The Deception at Lyme: Or, the Peril of Persuasion (Mr. And Mrs. Darcy Mysteries) (5 page)

Yet transporting her all the way to town was impractical, if not impossible. Darcy looked toward Cobb Hamlet. As he tried to recall whether he had seen any promising sanctuary there when they had passed through on their way to the Cobb, he became aware of someone approaching.

“Darcy, is that…?”

It was. Of all people, the sailor they had encountered on the beach last night—the one who had prevented Georgiana’s fall—now strode in their direction. Darcy presumed he was headed to the quay to assist the other seamen, but he instead came straight to them.

“Is the lady all right? Oh! I see she is not.”

“We have sent for a surgeon but need to get her out of the rain,” Elizabeth replied.

“Of course. How might I be of use?”

Despite Darcy’s unfavorable previous impression of the man, he appreciated the offer of assistance. “We do not know where to take her.”

The stranger assessed their options, as Darcy had done a minute ago. He scarcely glanced at the quay buildings, focusing instead on the hamlet. “A naval captain lives in one of those cottages. I do not know him well—have met his wife only once—but they are good people. Let us take her there.”

He approached the injured woman and grimaced at the head contusion. “Has she been conscious?”

“Not since we discovered her,” Darcy said.

“She also has broken ribs,” Elizabeth added, “and is with child.”

He nodded. “We shall take extra care.” He lifted the edge of the woman’s cape off her and spread it behind her on the ground, then asked Darcy to help him roll her onto her back. “Slowly,” he cautioned.

When she lay more or less centered on the cape, the sailor slid his hands beneath her shoulders and under her arms. He looked at Darcy. “When I lift her on this end, you lift her by the knees. If you can pull the cape taut to support her back, so much the better. And you, ma’am”—he turned to Elizabeth—“help me hold her head still as we carry her.”

Given his air of authority, Darcy believed he might indeed be a ship’s officer, as Georgiana had speculated. Under other circumstances, Darcy would have chafed at being commanded as if he and Elizabeth were subordinates, but as the officer seemed to have experience in moving injured persons, he accepted his direction.

They carried their patient off the Cobb as quickly as the rain allowed. When they reached the naval captain’s home, Elizabeth knocked on the door of the modest cottage. A boy of about seven answered.

“Is your father at home?” the officer asked.

“No, sir.” The boy stared at the injured woman, who Darcy believed grew heavier each minute.

“Caleb, who is at the door?” called a feminine voice from within. Before the boy had a chance to answer, a woman who, given her unmistakable resemblance to the child, could be none but the boy’s mother, appeared beside her son.

“Good day—” Her gaze shifted to the injured lady. “Good heavens! What has happened?”

“This lady fell on the Cobb in the storm,” the officer said. “I beg your pardon for the imposition, Mrs. Harville, but your home is the nearest shelter I could think of.”

Mrs. Harville ushered them in without hesitation. “Poor creature! Here, bring her this way.” She led them through the small main room to an even smaller side chamber that held a bed onto which Darcy and the officer lowered the patient. The injured woman stirred slightly as her cape was removed and handed to a maid with orders to set it out to dry beside the kitchen fire. “Caleb,” Mrs. Harville added, “go with her and bring wood to light the hearth in this chamber.”

Two small boys—Caleb’s younger brothers, Darcy presumed—moved aside to allow them passage, then hovered in the doorway, observing the scene with wide eyes.

Mrs. Harville turned back to the patient. “Her head! Lieutenant, do you know where to find Mr. Sawyer?”

“If Mr. Sawyer is a surgeon, I believe one has already been summoned.”

“But was it Mr. Sawyer you sent for? So many frauds flock to Lyme this time of year. Mr. Sawyer will know what to do. A friend of ours had an accident on the Cobb last autumn and injured her head. Mr. Sawyer treated her, and she is mended now.”

“If you give me his direction, I shall go at once.”

Within a minute, he had departed. Mrs. Harville turned to Darcy and Elizabeth. “Forgive me—in the urgency of the moment I have forgotten my manners. I am Mrs. Harville. My husband, Captain Harville, is out just now. He heard a ship went down before it reached harbor, and he left to see whether he could be of use.”

Darcy introduced himself and Elizabeth. “We are visitors to Lyme and appreciate your assistance,” he added.

Mrs. Harville adjusted a pillow behind the patient’s head in an attempt to make the woman more comfortable. “How could anyone with a heart turn away your poor friend? What is her name?”

“We do not know the lady,” Elizabeth said. “We came upon her as we were leaving the Cobb in the rain. She had already fallen.”

“Does the lieutenant know her, then?”

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy uncertainly, then back at Mrs. Harville. “I do not believe so. He was not present when we discovered her; he arrived afterward.”

“Her husband must be frantic with worry.”

Darcy reproached himself for that thought not having occurred to him. But without knowing the wife’s name, how might anyone begin to locate the husband?

“Did those workers you spoke with recognize the lady?” Elizabeth asked him.

“They had seen her earlier with a gentleman.”

He wondered whether that gentleman might yet be on the Cobb, searching for his wife. How they had become separated was a matter of speculation for another time, but were Elizabeth missing in this storm, nothing could have forced Darcy to leave the seawall until he had found her, particularly if she were in a delicate condition. If the dockmen to whom he had spoken could provide a description of the lady’s husband, perhaps Darcy could find the gentleman.

Rain splattered against the glass of the chamber’s tiny, sole window. The last place Darcy wanted to go was back out on the Cobb. The errand, however, could not be delayed.

“I should talk to those workers again while there remains a chance of finding them still on the quay,” he said to Elizabeth. “But I will not leave if you or Mrs. Harville have need of me here while awaiting the surgeon.”

Both women assured him of his superfluity. Elizabeth, who yet wore his coat, removed it to return to him.

“Oh! Let me fetch you Captain Harville’s spare oilskin,” Mrs. Harville insisted. “It is not much to look at, but it will provide some protection from the rain. Mrs. Darcy, I will find you some dry things, as well.”

The raincoat was well worn—it had obviously weathered many storms at sea—but Darcy was grateful for it as he returned to the scene of the accident. His wet errand was not undertaken in vain; he found the two dockmen just as they were entering one of the warehouses. After soliciting their cooperation, he stepped inside with them.

“You said you had seen the woman with her husband earlier—pray, describe him to me.”

The scrawny fellow cleared his throat. “I don’t think he’s her husband, sir, if you catch my meaning.”

The insinuation startled Darcy. From the quality of the woman’s attire, he had assumed she was a lady. “Did she appear to be his mistress, or a … more casual acquaintance?”

“Oh, I’d say they know each other very well. Saw them the day before yesterday, arguing like me and the missus do.” The man laughed. “You know, sir—same argument, different day. Her doin’ most of the talking.”

“What did they argue about?”

“Couldn’t say. Something about the air. Maybe the seashore don’t agree with her.”

Darcy was eager to find and inform the woman’s patron—or whatever the gentleman was to her—and have done with the whole matter. “Can either of you tell me what the gentleman looks like?”

“He’s a fair-looking chap, I s’pose. No worse than most other gen’lemen.”

“Can you provide more particulars? His height, his age?”

“No need,” said the dockman, looking past Darcy’s shoulder. “That’s him right there.”

Darcy followed the man’s gaze outside, where a gentleman had come into view. He was short, of an age approximating Darcy’s own one-and-thirty years, with agreeable but not handsome looks due in part to an overpronounced lower jaw. Well prepared for the weather, he possessed both an overcoat and an umbrella. He scanned the dock, then ducked into the warehouse to search the faces of those inside.

Darcy thanked the workers who had identified the gentleman, then approached him.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I have urgent news for the family or friends of a woman whom, I have been given to understand, you might be able to identify.” Darcy spoke in a tone that barely rose above the noise of the warehouse activity. Depending upon the nature of this gentleman’s association with the woman, he might not be inclined to admit an acquaintance with her. “She is perhaps thirty years old, with dark blond hair and freckles. This morning she wears a white dress and long grey cape. Does that description sound familiar?”

The gentleman regarded Darcy warily. “What sort of news?”

“She has suffered an accident.”

“An accident? Here on the Cobb? Did she fall?”

“Indeed, she did.”

“Whatever was she thinking, walking upon the upper wall on a morning such as this? Rain and wind that could knock a man down.” He paused, his expression sobering as the situation settled more firmly upon his understanding. “Is she injured? She must be injured—you said the news was urgent. Where is she?”

“She has been taken to a nearby house. Come, I shall bring you to her.”

They reentered the elements, which had worsened while Darcy was inside the warehouse. The gentleman opened his umbrella and carried it between them, but the wind drove rain at them at such an angle that it provided little protection. Darcy put up the hood of Captain Harville’s oilskin, allowing the gentleman full use of the umbrella as they walked with all possible haste.

“Did you witness the accident?”

“No,” Darcy replied. “My wife and I came upon her afterward.”

“How badly is she injured?”

“A surgeon has been summoned.” Darcy searched for the proper words to convey the gravity of the situation to someone who must hear the news from a stranger. His hesitation must have said enough.

“I am sure you must have noticed her delicate condition,” the gentleman said. “Do you know whether the child survived the fall?”

“It was yet alive when we found her.”

“Did she tell you how the accident occurred?”

“She has not regained her senses since the fall.”

Thunder boomed. A powerful gust of wind caught the umbrella, forcing it inside out. The gentleman swore under his breath and paused to fix it, but the umbrella was beyond repair.

“Damn this deuced thing!” He flung the umbrella into the harbor, then apologized almost immediately. “Forgive me—I am not myself at the moment.”

They resumed walking. They had covered about half the distance to the Harvilles’ cottage, and now advanced with still more rapid strides.

“So she has not spoken?” the gentleman asked. “She cannot tell what happened?”

“I am afraid not. Though perhaps she has awakened in my absence.”

“Let us hope so. I appreciate your trouble on her behalf. Might I ask to whom I am obliged?”

Startled, Darcy realized that in the urgency of delivering his news and the fury of the weather, he had failed to introduce himself properly. “Fitzwilliam Darcy. My wife is with your friend now, along with Mrs. Harville, to whose house she was taken.”

“I am indebted to you all.”

They had reached the cottage, and Darcy stopped before its door. “Might I, in turn, ask your name?”

The gentleman offered his hand. “It is Elliot. William Elliot.”

Four

Her eyes were closed, she breathed not, her face was like death.

—Persuasion

Elizabeth helped Mrs. Harville and the maid exchange the patient’s wet dress for a dry bed gown, then followed the servant upstairs to another small bedchamber where she changed into dry clothing herself. Afterward, Mrs. Harville deployed the maid to fetch smelling salts while she herself prepared a plaister for their patient’s head. Elizabeth was assigned to watch over the patient while Caleb was enlisted to light the fire in the hearth. From the efficiency with which the naval captain’s wife took charge, one might have thought it was she who regularly commanded a warship and its crew.

Left alone with the unconscious woman once the fire was lit, Elizabeth covered her with a blanket. “You are in good hands,” she said, hoping that the sound of her voice might penetrate the unnatural slumber. “Mrs. Harville seems to know what she is about.” Elizabeth could barely bring herself to look at the head contusion, which was turning a hideous shade of purple. The swelling at her temple had doubled since she and Darcy first came upon her.

In the relative privacy of the moment, she felt the woman’s abdomen again to check on the dependent being within. It was alarmingly still. But then … a faint kick. Weak, but perceptible. As if to confirm that it had not been merely an illusion of her hopeful imagination, she felt a second movement.

“The surgeon is coming,” she said, unsure whether she spoke the words aloud to reassure the baby, its mother, or herself.

The maid returned with the salts, then went to check on the children. Elizabeth passed the vial of hartshorn beneath the woman’s nose, holding her own breath as she did so. The powerful odor always brought tears to her eyes, and reminded her of her mother’s nervous fits.

The woman’s countenance tightened. With what appeared great effort, her eyelids fluttered, but her gaze appeared unfocused.

Encouraged by this sign of consciousness, Elizabeth leaned closer. “Can you hear me, ma’am? You have suffered a fall.”

“No…” The woman winced.

“I am afraid so—a bad fall, ma’am.”

“Ell—” Her eyes drifted closed, as if she had not sufficient strength to at once hold them open and speak. “Elliot…”