Mr and Mrs Darcy 02 Suspense & Sensibility (17 page)

"Observing
me from your window as I returned to my carriage. After you refused to receive
me."

"I
would never ref - " He stopped, seeming to remember something. "Which
window?"

"The
one in your bedchamber, I believe. Two stories up, overlooking the street."

Mr.
Dashwood's bluff had been called. He looked bewildered at first, as if he
couldn't believe his deceit had been discovered. Then agitation seized him.

"Forgive
me, Miss Bennet," he said, putting on his hat. "I will call again in
the morning, if I may. I - I have to go."

Darcy
followed Mr. Dashwood down the stairs. He had words for Kitty's fiance that
ought not be spoken in the ladies' hearing. He stopped Harry in the front hall
before he reached the door.

"Mr.
Dashwood, have you anything further to say for yourself?"

"Upon
my honor, Mr. Darcy, you quite mistake me."

"Your
honor is in serious question at present. Perhaps you ought to swear on
something more dependable."

"You
doubt my honor because you think you saw me at a window?"

"No -
because of some of the other places you have been sighted of late. Mr.
Dashwood, do you honestly believe I would allow my wife's sister to marry a man
who frequents gaming hells? Who surrounds himself with drunkards and rakehells?"
He dropped his voice. "A man who visits nunneries?"

Harry turned white. "You accuse me of spending my time with prostitutes?"
He looked as appalled by the idea as Darcy.

"I do not. But hearsay does." He glanced up to the drawing
room, relieved to see that the door remained closed. "Mr. Dash-wood, I do
not, as a rule, give credence to public gossip. I have witnessed too many
reputations unfairly destroyed by rumor-mongers to believe every
on-dit
that
circulates. But when my own firsthand knowledge catches a gentleman in one lie,
I find it hard to trust his word on other matters, or the principles by which
he governs himself. I want to believe that the tales reaching my ears are not
true, because I want to believe you are a better man than the one they describe.
But you cannot restore my faith in your character without first revealing what
you have actually been doing this week."

"I have been in Devonshire."

Darcy turned away in disgust.

"Mr. Darcy - " Harry moved round until he stood before him. He
looked weary, and nervous, and more than a little desperate. He ran a hand
through his hair, gripping the roots before letting go. "Something has
happened - rather, may have happened - may be
happening
- " He
broke off, distraught. "I cannot explain it just now."

Darcy studied Harry. He was obviously in some sort of distress. "Mr.
Dashwood, are you in trouble?"

He shrugged vaguely. "No." He stared at some distant point. "Perhaps.
I do not know."

What kind of mess had he gotten himself into? Was he in debt? Had he
compromised a young lady? Darcy's mind raced with all the possible fixes in
which an imprudent young gentleman could find himself. Despite recent events,
Darcy still felt a strong interest in Mr. Dashwood's welfare. He wanted to
assist Harry if he could.

"Mr. Dashwood, if you would but confide in me, perhaps I can help
you out of this scrape."

Harry sighed
and shook his head. "No. I - It may all prove to be naught."

"I wish
you would reconsider."

"There
is nothing to tell. At least, not presently." He crossed to the door. "Please
excuse me, sir. I have to go home. There's something to which I must attend
without delay."

Twelve

"Suspicion of something unpleasant is the
inevitable consequence of such an alteration as we have just witnessed in him."

-
Elinor
Dashwood to her mother,

Sense and Sensibility,
Chapter 15

Darcy stood
still for only a moment after the door closed behind Mr. Dashwood.

"Mrs. Hale?" he called. "I require my greatcoat. I am
going out."

The housekeeper hurried into the hall, followed closely by Darcy's valet
bearing his cloak. "Shall I have the carriage brought round, sir?"

"No." If he was going to follow Mr. Dashwood, he did not have
time to order his own carriage. Besides, the family crest on its door would
give him away. "Summon a hackney."

Mrs. Hale's face betrayed a flash of puzzlement before returning to the
standard-issue whatever-you-say-sir expression of all well-trained English
servants.

He jammed his arms into the coat sleeves. "Tell Mrs. Darcy that I
left with Mr. Dashwood and may be quite late."

"Tell her yourself," Elizabeth said as she reached the bottom
step. "But if you are leaving with Mr. Dashwood, where is he?"

The sound of Harry's carriage departing answered that query. She raised
a brow.

"Perhaps not so much
with
Mr. Dashwood, as behind him,"
Darcy clarified.

Her eyes widened. "You are following him? I shall need my mantle."

"You cannot come with me."

"Darling, Mr. Dashwood has already left. We haven't time to argue."

"How disappointing. He actually went home." Elizabeth leaned
back in the hackney and pulled her cape about her more tightly. The warm spring
day had given way to a cool night, and she wished she'd thought to bring her
muff. She'd have to remember it the next time she flew out of the house on a
whim to spy all night on a future brother-in-law. "But will he stay?"

"That is precisely what I intend to learn."

Darcy instructed their driver to remain at their present position, about
thirty yards down the street from Mr. Dashwood's townhouse. The location
offered a clear view of Harry's front door, a sight enhanced by the light of
the full moon. Mr. Dashwood had just entered the house; his driver had then
taken his carriage away. Fortunately, steady traffic in Pall Mall had helped
prevent either man from noticing the Darcys' surveillance.

Candlelight brightened an upstairs window a few minutes after Mr.
Dashwood's entry. "That is Dashwood's suite," Darcy said.

"If he simply goes to sleep, we are in for a dull night," she
replied. Mr. Dashwood had looked so tired that he might just do that.

The window remained lit for some time, prompting in Elizabeth a desire
to consult the hour. After her conversation with Professor Randolph some weeks
back, she'd begun occasionally carrying the watch she'd received from him. She
now withdrew it from her pocket and tilted it to catch the moonlight.

Darcy frowned. "What are you doing with that?"

"Determining how long we have been sitting here."

"No, I mean, why are you carrying that thing around with you?"

"Why not?"

"I dislike the idea of its being so close to your person."

"Now, Darcy,
you
are the one who keeps saying it is nothing
more than a watch. If that is true, then what harm lies in carrying it?"

His silence transmitted his displeasure. He turned his attention back to
the townhouse. A hackney stopped two doors down from Harry's, releasing a pair
of older gentlemen who stood talking on the street long after the carriage
departed.

"An hour, by the way," she said. "We have been sitting in
Pall Mall over an hour. It is nearly half-past ten. How much longer ought we - "

"The light just went out."

Both of them now peered toward the darkened residence. It appeared as if
Mr. Dashwood may have indeed retired for the day. No other signs indicated
movement elsewhere in the house.

"Well, this was scarcely the night of debauchery we had been led to
expect." Elizabeth slipped the watch back into her pocket. "I'm ready
to return to a warm fire and - Oh! Now there is light one story down."

"That is the drawing room."

She burrowed farther into her mantle. "I suppose this means we shall
be stopped here a little longer."

"It was you who insisted on accompanying me."

"I did not realize it would be so cold. Next time I shall dress
more warmly."

"Next time I shall come alone."

The gentlemen who had arrived by hackney now walked to Mr. Dashwood's
house and mounted the steps. "Darcy, look! Someone approaches the door."

"Sit back," Darcy instructed. "I do not want them to
notice us. One of them is Felix Longcliffe."

"The man from the fencing club? Who is the other?"

"I do not recognize him."

Mr. Dashwood's servant answered the door and granted the gentlemen
admission. No sooner had the door shut behind them, than another visitor
arrived by private conveyance. This gentleman had to be at least eighty; he
stooped heavily over his walking stick as he shuffled up the steps.

"Do you know him?"

"I believe that coach bears the Flaxbury coat of arms," Darcy
said.

Two more carriages pulled up. Darcy didn't recognize the occupants or
their liveries. "Miss Bingley once said that a thorough knowledge of drawing
was essential in any truly accomplished young woman. Have I married one?"

Elizabeth almost laughed aloud. She labored to produce identifiable
stick figures. "Would you
want
to have married someone admired by
Miss Bmgley?"

He withdrew a small notebook and pencil from his breast pocket. "Sketch
the family crests on the sides of those two carriages as best you can."

Her artistic skills, aided by the lighting and angle by which she viewed
the originals, rendered illustrations that any five-year-old would be proud to
display. Her lines of partition were tidily executed, but her white horse
rampant looked more like a small rodent, and the lion couchant resembled a
rabbit suffering ear amputation.

"A new barouche just pulled up. How do the first two drawings come
along?"

"My finest ever."

Darcy glanced at her efforts. "Perhaps we should simply write down
descriptions."

In the
course of an hour, twelve visitors entered the town-house. Darcy recognized one
more on sight, and all but two of the others arrived in carriages marked by
family crests. Most were far older than Harry; the gathering included at least
three octogenarians.

The last man
to arrive brought with him a trunk. The large ebony box was inlaid with gold
images that caught the moonlight as the servants carried it inside.

"A most
curious assembly," Elizabeth declared. From the look of the carriages, Mr.
Dashwood had some very wealthy and influential friends. "And at an equally
curious hour. If only we could see inside the drawing room." Given that
the draperies were drawn and the room sat one story up, the possibility seemed
unlikely.

The driver,
who had done a fine job up until this point of minding his own business while
indulging his eccentric but well-paying customers, now shifted in his seat. "Uh,
sir? Any idea how long ye might be wantin' to stay?"

Elizabeth
consulted her watch again. "It is nearly midnight," she told Darcy.

Candlelight
appeared in Mr. Dashwood's suite once more. Its draperies opened.

"Driver,
how would you like to earn an extra crown?" Darcy asked.

Thirteen

"How you will explain away any part of your guilt
in that dreadful business, I confess is beyond my comprehension."

-
Elinor
to Mr. Willoughby,

Sense and Sensibility,
Chapter 44

Lord
Chatfield frowned as he scanned Darcy's list. "You wish to know what all
these gentlemen have in common? Is this some sort of riddle, Darcy?"

"I am afraid not." Darcy paced the earl's library, hoping
Chat-field could provide insight into the gathering he and Elizabeth had witnessed
- or tried to witness - the night before. Their hackney driver had scaled a
tree to peer inside Harry's window but had attained his perch only in time to
see a white-robed figure draw the draperies once more. No other clue as to the
activities within had presented itself until Dashwood's visitors had tumbled
out - many of them deep in their cups - -just before dawn.

Elizabeth still slept, but Darcy had risen after only a few hours. Eager
to identify the men who had called upon Dash-wood, he'd consulted his peerage books
to match their coats of arms with family names, then had come to his friend.
Lord Chat-field knew absolutely everybody worth knowing in London - from peers
and politicians to poets, scientists, and scholars. The
earl's own
gatherings were legendary for drawing together seemingly disparate individuals
for evenings of stimulating conversation. If any common interest linked the
names Darcy had written down, Chatfield would know.

"Steepledown... Flaxbury... Westinghurst... Many of these men enjoyed
considerable political influence years ago, but one hears little about them
now." The earl leaned back in his chair and studied the list more closely "Parkington
is well known as an art collector. He owns an extensive collection of
sculpture. I've never seen it, but I understand much of it is of a, shall we
say, suggestive nature - definitely not something for public display. He was a
notorious libertine in his day."