Mr and Mrs Darcy 02 Suspense & Sensibility (18 page)

"So was Longcliffe." After encountering him at the fencing
club, Darcy had made some enquiries about him. He was also a heavy gambler.

"Bellingford... Bellingford... Why is that name familiar?"
Chatfield absently tapped his finger against the paper. "I seem to recall
a scandal several years back. Something about a mistress. Whatever it was, it
ended badly." He regarded Darcy apologetically. "I am sorry - I wish
I could be more helpful. Might I ask where this list came from?"

"I would rather not say. At least presently."

"That's quite all right. I just thought the context might shed
enlightenment." He scanned the names once more. "Darcy, may I keep
this list for a day or two? I know someone who might be able to help us. I
assure you, I will be most discreet."

"By all means."

Chatfield called upon Darcy the very next afternoon. The normally genial
man appeared more serious than was his custom.

"Are Mrs. Darcy or your sisters at home?"

"No, they are gone out shopping."

"Good. I have news on the matter we discussed yesterday that I
would not wish a lady to accidentally overhear."

Darcy ushered his friend into the library and closed the door. The earl
declined Darcy's offer of refreshment, or even a seat.

"I hardly know where to begin."

"No one will interrupt us. Start wherever seems best."

Chatfield paused. "Perhaps I'll take that wine, after all."

Darcy pulled the stopper from a crystal decanter on the side table. The
interview was not off to a favorable start for Mr. Dash-wood. Chatfield was one
of the most forthright men Darcy knew; his present hesitation presaged ill
tidings.

"I shared your list with an acquaintance of mine," the earl
continued, "a fellow highly placed in the Home Office. I kept your name in
confidence, of course, though he was very curious about the source of the list
- for reasons I shall soon relate."

"I thank you for your discretion." Darcy handed him the glass
and poured one for himself.

Chatfield took a fortifying draught. "You have, I presume, heard of
the Hell-Fire Club? Sir Francis Dashwood and his so-called Monks of Medmenham?"

"I know of it generally - what any young man hears from his schoolmates.
But no real particulars."

"No one knows all the particulars, save those who participated in
its activities, and most of them are long dead. The 'monks' kept the details of
their rituals secret. Given what
is
known of their exploits, I cannot
imagine what they considered too terrible to reveal. It was a most shocking
organization."

"Most of the tales I have heard are too outrageous to be believed.
Schoolboy exaggerations of sexual exploits and Black Masses."

"They are not exaggerations. The Friars of Saint Francis conducted
obscene mockeries of Christianity. According to accounts, the rituals involved
Satan worship, fornicating on altars,
drunken orgies, black magic, and other wickedness I cannot even bring
myself to say aloud.
Its
motto was
Fay ce que voudras."

"
'Do what
thou wilt,'
"
Darcy
translated.

"And
apparently, they did. Horrible, horrible business! Yet many of the club's
suspected members were intelligent men who wielded considerable political
power, especially during the years just before England's loss of the American
colonies. Their influence secretly extended into the highest reaches of the
government."

"But
the Hell-Fire Club, so far as I understand, died with Sir Francis more than
three decades ago. How does it relate to my present enquiry?"

"Darcy,
all of the names on that list are men believed to have been members of the
Hell-Fire Club. Not Sir Francis's inner circle, the superior members known as
his Twelve Apostles,' but inferior - -junior - members."

And Harry
Dash wood was associating with them. Worse - had hosted a gathering of them at
his home. To what purpose? A lark? A means of rebelling against his mother? A
darker motive? Darcy could only begin to speculate.

"Is the
organization still active?"

Chatfield
shook his head. "Not to anyone's knowledge. But it is a secret society,
after all, so who would know with certainty? I can tell you this - my source
indicated that the government does not want to see the Hell-Fire Club
rekindled. Given the current state of war with France, England cannot risk a
group of depraved geniuses exerting the kind of political influence they
enjoyed before the War of American Independence. Which is why your list
generated no small amount of interest - one wonders how those names came to be
collected, and why."

Though Darcy
considered Chatfield a good friend and trusted him implicitly, he thought it
best not to reveal Mr. Dashwood's involvement with the men in question. At
least, not at the moment. Until he had a chance to confront Harry
himself, he would not jeopardize Mr.
Dashwood's reputation, or Harry's friendship with Lady Chatfield's brother, by
informing the earl or anyone else of the gathering he'd observed.

And question
Mr. Dashwood he would - this very day, if possible. If Harry indeed played with
hell-fire, he dabbled in more danger than he realized. Someone needed to
intervene before he got burned.

"I am
in your debt," Darcy said. "I am afraid, however, that at present I
cannot divulge the list's origin without betraying a trust."

"I
understand."

"I hope
my silence on the subject will not create difficulties between you and your
acquaintance at the Home Office?"

"Nothing
too unpleasant. Though should you come into possession of evidence that the
Hell-Fire Club is re-forming, he would be very interested in that intelligence."

"Of
course."

He was not
the only one.

Fourteen

"My business was to declare myself a scoundrel,
and whether I did it with a bow or a bluster was of little importance."

- Mr.
Willoughby to Elinor Dashwood,

Sense and Sensibility,
Chapter 44

"Oh,
why did we not come here earlier?" Kitty sighed bitterly. "Grafton
House is always busy this time of day. We never should have stopped at Layton
and Shear's first."

"It is the sign of a successful season," Elizabeth responded. "Do
you think yourself the only girl in London preparing her trousseau? We were
fortunate to secure an appointment with the mantuamaker before next week."

Elizabeth refrained from reminding her sister that the detour to Layton
and Shear's had been entirely Kitty's idea. She had seen and passed on a lilac
sarsenet during a previous visit to the Henrietta Street silk mercer, and this
morning, having awakened with renewed interest in her trousseau after finally
seeing Harry again, she repented the decision. She had insisted on returning to
the shop directly they began the day's errands, anxious lest some other young
lady purchase the last yards minutes before them.

Layton and Shear's had been crowded, forcing them to wait at the counter
nearly half an hour before anyone could attend to
them. When
their turn did come, the shopkeeper immediately set their fears to rest by
assuring them the desired sarsenet was still in plentiful supply. Kitty
nonetheless bought a full ten yards, just to be safe. Georgiana, who had entered
the shop with no personal errand, rewarded her own patience with a new pair of
stockings.

From Covent Garden, they had proceeded immediately to Grafton House,
only to find their favorite linendrapery teeming with even more customers. As
they sized up the queue, they overheard one woman grumble that she had already
waited a full three-quarters of an hour.

"Did you hear that, Lizzy?" Kitty moaned. "I had wanted
to return to the house by now, in case Harry calls." Despite his promise
to call the day before, Mr. Dashwood had not appeared, an omission which
doubled Kitty's anticipation of seeing him today.

"We could come back here on the morrow," Elizabeth offered.

"Tomorrow?" Kitty's whole being reflected horror at the
suggestion. "There won't be a yard of fabric left here tomorrow!"

Thirty minutes' time brought little change in their circumstance. Apparently,
someone had neglected to inform them that this day had been designated
specially for the indecisive to shop. Those waited upon ahead of them were
thrown into acute distress by the choice between lawn or cambric, calico or
muslin, patterned dimity or striped. One young lady, after examining every bolt
of poplin in the shop, asked to see all of them a second time, then a third,
before deciding upon a sprigged muslin instead. Her friend ordered gauze in
silk, cotton, and linen rather than settle upon one. Elizabeth prayed neither
would also ask to inspect lace or handkerchiefs.

Kitty occupied herself chiefly by fidgeting, to the point where
Elizabeth was required to twice reach out to restrain the swing of her reticule.
She then set about an intense scrutiny of every patron remaining between them
and the counter, as if assessing how many minutes each might dally over her
purchases. When
that diversion ceased to amuse, as it did very
quickly, her gaze drifted to the window.

"Lizzy! It is Mr. Dashwood - outside, looking through the glass!"
She waved. "Do you think he sees me?"

She begged Georgiana to hold their place so that she might go speak with
her fiance, apparently willing to forsake all others on his behalf, but not her
position in Grafton's queue. Georgiana readily consented, and Kitty and
Elizabeth stepped out of the claustrophobic shop and into the street.

Mr. Dashwood continued to peer through the window.

"Harry, this is such a pleasant surprise!"

Mr. Dashwood glanced at her with mild curiosity, then wordlessly continued
his examination of the linendraper's display.

Kitty's face flushed with mortification. Her gaze darted round to see
whether anyone else had witnessed the deliberate slight. Unfortunately, two
young ladies - they of the sprigged muslin and triple order of gauze - had
emerged from the shop just in time to observe the insult. With titters of "cut
direct," they scampered off to circulate the latest
on-dit.

Kitty next looked to Elizabeth. Her eyes beseeched her older sister for
guidance. Elizabeth took matters into her own hands.

"Mr. Dashwood, I should think you could spare your fiancee a moment's
attention."

Harry stared at Elizabeth seemingly without recognition. "My - "
His gaze ricocheted between Elizabeth and Kitty, before at last coming to rest
on the latter. "Why, of course. Do pardon me, Miss - my dear. I was deliberating
so deeply whether I liked those gloves in the window that I was quite
insensible to all else."

His excuse did not fully satisfy Kitty but appeared to mollify her for
the present. Elizabeth was rather less disposed toward forgiveness. His weeklong
avoidance of Kitty, his manner during his most recent call, this latest rudeness
- since securing Kitty's hand, Mr. Dashwood's conduct toward her sister
had altered
in a manner that did not bode well for Kitty's future happiness.

"Are not your present pair serviceable?" Elizabeth said
frostily.

Mr. Dashwood looked less tired than when she last saw him - seemed, in
fact, full of youthful
pie de
vivre straining to burst forth. A fresh
haircut showed his eyes to advantage, and they reflected an intensity she'd not
observed in him before. He must have caught up on his sleep since the midnight
gathering she and Darcy had spied upon. She, on the other hand, was still
dragging herself through the day. Given that he was the cause of her present
lethargy, she resented him his liveliness.

"I find them a bit tight," he said. "Besides, I have just
ordered two new coats and half a dozen pairs of pantaloons, and thought new
gloves would complement them well."

"Why stop there? Add shirts and cravats to your order and you will
have a trousseau to rival Kitty's."

"I have - a dozen of the former, and twice that number of
neckcloths."

Elizabeth wondered at Mr. Dashwood's sudden wardrobe overhaul but simply
added it to the rest of his recent inexplicable behavior. "We were
disappointed by your failure to call yesterday. My sister, especially."

Kitty finally found her voice. "Yes, Harry. You had promised."

"I did? I - well, I suppose it just slipped my mind. I am terribly
sorry to have kept such a pretty girl waiting." He cast her a rakish look.
"If you will favor me with some attention tonight, I'll make it up to you."

Elizabeth blinked, taken aback by the suggestive undertone of his statement.
Had it been deliberate? Given the accompanying look, she suspected it had.
Fortunately, Kitty had not caught it, though Harry continued to regard her with
an expression that threatened to make Elizabeth blush.

"You may join us for dinner tonight, Mr. Dashwood," Elizabeth
said quickly, emphasizing the word "dinner" more heavily than she intended.
"If you are not otherwise engaged."