Mr and Mrs Darcy 02 Suspense & Sensibility (33 page)

"Might
someone have seen the open door and closed it, not realizing Mr. Dashwood was
inside?"

"No
one else was about. I'm always the last of the kitchen staff to retire. Last
night I left a fresh pan of lemon ice in the larder before I went to bed. This
morning, I was the first person with cause to go down there. The lemon ice was
still there--along with the master ."

Darcy
raised his gaze to Elizabeth's, and she saw that they had both reached the same
conclusion. Someone had murdered Sir Francis.

Further
conversations with the staff confirmed as highly unlikely the chances that
their master's death was accidental, sometime between midnight and five
o'clock, when the cook retired and risen, an intoxicated Sir Francis had
descended to the larder to indulge his sweet tooth. Someone had either followed
him or happened upon him, bolted the door, and left him to die of cold. His
mind muddled by drink, he quite possibly had not even heard his captor or
realized his peril until it was too late. The room was so well insulated and so
deep in the house that with the door sealed, no one would have been wakened by
a shout.

When
Darcy dismissed the last servant, who joined her fellow domestics in hovenng outside
the drawing room waiting for instruction, he shut the door. Elizabeth was glad
to finally have a chance to discuss the situation privately.

"Have
you learned enough to identify a suspect?" she asked.

"All
London"

"Splendid.
I was afraid we would be unable to narrow the field."

"Apparently,
Sir Francis had instructed the staff to leave the back entrance unlocked at
night so that his paramour might come and go as she pleased in anonymity.
Though no one can say with certainty whether she visited the house last night,
neither can anyone say she did not. That unlocked door, meanwhile, offers easy
ingress to anyone who might harbor less than amiable feelings toward the house's
owner. The way Sir Francis
had been conducting himself, that list includes everyone from jealous husbands
to government officials."

"There
is plenty of motive within the house, as well," Elizabeth said.
"From what I was able to
learn, it sounds as if he seduced half the female staff."

Professor
Randolph entered. He had gone downstairs to have a look at the corpse.

"The
body is as they describe." Randolph said. "Very cold, very stiff, and
from the smell of liquor, very well preserved. His hands are quite bruised--I
expect from beating against the door, trying to escape."

"We
should summon the authorities," Darcy said.

"Not
yet." countered Professor Randolph. "Once they arrive we'll lose all
opportunity to help Mr. Dashwood."

"I
think he is beyond help."

"Imeant
the one in the mirror."

"So
did I," Darcy said. "Assuming Harry's soul is indeed trapped in the
glass--an assumption about which you know I harbor doubt--with Sir Francis dead,
we have no spirit to exchange for Harry's. His has left this earth, we
certainly are not going to offer one of ours, and allowing anyone else to fall
victim to the mirror is unconscionable."

Darcy
had voiced the conundrum that had weighed on Elizabeth's mind since the moment
Mr. Dashwood's lifeless body had been discovered. Without Sir Francis, what
were they to do?The murder had left them with a horrible dilemma: They could
not sacrifice an innocent party to release Harry, but neither could they
abandon him to an eternity of imprisonment
in the glass. The whole situation had her stomach in knots.
"Professor, is there not some
way we can yet rescue Mr. Dashwood?" she asked.

"I
have been pondering that question. Sir Francis's death profoundly complicates
matters. I must say, his murder occurred most inconveniently."

"Murder
usually does." Darcy said. "At least to its victims."
"We are fortunate, however, in
the manner of Mr Dashwood's death, as I believe the circumstances have left his
body still viable. Between the cold and the liquor, it has not yet started to
deteriorate. If we can release Harry's essence very soon, his body might yet
sustain life."

The
weight on Elizabeth's chest eased. Her heart had grown heavier as the morning
passed, but now she rejoiced that there was any hope at all for Harry

"Very
well." Darcy said. "His spirit has a place to go. But how do we transfer
it there?"

"That
is the more difficult part. However, one account of the mirror suggests that it
may be possible for a spirit to leave the glass and roam incorporeally for
limited periods. It was a passing mention--an unsupported speculation, really.
But the notion caught my attention, as it could explain how Sir Francis gathered
his former associates to conduct the ceremony that

imprisoned Harry."

"It
could also explain all those occasions when people observed him in places he
later claimed he had not been," Elizbeth said.

Randolph
regarded her keenly. "What occasions?"

"There
were so many of them." She looked to Darcy for help. "He was seen in
Bond Street, and outside Boodle's ..."

"At
the Pigeon Hole and other gaming establishments . . ."

"All
over town the week he was in Devonshire."

"Yes.
I saw him myself that week in his window."

"Indeed?"
Randolph asked. "Did these incidents occur before or after the night of
the transference ritual?"

"Before."
Elizabeth said "We all went to Norland for Mr Dashwood's birthday, and the
on-dits
started shortly after we returned."

"Is
this when he first brought the mirror to London?"
"No." said Darcy "He
brought it wiih him on a previous trip."

"He
did, however, return at that time with this portrait of Sir Francis - Elizabeth
pointed to the painting that still hung above the fireplace.

Professor
Randolph pondered that intelligence, and the portrait "This image of Sir
Francis looks remarkably like the young Mr Dashwood I met in March. The people
who saw Mr. Dashwood about town, after this ponrait arrived--they were quite sure
it was Harry?"

"They
were all positive," Elizabeth said. "Though he ignored those who knew
him best, and many thought they saw him in costume, as his clothes were quite
out-of-date."

Randolph
nodded at the portrait. "That far out-of-date?"

Elizabeth
suited at the sudden realization. Darcy, deep in contemplation, stared at the
portrait.

"Think
back. Mr. Darcy Are you certain you saw Dashwood in the window?" Randolph
asked "Or could it have been Sir Francis?"

"Until
this moment, I would have sworn it was Harry Dashwood." Darcy said
"But now--" His eyes met Elizabeth's. "Perhaps it was Sir
Francis." She held his gaze a long moment, knowing what it had cost him to
concede that.

"It
sounds as if Sir Francis's spirit was indeed able to leave mirror before the
exchange." Randolph said. "So there is hope that Harry's might as well,
if we can determine how Sir Francis managed to liberate himself. I suspect his
freedom had something to do with this portrait. Has it hung here since its
arrival?"

Elizabeth
recalled one of Harry's memories. "No. In the first memory I experienced
of Sir Francis speaking to Harry, the portrait hangs behind me--him. I could see
it in the glass."
"Aha." Professor Randolph leaned
back to better study the portrait. "Harry Dashwood unknowingly hung this
portrait where Sir Francis could see himself as he was in life--no doubt triggering
the same sense of loss and yearning that caused him become entrapped in the
mirror in the first place. Just as his spirit once flew toward his reflection,
it now went outward, toward the portrait. But without a body, you could not
remain out-
the glass for long. Or perhaps Sir Francis simply wasn't satisfied with a
ghostly existence and wanted more. Either way, he decided to make his freedom
permanent."
At terrible cost to his own
kin." Elizabeth declared.

"Just
one in a litany of moral transgressions, from what I understand " the
professor said. "Now, if only we had a portrait of Harry Dashwood, we
might use it to free him."
"What about the birthday
portrait?" Elizabeth said.

"It
is at Norland, which means it now belongs to Lord Lovejoy," Darcy reminded
her. "And we have not time to send for it anyway."

"Norland
was filled with portraits of Harry," Elizabeth recalled. "Perhaps his
mother has one in Harley Street. It would not be as recent--"

"The
particular image should not matter," said Randolph, " it is the same
soul."

A
secretary stood in the comer of the drawing room. Elizabeth went to it and
found a pen, ink, and paper. She got no further than the salutation before she
realized she had no idea what to say.
Dear
Mrs. Dashwood--Though you never liked my sister and you have not spoken to your
son in weeks, I need to borrow a portrait of him to release his soul from a
cursed mirror and restore it to the recently vacated body his lecherous
ancestor stole from him.Yours most sincerely--

"Perhaps
I would do better to call in person," she said.
"Go immediately," Randolph
urged "While you are gone, we will have Mr. Dashwood's body moved to the
room with the mirror."

"You
truly believe this can work?" Darcy's skepticism remained obvious.

"We
must hope so. If it does not, I have one last idea, but is far more
dangerous."

"And
what is that?"

"You
might call it a false exchange. Essentially, we deceive the mirror. One of us
poses as a new victim and gazes into the glass to release Harry. At the very
moment of transference, just as Harry emerges but before the new soul is drawn
in, we break contact with the mirror. The importance of precise timing cannot
be overstated--a second too soon or too late, and Harry could be lost, or a new
victim claimed."

Elizabeth
shuddered. "I'll go retrieve that portrait."

Twenty Nine

"I approached her with a sense of guilt which
almost took from me the power of dissembling."

-
Mr
Willoughby to Elinor Dashwood,

Sense and Sensibility,
Chapter 44

"What
is he? Six?"

"Four,
It was the only one she had."
Elizabeth sank onto the sofa, having
returned victorious from her deployment to Harley Street. Fanny Dashwood had
loaned them a small portrait of a very young Harry, which Darcy now held. He
was proud of his wife--he could never have charmed Harry's mother into
cooperating, let alone in the mere half hour Elizabeth had required. She had
spent more time traveling there and back than in the call itself.
"How did you justify our need
for it?"
"Good heavens. I told so many
falsehoods that I shall never be able to
remember them all. And when those ran out, I flattered
her in a manner that would put Mr Collins to shame. You can imaginc how much I
enjoyed begging a favor of her--she was exceedingly condescending the whole
while. Before I escaped, I'd agreed to sponsor her membership in the Rose
Garden Club and make a donation in her name to the Ladies' Benevolent Aid Society.
Oh--and I hope you have no plans for Friday?"

"I
do not believe so."

"Good.
You are engaged to polish her silver"

The
door opened to admit Professor Randolph. He appeared pleasantly surprised to
find Elizabeth in the drawing room.
"You have returned already. Mrs.
Darcy? And with a portrait I see. Capital!"

"Is
Mr. Dashwood in place?" Darcy asked.

Relocating
Harry's body had proven more awkward than anticipated. He was so stiff from cold
that his limbs were stuck in their huddled position--knees up, arms wrapped
around legs--until he had an opportunity to thaw. The servants had carried him
thus curled from the subcellar to the upper spare bedchamber.

"He
is. With the portrait now here, we can begin any time."
"We should start immediately,
then. I overheard the servants questioning why no one else has been summoned. I
announced that Mrs. Darcy had gone to inform Mr. Dashwood's mother, which
seemed to satisfy them, but now that Elizabeth has returned, they will start to
wonder what we are about."

"Let
us say that Mrs. Dashwood is so overcome with shock that she cannot leave her
bed, but requested the authorities not be called until she could lay eyes upon
her son," Elizabeth said "Say further that I promised we would sit
with him until she came, and we would like to commence our mourning undisturbed"

Darcy
regarded her with admiration. "I had no idea you could spin tales with
such facility."

"Nor
did I." she responded. "I think I am still recovering from my call
upon Fanny Dashwood."

Once
they were upstairs, the mood became heavier. The light rain that had been
falling at breakfast time had grown stronger throughout the day, and now dark
grey clouds cast the chamber in gloom. Darcy had hardly noticed the weather
earlier, so preoccupied had he been with the business of Mr. Dashwood's death,
but as they prepared to challenge the Mirror of Narcissus for Harry's soul, the
steady patter of raindrops seemed an appropriate prelude.