Mr and Mrs Darcy 02 Suspense & Sensibility (32 page)

"He
is not our friend," Darcy said. "And he has made it very clear to me
that he does not want our assistance or interference in his affairs."

Elizabeth
stared at him a long moment. His wife's gaze made him uncomfortable, and he
shifted under the weight of her disapprobation. When she rose and came to the
window, came to him, he looked away. On the sofa, Randolph replaced his spectacles
and consulted his book once more.

"Darcy,"
she said, speaking in tones so soft that they reached his ears alone. "It
is Sir Francis, not Harry, who has behaved so uncivilly toward us."

He
sighed heavily. "Elizabeth, this is all too far-fetched to be believed. At
least by me. I can barely listen to it, let alone acknowledge it as possible."

"If
you had seen what 1 saw, you would think otherwise."

"But
I did not."

He
at last faced her. Sadness spread across her face, and he disliked himself for
having caused it. Worse, her eyes, normally bright with exuberance, dimmed with
disappointment.
In him.

"Darcy,
when we were last at Netherfield, we both stumbled into danger because you
believed in reason more than you believed in me I know what I experienced today.
Will you not this time trust my perceptions?" She laid a hand on his arm
"I am certain that the Harry Dashwood we first met, the Harry Dashwood who
won Kitty's heart, whom you considered as a
brother, still exists. He desperately needs our aid, and how I shall live with
myself if we fail him, I do not know. If you will not act for Mr Dashwood's
sake, will you do so for mine?"

She
had struck upon the only argument she could have used to win his cooperation.
For a worthless rakehell he would do nothing. But to prevent the blackguard
from causing his wife a moment's further anguish--and to remove that expression from
her eyes--he would do anything.

"Professor
Randolph, what must be done to release Harry?"
He cast her a meaningful look "Hypothetically?"

She
smiled.

"The
mirror will demand a soul for a soul." Randolph replied, "and if Harry
is to get his own body back, that soul
must be Sir Francis's. We must therefore trick
Sir Francis into staring at Harry's reflection long enough to effect the
exchange."
"The person presently answering
to the name Harry Dashwood is many things, but he is not a fool. You said that
without such a ceremony as Sir Francis arranged, a victim must be complicitous
in his own entrapment. Sir Francis will never allow himself to risk re imprisonment."
Darcy said.
"In fact," Elizabeth
added, "he schemes to rid himself of the mirror altogether. I heard him
say that Lord Phillip Beaumont would retrieve it tomorrow."

Lord
Phillip? Darcy suppressed a groan. Why the countess's brother, of all people?
Despite his skepticism over the whole enterprise and his recent rebuff from
Lord Phillip himself, Darcy now felt himself obligated by his friendship wiih
the earl to at least keep the mirror--whatever it might or might not be--out of
Beaumont's possession.

'Why
does Sir Francis not simply destroy the glass?" he asked.

Randolph
pushed his spectacles back to the bridge of his nose. "There is no account
of any previous owner attempting to do so. Perhaps once released into a new
body, a victim's continued existence yet depends on the mirror's enchantment.
Or the victim may merely fear it does. However brief his new life may be, the
newly freed prisoner is unwilling to risk it ending any sooner than it
must."

The
archaeologist shrugged. "Whatever his reasoning, let us be grateful for
Harry's sake that Sir Francis has not destroyed the glass in all the time he's
had to do so. But with Lord Phillip planning to take ownership of it, we now
must devise a strategy quickly, as our task becomes far more difficult if the
mirror leaves Sir Francis's proximity. We also need to rescue Harry before
Sir Francis wears out his body. If Sir Francis
dies, Harry could be trapped inside the mirror indefinitely. He would be forced
either to wait until another unsuspecting victim fell prey to the mirror's
curse, or to ask us to destroy the mirror with him in it, putting an end to the
cycle "
"Let us formulate a plan, then,
and go directly." Elizabeth said.
"I will go." Darcy
corrected. "You will stay here, out of danger and well away from anyone
named Dashwood. "

She
appeared about to object, but Professor Randolph did it for her "Mrs.
Darcy's participation may prove critical to our success. From her description
of her encounter with Harry's reflection, it sounds as if he was surprised that
she could see him. Indeed, I expect most people can't, or surely the servants would
have noticed him by now, the way the mirror's been moved around lately. Mrs.
Darcy may possess a sensitivity to her environment which surpasses that of the
average person."

Darcy
disliked the reminder of a fact he preferred not to contemplate too often. If
he acknowledged to himself that his wife's perceptions were legitimate, he must
also acknowledge that there were forces in the world that he could not himself perceive
and therefore could not protect her from. It was far easier to deny the
existence of cursed mirrors than to admit his own powerlessness.

He
felt the gentle press of her hand on his arm "I promise to be very
careful." she said. "And you shall be with me."

He
did not like this, any of it. Supernatural issues aside, the Mr. Dashwood who
moved freely in the world--whichever Dashwood he might be--was an unpredictable
rogue. Darcy would not put it past him to become violent if sufficiently provoked,
and should that happen, he wanted Elizabeth nowhere near. Indeed, he would
rather himself not be anywhere near. But somehow it had fallen upon them to
make one final attempt to reclaim his soul--either from the mirror or from
perdition itself. He took his wife's hand and went to sit near the professor again.

"All
right." he conceded. "How do we do this?"

Randolph
tapped the page he'd been studying. 'I have just thought of a strategy."

Twenty Eight

"I came determined to know the truth; though irresolute
what to do when it was known."

-
Colonel
Brandon to Elinor Dashwood,

Sense and Sensibility,
Chapter 31

"But
my business with Mr. Dashwood is most urgent," Elizabeth insisted to
Harry's housekeeper "I would never call upon him at this hour were it not."
She hoped she sounded convincing. Her errand was indeed urgent, though should
Sir Francis know its nature he might hold a different opinion. Releasing Harry
from the Mirror of Narcissus and becoming reincarcerated himself probably did
not top his pnorities this morning "Tell him Mrs. Darcy calls."
"Oh, I know who you are. ma'am.
The master is not at home."

As
Elizabeth pulled her wrap tight against the light rain, her hand brushed
Professor Randolph's amulet, which she wore on a chain round her neck. She
resisted the urge to steal a glance at the carriage, where the archaeologist
and Darcy concealed themselves. Seeking admission alone had been her
suggestion, one Darcy had resisted until the moment the coach stopped in Pall Mall.
He had not wanted her to enter Mr Dashwood's townnhouse without him--and she had
not even told him about Sir Francis's indecet advances yesterday. But relations
between Darcy and Sir Francis had become so strained that she feared Darcy
might no longer gain entree any time of day, and she hoped that Sir Francis
might be sufficiently intrigued by her call, coming unaccompanied so early in
the morning that he would receive her. Unfortunately, he had not yet been given
that choice--first she had to pass Cerberus.

"May
I please at least step in from the rain while you ask
whether he will receive me?" While the housekeeper was thus occupied,
Elizabeth would let in the gentlemen, who would make their way to the room with
the mirror and wait for her to lead Sir Francis there. That was the second part
of the scheme Darcy disliked. Actually, he disliked all parts of it, particularly
those that involved her.

To
be honest, she was not bubbling with enthusiasm over the plan herself. Nervous
about todays events, she'd gone to bed nauseated, woken up nauseated, and
probably would remain so until the situation was resolved. She hardly looked
forward to being once more in proximity to Sir Francis, the source of her
indisposition.

"I'm
telling you truly, ma'am, the master is not at home. He's not in his chamber,
nor anywhere in the house--"

A
woman's scream resonated somewhere deep in the house

"Beg
your pardon, ma'am."

The
housekeeper hurried off, swinging the door behind her.
Before it shut, Elizabeth caught it
and stepped inside. The hall was empty, and she could hear a commotion
belowstairs. She went back to the door and beckoned Darcy and Professor Randolph
to come quickly.

"The
housekeeper claims Mr. Dashwood is not at home," she said when they joined
her "The servants are all below--someone just screamed."

"The
scream came from downstairs?" Darcy asked.

"Yes,"
she said. "Go up to the chamber with the mirror, as planned. You will
never have a better opportunity to reach it unseen, I will determine whether
the scream warrants our concern."

Darcy
shook his head emphatically. "You stay here with Professor Randolph while I
investigate the scream."
"And how will you explain your
presence in the house?"
"That is immaterial."

"Mr.
Darcy, I must concur with your wife." the professor said. "If you
reveal yourself now, our whole scheme falls to pieces. We cannot risk failure
over a scullery maid spying a mouse."

Darcy
released an exasperated breath and cast his gaze about the hall. It came to
rest on the dining room door, which stood open. "We will wait for you in
there," he said. "If someone is screaming, I do not want to be three
stories away from you. Tell us what you learn, and we will proceed from
there."

But
how will I report back to you without the servants noticing?"

Her
husband looked at her confidently "If I know you, Mrs. Darcy, you will
find a way"

It
was not difficult to determine how to reach the lower hall; she simply followed
the noise. Nor was it hard to overhear the cause of the excitement and return
to the dining room undetected by the preoccupied staff.

We
no longer have a need for subterfuge," she announced to Darcy and the
professor "Sir Francis is dead."

"I
just knew those ices would be the end of him." The cook shook her head
sadly. "Only, I thought he'd eat himself to the hereafter. I never expected
this."

"I
doubt anyone did" Elizabeth tried to sound sympathetic, but her mind was
only half engaged in the conversation. The other half wondered what they were
going to do about Harry, now that Sir Francis had died. A glance at Darcy and
Professor Randolph revealed that they didn't know, either.

"The
master was in that larder every night, don't you know, dipping into the ices.
Usually after all of us had gone to bed. Lemon was his favorite. I think his
lady fnend preferred strawberry. Liked to sneak down there himself, instead of
waking the servant--made it seem like more of a guilty pleasure, I think. I'd
get up in the morning and find the empty pans." She
dabbed her eyes with her apron. "This morning I found him."

The cook had discovered Sir Francis in the
sub-cellar larder, his body as cold as the ices of which he was so fond. It was
her scream that Elizabeth had heard and that had summoned the whole staff. The
servants were in such a state of shock over their employer's demise that when
Elizabeth had returned to the scene with Darcy and the professor in tow, no one
had looked askance at their sudden appearance. In fact, many of them recognized
Darcy from previous visits and gratefully looked to him as a gentleman, as some
sort of authority figure who could provide direction.

"How
did you come upon him?" Darcy asked.

"After
I started breakfast, I went down there to get ice cream for the master's
strawberries--"

"Ice
cream at breakfast?" Elizabeth could not help but interrupt.

"He
used to simply have ordinary cream, but since he built that larder, now he
wants ice cream. So I give him ice cream." She shrugged. "That was
nothing. Gentlemen have all sorts of peculiar tastes--if you'll pardon my saying
so, sir--but the master had more than anyone else I've ever worked for."

"Continue,"
Darcy said, "You went down to the larder?"

"Yes.
When I opened the door, there he was on the floor. All huddled up, like he'd
been trying to keep warm."

"Was
the door locked?"

"Bolted,
sir.'

"And
that is normal?"

"Well,
of course, sir. The door must stay shut to keep the cold in."

"Would
Mr Dashwood have closed the door behind him
when he entered?"

"Oh.
I doubt it, sir. Though he was well into his cups last night, and you never
know what a man what's been drinking will do."

Elizabeth
recalled Sir Francis's state when she'd seen him the previous afternoon. He'd
still seemed in possession of his faculties, but if he'd continued to consume
brimstone at the rate she had observed, he would have been pickled by midnight.
"The bolt can be operated only
from the outside?"
"Yes, sir."