The Deception At Lyme

The poor child might very well inherit his baronetcy before he learned to spell a name that long and pretentious. “Will you call him ‘Walter’ at home?”

“Alfred, since his namesake was known as—”

“Alfred the Great,” Elizabeth finished.

“Precisely.”

For little Alfred’s sake, she hoped that, free of being called by his father’s name on a daily basis, the child might also escape his father’s obsessive self-consequence. “And how does Alfred do in his new home after such a dramatic entrance into the world?”

Miss Elliot rolled her eyes ceilingward. “We have not known a single peaceful night since he was born. I do not comprehend how a creature that size can produce so much noise, or what grievance could possibly justify it. I believe Mrs. Logan incompetent.”

Her criticism of the helpless child and his nurse moved Elizabeth to defend them. “Newborn babies cry—they have no other way to speak.”

“What reason has any child to ‘speak’ every two hours?”

“I am certain Mrs. Logan has matters well in hand.” She paused. “Nevertheless, perhaps I might call upon you and see the child? I have been thinking about him these several days.”

“Indeed, Mrs. Darcy,” Sir Walter replied with delight, “you are welcome any time. Except mornings, for that is when I endure my daily sea immersion—ghastly ordeal, seabathing, but my physician insists upon its health benefits. Indeed, that is the entire reason we came to Lyme. Mornings, however, are an uncivilized hour for calling, regardless. Evenings used to find us at the Assembly Rooms—now, only private card parties since entering mourning—and we generally promenade along the Walk or the Cobb in the afternoon. But otherwise—yes, do call upon us anytime.”

“Does your schedule never vary?”

“Only with the weather. We go nowhere near the sea if it rains, or if the sun shines brightly. The damp is bad for one’s lungs, and the sun harsh on one’s complexion.”

“Did Lady Elliot accompany you on walks along the Cobb?”

“I never visited Lyme whilst Lady Elliot was alive. Fifteen years ago it was not the resort that it is now.”

“I meant the second Lady Elliot—the former Mrs. Clay.”

“Oh! Of course you did. No, she did not.”

Miss Elliot cast a sharp glance at Sir Walter. “Mrs. Darcy, I believe my father finds your conversation so charming that he has entirely forgotten the purpose of our visit.”

“Alas, I have indeed.” He produced a sealed note addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq., and Miss Darcy. “We are come to personally deliver this invitation to Alfred’s christening.”

“We do hope you can attend,” Miss Elliot said.

“It will be the social affair of the season,” Sir Walter declared. “The Lyme season, at any rate. We have hired out the Assembly Rooms for a grand celebration following the ceremony at St. Michael’s.”

“The christening will be celebrated in Lyme, then—not at Kellynch, where Lady Elliot was buried?”

“Though I would prefer that my son be baptized in the same church as myself and generations of Elliots before him, my physician advises against risking his health by subjecting so small an infant to the ardors of travel. Alfred therefore will be christened in the parish of his birth. Do not fear, however, that this is an inferior alternative. The vicar assures me the rite will reflect all the ceremony due the heir of an ancient and dignified family. The church is named for an archangel, not some obscure saint nobody has ever heard of, and the baptistry dates to Norman times.”

Were it not for the Elliots’ attire, one would never know they were in mourning as they described plans for the event and boasted of names on the guest list. “Everybody of significance” in Lyme had been invited, as well as notable personages from Bath and London whose names and importance Elizabeth was apparently supposed to recognize but did not.

“Our cousins, Lady Dalrymple and her daughter, the Honorable Miss Carteret, are traveling all the way from Bath,” Miss Elliot said.

Sir Walter’s chest puffed with pride. “Her ladyship has graciously consented to stand as godmother to Alfred.”

“Who is to be his godfather?” Elizabeth half expected to hear they had solicited the Prince Regent himself.

“Sir Basil Morley. Lady Russell, who is godmother to my daughters, will also stand for Alfred, so he shall have three titled godparents. I have also asked my daughter A

Elizabeth silently congratulated Sir Walter on having managed to enter the prince’s name into the conversation after all.

Sixteen

“Nobody else could have saved poor James. You may think, Miss Elliot, whether he is dear to us!”

The Sheet Anchor had two doors; one fronted the street, the other, the shore. As St. Clair exited through the street door, Darcy quit the tavern harborside, intending to circle round and note the direction in which St. Clair headed to his engagement. For a man at liberty until his next ship posting, the lieutenant certainly had a full schedule.

The door deposited Darcy very near the start of the Cobb. The tide was in, raising the water in the harbor several feet higher than when it was out, and liberating the fishing boats and other vessels that spent low tide grounded in their moorings. With those craft out to sea, the result was a relatively empty harbor that granted Darcy a clear view across to the far curve of the Cobb. He could see nearly the full length of the seawall, excepting the most extreme segment. That section remained obscured by the quay warehouses, beside which two gentlemen engaged in conversation and a few workers went about their business in comparative quiet.

It was not the men, however, who caught Darcy’s notice. It was a boy, a very young boy, who toddled along the rough stones of the lower seawall by himself, too close to the harbor’s edge for any witness’s comfort. A boy who, even from this distance, Darcy recognized.

Ben Harville.

The two-year-old was about halfway along the seawall. There was no one anywhere near him, no one paying heed to that side of the Cobb, no one to act on a shouted warning. Something in the harbor caught Ben’s interest, and he moved even closer to the water.

Darcy hurried toward the child, accelerating into a run. If his sudden sprint attracted the notice of anyone near the tavern entrance, he did not know, for his vision focused on the small figure he wished would retreat from the wall’s edge. Ben, however, leaned toward the water for a better view of whatever will-o’-the-wisp distracted him.

The sound of Darcy’s footfalls striking the hard pavement did command the attention of the gentlemen near the warehouses on the quay. One of them, identifying the danger and realizing Darcy’s purpose, himself broke into a run. From opposite ends of the Cobb they neared the toddler, their swift advances at last penetrating Ben’s awareness. The sudden sight of two men descending upon him startled the child. As the gap between them closed, the boy jerked involuntarily, upsetting his equilibrium.

Ben teetered over the water at an angle impossible for the child to correct on his own. Darcy reached for him, but his grasp was two strides shy. The other gentleman, however, was just close enough to extend his arm and push the boy toward Darcy, sacrificing his own balance—and tumbling into the water himself.

The resulting splash sprayed Darcy and Ben as Darcy scooped up the child. Ben’s rescuer quickly surfaced. Though the water would have been well over Ben’s head, the gentleman could stand.

“Is the boy all right?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Give me a moment to set him down safely, and I will help you out of the water.”