Suspense & Sensibility

'No, I mean, why are you carrying that thing around with you?'

'Why not?'

'I dislike the idea of its being so close to your person.'

'Now, Darcy, you are the one who keeps saying it is nothing more than a watch. If that is true, then what harm lies in carrying it?'

His silence transmitted his displeasure. He turned his attention back to the townhouse. A hackney stopped two doors down from Harry’s, releasing a pair of older gentlemen who stood talking on the street long after the carriage departed.

'An hour, by the way,' she said. 'We have been sitting in Pall Mall over an hour. It is nearly half-past ten. How much longer ought we — '

'The light just went out.'

Both of them now peered toward the darkened residence. It appeared as if Mr. Dashwood may have indeed retired for the day. No other signs indicated movement elsewhere in the house.

'Well, this was scarcely the night of debauchery we had been led to expect.' Elizabeth slipped the watch back into her pocket. 'I’m ready to return to a warm fire and — Oh! Now there is light one story down.'

'That is the drawing room.'

She burrowed farther into her mantle. 'I suppose this means we shall be stopped here a little longer.'

'It was you who insisted on accompanying me.'

'I did not realize it would be so cold. Next time I shall dress more warmly.'

'Next time I shall come alone.'

The gentlemen who had arrived by hackney now walked to Mr. Dashwood’s house and mounted the steps. 'Darcy, look! Someone approaches the door.'

'Sit back,' Darcy instructed. 'I do not want them to notice us. One of them is Felix Longcliffe.'

'The man from the fencing club? Who is the other?'

'I do not recognize him.'

Mr. Dashwood’s servant answered the door and granted the gentlemen admission. No sooner had the door shut behind them, than another visitor arrived by private conveyance. This gentleman had to be at least eighty; he stooped heavily over his walking stick as he shuffled up the steps.

'Do you know him?'

'I believe that coach bears the Flaxbury coat of arms,' Darcy said.

Two more carriages pulled up. Darcy didn’t recognize the occupants or their liveries. 'Miss Bingley once said that a thorough knowledge of drawing was essential in any truly accomplished young woman. Have I married one?'

Elizabeth almost laughed aloud. She labored to produce identifiable stick figures. 'Would you want to have married someone admired by Miss Bmgley?'

He withdrew a small notebook and pencil from his breast pocket. 'Sketch the family crests on the sides of those two carriages as best you can.'

Her artistic skills, aided by the lighting and angle by which she viewed the originals, rendered illustrations that any five-year-old would be proud to display. Her lines of partition were tidily executed, but her white horse rampant looked more like a small rodent, and the lion couchant resembled a rabbit suffering ear amputation.

'A new barouche just pulled up. How do the first two drawings come along?'

'My finest ever.'

Darcy glanced at her efforts. 'Perhaps we should simply write down descriptions.'

In the course of an hour, twelve visitors entered the town-house. Darcy recognized one more on sight, and all but two of the others arrived in carriages marked by family crests. Most were far older than Harry; the gathering included at least three octogenarians.

The last man to arrive brought with him a trunk. The large ebony box was inlaid with gold images that caught the moonlight as the servants carried it inside.

'A most curious assembly,' Elizabeth declared. From the look of the carriages, Mr. Dashwood had some very wealthy and influential friends. 'And at an equally curious hour. If only we could see inside the drawing room.' Given that the draperies were drawn and the room sat one story up, the possibility seemed unlikely.

The driver, who had done a fine job up until this point of minding his own business while indulging his eccentric but well-paying customers, now shifted in his seat. 'Uh, sir? Any idea how long ye might be wantin’ to stay?'

Elizabeth consulted her watch again. 'It is nearly midnight,' she told Darcy.

Candlelight appeared in Mr. Dashwood’s suite once more. Its draperies opened.

'Driver, how would you like to earn an extra crown?' Darcy asked.

Thirteen

'How you will explain away any part of your guilt in that dreadful business, I confess is beyond my comprehension.'

— Elinor to Mr. Willoughby,

Sense and Sensibility, Chapter 44

Lord Chatfield frowned as he scanned Darcy’s list. 'You wish to know what all these gentlemen have in common? Is this some sort of riddle, Darcy?'

'I am afraid not.' Darcy paced the earl’s library, hoping Chat-field could provide insight into the gathering he and Elizabeth had witnessed — or tried to witness — the night before. Their hackney driver had scaled a tree to peer inside Harry’s window but had attained his perch only in time to see a white-robed figure draw the draperies once more. No other clue as to the activities within had presented itself until Dashwood’s visitors had tumbled out — many of them deep in their cups — just before dawn.

Elizabeth still slept, but Darcy had risen after only a few hours. Eager to identify the men who had called upon Dash-wood, he’d consulted his peerage books to match their coats of arms with family names, then had come to his friend. Lord Chat-field knew absolutely everybody worth knowing in London — from peers and politicians to poets, scientists, and scholars. The earl’s own gatherings were legendary for drawing together seemingly disparate individuals for evenings of stimulating conversation. If any common interest linked the names Darcy had written down, Chatfield would know.

'Steepledown… Flaxbury… Westinghurst… Many of these men enjoyed considerable political influence years ago, but one hears little about them now.' The earl leaned back in his chair and studied the list more closely 'Parkington is well known as an art collector. He owns an extensive collection of sculpture. I’ve never seen it, but I understand much of it is of a, shall we say, suggestive nature — definitely not something for public display. He was a notorious libertine in his day.'

'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.