The Suspicion at Sanditon (Or, the Disappearance of Lady Denham) Page 4

  The elder, whom Elizabeth presumed to be Lady Denham, was of average height, with an upright, sturdy carriage and strong though not unpleasant features somewhat softened by years. Wrinkles gathered round her eyes, two age spots marred her otherwise well-preserved complexion, and what hair showed beneath her bonnet looked to have turned white long ago, but her bearing had not diminished. Though three and a half score in years, she yet moved with agility, and comported herself with the air of one accustomed to being attended.

  Lady Denham appeared surprised by the presence of Elizabeth and Darcy. “Forgive our intrusion,” she said to Mrs. Parker. “We did not realize you had guests.”

  “No, no—this is actually most fortunate!” Mr. Parker said. “These are the new friends of whom I told you, the ones who have taken Number Three on the Terrace.”

  “Number Three?” the lady said, assessing first Elizabeth, then Darcy. “I thought you said two couples were to lodge in that cottage.”

  “The Fitzwilliams were unable to come because of an unexpected family matter. However, allow me to present Mr. Darcy and his wife, who will remain in Sanditon for a full fortnight. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, this is Lady Denham of Sanditon House, and her cousin, Miss Brereton.”

  “You will be quite comfortable in Number Three,” Lady Denham declared. “When did you arrive?”

  “Early this afternoon,” Darcy said.

  “Very good. Is the Terrace full, then, Mr. Parker?”

  “It is, I am delighted to say!”

  “Miss Clara and I are just come from the post office. She had a letter to post to our cousins in London, and it is such a fine evening that we decided to walk it to the postbox ourselves. I never mind a walk, you know, in decent weather. Why, I fancy I could have walked the letter all the way to Gracechurch Street, had I the time.”

  “Gracechurch Street!” Elizabeth said. “Is that where your cousins live?”

  Lady Denham bristled. “Yes … they live in Cheapside.” She said this as if she had revealed they lived at Newgate Prison. “But they are good people. Miss Clara lived with them, after her parents died, until I invited her to visit me.”

  Contrary to the image its name suggested, Cheapside was a thriving market district of fashionable shops and tradesmen’s homes. Though far from the Darcys’ Mayfair town house in more than mere geography, it was a respectable address for those whose income derived from trade.

  “I fear you have mistaken the cause of my exclamation,” Elizabeth said. “I was simply surprised by the coincidence—my uncle and aunt live in Gracechurch Street. Mr. and Mrs. Edward Gardiner.”

  “The Gardiners live but a few doors from our cousins’ house,” Miss Brereton said. “They are a fine family—lovely children. I believe, Lady Denham, you might have met Mrs. Gardiner when you were last in town. She called upon us one afternoon about a church event she was organizing.”

  “Oh, yes—I recall her now. I had just returned from my solicitor’s office when she arrived. She is your aunt, you say? Well, she seemed a nice enough woman, and we cannot help where our relations live—at least, most of our relations. I did help Miss Clara by inviting her to come stay with me for a time.”

  As this was now her ladyship’s second mention of that fact in as many minutes, Elizabeth wondered whether poor Miss Brereton were constantly reminded of the gratitude she owed Lady Denham for her change in circumstances. She also wondered how permanent or precarious her improved condition was.

  “Will you stay for tea?” Mrs. Parker asked.

  “Not today, I am afraid,” Lady Denham replied. “We have already taken ours—you know I prefer it early. But we will not keep you from yours. Besides, I did not sleep especially well last night, so I want to retire earlier this evening.”

  Diana, who had been remarkably quiet during the Gracechurch Street discussion, pounced upon this mention of poor rest. “What troubled your slumber, Lady Denham? Are you feeling quite well?”

  “I am feeling just fine.”

  “Your color looks a bit jaundiced—”

  “It does not!”

  “Do you have the headache? Nausea? How is your appet—”

  “I am perfectly well!”

  “I do not like your complexion—it appears sallow. Why, I believe you are bilious!”

  “Bilious? I most certainly am not!”

  “Not to worry—I shall prepare you a decoction that will relieve your symptoms.”

  “What symptoms? I do not have any—oh, never mind!”

  Diane rose to her feet. “Wait here—it will not take me long to prepare it.”

  “No! Only twice in my life have I ever taken physic, or decoctions, or whatever you want to call them—and I do not plan to start a habit of it now.”

  “Then perhaps a sedative? To help you get a better night’s sleep—”

  “Diana,” Thomas Parker kindly interjected, “Lady Denham was on her way out. I think once she gets home, she will sleep perfectly well.”

  “I will indeed.” Lady Denham moved toward the door with speed impressive for any septuagenarian.

  Diana sighed. “Well, if you change your mind—”

  “I will not, but thank you all the same. Come, Miss Clara. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Darcy. You may call upon us tomorrow if you like and talk more with Miss Clara of Gracechurch Street. You are welcome, too, Miss Heywood. You have not yet called at Sanditon House, and Miss Clara should have more young folks about her.”

  Five

  “Sidney says any thing you know. He has always said what he chose of and to us, all. Most Families have such a member among them I believe Miss Heywood. There is someone in most families privileged by superior abilities or spirits to say anything.—In ours, it is Sidney, who is a very clever young Man, and with great powers of pleasing.—He lives too much in the World to be settled; that is his only fault. He is here and there and every where.”

  —Thomas Parker, Sanditon

  Having received a near-summons from Lady Denham, Charlotte set off with Mrs. Parker and little Mary the following morning for a visit to Sanditon House. They had made several attempts earlier in the week to call on Lady Denham at home, but had been thwarted every time by encountering the very active dowager elsewhere beforehand. Today, however, they embarked at an earlier hour, so as to improve their chances of success.

  They went by way of the Terrace, where they would collect Mrs. Darcy and proceed to call on Lady Denham together. Mary, delighted to be included (at the venerable age of six) among the “ladies” while her three rambunctious younger brothers stayed home with their nurse, skipped happily between her mother and Charlotte as they walked. She had been allowed to accompany her mother on two previous visits to Sanditon House, and now chattered excitedly about what Charlotte could expect to see.

  Charlotte was nearly as excited as little Mary about their destination. Her quiet life in Willingden afforded few opportunities to visit mansions on the scale of Sanditon House, and she was curious to see where and how the great lady lived.

  “The house has a giant park all around it,” Mary said.

  “A giant park?” Charlotte repeated in an exaggerated tone. “How many giants live there?”

  The little girl laughed. “Not that kind of giant, Miss Heywood!”

  Charlotte took pleasure in little Mary’s company. The child reminded her of her own youngest sister, whom she missed. While she was enjoying her Sanditon adventure, and the Parkers were thoughtful, attentive hosts, she was also feeling the absence of her own family and the familiarity of home.

  Sea mist surrounded them as they neared the Terrace. In the ten days since her arrival in Sanditon, Charlotte had become accustomed to the mistiness of mornings in the coastal village. Today, however, the fog was so dense that as they crested the hill, they could not see the bottom on the other side.

  Mary’s skipping soon caused her to outpace her mother, but Charlotte, used to helping mind her siblings, easily kept up with the girl. Mary continued her cata
logue of delights to be observed at Sanditon House.

  “… and there is a horse that lives in Mr. Hollis’s chamber.”

  Charlotte, whose thoughts had wandered a bit, realized she must have misheard the little girl. However, before she could ask Mary to repeat herself, the child suddenly stopped skipping and pointed into the mist. “Look, Miss Heywood—is that a carriage?”

  Charlotte could barely discern a vehicle ascending the hill. “I believe so—a gig, perhaps.”

  “No—there is more than one horse. It must be a phaeton!”

  Mrs. Parker caught up to them and tendered her opinion as the mist continued to roll and obscure their object of interest. “It appears to me to be a tandem.”

  Little Mary peered hard into the mist. “I can see the coachman.” She gasped, then clapped her hands in delight. “’Tis Uncle Sidney, Mama! It is indeed!”

  Within a few minutes the carriage was before them, driven by a gentleman accompanied by his servant.

  “Uncle Sidney!” At Mary’s joyful greeting, the gentleman stopped the vehicle.

  “Is that a sprite calling my name in the mist?” He alighted, and the child rushed to him. He lifted her high in the air, to her utter glee, then held her so that her face was level with his. “Why, no—it is Mistress Mary! How does my lady this morning? Not contrary, I hope?”

  Mrs. Parker watched them fondly. “Sidney is a favorite with the children,” she said to Charlotte.

  Charlotte suspected he was also a favorite with the ladies. About seven- or eight-and-twenty, Sidney Parker bore himself with an assured air, and seemed completely at ease in the fashionable clothes cut to show his tall, slender frame to advantage. Short but perfectly tamed curls of light brown hair framed a lively countenance dominated by blue eyes that twinkled as he played with his niece.

  “Lift me again, Uncle Sidney!”

  He laughed and obliged her once more, then set her down. With a fleeting glance at Charlotte, he turned to his sister-in-law. “And how are you, Mary?”

  “Very well, thank you—all the more for this happy surprise,” Mrs. Parker said. “Tom will be delighted you are come. Did you know that Susan, Diana, and Arthur are in Sanditon, as well? They have taken lodgings of their own, however, so we have plenty of room for you at Trafalgar House.”

  “I had no idea the others were here. I am just come from Eastbourne, and thought to spend two or three days at Sanditon before the village changes so much that I no longer recognize it. But the hotel must be my quarters this visit—I expect to be joined there by a friend.”

  “Your friends are always welcome at Trafalgar House, you know.”

  “You are most kind, but I am afraid your house will remain empty of guests this time. Next visit, however, I promise to plant myself completely in your way.”

  “You are never in the way. And our house is not empty.” She gestured toward Charlotte. “Miss Heywood is our guest at present.”

  “Aha! This lady does have a name! You have been so long about introducing her, that I had begun to think her a figment of my imagination, produced by the mist.” He offered Charlotte a well-bred bow. “I am happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Heywood.”

  Charlotte received his address with shy pleasure. She was not often the object of a gentleman’s attention, let alone that of a gentleman as sophisticated as Sidney Parker. “And I yours, Mr. Parker.”

  “How long is your stay in Sanditon? I am guessing my brother Tom has prescribed at least six weeks for your general health—more, if my sister Diana was part of the conversation.”

  “I think it shall be four.”

  “Only four? At a seaside resort? You must be a very efficient idler.” He smiled and turned back to Mrs. Parker. “Well, Mary, I must be staking my claim on a pair of hotel rooms, before Mr. Woodcock lets them all out.”

  “Will we see you for dinner?”

  “Is Cook by chance making her roast duck?”

  “No, but if I mention you are coming, she will prepare it special for you.”

  “Then give the old woman my love, and tell her I can taste it already.” He turned to Charlotte. “The way to a man’s heart, Miss Heywood, is truly through his stomach—never let anyone convince you otherwise.”

  After raising little Mary into the air a final time, he made a charmingly formal bow to his niece—which was answered with an attempt at an equally dignified curtsy—and took his leave.

  * * *

  A brief stop at No. 3 Sanditon Terrace added Mrs. Darcy to their party, and the ladies proceeded down the road to Sanditon House. The broad, landscaped approach took them between misty fields for about a quarter mile before they arrived at a set of gates marking the formal entrance into the grounds of Sanditon Park. Little Mary, having wearied of skipping (at least for the present), walked beside her mother as Mrs. Parker passed through the gates and continued toward Sanditon House.

  Charlotte and Mrs. Darcy followed at a slight distance, their pace leisurely as they engaged in light conversation about the beauty of the grounds. A paling that defined the park’s boundary ran close to the road, with mature elms and other trees following the fence line. Some of the trees were ancient, towering so high that their tops disappeared into the mist, while their thick, solid trunks boasted the weathering of sea storms that had felled less stalwart companions. Hedges interspersed between the trees created a nearly uninterrupted wall of foliage.

  There were, however, gaps here and there in the shrubbery, and through one of them, a glimpse of something white on the other side of the pales caught Charlotte’s eye.

  She paused, then stepped closer to the fence for a better view. A bank, skirted by a narrow path, sloped down from the paling, and at its foot the seated figure of a woman could be seen clearly despite the mist. A light breeze fluttered the white ribbons of her gown, and it was this movement that had first drawn Charlotte’s notice.

  It was the woman’s identity, however, that now commanded Charlotte’s attention: Miss Brereton—with Sir Edward Denham by her side.

  The baronet sat very near her, and the couple were engaged in close conversation. Obviously, a desire for privacy had led them to the remote bank, where the morning mist would further shroud their tête-à-tête from observation.

  With a start, Charlotte immediately stepped back, uncomfortable in her sudden, unintentional, unwanted role of voyeur.

  She looked up the road. Mrs. Parker and Mary continued their approach to Sanditon House, their pace apparently unbroken. Charlotte was glad that Mrs. Parker had not noticed her pause or its cause. A glance at Mrs. Darcy, however, revealed in her answering gaze that she, too, had spied the secret lovers.

  “If I am not mistaken, that is Miss Brereton,” Mrs. Darcy said as they resumed their walk. She spoke in a volume low enough that there was no danger of Mrs. Parker hearing them converse, let alone being able to discern their topic. “Do you know the gentleman?”

  “He is Sir Edward Denham.” Charlotte trusted Mrs. Darcy not to spread gossip about what they had just witnessed. “I am—” She could not define precisely how she felt about the discovery. Shocked? Disappointed? The sight of the clandestine meeting had caused both parties to fall in Charlotte’s esteem, but she pitied Miss Brereton’s situation and did not want to judge her too harshly. “I am quite surprised to see them together in this manner.”

  “They are not betrothed?”

  “No, and Lady Denham is determined that Sir Edward must marry an heiress to rebuild the fortune of the baronetcy.”

  “I see.”

  They walked a few paces in silence, Charlotte’s thoughts jumbled as questions of duty rose to needle her.

  “Do you think—” Charlotte hesitated, then plunged forward. She could use Mrs. Darcy’s guidance just now. “Miss Brereton is under Lady Denham’s protection. Do we have an obligation to tell Lady Denham what we saw?” She hoped not. Lady Denham would not receive the news with pleasure. Charlotte did not want to be the cause of misfortune or grief to anyb
ody, especially Miss Brereton, whose lot in life was difficult enough as it was.

  “I think we ought not form hasty assumptions about the nature of their tête-à-tête,” Mrs. Darcy said. “We are but visitors here. However accurate our initial assumptions might prove, we do not know the full story.”

  Charlotte accepted her friend’s counsel with relief, and resolved to put the incident from her mind.

  Six

  Every Neighbourhood should have a Great Lady.

  —Sanditon

  A short distance farther brought Sanditon House within sight. It was stately and handsome, rising from the mist like a castle of old, with Gothic window arches and a tower still standing sentinel against the French enemy across the Channel. No one had told it that Napoleon had been vanquished two years earlier, nor would it have cared. Though not as ancient nor grand in scale as the strongholds it was meant to recall, it had stood long enough on this spot of land not ten miles from Hastings to know that two years’ peace with France was but an instant on the strip of Anglo-Saxon coastline that had witnessed the Norman invasion. Mr. Parker’s proposed Waterloo Crescent might memorialize the French emperor’s defeat, but Sanditon House knew that in time, another would-be conqueror would inevitably rise on the Continent to threaten England once more.

  Two servants admitted them to the house. Charlotte could not help but feel, upon entering, that the house lacked the warmth of her family home, and that of the Parkers. Everything was propriety and order, and she wondered whether Lady Denham enjoyed the importance of her style of living, more than the style itself.

  They were shown into a large, formal sitting room, with old but fine, well-maintained furnishings and appointments.

  “Now remember, Mary,” Mrs. Parker said, “that whenever we visit Sanditon House, you are to sit quietly on the sofa and Not Touch Anything.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Mary dutifully went to the sofa, sat down upon it, and folded her hands in her lap. Charlotte had enough experience with her own younger siblings to doubt that the child’s posture would last more than six minutes, and to know that every one of them would feel to little Mary like a year of her life.