Elizabeth set aside the final letter with a sense of loss, as if Mrs. Tilney’s death had just occurred. Though she had known neither Helen nor Lady Anne, she imagined what Anne’s feelings must have been upon receiving the general’s curt note, and mourned the end of a friendship that had sustained the two women through periods of domestic unhappiness caused by lost children and a tyrannical husband.
With luck, the ivory statuette that had originally brought about their acquaintance would soon be found. Darcy had left Pemberley before sunrise to begin his journey to Newcastle. He had chafed at the necessity of sneaking away from his own home under cover of darkness, but avoiding Lady Catherine’s observance required it. Elizabeth hoped his errand would prove successful and of short duration. Already, his absence had created restlessness within her; no sooner had his carriage slipped from view in the waning moonlight than, relinquishing all hope of returning to sleep, she had retrieved the remaining Northanger Abbey letters from her dressing room to peruse before the fire in their bedchamber. She had been eager to return to them since their fruitless expedition yesterday to the summerhouse, but preparations for Darcy’s departure had consumed their attention. These had included giving over a large part of the evening to Lady Catherine’s familiar orations, which had seemed to imprison them in the drawing room longer than usual after dinner. But the prolonged conversation had enabled Darcy to establish the pretense of developing a cold — a malady that, aided by the adroit management of appearances by Elizabeth and Graham, would grow so much worse this morning that it would require him to avoid company and take to bed for several days. Though not by nature inclined to nor adept at artifice, Darcy had performed creditably enough to elicit an onslaught of suggested remedies from his aunt.
Indeed, it seemed that their scheme to keep Lady Catherine ignorant of Darcy’s mission was off to a promising start. However, upon finishing her reading, Elizabeth wished they had studied the remaining Tilney correspondence before Darcy took leave. He would want to know about the additional statuettes found at Northanger Abbey; perhaps the ivories somehow pertained to their own recent misadventure there. The false Frederick Tilney had enquired about the existence of letters between Helen and Anne, and had spoken of searching for things long forgotten. Had he been alluding to the discovery and subsequent disappearance of the other nine ivories?
She would now have to wait until Darcy returned to share the news and puzzle over it with him. She had no means by which to contact him; he himself had been unsure how soon he would reach Newcastle and where he would lodge. Yet even if she had his direction, she would not commit such important intelligence to paper and risk its miscarriage.
Morning had broken. Lucy would arrive soon to open the shutters and bring her morning chocolate. Elizabeth wanted to intercept her before she entered the bedchamber and noted Darcy’s absence. Although she fully trusted her personal maid, it was best that as few people as possible knew of the ruse, and Darcy’s valet had already by necessity been taken into their confidence. While she thought of it, she rang for Mrs. Reynolds. The housemaids should also be kept from the bedchamber.
She gathered Helen Tilney’s letters and returned them to the trunk in her dressing room. The housekeeper entered momentarily, bearing a large lily that filled the room with fragrance. Though lilies were long out of season, a memory of having encountered the scent somewhat more recently hovered at the edge of Elizabeth’s consciousness.
“Mr. Darcy suffers a cold and wishes to rest in our bedchamber undisturbed,” she said. “Relieve the housemaids of their usual duties in that room until further notice.”
“Yes, madam. Shall I call for the apothecary?” Mrs. Reynolds crossed the room and set the plant on a table beside a large window.
“That is not necessary. Additional sleep and some of the cook’s best broth should restore him within a few days. Graham may bring his meals on a tray.”
“Very good, madam. Lady Catherine has instructed me in the preparation of some remedies and ordered them brought to Mr. Darcy as soon as he wakes. Shall I send them with his breakfast?”
Elizabeth assented. Graham would find a place to dump them out if she could not. She gestured toward the flower. “What is this?”
“Mr. Flynn sent it from the greenhouse, madam. He said he thought you would appreciate it.”
She approached the table and touched one of the perfect white flowers with her fingertips. “I do.” She inhaled deeply, trying to place the sweet smell. “It has an exquisite fragrance.”
“That, it does, madam. I have missed the scent. Madonna lilies were Lady Anne’s favorite, and when they
