must have come from another lily.” Elizabeth watched Lady Catherine as she made the last statement, but her ladyship’s face did not hint at any knowledge of the missing plant. Nor did it suggest that Elizabeth’s response had mollified her in the least.
“As if this day is not upsetting enough. You
“It is Georgiana’s birthday.”
“Also the anniversary of my sister’s death.”
“I have not forgotten.” Indeed, she’d hoped Darcy would have somehow completed his errand and returned by today with enough information from Mr. Wickham to locate the statuette. Fulfilling Lady Anne’s last request — that Elizabeth find the missing heirloom for her — seemed a fitting way to acknowledge the date. But Darcy had sent a brief message indicating he had been delayed. He had included no explanation, probably wise considering the tendency toward disappearance that letters and other items at Pemberley had begun to exhibit.
“I trust my nephew will exert some effort to remember his mother today? Emerging from his sickroom might form a start. This cold of his has gone on quite long enough. He
“They have all been put to use,” she said quite honestly. Graham had discovered them particularly effective for polishing boots.
“Then he should not be ailing so. Perhaps he requires a doctor.”
“I am sure one or two days more will restore him to perfect health.”
She prayed Darcy would be home by then. Lady Catherine enquired more closely into his “illness” each day, and Elizabeth grew weary of keeping up the subterfuge. Upon receiving the news of his delay, she had taken Georgiana into her confidence to solicit her aid in distracting their aunt. Georgiana had surprised her by confessing that Darcy had already advised her of his journey — though not its purpose — and requested that she keep a vigilant eye on Elizabeth’s health in his absence. Elizabeth appreciated the solicitude of her husband and sister-in- law, but believed herself equal to monitoring the changes within her. She grew larger each day, and her shifting center of gravity sometimes left her feeling less than steady on her feet, but otherwise she felt fine.
“Tell my nephew I would see him later today. Perhaps he can provide a satisfactory explanation for these petals, as you have not.”
“And perhaps you can offer an acceptable justification for trespassing in here. What were you seeking in that trunk — Lady Anne’s ivory?”
“I have told you, that ivory was not hers, but mine.”
“I will spare you further trouble. It is not in that trunk, nor anywhere in this apartment. And when I do find it, I shall not leave it in a place vulnerable to your avaricious reach.”
“Insolent girl! Valuable as the statuette is, I do not prize it for its pecuniary worth alone.”
“You believe, as Lady Anne did, that it brings good fortune to mothers?”
“Of course not! That is absolute rubbish — Popish idolatry! Anne must have misunderstood whatever it was that our mother told her about the statuette. No, I referred to its sentimental value.”
“Naturally. Whatever was I thinking?”
“Do not adopt sarcasm with me.”
“Do not enter my apartment under the misapprehension that you have license to take or examine anything within it. In fact, do not enter it again at all.”
“Mr. Darcy?” Lady Catherine called toward the closed bedchamber door. “Do you hear the way your wife is speaking to me?”
“My husband does not display good humor when ill. Disturb his rest and he will speak to you even more strongly than I.”
“Not so long as he requires my cooperation in a certain legal matter. You would do well to remember that yourself.”
“Your standing surety for us does not grant you the privilege of inserting yourself into any of our other affairs.”
“Does it not?”
Elizabeth was so angry that she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. She went to the hall door and flung it open. “Kindly spare us both the unpleasantness of my having to ask you to leave.”
Her ladyship gathered her indignation about her like a mantle and departed. Elizabeth left the door open, not trusting herself to close it without slamming it shut. Lady Catherine’s arrogance needled her under the best of circumstances, but Darcy’s aunt had become positively insufferable at a time when Elizabeth’s ability to tolerate her shrank in direct proportion to the size of her increasing belly.
This latest outrage, however, was beyond anything she could have anticipated. Though she had harbored suspicions about Lady Catherine when Anne’s letter had disappeared, Darcy’s disbelief in his aunt’s capacity for such invasive conduct — combined with the letter’s rediscovery and the subsequent doubts it had raised regarding Elizabeth’s own perceptions — had persuaded her that in her pursuit of the ivory Lady Catherine would at least adhere to basic standards of decorum. Such as observing the implicit rule of hospitality that guests respect the privacy and possessions of their hosts.
But apparently, Lady Catherine’s practice of minding everyone else’s business in addition to her own had been tolerated by so many for so long that the transition to physical intrusion had been an easy step. How long had she been in the room before Elizabeth caught her disturbing the trunk, and with what else had she meddled?
Elizabeth went to the escritoire and unlocked the drop front. Lady Anne’s letter to her lay where she had left it, as did the mysterious key that had fallen from the desk in the morning room — and whose purpose she still had not determined. However, the most critical letters of the Tilney correspondence, which she thought she remembered transferring to the escritoire for greater security, were no longer at hand. Had she forgotten to move them? She checked the trunk, but they were not there, either. Had Lady Catherine taken them, or had Elizabeth simply misplaced something yet again?
After several more minutes of additional frustrated searching, she turned her back on the matter and headed toward the window. She wanted to more closely examine the lily’s missing flower. But the moment she took a step, her right leg buckled under her.
She managed to grab the back of the escritoire chair and prevent herself from falling. Her leg had gone numb. She fought panic as she gripped the chair tightly to support herself.
“Elizabeth?”
Georgiana paused but a second in the open doorway before hurrying toward her. “Elizabeth, are you unwell?”
“I cannot feel my leg.”
“Here, lean upon me.” Georgiana offered her shoulder and assisted Elizabeth into the chair.
Elizabeth sank into the seat and stretched out her leg. Through her dressing gown, she rubbed the limb. Although the nerves of her fingers acknowledged her touch, those in her leg were utterly insensate.
Georgiana regarded her with alarm. “Did you injure yourself?”
She shook her head. “I was simply standing here. When I moved and put my weight upon the leg, ’twas as if I had no limb at all.”
“We must send for Mr. Monroe.”
Elizabeth offered no protest, only wondered how quickly the Lambton apothecary could arrive. Georgiana pulled the bell to call Lucy, then issued the summons through her.
Lucy returned a few minutes later. “Mrs. Reynolds says we cannot send for Mr. Monroe,” she said. “We called for him yesterday when one of the scullery maids suffered a burn, and learned he is gone to Sussex this fortnight.”
Georgiana’s expression became fretful. “It will require hours to fetch the closest doctor. What shall we do?”
Elizabeth massaged her leg, willing sensation to return to it. The baby kicked — a message from her daughter that she was well, or a sign of distress? The anxiety she had struggled to suppress now threatened to overcome her. She wanted someone to explain what was happening, to reassure her that whatever infirmity claimed her leg did not also trouble the child. And she wanted that someone now.
“Send for Mrs. Godwin,” Elizabeth said.
Lucy departed again. Georgiana suggested that she ought to move to her bed while they waited for the
