North by Northanger

Mr. Melbourne considered a moment, then nodded his consent.

Darcy took up the two pieces. He tilted the opening of the shaft toward the light and determined that the hollow extended about twelve inches. Threads at the top and in the cinquefoil band enabled the shaft to screw into the grip. He fitted these together; when joined, they formed a smooth line that betrayed no evidence of the secret compartment within. He weighed the cane across his hands, then gripped it by the head. It felt familiar in his palm. How could he not have known?

He traced his finger along the length of the cane. And found his answer.

The slight imperfection in the wood was not there. The grain ran evenly down to the tip.

“This walking stick is not mine,” he declared.

“Not two minutes ago you identified it as yours.”

“It appears very much like mine — resembles it so closely, in fact, that I carried it out of Northanger Abbey and into this inn without realizing the difference. But my cane has a slight imperfection in the wood about halfway down its length, a widening of the grain barely noticeable unless one seeks it. This cane displays no such mark.”

“How very convenient.” Mr. Melbourne’s countenance indicated that he did not believe a syllable Darcy had just uttered.

Darcy was not accustomed to having his word doubted. “My wife can attest to the marking on my cane.”

“As your wife is also implicated in the theft, her confirmation means little. Further, you have now just admitted that you left Northanger with this cane, and the diamonds it contained, in your possession. If the cane does not belong to you, then you have stolen it, too.”

“This is absurd! We did not steal the diamonds, and we did not put them in this cane.”

“Then how do you account for Mr. Chase’s having found them in your custody?”

“Someone else must have placed them in the walking stick.”

“Someone else gave you these diamonds, and neglected to inform you of it? That is preposterous.”

“Not nearly as preposterous as the notion that we stole them. I am a gentleman. I own an estate in Derbyshire larger than Northanger Abbey. If I wanted diamonds, I would purchase them myself.”

“I have been practicing law and maintaining order in this county a long time, Mr. Darcy, and if there is one thing I have learned about human nature, it is that people often do not act according to sense. You are not the first gentleman I have encountered who stole something he could well afford to buy. Nor does England lack gentlemen who, through mismanagement or dissipation, have exhausted their own coffers and might find themselves unable to resist the temptation of an easy opportunity to refill them.”

“I am neither of those sorts of gentlemen. I did not steal anything.”

“I have a hollow cane and a handful of diamonds that suggest you did.”

Darcy took a deep breath, attempting to cool his ire. He was beginning to wish that Mr. Melbourne were one of those more careless magistrates after all. Continuing the current line of argument would prove futile; he needed another tactic.

He wished he knew who had written the anonymous letter. Should he not have an opportunity to face his accuser? From the little Mr. Chase had revealed, the note must have come from someone at Northanger. A servant — the housekeeper, perhaps? Surely if Captain Tilney himself had thought they were departing his home with the family jewels, he would have stopped them. Or at least signed his name to the letter.

“Mr. Melbourne, does not a crime require a victim? If Mrs. Tilney once owned these diamonds, they now belong to her son. Let us go to Northanger Abbey and talk to the captain. Doubtless, he will assure you that this is all an enormous error.”

The magistrate pondered the proposal. “All right,” he said finally. “The jewels must be returned anyway. I might as well deliver them myself and allow you to accompany me.”

“Thank you, sir—”

“Do not thank me yet. The day is now too far gone for us to journey all the way to Northanger and back before dark. We shall pursue this errand tomorrow morning. Until then, I must commit you both to gaol.”

Darcy was filled with mortification and outrage. A member of the Darcy family passing a single night in gaol was inconceivable. His name would be tarnished, his reputation damaged. Physical discomfort he could bear with fortitude, but the injury to his honor would be a heavy blow to suffer. That Elizabeth, in her condition, could not possibly be subjected to the environment of gaol was beyond question.

“Might you consider permitting us to stay here at the inn? You have my word that we will not attempt escape, nor even leave our room.”

“You have just been caught with stolen diamonds in your possession. Why should I trust your word?”

“I am a gentleman.”

“As I just explained, Mr. Darcy, your status as a gentleman means little. Perhaps the magistrates in Derbyshire treat persons of means more leniently, but in my jurisdiction the law applies equally to all individuals. In fact, as a gentleman myself, I hold those of our status to a higher standard, and condemn the actions of any gentleman who would taint our collective honor through conduct unbecoming. Ask those gathered here about the fate of Mr. Oliver Smyth, known in these parts as the ‘gentleman bandit.’ ”

“Swung from a tree!” someone cried.

“I am no bandit,” Darcy declared. “Do not treat me as one.”

“You stand accused of theft — a hanging offense for an item as valuable as these diamonds. Until this matter is resolved, you and your wife shall be treated like any other criminals.”

Another murmur swept through the crowd.

Darcy looked at Elizabeth. Her face was filled with anxiety. The thought of her sharing this shame was insupportable. He could not — would not — allow that to happen.

“I will go with you willingly, but for mercy’s sake, please do not subject my wife to incarceration.”

“If gentlemen do not enjoy exemption from the law, neither do ladies.”

“Yes, but... a private word, please, Mr. Melbourne?”

“What is it?”

Darcy approached the table and leaned forward. “Mrs. Darcy is in a delicate state of health,” he said in a voice audible only to the magistrate.

“You ought to have considered that before breaking the law.”

“If anything happened to her or the child while in gaol, would you want that on your conscience?”

Mr. Melbourne folded his arms across his chest and studied Elizabeth for several long moments. Finally, he said, “Mrs. Darcy, was there ever a time when your husband was in Mrs. Tilney’s chamber alone — without you?”

Darcy heard the question with relief and gratitude. The magistrate was offering Elizabeth a way out. But to accept it, she would have to cast even more suspicion on him.

She looked not at Mr. Melbourne, but at Darcy. He could read the reluctance in her eyes. She would not pronounce a word that might betray him.

“Speak the truth, Elizabeth.”

She hesitated. He willed her compliance with his steady gaze. I shall be all right. Speak the truth.

She swallowed. “Just before we left Northanger Abbey, my husband went to the apartment alone to ascertain whether the servants had finished packing our trunks. He was gone but a few minutes—”

“Did he have this walking stick with him when he went?”

Her face filled with distress. “Yes.”

“Then it is possible that Mr. Darcy committed this crime without your knowledge?”

“It is impossible that my husband committed any crime,” she said fiercely. “He is the most honorable man I have ever known.”

“An admirable display of loyalty, Mrs. Darcy.”

Mr. Melbourne leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting between Elizabeth and Darcy several times as he deliberated. Darcy, meanwhile, strove to mask his own apprehension. So long as Elizabeth was spared, he could tolerate anything.