"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."
Perhaps her theory was not so half-baked after all. "To what effect?"
"A necklace worn by your grandmother, for instance, might envelop you in her spirit when you don it yourself, if she was a bitter woman, you might experience acrimony. If she was often sad, you may be filled with melancholy. If she was brave, you might find yourself infused with courage."
"Does this hold true for larger items, as well?"
"Certainly. Houses are an excellent example. One can enter a vacant dwelling and sense whether it was a happy home. Prisons are another. I personally cannot visit the Tower of London without a sense of despair washing over me."
"How about something like a looking glass?"
He paused, analyzing her countenance the way she imagined he studied his artifacts. "How about disclosing a hint as to what these questions portend so that I may better answer them?" he said gently.
She released a heavy breath. It would be a relief to lay her suspicions before someone who might be able to make sense of them. "Do you recall Mr. Harry Dashwood?"
"The young fellow I met at your townhouse?"
"Yes."
"A pleasant gentleman. He was about to embark on an exploration of his attics, as I recollect."
"He did. There he discovered two items that had once belonged to a black-sheep ancestor of his. Sir Francis Dashwood. One was a portrait of Sir Francis, the other, a mirror that has an antique essence to it. Mr Dashwood brought them back to London with him and. to put it mildly, he has not been the same since"
"And you wonder if these objects have something to do with the alteration in his demeanor?"
"Precisely. Mr. Dashwood has developed a preoccupation with Sir Francis, emulating his debauchery and immoral behavior to the point where my sister, who had thought herself engaged to a kind, respectable gentleman, was forced to break all connection with the libertine he has become. While I hold Mr. Dashwood responsible for his own conduct, the coincidence of his sudden interest in Sir Francis and his discovery of the looking glass led me to speculate that perhaps something more than mere curiousity about his ancestor influenced his transformation."
She hoped she hadn't just made herself sound perfectly ridiculous. But Professor Randolph adjusted his spectacles and leaned back in his chair with a look of concentration.
"It's possible." he said "Especially given Sir Francis's history of religious experimeniation. If anyone could extend his influence beyond the grave, he would be the man."
"You have heard of him. then?"
"Quite a character, as I understand. But also quite a collector of classical antiquities. Tell me more about this mirror. Have you seen it?"
"It's a huge thing. The glass itself is almost as tall as I am, and it's surrounded by a heavy gold frame with figures standing out in relief."
"What son of figures?'
She frowned, trying to recall. "I saw the glass only once, and I was preoccupied with other matters. But I believe the figures were young males rendered in classical Greek style."
"What was at the top of the frame?"
"A man's face."
He stood up, perfonned a pas de deux with a stack of old newspapers beside his desk, and wended his way back to the bookcase by the door. He pulled a journal off the shelf thumbed through it, replaced it, and selected another. The second also earned a shake of his head, but a third triggered an enthusiastic nod. "Yes, yes — here it is."
He traced his finger over a page. "Mrs Darcy, I suspect your young friend may have come into custody of an artifact known as the Mirror of Narcissus, an ancient glass said to have been brought to England shortly after the Crusades. It is a controversial piece, crafted with materials and methods so ahead of their time that some modem scholars dismiss it as a fake. Yet
accounts of the mirror stretch far back in history. It has disappeared and resurfaced many times over the centuries, and was last thought to have been owned by Sir Francis Dashwood."
"Until his death, whereupon it sat in the attic of Norland House for over thirty years," Elizabeth revealed.
He snapped the volume shut and set it aside carelessly. He then scanned the bookcase, running his finger along the volumes' spines. "According to legend, it possesses supernatural properties."
"What sort of properties?"
"Those notes do not specify." He transferred his search to the next bookcase. "I know I have a book here somewhere that offers more particulars…."
She contemplated the myth of the young man who pined away for love of his own reflection. "Narcissus's obsession with himself destroyed him. Could a mirror named for him somehow be fueling Harry's self-destructive indulgence?"
"It could." He shifted a large idol to access a mass of books behind it. "I seem to recall that many of its owners have met untimely ends."
The idol, which by oversight had not been placed squarely on the floor but partially on the edge of a stray pamphlet, tottered.
Professor Randolph caught it in time, but in the process bumped the bookcase beside it. sending Hermes crashing to the floor.
"Oh, dear!" Elizabeth felt terrible that one of the archaeologist's treasures had been sacrificed tn his attempt to perform a service for her.
"Not to worry, my dear Mrs. Darcy. I had recently determined it was counterfeit." He knelt to pick up the broken pieces. "The mirror, however, is a more serious affair. I will continue to search for my book and conduct further research into the artifact's story. In the meantime, a more detailed description may enable us to determine whether Mr. Dashwood's glass is indeed the Mirror of Narcissus. Can you obtain a better look at it?"
"He recently returned it lo Norland." She retrieved one of Hermes' wings from where it had landed beside her shoe and handed it to Randolph. "But should an opportunity present itself. Ill take advantage of it."
"If you do, proceed with caution. Bring the amulet I gave you."
She'd stopped carrying the pocketwatch after Darcy had been so displeased by it the night they followed Mr. Dashwood home "Is it necessary?"
"A safeguard. I also advise you not to look directly into the mirror."
"Why not? What will happen?"
"I have no idea." He tossed the shattered remains of Hermes into the dustbin "But when dealing with mysterious relics, one cannot be too careful."