with a midwife and other women attending them. As a physician, do you assist births differently?”

“My medical training is far superior to that of any midwife,” he said tersely. “What midwife can boast a university education? Should the birth not proceed smoothly, has she the knowledge and instruments to save you or the child? The greatest families in England rely upon me to see their children into the world, but if you prefer the aid of an ignorant old woman—”

“I did not say that. I only wished to know the advantages of having a doctor present.”

“I have assisted hundreds of births, Mrs. Darcy. I am an expert in my profession. Moreover, I am a man of science, equipped to handle not only the common emergencies, but also the unforeseen. I can tell you tales that would chill your soul about extreme measures I have taken to save a mother or her child after having given up the other for lost.”

Which he then proceeded to do.

Apparently, a woman’s expectant state ranked second only to All Hallows’ Eve as inspiration for one and all to share horror stories. Elizabeth actually shuddered at one particularly disturbing example the doctor offered as evidence of his superiority. There would be no resisting Darcy’s preference for a physician now, and, in truth, she herself had begun to think that perhaps engaging a male accoucheur was the wiser course of action. She could not say, however, that she cared for Dr. Severn himself.

The physician glanced from her to Darcy impatiently. “What is your intent? Do you wish to engage me or not?”

As much as she resented Dr. Severn’s arrogance, she respected his knowledge. She met Darcy’s gaze and read in it his desire to proceed. For Darcy’s sake, she could tolerate him. Should the unthinkable occur, at least her husband would have the small consolation of knowing he had done everything in his power to prevent it.

She nodded her acquiescence.

Within ten minutes’ time, all was arranged. Mercifully, Dr. Severn shared Elizabeth’s belief that his coming to Pemberley immediately was entirely unnecessary — a view that somewhat mitigated her opinion of him. He consented to travel there if needed to respond to specific complaints, but otherwise he would arrive in February and stay until the birth. A monthly nurse — he could recommend several — would then oversee Elizabeth’s recovery for the remainder of her lying-in. The gentlemen negotiated payment, and Dr. Severn departed.

“The interview proceeded more smoothly than I anticipated,” Darcy remarked.

“You thought Dr. Severn would prove more difficult?”

“I was speaking of you.”

Before she could reply, a servant entered and handed Darcy a letter that had arrived while they were engaged with the doctor.