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“We are sorry to bear unhappy news, but Mrs. Clay suffered an accident this morning.”
Sir Walter appeared confused by Darcy’s a
“On the Cobb,” Elizabeth said.
He looked at his daughter. “I thought she was in her room. Have you not checked on her today?”
“Have not you?”
Sir Walter scowled. “If this is how she intends to conduct herself—” He broke off, aware once more of his audience. “Well, I hope this incident has made her realize that she ca
“Sir Walter,” Elizabeth said calmly, trying to ease him into the news she was about to deliver, “Mrs. Clay fell and injured her head. The surgeon offered what treatment he could, but…” She paused, allowing Sir Walter and Miss Elliot a moment to fortify themselves. “Mrs. Clay did not survive.”
Sir Walter appeared stricken. He stared at Elizabeth, then looked to Darcy for confirmation. At Darcy’s nod, he turned away and uttered a soft oath.
Miss Elliot was emotionless. “I presume the child died, as well?”
“No, that is the good news—if anything good can be considered to have come out of this sad event. She lived long enough to deliver the child.”
Sir Walter recovered himself. “Is it a boy?”
“Yes. And healthy, as best one can determine.”
“A boy,” Sir Walter repeated.
“We must find your cousin,” Elizabeth said. “I expect he will want to know this news.”
Sir Walter stood. “The boy, and his mother’s death, are none of Mr. Elliot’s concern.”
“But we understood Mr. Elliot to be … well acquainted with Mrs. Clay.”
“Her name was no longer Mrs. Clay.” Sir Walter stepped to a small pier table, opened a silver snuffbox that had been lying atop it, and took a pinch. “She was Lady Elliot. My wife.”
Seven
Miss Blachford is married, but I have never seen it in the Papers. And one may as well be single if the Wedding is not to be in print.
Elizabeth struggled to overcome her astonishment. If Mrs. Clay was in fact Lady Elliot, why had the other Mr. Elliot—Mr. William Elliot—not referred to her by her proper name, nor directed them to Sir Walter the moment he learned of the accident? And why had Mr. Elliot said she was under his protection, when she had a husband?
“Allow us to extend our condolences, sir,” Elizabeth stammered, “and pray forgive our ignorance. We understood Mrs. Clay—pardon me, Lady Elliot—to be a widow.”
“We are but recently wed—last night, in fact.” Sir Walter set the snuffbox back on the pier table and assessed his appearance in the glass that hung above it. “By special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury, of course.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth echoed. Because special licenses required a fee and were issued only to persons of a certain station, they were sometimes obtained even if the couple did not need the dispensations they granted to perform the marriage ceremony wherever and whenever convenient, without the necessity of crying ba
Sir Walter smoothed his velvet lapels. “I must order mourning clothes posthaste,” he said more to himself than to anyone in particular. “A pity—my tailor just finished this coat.” He summoned his servant, directed him to find a reliable local tailor, then turned back to the Darcys. “Now, where can the new Elliot heir be found?”
“He is at the home of Captain and Mrs. Harville, who took in Lady Elliot after her accident while the surgeon attended her.”
“Naval people.” Sir Walter sighed. “One ca
“No, on the waterfront, in Cobb Hamlet.” At Sir Walter’s horrified expression, Elizabeth hastily added, “They appear a perfectly respectable family. I believe Mrs. Harville mentioned an acquaintance with two of your daughters.”
“Naturally, they would boast of the co
“No, they have taken a house here in Lyme. That widow friend of hers, Mrs. Smith, is staying with them, so I have not yet advised A
Elizabeth wondered that Sir Walter wanted to discuss his son-in-law’s complexion and living arrangements immediately after receiving news of his wife’s death, but she supposed the shock of bereavement scattered his attention. She tried to redirect him to the duties now at hand. “We would be happy to accompany you to the Harvilles’ home.”
“I would never visit such a house. My servant can collect the child.”
After he collected the tailor? Were she Sir Walter, or even Miss Elliot, Elizabeth would not lose a moment retrieving that baby herself, no matter where he was. And what about poor Lady Elliot? “I thought you might wish to see your late wife or meet the people who cared for her in her final hours.”
“Also,” Darcy added, “arrangements must be made.”
“Financial arrangements? The surgeon can direct his bill to my attorney, Mr. Shepherd. He is presently in Lyme, having come to handle matters related to the marriage.”
“I meant funeral arrangements.”
“Of course—an undertaker. There must be someone local who can handle the necessities.”
“Perhaps the surgeon or the Harvilles can offer a recommendation.”
“Life at sea so ages one that I expect these Harville people have acquaintances expiring all the time. I defy you to show me any sea officer who does not look at least twice his age, and I would wager this Captain Harville is no exception. I suppose they also expect some consideration for their trouble?”
“I do not believe so,” Elizabeth said. “They acted out of kindness.” She thought of the modest house, barely large enough to contain the Harvilles’ three young boys, and of the captain’s limp. The new peace had put many naval officers out of work; she doubted an injured one was still drawing full pay. “Though an expression of gratitude might not be unwelcome, were you so moved.”
“I shall consult Mr. Shepherd on the matter. Claiming my son is the first order of business.”
“When we left them, Mrs. Harville was making enquiries toward procuring a wet nurse.”
“My daughter will see to that.”
Miss Elliot started in surprise. “What do I know of wet nurses?” Her expression could not have been more appalled had her father suggested she nurse the infant herself. Elizabeth doubted the hard-edged spinster possessed a single maternal instinct.
“Engaging a nurse ca
“Given the urgent nature of your search, you will be fortunate to find any wet nurse available with no notice,” Elizabeth said. “You might reconsider availing yourself of Mrs. Harville’s experience and local co
“Nursing the Elliot heir is a privilege. We shall have no shortage of applicants.”
Privilege or no, hiring a wet nurse was a challenging business even under the best of circumstances; the most reliable ones were engaged well in advance, timing the weaning of one charge with the birth of the next. Given the urgency of Sir Walter’s situation, he would be fortunate to locate one at all. Elizabeth, however, did not think it her place to explain the nuances of the process to Sir Walter, nor did she harbor great expectations of any such attempt penetrating his vain mind.