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

by Carrie Bebris

  Thomas Parker replied with an exasperated sigh and resigned nod. “So, come to the point. If you were left in the dark, why on earth did you and Diana part?”

  “We had passed a lit sconce in the corridor some way back, and she told me to go relight our candles while she shut the window. When I returned, she was gone. I—” His face flushed and he dropped his gaze, unable to meet his brother’s eye. “I think she cast me off so she could continue searching without me.”

  While Darcy could easily imagine Diana Parker losing patience with Arthur, he thought even she would not have sent off her candle along with her brother if she intended to continue searching alone.

  Thomas looked as if he would like to cast off his youngest brother, but held his ire in check. “It would not be the first time she diverted one of us so that she could carry on some scheme unhindered,” he conceded. “Did you look for her in nearby rooms?”

  “I did, but failed to find her in any of them. I knew it was almost time for us all to meet here, so I came hoping that she had made her way back on her own.”

  “Well, she has not, has she? And now thanks to you, both our sisters are missing.”

  Arthur reddened and busied himself in trying to tug his too-short cuffs over his wrists. After a minute of charged silence, Darcy attempted to defuse the fraternal tension.

  “The window in the morning room—was it closed when you returned?”

  “No,” Arthur said. “In fact, I think the wind pushed it open even farther after Diana left.”

  A movement at the edge of his vision prompted Darcy to look toward the door. Mr. Granville entered. Diverted by Arthur’s report, Darcy had not heard him approach the portrait room. His eyes looked past the gentleman to the corridor beyond, impatient for Elizabeth’s return. How long could it take to rouse a sleeping Miss Heywood? Diana’s unexplained absence made him anxious for his wife’s presence, as proof that she, too, had not mysteriously disappeared. His gaze, however, met only disappointment.

  Mr. Granville stopped short just inside the room, conscious of the many eyes suddenly upon him. “I must say, none of you looks happy to see me.”

  “We were hoping you were Diana,” Arthur said.

  “I might not appear quite myself in Archibald Hollis’s clothing, but I draw the line at petticoats.” His attempt at humor falling upon a less-than-jovial audience, Mr. Granville cleared his throat. “I see we are but partially assembled. Is there any news?”

  “Susan still has not been discovered.” Thomas directed a stern look at Arthur. “And now Diana is missing.”

  “We do not know that!” Arthur said. “She will probably walk in here any minute—maybe even with Susan.”

  Mr. Granville regarded Arthur with surprise. “She was with you when Sidney and I crossed your path earlier. Did you accidentally misplace her?”

  Arthur’s countenance settled into a sulk as he looked from his brother to Mr. Granville. “It is a long story.”

  “Well, I am sure she is fine,” Mr. Granville said. “Your sister seems a lady quite capable of taking care of herself. My guess is that she merely lost track of the time, which is easy to do in the dark. Or perhaps she is with Sidney, as he, too, has not yet returned.”

  Arthur brightened somewhat at this suggestion. “There—you see, Tom? That makes sense. Diana would not object to Sidney as an escort, and he is much better suited than I to manage her. We have only to wait patiently for them to finish their exploration. At the pace she was going, they cannot be long.” He took a seat—the first among them to do so—thus demonstrating the ease of his now-pardoned conscience.

  Darcy, however, was troubled by Arthur’s earlier report, particularly because the morning room was on the first, not the ground, floor. “Mr. Parker,” he said to Arthur, “is the window large enough that when your sister continued to struggle with it after your departure, she might have fallen out of it?”

  “Good G–d!” Thomas exclaimed before Arthur could reply. “I had not even considered that possibility.” He turned to Arthur. “Upon your return, did you look out the window—down below?”

  “No.” Arthur’s complexion turned a pasty shade, with beads of perspiration that had nothing to do with the fire in the hearth. “But even if I had, it is so dark outside that I could not have seen—”

  Thomas was halfway out the door. Arthur leaped off the sofa and followed him, moving with more rapidity than Darcy had heretofore witnessed or even believed him capable.

  “Well!” Mr. Granville exclaimed. “Odd as it sounds to say, I hope they do not find her.”

  Twenty-two

  Miss Denham’s character was pretty well decided with Charlotte.

  —Sanditon

  As Elizabeth approached Charlotte’s room, she met Sir Edward coming down the hall. His rapid strides ceased abruptly when he reached her.

  “Mrs. Darcy.” He offered a courtly bow. “You appear to be a lady with a mission. Is it I you seek?” His gaze searched her countenance with intensity.

  “No—I am on my way to Miss Heywood’s room.”

  “Miss Heywood! Is all well with her?”

  “So far as I know.”

  “And Miss Brereton?”

  “I left her but moments ago in perfect safety, with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Parker in the portrait room.”

  “Thank heavens! It would not do for another lady to go missing. We have lost too many as it is. What have you learned of Miss Parker?”

  “Nothing yet, but we are still awaiting the return of the others. Perhaps one of them will bring news, or better still, the lady herself.”

  “We can but hope!” Sir Edward lifted a hand to his head, gripping his hair at the crown before sliding his fingers through to the back. “This is all so very perplexive—first Lady Denham, and now Miss Parker. Whither can those ladies have wandered?”

  The baronet’s fingers left a thin white string trailing from his hair. Elizabeth noticed a similar one clinging to the cuff of his coat.

  “Sir Edward—”

  “What an extraordinary course of events. A series of missing women! The stuff of novels—”

  “I would not call two a series. But Sir Edward—”

  “Only two—of course! Of course you are right! Two is not a series. There must be three—or more—for a series, and we have only two. Thankfully, only two—”

  “Sir Edward!” She forced her voice above his, earning a startled reaction and a blessed moment of silence. “You have something caught in your hair.” She gestured toward the side of his head.

  “I— Oh? Oh! Dear me!” He reached up to brush it away, but the effort resulted only in its being caught more firmly between strands of his hair. “Is it gone?”

  “I am afraid not.” She extended a tentative hand. “Would you like me to—”

  “Yes, please.” He leaned his head toward her.

  The thread clung to his hair, but she loosened it and pulled it free. It was a fine, delicate strand, the end of which floated up to touch her forearm.

  “I believe this is a cobweb,” she said. “My goodness, Sir Edward, whither have you been wandering?”

  “A cobweb!” He brushed the sleeves and lapels of his coat so vigorously that Elizabeth wondered whether the would-be cavalier harbored a fear of spiders. “I have not left the house—not at all. I have been—” He reached around, trying to brush off his back, but in the process he rotated in place until Elizabeth was reminded of a dog chasing its tail. “I have been—”

  She took pity on him. “Sir, if you will but hold still.” She examined the back of his coat, finding two additional strands that she silently removed and let drift to the floor.

  “Thank you.” He tugged self-consciously at the cuffs of his coat, attempting—not altogether successfully—to restore order to his appearance. “I have been in the attics,” he said.

  “The attics? Whatever took you there?”

  “My search for Miss Parker, of course. All the rest of you were searching the main ho
use—but did anybody think to check the attics? Miss Parker could just as easily have wandered up there as anywhere else. Someone needed to investigate, so I took the duty upon myself.”

  It seemed to Elizabeth that the attics were the least likely place Susan Parker would have reason to visit, but the lady displayed so many peculiarities that one could not put past her any unexpected behavior, lending a sort of convoluted logic to Sir Edward’s decision. She was nevertheless a little surprised that he had chosen to search a remote area of the house, rather than one that might result in a chance crossing of paths with Miss Brereton.

  “Of course,” Sir Edward continued, “the attics are the most probable abode of a ghost.”

  Elizabeth silently and immediately retracted the credit she had given Sir Edward for demonstrating logic of any sort.

  “You were ghost-hunting?”

  Sir Edward laughed. “Ghost-hunting? No, no—that would be absurd.”

  His denial granted her a measure of relief—she could dismiss her visions of him sweeping the attics to engage in quixotic tilts at spectres.

  Unfortunately, the baronet then added, “I believe it quite possible that Sanditon House’s resident ghost, or perhaps Ivy Woodcock, has spirited away the missing ladies. But as I was not properly equipped to hunt ghosts, I was prepared to devise a more resourceful plan for liberating the captives.”

  Elizabeth was not unsympathetic to belief in spirits, or the possibility of them influencing the affairs of the living. It seemed nearly every castle and half the great houses in Britain boasted at least one. Indeed, there were times at Pemberley when she almost certainly felt the gentle presence of Darcy’s late mother, and early in her marriage, she and Darcy had experienced an encounter in London that even Darcy could not deny had brought them in contact with a restless shade. Now, however, it was precisely those experiences that instinctively told her the disappearances of Lady Denham and Susan Parker were not the work of otherworldly beings, but of something or someone very much still part of this world.

  “It was gallant of you to venture up there alone. What did you find?”

  “Nothing! Nothing at all—alas, my quest was in vain. But, I hope, no less noble for the undertaking.”

  “Indeed not.”

  “Well…” For one of the few times since Elizabeth met the baronet, he seemed at a loss for words. His hands flexed, then relaxed; his gaze jumped about, seeking a place to rest that was anywhere but upon her. After a half minute’s awkward silence, he cleared his throat and extended a bent arm. “Shall we proceed to the portrait room?”

  “Actually, I was about to collect Miss Heywood from her chamber.”

  “Then I shall have the pleasure of escorting two lovely ladies. Do remind me—which chamber is hers? So many doors line this corridor, all of them identical, that I can scarcely identify my own.”

  “Hers is this one.” She knocked on the door before which they stood. “In fact, I am surprised the sound of our voices has not brought her out already.”

  Upon receiving no response to her knock, she repeated it, louder this time—though she hoped not loud enough to disturb Miss Denham, whom she would just as soon leave hibernating through the winter and into the following spring. “Miss Heywood? It is Elizabeth Darcy. Are you awake? The others are gathering in the portrait room.”

  Still no sound from within. Elizabeth turned to Sir Edward. “She must have fallen asleep.”

  Before he could reply, a different door opened.

  “What is that pounding?”

  Elizabeth winced inwardly. Forget the stuffed bear in the study; they had wakened a sleeping one right here.

  “My dear sister!” Sir Edward quickly went to her. “I am glad to find you still awake.”

  “Awake?” Miss Denham stepped just outside her doorway, her wrap pulled tightly about her and her hair loosely woven into a braid that hung down her back. “I was not awake. Not until I heard your incessant pounding.”

  “It was not incessant, it was not mine, and it was not— Oh, never mind. You are awake now. We can ask you whether you heard anything this past hour that might shed light on Miss Parker’s whereabouts.”

  “No. And I see no reason why her decision to roam about the house should prevent my obtaining a proper night’s rest. Or interfere with yours, for that matter.” She lowered her voice. “Cannot Mrs. Darcy’s husband escort her? If the two of them insist upon inserting themselves in this affair, why must you be inconvenienced?”

  Though this last sentiment presumably had not been intended to reach Elizabeth’s ears, Elizabeth had already heard enough to produce an earnest desire to part company with the Denham siblings. “Pray excuse me while I check on Miss Heywood. Good night, Miss Denham.” She turned to the baronet. “Sir, Miss Heywood and I will meet you in the portrait room, or see you upon the morrow, as you choose.”

  “I will proceed to the portrait room with all due haste the moment I have done with my sister. Should you have need of me before then, I am at your service.” He bowed with a flourish.

  Miss Denham rolled her eyes and sighed heavily.

  Elizabeth opened Miss Heywood’s door and quietly slipped into the chamber. Though she doubted Charlotte yet slept with conversation transpiring immediately outside the room, Elizabeth did not want her intrusion to startle the young woman. She soon discovered, however, that her caution was unwarranted.

  The chamber was vacant.

  The bedclothes had been disturbed, indicating that Miss Heywood had lain down before quitting the room. Uneasiness settled upon her as she regarded the empty bed and contemplated Susan’s similarly unoccupied one in the adjacent chamber. What had caused Charlotte to rise and leave? Susan Parker’s return?

  Or Susan Parker’s abductor?

  Elizabeth had not wanted to believe that anyone but Lady Denham and Miss Parker had been responsible for their own absences. But now three ladies had disappeared from their bedchambers. Two could be coincidence. But three?

  Three suggested a plan, one not of their own design.

  One that was possibly not yet complete.

  A sweep of her gaze revealed nothing else out of place, no evidence of struggle or forced entry. She inhaled deeply, attempting to slow her racing mind. Was she merely allowing the storm and shadows to prey upon her anxiety? Miss Heywood might have left her chamber for some perfectly mundane reason. In fact, she might even now be waiting in the portrait room with the others.

  She entered the bedchamber more fully, so that her candle could illuminate its farther reaches. An extinguished candle rested on a table beside the bed, its sides and silver holder coated with hardened wax drippings. Though the half-expired taper stood unobtrusively minding its own business, something about it troubled Elizabeth. She studied it a few moments, then realized what disturbed her.

  The candle itself—its very presence. Miss Heywood had quit the room without it.

  Apprehension settled upon her as she contemplated circumstances under which Miss Heywood might leave the room without a means of lighting her way through the dark corridors. She did not like where those thoughts took her … or Miss Heywood.

  She needed to return to the portrait room immediately. There, she might find Miss Heywood and rejoice to have her anxiety proved entirely unfounded, or someone else might know the young woman’s whereabouts.

  She reentered the corridor and firmly shut Miss Heywood’s door. As she turned in the direction of the staircase, voices from Miss Denham’s chamber caught her attention. Apparently, Sir Edward and his sister had moved inside to continue their conversation. Their words were muffled, but suddenly the door opened and Sir Edward stepped out.

  “This whole situation is beyond my ability to remedy, and I want no part of it,” Miss Denham declared from within.

  “You have made your opinion abundantly clear.” Sir Edward’s voice resonated with the irritation only a sibling squabble can produce. “I shall now do likewise. It is unconscionable of you to sequester yourself he
re whilst your help is needed. You have fifteen minutes to get dressed.”

  “I cannot possibly dress myself in fifteen—”

  “You managed it well enough earlier. Too much time has passed already. Who knows what trouble those ladies have gotten themselves into even as we stand here debating the matter?”

  Sir Edward closed the door, then turned to find Elizabeth regarding him. He seemed flustered by the surprise audience, and Elizabeth regretted embarrassing him by having accidentally overheard the Denhams’ quarrel. The incident, however, actually raised him in her esteem; for all of Sir Edward’s absurdities, the baronet believed it not only his duty to aid in the search for the missing ladies, but to rectify his sister’s neglect of the same.

  “Mrs. Darcy! I thought you and Miss Heywood had returned to the portrait room already.”

  “I am heading there now.”

  “And Miss Heywood?”

  “She is not in her chamber.”

  “Indeed? I wonder where she could be. I have not seen her, I assure you. Perhaps she found her own way to the portrait room. Shall we go see?” He started forward.

  “Does Miss Denham intend to join the rest of us there? If you wish to wait for her, you need not feel obliged to escort me.”

  “She…” He appeared uncertain what to say, no doubt wondering how much of their squall Elizabeth had overheard. “Yes—yes, she wants very much for this confusion to end and our missing friends to return. Of course she will join us. However, she needs a few minutes to prepare. Let us—you and me—proceed to the portrait room now, to set our minds at ease over Miss Heywood. I will retrieve my sister when she is ready.”

  Elizabeth felt she ought to offer Miss Denham assistance—if not personally, then by the sending of a maid—but she was so anxious about Miss Heywood and so repelled by Miss Denham’s insolence that she readily accepted Sir Edward’s encouragement to leave his sister to herself for the time being and focus on somehow helping other ladies tonight whose need for assistance quite possibly extended beyond figuring out how to button up the backs of their own gowns. Elizabeth had promised Charlotte’s mother to look after her, and the fact that the young lady’s present whereabouts were unknown weighed upon her.