Mr and Mrs Darcy 02 Suspense & Sensibility (26 page)

"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 been 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."