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 something to her, Darcy. Casting a hex or laying a curse or practicing God-knows-what ritual.”
“What he was doing was muttering a string of nonsense and touching a pocketwatch to her. Mrs. Parrish seemed unaltered by the event?”
“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 believes they can, he might attempt to use them. Or if Mrs. Parrish believes in them, she might be susceptible to suggestion. We must, however, ask ourselves to what purpose Randolph abuses his knowledge of the supernatural. What has he to gain from manipulating Mrs. Parrish?”
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 pocketwatch somehow — surely you have seen it, the one with the runes inscribed? I wasn’t sure if he did so with your knowledge.”
His expression darkened. “No, he did not. What sort of chant? What were the words?”
She shrugged. “A foreign tongue.”
He stared at her, incredulous. “I can’t believe Randolph would—” A muscle in his jaw tensed. “I trusted him!”
“The professor assured me he was only trying to help Mrs. Parrish.”
In the space of a heartbeat, his expression changed from angry to panicked. “Caroline — how was she? How did she respond?”
“She seemed all right. Better, in fact — she indicated her headache had subsided.”
“Well,” he said with forced brightness, “I’m glad of that.” But anxiety soon overtook his features once more.
Elizabeth regretted having told him — or at least, having added to the burden of cares he already bore. “I’m sorry for alarming you. And I certainly don’t wish to make you doubt your friend. I just — I thought you should know.”
“I thank you. It is good to know that Caroline and I have a true ally in you. Please — may I have your assurance that if you witness anything else unusual concerning Randolph, you will tell me immediately?”
She promised. Outside the wind moaned as it pelted sleet against the windows. A draft caught her, chilling her through her thin muslin gown.
Surely that’s why she shuddered.
“… think you’re doing. Whatever it is had better stop right now.” Mr. Parrish’s voice, though hushed, was forceful enough to carry from the hallway through Elizabeth’s cracked door. She paused, her hand on the latch, reluctant to interrupt his argument with Professor Randolph to continue on her way to tea.
“But we never—”
He cut off Randolph. “No excuses. No discussion. We had an arrangement, and it didn’t include you muttering mumbojumbo around Caroline without my knowledge. You are not to meet with her again unless I am present. Is that understood?”
“Understood.”
“I don’t know what game you play, but it ends now.” Parrish brushed past Randolph, nearly knocking him down. He stopped just long enough to help Randolph regain his balance, then continued toward the stairs without another word.
Twenty-three
“Without scheming to do wrong, or to make others unhappy, there may be error, and there may be misery.”
Elizabeth to Jane, Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 24
It is abominably rude of them to keep us waiting.” Mrs. Hurst gestured toward the empty seats. Mr. and Mrs. Parrish, Mr. Kendall, and Professor Randolph were all absent from the dinner table. “Charles, let us start on the soup.”