North by Northanger

“Have you no compassion for the mother of your son?”

At that, he did laugh. ”Now the child is a boy?”

He shook his head and led her into the house. “A noble attempt, Mrs. Darcy, but I am unmoved. Lady Catherine’s summons was your own doing. As I intend to teach our young Henry or John, if you create a plight, you must see it through yourself.”

“That is an important lesson for our child to learn.” She stopped at the hall mirror to remove her bonnet, catching his gaze in the glass. “Little Henrietta or Johanna will thank you for it.”

Shortly after they settled themselves in the sitting room, a note arrived. The servant informed them that its messenger waited for a response.

Darcy glanced at the direction. “I do not recognize the hand.” He broke the seal, skimmed its content, then read aloud:

Edgar’s Buildings

Bath, 6 October

Dear Mr. Darcy,

My discovery of your name in the Pump Room book prompts me to write. Though we are strangers to each other, I believe our families are acquainted. My late mother, Mrs. Victor Tilney, enjoyed the friendship of one Lady Anne Darcy, whom I believe to be your mother.

Though I understand Lady Anne has also passed away, I would take great pleasure in meeting her son. Unfortunately, my military duties obligate me to depart Bath this very day. However, I plan to return to my country home in Gloucestershire by 18 October, and shall remain there for some time. I would consider myself honored to receive you and Mrs. Darcy at Northanger Abbey as my guests for a se’nnight whenever you make your return journey to Derbyshire.

I hope your response names the date upon which I will enjoy the pleasure of your company. I am—

Yours most sincerely,

Captain Frederick Tilney

“An intriguing invitation,” Elizabeth said when he finished reading. “Do you recall Mrs. Tilney?”

“I do not believe I ever met her,” Darcy said.

“Are you inclined to accept?”

He thought a moment. “I am. If our mothers were friends, Captain Tilney must come from a worthy family. We can only gain from renewing the connection.”

And she could only gain from Darcy’s having the novelty of a new acquaintance to distract him from his well-meant but excessive concern for her health.

“I wonder how old a man he is. He might remember your mother.” It was ironic that they should receive a letter mentioning Lady Anne so soon after discovering the one written by her, but she welcomed the coincidence. With luck, Captain Tilney would bring happier memories to the forefront of Darcy’s mind, and the desperate tone of Lady Anne’s final note would recede from it.

“Whether he remembers her or not, I look forward to meeting him.” Darcy cast her a look of enquiry. “Unless you would rather not delay our return to Pemberley? Perhaps it would be best for your health if we traveled straight home. We also have arrangements for the harvest feast to oversee.”

Each autumn, Pemberley hosted a harvest feast for its tenants and villagers. The Darcy family had sponsored the event for generations. Elizabeth looked forward to this year’s day-long celebration, her first as mistress of Pemberley. But they need not forgo the opportunity to meet Captain Tilney — the date of the feast was still many weeks distant, and their steward and housekeeper had preliminary preparations well in hand.

“No,” she said quickly “I think a stay in Gloucestershire sounds like a pleasant means by which to break up the long journey to Derbyshire. In addition to the diversion of meeting the captain, Northanger Abbey surely offers more comfort than an inn. And plenty of time remains before the harvest feast.”

“All right, then,” he agreed. “I shall advise Captain Tilney to expect us Tuesday week.”

Five

Mrs Coulthard and Anne, late of Manydown, are both dead, and both died in childbed. We have not regaled Mary with this news.

— Jane Austen, letter to Cassandra

Enticed by a glorious autumn day — crisp air, warm sunlight, and not a cloud in the cerulean sky — Elizabeth elected to walk to Lady Catherine’s lodgings the following afternoon. She had always preferred the use of her own ten toes to other forms of travel, but even more so since arriving in Bath. The enclosed sedan chairs by which residents moved around the city created in her such a sense of confinement that each time she hired one, by the time she reached her destination she could barely restrain herself long enough for the bearers to lower it before bursting from the tiny box. So she reserved the cramped, jostling conveyances for times when it rained hard enough to render walking unpleasant even to her — a frequent-enough occurrence in Bath.

Though not exactly anticipating unmitigated delight in her errand, she set out for Camden Place determined to enjoy the fine weather and opportunity for exercise. Accompanied by her maid, she crossed the bridge and entered Broad Street before turning up Landsdown Road. Here, however, her pace slowed. Bath was a city of hills, some of them quite steep, but she had not realized that Camden Place sat atop one of the most extreme slopes. She found herself stopping to catch her breath as she toiled uphill.

The struggle surprised her. She considered herself in good form, and was not unused to exertion; she had expected the climb to challenge but not utterly wind her. She raised a hand to her chest and felt her heart racing beneath her fingertips. What was the matter with her today?

She responded to her maid’s solicitous enquiries with a dismissive shake of her head, certain that she merely needed a few minutes to allow her pulse to resume a less frantic rate, and cited a desire to look in the window of the nearest shop. A display of dolls prompted her to consider the child she carried.

Would she bear a girl? For all her teasing of Darcy, she of course could not know with certainty. But if the ease with which she imagined the child as female and the difficulty with which she pictured it male meant something, if the midnight whisperings of her heart on restless nights could be trusted, if instinct counted for anything... she believed she carried a daughter.

The reverie lent her breathlessness context. Her body was no longer her own — she had a tiny passenger that would only grow larger in the coming months, and she would have to start remembering that. Meanwhile, her respiration steady once more, she completed the walk to Lady Catherine’s.

Darcy’s aunt greeted her with all the condescension Elizabeth had come to expect from her. She received Elizabeth in the drawing room, where Anne de Bourgh and Mrs. Jenkinson also sat. Elizabeth could not recall a single occasion upon which she had seen Miss de Bourgh without Mrs. Jenkinson at her side, and wondered whether the poor girl ever enjoyed a moment’s solitude. Or whether Mrs. Jenkinson did, for that matter.

“You appear breathless, Mrs. Darcy,” Lady Catherine observed.

“Camden Place is a steeper climb than I anticipated,” she said. “But I was rewarded by the view as I reached the top.”

“You walked?” Lady Catherine uttered the word as if Elizabeth had confessed to turning cartwheels. “For heaven’s sake, why did you not hire a chair?”

“It is a fine day, and I wanted the exercise.”

“And were repaid for your foolishness by fatiguing yourself. You are too headstrong for your own good — and that of the child you carry. Shame on you for thinking only of yourself. Does my nephew know how you conducted yourself here?”

He did not. Normally, Darcy encouraged her love of walking, but now that she was in the family way, she