The Suspicion at Sanditon (Or, the Disappearance of Lady Denham) Page 13

  “Leeches always leave me faint-headed,” Susan said. “In fact, I am still fatigued, and may need to retire before the rest of you. Since we all must remain here until the storm has passed, I would be much obliged if following this discussion I could be shown to whatever chamber I am to sleep in.”

  “Miss Brereton, have you made arrangements for our accommodation?” Darcy asked.

  “The bedchambers are being prepared,” she replied.

  “I should like the room I occupied last summer,” Miss Denham said, “when my brother and I were Lady Denham’s guests for an extended visit. Do you know the one? You had not yet met Lady Denham at the time.”

  “I will convey your request to the housemaids,” Miss Brereton replied. “I am sure they remember.”

  Darcy’s gaze shifted to Esther Denham. “Miss Denham, when did you last see Lady Denham?”

  “It has been a full se’nnight since I enjoyed Lady Denham’s society—unusual for us, as Edward and I are so close to our aunt. We met her and Miss Brereton as we were leaving the library, and we all lingered a while on the Terrace, sitting on the benches and observing passersby. Lady Denham and I had a delightful conversation—we always do, when we are together.”

  “On what subject did you converse?”

  “Oh, everything and nothing. You know how it is when one is with family.” She cast a superior look at Josiah Hollis. Fortunately, he was too deep in enjoyment of the tart to rise to her bait. “We did spend considerable time fondly recalling last summer’s visit.”

  “And you, Miss Heywood—when did you last see our hostess?” Darcy asked.

  “Yesterday morning, when I called upon her here with Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Parker, and little Mary.”

  Though Elizabeth had shared with Darcy some details of that visit, Darcy wanted to hear Miss Heywood’s account of it. “What did you discuss?”

  “The past, mostly. She spoke of the late Mr. Hollis quite a bit. When we arrived, we were shown to the same sitting room where we all gathered tonight—the one they call the portrait room, with the painting of Sir Harry over the fireplace and the miniature case in the corner. Mrs. Parker was identifying Mr. Hollis’s miniature to me when Lady Denham joined us, which led to her talking about him and his family. Then later, when Sir Edward called, they told us of the long connection between the Hollises and the Denhams.”

  “Alas! Had I known that would be the last time I beheld Lady Denham before her disappearance, I would have settled myself in the foyer to stand guard,” Sir Edward declared.

  “Well, that would surely make me feel better,” Josiah said. He had finished his sweet and now leaned back in his chair, returned to his acerbic self. “I should like to know what her ladyship had to say about Uncle Archibald’s family,” he said to Miss Heywood.

  Charlotte hesitated. “She said that since Mr. Hollis’s death, there had been an estrangement between herself and his family.” She spoke slowly, as if choosing her words with care. “But that recently his relations have been seeking a reconciliation.”

  “Is that true?” Darcy asked Hollis.

  “Perhaps.”

  Was a straightforward response truly too much to expect? Darcy regarded Hollis with the withering expression he reserved for people who tested his patience dangerously close to its limit. His brother-in-law Wickham was immune to the look, but it generally worked on gentlemen who possessed at least a shred of prudence. “And how did Lady Denham receive your overtures?”

  “Reconciliation was not my idea—it was my sister’s! I resigned myself a long time ago to the provisions of Uncle Archibald’s will, and was perfectly happy to never have anything to do with that woman again. But my sister went and wrote to her, saying that maybe we had been unfair to her back when our uncle died. The letter must have appeased her vanity, because last night, Lady Denham’s servant delivered an invitation to this ill-conceived dinner party. It was the first communication between us in fifteen years, at least.”

  “Did she say what prompted the invitation?”

  “No. And I was pretty darn suspicious of it, let me tell you.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “Curiosity,” he said. “Plain and simple. Curiosity about whether the house had changed during her possession. About the young woman who has come to live here with her. About Lady Denham herself—what that calculating woman is up to now that she is too old to entrap rich bachelors into marrying her.”

  “And what have you concluded?”

  “That I have had enough of Lady Denham—and all of you—for one evening.” He tossed his serviette on the table and stood. “If this deuced storm is imprisoning us all here for the remainder of the night, I say we retire to our separate quarters.”

  Darcy consulted his watch. It was nine o’clock, but weariness from the search outdoors—and several of the personalities indoors—made the hour feel later. He had more threads of investigation he wanted to follow, but not with the group as a whole.

  “Does anyone have additional information that might prove germane to the present situation?” he asked. “Anything—no matter how insignificant it may seem.”

  The howling wind offered the only response, which came as no surprise to Darcy. He sensed that he had learned what he could in this context; that anyone in possession of new details was more likely to reveal them in private conversation with him or Elizabeth, than to the company at large.

  “Then let us adjourn. Miss Brereton, how soon do you anticipate all the bedrooms will be ready?”

  “The housemaids should be able to finish while we have tea.”

  “We gentleman shall keep the interval short and join you ladies in the drawing room in a quarter hour or so. I am sure Mrs. Darcy will be happy to assist you with room assignments or any other matters involved in accommodating so large a company on short notice.”

  While the party broke up, Darcy went to Elizabeth and pulled out her chair for her. As she rose, he leaned close to her ear. “Find out which room each guest will occupy,” he said, “and try to keep Josiah Hollis as far away as possible from Lady Denham’s or Archibald Hollis’s apartments.” Darcy did not want to give the man an easy opportunity for snooping.

  “I had already planned on it,” she replied in an equally muted tone. “Shall I also ascertain whether Miss Brereton or Miss Denham knows where Lady Denham might keep her will?”

  Darcy wished he could speak with Elizabeth more freely, and at greater length, about the course the investigation ought to follow, but such a conversation would have to wait until they obtained privacy. For now, they had to simply use this time and the presence of the other guests to best advantage.

  “If you can. Preferably in a manner that does not put the idea in their heads to go looking for it themselves. We do not want it disappearing along with Lady Denham. I will similarly try to determine whether Thomas Parker or Sir Edward know the document’s whereabouts. The more I hear of Lady Denham, however, the more I doubt she confided such information in anybody.”

  Elizabeth glanced from the caustic Josiah, to the haughty Miss Denham, to the absurd Sir Edward.

  “I cannot say I blame her,” Elizabeth responded. “But do you truly believe Miss Brereton’s motives are suspect?”

  “You have spent more time in the young lady’s company than I, and are better able to judge her character,” he said. “However, at this point I am making no assumptions about any of our fellow guests.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth moved toward Miss Brereton, hoping to draw her aside to discuss chamber arrangements while the other ladies proceeded to the drawing room. She was thwarted, however, by Mr. Granville, who reached Clara first and, in a most gentlemanly manner, declared himself at her disposal should she require any assistance during this anxious time.

  “I realize I am all but a stranger to you,” he said to Miss Brereton. “There are others here with whom you are better acquainted, and to whom you are more likely to turn. Please know, however, that I sympathize
with the apprehension you must feel over the disappearance of your cousin. If there is any service I can perform that would alleviate your distress in even the slightest measure, you have only to name it, and it shall be done.”

  There was an earnestness in his offer that, to Elizabeth’s eye and ear, hinted at the beginnings of a more personal interest in the state of Clara Brereton’s emotions. However, Miss Brereton herself—distracted by anxiety and the unfamiliar duties pressing upon her—seemed unconscious of any motive beyond simple goodwill in Mr. Granville’s address, and answered him with the same degree of cordiality she had extended to all the other guests.

  “Thank you, Mr. Granville. It is kind of you to make such an offer to someone with whom you have so slight a connection, and you have already been of assistance in searching the grounds. This surely is not the evening you anticipated when you accepted an invitation to dine at Sanditon House.”

  “Indeed, but I would not have missed it for the world, if my presence here can be of use, or perhaps even comfort, to you.”

  This overture, Clara did recognize. A self-conscious expression revealed her surprise, but the hint of a smile that replaced it indicated that Mr. Granville’s attentiveness was not unwelcome.

  “The support of any friend at this time is a comfort,” she said.

  Elizabeth was not alone in observing their exchange. It had been noticed by Miss Denham and Sir Edward—neither of whom appeared pleased by the solicitude with which Mr. Granville had tendered his offer. From opposite sides of the room, the Denham siblings converged upon the unsuspecting couple.

  Sir Edward reached them first. “My dear Miss Brereton—” He offered a deep bow to Clara, a civil nod to Mr. Granville. “Pardon my intrusion, but I must impose upon your attention in a matter of some urgency—that is, I require a word—a private word—with you, if you would spare a moment for an old, or shall I say longtime”—he cast a pointed look at Mr. Granville—“friend.”

  Miss Brereton turned to Mr. Granville with an apologetic expression. “Pray excuse me, sir.”

  “Of course.” Mr. Granville appeared about to say more, but at that moment Miss Denham swooped upon him.

  “Mr. Granville, I see my brother is abandoning me. I am left, then, to find my own way to the drawing room … unless another gentleman offers to escort me.”

  “I—” He glanced at Clara, but a sidestep by Miss Denham quickly blocked his view. Thus cornered, he had little choice but to offer her his arm. “I would consider it an honor.”

  Mr. Granville and Miss Denham followed the Parker sisters and the rest of the guests who were quite capably making their way to the drawing room without the need of an escort. Sir Edward, meanwhile, had drawn Clara aside to a doorway on the opposite end of the room. Lit only by residual candlelight from the dining room, the adjacent chamber was cloaked in shadow. Elizabeth thought she could make out the form of a pianoforte lurking within.

  Miss Brereton paused in the doorway, but Sir Edward urged her to enter the dim room. She acquiesced reluctantly. Given the clandestine interview Elizabeth had witnessed between the two yesterday morning—had the tête-à-tête truly been only yesterday? Interim events made it seem much longer ago—Elizabeth ascribed the young lady’s affected indifference to an attempt at concealing from casual observers the true extent of her relationship with Sir Edward. Though Sir Edward went far enough into the music room that the door frame blocked Elizabeth’s view of him, Clara’s profile remained visible through the doorway.

  Sir Edward’s maneuvering left Elizabeth in a quandary. She, too, needed to speak to Miss Brereton privately, before they rejoined the other guests, but to simply wait in the dining room risked giving the couple the impression that she was intentionally spying on them. She elected to migrate to the drawing room doorway, where she could observe the proceedings of the other guests—many of whom were engaging in small conversations of their own—while surreptitiously continuing to monitor Miss Brereton and Sir Edward.

  Miss Brereton regarded the baronet attentively at first, but after a moment her chin dipped toward the floor. Her countenance was difficult to read from this distance, but from what Elizabeth could discern of Miss Brereton’s expression, it seemed one of surprise, followed by uncertainty. One of her hands moved to her chest. She shook her head slowly and spoke something Elizabeth could not hear, then raised her gaze once more.

  Had she received bad news? Sir Edward drew nearer; Elizabeth now could see his hand, which took Miss Brereton’s. The young woman said something else. The baronet stepped fully into view—dropped her hand—struck his own breast. While Elizabeth awarded him credit for dramatic presentation, Miss Brereton suffered his theatrics patiently.

  Tea arrived in the drawing room, an event that wrested Elizabeth’s attention from the baronet to his sister. In Miss Brereton’s absence, there was no clear hostess to serve the tea. Miss Denham smugly appointed herself acting mistress of the house, citing her close connection to Lady Denham and her previous se’nnight’s stay at Sanditon House. Nobody objected, everyone interested more in receiving their tea than in who poured it, but Esther seemed to want to exploit the occasion to impress Mr. Granville with her superior handling of a teapot.

  By the time Elizabeth had her own cup in hand, Miss Brereton was at her side. Some vestiges of discomposure hung about her, but Elizabeth could not tell whether they were hallmarks of the anxiety Clara had already been feeling, or new disquiet brought on by her conference with Sir Edward. The baronet was nowhere in sight.

  “Is all well?” Elizabeth asked.

  Miss Brereton, lost in her own thoughts, made no reply.

  Sixteen

  “I have no fancy for having my House as full as an Hotel. I should not chuse to have my two Housemaids Time taken up all the morning, in dusting out Bed rooms.… If they had hard Places, they would want Higher wages.”

  —Lady Denham, Sanditon

  Shortly after receiving word that the bedchambers were ready, the party broke up. Susan was the first to announce her intention to retire, citing fatigue from the evening’s events.

  “Not that I expect to get much rest,” she said. “I never do—if it is not one complaint keeping me awake at night, it is another. And tonight, anxiety over poor Lady Denham will be an additional bedfellow.”

  “Oh, dear! Susan, however could I be so neglectful?” Diana exclaimed. “I did not consider that our unanticipated stay here means you are without your usual sedative. Allow me to prepare it—I am sure the components can be found in the stillroom. Miss Brereton, if someone will direct me there, I can make up a phial within minutes.”

  Rebecca was summoned to escort her, and Diana happily sallied forth, delighted to have a medical crisis to give her purpose.

  The rest of the guests climbed the central staircase to the first floor, where the bedchambers were located. All available bedrooms—save Lady Denham’s—had been pressed into service, including Archibald Hollis’s former apartment. The single ladies were clustered in one part of the wing; the gentlemen, another farther down the corridor. Miss Denham’s request for her previous bedroom had not been honored—much to her obvious vexation. Apparently, it was the same chamber that Miss Brereton had been given when she moved into Sanditon House, and even Miss Denham had to concede—albeit not graciously—that expecting Clara to relocate from the room she had been occupying for the better part of a year was asking a bit much. Miss Denham was, however, determined to find evidence of some social slight in the sleeping arrangements, and therefore fixated upon the distance between her assigned chamber and Miss Brereton’s.

  “In this house, we are as much family as is Miss Brereton,” she complained to her brother after everyone except themselves, the Darcys, Miss Heywood, Miss Brereton, and Sidney Parker had retired to their chambers, “and therefore should be lodged nearer the family quarters. Yet Miss Heywood has the chamber next to Miss Brereton’s, with the misses Parker on her other wall. I am not even on the same side of the corridor a
s them, but opposite the sisters.”

  “That arrangement was made upon my recommendation,” Elizabeth said, “in the interest of propriety. Your chamber is adjacent to your brother’s, and Thomas Parker is next to his sisters. That puts the other single gentlemen farther down the corridor from the ladies.”

  “Surely you do not expect anything untoward to occur during the night?” Miss Denham’s tone was cold, back to its usual temperature when Mr. Granville was out of hearing.

  With airs like hers, Elizabeth doubted Miss Denham stood in personal danger of something untoward occurring tonight or anytime soon.

  “As the sole matron among us, Mrs. Darcy is merely fulfilling her duty to protect all the ladies’ sensibilities,” Sir Edward said.

  Though Elizabeth appreciated his defense, part of her bristled slightly at being referred to as a matron. Yes, her marriage had made her one in the eyes and parlance of society, and motherhood had heightened an instinct to unofficially safeguard the well-being of younger friends such as Miss Heywood, yet hearing the word applied to herself made her sound so … old.

  “O modesty, fair and fragile as a flower—” the baronet continued, his discourse wandering off on some inflated, convoluted tangent until his sister cut him off.

  “Edward, did you not notice that in the process of ‘protecting’ everyone’s modesty, our sole matron managed to seize the best chamber for herself?” Miss Denham relished the word. “By rights, it should have gone to you, as the sole person of rank among us.”

  “Mrs. Darcy is innocent of any such maneuvering,” Miss Brereton said. “I offered Mr. Hollis’s former apartment to her and Mr. Darcy because they are the only married couple among us, and his chambers are the most spacious.”

  Elizabeth had readily accepted Miss Brereton’s offer of the former master’s quarters not out of a desire for expansive or luxurious accommodations, but because the arrangement met an unexpressed objective of her own: the Darcys’ occupation of the apartment enabled them to guard against anyone nosing through the late Archibald Hollis’s possessions during the night. Now their primary concern lay in preventing potential prowlers from accessing Lady Denham’s apartment. As a precaution, Darcy had, through Miss Brereton, ensured that Mrs. Riley locked the apartment’s doors. Miss Brereton had then acquired the key, along with those that opened the study and Archibald’s apartment, and surrendered them all to Darcy. They now rested in one of the large flap pockets of his borrowed coat.