spirit to leave the glass and roam incorporeally for limited periods. It was a passing mention — an unsupported speculation, really. But the notion caught my attention, as it could explain how Sir Francis gathered his former associates to conduct the ceremony that
imprisoned Harry.'
'It could also explain all those occasions when people observed him in places he later claimed he had not been,' Elizbeth said.
Randolph regarded her keenly. 'What occasions?'
'There were so many of them.' She looked to Darcy for help. 'He was seen in Bond Street, and outside Boodle's…'
'At the Pigeon Hole and other gaming establishments. .'
'All over town the week he was in Devonshire.'
'Yes. I saw him myself that week in his window.'
'Indeed?' Randolph asked. 'Did these incidents occur before or after the night of the transference ritual?'
'Before.' Elizabeth said 'We all went to Norland for Mr Dashwood's birthday, and the
'Is this when he first brought the mirror to London?'
'No.' said Darcy 'He brought it wiih him on a previous trip.'
'He did, however, return at that time with this portrait of Sir Francis — Elizabeth pointed to the painting that still hung above the fireplace.
Professor Randolph pondered that intelligence, and the portrait 'This image of Sir Francis looks remarkably like the young Mr Dashwood I met in March. The people who saw Mr. Dashwood about town, after this ponrait arrived — they were quite sure it was Harry?'
'They were all positive,' Elizabeth said. 'Though he ignored those who knew him best, and many thought they saw him in costume, as his clothes were quite out-of-date.'
Randolph nodded at the portrait. 'That far out-of-date?'
Elizabeth suited at the sudden realization. Darcy, deep in contemplation, stared at the portrait.
'Think back. Mr. Darcy Are you certain you saw Dashwood in the window?' Randolph asked 'Or could it have been Sir Francis?'
'Until this moment, I would have sworn it was Harry Dashwood.' Darcy said 'But now—' His eyes met Elizabeth's. 'Perhaps it was Sir Francis.' She held his gaze a long moment, knowing what it had cost him to concede that.
'It sounds as if Sir Francis's spirit was indeed able to leave mirror before the exchange.' Randolph said. 'So there is hope that Harry's might as well, if we can determine how Sir Francis managed to liberate himself. I suspect his freedom had something to do with this portrait. Has it hung here since its arrival?'
Elizabeth recalled one of Harry's memories. 'No. In the first memory I experienced of Sir Francis speaking to Harry, the portrait hangs behind me — him. I could see it in the glass.'
'Aha.' Professor Randolph leaned back to better study the portrait. 'Harry Dashwood unknowingly hung this portrait where Sir Francis could see himself as he was in life — no doubt triggering the same sense of loss and yearning that caused him become entrapped in the mirror in the first place. Just as his spirit once flew toward his reflection, it now went outward, toward the portrait. But without a body, you could not remain out-
the glass for long. Or perhaps Sir Francis simply wasn't satisfied with a ghostly existence and wanted more. Either way, he decided to make his freedom permanent.'
At terrible cost to his own kin.' Elizabeth declared.
'Just one in a litany of moral transgressions, from what I understand ' the professor said. 'Now, if only we had a portrait of Harry Dashwood, we might use it to free him.'
'What about the birthday portrait?' Elizabeth said.
'It is at Norland, which means it now belongs to Lord Lovejoy,' Darcy reminded her. 'And we have not time to send for it anyway.'
'Norland was filled with portraits of Harry,' Elizabeth recalled. 'Perhaps his mother has one in Harley Street. It would not be as recent—'
'The particular image should not matter,' said Randolph, ' it is the same soul.'
A secretary stood in the comer of the drawing room. Elizabeth went to it and found a pen, ink, and paper. She got no further than the salutation before she realized she had no idea what to say.
'Perhaps I would do better to call in person,' she said.
'Go immediately,' Randolph urged 'While you are gone, we will have Mr. Dashwood's body moved to the room with the mirror.'
'You truly believe this can work?' Darcy's skepticism remained obvious.
'We must hope so. If it does not, I have one last idea, but is far more dangerous.'
'And what is that?'
'You might call it a false exchange. Essentially, we deceive the mirror. One of us poses as a new victim and gazes into the glass to release Harry. At the very moment of transference, just as Harry emerges but before the new soul is drawn in, we break contact with the mirror. The importance of precise timing cannot be overstated — a second too soon or too late, and Harry could be lost, or a new victim claimed.'
Elizabeth shuddered. 'I'll go retrieve that portrait.'
'I approached her with a sense of guilt which almost took from me the power of dissembling.'
'What is he? Six?'
'Four, It was the only one she had.'
Elizabeth sank onto the sofa, having returned victorious from her deployment to Harley Street. Fanny Dashwood had loaned them a small portrait of a very young Harry, which Darcy now held. He was proud of his wife — he could never have charmed Harry's mother into cooperating, let alone in the mere half hour Elizabeth had required. She had spent more time traveling there and back than in the call itself.
'How did you justify our need for it?'
'Good heavens. I told so many falsehoods that I shall never be able to remember them all. And when those ran out, I flattered her in a manner that would put Mr Collins to shame. You can imaginc how much I enjoyed begging a favor of her — she was exceedingly condescending the whole while. Before I escaped, I'd agreed to sponsor her membership in the Rose Garden Club and make a donation in her name to the Ladies' Benevolent Aid Society. Oh — and I hope you have no plans for Friday?'
'I do not believe so.'
'Good. You are engaged to polish her silver'
The door opened to admit Professor Randolph. He appeared pleasantly surprised to find Elizabeth in the drawing room.
'You have returned already. Mrs. Darcy? And with a portrait I see. Capital!'
'Is Mr. Dashwood in place?' Darcy asked.
Relocating Harry's body had proven more awkward than anticipated. He was so stiff from cold that his limbs were stuck in their huddled position — knees up, arms wrapped around legs — until he had an opportunity to thaw. The servants had carried him thus curled from the subcellar to the upper spare bedchamber.
'He is. With the portrait now here, we can begin any time.'
