The Suspicion at Sanditon (Or, the Disappearance of Lady Denham) Page 7

  Their party now split in two. As Miss Heywood had already been in the village more than a week and had been treated to a personal tour upon her arrival, she accompanied Mrs. Parker and Mary back to Trafalgar House while Mr. Parker commenced the Darcys’ tour of Sanditon.

  “Let us give Sidney a chance to get settled while I show you the village, then stop at the hotel last,” he said. “We are quite proud of it—newly built, as is the livery beside it. It is much bigger and grander than the inn down in the old village was. Three stories of guest rooms, many of the upper ones with fine views of the sea—all quite comfortable. But let us begin with a walk down to the shore.…”

  * * *

  After a Grand Tour of Sanditon that rivaled any Continental journey, Elizabeth and Darcy entered the hotel with Mr. Parker. Their guide headed toward the front desk to learn in which room his brother could be found, but stopped upon spying a young gentleman engaged in conversation on the far side of the lobby.

  “Oh! That is Sidney over there.”

  Sidney and an associate sat in a corner pair of chairs, removed from the flow of guests passing through the lobby. A large potted plant partly obscured his companion from view, but as Elizabeth and the others crossed the room, she identified her as Lady Denham.

  Sensing the approach of their party, Sidney glanced toward them and rose.

  “Why, Tom!” He greeted Mr. Parker with an earnest handshake, his pleasure in the reunion evident. “I did not expect to see you until later today.”

  “When I heard you were in Sanditon, I could not forgo the opportunity to greet you sooner,” Mr. Parker replied. “Especially as I was so nearby, with friends who are lodging in one of the cottages across the way.”

  He introduced them to Sidney. The usual pleasantries were exchanged, after which Elizabeth expressed happiness in seeing Lady Denham again so soon. “I am, however, sorry to have interrupted your tête-à-tête,” Elizabeth said.

  “You have not interrupted anything,” her ladyship replied. “Sidney Parker was merely keeping me company while I wait for Miss Clara. She is at the library in search of Evelina, or Pamela, or some other unfortunate heroine—I cannot keep them straight—I do not read much myself. But Miss Clara enjoys a novel now and then, and they seem harmless. Sir Edward reads a great many. Young folks must be allowed their amusements.”

  “Sidney,” Mr. Parker said, “Mary told me that you anticipate the arrival of a friend. Do you expect him in time for dinner?”

  “No, Granville said he would not arrive until late this evening.”

  “It will be a family dinner, then.” He turned to the Darcys and Lady Denham. “Unless I can persuade you to join us?”

  “Mrs. Darcy and I appreciate the invitation, but I have already ordered our dinner here for this evening,” Darcy said.

  This came as news to Elizabeth, and she half wondered whether he had done so to avoid dining with the valetudinarian portion of the Parker clan a second night in a row.

  “Dinner here is bound to be a good one,” Sidney said, “the best you will find in the village outside of a private house. Not that Sanditon offers much in the way of competition—only a few cook-shops and pubs—unless, Tom, you have transformed the old inn into a café since my last visit?”

  “What,” Lady Denham asked, “is a caff-ay?”

  “A type of dining establishment one sees in Paris,” Sidney replied.

  “Paris!” From the expression on Lady Denham’s face, he might as well have said “Purgatory.” “Why on earth would we want one of those in Sanditon?”

  “To entice visitors from across the Channel. Now, Tom, that would give Sanditon a leg up on Brinshore! Why, add a pâtisserie, refer to all the shops as boutiques, rename the library ‘La Bibliothèque,’ and the Terrace could become the next Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Imagine how welcome French travelers would feel! Sanditon would be the destination of choice for every family in France.”

  “French families!” Lady Denham regarded the brothers in horror. “You cannot be contemplating such a thing? We don’t need their like in Sanditon.”

  “Sidney is not serious,” Mr. Parker replied. “He says this only to tease me.”

  “Well, I certainly hope so. Sidney Parker, sometimes I cannot tell whether you are jesting or not. French visitors! Why not invite the rats off the ships, while we are at it? I would rather the houses sit vacant. We want only good, English folk—Irish, if we absolutely must. None of those mounseers or their cafés here.”

  “Fear not, Lady Denham,” Sidney said. “I was indeed only sporting with my brother.” He addressed the Darcys. “I hope I have not made a poor impression upon you. Tom is used to my ways—he will tell you that I would hardly seem myself did I not rail with him when given an opportunity. But it is all in good nature.” He turned back to Lady Denham. “If you come to dinner tonight, I promise not to utter a single word en français.”

  “Yes, do come,” Mr. Parker said. “The invitation also extends to Miss Brereton, of course.”

  “As you are so good as to frequently invite Miss Clara and me to dine at Trafalgar House, we will not insert ourselves into your family party the first night all of you Parkers are together,” Lady Denham said. “Besides, I was just telling your brother that he must come to dinner at Sanditon House while he is here. Let us make it a large company—you and Mrs. Parker, your sisters and Arthur—Miss Heywood, of course. Sidney, bring your friend—what was his name? Mr. Greenville?”

  “Granville. It is most generous of you to extend your invitation to him. I accept on our mutual behalf.”

  “I shall also invite Sir Edward and Miss Denham, and perhaps one or two others.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, I insist that you come, too.”

  Mr. Parker appeared surprised by Lady Denham’s proposal. “That is indeed a large party.”

  “It has been a long time since the dining room at Sanditon House held more than half a dozen. My servants are growing lazy and need to earn their keep.”

  “Very well,” Mr. Parker said. “We can celebrate the start of what is shaping up to be a successful season for Sanditon. When will this dinner take place?”

  “As Sidney is here but a few days, let us make it tomorrow. Four o’clock. That should keep my staff busy between now and then! I must tell them at once to begin preparations. Ah, where is Miss Clara? She is certainly taking her time at the library. Sidney, will you come with me to retrieve her? I don’t believe you have seen Miss Clara since she came to stay with me.”

  Though Lady Denham’s manner was not quite as imperious as Lady Catherine’s, Elizabeth could see that this lady was as accustomed to having her way as was Darcy’s aunt. Sidney, however, seemed practiced at dealing with her. Having grown up in Sanditon, he had probably done so most of his life.

  “I shall do better, Lady Denham. If you like, I will retrieve her for you. Give me but a few minutes.”

  Lady Denham smiled. “You have grown into a fine young man, Sidney Parker, despite your best efforts.”

  Sidney laughed, then offered her ladyship an exaggerated bow before heading off on his errand. Thomas Parker, still eager for his brother’s company, walked him to the entrance, momentarily leaving Lady Denham with the Darcys.

  “Thomas Parker is the best neighbor one could wish for,” Lady Denham said, “though when it comes to Sanditon, I wish he were not as eager to spend my money as freely as his own. I did not get where I am in life by rushing headlong into every enterprise that offered.” She leaned closer. “But of all the Parkers, I think Sidney is my favorite. I like him for his impertinence, a trait I would not tolerate in anybody else. In him, however, it is a refreshing difference from his siblings. The sisters and Arthur are agreeable enough in their way, but their health complaints! I have no patience for invalids. If they would just go on like everybody else, half their troubles would disappear. And they would save a fortune in doctor fees. Why, the physician who attended my poor dear Sir Harry billed me fo
r ten visits in his final days. Ten! And not a one did him any good. In fact, I believe Sir Harry might be alive today if it weren’t for all that doctoring. Mr. Hollis seldom saw a doctor, and he lived to seven-and-sixty. I have never consulted one for myself, nor taken physic more than twice in my life—and then, only at Miss Diana’s insistence. She is a good woman, and tries very hard to be helpful, but sometimes a person does not want help. I am glad we will have such a large party tomorrow so that she can spread out her goodwill.” She rose from her seat. “Well, I suppose I may as well go meet Miss Clara and Sidney on their way back here. Good day to you.”

  Before Elizabeth or Darcy could reply, she departed.

  Elizabeth’s gaze followed the widow out the door. “Did we ever actually accept her invitation?”

  “I do not believe we had a choice.”

  Nine

  “Indulge your imagination in every possible flight which the subject will afford.”

  —Elizabeth Bennet, Pride and Prejudice

  Mr. Parker, by this time, was standing at the hotel’s front desk in conversation with the attendant, and Elizabeth had begun to think it his mission in life to spread congeniality wherever he went. She and Darcy approached slowly, not wanting to intrude upon the discussion, but he motioned them forward.

  “The hotel is more full than I thought,” he announced happily. “Additional guests are expected tonight, including Mr. Granville. Lady Denham will be pleased to hear this news.”

  “Perhaps it will make up for the French fright she experienced earlier,” Darcy said.

  “Ha! Yes, Sidney gave her quite a scare, did he not? Though he is right about the need to do something with the former inn. Not a café, of course—the old village is not the place for such an establishment, and Lady Denham would never approve one now. I find it is generally best to submit to her preferences on small matters, so as to reserve my own persuasive efforts for larger concerns such as the Crescent. But perhaps the former inn should be reopened, so that Sanditon can accommodate more visitors. What do you think, Mr. Woodcock?”

  “If there are enough visitors to fill it, and I can find enough help to run it,” said the man at the desk, apparently the hotel owner. “It hasn’t sold, and I’ve been trying to decide what to do with the place. No sense in leaving it vacant, if it could be earning money for me.”

  “There’s the spirit!” Mr. Parker said. “Since the inn is older and sits in a less sought-after part of the village, you could charge tariffs that would appeal to respectable travelers of more modest means than your hotel patrons. That way the inn and hotel would not compete for the same pool of guests.”

  “My daughter just got betrothed—after the wedding, I could turn the place over to her and her new husband to manage.…”

  Though Elizabeth heard the discussion between Mr. Parker and Mr. Woodcock continue, she did not absorb it. The hotelier’s name had caught her attention—which was then arrested by a painted wooden sign hanging on the wall behind him.

  IVY WOODCOCK

  Born 25 July 1717

  Disappeared 25 July 1733

  Age 16

  Her mind returned to the sketchbook page little Mary had found inside the chamber horse at Sanditon House. When at last a break came in the men’s conversation, Elizabeth gestured toward the sign. “Who was Ivy Woodcock?”

  “Is. Who is Ivy Woodcock?” The hotelkeeper smiled enigmatically. “She is Sanditon’s resident ghost.”

  “All the best resorts have at least one,” Mr. Parker said. “Ghosts add interest to a place. Visitors love a good ghost story, so long as they do not actually encounter a ghost themselves. Sanditon cannot boast as many as Bath or Brighton, but we are proud of our Ivy—all the more for her being the daughter of Mad Woodcock, another local legend.”

  “Mad Woodcock?”

  “Ebenezer Woodcock. A hermit who lived on the grounds of Sanditon House.”

  “The hermit had a daughter?” Darcy said. “Hermits are supposed to be solitary.”

  “He wasn’t a very good hermit, what with having a family and all,” Mr. Parker admitted. “At least not at first. He always had to keep Ivy out of sight when the Hollises were entertaining—their guests wanted to see a genuine hermit, not a hermit with a little girl in tow. And he was, well, a little too normal—though he managed to affect some tics and other odd behaviors when called upon. But I should allow Mr. Woodcock to share the tale, as Ebenezer was his—what, great-uncle?”

  “Great-great,” Mr. Woodcock corrected. “Yes, he was not the average hermit. In fact, Mr. Hollis took him on probation—”

  “Not Lady Denham’s Mr. Hollis,” Mr. Parker clarified. “Her late husband was Archibald Hollis. Mr. Woodcock speaks of Victor Hollis, Archibald’s father.”

  “Yes, old Mr. Hollis,” Mr. Woodcock said. “Ebenezer had been the village innkeeper till his wife died, leaving him with Ivy. After her death, he no longer had the heart to be social with strangers all the time, so he turned the business over to his brother and moved with Ivy into the hermitage. After a while, a lot of folks pretty much forgot about them, since the hermitage sits in a remote corner of the park, and they kept to themselves so much. Occasionally, someone would catch a glimpse of Ivy wandering the grounds at dawn or dusk, or hear the sound of a girl singing. People say she had a voice more enchanting than a sea siren’s.”

  “A sea siren!” Mr. Parker interjected. “If only Sanditon had its own sea siren! Now, that would be an attraction even Brighton and Weymouth could not top—far better than a café.”

  “But once lured here, visitors could never leave,” Darcy pointed out.

  “Better still!”

  “Until they ran out of money,” Mr. Woodcock said. “Then what would we do with them all?”

  Mr. Parker thought about this a moment, then conceded that sea sirens were impractical as a tourism strategy. Before the speculator could devise a scheme involving mermaids, Mr. Woodcock continued Ivy’s story.

  “As Ivy grew up, the village once more took an interest in her, for it was rumored that she had matured into a beautiful young woman,” he said. “Young men would hike down to the shore and raise their eyes to the cliff near where the hermitage sat, hoping to see her looking out upon the water. I expect more than one imagined himself the hero who would rescue Ivy from her lonely existence and take her to wife.”

  Elizabeth smiled to herself. From his lyrical phrasing, this clearly was not the first time Mr. Woodcock had told this tale.

  “Then on the night of her sixteenth birthday, Ivy simply disappeared—went to bed as usual, but in the morning she was gone. Her father assumed she had risen before dawn and was walking the grounds, as was her habit, but as the day grew longer, she never returned to the hermitage. The whole village searched for her. Mr. Hollis himself took charge of the hunt—”

  “Again, old Mr. Hollis,” Mr. Parker interjected.

  “Yes,” Mr. Woodcock said. “Archibald Hollis was gone to Oxford. But they never found her.”

  “Did they discover any evidence of what might have happened to her?” Darcy asked.

  “A few days after she disappeared, her shawl washed up on the rocks at the base of the cliff. It was torn and bloodied. Some thought she had wandered too close to the cliff’s edge in the misty predawn light and fallen. The village gossips whispered of self-murder, but Ebenezer vehemently rejected that notion. He feared that some vicious animal—on four legs or two—had got her. For weeks he combed Sanditon Park for evidence that she had been attacked by a wild creature or highwayman. Her body was never discovered, in the sea or on land.

  “Ebenezer started going to the inn daily, meeting every coach and rider that came to the village, asking if they had seen Ivy. Old Hollis put a swift end to that. Threatened to turn him out.”

  “Had he no compassion?” As a mother, Elizabeth could not imagine the torment of losing her own daughter under such circumstances.

  “Victor Hollis was a hard man—all the Hollises were, save Arc
hibald. The village was relieved when Victor eventually died and his son inherited the estate. Archibald Hollis treated his tenants and servants better than his father and grandfathers had. Regardless, who ever heard of a hermit going into a village each day and talking to everyone he met? Even an inferior hermit must adhere to some essentials of the job.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Funny thing is, after Ebenezer stopped going to the inn, he became as reclusive and peculiar a hermit as Victor Hollis could wish. When he did encounter people, he would tell them that Ivy had been spirited away by faeries, or that her ghost haunted Sanditon Park. Folks started calling him Mad Woodcock, though that didn’t stop them from repeating the ghost tales—and embellishing them. Pretty soon half the villagers were telling stories of their own sightings.

  “Ebenezer’s brother, however—my great-grandfather—hung this tablet in a prominent location of his inn, partly as a memorial, and partly to prompt conversation with travelers who might have encountered Ivy if she were still alive. It was his hope that someday, some visitor would possess information that could restore Ebenezer’s wits, or at least give him peace.”

  “Did that ever happen?”

  “No. He lived another ten years or so, but was mad as a March hare by the end. His grave is in the churchyard, if you want to see it—says ‘Mad Woodcock’ right on the headstone. Of course, now so much time has passed that nobody who could have known anything is alive anymore.”

  “Yet you still display the sign.”

  “When we built this hotel, we moved it from the old inn mostly out of sentiment, but it has proven a good spark for conversation, especially this season, with this year being the centenary of Ivy’s birth.”

  Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted back to the sketchbook page and the childlike handwriting upon it. A village ghost was something that captured the imagination of old and young alike.

  Mr. Parker’s face lit with the enthusiasm of a new idea. “We should organize some sort of observance to mark her birthday—an event that would draw more visitors to Sanditon.”