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.'
'Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely because they are not certainties?'
'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.'
'Indeed?' He wove past a stack of thick leatherbound volumes to sidle into his own chair behind the desk. Still lacking a safe haven for Hermes, he held Zeus's messenger in his hands. 'How may I be of assistance?'
'I am wondering…' Where to begin? The idea that had struck her while leaving St James's Street was still only half-formed; how to articulate it to the professor — particularly without sounding absurd in the process — eluded her.
He studied her, understanding entering his own expression. 'You seek more than the appraisal of a mundane artifact, don't you?'
'Yes.'
'Perhaps we should close the door'
He maneuvered past the desk again and shut the door, revealing a patch of uncluttered space on a bookcase that had previously been hidden. He set Hermes on the shelf and returned to his chair. 'There. You might find it easier to speak freely now.'
Only slightly. Though she and the professor had engaged in several discussions about phenomena not easily explained, she yet had trouble considering it a natural topic of conversation
'Is it possible for an object to somehow retain the characteristics of its previous owner?'
He removed his spectacles and wiped them with the same handkerchief he'd used on the chair At least, she thought it was the same one, though it had come from a different pocket this time.
'Now that's a question I don't hear every day. But it is a very good one.' He perched the spectacles back on the bridge of his nose, from which they immediately slid. ''The concise answer is 'yes.' Objects, particularly items worn or carried on someone's person for a prolonged period of time, have been known to absorb their owner's aura, as it were. It's not something that would be apparent to most people, but to an individual sensitive to such things, that retained essence could be perceived even after the item has left the owner's possession.'
