Read Online North by Northanger (A Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery) by Carrie Bebris - Free Book Online
Authors: Carrie Bebris
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of dozens of candles, surrounding them with hundreds of tiny points of light that somehow did not seem to dispel the darkness.
In a chair near the hearth, partially shielded from their view by a firescreen, sat a figure swathed in bandages. Strips of white cloth wrapped his head and obscured most of his face, exposing only asingle eye and his mouth. The coverings extended down his neck, where they met the edge of a blanket draped over his shoulders.
The housekeeper crossed to him. “Sir, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are here.”
“Excellent.” He rose to his feet. “At last, I am able to bid you welcome.” The blanket slipped off one shoulder of his stout frame, revealing that he had use of only one arm. The other was splinted and strapped to his side. He indicated two chairs on the other side of the fireplace and invited them to sit.
The housekeeper helped him back into his own seat and restored the blanket around his shoulders. She then placed a glass of port in his hand and brought another for Darcy.
“Thank you, Dorothy,” the captain said. “You may go.”
The servant appeared reluctant to leave. She repositioned the firescreen, nearly knocking it over in the process, to provide her master’s damaged face more protection from the heat. When stable once more, the screen cast Captain Tilney’s face in shadow. She then adjusted his blanket again, refilled his glass, and hovered about for another minute or two. Finding no further tasks by which to demonstrate her extraordinary domestic skills, she at last departed.
“Forgive my not greeting you upon your arrival,” Captain Tilney said. “Find it difficult to move about the house these days—deuced injuries, but that is the risk one takes when serving His Majesty, hey?”
Despite the profusion of bandages, he spoke with ease. Elizabeth took this verbal facility as an encouraging sign that their host did not suffer too terribly from pain—unless drink dulled it. His one good eye, however, appeared bright and focused.
“I trust Dorothy saw to your comfort?” their host continued.
“Yes, although—”
“Capital. I intended to join you for dinner, but then discovered myself unequal to it. Feeling well enough now, though, to share a glass with you.” He raised his wine in salute.
“Captain Tilney,” Darcy replied, “if you would prefer to postpone—”
“No, no! Upon my soul, I have been looking forward to meeting you more than you can guess. Deuced poor luck, getting injured during the few short days I returned to my regiment last week.” He muttered something about an accident. “Devil take me, I must look a sight, all bandaged up like this. I hope my appearance does not put either of you ill at ease?”
In such a potentially eerie setting as an ancient, shadow-filled room with a storm raging outside, a shrouded figure with a Cyclopean gaze could well have inspired discomfort in his unprepared guests. And Elizabeth indeed found herself disconcerted by Captain Tilney—but not because he seemed remotely ominous. The Eye, rather than fixing upon one of them with a penetrating stare that sent shudders down the spine, instead shifted rapidly between her and Darcy, never resting on either of them more than a moment. She had difficulty reading the captain’s temperament with his gaze bouncing around so, and his manner—surprisingly animated given the extent of his injuries—contributed to the impression that he was exerting himself overmuch to win their amity. She felt herself and Darcy to be trespassing on the invalid’s recovery by their very presence at Northanger. The poor man ought to be in bed, not forcing himself to fulfill his duties as a host.
“Your kind hospitality toward us cannot but render us perfectly easy,” Elizabeth assured him. “However, we do not wish to begin our acquaintance by fatiguing you, and entertaining strangers can prove tiring for someone in the best of health. Perhaps Mr. Darcy and I should return, or you can
In a chair near the hearth, partially shielded from their view by a firescreen, sat a figure swathed in bandages. Strips of white cloth wrapped his head and obscured most of his face, exposing only asingle eye and his mouth. The coverings extended down his neck, where they met the edge of a blanket draped over his shoulders.
The housekeeper crossed to him. “Sir, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are here.”
“Excellent.” He rose to his feet. “At last, I am able to bid you welcome.” The blanket slipped off one shoulder of his stout frame, revealing that he had use of only one arm. The other was splinted and strapped to his side. He indicated two chairs on the other side of the fireplace and invited them to sit.
The housekeeper helped him back into his own seat and restored the blanket around his shoulders. She then placed a glass of port in his hand and brought another for Darcy.
“Thank you, Dorothy,” the captain said. “You may go.”
The servant appeared reluctant to leave. She repositioned the firescreen, nearly knocking it over in the process, to provide her master’s damaged face more protection from the heat. When stable once more, the screen cast Captain Tilney’s face in shadow. She then adjusted his blanket again, refilled his glass, and hovered about for another minute or two. Finding no further tasks by which to demonstrate her extraordinary domestic skills, she at last departed.
“Forgive my not greeting you upon your arrival,” Captain Tilney said. “Find it difficult to move about the house these days—deuced injuries, but that is the risk one takes when serving His Majesty, hey?”
Despite the profusion of bandages, he spoke with ease. Elizabeth took this verbal facility as an encouraging sign that their host did not suffer too terribly from pain—unless drink dulled it. His one good eye, however, appeared bright and focused.
“I trust Dorothy saw to your comfort?” their host continued.
“Yes, although—”
“Capital. I intended to join you for dinner, but then discovered myself unequal to it. Feeling well enough now, though, to share a glass with you.” He raised his wine in salute.
“Captain Tilney,” Darcy replied, “if you would prefer to postpone—”
“No, no! Upon my soul, I have been looking forward to meeting you more than you can guess. Deuced poor luck, getting injured during the few short days I returned to my regiment last week.” He muttered something about an accident. “Devil take me, I must look a sight, all bandaged up like this. I hope my appearance does not put either of you ill at ease?”
In such a potentially eerie setting as an ancient, shadow-filled room with a storm raging outside, a shrouded figure with a Cyclopean gaze could well have inspired discomfort in his unprepared guests. And Elizabeth indeed found herself disconcerted by Captain Tilney—but not because he seemed remotely ominous. The Eye, rather than fixing upon one of them with a penetrating stare that sent shudders down the spine, instead shifted rapidly between her and Darcy, never resting on either of them more than a moment. She had difficulty reading the captain’s temperament with his gaze bouncing around so, and his manner—surprisingly animated given the extent of his injuries—contributed to the impression that he was exerting himself overmuch to win their amity. She felt herself and Darcy to be trespassing on the invalid’s recovery by their very presence at Northanger. The poor man ought to be in bed, not forcing himself to fulfill his duties as a host.
“Your kind hospitality toward us cannot but render us perfectly easy,” Elizabeth assured him. “However, we do not wish to begin our acquaintance by fatiguing you, and entertaining strangers can prove tiring for someone in the best of health. Perhaps Mr. Darcy and I should return, or you can
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