Suspense and Sensibility Or, First Impressions Revisited: A Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery (8 page)

"Thank you."

She started on the allegro assai. Elizabeth listened to Geor-giana’s perfect execution, repeating their conversation in her mind. Anyone could appreciate her sister-in-law’s accomplishments and gentle spirit. But she was discovering in Georgiana a young woman of greater depth and intelligence than was evident upon first acquaintance, and felt privileged to be developing a more intimate understanding of her.

"Can I persuade you, at least, to join us for our walk?" Elizabeth asked.

Georgiana started to shake her head, but then abruptly halted the music. "Actually," she said, rising from her instrument, "I think I shall."

Seven

"To say that he is unlike Fanny is enough.

It implies every thing amiable."

 – Mrs.
Henry Dashwood to Elinor,

Sense and Sensibility,
Chapter 3

Whatever pressure Fanny Dashwood may have exerted on her son to bestow his addresses on a wealthier woman, Harry Dashwood remained steadfast in his attention to Kitty. He visited the townhouse daily, securing Kitty’s affections even more firmly and rising in Elizabeth’s esteem if only for possessing the good taste to adore her sister. Georgiana made herself scarce during his visits, not because anyone suspected Mr. Dashwood vulnerable to fickleness, but to spare Kitty any pain from recollecting his mother’s incivility. An obligatory return call in Harley Street had proven as enchanting as their first visit with Mrs. John Dashwood, and everyone seemed much happier forgetting the existence of Harry’s mother altogether.

Darcy’s opinion of Mr. Dashwood rose, as well, particularly when he encountered the younger man at Angelo’s fencing school and heard of his application for membership in one of the more intellectual gentlemen’s clubs.

"Mr. Dashwood seems to be genuinely striving to improve himself and find more worthwhile ways to spend his time,"

Darcy remarked to Elizabeth one rainy afternoon. She had wandered into the library in search of a novel, but, upon finding him there, had abandoned her errand for the superior diversion of conversation with her husband.

"You sound surprised."

"I did not anticipate such a rapid transformation, nor one so sincere."

"Mr. Dashwood is apparently capable of great change when he sets his mind to something," she said. "His regard for Kitty may be his primary inspiration, but I think your encouragement has also contributed. He respects you."

"Perhaps he will make a suitable husband for Kitty, after all."

"Why, Darcy! I believe you are starting to like him."

He shrugged. "Perhaps I feel a sort of kinship with him. It does not seem like very long ago that my own father died."

"You both lost your fathers at a relatively young age. He, even earlier than you."

"Though his father’s death was recent, the more I talk with Mr. Dashwood, the more I form the impression that he has lacked paternal guidance for a long time. John Dashwood seems to have acquiesced to his wife in most matters, and she seems to have expended more effort in trying to dominate her son than teach him. It is small wonder he spent so little time at Norland."

"So now you have taken the fatherless young man under your wing, offering the direction that John Dashwood did not."

"You are too generous. I am not yet thirty myself; I have not the wisdom to be a surrogate father to him."

"And you are too modest – a trait of which I cannot often accuse you. Very well, then. You can be an elder brother to Mr. Dashwood. Georgiana can vouch for your qualifications in that role."

Darcy contemplated that for a moment. "I should like to regard Mr. Dashwood as my brother."

"I am glad to hear it," she said. "For if he marries my sister, you will have no choice in the connection."

It was with light hearts that they all set out for Sussex – all except Georgiana, who remained in London to attend the performance of a noted Italian harpist with her friend Miss Sedgewick. She would stay with Miss Sedgewick’s family while Elizabeth and Darcy were away, an arrangement that provided both a proper chaperone for Georgiana in her brother’s absence and an opportunity for her to spend more time with her friend.

When Kitty and the Darcys arrived at Norland, the young master himself met their carriage. Mr. Dashwood helped Kitty alight, studying her face the whole while for her first impressions of his home.

"It is beautiful, Mr. Dashwood!" she exclaimed. "The most perfect house I ever saw."

Her delight clearly pleased him. He regarded the house with quiet pride. "I am glad you think so, Miss Bennet," he said softly. "Most glad."

Though Pemberley would always remain foremost in Elizabeth’s affections, Norland was indeed a magnificent house. It was prettily situated in a wooded parkland, surrounded by seas of daffodils still in bloom. As they neared, she saw that equally abundant waves of tulips prepared to overtake the daffodils when their reign was exhausted.

Their party was the first to arrive; Fanny Dashwood and other relations were expected later that day and the majority of guests on the morrow. Mr. Dashwood proposed taking a walk about the grounds once they’d refreshed themselves, to which they readily assented. While they changed out of their traveling clothes, however, the sky darkened, and by the time they regrouped in the drawing room, a steady rain fell.

The shower failed to dampen Kitty’s pleasure at being in Mr. Dashwood’s home, or his eagerness to show it to her. He suggested instead a tour of the house and led them through its rooms. He soon discovered that he made a poor docent, as his years of absence and lack of interest had left him unfamiliar with many of the house’s characteristics. He also possessed but few memories to share with them.

The housekeeper, however, was pressed into service as a guide. She had been at Norland since the days of Harry’s great-great-uncle and knew each panel and newel post as if she had fashioned them herself. As she led them through the great hall, music room, morning room, dining room, drawing rooms, and so on, her narrative formed at once a history of the house and a history of the Dash wood family. The original house, they learned, had been built during the reign of Henry the Fifth, and had been altered and expanded several times. Most of the present house had been built during the Tudor monarchy, with another wing added during George the First’s time. Care had been taken, however, to blend the different architectural styles as well as possible, so that the variations added interest without detracting from the structures overall grandeur.

Under John Dashwood’s tenure, the house had seen modifications both inside and out. He had annexed surrounding land and enclosed the common; to please Fanny, a grove of old walnut trees had given way to a greenhouse and flower garden. Fanny, too, had selected all the china, plate, and linen in use.

As they moved through the dining room, Kitty, in a whisper, asked Elizabeth her opinion of the place settings.

"Rather too pretentious for my own taste," she whispered back.

"I thought so, too."

Noting a small alcove on one end of the dining room, Elizabeth enquired as to its purpose.

"The dining room used to be a bedchamber in the original house, and a servant slept in that alcove," the housekeeper replied. "When the chamber was converted into the dining room, a table was put in the center of the alcove. At one time, breakfast was set out there instead of on the sideboard during large parties. But the present Mrs. Dashwood prefers the sideboard, so the nook generally goes unused now, except as a place to set flowers to help ornament the dining room."

They moved on to other rooms, where they learned that the settle had been a wedding gift to Sir Stephen and Lady Dash-wood in the sixteenth century, that the tapestries in the blue bedchamber had come with another long-ago bride, and that the pianoforte had last been played regularly by Harry’s aunt Marianne Dashwood, now Mrs. Brandon, when she lived in the house as a girl. The genealogy lessons continued in the long gallery, where generations of Dashwoods lined the walls.

"That’s Sir Stephen, there," said the housekeeper, gesturing toward a full-length portrait of a man in a ruff collar, "the last knight in the family. His lady wife is beside him. They say the two of them were inseparable. Over there is Mr. Albert Dashwood, my first master at Norland. A fine-looking man in his youth, though I don’t remember him that way, as he was old when I came here. At least, he seemed old to me as a girl. Perhaps Mr. Dashwood remembers him?"

Harry shook his head. "I couldn’t have been more than five when he died."

"Four, I believe, sir. But you certainly made an impression on him when you visited with your parents." She smiled in recollection. "You near about talked his ears off with your little voice, telling him about your latest discoveries and using only half the right words. That’s when he decided to entail the estate to you."

"Instead of leaving it to his own children?" Elizabeth asked. The anxiety such an arrangement had caused her own family through the years left her perpetually puzzled by the logic of men who settled their affairs so unjustly.

"He never married," the housekeeper said. "His nephew, Henry Dashwood – grandfather of young Mr. Dashwood here – lived with Albert in his later days. By then Henry’s son, John, was grown. Henry lived here with his second wife and their daughters, Elinor, Marianne, and Margaret. That was a happy time. The girls adored their uncle Albert, and I do believe he lived longer for the pleasure of their companionship."

"Where are they now?" Kitty asked.

"Henry died just one year after Albert. According to the terms of Albert’s will, Henry could not divide Norland among multiple heirs. Upon Henry’s death, therefore, everything went entirely to John, so that the estate could eventually pass whole to his son, Harry. When Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood took possession of the house, Mrs. Henry Dashwood and the girls moved to a cottage in Devonshire owned by a cousin of hers."

"Sir John Middleton," Harry said. "You have met him."

It did not surprise Elizabeth that the widowed Mrs. Henry Dashwood had chosen to live near the genial Sir John rather than continue at Norland with Fanny Dashwood as its new mistress. She somehow suspected that Fanny, having just come into ownership of the great house, had not been a particularly gracious hostess toward her predecessor.

"The girls are all grown now, correct?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes, and comfortably settled with husbands of their own," the housekeeper replied.

"I invited them all to Norland this week," said Harry. "But I believe only my aunt Elinor and uncle Edward Ferrars will join us. Margaret is in confinement, with Marianne and their mother attending her and the infant."

Another new baby. It seemed all the world had entered an uncommon state of fecundity.

Kitty strolled farther along the gallery, studying various portraits in their turn. She stopped before a full-length painting of a young, dark-haired man with an almost tangible air of self-possession. "Is this a likeness of your father, Mr. Dash-wood? His resemblance to you is striking."

In that, Elizabeth concurred. The subject had been captured at about the same age as Harry Dashwood and bore many of the same physical characteristics. But for the clothing that clearly marked him as an inhabitant of the previous century, he and Harry could pass for twins. His eyes, however, seemed to mock the viewer with secret knowledge, and Elizabeth found his sardonic smile unsettling.

"No, my father’s portrait hangs over there. This is Sir Francis Dashwood, probably our most notorious ancestor."

"What is he notorious for?" Kitty asked.

Darcy cleared his throat. "If Sir Francis had an estate in Buckinghamshire, as you told me, how did his portrait come to be here?"

"Perhaps it arrived on the same coach as did the looking glass I showed you." Harry shrugged. "I discovered the two items together in the attic when I was last here, and thought it highly amusing that Sir Francis and I looked so much alike. So I had the portrait brought down and hung. As for why it may have been brought here, your conjecture is as good as my own. I understand there are numerous paintings of Sir Francis at West Wycombe – perhaps his heirs didn’t think they needed quite so many remembrances of the fellow. If I remember aright, the estate went to a half brother. Maybe the new owner wanted to clean house and live down the old chap’s reputation."

"What reputation?" Kitty asked again. "What did he do?"

"Where did you say your father’s portrait is?" Darcy attempted to usher them farther along the gallery.

Elizabeth resisted his shepherding and instead regarded her husband closely. Had his color risen?

"Darcy, that marks the second time you have diverted attention from Kitty’s question. What, exactly, is Sir Francis notorious for?"

He hesitated. "Ungentlemanlike conduct."

"A great many men are guilty of that."

"Not to this degree."

"Which degree?"

"Suffice it to say that he engaged in behavior unbecoming to himself and his associates."

The vexing man spoke in circles. "What does history accuse him of?"

"Things unfit for a lady’s ears."

Darcy’s prevarication only fueled her curiosity, but his tone brooked no appeal. She resolved to renew the subject later. Perhaps he would reveal more about the mysterious Sir Francis Dash wood when they were alone.

She looked to Mr. Dashwood. "Well, then. Let us see the portrait of your father."

John Dashwood’s likeness hung very nearly in the center of the gallery, flanked on one side by a painting of Fanny in her youth and on the other by a pair of portraits depicting young boys of about six and twelve. The children’s portraits reminded Elizabeth of several others she had seen in the house.

"Who are the boys?" Kitty asked.

"Me. Both of them." Mr. Dashwood looked sheepish. "My mother has a fixation with having my likeness drawn. She insisted I sit for another last month. I have not yet seen the final painting, though the artist seemed pleased as he worked."

"Your mother is clearly very fond of you." Elizabeth spoke in what she hoped was a convincing tone, though in truth she suspected Fanny of being more interested in the image of her son than in the person himself. Mrs. John Dashwood had packed her boy off to boarding school the moment he was old enough to go, apparently preferring still pictures of him to the boisterous company of a real child. Though children of the gentry commonly attended public school, Harry’s parents, like Darcy’s, could have afforded a private tutor if they had wanted one.