The Suspicion at Sanditon (Or, the Disappearance of Lady Denham) Page 16

  She went to a window and drew back the drapery, but could see little beyond the dim reflection of candlelight on the rain-spattered glass. Clouds obscured any trace of the moon, and the storm’s lightning strikes appeared to have moved to the east, leaving the house enveloped in darkness and the drum of gentler yet steady rainfall. Whether the storm was abating or simply gathering new energy for another furious display remained to be seen.

  Between the weather and the missing ladies, heaven only knew what the morrow would bring. Even were Susan found, Charlotte could not imagine ever being able to fall asleep tonight. Perhaps, however, she ought at least try to rest.

  She decided to lie down, remaining alert to any sounds that might come from the corridor. She removed her slippers, setting them beside the dressing table, then took off her robe and draped it on the bench seat. As she climbed into the high, ornate bed, she pushed aside the heavy counterpane. The sheet would suffice; with the windows closed against the rain, the room was close and humid—yet another safeguard against accidental slumber. Out of habit, she turned to blow out the candle, but paused. Were she needed quickly, how would she relight it? On the other hand, she did not think Lady Denham would be very well pleased to learn upon her return to Sanditon House that a considerable quantity of candles had been depleted. The expense would give the old dowager apoplexy. No—’twas better to conserve the candles for those moving about the house, who had a real need for light. If someone summoned Charlotte, she could reignite her candle from their flame.

  She extinguished the taper, immediately plunging the room into darkness so complete that the chamber seemed empty of anything but the sound of her own breathing. Darkness did not typically bother her, but the unfamiliar surroundings, coupled with the evening’s events, combined to increase her already-present disquiet. She settled into a supine position, drawing reassurance from the sensation of something solid at her back.

  She lay thus for she knew not how long, when a noise in the corridor caught her notice.

  It was the sound of a nearby door opening. Unlike Miss Denham’s earlier dramatics, it was a muted sound, as of one attempting to enter without disturbing others. Moments later, it was followed by the soft tap of the door being closed with equal care. The sound was very near; in fact, Charlotte believed it came from the chamber adjacent to her own. The Parker sisters’ room.

  Had Susan returned, unaware that with the entire household seeking her, a cautious entry was unnecessary? She doubted it was Diana. Susan’s sister would not have given up the search this soon, before any of the others—unless she had learned something, or brought Susan back with her.

  Charlotte sat up. Whether it were Susan, Diana, or both who had just entered the chamber, they might be in need of assistance.

  She left the bed and cautiously moved in the direction of the dressing table, bending with arms extended so that her hands would find the seat before her knees encountered it. She reached the bench and immediately felt the robe beneath her fingertips. As she reassumed the garment, her right foot brushed against one of her slippers, sparing her the trouble of groping around the floor to find them. She donned the shoes and carefully moved toward the door.

  The distance seemed longer than she remembered, and she had begun to fear she was shuffling in the wrong direction, when her hands touched the wall. She moved along it until she felt the door frame.

  She opened her door to an empty corridor, faintly lit by a single candle that had been left burning in a sconce farther down the hallway when the search for Susan began. She went to the neighboring door and knocked softly, so as not to startle its occupant.

  “Miss Parker?”

  There was no response, no sound of movement within.

  “Miss Parker?” Charlotte repeated. “It is Miss Heywood. Is everything all right?”

  Again, her words elicited no reply.

  Hesitant to intrude, yet anxious for Miss Parker’s welfare, she grasped the door handle and gently released the catch. Why she felt the need to maintain silence with this part of the house all but deserted, she was unsure, but the atmosphere of the darkened wing seemed to discourage noise.

  The Parker sisters’ chamber was as black as her own, so dark that in the weak ambient light penetrating from the corridor she could scarcely make out the shapes of the furniture. She had expected to find the room illuminated by the taper of the returned Susan Parker, but no spinster greeted her, and the closest thing to candlelight that she observed was the lingering scent of burning wax left behind from Diana’s earlier visit. Long, heavy draperies covered the windows but could not completely muffle the sounds of the now-raging storm. Only the great bed that dominated the far wall boldly asserted its presence, and even that hid more than it revealed. Curtains hung from its canopy, enshrouding the interior.

  Charlotte contemplated the bed. Had she spent so long fumbling her way out of her own room that Miss Parker had not only returned but already retired? She considered retrieving her candle, left behind in her haste to reach Miss Parker. However, a sense of urgency propelled her into the unfamiliar chamber rather than take time to find the candle, travel down the hall to light it from the sconce, and return.

  “Miss Parker?” Charlotte moved toward the bed and attempted to draw aside the veiling, but had difficulty finding an opening between panels. “Miss Parker, it is Charlotte Heywood, come to check on you. The entire household is concerned for your well-being.” At last, her fingers discovered the fabric’s edge. She pulled the curtain to one side, peering into the enclosed space—and saw nothing. Nothing that looked like a person, anyway; only rumpled bedding … or what looked like rumpled bedding.

  Charlotte recalled, from childhood games of hide-and-seek with her siblings, that it was possible for a bed to appear empty while actually concealing an occupant. Where her younger sisters inevitably betrayed their presence with insuppressible giggles, no telltale sounds issued from these bedclothes, and she doubted Miss Parker would deliberately disguise her presence in such a manner—what reason had she? However, if she were sleeping, she might have unconsciously wrapped herself well enough to hinder detection in the dark.

  “Miss Parker?” She grasped the thick counterpane and pulled it back, prepared for a startled cry from a rudely awakened Susan. However, only linens lay beneath, and only her own heartbeat sounded in her ears.

  She wondered at her accelerated pulse. Why should an empty chamber set her heart racing?

  Because it was empty.

  She had been so certain of having heard stirring in here, of having heard the door open and close. Now she doubted her own senses. Had the noise come from elsewhere? She had not detected other sounds of motion from nearby rooms when she was in the corridor. Nor did any break the stillness now.

  While lying in her bed, had she unknowingly drifted into a state of half-dream and simply imagined the sounds?

  Regardless of the explanation, she now felt her own presence to be an invasion of the absent Parker sisters’ privacy. With neither Susan nor Diana in the room, Charlotte had no business being in there, either. She was an unwelcome intruder.

  She let fall the curtain and turned away from the bed, casting her gaze about the room one last time. The shadows seemed darker and somehow more sinister than they had when she entered. Despite her robe, she shuddered as an uncomfortable self-consciousness crept over her.

  It was more than a sense of having trespassed.

  It was a sense of being watched.

  Nineteen

  She took her candle and looked closely at the cabinet.… her quick eyes directly fell on a roll of paper pushed back into the further part of the cavity, apparently for concealment.

  —Northanger Abbey

  “So you do believe that Susan Parker’s disappearance is related to Lady Denham’s?”

  “Not necessarily.” Darcy kept his voice low as he replied to Elizabeth’s query. They were en route to the study, the location of which he had obtained from Miss Brereton earlier and w
as fairly confident of being able to find without escort. Their path took them past and through numerous other rooms, and he did not want to risk being overheard by any of the guests or servants seeking Miss Parker. “I do, however, believe that enough of our fellow guests hold a stake in Lady Denham’s affairs that one or more of them might employ the distraction as an opportunity to determine just how great that stake is. Sir Edward, Miss Denham, Josiah Hollis, and even Miss Brereton have all in the course of this evening boasted familiarity with the house—that might extend to familiarity with where Lady Denham keeps her important papers. Any of those individuals could attempt to become even more familiar with them before the night is over.”

  “I confess, were I one of her potential heirs, I would prefer the last will and testament of Philadelphia Brereton Hollis Denham to any other bedtime reading tonight.”

  “Merely reading the will is the least of the potential mischief that could be occurring at this moment.”

  “Indeed, the document could disappear as mysteriously as Lady Denham herself. Surely, however, her solicitor retained a copy?”

  “We can but hope,” Darcy replied. “Yet even should her will be found here in Sanditon House, if a false document—one that purports to be a codicil—were planted among her papers, the validity of the true will would be compromised. The sooner we find and secure her documents, the better.”

  They entered the library, a room half the size of Pemberley’s, with a fraction of the number of books. Sheets covered the furniture, and the fireplace looked as if it had not been lit in years. From his brief interaction with Lady Denham, Darcy doubted the room had seen much use since Archibald Hollis died, and doubted even further that the collection had expanded in that time. The neglect of a family library always troubled Darcy—households that did not place value on the improvement of one’s mind through reading were foreign climes to him.

  One bookshelf, however, appeared to have experienced recent activity. Several volumes lay stacked on their backs before a neat row of books behind them, apparently read but not returned to their proper spot. A glance at some of the titles indicated that the shelf held popular novels. Perhaps the addition of Miss Brereton to the household had restored at least some of the room’s purpose.

  Each end of the library held a door that led to other rooms not accessible from the corridor. He gestured toward the closed door at the east end of the room. “I believe that is the study.”

  The door was locked. Darcy withdrew the keys Miss Brereton had given him earlier. The first one fit into the hole but would not turn. The second produced the anticipated click of a lock disengaging. Darcy pushed open the door and stepped aside for Elizabeth to enter with the candle.

  She started forward, but suddenly froze and released a startled gasp.

  Darcy peered into the study. The weak candlelight barely penetrated its darkness, illuminating only the shadowy shapes of the room’s furniture.

  And the pair of eyes that met his.

  * * *

  Instinctively, Darcy stepped in front of Elizabeth, interposing himself between his wife and the study’s unknown occupant.

  “Identify yourself,” Darcy said.

  Upon receiving no reply, he repeated the command.

  Again, no response. Nor did the eyes move, but challenged Darcy with their fixed, unblinking gaze. There was something unnatural, yet familiar, in the manner of their stare.

  He held his breath, listening, but heard only the sound of his own heart thrumming in his chest. It was senseless to stand here in silent opposition to whoever lurked within. Better to confront the trespasser and know with whom he dealt. Darcy took the candle from Elizabeth. “Stay back.”

  “Darcy—”

  He moved into the room, holding the candle well in front of him to cast its light as far as possible.

  And released a soft chuckle.

  The eyes belonged not to a human intruder, but to a bear.

  A bear head, to be precise, mounted on the far wall, with fur so black that it had absorbed rather than reflected the weak candlelight that caught its eyes. The glassy gaze that had greeted him resembled those of countless game trophies Darcy had seen in gentlemen’s studies, clubs, and gun rooms.

  And indeed, this was a gentleman’s room, without question. The bear was the most exotic of three trophies watching over the room: a pair of stags flanked it. Though boasting racks of ten and twelve points, the two native creatures seemed ordinary in comparison to the bear. Several paintings depicting hunting scenes also adorned the room.

  He turned to Elizabeth. “I believe we are quite safe.” When her brow furrowed in question, he extended his hand toward her. “Come.”

  With slight hesitation, she went to his side. She started upon first identifying the eyes’ owner.

  “Is that a bear?”

  “It is.”

  “I have never seen one before. Have you?”

  “I saw a live bear once, at a circus in London when I was a boy. That was a brown bear captured on the Continent, or so the bear keeper claimed. I believe our friend here is a black bear, which I understand inhabit North America.”

  “I wonder how it came to reside in Sanditon House. From what little we know of the Hollises, they do not impress me as great adventurers.”

  “Perhaps it was purchased as a curiosity, or received as a gift.”

  “If only it could tell us where to find what we are looking for.”

  They turned their gazes away from the bear and glanced around the rest of the study, taking in the dark paneled walls, the heavy marble surrounding the fireplace, the rug of burgundy, green, and brown. Dark green draperies closed out the night. The furnishings seemed to absorb the candle’s glow.

  “Somehow, I do not see Lady Denham spending a great deal of time in here, if any,” Elizabeth commented. “This room might look brighter in daylight, but not by much. And as rare an ornament as the bear is, his constant stare, and those of his two companions, would unnerve me after a while.”

  A pair of glass-fronted bookcases stood on one wall beside a small table and two armchairs. A sturdy desk and equally solid cabinet dominated the opposite side of the study. Darcy nodded toward the desk, which, in addition to the usual small drawers and pigeonholes for pens, ink, paper, and other writing materials, had three deep drawers going down the right side.

  “My guess is that any important documents stored in this room will be found there or in the cabinet,” Darcy said.

  He went to the desk, placed his candle on its surface, and slid open the drawers. Sure enough, letter files greeted him. He removed a handful of correspondence and began to thumb through it, skimming the close handwriting as rapidly as he could in the dim light to determine what, exactly, he had found.

  Elizabeth, meanwhile, opened the cabinet. She, too, set her candle on the desk, then reached inside and pulled out a large scroll.

  “What have you there?” Darcy asked.

  “I do not yet know, but the cabinet holds quite a few of these.” She unrolled the paper in her hands. “This appears to be an architectural plan for Sanditon House. Rather, for part of it—the ground floor.” She rotated the paper a quarter turn clockwise. “It is an old one—Lady Denham’s private rooms are labeled the ‘State Apartment.’ I wonder how often Sanditon House actually hosted nobility? This plan seems to show as many receiving rooms and servants’ passages as Pemberley holds.”

  “The architect did take inspiration from the castle that used to stand here,” Darcy replied somewhat absently as he replaced the first batch of correspondence he had perused and started on a second. “At least Lady Denham, for all the criticisms we have heard of her frugality, seems to have adopted a practical approach to managing the household. If the best apartment in the house was sitting unused, why should she not take it as her own?”

  “I shall remember you said that, should I someday find myself widowed and decide to move into your apartment.”

  He looked up from the letters to
meet her gaze. A teasing smile played about her lips. He returned it, grateful to her for drawing him, at least for a moment, away from the world of Sanditon and into their own. He wished they were home, instead of on a “holiday” that had turned out to be anything but.

  “You may have it now, if you want it. The bedchamber is seldom enough occupied.” Because he spent most nights in hers. “Whether before or after my demise, however, I would find a way to visit you after dark.”

  “I thought you did not believe in ghosts?”

  “That was before I learned there was chocolate involved.”

  She laughed. “Well, do not plan to cross over to the spirit realm or pack up your belongings anytime soon, for I am quite well satisfied with our present arrangement.”

  They both resumed their tasks. Elizabeth rerolled the scroll and withdrew another from the cabinet. “This one is an old landscaping design.” She studied it in silence for a minute. “It depicts a number of follies that I do not recall seeing in the park as we approached the house, or from the gallery window during my visit with Mrs. Parker and Miss Heywood. A temple … a tower … a grotto—”

  “I did find the grotto, when I was searching the grounds with Josiah Hollis,” Darcy said. “It was well hidden by overgrown vegetation—I did not even realize it was there until we were almost upon it.”

  “The summerhouse, hermitage, and gazebo are still extant, but I wonder whether the other structures were ever built. This does seem an ambitious scheme.” She returned the scroll to the cabinet. “What have you there?”

  “The majority of these letters relate to daily operations of the estate,” he said. “None of them is current. In fact, all the correspondence I have seen so far is dated during Archibald Hollis’s lifetime, mostly addressed to him, some of it to his father.”