The Suspicion at Sanditon (Or, the Disappearance of Lady Denham) Page 30

  “Lady Denham’s wine has never affected me as strongly as it did tonight,” Miss Brereton said. “I actually fell asleep while walking.” She paused, an expression of distress overtaking her countenance. “Do you think the wine was adulterated?”

  “Sir Edward admitted to having poured Susan Parker’s sleeping draught into the carafe,” Elizabeth said. “But we have no way of knowing whether Mr. Granville was aware it had been doctored.”

  “Maybe he was just trying to get her drunk so he could have his way with her,” Josiah said. “Or have her out of the way.”

  “Mr. Hollis,” Darcy said, “do curb your speech—consider the ladies’ more delicate sensibilities.”

  Elizabeth assumed her husband referred to Charlotte’s and Clara’s sensibilities, for very little shocked hers anymore. In fact, the thought that Josiah had just voiced had also occurred to her—though phrased with less crass. Her mind now raced ahead, recalling numerous opportunities Mr. Granville had received or engineered, that a man with questionable motives could have exploited for his own benefit.

  “Miss Brereton’s quitting the portrait room with Sir Edward to go sleep in her chamber did free Mr. Granville to move about the house at will, with no one to question him,” Elizabeth said. “He also roamed freely for a time when Susan first went missing—after you, Mr. Parker, parted ways with him. However, he spent much of that time trailing Mr. Hollis.”

  “What are you talking about?” Josiah said. “I was in my own chamber, sleeping, while you were all looking for Mr. Parker’s sisters.”

  “Mr. Granville told us that he saw you coming from Lady Denham’s apartment,” Darcy said. “Afterward, Mrs. Darcy and I discovered that her papers had been ransacked. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Only that if Mr. Granville claims he saw me near that apartment, he is either mistaken or lying. I have no need to pilfer any papers—I am under no illusions about her will containing anything relevant to me.”

  “You harbor no hope of inheriting Sanditon House?”

  “That matter was settled long ago.”

  “If Mr. Granville is lying, then it is most likely he who rifled the papers,” Elizabeth said.

  “Unless it was Lady Denham herself,” Sidney replied. “She did leave the ransom note during that same period.”

  “What?” Mr. Hollis exclaimed. “Now what are you talking about?” Miss Heywood and Miss Brereton also voiced surprise.

  Sidney briefly explained that Lady Denham had been in the house during the early part of the evening, and why. “However,” he added, “she truly went missing sometime before we all reconvened in here after the initial search for Susan.”

  “While Mr. Granville was wandering around the house incriminating me?” Josiah said. “Sounds to me like he was a busy fellow—first he kidnapped Lady Denham, then implicated me.”

  “He could not have kidnapped her then,” Charlotte said. “He was still here when the ransom note was found, and later when Sir Edward returned with the false watch.”

  “Maybe he stashed her somewhere and came back,” Josiah said. “This house contains no lack of hiding places.”

  “But Mr. Granville has never been here before tonight. Would he know of them?”

  “If Mr. Granville is indeed Ivy Rose’s son,” Elizabeth said, “she might have told him of the tunnel that leads from the house to the grotto and hermitage.”

  “He examined the hermitage earlier this evening,” Darcy said. “In fact, he volunteered to hike out there when we conducted our grounds search.”

  “And he returned dry, despite the rain.” Sidney’s expression was troubled; clearly this recollection, more so than the conjecture of the others, caused him to doubt his friend. He turned to Mr. Hollis.

  “Show us the second tunnel.”

  Thirty-seven

  “I do not pretend to determine what your thoughts and designs in time past may have been. All that is best known to yourself.”

  —Isabella Thorpe, Northanger Abbey

  Dawn was just breaking as the six of them emerged from the tunnel into a small thicket between the grotto and the hermitage. The rain had finally ceased; dense fog now shrouded the landscape. Darcy was grateful that Josiah Hollis was among their party; otherwise, they might not have found the hermitage in the mist.

  He was also grateful for the mist itself, however, for it cloaked their approach. Darcy and Sidney, yet armed with the concealed pistols they had taken to Denham Park, were able to creep right up to the hermitage. Sidney carried his weapon reluctantly, still hoping that they had allowed their conjecture to run wild regarding Percy Granville—that the friend who had in the first place received his invitation to this ill-fated dinner party by virtue of his connection to Sidney, had not betrayed Sidney’s trust.

  Darcy did not want to use his weapon either, but, able to predict neither what they would find inside the hermitage nor how events would unfold, they needed to be prepared for any eventuality. Elizabeth, Miss Heywood, Miss Brereton, and Josiah Hollis hung back several yards, where they would remain distant from any danger until informed that it was safe to approach. Darcy peered through one of the simple abode’s two tiny windows. A single candle dimly illuminated the interior.

  Mr. Granville was inside.

  Fortunately, the unpredictable gentleman stood at the opposite end of the one-room dwelling, unaware of his observer. Darcy, however, had to remain cautious—the window held no glass; any sound he made could be heard.

  Also inside was Lady Denham.

  She lay on the remnants of an ancient straw mattress set atop a narrow bedstead made of rough-hewn branches. Not far away—nothing could be far in this humble space—two chairs flanked an equally rustic wooden table. The candlestick sat beside a paper on the table’s surface.

  Lady Denham appeared to be sleeping, but restlessly. She shifted often, no doubt uncomfortable on a mattress that was probably older and definitely more decrepit than she. Mr. Granville hovered near, alternately drawing close to see whether she woke, then retreating to pace off nervous energy. Debris littered the uneven stone floor—dead leaves, bits of broken pottery, thatch that had fallen in from the roof—and it rustled and crunched beneath his boots.

  One of the chairs had been pulled out from the table. Mr. Granville sat down, facing the dowager, resting an elbow on the table beside him. But even then, he was not still. He repeatedly slipped his fingers into his waistcoat pocket until they at last simply stayed there, and he twitched his leg in steady rhythm as he watched Lady Denham sleep. The flame of the candle trembled.

  Darcy stepped away from the window and motioned Sidney to follow him until they reached a safe enough distance to whisper.

  “He is inside. So is Lady Denham.”

  Sidney deflated upon receiving confirmation of his worst imaginings. But he quickly recovered himself. “Has he harmed her?”

  “It does not appear so. She is sleeping, and does not seem even to be bound or restrained in any way.”

  “Is he armed?”

  “I saw no weapon. But he might have something in his waistcoat pocket.”

  “A pistol?”

  “No, nothing so bulky.” Their own pistols, though second-sized, created enough of a bulge in their coat pockets to be noticed by anyone who cared enough to look—but perfect concealment was not their object. Granville’s waistcoat pocket was much smaller. “Something petite,” Darcy said, “if anything at all.”

  “That is hopeful news, at least—perhaps we will not have to fight him. What is he doing?”

  “Watching her. Pacing. Waiting.”

  Sidney nodded absently as his gaze followed the drifting mist to the small stone structure. He studied it for a time, then turned to Darcy.

  “All right, then.”

  * * *

  At the moment of Darcy and Sidney’s abrupt entrance, Percy Granville was leaning over Lady Denham, his hands on her shoulders. He whirled round to face them.

  “Parker! I—I wa
s not expecting you.” Mr. Granville’s hands, which he had raised before him in an instinctive posture of defense upon being startled, dropped to his sides. He stepped back.

  “I imagine not,” Sidney replied. His stance was stiff, his manner cold and formal. “I myself did not expect to end the evening here.”

  “In truth, nor did I.”

  “In truth?” Sidney laughed, but it was a sound devoid of humor. “In truth? Do elaborate on what you mean by that—I am all curiosity.”

  Mr. Granville’s gaze darted to Lady Denham. “I know this does not look good—”

  “Well, now—that, at least, is the truth. No, this does not look good at all.”

  “I swear to you, Parker—and to you, Mr. Darcy—I mean Lady Denham no harm.”

  “Good G–d, Granville!” Sidney’s voice was full of disgust, his expression one of disbelief and betrayal. “What are we doing here? What are you about?”

  Movement from the bed drew Mr. Granville’s attention back to Lady Denham, who had turned her head toward him. The dowager’s eyelids fluttered. For a moment they partially opened, but then sleepily closed once more.

  Granville raised his troubled gaze to meet Sidney’s.

  “I wish I knew.” His own head shook in disbelief. “I never meant for events to go this far—everything has spun out of control.”

  “You were leaning over her just now, your hands upon her,” Darcy said. “What was your intention?”

  “I was trying to wake her. She has been sleeping a long while—I am growing concerned.”

  Sidney approached Lady Denham’s reposing form, observing her closely. The rise and fall of her chest maintained no steady rhythm. Her eyelids were tightly squeezed shut. A muscle in her cheek twitched.

  “I believe she is awake now.”

  Lady Denham’s eyes flew open. She sat upright—no small feat on the sagging ropes that supported the deteriorated mattress—and scowled at her erstwhile conspirator.

  “Sidney Parker, you are too observant by half.”

  Thirty-eight

  “There is at times,” said he, “a little self-importance—but it is not offensive; and there are moments, there are points, when her Love of Money is carried greatly too far.”

  —Thomas Parker, Sanditon

  “How long have you been awake?” Sidney asked.

  “Long enough.” Lady Denham tried to move her legs over the side of the mattress, but there was no graceful way for the seventy-year-old dowager to extricate herself from the dilapidated bedstead without assistance. “Make yourself useful and help me out of this thing.”

  Darcy came forward to aid Sidney, and together the two gentlemen settled Lady Denham into one of the chairs. Mr. Granville stood back, trying to render himself as unobtrusive as possible.

  To Darcy’s eye, Lady Denham appeared unharmed. “Are you well?” Darcy asked her. “Has Mr. Granville injured you in any way?”

  “I should say so! I have never in my life been so ill-used as I have by this pretender. This is an outrage! Presuming to speak to me about matters none of his business, and when I refused, drugging me and taking me from my own estate to—to…” She glanced around the dirty, cobweb-strewn room. “To this wretched hovel. Where are we? To what ends of the earth has he transported me?”

  “Actually, this is your wretched hovel,” Sidney said. “You have not left Sanditon Park—we are in the hermitage.”

  “Oh.”

  Darcy cleared his throat. “I meant physical injury, Lady Denham. The injury to your dignity we will address in a moment, but have you suffered any physical harm? You say Mr. Granville drugged you—”

  “I gave her wine, with her own sleeping draught added,” Mr. Granville said. “Nothing more.”

  “What sleeping draught? I never take medicine.”

  “The one Miss Diana Parker sent you.”

  “The same one she prepares for Susan?” Sidney asked.

  “I believe so,” Mr. Granville replied. “That is what she said this evening when she talked of it.”

  “How much did you give her?”

  “The whole phial. I was hoping it would relax her and make her more receptive to hearing me out, but she fell asleep before I could even start the conversation.”

  Sidney’s eyes widened. “Little wonder! To save preparation time, Diana fills the phial with multiple doses. It probably contained a week’s worth.”

  Darcy inwardly shuddered at the thought of how lucky Mr. Granville was to have not inadvertently put Lady Denham to sleep forever. “How do you feel now, Lady Denham? Are you in need of a doctor?”

  “A doctor? A doctor will only want to drug me more! Or stick leeches on me—and probably amputate a limb while he is about it, just for good measure. No! Do not even think about making my ordeal worse by bringing in a doctor! I am perfectly sound.”

  “If that is the case, several of your guests wait outside in great anxiety on your behalf, and they very much wish to see you to assure themselves of your welfare. Miss Brereton, in particular, has been terribly worried about you all night.”

  “Well, now, that is more like it! Yes, do bring Miss Clara to me. And the others.”

  “Mr. Granville, in light of Lady Denham’s accusations, before we admit other ladies to this gathering you surely understand my need to ask whether you have any weapons on your person or in this room?”

  “No—I give you my word.”

  “What about other items that could cause harm?”

  “None.”

  “I assume you will not mind removing your coat so that Mr. Parker can check its pockets? And kindly show him whatever it is you are carrying in the pocket of your waistcoat.”

  Mr. Granville complied. The coat pockets were empty; the waistcoat yielded a small oval item that he placed in Sidney’s hand. Sidney looked at it, met Granville’s gaze, and returned it to him.

  Sidney departed to collect Miss Brereton and the others, leaving Darcy with Lady Denham, Mr. Granville, and a silence so heavy that it outweighed all three of them. Ironically, both kidnapper and captive considered Sidney their truest ally and most sympathetic listener among all the guests, and were therefore reluctant to continue the interview with Darcy until Sidney returned.

  Sidney’s absence did not, however, prevent their commencing a squabble with each other.

  “I wanted only to talk with you,” Mr. Granville said. “A simple conversation, that is all. But you would not even let me begin.”

  “There is nothing you can possibly say that I want to hear.”

  “That does not absolve you of your moral obligation to listen.”

  “Moral obligation? Ha! You are a fine one to talk about morality, Mr. Granville. You—who repaid my hospitality by kidnapping me and bringing me to this—place.”

  Darcy thought Lady Denham was a fine one to talk about the obligations of hospitality, after the anxiety to which she had intentionally subjected her guests during the first half of the night. However, he kept that opinion to himself.

  A moment later, Elizabeth and the others entered. Miss Brereton went straight to Lady Denham’s side, her genuine expression of relief not lost upon the dowager.

  “Miss Clara, you are a welcome sight. You will not believe the ordeal I have been through!”

  Elizabeth was an even more welcome sight at Darcy’s own side, where she joined him after paying her respects to Lady Denham and expressing her happiness in the dowager’s being returned to her friends unharmed.

  “What have I missed?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Very little,” Darcy replied. “But given the prologue, I think the principal drama is yet to come.”

  Both Miss Heywood and Miss Brereton kept their distance from Mr. Granville—a challenge in the snug space, which grew tighter with the addition of each person. Josiah Hollis was the last to enter. He scanned the dwelling from ceiling to floor, taking the full measure of its neglect: the cobwebs stretching across the corners, the squirrel’s nest in the rafters, the bir
d droppings in the fireplace, the dry pine needles, leaves, and other detritus that had covered the floor before the eight of them had crowded inside, kicking up dust and displacing debris. It occurred to Darcy that Josiah was likely the only person present who had been inside the hermitage before last night, let alone seen it in good repair.

  Josiah acknowledged the dowager with a nod. “Lady Denham.”

  “Mr. Hollis.” Her tone was civil, no more, no less.

  “I see you have redecorated since I was last here.”

  Lady Denham ignored Josiah’s remark, instead turning to Sidney. “Now that everyone is assured of my well-being, can we return to Sanditon House? Most of the guests can go home now that the storm has passed, and the rest of us might as well be comfortable while we wait for the magistrate to come deal with Mr. Granville.”

  “The magistrate is in London, my dear lady; it might be days until we see him.”

  “Before we relocate,” Darcy said, “perhaps Mr. Granville would like to explain what subject of conversation was so vital that he believed it justified kidnapping you.” He pulled the other chair out from the table and, with a gesture, invited Mr. Granville to sit.

  Mr. Granville remained standing. “Ivy Woodcock.”

  “Why do any of us need to talk about Ivy Woodcock?” Lady Denham waved her hand dismissively and shifted in her own chair. “Especially you?”

  “She was my grandmother. My great-grandmother, actually. And Archibald Hollis was my great-grandfather.”

  “Impossible. Ivy Woodcock died almost a century ago, still a young girl.”

  Josiah Hollis crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her with an unwavering look of accusation. “You and I both know that is not true—your ladyship.”

  The look Lady Denham shot Josiah in return was sharper than any words she could utter. “And you and I both know that nothing said here this morning can change choices made in the past. So why discuss any of this?” She turned her glare on Mr. Granville. “Especially with the ruffian who entered my house last night plotting to kidnap me.”

  “I never plotted to kidnap you, or to commit any other misdeeds against you,” Mr. Granville said. “When I arrived at Sanditon House, my sole object was simply to make your acquaintance, to meet you in a context outside of our connection to Archibald Hollis, to judge for myself what sort of person you are so that I could determine the best tack to take when I returned the following day to request an audience with you.”