North by Northanger

I give you joy of our new nephew, and hope if he ever comes to be hanged it will not be till we are too old to care about it.

— Jane Austen, letter to her sister, Cassandra

This has been a pleasant visit,” Elizabeth said, cuddling the tiny sleeping form against her shoulder one final time. The delight she experienced in holding her nephew was equaled only by that of seeing her sister Jane in good health and happy spirits following his entrance into the world. Nicholas Charles Bingley possessed the ideal attributes of a newborn: his mother’s sweet countenance, his father’s easy temper, and a love of attention that surpassed even that of his aunt Caroline. He seldom cried except when hungry — though on those occasions he exhibited a fretfulness almost certainly inherited from his maternal grandmother. Elizabeth and Darcy had been honored to stand as his godparents.

“If only you did not have to depart so soon,” Jane replied. “I am sorry Lydia and Mr. Wickham arrived when they did. Had I known they were coming, I would have asked them to postpone.”

“It is not your fault. At least we enjoyed some time together before they appeared.” Their youngest sister and her husband, who had not been anticipated for the christening, had dropped in unexpectedly for a visit of undetermined duration, ostensibly so that Lydia could assist Jane. However, Lydia’s aversion to useful occupation and insensibility to the needs of a new mother and child rendered any actual aid from her unlikely at best. This morning, she had quickly grown restless at the sisters’ quiet conversation and had fled Jane’s dressing room in search of superior distraction.

“But two days in the same house is as much of Mr. Wickham as Darcy can bear,” Elizabeth continued. “He could scarcely endure him long enough for the ceremony to take place.”

George Wickham, an army officer and a general reprobate, had a long and checkered history with the Darcy family. His father had been Pemberley’s steward, and young Wickham and Fitzwilliam Darcy had grown up together. In fact, George had been named after Darcy’s father, who had stood as his godfather. Regrettably, George Wickham did not share his godfather’s noble character and had grown into a wild, selfish young man.

“Thank goodness Georgiana’s previous engagement prevented her from accompanying you,” Jane said, “or the situation would have been even more uncomfortable.”

“Yes. Far better that she remains at Pemberley, safe from any encounter with Lydia’s husband.”

Jane was the only other member of Elizabeth’s family who knew that upon the elder Mr. Darcy’s death, Wickham had repaid his godfather’s lifelong kindness and generosity by attempting to elope with Georgiana — then but fifteen years old — and thus acquire her inheritance. Luckily, her brother had learned of the plot before Wickham could execute it. Elizabeth’s sister, however, had not been as fortunate. When Lydia fell prey to the scheming Wickham last year, he seduced her before anyone realized her danger. Though Darcy managed to restore the Bennet family’s reputation by pressuring — and paying — Wickham to marry Lydia, his success came at the price of now tolerating a man he loathed as his brother-in-law.

“How long will you stay in Bath?” Jane asked.

“A fortnight. Long enough to meet Dr. Severn, though whether I like the man seems immaterial at this point.”

“Does your reluctance stem from not desiring a man-midwife, or because you feel Mr. Darcy allows you no choice?”

“Both. Male accoucheurs might be fashionable among the ton, but I have never cared twopence for what is fashionable.” Nicholas stirred against her, and she realized her voice had risen. She stroked his back, and he settled against her peacefully once again. “What I object to most,” she continued more quietly, “is Darcy’s treating me like an invalid. I do not need a physician to attend me around the clock from now until my lying-in.”

“He loves you.”

“I love him, too, but he may drive me mad before this child is born. If he worries this much now, I dare not imagine him when my waist has fully expanded. He will lock me in a bedchamber and shut out the sunlight. He will spoon-feed me barley water and blancmange. He will let all the servants go and replace them with medical men. Pemberley will be the only house in England where apothecaries sweep the fireplaces and surgeons polish the silver.”

Jane laughed. “It will not be as bad as all that.”

“You believe it may be worse? Indeed, I am in for a very long winter.”

“Truly, Lizzy, you may find Dr. Severn’s presence reassuring. Yes, women enter childbed every day, but we both know it can be dangerous, and I for one found the delivery itself rather frightening. Mama was here, but her nerves were in such a state that the midwife asked her to leave because she only added to my distress. So she went downstairs and shared her anxiety with Charles until his nerves nearly required a physician’s care.”

“My poor Jane! I wish I had been here with you, as we had planned.”

“Apparently, Nicholas was so eager to meet his aunt that he wanted to greet you in person. But I shall come to Pemberley in time for your confinement. By then we will have settled in our new home, so I shall be but thirty miles distant — an easy journey, even with Nicholas.”

After leasing Netherfield for two years, Jane’s husband had finally found an estate that pleased them both. Just that morning, he had signed papers to purchase Ashdown House in Staffordshire. The sisters rejoiced that they would soon live in neighboring counties. Less frequent contact with Jane had been one of Elizabeth’s few regrets upon quitting Hertfordshire.

“I know I can depend upon you. So long as Darcy does not smother me with solicitude before then.”

“Has he been apprehensive since you first told him you were in the family way?”

“More so following our discovery of that letter from his mother. I must find something else for him to contemplate besides the possibility of my imminent demise.”

“Perhaps the letter itself can help. Did you not say that Lady Anne mentioned a lost object? Mr. Darcy has a talent for solving problems — he located Lydia and Wickham in London after they eloped, and he apprehended that blackguard who tormented poor Caroline here at Netherfield. You could suggest he try to find whatever item his mother misplaced.”

Elizabeth did not think she wanted Darcy dwelling on the contents of that letter any more than he already did. Further, while her husband indeed excelled at deducing answers, she herself had also played a crucial role in identifying Caroline Bingley’s antagonist, as well as in solving another puzzle that had fallen their way this past spring. And Lady Anne’s letter, after all, had been addressed to her.

“Lady Anne must have had a reason for writing to someone other than her son. Perhaps Darcy and I should seek it together.”

“Seek what?” Lydia strolled in and dropped herself into a chair. “Lord, but I am bored! Wickham’s off shooting and Mama has not come over from Longbourn yet. But you two seem to have finally finished talking about babies. What are you discussing? Who is Lady Anne?”

“Darcy’s mother.”

“I thought she was dead.”

“She is.”

“Then how could she write to anybody?”

Elizabeth summoned her reserves of patience, which always ran low in her youngest sister’s company. Despite having acquired the status of a matron when she wed a year ago, Lydia had gained neither understanding nor discretion along with her wedding ring. At seventeen, she remained as immature and self-absorbed as she had ever been. “We found a note she wrote before she died.”

“A note about what? You said something about seeking.”

Elizabeth had hardly intended to discuss Lady Anne’s letter with Lydia. “She briefly mentioned having lost some item or other. We do not even know to what she referred.”

“But you’re going to look for it? Oh — a treasure hunt! What fun! May I come help?”

Lydia’s snooping around Pemberley was the last thing that would improve Darcy’s mood. “It is not a treasure hunt. There is nothing to find.”

“But you said—

“There is no treasure,” Elizabeth repeated emphatically. “Hence, no hunt. And no reason to discuss this