The Deception at Lyme: Or, the Peril of Persuasion (Mr. And Mrs. Darcy Mysteries) (23 page)

“Well, then, with Mrs. Logan’s assistance, the addition of Alfred will hardly be noticeable,” Miss Elliot declared.

Now Mary had the look of a cornered fox. She glanced at her other sister, hopeful of sympathy from that quarter, but Anne spoke only sibilant whispers as she swayed in a gentle rhythm that abated but could not eradicate the hungry infant’s distress. Mary turned an imploring look upon her father. “Anne has stayed with us at Uppercross. She can tell you how—”

Mary stopped. She glanced once more at Anne, longer this time, her gaze shrewdly contemplative.

“She can tell you how much better it would be for Alfred to live with her.”

Anne’s rocking and murmurs ceased as she regarded Mary in astonishment.

“Alfred, live with Anne?” Sir Walter sounded even more surprised than Anne appeared.

Miss Elliot seized upon the suggestion. “Yes, of course—Anne! Who better? She is married now, which makes her far more suitable than I to oversee his care.”

“Yet she has no children of her own to demand her attention,” Mary hastened to add. “She can devote herself fully to Alfred.”

“That is true…” mused Sir Walter.

“She is his
godmother,
after all,” Mary reminded them. “And Captain Wentworth, his godfather. Why, I should think that office alone obliges them to superintend his upbringing and education.”

“Indeed, I believe you have something there,” Sir Walter said. “Very well, Anne. I grant you permission to take Alfred home with you. I shall send his things to you, including Mrs. Logan, directly after this celebration concludes.”

At last, Anne found her voice. “Captain Wentworth and I are to raise Alfred? Are you quite certain, sir?”

“Yes, quite. Think you that I do not know my own mind? I shall have him for visits in Bath when he is old enough, to ensure he is prepared to take his proper place in society. But until then— Oh! Lady Dalrymple is departing. I must go see her off.”

“And I must return to the inn to change my gown,” Miss Elliot said.

Elizabeth noticed that she did not offer to take Alfred with her, so that his clothes could be changed, too. Sir Walter and Miss Elliot hurried away, the latter smiling smugly (as smugly as possible for a lady so unceremoniously perfumed) at this turn of events. Mary, realizing how narrowly she had escaped the addition of a third noisy boy to her household, found reason to scuttle off, as well.

Elizabeth was stunned. There was no doubt in her mind that the outcome of the discussion she had just witnessed was the best possible result for Alfred; of all the Elliot family, Captain and Mrs. Wentworth appeared the most capable, most conscientious, and most caring guardians Alfred could have. Yet Anne had acquiesced to a life-altering commitment without so much as a single word of dissent. At a minimum, one would expect her to consult her husband before agreeing to raise someone else’s child in their home. Whatever would Captain Wentworth say when she told him?

“Well, that went better than you ever could have anticipated,” Mrs. Smith said to Anne. “Your entire family thinks it was their idea.”

“I dared not speak much for fear they would change their minds.” Anne’s rocking of Alfred grew more pronounced. The baby was doing a remarkable job of containing himself, given the overstimulation, lack of nourishment, and wet clothes, but it could not be long before his fussing escalated to full-scale wailing.

“Oh, I believe there is little danger of that. They are all congratulating themselves at having dodged unwanted responsibility by foisting it onto you. Captain Wentworth will be impressed.”

“I must find him and tell him I am taking Alfred to Mrs. Logan to be fed.”

“Allow me to find him for you,” Elizabeth offered. “You have your hands full.”

Anne smiled. “I do indeed. And, I suppose, shall for some time.” She paused. “May I ask you something, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Certainly.”

“I understand you accompanied Mr. Shepherd to interview Mrs. Logan. What was your impression of her? I have heard only complaints from my father and sister.”

Elizabeth chose her words carefully, not wanting to insult Mrs. Wentworth’s family, but wishing to be fair to the wet nurse. “I believe she has a good heart and wants very much to do well by Alfred. At the same time, she is young and inexperienced. I suspect, therefore, that she lacks the confidence to question orders given by equally inexperienced persons of higher social rank, whereas a veteran nurse might manage matters with more authority.”

“I thought as much. My own experience with infants is limited to assisting Mary during her lyings-in.”

“You also appear to have sound instincts and a good deal of common sense, which is all I had when my daughter was born. Between you and Mrs. Logan, I believe you will get along fine.”

“With Mrs. Smith as our houseguest, we also have her nurse in residence.”

“Then Alfred is in excellent hands, not that I ever doubted. He is extremely fortunate to have you and Captain Wentworth as his godparents. So many occupy the role in name only.”

“I have been blessed with a good example,” Anne said. “Lady Russell has been an attentive godmother to me, taking her duty seriously and fulfilling it to the best of her capabilities. I lost my own mother at age fourteen, and I do not know what I would have done without her constancy and friendship.” Elizabeth followed Mrs. Wentworth’s gaze to the lady herself, who was disengaging from a conversation and looked to be headed their way.

“When my father asked her to stand for Alfred, she recognized that my new brother would be even more in need of steady direction as he grew up and prepared to assume the responsibilities of a baronet,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “However, she also recognized that she is considerably older now than when she stood for me and my sisters. So she wrote to me and Captain Wentworth, and asked permission to suggest to my father that we be named godparents, as well, in hopes that by virtue of the office we might exert more influence over decisions regarding Alfred than we otherwise would as mere sister and brother-in-law. We readily agreed, and afterward discussed between us offering to raise Alfred ourselves, so that our guidance might be constant and not occasional, and that we would have more power to execute decisions. Captain Wentworth and I had reached an understanding, but had not yet determined how best to approach my father, nor the precise terms of our proposal. And now—” A laugh escaped her, one that sounded disbelief and delight. “We are parents sooner than either of us ever anticipated.”

“So Captain Wentworth will not be surprised by this arrangement?”

“Only that our own wishes were effected so easily. In truth, I myself am amazed.”

“Then I shall go tell him he is wanted, but leave to you to share why.”

“Thank you. Let me take my leave of you now, and say that I have enjoyed talking with you. I doubt Captain Wentworth and I will return here after attending to Alfred—I think he has had as much celebration as he can tolerate for one day.”

“Alfred, or Captain Wentworth?”

She laughed again. “Both, I expect.”

*   *   *

Elizabeth longed to hear more of the history Mrs. Smith had been imparting to her before Mary Musgrove’s interruption—not out of a gossipy interest in scandal, but to better understand the events that had led to Lady Elliot’s death. Unfortunately, Mrs. Smith departed with the Wentworths, taking her trove of knowledge with her. Elizabeth and Darcy quit the Assembly Rooms soon after.

Later, she shared what she had learned with Darcy as they walked along the Cobb. It was a lovely, tranquil evening. The heat of the day had eased; both sea and sky were calm. Though a light breeze drifted across the bay, no wind caught her bonnet as it had on their first night in Lyme, when she had been forced to retreat into the alley beside the Lion to unknot its ribbons. Sunlight stretched long upon the waves, a golden contrast to the dark matter of their conversation.

“The relationships between the Clays and the Elliots are more tangled than we ever imagined,” she said. “I heard today that Mr. Elliot’s late wife had an affair with Mrs. Clay’s late husband.”

Darcy’s brows rose. “I thought I had interesting news to communicate, but you have trumped me. When did this occur?”

“I do not know. Mrs. Smith told me of the affair, but she cut her narrative short when Mary Musgrove joined us. Mary, however, revealed additional information about Sir Walter’s relationship with Mrs. Clay. Apparently, she openly pursued him last winter, hoping to seduce him into marrying her.”

“Ultimately, she succeeded, though one wonders why she ran off with Mr. Elliot in the interim. She could not have thought it would advance her suit.”

“Perhaps Mr. Elliot saw what she was about, and to end her scheme—and obscure the paternity of any child she might have conceived with Sir Walter—made her promises of marriage that he never intended to keep. He would certainly not be the first man in the history of elopements to do so. And Mrs. Clay, believing him, preferred the young heir to the aging title holder.”

“An aging title holder whose estate is hazardously close to bankruptcy.”

Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to express surprise. “How did you learn this?”

“From Mr. Elliot. He spoke of it while I was with Captain Wentworth.”

“Well, marrying either of them would procure her the title of Lady Elliot sooner or later—an improvement over her past affairs. Apparently, Mrs. Clay had a proclivity for naval officers before setting her sights on the Elliots.”

“Indeed? Then I am surprised Mr. Elliot would bring her to a seaside resort, with half the navy ashore.”

Darcy’s statement prompted a memory of the conversation she had overheard in the passageway of the Lion the night before Mrs. Clay’s accident.
You are hardly guiltless yourself.… Half the navy is ashore. Though in your present state, you hardly present an enticing object.

Elizabeth stopped. Mr. Elliot was a guest of the Lion. And until that night, so was Mrs. Clay.

What of the promise you made me? Did you ever intend to keep it?

In time.

You have run out of time.

Where are you going?

Out.

Her own eyes wide with astonishment, she met Darcy’s gaze. He regarded her questioningly.

“I believe I might have overheard a conversation between Mr. Elliot and Mrs. Clay the night before she died.”

“How?”

“In the alley beside the Lion, when I stopped to adjust my bonnet. I heard a couple quarreling—I assumed it was a husband and wife, but now, knowing what we do about them both, I believe it was they.”

“What was the subject of their argument?”

“Infidelity—on the part of both parties. She was accusing him of continuing affairs he had told her were ended, and of having come to Lyme to rendezvous with his lovers. He responded that she was also guilty of unfaithfulness, but that she was hardly enticing in her present condition.”

“That sounds like it could be they.”

“Then she brought up a promise he had made to her, told him he had run out of time, and departed—I expect, for Sir Walter’s.”

“Where she got married, thwarting Mr. Elliot’s expectations of inheriting Sir Walter’s title,” Darcy finished. They resumed walking. “This other affair you mentioned, between Mrs. Clay’s and Mr. Elliot’s spouses—the couples knew each other for some time, then?”

“Yes, intimately.”

“I should say so.”

“Darcy!” She glanced round, but there was nobody nearby to hear them. “What I meant was that they, along with the Smiths, were particular friends. Though what happened after the affair was exposed, I did not learn.”

“How was it exposed?”

“Let us simply say that Mr. Clay was carried away by his passion for Mrs. Elliot.”

He stopped again, searching her face to make sure he had correctly interpreted her meaning. “Mr. Clay died in the act of cuckolding Mr. Elliot?”

She nodded.

Darcy’s gaze drifted past her, beyond the edge of the upper Cobb, to the pavement below. Without her realizing it, they had reached the section of the seawall where Mrs. Clay had fallen. “And Mrs. Clay died within hours of leaving Mr. Elliot for Sir Walter.”

The chill that passed over Elizabeth had nothing to do with the breeze coming off the sea.

“How did Mrs. Elliot die?” Darcy asked.

“Mrs. Smith did not say—our conversation was interrupted.”

“I think we need to find out.”

Twenty-three

“As to his marriage, I knew all about it at the time. I was privy to all the fors and againsts; I was the friend to whom he confided his hopes and plans; and though I did not know his wife previously … I knew her all her life afterwards, or at least till within the last two years of her life.… He was very unkind to his first wife. They were wretched together.”

—
Mrs. Smith, speaking of Mr. Elliot,
Persuasion

The Wentworths lived in a charming two-story house high up the cliff on Pound Street, a dwelling they had taken for six months while they decided where they wanted to settle permanently now that the end of the war had cast the captain ashore. From the exterior, it looked everything a newlywed couple could want in their first home: a neat façade with bay windows and fresh paint, a garden blooming with more flowers than many twice its size, and a door that was always open to friends.

The Wentworths’ housekeeper showed the Darcys into a well-proportioned sitting room when they called to deliver the small blanket Elizabeth had embroidered. A day of rain following the christening had enabled Elizabeth to complete the needlework while Darcy wrote a detailed reply to a letter he had received from Pemberley’s steward and caught up on other correspondence. Georgiana had spent most of the afternoon at the Ashfords’ house; Sir Laurence had left Lyme for a few days on business, and Miss Ashford preferred the company of a friend her own age to that of her middle-aged paid companion.