The Suspicion at Sanditon (Or, the Disappearance of Lady Denham) Page 20

  They reentered the portrait room to find that its population had not increased as much as Elizabeth had hoped. Though she was happy to see that Mr. Granville had joined them—if only Miss Denham knew, the knowledge might inspire her to hasten her toilette—her spirits sank at the absence of Charlotte. Diana and Sidney Parker also had not yet returned.

  An atmosphere of tension pervaded. Elizabeth sensed it first from Thomas and Arthur Parker. Thomas’s temper had shortened in her absence, and Arthur seemed on the defensive side of it; the younger brother’s attempts at conversation met civil but terse replies from the elder. After several such rebuffs, Arthur wandered over to the hearth, evidently preferring the fire’s warmth to Thomas’s frost. It appeared the Denhams were not the only siblings at odds with each other as the night stretched later.

  Though engaged in conversation with Mr. Granville, Darcy excused himself and crossed to her. She could tell by his manner that he, too, had grown more apprehensive. “You were gone longer than I anticipated. Is all well with Miss Heywood?”

  “I wish I knew,” Elizabeth replied. “She is not in her chamber.”

  “Miss Heywood, also missing?” Miss Brereton said. “Merciful heavens! What is happening?”

  Thomas Parker shot an accusatory look at Arthur. “This does not bode well.”

  “It is not my fault! At least we did not find anyone beneath the window.”

  Elizabeth looked to Darcy for explanation.

  “Nobody knows where Diana Parker is, either,” he said.

  She stared at him, the hope she had fostered of there being an unremarkable reason for Charlotte’s absence ebbing away, replaced by cold dread. The population of Sanditon House was dwindling at an alarming rate.

  “I do not mean to incite panic,” Mr. Granville interjected, “but is anyone certain of Miss Denham’s present whereabouts?”

  “I just left her in her chamber,” Sir Edward said, “preparing to join us here.”

  “Well, that is a relief.” Miss Brereton’s voice sounded anything but reassured. “We have only four ladies missing…” She took a deep, shaky breath and sank onto a nearby sofa.

  Though as distressed as Miss Brereton by this turn of events, Elizabeth endeavored to present a composed front. She went to Miss Brereton, sat down beside her on the sofa, and placed one of her hands over Clara’s. “We shall sort this out.”

  “There are also two gentlemen missing from this gathering,” said Thomas Parker. “However, I do not harbor concern for their safety as I do for that of the ladies. Sidney can take care of himself. As for Josiah Hollis, I want to know where he is at this moment, and what he has been doing since we last saw him.”

  Darcy and Mr. Granville exchanged glances.

  “He is in his chamber,” Mr. Granville said, “and will no doubt claim to have been there the whole while. I, however, spied him in a corridor after the search for Susan commenced, and followed him on an extended tour of the house.”

  “Did that tour take him past the morning room?” Thomas asked. “That is where Arthur abandoned Diana.”

  “I went to light the candles!” Arthur retreated farther into his hearthside sanctuary.

  “I believe Mr. Hollis did visit that part of the house,” Mr. Granville replied. “He led me along a winding route—at times I was unsure myself where we were. I recognized this room, of course, when I passed it, but there were many more that I did not.”

  “How many rooms did he enter?” Darcy asked.

  “I do not know. You must understand that we both traveled in the dark. A few scattered sconces provided enough illumination that I feared he might see me if he suddenly turned around, so I trailed behind at such a distance that I could see only the faintest outline of him, or—most of the time—not see him at all. When I heard his footfalls stop, I stopped; when they continued, I continued.”

  “So you have no way of knowing whether he entered the morning room, or whether Diana Parker was in there?” Darcy asked.

  “I can say only that when I passed the morning room, I did not hear anyone within. Recall, however, that I lost Hollis’s trail after encountering you and Mrs. Darcy. He could have gone there before finally making his way back to his chamber.”

  “I think we need to fetch Mr. Hollis directly and demand he give an accounting of himself,” Thomas Parker declared.

  “Do you believe he is behind all the disappearances?” Miss Brereton asked. “He has no love for Lady Denham, but what grievance can he hold against the misses Parker? Or Miss Heywood?” Her voice caught in her throat. “Indeed, what could anyone?”

  Sir Edward hastened to Clara’s other side and dropped to one knee. “My dear Miss Brereton! Allow me to assuage your fright by offering myself as your protector until this confusion is resolved.” He reached for her hand. “Why, you tremble! You need something to calm your nerves. A glass of wine? Yes! Wine—” He leaped up and looked toward the sideboard on the far wall of the room. The wine decanter had been refilled; fresh glasses rested beside it.

  Darcy, who stood closer to the sideboard than did Sir Edward, followed the baronet’s gaze. “Tend to Miss Brereton,” he said, starting toward the table. “I will fetch the wine.”

  Sir Edward stepped forward. “No, no! I am happy to serve the lady!”

  “I am already here.”

  Sir Edward watched in dismay as Darcy reached for the decanter. He took one more step forward, but then apparently thought better of prolonging the contest. He returned to his post at Miss Brereton’s side, where, crestfallen at the missed opportunity to comfort the lady by procuring wine, he resumed with increased fervor his attempts to comfort her with unceasing discourse.

  “I cannot help but observe,” he said to her in a low voice, “that all of the missing ladies are single.”

  Miss Brereton regarded him quizzically. “Lady Denham is twice widowed.”

  “Well, yes—of course. But that makes her currently single, you see—with no champion, no defender dedicated solely to her safety—as Mrs. Darcy, here, has to safeguard her.”

  Though Sir Edward’s tone held no rancor, Elizabeth caught in his words the implication that her own “dedicated defender” had just overstepped his bounds by fetching Miss Brereton’s wine. Indeed, the maneuver struck her as uncharacteristic of Darcy; while a gentleman to the core, prepared to lend aid to any lady in need, he was not one given to conspicuous displays of service, let alone elbowing out a titled nobleman for the privilege of rendering it. She could only presume that, the wine being nearest him and his mind preoccupied with unfolding events, he had acted in the interest of expedience, not considering the potential for giving offense or wounding pride.

  “Mr. Darcy is concerned for the safety of us all,” Elizabeth said.

  “Undoubtedly. But surely you cannot deny that, as your husband, he is most concerned for yours.”

  She conceded the point with a nod, then glanced at Darcy, who, after being all alacrity in offering to obtain the wine, now seemed rather dilatory about delivering it. He stood with the decanter in one hand and an empty glass in the other, but both objects rested on the table and he made no movement to bring them together to pour. Instead, his gaze appeared fixed on a different target. From her vantage point, Elizabeth could see a small piece of paper lying on the table. His body blocked it from the view of most of the others.

  “So, you see, Miss Brereton,” continued the baronet, “why I wish to assure you that in Sir Edward Denham you have a loyal friend devoted to your protection and defense—your own Musketeer…”

  As Sir Edward advanced his suit, Elizabeth quietly rose and went to Darcy. His back to her, he picked up the paper upon sensing someone’s approach and folded it just as she reached him.

  “Darcy?”

  He relaxed upon realizing it was she at his side, but did not turn around. Instead, he cast her a sidelong glance, then said quietly, “When we were in this room earlier today, did you observe this lying here?” He indicated the slip in his hand
.

  Though they had spent considerable time in the portrait room following their arrival at the house, so much had transpired during and since then that those hours now seemed days ago. She briefly shut her eyes to better focus, but could not envision a piece of paper, nor anything other than the wine, on the side table.

  She shook her head.

  “I cannot recall it, either,” Darcy said. “I first noticed it when Sir Edward mentioned the wine.” He handed her the paper. “I believe it appeared while we were all occupied elsewhere in the house.”

  She unfolded the scrap. It was small, perhaps four inches square. But large enough to hold a single sentence inked in an unembellished hand.

  IF YOU WANT TO SEE LADY DENHAM AGAIN, PRODUCE SIR HARRY’S WATCH.

  Twenty-three

  “When [Sir Harry] died, I gave Sir Edward his Gold Watch.” She said this with a look at her Companion which implied its right to produce a great Impression— and seeing no rapturous astonishment in Charlotte’s countenance, added quickly— “He did not bequeath it to his Nephew, my dear … It was not in the Will. He only told me, and that but once, that he should wish his Nephew to have his Watch; but it need not have been binding, if I had not chose it.”

  —Lady Denham, Sanditon

  Darcy met Elizabeth’s alarmed gaze. His own mind still worked to absorb the import of not only the message’s content, but the method and timing of its delivery.

  “This confirms the worst of our conjectures,” Elizabeth murmured. “Lady Denham has been abducted.”

  “And an inmate of this house—guest or servant—is either her captor or an accomplice to the kidnapping.” Darcy glanced at the other guests to see whether any of them appeared to have noticed the slip of paper or took undue interest in their conversation, but found everyone’s attention occupied by more personal interests. Arthur stirred the fire with a poker, ensuring that the rising temperature of the room would fan everyone’s tempers hotter still. Thomas stationed himself in the main doorway to stand sentinel over the hall, alert for any sign that one of his sisters approached. Sir Edward continued his effusive consoling of Miss Brereton while launching aggressive looks at Mr. Granville, who had moved closer to the young lady to offer support of his own.

  “However,” Darcy continued, “this development is not entirely discouraging. We can now more confidently proceed on the assumption that Lady Denham is alive, which we could not do before.” The grim possibility that the note’s author promised only the sight of a corpse occurred to him, but he preferred to remain hopeful.

  “The note makes no mention of the misses Parker or Miss Heywood,” Elizabeth said.

  “I have two rationales for that.” Actually, Darcy had three, but only two he wanted to voice at present. “Their absences could have nothing to do with Lady Denham’s kidnapping. They might simply be wandering around the house lost.”

  “All three of them?”

  “I did not say that was the most likely explanation, only that it cannot be ruled out.”

  “Neither can the possibility that they are the ones who left the note because they jointly conspired in Lady Denham’s kidnapping and are even now standing guard over her in some remote location as they plot their next move. However, I think our efforts are better spent exploring other scenarios. What is your second theory?”

  “The message could have been left before the other women disappeared.”

  She contemplated for a moment, then nodded. “That is far more probable. We have not been in this room—at least, not as a group—since before the gentlemen’s search of the grounds. Every person in the house has had opportunity to sneak in and leave the note.” Her gaze swept the room, resting on each occupant one at a time before returning to Darcy.

  “Have you considered,” she continued in a somber tone, “that the missing ladies could have gotten too close to our culprit and been silenced?”

  That had been his third explanation. “I was not yet prepared to articulate that possibility—I wanted to spare you the thought.”

  “After all we have been through, surely you know I am hardly missish about such matters.”

  “That knowledge does not remove from your husband the instinct to bear the weight of them.”

  “See here,” Sir Edward called from the sofa. “Are you bringing that wine for Miss Brereton or not?”

  “In a minute,” Darcy said over his shoulder.

  Elizabeth met his eyes. “Do we share this message with the others?”

  As he deliberated the strategic implications of doing so, he poured wine into a glass.

  “We must flush out the perpetrator somehow.” He replaced the stopper and set the decanter aside. “While temporarily withholding this development would enable us to observe the behavior of our fellow guests with new perspective, their safety—particularly that of the remaining ladies—requires prompt disclosure so that they know to act with caution.”

  “Also, the revelation should bring this whole situation—at least, Lady Denham’s portion of it—to a swift resolution,” Elizabeth said. “All Sir Edward need do is relinquish the watch.”

  “Assuming the note’s author keeps his word.” Darcy was by no means confident of that assumption.

  He carried the wineglass to Miss Brereton, who now shared the sofa with two occupants—Sir Edward on her left side and Mr. Granville on her right.

  “At last!” Sir Edward took the glass from Darcy’s hand. “Here, my dear—this will fortify you.”

  Miss Brereton thanked Darcy and took a small sip.

  “Do imbibe a longer draught,” Sir Edward urged. “Distress has afflicted your nerves still more as you waited. Indeed—I had begun to think Mr. Darcy was pressing the grapes himself.”

  “It is only your kind anxiety on my behalf that made the interval seem long to you,” she replied. “Besides, my nerves are of little importance compared to the weightier matters occupying Mr. Darcy.”

  “I assure you,” Darcy said to Miss Brereton, “your welfare, and that of everybody in this house, entirely occupies my present thoughts.” He turned to face the room.

  “Someone left us a note,” he announced. “I discovered it on the sideboard just now.”

  “What kind of note?” Thomas asked. “What does it say?”

  With a look, Darcy prompted Elizabeth. As she read the message aloud, he watched the reactions of their fellow guests. Thomas Parker blinked in astonishment. Miss Brereton gasped. Sir Edward paled. Arthur wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow. To the best of Darcy’s powers of discernment, all appeared genuinely surprised.

  Thomas was the first to speak. “Sir Harry’s watch? Is this some sort of ransom demand?”

  “It sounds like one to me,” Darcy replied, “albeit an unusual request. I should think that a kidnapper who went to the trouble and risk of abducting Lady Denham would demand a higher price. Is the watch worth a great deal?”

  All eyes turned to Sir Edward, who became flustered by the sudden attention. “I have no idea. Why would I ever have sought an appraisal? Its value to me is purely sentimental.” He gestured toward the portrait of Sir Harry. “A remembrance of my departed uncle.”

  “Can you think of any individual who would take such direct interest in it? Perhaps someone else for whom it holds sentimental value?”

  “My sister, naturally, treasures it as much as I do—we were both quite fond of Sir Harry. But of course Miss Denham could not have had anything to do with that note, let alone Lady Denham’s disappearance!” He laughed. “Esther—an accomplice to kidnapping! I cannot imagine anything more improbable.”

  Neither could Darcy—it would require industry on her part.

  Thomas Parker approached Elizabeth. “May I see the note? Is there any mention of my sisters? Or Miss Heywood? Good G–d! Whatever will I tell her parents?”

  “I have been wondering that very thing myself,” Elizabeth said. “I, too, promised Mr. and Mrs. Heywood to look after her.” She handed the note to Thomas
Parker. Mr. Granville, standing beside him, also studied it.

  “Perhaps,” Mr. Granville offered, “the individual is not someone who covets the watch, but resents it—or what it represents.”

  “I am not certain of your meaning,” Darcy said.

  Mr. Granville nodded toward the portrait of Sir Harry. “There is one among us who takes great offense at the late baronet’s image displayed so prominently in this house.”

  “Archibald Hollis!” Sir Edward exclaimed. “Of course it must be he! Mrs. Darcy, did I not just tell you that I felt his spirit was restless tonight? If he is displeased with his widow, what better time to call her to account than a stormy night with a house full of guests as her jury?”

  “While I agree,” Darcy said, “that the late Mr. Hollis possesses a legitimate right to indignation”—(Inasmuch as a dead man could. What was he saying? Sir Edward’s absurdity was beginning to rub off on him.)—“I think Lady Denham’s deliverance would be better accomplished by our considering more corporeal suspects.”

  “Josiah Hollis!” Sir Edward glanced toward the vacant chair Mr. Hollis had occupied earlier. “He has not uttered a kind word for our hostess since his arrival.”

  “Or for anybody else,” Thomas added.

  “But why would he kidnap my sisters or Miss Heywood?” Arthur asked.

  “Perhaps he discovered them in places he did not want them exploring,” Darcy said, “or they caught him engaging in something he did not want seen.”

  “I suggested earlier that we should summon Mr. Hollis,” Thomas said. “It is time he explained himself. I shall fetch him at once.”

  As he turned to go, footsteps in the hall commanded everyone’s attention.