baronet he also appealed to her social-climbing ambitions. She pursued him, and he casually took what was offered.”
“Did Mrs. Elliot know?”
“Certainly. After Mr. Clay’s death exposed her infidelity, Mr. Elliot subjected her to even greater cruelty than before. He took no pains to conceal his liaison with Mrs. Clay; in fact, he flaunted it.” Mrs. Smith shook her head sadly. “Poor woman. Mrs. Elliot died a very unhappy creature.”
“How did she die?”
“She fell down a flight of stairs. It happened only last year, and by then I was no longer on intimate terms with the Elliots, so I do not know the particulars. But given Mr. Elliot’s mistreatment of her, I have often wondered whether the event was an accident.”
Despite the summer heat, Elizabeth shivered. “You suspect she was pushed?”
“Either physically or emotionally, for I can easily imagine her reaching a state of despair great enough to have thrown herself down rather than endure her bleak existence any longer. Regardless, her death freed Mr. Elliot to marry someone capable of producing an heir, and he certainly lost no time in pursuing his bride of choice.”
Elizabeth was confused. “Mrs. Clay?”
“No, Mrs. Wentworth—when she was yet Anne Elliot.” Mrs. Smith glanced toward the door through which Mrs. Wentworth had exited, and lowered her voice. “However, shortly before he began courting Anne, Mrs. Clay returned to her father’s home in Kellynch village and became the eldest Miss Elliot’s bosom friend, visiting constantly at the Great House, so ingratiating herself that when the Elliots removed to Bath they invited her to take up residence with them. All the while, Mr. Elliot and Mrs. Clay affected indifference toward each other whenever he called upon the Elliots, never letting on that they knew each other intimately. In retrospect—I have told Anne this, and she agrees—I believe he installed Mrs. Clay in Sir Walter’s household so that she could gather information useful to his suit, or to his financial plans for the estate.”
“How did he do that?”
“By convincing her they would both benefit from his protecting his inheritance. If his courtship of Anne proved successful, neither he nor Mrs. Clay would see any reason why he should give up his mistress simply because he had taken a wife. And if it did not, Mrs. Clay would enjoy a more lavish style of living while possibly catching Mr. Elliot for herself at last. However, I think he underestimated Mrs. Clay’s cunning. If you recall what Anne’s sister Mary said at the christening fete, I believe that once Mrs. Clay infiltrated Sir Walter’s household, she developed ambitions of her own, and set her cap for Sir Walter.”
“Then why did she run off with Mr. Elliot?”
“Not being privy to their thoughts, I can only speculate based on my knowledge of their characters. I think he realized her scheme, and eliminated the threat she posed by persuading her of his own intentions to marry her. Mrs. Clay was vain enough to believe him. The two of them deserved each other—they were a pair of despicable human beings.”
Mrs. Wentworth returned with Alfred in her arms. “He was waking up,” she said, “and given the subject of our conversation, I—well, please do not think me silly, but I felt that I wanted him with us in here.”
“I do not think you silly at all,” Elizabeth said.
Mrs. Wentworth sat down on the sofa beside Mrs. Smith. The widow temporarily ceased her knitting and leaned toward Anne to stroke one of Alfred’s palms. The baby grasped her finger in his tiny fist.
“He likes you,” Anne told her friend.
Mrs. Smith smiled. “The feeling is mutual.”
Mrs. Wentworth offered to let Elizabeth hold Alfred, a suggestion that Elizabeth was happy to accept. “Unless Mrs. Smith would like to hold him first?”
“Not yet,” Mrs. Smith said. “I do not want to risk these rheumatic hands dropping him.”
From the deftness with which the widow employed her needles, Elizabeth doubted this fear was valid. Her hands seemed as dexterous as Elizabeth’s own—and far more skilled at knitting. But Mrs. Smith resumed her work, leaving Elizabeth to indulge in the pleasure of holding a newborn. As she received the tiny boy in her arms, she wondered anew how anyone might wish harm on such a defenseless creature. “Mrs. Smith, you said earlier that Alfred is still in Mr. Elliot’s thoughts, and that the gentleman has a propensity for scheming … indeed, you have painted such a black picture of his character, that I am unsettled by it. You do not believe Mr. Elliot would go so far as to harm Alfred, do you?”
The needles stopped. “I believe him capable of anything.”
Mrs. Wentworth looked warily from Elizabeth to Mrs. Smith.
“I have been relating some of Mr. Elliot’s history to Mrs. Darcy—a few of the particulars regarding his connexion to Mrs. Clay,” Mrs. Smith explained. “There is bound to be gossip. As the person who discovered her, Mrs. Darcy should know the truth.”
“It is not a truth flattering to either Mrs. Clay or Mr. Elliot,” Mrs. Wentworth said.
“No, it is not,” Elizabeth admitted, “and I hope you will not resent my coming into knowledge of it. I am not interested in scandal, but in Alfred’s welfare, as I have been since discovering Mrs. Clay on the Cobb.”
She stroked the baby’s cheek, then handed him back to Mrs. Wentworth, who seemed anxious to have him returned to her now that the conversation had taken a darker turn. “When heard in context with details of Mrs. Clay’s death,” Elizabeth continued, “Mrs. Smith’s information supports misgivings I had already held regarding the accident. In fact, I believe it is possible that her fall was not an accident at all.”
Mrs. Smith gasped. Mrs. Wentworth instinctively drew Alfred closer to her.
“Good heavens!” Anne said. “You do not think Mrs. Clay was pushed?”
“I have no real proof—only my own instincts and a few utterances made by Mrs. Clay before she died.” Plus Bald Betsy’s flight across the room at Mangled Maggie’s hands, which Elizabeth decided not to mention. She was afraid her suggestion sounded preposterous enough. “But Miss Darcy saw Mr. Elliot on the Cobb that morning, not long before the accident, and for a man in no hurry to marry Mrs. Clay before her death, he moved swiftly in his attempt to obtain custody of Alfred afterward. After all that I have learned about him, I cannot help but speculate about his sudden interest in the child after the accident, and whether that interest took a more malicious form before it.”
Mrs. Smith, whose gentle features generally bore either a smile or the appearance of being close to breaking into one, now regarded Elizabeth with the most grave expression Elizabeth had yet seen on her. “I would not be at all surprised to learn that Mr. Elliot tried to harm Alfred before he was born. Nor that he still harbors designs on Sir Walter’s title.”
Mrs. Wentworth looked a little pale. “These are very serious suspicions.”
“I do not voice them lightly,” Elizabeth said. “Nor do I mean to alarm you. I only wish to share my concerns with you and Captain Wentworth, Alfred’s guardians, and leave you to make your own determination about whether additional vigilance regarding Mr. Elliot is warranted. You, after all, know the gentleman far better than I. Indeed, I hope my conjecture turns out to be entirely groundless.”
Twenty-Four
They were now able to speak to each other and consult.
A verdict having been rendered on the monumental issue of how best to steady a wobbly chair, and the offending object having been removed for repair to another part of the house, Captain Wentworth turned, with some hesitancy, to Darcy.
“I suppose we ought to return to the sitting room.”
Darcy sincerely hoped the ladies’ conversation had not progressed to Alfred’s digestive functions. “I suppose we should.”
Neither man made the slightest motion toward the door.
“Perhaps after a glass of wine?”
