The Suspicion at Sanditon (Or, the Disappearance of Lady Denham) Page 10

Doubting the profitability of continuing the interview, Elizabeth thanked the housekeeper for her information.

  “Yes, ma’am. I hope you find her ladyship soon.” She turned to Miss Brereton. “In the meantime, miss, what should I do about dinner?”

  Miss Brereton, her expression full of uncertainty, in turn looked to Elizabeth—who wished she herself had someone with whom to confer. The meal could not be held indefinitely, becoming increasingly inedible and occupying staff whose effort and attention were needed for more important matters, while everyone—guests and servants—went hungry on what could prove a long night. Yet they could hardly sit down to an elaborate dinner with their hostess’s whereabouts and safety unknown.

  As she pondered, Darcy appeared in the doorway and beckoned her. She was relieved to see him—perhaps he brought news.

  “Have you learned anything from Lady Denham’s maid?” he asked.

  As quickly as it had arisen, hope of an easy resolution fled.

  “Nothing of substance,” Elizabeth replied. “She left Lady Denham in her apartment at about half past three, after helping her dress. The housekeeper”—she nodded toward Mrs. Riley—“last spoke with her even earlier. Neither has any idea where she might be. We will have to question the rest of the servants to determine if anyone has seen Lady Denham.”

  “We do not have time to talk to them individually—at least, not at present. There is a storm approaching, and the men are going out to search the grounds before the rain comes. Tell the housekeeper to assemble the staff. We will ask them as a group whether anyone has information; if not, then the male servants will be enlisted to help with the search.”

  “Are all the gentlemen going?”

  “Sir Edward has volunteered to take the stretch of property between the house and his own estate. Sidney Parker and Mr. Granville offered to head out in the other direction, toward the hermitage. Arthur Parker is walking the garden paths closest to the house, and I am taking the outer ones. We all agreed that the hedge maze is best left to the gardener, who knows all its turns and ends. The outbuildings and the remainder of the grounds will be divided among the other servants. Thomas Parker will ride into the village and enquire at the shops and other places that Lady Denham frequents.”

  “What is Josiah Hollis doing?”

  “I knew you would ask about him.” Darcy’s businesslike expression softened, reflecting the relief she felt at being able to snatch a few minutes’ private conversation with each other. “Have you the same impression that I do of the man?”

  “Unpleasant? Without doubt. And clearly antagonistic toward Lady Denham, even were she not keeping him from dinner. I am at a loss to understand how he came to be invited.”

  “As am I. He is accompanying me on the garden paths. I would like to have been assigned with him to the section of property between here and the entrance gates, in hope that he simply continued through them and hied himself home, but given his age, that is too great a distance for him to cover as quickly as must be done.”

  “Lucky you, to have drawn the lot of being yoked to him. I confess myself surprised that he is assisting the search at all.”

  “He was agitating to search the interior of the house, and offered to lead such an exploration himself, but I do not trust him.”

  “Nor do I. Who is directing this effort?”

  Darcy’s hesitation was answer enough.

  Elizabeth could not stop the wry smile that formed on her own lips. “Why am I not surprised? You will have to regale me later with the tale of how that came to be. For now, simply tell me what the ladies ought to do while the men are out of doors.”

  “Devise a way to salvage dinner—our fellow guests are already growing cross, and the gentlemen will be even more in need of sustenance when they return. Whichever maids can be spared should commence a search of the house, under Miss Brereton’s supervision—and yours, if you can effect it without overstepping. My sense of Miss Brereton is that she is sensible but inexperienced in managing servants?”

  “Yes, even more than I was when I first came to Pemberley. She possesses sense and good instincts, but wants guidance.”

  “Mr. Parker’s sisters will happily assist if asked; I believe Diana Parker would organize a search for the Holy Grail given the opportunity. However, if you will forgive my saying so—” Though he was already speaking in a tone too low for Miss Brereton and Mrs. Riley to hear, his voice dropped lower. “I feel allowing certain of our fellow guests to roam freely through the house is akin to inviting lunatics to run the asylum.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze drifted to Mrs. Riley.

  “I think one already is.”

  Twelve

  The wind had been rising at intervals the whole afternoon; and by the time the party broke up, it blew and rained violently.

  —Northanger Abbey

  Darcy and Josiah Hollis made their way through the pleasure grounds of Sanditon House, their progress slowed not only by their departures from the paths to search for evidence of Lady Denham in the gazebo, pavilion, walled garden, and various follies, but also by Darcy’s surreptitious monitoring of Mr. Hollis’s movements. What trouble the man could possibly cause outdoors in the park, Darcy did not know, but he did know that he trusted Hollis only as far as he could see him. Hollis’s movements were in turn slowed by the older gentleman’s lumbago, which had suddenly manifested without ever having shown signs of its existence before Hollis was enlisted to assist the outdoor search.

  “Always acts up when it rains,” Hollis had said, then made another bid to stay behind and conduct a search of the house while the rest of the gentlemen roamed the grounds. But Darcy was having none of that, nor would he leave Hollis in the house to burden Elizabeth and the other ladies with the responsibility of monitoring him—the work of ensuring the man did not commence an unofficial tour of the house would be worse than minding a toddler.

  “Then we had better move quickly,” Darcy had replied.

  They conducted their sweep largely in silence, united in mutual disinclination for conversation. Grumbles about his lumbago and dire weather predictions formed the main content of Hollis’s discourse, and required little in the way of response on Darcy’s part. However, a greater, eerier silence hung over the grounds—the quiet of a park in which the wildlife have taken cover in anticipation of a coming storm, broken only by intermittent rumbles of thunder and the shush of swaying pine boughs dutifully breaking the shifting winds and shielding the house from the worst of their fury, their whispers blending with the sound of the unseen but ever-present tide crashing against the shore. There was no more sunlight now; clouds entirely obscured what little illumination penetrated them, and Darcy was grateful for the lanterns with which they had equipped themselves upon leaving the house.

  One garden building remained to be visited before their path curved back toward the house. It stood far off the path, and so much ivy covered the exterior that in the rapidly diminishing light he had difficulty discerning exactly what it was.

  “Do you know what that structure is, over there?”

  “Just an old grotto,” Hollis replied. “No reason to bother with it.”

  Darcy doubted Lady Denham—or anybody, for that matter—had visited the overgrown grotto in years, let alone today. Further, he doubted the dowager was anywhere outside at present. But the possibility, however slim, that she had gone for a walk before her guests arrived and become injured, coupled with Darcy’s aversion to leaving unfulfilled any responsibility to which he had committed, rendered him reluctant to turn back without examining the grotto’s interior.

  “We have come this far,” he said. “It will not take much longer to look inside.”

  “It is only an empty cave—of use to no one but children playing hide-and-seek, and Sanditon House has seen few of those since I was a boy.”

  “Then it is time you made a return visit. We will be quick about it.” Darcy started toward the grotto.

  “I am going back to the house,”
Hollis declared. “You can fool around out here longer if you wish, but I have not seen a sky like this in twenty years at least, and I won’t get caught in this storm for anybody—least of all Lady Denham.”

  Darcy had experienced one other major coastal storm—two summers ago in Lyme, where a single bolt of lightning destroyed a ship as he and his family watched in helpless shock. That disaster and other casualties of the day had left him with a healthy respect for the violence of sea storms and the warnings of local residents—even someone as unpleasant as Josiah Hollis—who knew them firsthand.

  He looked to the sky. In the distance, rain already drove down. It would be upon them within minutes, and Darcy was not properly dressed for inclement weather; the sun had been shining when he and Elizabeth set out for Sanditon House from their lodgings. The servants had scrounged up a few spare oilskin coats for the gentlemen, but wearing borrowed servants’ togs was not the same as wearing one’s own overcoat.

  Perhaps Hollis was right. Darcy turned to speak to him, but he had already commenced his retreat—at a much more rapid pace than he had exhibited earlier. Lumbago, storms, grotto … could the man’s word be trusted on anything?

  Lightning flashed. In the momentary illumination, he thought he saw movement at the entrance to the grotto, behind the curtain of ivy. An injured Lady Denham who had sought shelter within? Or merely a trick of the light?

  He strode to the grotto. Pulling aside the ivy curtain, he thrust his lantern forward.

  It was not a large space—a half-sphere perhaps eight feet in diameter, constructed of rough-hewn stones to create the illusion of having been naturally formed.

  And it was far from empty.

  * * *

  After canvassing the domestic staff only to learn that no one knew Lady Denham’s whereabouts, Miss Brereton, under Elizabeth’s guidance, initiated a full search of Sanditon House. The gardener and other groundskeepers had already been enlisted to aid the gentlemen’s search of the grounds, and now those servants such as the coachman, stable boy, dairymaid, and others whose duties utilized the outbuildings were sent to those locations to look for signs of anything unusual. Within the house itself, all maids not essential to kitchen duty were dispatched with instructions to check each room of the house, looking not only for Lady Denham, but also anything unusual or out of place.

  “While we await their reports,” Elizabeth said to Miss Brereton, “may I see Lady Denham’s chamber? I do not mean to intrude upon her privacy, but I would like to see the dressing table and upset seat for myself.”

  “Certainly,” Miss Brereton replied. “In fact, I was about to ask whether you would return there with me and have a look about the whole apartment. The longer she remains missing, the more anxious I become.”

  Miss Brereton led her to the suite. Elizabeth was somewhat surprised to discover that Lady Denham’s apartment was on the ground floor, while Archibald Hollis’s apartment was on the floor above.

  “When Mr. Hollis was alive, she used an apartment upstairs adjacent to his,” Miss Brereton explained. “From the time Sanditon House was built, the mistress of the house had an antechamber, dressing room, and bedchamber of her own, with a shared sitting room between her apartment and the master’s. This”—she opened the door—“was a state apartment, reserved for only the most noble of guests. Who was ever received here, I have no idea. I do not get the impression that the Hollis family regularly consorted with dukes and royalty.”

  “When did Lady Denham move to this suite?”

  “After Mr. Hollis passed away. She told me that the change was for economy—as a widow, most days she had no need of the rooms upstairs, so it was easier to live primarily on the ground floor and close off the unused apartment and other upstairs rooms rather than heat them and pay servants to clean them daily. Of course, five years later she married Sir Harry and moved to Denham Park, leaving Sanditon House unoccupied but for a handful of servants for twenty-five years. When Sir Harry died and Sir Edward succeeded to the baronetcy five years ago, she moved back to this house and resumed occupancy of the state apartment again. Mr. Hollis’s relations would probably say that Lady Denham wants to live in a grander style than her former apartment offers. I, however, think it more likely that after losing her husbands she did not want to live in rooms so close to the ones Mr. Hollis had occupied.”

  “Especially with his spirit about, if Mrs. Riley is to be believed,” Elizabeth said.

  “Oh, my goodness! I could hardly contain my astonishment when she began talking about that,” Miss Brereton said. “This was the first I have heard of the former masters of Sanditon House lurking about.”

  “So you have not encountered Mr. Hollis since taking up residence here?”

  “Nor any of his forebears.”

  “What, then, do you make of her tales?”

  “I think the servants, not ghosts, were drinking the chocolate.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “So do I—or imbibing something stronger.”

  They passed through the antechamber, which offered little of interest beyond rich furnishings and intricately carved wooden paneling. When they reached the dressing room, however, Miss Brereton stopped suddenly.

  “The seat has been moved,” she said. “And the tabletop items tidied.”

  The seat rested under the dressing table, precisely where one would expect to find it when not in use. Elizabeth crossed to the table. The items on top also appeared in perfect order. Combs and brushes were aligned with precision that would have impressed even a military officer, with a phalanx of bottles and tins completing the formation. She opened a few of the containers; from the appearances and scents of the substances inside, they seemed to be the usual lotions and potions of a lady’s arsenal—lavender water, tooth powder, cold cream, wash-balls. There were two phials, however, whose contents were less familiar. One was marked “Sorrel Root,” the other, “Sleep.”

  “Are these the medicines Miss Diana Parker sent over yesterday?”

  “I believe they are,” Miss Brereton replied. “I am surprised Lady Denham even kept them, as she never takes such concoctions. Perhaps she intended to return them tonight.”

  A strong gust of wind drew Elizabeth’s attention to the long window beside the dressing table. It was open quite wide, and the heavy breeze billowed the curtain, swelling it large enough to balloon onto the tabletop and knock over one of the phials. Elizabeth righted the bottle, lest any of its contents leak out onto the table.

  “I am afraid the storm is upon us.” Miss Brereton moved to the window and attempted to close the casement, but the wind was strong and created too much resistance. Elizabeth lent assistance, and together they managed to close the window.

  “Let us hope the gentlemen’s search proved successful, and that they return soon.” Elizabeth looked at the darkening view beyond. She could see little—not only had the sky turned nearly a night-black, but the window faced a high, sculpted bank of shrubs that formed the topiary’s boundary. The living green wall created privacy, shielding the apartment’s windows from the view of anyone enjoying the topiary, but it also created a wind tunnel when the breeze blew from a certain angle. The open casement window had been perfectly positioned to catch the wind and channel it into the dressing room.

  It was a tall window, extending from Elizabeth’s knees to at least two feet above her head. A matching one flanked the other side of the dressing table, but that window was closed.

  “Was the window open when you came in here earlier?” Elizabeth asked.

  Miss Brereton thought for a moment. “I honestly cannot recall,” she finally said. “If it was, the wind was not buffeting the curtain about as it did just now, or I would have taken notice of it.” She sighed. “I am sorry—I should have paid more heed.”

  “Your mind was on Lady Denham, and an open window on a warm July day is hardly something extraordinary,” Elizabeth replied. “Too, you had the overturned seat occupying your attention. Can you show me how it was positioned when y
ou came in here?”

  Miss Brereton slid the small padded bench from under the dressing table and pulled it toward her. Elizabeth stepped away from the window to get out of Clara’s way as she tipped the stool onto its side, its cushion facing the window and its legs pointing toward the room’s center.

  “Do you think the wind might have knocked it down, as well?” Miss Brereton asked.

  Elizabeth knew the answer, but hesitated to voice it. The sill was too high, the angle all wrong, the seat too sturdy.

  Mother Nature had not upset the seat.

  * * *

  At Darcy’s abrupt entrance, a hare darted out of the grotto. So much for the movement he had perceived. And for his hopes of discovering Lady Denham.

  He did, however, discover another woman within.

  Toward the back of the grotto rested an ornate fountain, dry from disuse, its copper fittings long turned green. From its center rose a marble statue of a young girl—or perhaps a wood nymph—with a garland of flowers crowning her head. Her untamed curls and simple dress adorned with leaves flowed behind her, as if her likeness had been captured while she was darting between the trees.

  A flash of lightning provided brief additional illumination. The fountain’s basin was full of dead pine needles, which also covered the floor. Although there was evidence of animal inhabitants beyond the lone hare that had greeted him, there was no sign of Lady Denham or any other recent human visitor.

  Darcy did not enter, simply stepped back and let the ivy curtain fall back into place. As he turned toward Sanditon House, thunder clapped, and rain began to fall.

  Thirteen

  “Sidney is a saucy fellow, Miss Heywood.”

  —Thomas Parker, Sanditon

  Charlotte, having just delivered a message to Miss Brereton, was descending a side staircase with rapid footfalls when an exterior door at its base opened to admit one very wet Mr. Parker: Sidney Parker, to be specific—Arthur already having returned to the sanctuary of the house the moment Damp attempted to overtake him out of doors, and Thomas being expected to return last, his contribution to the search effort having taken him the farthest distance from Sanditon House.