North by Northanger

The shopkeeper drew his brows together. “I am fairly certain. I do not receive many orders for canes with such compartments. I can check my ledger if you wish.”

Darcy wished very much, indeed. The shopkeeper disappeared into his back room and returned a few minutes later with his record book. He paged through it, traveling back through the years—1810, 1809, 1808... Darcy shifted his walking stick from hand to hand as he waited impatiently for the old man to locate the entry.

“Ah, here it is.” The craftsman at last pointed to a line. “George Darcy, just as I recalled. Ordered the cane on the fourteenth of June, eighteen hundred four.”

His father had still been alive then. “Was it the same gentleman who bought this walking stick?”

“No, a young man. University lad, I assumed, what with the brandy compartment and all.”

“Can you describe him?”

The shopkeeper shook his head. “I cannot recall his features clearly. Mind you, ten years have passed.”

Even without a description, an unpleasant suspicion of the gentleman’s identity formed in Darcy’s mind. Darcy had been at university himself at the time. Any one of his Cambridge acquaintances could have seen and admired his walking stick. A few of them might have thought it clever to own a cane with a hidden brandy compartment.

But only one would be so bold as to use the name George Darcy.

Thirty

Till she had made herself mistress of its contents, however, she could have neither repose nor comfort; and with the sun’s first rays she was determined to peruse it.

— Northanger Abbey

I am once more with child.

My sentiments upon realizing my state have been jumbled. I never thought to carry a child again, did not believe I would ever feel another life quicken in my womb. The fear of losing this baby, as I have so many others, nearly paralyzes me. Yet it is only through risk that we can reap reward, and it would be a precious gift indeed to love another son or daughter as I adore my darling Fitzwilliam.

I told George last night. He was quiet as he heard the news. I could see in his dear face that the expectation of another child brought him happiness, but that he hesitated to express it without first ascertaining my feelings. I confessed that I have reread his letter so often I have committed it to memory, and that I desperately want to trust once again the words that brought us together. He held me tightly and we talked long into the night, voiced many things too long left unsaid. He believes this child is meant to be, and in his embrace, I believe it, too.

Even so, I cannot escape the apprehension that my heart will again be shattered. My thoughts stray to my own mother and the treasure she bequeathed to me. I remember her placing the ivory in my hands, and telling me, as I unwrapped the statuette, that the Madonna enfolded mother and child in a mantle of protection. I regret ever having relinquished it to Catherine. My sister does not know what she possesses. She cannot comprehend the true worth of what lies within the small casket...

I have written to Catherine again. I have given up battling her for ownership of our mother’s treasure and ask only for its loan...

Catherine has agreed to lend me the ivory! She still claims it as her own, and insists upon its surrender after the birth. Very well. Once this child is born, she may keep the statuette for herself. Our Mother’s legacy, I will retain...

George journeyed to Kent to bear the treasure safely home — I would entrust its transport to no one else. A peace I have not known for a decade suffused me as I opened the lid and saw the aged statuette enfolded in its old, tattered wrap. To repay my sister’s kindness, I shall return the ivory in a new velvet cover, one better suited to her sensibilities...

Catherine comes to visit. God forgive me for thinking so ill of my sister, but I worry that she has changed her mind about our mother’s treasure and will try to take it back before I have done with it. I have moved the casket out of the house entirely, to a place she would never think to look should the whim seize her. I doubt anyone else would stumble upon it either, but in the event, I have taken the precaution of putting a lock on the casket. I felt somewhat impious, locking away the Madonna and Child, but I think Madame Eglentyne would approve...

Catherine has left; the treasure remains safe. And so do the child and I.

Elizabeth closed the journal but did not set it aside. She absently held it against her chest, her thoughts occupied by its author.

Lady Anne had awaited Georgiana’s birth with optimism. George had restored her faith in their bond, and the ivory had done the rest.

The blessed figurine had removed Anne’s self-doubt. And when it disappeared, Anne had somehow known that she would never have an opportunity to reclaim it herself. So she had reached out to someone she would never meet, but whom she hoped would understand the value of her treasure.

Elizabeth understood.

She too yearned for assurance that all was and would remain well as she embarked on this journey of motherhood. The changes in her body, the growing child’s toll on her own physical strength, uncertainty about the impending birth and how she would adjust to motherhood afterward... all conspired to assail her confidence. She had never felt so vulnerable in her life.

Lady Anne had faced this trial many times before her, had known the doubts a woman carries in her heart as she carries a child under it. In her own last hours, she had hoped to spare her daughter-in-law some of that anxiety. She had urged Elizabeth to find her missing treasure.

Find it she would. For them both.

Thirty-One

To be sorry I find many occasions. The first is, that your return is to be delayed, and whether I ever get beyond the first is doubtful.

— Jane Austen, letter to Cassandra

“Mrs. Darcy, where — precisely — did you say my nephew is at present?”

Elizabeth experienced a moment’s panic. Where had she said Darcy was this morning? In the village, meeting with tenants? No, that was yesterday. Riding? Perhaps — she had used that excuse multiple times. Penning a letter to Mr. Harper? That seemed like a safe pretense. He had no lack of business requiring communication with his solicitor, as his aunt well knew.

She struggled to a standing position to acknowledge her ladyship’s appearance in the doorway of her morning room. The baby was now so large that there was no truly graceful way to rise from her seat anymore. Were Lady Catherine a more sympathetic woman, she might have bade Elizabeth dispense with the formality — but then she would not be Lady Catherine.

“I believe he is in the library dispatching some correspondence,” Elizabeth said.

“I have just come from the library; it is unoccupied.”

Confound it. Ever since Dr. Severn had circumscribed Elizabeth’s mobility, Lady Catherine was literally one