The Suspicion at Sanditon (Or, the Disappearance of Lady Denham) Read online

  Streaming from the deluge in which he had been caught, Sidney was oblivious to both Charlotte’s presence and the rainwater pooled in the brim of his hat as he stepped farther into the vestibule and removed the topper in a swift motion—inadvertently sending the water flying toward her just as she reached the bottom step.

  The water splashed onto her chest, hitting her just above the neckline of her gown and eliciting a surprised “Oh!”

  Startled, he turned toward her. “Miss Heywood!” He closed the space between them. “Is something amiss?”

  Water and thin white muslin not being an ideal combination for a lady’s modesty, Charlotte crossed her arms in front of her and endeavored to pretend that droplets were not trickling down to spread across the bosom of her gown.

  He glanced at his hat, then once more at her, and realized the cause of her exclamation. “Oh,” he echoed, then politely looked away, searching for a safe place to rest his gaze.

  She forced what she hoped was a tone of nonchalance. “I see you were caught in the rain.”

  Her effort only increased Sidney’s discomposure. He at last fixed his gaze on the traitorous hat in his hands and chuckled. It was not a sound of mirth; it was a nervous laugh, and she marveled to realize how disconcerted the mishap had rendered the heretofore thoroughly self-possessed Sidney Parker. “Well,” he said, rotating the hat by its treacherous brim, “this is an awkward dilemma, is it not? Do we both of us stand here exchanging empty talk while acting as if I did not just shower you most regrettably, or do we defy convention and acknowledge our mutual embarrassment?”

  “I think I prefer the latter.”

  He met her eyes, and his countenance relaxed. “So do I. Please accept my apology. I would offer you my handkerchief, but despite my coat I am so wet through that I think you would be even worse off for using it.”

  “There is nothing to forgive—it was an accident.”

  “Indeed it was. I assure you, it is not my habit to fling water at ladies I have just met. I generally wait until we have been acquainted at least a se’nnight.”

  “Then I shall be on my guard Saturday next.”

  This elicited a genuine laugh. “I like your spirit, Miss Heywood. You should display it more often—no, perhaps that is poor advice. Diana is forever telling me that my mouth will get me into trouble one of these days. At any rate, my policy is one soaking per unsuspecting lady, so having already received yours, you are safe from me Saturday next, or any Saturday, for that matter. At least, as far as water is concerned.”

  “I am hardly soaked—not nearly so much as you are. A few minutes’ standing before a fireplace should dry me completely, and Miss Brereton ordered a fire lit in the portrait room at your brother’s request.”

  “You must refer to Arthur. Did he get inside before the rain came?”

  “His clothes got about as wet as my gown, but he is so fearful of catching the pneumonia or a putrid fever that Miss Brereton is outfitting him with some of the late Mr. Hollis’s old clothes while his own dry.”

  “Have any of the other gentlemen returned?”

  “To my knowledge, you are the second, but I have been upstairs delivering to Miss Brereton the news of Arthur’s return and requests for clothing and fires.”

  “Should it prove necessary, I shall lure Arthur away from the fire for a time so that you can have it to yourself. If Miss Brereton will arrange a loan of dry clothes for me, I can ask him to serve as my valet while I change. Has there been any news of Lady Denham in my absence?”

  “The servants have checked each room, but she was not in any of them. Dinner will be served as soon as all the gentleman have returned, at which time I believe there will be a general discussion of what to do next—that is, if none of the gentlemen have discovered Lady Denham. I take it you found no sign of her?”

  “Unfortunately, my contribution to the search proved futile.”

  “Where is Mr. Granville? I understood that you and he set out together.”

  “We did, but when we realized how quickly the rain was approaching, we separated. I expect he and the others will be along soon—the rain is falling too hard for any further outdoor efforts to prove fruitful. In fact, once everyone returns, I doubt any of us will be leaving the house again tonight—I think the storm has not begun to show its true fury, and as you can see from my boots, the roads and paths are already awash in mud. That is why I came in this side entrance—so as not to track water and dirt through the house.”

  Recalling a conversation in which Lady Denham had expressed reluctance to have even Sir Edward and Miss Denham stay overnight at Sanditon House now that Miss Brereton was in residence, Charlotte imagined she would not be pleased to find herself hosting so many houseguests—assuming she returned. “Does Sanditon House have enough bedchambers for us all?”

  “I believe so. There must be at least ten, and we are—what?—thirteen in number, including Miss Brereton? If there is a shortage, my sisters can share a chamber, as I assume will the Darcys, and I suppose Arthur can bunk with me, unless you would not mind a bedfellow?”

  Charlotte was so startled that she could scarcely utter, “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh! I was not offering myself! Though doubtless you would make a better chamber-mate than does Arthur—he snores most dreadfully. No, I meant you might share a chamber with Miss Brereton or Miss Denham. Upon reflection, however, either of them might consider a room-mate an imposition, as Miss Brereton is a resident of Sanditon House and Miss Denham wishes she were. But see how I have proven Diana right about engaging my mouth before my brain? Good heavens, what you must be thinking of me—first I douse you with rainwater, then make what sounds like an utterly scandalous proposition.”

  “I think only that the events of this evening have us all a bit rattled.”

  “You are too generous. I think that I had best part company from you temporarily before I do or say something even more shocking, and hope that with drier clothes comes a clearer head and more articulate speech. I have already kept you standing here an unconscionably long time when you are no doubt wishing I would end my prattle and allow you to go find the fire. Well, that I shall do. But only if you promise to let me make all of this up to you later.”

  “If you insist,” she said. “In the meantime, if you wait here I will speak to Miss Brereton about room arrangements, and send a footman to help with your wet coat and boots.”

  “And hat.” He grinned. “We cannot forget my hat.”

  Fourteen

  Lady Denham … had many Thousands a year to bequeath, and three distinct sets of People to be courted by; her own relations, who might very reasonably wish for her Original Thirty Thousand Pounds among them, the legal Heirs of Mr. Hollis, who must hope to be more indebted to her sense of Justice than he had allowed them to be to his, and those Members of the Denham Family, whom her second Husband had hoped to make a good Bargain for.—By all of these, or by Branches of them, she had no doubt been long, and still continued to be, well attacked.

  —Sanditon

  It was a wet and weary—not to mention oddly dressed—company who reconvened at Sanditon House. Darcy and Josiah Hollis returned as drenched as Sidney. Thomas Parker, despite having stopped at home for his own overcoat, regretted traveling on horseback rather than the carriage he had left behind at Sanditon House; by the time he concluded his enquiries in the village, what he saved in expedience he lost in sheltered conveyance, and returned to the Great House as wet as his brothers. Only Sir Edward and Mr. Granville managed to reenter Sanditon House as dry as when they left it, though their respective quests proved as unsuccessful as those of the other gentlemen.

  The need for dry clothes to temporarily outfit the three Parker brothers, Josiah Hollis, and Darcy led to the plundering (authorized by Miss Brereton) of a large trunk wherein was stored attire that once belonged to Archibald Hollis. As Mr. Hollis had died thirty-five years ago and had not exactly kept up with the newest fashions during the final decade or
two of his life, the garments available to the gentlemen were a parade of styles spanning half the previous century.

  Owing to a brief detour to Lady Denham’s dressing room that Darcy and Elizabeth had made upon his return to the house, Darcy was the last gentleman to change clothes, and therefore was left with the narrowest choice. He tried on several ensembles before selecting one he had found at the very bottom of the trunk, beneath less-desirable garments and a few random objects that had also been stored within—a fob chain, cuff links, a small hinged trinket box containing a blond curl of baby-fine hair, a tattered shawl, a miniature portrait of a young woman, a worn pair of mittens, a snuffbox.

  “You look good in that attire,” Elizabeth said, “even if you are eight decades out of fashion.”

  Darcy consulted the dressing-glass one final time. Of all the clothing the trunk had offered, this ensemble was probably the oldest—from its style, Darcy speculated that Archibald had worn it while a student at Oxford—but it fit him the best. The dark blue frock, waistcoat, and breeches, modestly trimmed in white lace with gold buttons, were well made and had survived their eighty-year interment in good condition. He adjusted the wide skirt of his coat, unused to its length. It fell nearly to his knees, with two large buttoned pockets at the hem embroidered in a pattern that matched the elaborate oversized cuffs.

  “I would be happier about wearing it if the sacrifice of my own clothes had produced a worthwhile result. Between the gentlemen’s outdoor search and yours within, we know no more regarding Lady Denham’s whereabouts than we did three hours ago.”

  Darcy was counting the minutes until his own clothes were dry and returned to him. In the meantime, however, he was glad to be finally about to eat. Though accustomed to later dining hours at Pemberley, and almost ridiculous ones when in London, those meals generally did not follow tramping about in the rain seeking a dowager he barely knew, on an unfamiliar estate, in the company of a human rodent. He could feel himself growing tetchy.

  “We know where she is not. I suppose that is a start,” Elizabeth replied. “But that overturned seat…”

  “It disturbs me, too.” Before coming to Archibald’s apartment for dry clothes, Darcy had asked to see the seat and window for himself. “You voiced your suspicion to no one else?”

  “I wanted to discuss it with you before disclosing it to the others, even Miss Brereton.”

  Darcy shared her reserve. He did not trust Josiah Hollis, several of the other guests seemed loose cannons, and he did not want to unnecessarily alarm anybody.

  “I concur that at this point we are no longer seeking an elderly lady who took ill, or who became confused and wandered off, as some old persons are known to do,” he said. “That means Lady Denham either left this house intentionally under her own power, or involuntarily. Since no one saw her leave, it is possible Lady Denham left her apartment through the window, which certainly suggests an involuntary exit. However, having just traversed Sanditon Park, I find it hard to imagine that she was forcibly conveyed off the grounds in the middle of the day, while all her guests were converging, without anyone’s noticing.”

  “Perhaps one of them did notice something,” Elizabeth replied, “but does not realize it.”

  * * *

  Dinner was surely a caricature of the affair Lady Denham had envisioned. In the confusion of her disappearance, the servants had apparently forgotten to set out placecards, although with no hostess to preside at the head of the table, the privilege of precedence meant little. Left to take their own seats, the primary principle governing each guest’s choice was that nobody wanted to sit near Josiah Hollis.

  By agreement, Darcy and Elizabeth gravitated toward opposite ends of the table. A party so large was bound to break into smaller conversations; separating would enable them to hear more of these side discussions, and to learn more about their fellow guests—one never knew what information might serendipitously come to light. Elizabeth especially wanted an opportunity to converse with the gentlemen, and Darcy with the ladies, before custom split the sexes into different rooms after dinner for an hour or more.

  Darcy should have known better than to be among the first to choose a seat; doing so left one powerless to control who would occupy the chairs next to him. He had not fully committed to one beside Miss Denham, but had his hand on its back, when Josiah seized the chair on the other side of him. Apparently, their sojourn to the grotto and back had created some sort of bond between them. A shackle.

  “It’s about time dinner is served.” Josiah settled himself into his seat, unfolded his serviette, and lifted the cover of the corner dish. “Mmm … one of my uncle’s favorite dishes—buttered prawns.”

  Josiah had claimed for himself not only the closest thing to a seat of honor, next to where their hostess would have sat were she present, but also the newest of Archibald’s clothing—a mere forty or so years old. Apparently he was of similar build to his kinsman, for the costume fit him well. If only his disposition were as tailored.

  Josiah’s hand strayed toward the serving utensil, and for a moment he looked as if he might help himself to a wedge before the entire company was even seated. However, noticing Darcy’s disapproving expression, he replaced the cover. “The toast underneath is probably soggy,” he said, then commenced thrumming his fingers on the table.

  Thankfully, Miss Brereton and Thomas Parker sat within conversational range of Darcy. Thomas, the tallest of the gentlemen, had been forced to make do with a borrowed suit that fit him ill. So, too, had Arthur, the stoutest. Both men had wound up with clothing from what Darcy guessed was the 1750s, and poor Arthur was particularly disadvantaged. Though apparently broader during his middle years than in his youth and old age, Archibald had possessed a smaller frame than Arthur’s, and his frock stretched tightly across Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur did, at least, benefit from the wide skirts at its bottom. The waistcoat had to go unbuttoned, but its extra length—it would have fallen mid-thigh on its original owner—was a blessing. Both Arthur’s and Thomas’s breeches ended above their knees, shorter than was fashionable even when the garments were designed.

  At last, all were seated and the servants uncovered the dishes. It was a generous first course: nine dishes on the table, plus a remove for the soup.

  Unfortunately, if many of the diners’ clothing was out of date, the food upon which they dined also had lost its freshness long ago. None of the meal was hot, any attempt at keeping it so having been abandoned after several dishes had been ruined in the attempt. Although the guests partook of the meal with appetite fueled by hunger and damp, their gastronomical experience was less than satisfying.

  Conversation was minimal at first, the diners focusing more on their food than anything else, tasting each dish in hopes of appeasing their appetites, if not their palates. But Lady Denham’s disappearance weighed on their minds, while the wind moaned and drove rain against the windows.

  “That is an eerie sound,” said Sir Edward. “Like a ghost howling to come inside. Reminds one that today is not the first time a woman has disappeared from Sanditon.”

  “I suppose you refer to Ivy Woodcock,” said Diana. “That old tale, however, can have nothing to do with our present crisis. It must have happened a hundred years ago.”

  “She was born a hundred years ago,” Thomas Parker said. “One hundred years ago today—and disappeared on the night of her sixteenth birthday,.”

  “Who was Ivy Woodcock?” Mr. Granville asked.

  “Did you not see the memorial tablet in our hotel?” Sidney replied. “She was a distant relation of the current innkeeper. Her story has become a cautionary tale for local children.” He turned toward Charlotte with a lively look in his eye. “Do not wander off after dark, Miss Heywood, for if Ivy Woodcock does not find you, the faeries who snatched her might.”

  “Sidney, you will spook poor Miss Heywood.” Arthur turned to Charlotte. “He told me the same thing when I was six, and I do not think I slept a single night all that summ
er.”

  “I have already advised Miss Heywood that she should listen to only half of what I say.” Sidney returned his attention to Charlotte.

  “I do not scare easily,” Charlotte responded.

  “I am glad to hear it, for I would hate to be the cause of your losing even a moment’s rest,” Sidney said. “But should Ivy Woodcock rap upon your window tonight, you can rely upon me to come to your rescue. My offer extends to you, too, Arthur.”

  “I am no longer six,” Arthur replied peevishly. “I know Ivy Woodcock is not going to come calling.”

  “Even on her one hundredth birthday? The anniversary of her disappearance?”

  “I think it such a poetic coincidence, that Lady Denham should disappear today,” Sir Edward said with delight. “And you cannot deny the similarities between her and Ivy.”

  “What similarities?” Diana asked. “Ivy Woodcock was a wild young girl, not a rich old dowager.”

  “They were both women,” Sir Edward said, “and they both disappeared.”

  Diana simply rolled her eyes ceilingward.

  “I understood Ivy lived an isolated existence, but I had not heard she was wild,” Elizabeth said.

  “She must have been utterly uncivilized, living as she did in the hermitage,” Miss Denham declared. “It is such a rustic dwelling.”

  “I find the very idea of a hermitage enchanting!” Sir Edward declared. “The more rustic, the more picturesque. In fact, I may erect one at Denham Park when the cottage ornée is finished.”

  The servants cleared the first course from the table, removed the first tablecloth to reveal the fresh one beneath, and brought in the second-course dishes. A footman removed the cover of the dish closest to Darcy.

  “What is that?” Josiah Hollis blurted.

  “Ragoo of celery with wine,” the servant replied.

  “Looks like infant food,” he muttered.