The Suspicion at Sanditon (Or, the Disappearance of Lady Denham) Page 28

  “It was dark!” Sir Edward replied. “And I was nervous—I had never kidnapped a lady before!”

  “Apparently, you have since gained considerable experience.”

  “Too much! I wish I had never begun. And poor Miss Parker—I do not know which one of us was more astonished to behold the other. What was I to do? Had she remained unconscious, I might have been able to return her without anyone’s being the wiser, but now that she had seen me and this cottage, I could not very well bring her back to Sanditon House to tell the others what I had done! So I said I had rescued her from whoever—or whatever—had spirited away Lady Denham. (I thought this was rather clever, invented so spontaneously, and given her belief that Ivy Woodcock was to blame.) She agreed to stay here, where it was safe, but only if I would go back for Diana.”

  “I imagine Diana Parker was not as easily subdued?” Darcy said.

  Sir Edward’s eyes widened in painful recollection. “You have no idea!” He shuddered. “At first, I could not begin to imagine how to go about the business. Then I remembered the sleeping draught she had prepared for her sister, and devised a very clever (if I may say so myself) scheme to use Diana’s own concoction to effect my design upon her. While everybody dispersed to search for Susan Parker, I stole into the sisters’ bedchamber, hoping that in the curfuffle of discovering Susan’s disappearance Diana had left it behind. Fortune smiled upon me! The phial was there, forgotten on the night table, and I immediately seized my prize.

  “But as quickly as the goddess granted me luck, she imposed on me a trial to rival the labors of Hercules. Miss Heywood knocked upon the door, thinking she heard Miss Parker within! I quickly extinguished my candle and concealed myself behind one of the draperies just as she opened the door. Thank goodness the storm was in a state of fury at the time, for its noise drowned out any accidental sound I might make. I stayed in place many minutes after Miss Heywood left, until I was quite certain she was no longer in the corridor. Then I went in search of Diana Parker, planning to carry her away whilst all of you were still scattered about the house.”

  “But she was with her brother Arthur,” Elizabeth said. “How did you intend to remove her from his escort?”

  “I figured I would cross that bridge when I reached it, as they say. First, I had to find her in that vast house! I finally came upon her and Arthur in the morning room. Fortune blessed me again—she is a fickle goddess! The wind extinguished their candles, and Arthur left to relight them. Diana struggled to close the window, which was held open by the force of a strong gale. She was leaning nearly half out of the aperture to grasp the glass, when suddenly the wind shifted, and would have shut the window itself if she had not been in the way. The glass hit her head and knocked her senseless. With her thus unresisting, it was then an easy matter for me to carry her here.”

  “Were you not concerned that she had suffered great injury?” Darcy asked.

  “Well … yes.” His tone was unconvincing. “I did confirm that she was breathing. It would have been a terrible waste of time and exertion to transport her all this way, only to find her dead upon arrival. And imagine how much more trouble it would have been to carry her back and find an appropriate place to leave her! Really, one cannot fully appreciate the complex logistics of this kidnapping business until in the midst of it.”

  “Indeed.” Darcy did not look at all appreciative. “With so many logistical challenges, how did Miss Heywood come to be here?”

  “Miss Heywood was another unfortunate case of mistaken identity in the dark.”

  “And Miss Denham? Surely you did not mistake your own sister for Miss Brereton.”

  “Of course not! Do you take me for a simpleton? I brought her here to monitor the misses Parker whilst I returned for Clara.”

  “Whom you finally managed to abduct because there were no other single ladies left in the house?” Elizabeth said.

  “Well, that helped—but in the end, my patience and perseverance were rewarded and Miss Brereton was practically delivered into my hands. When I did not have to use Susan Parker’s sleeping draught to sedate Diana, I decided to administer it to Clara instead. So I added it to the wine in the portrait room—”

  “You drugged the entire decanter?” Darcy asked.

  “Well, you prevented me from merely adding a portion to her individual glass, so what choice had I but to pour in the full phial and hope she drank more later? It worked, however—when I returned to the portrait room after accidentally abducting Miss Heywood, I found only Mr. Granville and Miss Brereton within, and she so sleepy that she wanted nothing more than to go to her bedchamber. I chivalrously offered to escort her there and stand watch outside her door while she slumbered. She accepted, and I whisked her away. We made it no farther than the staircase before she lost consciousness altogether, and after all my failed previous attempts to carry her off, ’twas easily accomplished.”

  “Mr. Granville offered no resistance to your taking Miss Brereton off to her chamber alone?”

  “Who is he to object? I am a longtime acquaintance of the lady, the nephew of her benefactress, and a baronet. He is some person unknown even to our hostess, who never met Miss Brereton before tonight.”

  Yes, Elizabeth thought, but Sidney said Mr. Granville had assumed responsibility for Miss Brereton’s safety, a charge that, judging from his conduct earlier in the evening, she believed he had not only taken seriously, but performed willingly. What had caused him to consign her care to Sir Edward?

  And then to disappear himself?

  Thirty-three

  Sooner than she could have supposed it possible in the beginning of her distress, her spirits became absolutely comfortable, and capable, as heretofore, of continual improvement by anything he said.

  —Northanger Abbey

  “Miss Heywood?”

  Charlotte fought to return to consciousness. She had fallen asleep regretting not having allowed Sidney to escort her to the Darcys, and now as punishment for her willfulness, the sound of his voice followed her into disjointed dreams. She could almost feel his hand upon her shoulder, trying to shake sense into her—as if the ache in her head were not admonishment enough.

  “Miss Heywood, can you hear me?”

  She could hear him, hear the urgency in his voice. Yes, I know—I should have listened to you. Now leave and let me sleep.

  “Miss Heywood, do wake up … please … Charlotte?”

  She forced open her eyes, blinking until her blurred vision cleared. Sidney Parker knelt beside her, his hand on her shoulder, his eyes assessing her intently. “Are you well?”

  She was curled up on the seat of a chaise longue, her head resting on her arms, a light blanket covering her. She sat up—a little too quickly.

  “My head hurts. I think it was the wine.” She put a hand to her temple. “It must have been very strong—I did not drink much.”

  “I think any amount of that wine was too much,” Sidney replied. “I suspect it was doctored.”

  “By Sir Edward?”

  “It was he who brought you here, was it not?”

  “Yes.”

  Sidney rose and helped her sit up a bit more, so that she could rest against the seat back, and tucked the blanket around her. When she was settled, he sat down on the edge of the seat, facing her. A single candle burned on a nearby table, its flame casting half his face in light, half in shadow. “Tell me how it happened.”

  “After I left you, I proceeded straight to the portrait room,” she said, “but on the way I became dizzy and disoriented. I thought it was because I was distraught by our quarrel, or perhaps an effect of the wine. I stopped and steadied myself against a wall, intending to stay there only a minute or two, until the feeling passed. But then I sensed someone approach me from behind.”

  “My dear Miss Heywood!” Sidney’s expression was equal parts concern and guilt. “Why did you not cry out? I would have come—surely, despite our quarrel, you knew I would have come?”

  “I though
t you were too far away to hear me.”

  “Someone else might have heard—Granville, Mr. Darcy—even a servant.”

  “I was faint-headed and not thinking clearly. I also lacked the strength to raise my voice to any significant volume. As it was, he seized me from behind and covered my mouth before I could collect myself enough to react. He called me his ‘dear’ and said I had nothing to fear, that I need only remain silent and all would be well.”

  A muscle in his jaw tensed. “I should never have let you leave my sight.”

  “I gave you no choice.”

  “I should have followed you, then.”

  “Had you stalked me, that would have frightened me more than Sir Edward did.”

  Remorse took hold of his countenance once again. In a softer tone of voice, he asked, “Were you very frightened?”

  “When I first sensed him behind me, I was—I thought he was Josiah Hollis. But when he spoke, I recognized his voice and believed it was better to cooperate than to antagonize him by resisting. Ever since I met him, Sir Edward has impressed me as possessing … less-than-razor-sharp intellect. I believed that once we arrived at wherever he was taking me, I could devise a means of escape.”

  “Yet here you are.”

  “We did not go far before I fainted altogether.”

  “Despite having boasted to me earlier this evening that you are not generally given to swooning?”

  Had their initial encounter in the gallery truly been only this evening? So much had transpired since, that to Charlotte it seemed at least a se’nnight ago. “You will recall that I reserved the right for some greater occasion. I should hope an abduction qualifies.”

  “It does, indeed. Though I would rather you had swooned in my arms than Sir Edward’s.” At her sudden look, he cleared his throat. “I would have known where you were, and that you were safe.”

  An awkward pause followed, and he became quite serious. “He … he did not hurt you, did he? Or attempt to force—”

  She shook her head. “In fact, since bringing me here, he has paid me little attention at all.”

  “That is probably for the best. When you fainted, did you remain unconscious for long?”

  “Just long enough for him to carry me here. When we entered the cottage, my arrival created a stir among the other ladies, and their commotion woke me. Your sisters were most solicitous, offering me what limited means of comfort were in their power, and assuring me that Sir Edward was really quite harmless. After a little while, Sir Edward retreated to another room, and they increased their ministrations on my behalf. While I appreciated their attention, it was…” She sought a word that would not sound ungrateful.

  “Excessive?”

  “You could say that.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted in a trace of a smile. “That means they like you.”

  “Flattering as that may be, I still felt very sleepy, and their well-meant care fatigued me further. Meanwhile, Miss Denham—who, despite Sir Edward’s claim that he brought us all here for our own protection from Lady Denham’s kidnapper, apparently was supposed to be acting as our warden—cast all of us condescending looks in sullen silence. So I came in here to sleep off the wine, or whatever it was that made me so groggy.”

  “Has your headache diminished since waking?”

  “It has, though I am still tired.”

  “That is hardly surprising. It is nearly dawn, and this has been a long night even for those of us who did not spend part of it being abducted. Do you feel equal to standing?”

  “I think so.” She pushed the blanket aside.

  He rose and offered his hand, which she accepted. After having spent half the night hand-in-hand with him, moving through the house in the dark, she found it almost natural to fit her hand inside his now—much more natural than quarreling with him.

  His pull was stronger than she anticipated, and as she reached her feet, she overbalanced. He caught her in both arms and supported her, his hands cupping her elbows, his forearms beneath hers, until she recovered her equilibrium.

  And then he continued to hold her.

  Neither said a word. She dared not speak, for fear of everything coming out wrong again and reigniting their quarrel. He, too, seemed to be wanting to say something, but holding back. And so they stood there, their bodies far enough apart to be not quite in contact, close enough that she wished they were.

  “Miss Heywood,” he finally said, “I deeply regret kissing you.”

  His words drove away any residual trace of drowsiness. She stiffened. Mortification took hold and her face grew warm. She cast down her gaze to shield herself from his, and attempted to step away from him.

  “No, I meant—” He tightened his hold. “I am making a mess of this apology! Diana was right when she said my mouth would get me into trouble—tonight it has, in a multitude of ways.” His palms slid down her arms until his hands held hers in a firm, warm grip. “I meant that I regret the circumstances of the kiss, and the distress it caused you. More than anything, I regret that it made you distrust me enough to propel you into the reach of a villain—for a villain Sir Edward is, even if an incompetent one.”

  She raised her gaze to his again. “As for the kiss itself,” he continued, pressing her hands more tightly, “I hope you will not consider it ungentlemanly of me to say that I would not be averse to repeating it—someday—under different conditions—acceptable conditions for a lady whom I could never mistake for a housemaid, or mistake for anyone other than the gentle, generous, patient Miss Heywood who has suffered my company, not to mention my nonsense, with extraordinary forbearance all night.”

  Her breath caught in her chest. Part of her wished he would kiss her right now, propriety be dashed. (Most of her wished that, actually.) But the part remaining—the dutiful Charlotte who would not disgrace her parents by engaging in too-familiar behavior with a gentleman to whom she was not even close to being affianced—asserted itself. She refrained from betraying any hint of her hope that “someday” would arrive very soon.

  His earnest expression turned to searching, as he tried to read her face. “Have mercy on me, Miss Heywood. Say something—anything—even if it is a command to take myself away and leave you in peace.”

  She realized, then, that she had neglected to speak at all, and had left him rather hanging in suspense. Squeezing his hands back, she said softly, “I might not be averse, either.”

  He smiled. So did she. And then he was indeed holding her close, long enough for them both to communicate through the embrace what neither was quite ready to voice aloud.

  Thirty-four

  The truth was that Sir Edward, whom Circumstances had confined very much to one spot, had read more sentimental Novels than agreed with him.… With a perversity of Judgement, which must be attributed to his not having by Nature a very strong head, the Graces, the Spirit, the Ingenuity, and the Perserverance of the Villain of the Story outweighed all his absurdities and all his Atrocities.

  —Sanditon

  Elizabeth nodded toward Sir Edward, who sat across the parlor in an ornate, high-backed oaken armchair amid a cacophony of female voices. “What should we do about him?”

  “Sir Edward might be a fool, but he is a titled fool,” Darcy replied. “And we have the ladies’ reputations to consider. We must handle this delicately.”

  Elizabeth agreed. Though all present in the cottage ornée knew that no one’s virtue had been compromised, if word of this night’s events went beyond the confines of Sanditon House and Denham Park, gossips would not be kind. Yet even amongst themselves, Sir Edward’s conduct could not be countenanced without his suffering consequences.

  Sidney and Charlotte had emerged from the adjacent room, apparently in accord once more, and had joined the Darcys in conference. “Is it kidnapping if the captives do not want to leave?” Sidney asked. “Susan and Diana have remained willingly—or at least, not in fear of their safety. Even Miss Brereton does not consider Sir Edward a threat, only
a nuisance.”

  “What about you, Charlotte?” Elizabeth asked. “As one of his abductees, what do you think?”

  “Despite the fright he gave me at the time, I am not fearful of him now, and he has nobody left to kidnap.”

  “The irony,” Darcy said, “is that, with Lady Denham now truly missing, in bringing all the other ladies here, Sir Edward might indeed have protected them from greater harm. Until we know what has happened to the dowager and who is responsible, they might be safer here than at Sanditon House. However, Sir Edward ought to sustain some sort of punishment.”

  Another glance at Sir Edward showed him shifting in his seat. Though the chair itself appeared so uncomfortable that Elizabeth could guess why it had been banished from the main house, the greater torture seemed to be the barrage of attention leveled at the baronet. Susan tried to cheer him, Diana tried to cure him, and Miss Denham steadily upbraided him. Miss Brereton, since wakening, had done her best to avoid him—an easy matter, as he, in turn, was so humiliated by the failure of his “seduction” scheme that he could not look her in the eye.

  Elizabeth turned back to Darcy. “I think his punishment has already commenced. We can take additional measures later, after Lady Denham is found.”

  Sir Edward left his chair and came to them. “I just want everybody to go home and leave me in peace,” he said. “How long is it until sunrise?”

  “If you had Sir Harry’s watch, you could tell us,” Sidney said.

  “Alas, when I returned to Denham Park for it the second time, I determined that, like Lady Denham, it has gone missing.”

  “I suppose that is a risk one takes when leaving items at a pawnshop.”

  Sir Edward’s complexion became truly peaked. “You know about that?”

  “I am not the only one,” Sidney said. “It was Lady Denham who told me.”

  Beads of perspiration formed on the baronet’s forehead, and he looked nauseated as he retreated to his oaken throne.

  After consulting Sidney and Charlotte, it was decided that they would return to Sanditon House with Darcy and Elizabeth to continue the search for Lady Denham. Darcy hoped to find Josiah Hollis able to respond more coherently to interrogation, and to find Mr. Granville returned from wherever he had gone. The Parker sisters and Miss Denham would remain at the cottage ornée—or better still, remove under Sir Edward’s escort through the tunnel to Denham House, where they could pass the time in greater comfort than in the partially finished and sparsely furnished cottage—until sunrise, when it was hoped that they could depart for Trafalgar House and tend to their nephew. The ladies were very much in favor of this suggestion; Sir Edward received it with resignation.