North by Northanger (A Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery) (12 page)

—Catherine Morland
, Northanger Abbey

D
ead?”

Elizabeth’s exclamation held all the shock Darcy felt. Captain Tilney, the one person who could elucidate this whole affair—silent forever. Though Darcy regretted the lost life, in truth he regretted still more the lost enlightenment their late host might have provided regarding the diamonds. His death was most untimely, for more persons than the captain.

“We received word this morning that Frederick died from injuries sustained while serving with his regiment,” Mr. Tilney said. “I am just arrived myself to begin settling his affairs.”

Mr. Melbourne muttered some appropriate sentiment of sympathy, which Darcy and Elizabeth recovered themselves enough to echo.

“This is astonishing news, indeed,” Darcy added. “Though his injuries were extensive, he bore them with such fortitude that we had no notion his survival was in question.”

Mr. Tilney studied Darcy as if attempting to make out his meaning. “You speak as if you had seen my brother recently.”

“We last saw him on Wednesday.”

“Wednesday!” Mr. Tilney’s keen eyes widened. His expression of surprise, however, lasted but a moment—it quickly gave way to one of doubt. “Where?”

“Here at Northanger. We took our leave of the captain after having spent the previous night as his guests.”

Mr. Tilney stared at Darcy, seeming to have not quite heard his reply. His countenance, which upon their introduction had been open and genial—if subdued by sorrow—became guarded.

“Forgive me—you say you passed Tuesday night here, at Northanger Abbey, in my brother’s company?”

“You must think us extremely inconsiderate to have intruded on your brother’s privacy whilst he was so afflicted,” Elizabeth said. “I assure you, we never intended to do so. We were not aware until well after our arrival that our host had recently suffered injury. By then, night had fallen and the storm raged at full strength. We could not depart until the following day—which we did.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Melbourne. “With Mrs. Tilney’s diamonds.” The magistrate withdrew a cloth bag from the pocket of his coat and handed it to Henry. “After the Darcys departed, these were found in their possession. I understand they belonged to your mother.”

Mr. Tilney loosened the drawstring and lifted out the necklace. “It has been so many years since I laid eyes on this set that I had utterly forgotten about it.” He turned an inquisitorial gaze on Darcy. “How did you come to have these?”

Darcy hesitated. He still suspected Captain Tilney had orchestrated the setup, but he could hardly malign a dead man to his brother without evidence to support his theory. Henry Tilney had no reason to believe him, and every reason to distrust him.

“I wish I knew. But I assure you, I did not steal those diamonds. Though my wife and I did happen upon them in your mother’s chamber, we left them untouched.”

Now Mr. Tilney’s increasing displeasure encompassed Elizabeth, as well. “What cause had either of you to enter my mother’s chamber?”

“We passed the night there,” Elizabeth said.

His posture stiffened, and he regarded her incredulously. “You
slept
in my mother’s apartment?” He blinked several times before adding, in a quiet yet angry tone, “On whose authority?”

“The captain’s.”

“Impossible!”

“Consult the housekeeper,” Darcy said, attempting to deflect Mr. Tilney’s ire away from Elizabeth and upon himself. “She installed us there.”

“Northanger has no housekeeper at present. The previous one retired six weeks ago and has not yet been replaced.”

Darcy exchanged glances with Elizabeth. While Dorothy had not possessed the competence of a senior servant, she had certainly seemed to possess the authority of one. They must have erred in their assumption of her status.

“We mean the servant Dorothy,” Elizabeth clarified. “We took her for the housekeeper.”

“I do not believe Northanger Abbey has ever employed a housekeeper named Dorothy,” Henry said. “But there are many things about your story I find difficult to believe. Very well, let us summon this ‘Dorothy.’”

Mr. Tilney rang for the butler, who denied the existence of any Dorothy among the household staff.

Elizabeth frowned, her countenance reflecting Darcy’s own increasing frustration. “She is perhaps five- or six-and-thirty,” she said.

The butler shook his head.

“A tall, blond woman with a handsome countenance?” Elizabeth pressed. “Not particularly attentive?”

“I am sorry, madam. I cannot think of a servant at Northanger who could be so described.”

Mr. Tilney crossed his arms and cast Darcy a look of impatience.
“Perhaps you would like me to summon all the female servants for your inspection?”

“Most of the maids are still away, Mr. Tilney,” said the butler. “As I was explaining before your visitors arrived, the captain’s military duties kept him from Northanger for such long spans of time that we have been operating with a reduced staff, and he recently granted the remaining household servants an unexpected holiday.”

Darcy could not help but interrupt. “The entire staff—at once?”

“Indeed, one seldom hears of such liberality on the part of any employer. But Captain Tilney sent me at the same time to Lincolnshire to interview a new housekeeper, so I was able to make the journey without leaving a house full of servants unsupervised.”

“When did you return from Lincolnshire?” Darcy asked.

“Wednesday night.”

Darcy’s thoughts tumbled one upon another as he watched the butler depart. If Dorothy—or whatever her name might be—were not Captain Tilney’s servant, who
was
the woman who had led them around Northanger and settled them in Mrs. Tilney’s apartment?

“Mr. Darcy, it seems that this Dorothy person does not exist,” said Mr. Melbourne. “You have been caught in one lie. Do you care to recant any of the others before they are disproved as well?”

Indignation nearly robbed Darcy of speech. He could not bear to have his integrity so challenged. “I have told no falsehoods.”

“I would venture to say that you have spoken little else since arriving here,” declared Mr. Tilney. “To begin with, my brother could not possibly have received you here on Tuesday.”

He turned abruptly and crossed to a far door. He flung it open and strode rapidly through an antechamber to a set of pocket doors. These he slid wide. “Is this where you claim to have met with him just two days ago?”

They followed him into the grand drawing room. It was indeed the chamber where they had first met Captain Tilney—but much altered. Sheets, not candles, covered the table surfaces. They had been draped over all the furniture to protect it from dust and sunlight. The
fireplace was swept so clean that it appeared disused for months. A small firescreen stood beside the hearth; the large one that had shielded the captain was nowhere in sight.

“This room was fully fitted out for use,” Darcy said. “As much so as the dining room and breakfast parlor.”

“You must consider me a poor host compared to my brother. I should have invited you to take refreshment, but those rooms appear the same as this. We can visit them, too, if you like,” Mr. Tilney said. “The state of this house contradicts your claims of what occurred here. My brother obviously has not entertained guests, or even resided here himself, for some time.”

Elizabeth pointed to a covered piece of furniture that, from its shape, must certainly have been the purple velvet chair the captain had occupied. It now rested some distance from the fireplace. “He was sitting in that chair. We conversed with him. On Wednesday.”

“Not unless you spoke with a spectre, Mrs. Darcy. Frederick died far from here, accidentally killed in a training exercise with his regiment. According to his commander, he died the very day he suffered injury. Though the dispatch reached us only this morning, it was dated well before Wednesday.”

“If the gentleman we met was not Captain Tilney, then with whom were we here?” Darcy asked.

“A good question, Mr. Darcy—with whom
were
you here? In my brother’s house? Taking advantage of his absence to steal my mother’s diamonds?”

“We did not steal the diamonds. Indeed, we are as much victims of this fraud as you. Someone has conspired to make us appear guilty—lured us here under false pretenses, replaced my walking stick with a duplicate, deposited the diamonds within it. Do not you”—Darcy turned from Mr. Tilney—”or
you
, Mr. Melbourne, recognize that?”

“If there was a conspiracy, you were part of it,” said Mr. Melbourne. “It is terribly convenient, all of this happening while the servants are gone, nobody who can confirm your story—nobody who witnessed what you did. Except for whoever wrote the letter Mr. Chase received.”

“That the letter is anonymous supports my claim. Has it not occurred to you that the very person who planted the diamonds could have also written the letter? Is not Mr. Chase’s having received it ‘terribly convenient’? Please—all of you, consult your reason. I am a gentleman with an estate, a family, and a reputation to protect. Why would I risk them all for a set of jewels?”

“I do not know, Mr. Darcy,” said Henry Tilney. “But then, I do not know you.” Something on the floor caught Mr. Tilney’s gaze. He reached down and picked up a dry oak leaf. “Did Frederick? Were you even acquainted with my brother?”

Damning as it would sound, he could not speak other than the truth. “I was not.”

“Then on what pretext did you come here?”

“My late mother enjoyed the friendship of yours. Captain Tilney invited me here in their memory.”

He cast Darcy a dubious look. “That does not sound like Frederick.” Mr. Tilney suddenly looked very tired. “Mr. Melbourne, thank you for returning the diamonds. If you will excuse me, the day grows short, and I need to make arrangements for my brother’s memorial service.”

“Of course, Mr. Tilney. Forgive us for taking up so much of your time.” He motioned toward the door with the walking stick. Darcy had grown to detest the sight of it. “Come along, Mr. Darcy. It’s back to gaol for you.”

“You cannot be serious!”

“I am quite serious.”

“After everything we have just learned?”

“I have learned nothing to convince me of your innocence. Something peculiar occurred here—that is certain—but I am going to let the judge sort it out.”

A judge. Please God, let it be someone who holds his position on merit. Someone intelligent enough to recognize that Darcy and Elizabeth were targets, not the perpetrators, of this bizarre affair.

“How soon may this matter be presented to the court? Can we
resolve it soon?” Darcy began to calculate how quickly Mr. Harper could be contacted. The solicitor would need to engage a barrister on their behalf to argue their case at the bar.

Mr. Melbourne barked out a laugh. “The assize judge has just come and gone through Gloucestershire. It will be spring before he returns for you to stand trial.”

Twelve

“Consider the dreadful nature of the suspicions you have entertained. . . . Could they be perpetuated without being known, in a country like this, where social and literary intercourse is on such a footing; where every man is surrounded by a neighborhood of voluntary spies, and where roads and newspapers lay everything open?”

—
Henry Tilney
, Northanger Abbey

E
lizabeth and Darcy managed to snatch a minute’s private speech as Mr. Melbourne took leave of Mr. Tilney.

“The moment you return to the inn, write to Mr. Harper,” Darcy said. “Advise him of this calamity and call him here straightaway.”

She nodded dutifully, grateful she would have a useful task to occupy her when the magistrate’s carriage left her at the Golden Crown and departed with Darcy still inside. The thought of him spending even one more night in gaol was too awful to contemplate. “Have you his address in France?” she asked.

“No—as we were ourselves in transit from Bath, he was to direct all communication to Pemberley. But his clerk will know where he can be found.” He gave her the solicitor’s London address. “Send the letter express to his office with instructions to forward it by the swiftest possible means.”

Tense silence dominated the journey back to the inn. The presence
of Mr. Melbourne stifled conversation between husband and wife, and Darcy fell into a state of deliberation so deep that Elizabeth doubted she could have elicited more than one-word responses from him had she tried. She passed the time in meditation of her own, attempting to comprehend how a crisis of this magnitude had sprung into being in so little time.

Who could ever have suspected that a simple invitation to renew an old acquaintance would lead to their potential ruin? But the entire visit had been an elaborate hoax, and all the evidence had vanished with the imposters. The only tangible reminders of that night at Northanger were the diamonds themselves.

Had the jewels been left in Mrs. Tilney’s apartment in the first place to tempt them? And then, she and Darcy not taking them on their own, planted in the duplicate walking stick? In whatever manner the diamonds were originally intended to find their way out of Northanger, obviously Mr. Chase had been meant to find them.

Or had he? Darcy believed the author of the anonymous letter and the person who had hidden the diamonds were one and the same, but what if they were not? Had someone wanted to get the diamonds out of the house—either to be discovered by Darcy upon realizing the canes had been switched, or secretly collected later by their concealer—only to be thwarted by the letter writer?

To Elizabeth’s admittedly inexperienced eye, the necklace, bracelet, and eardrops comprised a lovely set but nothing extraordinary. For a family as wealthy as the Tilneys appeared, the sentimental value of the diamonds likely equaled or exceeded their monetary worth. They had belonged to a departed mother, one who had been friends with Darcy’s own.

And the false Captain Tilney had been very interested in the history of that friendship. Why? Of all subjects, why had the perpetrator of this scheme sought information about two women who had been deceased for decades?