Suspense & Sensibility m&mdm-2

by Carrie Bebris

  shook her head at the irony of the mirror's being returned so soon after making its escape from obscurity. The unfortunate work of art, once valued by Sir Francis and, doubtless, other previous owners, now seemed destined to languish unappreciated in Norland's attic for another thirty years or more. She wondered what Professor Randolph would think of such an obvious treasure suffering so ignoble a fate.

  Halfway into the carriage, she paused suddenly. She wondered very much, in fact. Very much, indeed.

  "Ma'am?" her driver said.

  His prompt brought her mind back to the present. She completed her entry and settled onto the seat.

  "Home, Mrs. Darcy?"

  "Yes, Jeffrey. By way of the British Museum."

  Twenty-One

  "Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely because they are not certainties?"

  — Mrs Dashwood to Elinor,

  Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 15

  "Mrs Darcy! What a happy surprise! Do come in."

  Elizabeth trod gingerly into Professor Randolph's office, fearful of brushing past one of the numerous towers of books and papers lest it topple over and bury her. Though the archaeologist had secured his position with the museum less than six months earlier, his workroom looked as in need of excavation as any ruin. Overstuffed shelves bowed under the weight of old manuscripts and new monographs, ancient artifacts and modern-looking instruments. Papers littered his desk and the floor surrounding it, stubbornly refusing to adhere to any form of organization that may at one time have been imposed upon them. Archaeological wonders competed with mundane tools for dominance on every horizontal surface.

  Randolph lifted what appeared to be a small statue of Hermes from the seat of a chair. He glanced about but, finding no uncluttered surface on which to securely rest the artifact. was forced to tuck it under his arm while he withdrew a handkerchief from one of his profusion of pockets and wiped dust from the seat. He did not, it seemed, receive many visitors.

  "Do sit down. Mrs. Darcy. To what do I owe the honor of this call?"

  She gathered her skirts close about her and picked her way to the proffered chair. "I would like to say I came purely out of friendship, but I am afraid I also have need of your professional expertise."

  "Indeed?" He wove past a stack of thick leatherbound volumes to sidle into his own chair behind the desk. Still lacking a safe haven for Hermes, he held Zeus's messenger in his hands. "How may I be of assistance?"

  "I am wondering…" Where to begin? The idea that had struck her while leaving St James's Street was still only half-formed; how to articulate it to the professor — particularly without sounding absurd in the process — eluded her.

  He studied her, understanding entering his own expression. "You seek more than the appraisal of a mundane artifact, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Perhaps we should close the door"

  He maneuvered past the desk again and shut the door, revealing a patch of uncluttered space on a bookcase that had previously been hidden. He set Hermes on the shelf and returned to his chair. "There. You might find it easier to speak freely now."

  Only slightly. Though she and the professor had engaged in several discussions about phenomena not easily explained, she yet had trouble considering it a natural topic of conversation

  "Is it possible for an object to somehow retain the characteristics of its previous owner?"

  He removed his spectacles and wiped them with the same handkerchief he'd used on the chair At least, she thought it was the same one, though it had come from a different pocket this time.

  "Now that's a question I don't hear every day. But it is a very good one." He perched the spectacles back on the bridge of his nose, from which they immediately slid. ''The concise answer is 'yes.' Objects, particularly items worn or carried on someone's person for a prolonged period of time, have been known to absorb their owner's aura, as it were. It's not something that would be apparent to most people, but to an individual sensitive to such things, that retained essence could be perceived even after the item has left the owner's possession."

  Perhaps her theory was not so half-baked after all. "To what effect?"

  "A necklace worn by your grandmother, for instance, might envelop you in her spirit when you don it yourself, if she was a bitter woman, you might experience acrimony. If she was often sad, you may be filled with melancholy. If she was brave, you might find yourself infused with courage."

  "Does this hold true for larger items, as well?"

  "Certainly. Houses are an excellent example. One can enter a vacant dwelling and sense whether it was a happy home. Prisons are another. I personally cannot visit the Tower of London without a sense of despair washing over me."

  "How about something like a looking glass?"

  He paused, analyzing her countenance the way she imagined he studied his artifacts. "How about disclosing a hint as to what these questions portend so that I may better answer them?" he said gently.

  She released a heavy breath. It would be a relief to lay her suspicions before someone who might be able to make sense of them. "Do you recall Mr. Harry Dashwood?"

  "The young fellow I met at your townhouse?"

  "Yes."

  "A pleasant gentleman. He was about to embark on an exploration of his attics, as I recollect."

  "He did. There he discovered two items that had once belonged to a black-sheep ancestor of his. Sir Francis Dashwood. One was a portrait of Sir Francis, the other, a mirror that has an antique essence to it. Mr Dashwood brought them back to London with him and. to put it mildly, he has not been the same since"

  "And you wonder if these objects have something to do with the alteration in his demeanor?"

  "Precisely. Mr. Dashwood has developed a preoccupation with Sir Francis, emulating his debauchery and immoral behavior to the point where my sister, who had thought herself engaged to a kind, respectable gentleman, was forced to break all connection with the libertine he has become. While I hold Mr. Dashwood responsible for his own conduct, the coincidence of his sudden interest in Sir Francis and his discovery of the looking glass led me to speculate that perhaps something more than mere curiousity about his ancestor influenced his transformation."

  She hoped she hadn't just made herself sound perfectly ridiculous. But Professor Randolph adjusted his spectacles and leaned back in his chair with a look of concentration.

  "It's possible." he said "Especially given Sir Francis's history of religious experimeniation. If anyone could extend his influence beyond the grave, he would be the man."

  "You have heard of him. then?"

  "Quite a character, as I understand. But also quite a collector of classical antiquities. Tell me more about this mirror. Have you seen it?"

  "It's a huge thing. The glass itself is almost as tall as I am, and it's surrounded by a heavy gold frame with figures standing out in relief."

  "What son of figures?'

  She frowned, trying to recall. "I saw the glass only once, and I was preoccupied with other matters. But I believe the figures were young males rendered in classical Greek style."

  "What was at the top of the frame?"

  "A man's face."

  He stood up, perfonned a pas de deux with a stack of old newspapers beside his desk, and wended his way back to the bookcase by the door. He pulled a journal off the shelf thumbed through it, replaced it, and selected another. The second also earned a shake of his head, but a third triggered an enthusiastic nod. "Yes, yes — here it is."

  He traced his finger over a page. "Mrs Darcy, I suspect your young friend may have come into custody of an artifact known as the Mirror of Narcissus, an ancient glass said to have been brought to England shortly after the Crusades. It is a controversial piece, crafted with materials and methods so ahead of their time that some modem scholars dismiss it as a fake. Yet

  accounts of the mirror stretch far back in history. It has disappeared and resurfaced many times over the centuries, and was last thought to have be
en owned by Sir Francis Dashwood."

  "Until his death, whereupon it sat in the attic of Norland House for over thirty years," Elizabeth revealed.

  He snapped the volume shut and set it aside carelessly. He then scanned the bookcase, running his finger along the volumes' spines. "According to legend, it possesses supernatural properties."

  "What sort of properties?"

  "Those notes do not specify." He transferred his search to the next bookcase. "I know I have a book here somewhere that offers more particulars…."

  She contemplated the myth of the young man who pined away for love of his own reflection. "Narcissus's obsession with himself destroyed him. Could a mirror named for him somehow be fueling Harry's self-destructive indulgence?"

  "It could." He shifted a large idol to access a mass of books behind it. "I seem to recall that many of its owners have met untimely ends."

  The idol, which by oversight had not been placed squarely on the floor but partially on the edge of a stray pamphlet, tottered.

  Professor Randolph caught it in time, but in the process bumped the bookcase beside it. sending Hermes crashing to the floor.

  "Oh, dear!" Elizabeth felt terrible that one of the archaeologist's treasures had been sacrificed tn his attempt to perform a service for her.

  "Not to worry, my dear Mrs. Darcy. I had recently determined it was counterfeit." He knelt to pick up the broken pieces. "The mirror, however, is a more serious affair. I will continue to search for my book and conduct further research into the artifact's story. In the meantime, a more detailed description may enable us to determine whether Mr. Dashwood's glass is indeed the Mirror of Narcissus. Can you obtain a better look at it?"

  "He recently returned it lo Norland." She retrieved one of Hermes' wings from where it had landed beside her shoe and handed it to Randolph. "But should an opportunity present itself. Ill take advantage of it."

  "If you do, proceed with caution. Bring the amulet I gave you."

  She'd stopped carrying the pocketwatch after Darcy had been so displeased by it the night they followed Mr. Dashwood home "Is it necessary?"

  "A safeguard. I also advise you not to look directly into the mirror."

  "Why not? What will happen?"

  "I have no idea." He tossed the shattered remains of Hermes into the dustbin "But when dealing with mysterious relics, one cannot be too careful."

  Twenty-Two

  "The time may come that Harry will regret that so large a sum was parted with."

  — Fanny Dashwood to John Dashwood,

  Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 2

  "Have you spoken with Mr Dashwood yet?"

  Darcy winced. The moment he'd entered White's and saw Chatfield there, he knew the question would come. He'd fleetingly contemplated ducking out of the club before his friend spotted him, but to be observed by others giving Lord Chatfield the cut direct would have resulted in far worse consequences than giving the earl news he did not want to hear. Darcy had already avoided Chatfield once that day, having postponed their fencing appointment until he had developments to report, but now a reckoning was inevitable.

  "Not yet." At the expression of disappointment that crossed Chatfield's face, he hastened to add, "But I have brought in reinforcements, and we launch our campaign tomorrow."

  Chatfield shifted his gaze across the card room, letting it rest on Mr. Dashwood. From their vantage point in the doorway, Darcy and the earl could barely see Harry for the crowd that had gathered round his whist table. The deep play of Mr Dashwood's party had lured others away from their own tables to observe; indeed, the stakes had risen so high that men had wandered in from elsewhere in the club, hoping to be able to say come morning that they'd witnessed a fortune won or lost.

  "What son of reinforcements?" Chatfield asked.

  "Mr. Dashwood's uncle, a minister. I enlisted his aid, and he came to London as swiftly as he could. He arrived yesterday."

  After Elizabeth had returned home with news of Harry's disinheritance, a note from Edward Ferrars followed that suggested a gentleman-to-gentleman talk might prove the best way to approach Mr. Dashwood. Darcy had concurred, though he thought "man-to-man" a more appropriate term, as Mr. Dashwood had not conducted himself anything like a gendeman in

  weeks. Darcy half wished Mr. Ferrars would undertake the mission alone, as he himself had suffered quite enough of Harry, but he wanted to be able to assure Chatfield firsthand that every possible means of persuasion had been attempted.

  Raucous guffaws and whistles from Dashwood's table drew Darcy's attention to that quarter, where the betting had escalated to dizzying heights Harry called for more wine.

  "Is that your third bottle, Dashwood?" someone called.

  "Fourth" He raised his glass and took a long draught. Elizabeth was right. Darcy reflected Harry Dashwood did look dreadful. His face had grown round and flaccid, his color bad. his girth expansive. Weeks of dissipation had wrought years of hardship on his person. But he held himself like a man without burden, someone intent to seize life's pleasures and leave the rest for others to trouble themselves over. He was confident, he was cocky, and he was having a high time.

  "All right. Dashwood — you've stalled long enough," his opponent prodded. "You heard my wager. Now what's yours?"

  "Norland."

  His challenger laughed. "Your Sussex estate? Are you certain that's only your fourth bottle?"

  Dashwood reclined in a cocksure attitude. That's my wager, Lovejoy. Take it or leave it, for thanks to my dear mother, I've nothing else to offer."

  "And what will I do with an estate in Sussex?"

  "I don't intend to lose it."

  The bet was accepted, and play commenced. Dashwood and his partner won the first game of the rubber, their opponents won the second. Between honors and tricks, Harrys team was ahead by one game point. The room fell silent as Dashwood dealt the final hand.

  He turned up the ace of spades as trump. 'My lucky suit," he said.

  "Not tonight," Lovejoy responded.

  Dashwood took the first trick, his partner, the second. The third trick, trumped with the ace, went to them, as well. After the fourth trick, however, the lead shifted to their opponents.

  And never returned.

  Short on trump and long on liquor, Dashwood forfeited trick after trick to bad cards and worse judgment. The hand ended abysmally for the owner of Norland. Or, rather, the former owner of Norland. All waited to see how Harry Dashwood would respond to having lost the rubber — and his estate.

  No one expected him to laugh

  "Ha! You have bested me, Lovejoy." He called for pen and paper. "Take this promissory note for now, and in the morning I will instruct my solicitors to draw up the proper papers regarding Norland."

  Lovejoy watched Harry uncertainly as the lalter dispassionately set down his debt in ink. Indeed, the victor looked more unsettled by the wager's outcome than the loser. Dashwood's hand moved rapidly across the paper, as if he couldn't sign away his birthright fast enough.

  "The transfer needn't take place immediately,'' Lovejoy said. "I presume you shall want time to retrieve your personal effects and items of sentimental value."

  "Norland holds nothing of particular meaning to me." He continued wnting, then paused midstroke. "Oh — save one object. I just sent a looking glass there from my townhouse to be stored. If I might have that back?"

  "Of course. Anything else?"

  He shook his head and went back to writing. "Just the glass."

  The crowd soon dispersed to spread the tale far and wide; the ton would breakfast upon it along with their morning chocolate.

  Harry completed his note, handed it to Lovejoy with a dramatic bow, and exited the card room.

  On the way out, he passed Darcy and Chatfield. Darcy could not help feeling that he'd just witnessed a tragedy.

  "I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Dashwood."

  "Whatever for, Mr. Darcy?" He gnnned. 'Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing' It has
been a tremendously entertaining evening, has it not?"

  "I cannot fathom what my own feelings would be upon losing

  Pemberley," Darcy said to Elizabeth the following morning, "but nonchalance — nay, amusement — would not number among them."

  "You never would have risked Pemberley for so ridiculous and irresponsible an end "

  She had heard his account of Mr. Dashwood's latest exploit with all the amazement he'd still possessed while delivering it.

  The loss was as stunning as it was stupid, not at all what she would have predicted from the master of Norland who had eagerly led them about his house. The whole business supported her conjecture that perhaps another influence was at work upon Harry — if not the Mirror of Narcissus, at the very least too much brimstone.

  She poured water into the basin, splashed her face, and blindly reached for the towel. Darcy handed it to her." I dread our call today," he said. "I do not know what Mr. Ferrars and I shall say to him that has not already been said, and a man who has just lost two fortunes in two days will be unlikely to appreciate advice from any quarter."

  "Perhaps the losses will sober him — literally and figuratively."

  He made a sound of disgust. "I doubt anything can do that."

  "Are you quite certain I cannot persuade you to let me accompany you?" Since yesterday's conversation with Professor Randolph, she had tried to devise some means of obtaining a second look at Mr. Dashwood's mirror. Darcys report that it was now on it's way back to London lent her hope that she might get a glimpse of it yet.

  "I dislike the idea of your being in his house at all, even with me." He washed his own face and accepted the towel from her. He is ungentlemanly, unpredictable, untrustworthy, and unfit for the company of a lady — nay, any respectable person. Rejoice in avoiding further exposure to him. I wish I myself did not have to go "