He had delivered the commands coolly, but when he turned to her and said, “Let us get you to bed,” she could hear strain in his voice. And when he touched her, his hands betrayed a slight tremor.
Despite her assertions that she possessed sufficient strength to walk — not to mention sufficient girth to injure him — he insisted on carrying her to their bedchamber. Lucy helped her undress while he spoke to Mr. Clarke, and he returned just as she settled into bed. He kissed her forehead and held her hand and said all the things people say when assuring a loved one she will be fine while inwardly fearing she will not.
He studied her intently “How do you feel now?”
She did not want to admit it, even to herself, but she was starting to feel worse again. Just then Mrs. Godwin arrived.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Darcy. How are you today?”
“Unwell.” And afraid.
Mrs. Godwin seemed to grasp her unvoiced reply along with the spoken. She sat on the edge of the bed and took one of Elizabeth’s hands. The other, which yet held the scrap of cloth from Lady Anne’s box, Darcy retained.
She explained her symptoms and the possibility that an unknown substance slipped into her tea might be its cause. Just as she finished, the pain began again. Mrs. Godwin asked her several questions about its location and intensity, listening closely to her replies and putting her hand on Elizabeth’s abdomen. Though the ache was stronger this time than last, with Mrs. Godwin present she was not as frightened as before.
When the pain subsided again, Mrs. Godwin turned to Darcy.
“Sir, find this Jenny to settle any doubt. But I do not believe your wife has been poisoned.” She looked at Elizabeth and smiled. “My dear, you are in labor.”
He cannot be the instigator of the three villains in horsemen’s great coats, by whom she will hereafter be forced into a travelling-chaise and four, which will drive off with incredible speed.
— Northanger Abbey
With Elizabeth in Mrs. Godwin’s care for the present, Darcy went in pursuit of more information about Jenny. His foremost concern was whether she had been found, but he also intended to learn everything Mrs. Reynolds could tell him about her, from her work habits to her parish of origin.
He berated himself for his blindness. He should have dismissed her the day he discovered her in the library with Wickham. Now God only knew the extremes to which her perfidy reached. They had not anticipated the child’s arrival for another fortnight at least. He prayed Mrs. Godwin’s diagnosis was accurate, that it was merely labor that incapacitated Elizabeth, with no complications caused by malice.
He rarely went belowstairs, but he wanted to speak to Mrs. Reynolds without delay, and also to search Jenny’s room. He hoped to determine as much as he could as quickly as he could, so that he might return to Elizabeth. Mrs. Godwin had said that her pains were infrequent enough that the birth was still many hours off. He grew impatient for Dr. Severn’s arrival. He would not be easy until the entire ordeal was over, but his anxiety would lessen with the physician in the house.
He found Mrs. Reynolds in the main servants’ hall, and they moved to a spot just inside the exterior door where they could talk without danger of being overheard. Yes, Mr. Clarke had come and coordinated efforts with her. No, Jenny had not been found yet. Yes, the search was widespread but discreet. No, they did not believe she had escaped the house. Yes, several men swept the park even now.
As he talked to the housekeeper, an unfamiliar chaise and four stopped at the servants’ entrance. He watched to see who emerged, but no one did. Instead, a thin figure darted toward the carriage from the hedges. Jenny.
He ran outside, reaching her just as she was about to climb into the carriage door. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from the vehicle, but not before she managed to thrust a small object to one of the passengers within. He looked into the gentleman’s face.
“Wickham!”
Panic flashed across Wickham’s countenance. The driver slapped the horses, and the carriage sped off. Gripping Jenny tightly by the shoulders, Darcy tried to get a glimpse of the other passenger, but he — or she — wore a hooded cloak that obscured the face.
A servant began closing Pemberley’s gate. But the vehicle barreled through and continued at breakneck speed out of the park.
Impulse urged him to pursue — catching the conspirators meant clearing his name. But Elizabeth needed him within. And as far as his wife was concerned, he held the most important villain in his grasp.
Once the carriage disappeared from view, Jenny ceased struggling. He turned her around to look into her face. Her eyes were wide with fright.
He fought to maintain his calm, to remain composed when he wanted to shout. “Answer my questions truthfully and it will go easier for you.”
She nodded shakily.
“Did you adulterate Mrs. Darcy’s tea this afternoon?”
She swallowed. “No — no, sir.”
He studied her so intensely for signs of prevarication that she looked as if his gaze alone might knock her down. “Did you today, or at any time, administer anything to her without her knowledge? Any substance that could harm her or make her ill?”
“No, sir — nothing like that!”
“Has anyone else done so?”
“No! At least, not that anybody told me about. No one wants to hurt Mrs. Darcy.”
“God help you if you are lying to me.”
Her shoulders trembled. “I swear to you, I am not.”
She appeared so rattled that he tended to believe her. Though she might practice duplicity when nobody watched, he doubted she could gather enough composure at present to deliver a falsehood convincingly. He relaxed his grip, but not his stance or expression.
“What did you give Mr. Wickham just now?”
“A statuette.”
“That you stole from Pemberley.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Truly—”
“Sorry? Do you know the value of that ivory? How long it has been in my family?”
“Please don’t send me to gaol, sir!” She began to cry. “My sisters and I — we’ve got no one since our father died, and they said they would pay me well. All I had to do was keep my ears open and borrow a few things from time to time.”
Gaol was the least of the evils she faced. Though the statuette’s history rendered it priceless to him and Elizabeth, its monetary worth made its theft a transport or hanging offense for Jenny.
“What else have you taken?”
“N-Nothing, sir. Nothing I kept. I always returned the letters and such after they were finished looking at them.”
So Jenny was responsible for all the misplaced correspondence. Elizabeth would be relieved to know their son had not deprived her of her wits after all.
“Who are ‘they’?”
“Mr. Wickham and Mrs. Stanford.”
That much he had surmised. But who was the third conspirator, the one who had posed as Frederick Tilney? “Does anyone else work for or with them?”
“I do not know all their business, sir. I only do what they tell me.”