Mr and Mrs Darcy 02 Suspense & Sensibility (25 page)

"He
did. I could not tell him much. Sir Francis was a distant relation who had been
involved in some sort of scandalous affairs that became known to the public a
few years before I met your father. I was only about sixteen at the time, and
living far enough removed from London that I was ignorant of the details. The
only time Henry ever spoke of it later was to assure me, while we were
courting, that anything I might hear about his
famous relation had no connection at all to the sort of man
he
was, and that he hoped to always
conduct himself in a manner that would place his honor, integrity, and
respectability and above question.

"That's
all I ever heard of Sir Francis for years. To both your father and Uncle Albert,
he was an embarrassmem better left undiscussed. Then one day, shortly after we
moved in with Uncle Albert at Norland, a delivery arrived quite unexpectectedly
from West Wycombe Park--Sir Francis's estate. It was a large mirror, with a
letter from Sir Francis asking Uncle Albert to keep it for a while."

Elizabeth
recalled the looking glass that Harry's footman had struggled with when she had
accompanied Kitty to his townhouse to break their engagement. "I think
perhaps I have seen that mirror. Has it a Greek design?"
"Yes--with carvings of athletes
round the whole frame. Uncle Albert didn't know what to think. He had never
known Sir Francis well and had cut off communication altogether when the
scandals broke. He was still trying to decide what to do with the mirror when
we received word several days later that Sir Francis had died. The death itself
came as little surprise--he was in his seventies, and by all accounts had lived
an immoderate life--but it left Uncle Albert in a quandary over how to dispose
of the mirror. He wrote to Sir Francis's heir to make arrangements for its
return. But the heir, believing the mirror to have been a deathbed gift by Sir
Francis in an attempt to polish the memory he would leave behind, exhorted
Uncle Albert to keep it and sent with his reply a portrait of Sir Francis in
his youth by which to better remember him. So now poor Uncle Albert had a huge
looking glass and a full-length portrait to constantly call to mind a dead man
he had been quite happy to forget during his life."

"What
did he do with them?" Elinor asked.

"What
could he do with them? He couldn't return them to West Wycombe without delivering
an enormous insult along with them, he couldn't get rid of them, and he
couldn't bear looking at them. So he stuck them in the attic, and none of us ever
thought about them or Sir Francis again."

At
least, not until Harry found them. It seemed that his discovery of the portrait
had awakened in him some dormant predisposition to vice that he and his
ancestor shared. Elizabeth remembered the conversation between Harry and
Professor Randolph on the day Harry had first called upon Kitty. Would that
meeting the archaeologist had never inspired Harry to explore Norland's attics!
Sir Francis could have remained forever in obscurity, where he belonged.

The
stampede above had ceased sometime during Mrs. Dashwood's narration, enough so
that the ladies in the drawing room were able to hear a carriage pull up.
Minutes later, the arrival of Mrs. Robert Ferrars was announced.

"Lucy
calls upon us already?" Mrs. Dashwood remarked to her daughter. "She
must want something."

Lucy
entered, sans Regina for the first time Elizabeth could recall having seen her.
Free of the excess weight, she swept into the room like a cat pouncing on a
mouse. She dropped herself beside Elinor and put a hand on her arm.
"Elinor, I am so glad you're at home. The most-- Oh!" So intent had
she been on her mission, that she hadn't taken notice of the room's other occupants.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Dashwood. And Edward. Oh--And Mrs. Darcy! I didn't expect
anyone but family might be here. Especially you, I mean--you know, since the sad
business between Harry and Miss Bennett."

"Regardless
of what has transpired between Mr. Dashwood and my sister, I continue to regard
his family with esteem," Elizabeth said.

"And
we think the same way of you, to be sure. Well, you all would not believe what
has just happened! Elinor, I knew you were in town, and I hurried here
straightaway to make sure you didn't hear the astounding news from someone
else!"

Elizabeth
could not help but reflect that Lucy seemed very thoughtful in this regard. Whenever
bad news circulated, she could be counted upon to deliver it most expeditiously
to anyone remotely interested.

"What
do you think our sister Fanny has done? I'm sure you could never guess, so I'll
tell you. She has disinherited Harry! Her only son! I am beside myself with
shock. My heart just breaks for him." As if to illustrate the fracture,
she brought her hand to her chest. "Doesn't yours?"

Elinor's
face registered astonishment, but at least she and Edward possessed information
about Harry's recent conduct that lent Lucys announcement context. Poor Mrs.
Dashwood appeared completely bewildered.

"Fanny
has disinherited Harry? Whatever for?"

"For
his profligate behavior She has been threatening it for weeks, but today she
signed the papers with the solicitors. He'sstill got Norland, of course, but he
won't see a penny of the rest of his father's estate or Fanny's own settlement
after her death. Two thousand a year, yanked right out of his grasp!"

"What
profligate behavior?"

"Mother,"
Elinor said gently, "there have been rumors....out of fairness to Harry, I
did not want to repeat them even to you, until I could determine their
veracity."

"Rumors?
They are more than just rumors!" Lucy exclaimed. "Why, all the ton is
talking about his drunken soirees, and his mistress, and the Hel--"

"Yes,
I am sure they are," Elinor said.

"Mistress?"

"Oh.
Mrs. Dashwood, Harry's the most infamous rakehell in London nght now! Why,
he--"
"Our Harry?"

"Well,
yes, our Harry! Who else would I be speaking of?"
"And Fanny has cut him
off?"

"Utterly!
Said her mother did the same thing to Edward without half so much cause, and she
weren't going to allow her son to embarrass her any further. Why, she hasn't
set foot outside her door these three weeks at least, 'cause she knows folks are
whispering behind her back."

Edward
shook his head in disbelief. "Poor Harry."

"Oh,
Edward--do forgive me. I didn't even think how you must feel! Of course this
must bring up dreadful memories."

Which
would not, Elizabeth suspected, prevent Lucy from continuing to talk about it
ad nauseam
. She began to feel her
presence an intrusion, and pondered some means of making a graceful exit so that
the family might discuss this news in privacy.

"Unlike
Edward, whose younger brother benefited from his loss," Elinor said
pointedly. "Harry has no siblings. On whom did Fanny settle her fortune?"

Lucy
actually stopped talking long enough to catch her breath "Well," she
said slowly, "now that's the other part of the news I find so incredible,
you see. As you said. Harry has no brothers or sisters, and of course Fanny
wants to keep the money in the family. So she gave it to Regina."
"Regina?" Elinor said.
"I was as surprised as you, I tell
you!" Again, she placed her hand on Elinor's arm "But really, who
else could she leave it to? Regina is her niece, and she and Fanny have become
so intimate this season. Why, Fanny adores her like the daughter she never had!"
She sighed dramatically and turned toward the rest of her listeners. "We
feel guilty, of course, about Regina's
gaining from Harry's misfortune, but what is one to do? It's better that the
fortune stay within the family than go to an outsider. And if leaving it to Regina
can provide Fanny with some measure of comfort to ease the pain her own son has
caused her, why it's nothing short of our duty to accept it."
"Indeed." Elinor said
dryly.
"Is the bequest
irrevocable?" Edward asked.
"I'm afraid so. As of this
morning, Fanny retains only a life interest in it. How it pains me to say so! Believe
me, I wish it were otherwise, so that she might have an opportunity to
reconsider if
Harry reforms. I tried to
talk her out of it, of course, and urged her to at least reflect longer on her
decision before signing the papers. But it is done."

Lucy's
professions of conscience were as believable as they were sincere. Elizabeth
had to give her credit: All these weeks, she'd thought Lucy schemed to acquire
Harry's fortune for her daughter merely through the conventional means of a
marriage between them. But instead she'd managed to win the money without
sacrificing Regina to what would surely prove an unhappy future. And with this
sizable increase to her dowry, Regina could now catch a better prize in the
marriage market, thus further increasing her fortune.

"How
did Harry take the news?" Mrs Dashwood asked.

"I
don't know. Fanny was on her way to Pall Mall when I left her. I'm sure he must
be devastated--anybody would be." She sighed once more and rose. "Someone
should offer him sympathy, even if he don't deserve it. I shall go. Better for
him to be with family at a time like this. It was good to see you all, even if the
occasion was the sharing of such unhappy news. Good-bye!"

With
that, she blew out of the room as quickly as she had blown in, a sudden summer
shower that fleetingly deluges those caught beneath it before moving on to
drench another unwary party.

In
the stunned silence that followed her departure, Elizabeth also rose. "'I
apologize to you all for having long overstayed my welcome. Doubtless, you wish
to continue discussing this matter in private."

"I'm
sure none of us considered your presence an intrusion, Mrs. Darcy," Elinor
reassured her. "And I suspect Lucy appreciated the opportunity to play to
a larger audience."

As
her driver assisted her into the carriage, Elizabeth reflected anew on what a
mess Harry Dashwood had made of his life in just a few short weeks. He'd lost
his fiancee, half his fortune, and many of his former friends, gaining little
more than infamy in their stead. Well--infamy and a paunch more at home on a man
twice his age. She recalled Darcy's description of Harry preening before his
elaborate mirror when they'd first met him. What did
Mr. Dashwood see when he looked at himself in the glass of late? Could a man
who once had taken such trouble over his appearance really be satisfied with
the image now reflected?

Perhaps,
she mused, that is why he'd ordered the looking glass packed up and carted back
to Norland--his vanity could no longer suffer it. And so the mirror's London
season had come to as abrupt an end as Harry and Kitty's engagement, and for identical
cause: Mr. Dashwood's unbecoming alteration. With Mrs. Dashwood's narrative
still fresh in her mind, Elizabeth
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."