His statement reminded her that it was the twenty-first of December — the winter solstice, a date he had mentioned the last time they had discussed herbalism. What was it he had called the art?
What was this man truly about? As she studied him, his features seemed to shift in the grey light, recasting themselves into something not quite of this world. An overwhelming urge to flee seized her. But before she could act on it, Mrs. Parrish stirred. Caroline winced and brought her hand to her temple; her eyes fluttered open. When her gaze lighted upon Elizabeth and the professor, she bolted upright and swung her legs to the floor.
“What is going on? How came I to be lying here?”
“You nodded off, Mrs. Parrish.” Randolph walked to the wine decanter and poured a draught. “Here — sip this. How do you feel? You complained of a headache earlier.”
Caroline accepted the glass. “It’s better. Not gone, but better.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Randolph turned to Elizabeth. “See, Mrs. Darcy? Naught is amiss. You needn’t concern yourself — or anyone else — with what you observed. Or, rather, thought you observed. Moreover, I’m sure Mrs. Parrish wishes her interviews with me to remain confidential.”
“Of course.”
“I assure you, Mrs. Darcy — I am only trying to help Mrs. Parrish.”
She forced a smile. “Pray, forgive the intrusion. I came in here seeking my bonnet, but now that the weather has turned I believe I’ll instead walk in the gallery. Would you care to join me, Mrs. Parrish?”
“What time is it?”
Randolph withdrew his pocketwatch from his trousers. “About half-past three.”
Elizabeth started, but quickly recovered her composure. The watch — she recalled the strange markings on it that she’d noticed at Lord Chatfield’s dinner party. Was this the object she had just seen him using? Didn’t he usually keep it in the fob pocket of his waistcoat? Sure enough, that was the pocket to which he returned it.
Caroline declined Elizabeth’s invitation, citing a desire to take her time changing her gown for tea. Elizabeth was just as happy to escape her company without leaving her alone with the professor. The three of them exited the room together. In the hall, where garland now drooped on two sides, they parted. Mrs. Parrish and Professor Randolph headed upstairs.
Elizabeth headed straight for Darcy.
She shivered. Darcy’s embrace, strong as it was, could not suppress the dread that suffused her.
What had she witnessed? More than Randolph’s weak explanation suggested. She had not merely fallen prey to a trick of light; her ears had not mistaken a lullaby for something more potent.
Professor Julian Randolph. Who was he, really? She had liked him, found his eccentricity charming. He was different from anyone else in her acquaintance and she considered his uniqueness refreshing.
Now it alarmed her.
What did any of them actually know about him? That he studied the supernatural and drifted from job to job. What manner of man was he? He claimed to be motivated by academic enquiry, but did he have an ulterior purpose for his specialty? Was he some sort of practitioner of the dark arts? Elizabeth had heard of such people — in stories. Not in real life. But folklore sprang from grains of truth. If, in fact, individuals existed who could manipulate unseen forces, and if Randolph were such a man, what power did he hold? And to what purpose did he use it?
As shadows overtook the sitting room, Darcy led her to the chaise longue and pulled her down beside him. “Elizabeth, I have been waiting patiently for you to speak, but you are starting to worry me.”
She tucked her head in the crook of his neck. “I’ve just had the most strange encounter with Professor Randolph. I believe we have been deceived in his character.”
“I am sorry to hear it. He seemed an honest fellow, if misguided. Tell me.”
She related the incident — the mysterious object, the rue, the chanting, the dissembling. “How stupid does he think I am?” she asked at the conclusion. “He was doing
“What he was
“To all outward appearance.”
“Then it sounds as if he did not actually harm her.”
“This time. But he meets with her every day — he has unlimited opportunity to attempt again what I interrupted this afternoon.”
“Then he has had ample opportunity before today. Yet Mrs. Parrish does not seem to be suffering the effects of any spell.”
“Doesn’t she? She has not been herself since — well, since Randolph stood up at her wedding. What if her behavior is not caused by nerves at all, but some sort of supernatural influence, directed by him?”
“With the help of a timepiece?” Darcy shook his head. “Elizabeth, Randolph can no more practice magic than I can. If he could, would he not use it to generate wealth? Or at least remain employed?”
She wasn’t ready to give up her theory of Randolph’s mystical connections, but let it drop for now. Surely, however, Darcy could not deny the alarming nature of whatever she had observed in the drawing room. “You cannot believe his actions benign?”
“I believe them mundane. His charms cannot really work. But if he
What indeed? She burrowed against him once more, wishing they were anywhere but Netherfield, discussing anything but Caroline Parrish. Caroline’s crisis was an inconvenience to all: Darcy and her, Bingley and Jane, the Parrishes themselves — all of them were trapped in a state of suspended animation, unable to truly begin their new lives as married couples until the situation reached a resolution. All hoped Randolph’s correspondence with his American colleague would yield a cure. But the recent bad weather had made posting letters to London, let alone abroad, difficult — Darcy’s enquiry to Lord Chatfield had just gone out this morning. Who knew when they might hear from Dr. Lancaster? Meanwhile, the questionable professor was the closest thing to an expert they had at their disposal.
Perhaps that was it.
Elizabeth caught her breath. Darcy had joked about Randolph using his supernatural expertise to find employment, but in effect Caroline’s “nervous condition” had created a living for him — secured him a place in Parrish’s daily life, his home, his gratitude. Randolph had said he hoped for Parrish’s patronage; Caroline’s illness had given him just that. “Perhaps Professor Randolph seeks to make himself indispensable to Mr. Parrish.”
Darcy’s eyes flashed immediate understanding. “The poor scholar has enjoyed a comfortable life since Mrs. Parrish fell ill. Her condition earned him an invitation to Netherfield.”
“Which not only provides him free bed and board, but puts him in close quarters with you and Bingley — two more potential benefactors. And Bingley is so generous, and easily guided…”
“Mrs. Darcy, I do believe you may be on to something.”
She left Darcy to change for tea. Encountering Mr. Parrish in the great hall, she begged a word with him as they climbed the staircase together.
“You, Mrs. Darcy, may have two or even three,” he said gallantly. “I am your humble servant.”
“I have a question concerning your friend Professor Randolph. I wonder how well you know him?”
“We met about a year ago. He’s a fine fellow — a bit odd, maybe. But kind, and generous with his time and knowledge.”
“You trust his assessment of Mrs. Parrish’s condition?”
“Indeed, yes. He has proven himself invaluable since Caroline… fell ill.”
They paused at the top of the stairs. “Perhaps too valuable,” Elizabeth said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did you miss their session today?”
“No, I was present. For most of it, at least — I left while Randolph was finishing up his notes. I had a letter to write to my solicitor.” His brows drew together. “Why do you ask?”
“I happened to enter the drawing room while they were still together and found him engaged in strange behavior — scattering rue and reciting some sort of chant as Mrs. Parrish slept. He also seemed to be using his
