North by Northanger (A Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery) by Carrie Bebris Page A

stick with him when he went?”
    Her face filled with distress. “Yes.”
    “Then it is possible that Mr. Darcy committed this crime without your knowledge?”
    “It is impossible that my husband committed any crime,” she said fiercely. “He is the most honorable man I have ever known.”
    “An admirable display of loyalty, Mrs. Darcy.”
    Mr. Melbourne leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting between Elizabeth and Darcy several times as he deliberated. Darcy, meanwhile, strove to mask his own apprehension. So long as Elizabeth was spared, he could tolerate anything.
    At last, the magistrate reached a decision. “Mrs. Darcy, your statement has sufficiently convinced me that your husband is the principal perpetrator of this plot. You may stay here under guard tonight. Mr. Darcy, the constable will escort you to gaol.”
    At the word “gaol,” Elizabeth released a soft cry.
    The eager Mr. Chase stepped forward. Darcy would go willingly, as promised. But first he needed to remove the stricken look from Elizabeth’s face. “Might I have a few words alone with my wife?” he asked Mr. Melbourne.
    “I suppose so. A few brief words.”
    Darcy went to Elizabeth and took both her hands in his. Despite the stuffiness of the crowded room, her hands were cold and betrayed a slight tremble. He held them tightly as he looked into dark brown eyes that had never before reflected such turmoil.
    “Darcy, I—”
    “Hush. I would not have had you say anything else. I will be fine, and this is one instance in which I do not desire your company.”
    “But gaol!”
    “My first concern is for you and our child. Knowing you are safe, I can endure a night of the gaoler’s hospitality until this matter issorted out.” He longed to touch her face, to smooth away the anxiety that furrowed her brow. But consciousness of their audience forced him to settle for pressing her hands in reassurance.
    “Shall I contact Mr. Harper?” she asked.
    “Mr. Harper cannot be reached in France, let alone assist us, between now and tomorrow morning—when our return to Northanger will resolve this affair.”
    If it did not, he would summon Mr. Harper posthaste.
    Darcy prayed events would not come to that. He wanted no one else to learn of this embarrassment. Though he trusted his solicitor implicitly, the haut ton was a gossiping beast that fed on the adversity of others. Somehow the news would leak, and Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy would become the topic du jour in every club, parlor, and assembly room of the Polite World. He could not bear the thought of his name being bandied about London, of other people—persons with whom he might not even be acquainted, who had no interest in his welfare—using his misfortune to increase their own social capital by trumping their listeners with the most dramatic on dit.
    How Darcy now regretted sending his solicitor abroad! If only, as his aunt had requested, he had personally undertaken the errand of ensuring his cousin Roger did not sully the family reputation.
    Instead, he had stayed behind to ruin it himself.
    The following day dawned brighter than any day so begun had a right. Darcy watched the sun rise through the small window of his cramped room in Mr. Slattery’s house. Once at the county gaol, Darcy’s status as a gentleman had spared him from confinement with the common criminals, but he’d had to pay generously for the privilege of being accommodated with the gaoler himself. Given the vulgar, dirty conditions in which Mr. Slattery lived, Darcy had been only slightly better off.
    He had slept little, his mind too active to permit rest. He had entered the gaol bewildered, the circumstances in which he foundhimself too far removed from his realm of experience to be immediately comprehended in their entirety. But now having had an opportunity to fully contemplate recent events, he emerged from his imprisonment even more outraged than he had entered it.
    Outraged, and wary. This was no mere