Secrets in the Snow

by Michaela MacColl

  The dance was a popular one as it celebrated the British Navy’s defeat of the French several years before. Henry, along with every officer in the room, looked pleased. Eliza gave Jane a triumphant look, and Jane nodded her approval. Jane would rather like to see what the War Office would say to that patriotic choice.

  As she waited for the music to start, Jane found herself praying for just one thing: to let Mr. Lefroy dance well. It was not so much to ask, was it?

  Mr. Lefroy leaned toward her and spoke softly into her ear. “My aunt tells me you are a fine dancer.”

  “She is very kind,” Jane said, blushing. Then she recovered her wits. “And if I asked Madame Lefroy about your dancing, what would she say?”

  His eyes playful, he teased, “It’s too late to ask now.”

  There was a swell of cheerful music. Each couple bowed to each other. Then Eliza and Henry moved toward each other, clasping their right hands and turning several times. They exchanged places with Mr. Lefroy and Jane. Another set of turns, this time restoring Eliza and Henry to the first position. Eliza and Henry promenaded down the line of dancers and back up again. Finally Eliza and Henry switched places with Mr. Lefroy and Jane, who began the next set.

  To Jane’s relief, Mr. Lefroy was an excellent dancer. On the turns he was as nimble and lively as Jane. He knew the trick of pressing his hands against hers so there was tension between their bodies—that was the secret to looking well on the dance floor.

  “You’re familiar with our country dances, I see,” Jane said, exhilarated and breathless as they finished their turn and waited while the other ten couples completed the steps.

  “We had dances like this all the time in Limerick,” he said. She thought she detected a hint of wistfulness. “The London dances aren’t the same.”

  “I’m sure there are other entertainments to suit you,” Jane answered, remembering that Madame Lefroy had said her nephew had fallen in with a disreputable crowd.

  “That is precisely what worries my great-uncle.” Mr. Lefroy laughed. But his face sobered and his tone grew serious. “And since all my career prospects rest in his hands, I am bound to do as he says.”

  With a flourish, each of the pairs came back together and everyone took hands to dance in a circle. Then they clapped their hands over their heads and the dance was over. In Jane’s opinion, it had passed exceedingly quickly.

  The next dance would not start for several minutes. “Would you like to take some refreshment?” Mr. Lefroy asked. As he took Jane’s hand and led her across the room, Jane caught the knowing gaze of Madame Lefroy. Jane tossed her head to discount her friend’s suspicions. Dancing with Mr. Lefroy had been a convenience, not part of a greater plan to ensnare his affections, she told herself firmly.

  “Here you are,” Mr. Lefroy said, handing her a glass of the watered-down wine. They moved to the corner near the window where it was cooler. He took a sip of his own and wrinkled his nose.

  “It’s not very good, I know,” Jane said, immediately annoyed with her apologetic tone.

  “Well, what can one expect at a subscription ball?” he asked.

  “I apologize if the ball is disappointing,” she replied tartly. Apparently he had not enjoyed their dance as much as she had.

  His eyes fixed on her, Mr. Lefroy said, “On the contrary: The Basingstoke Assembly Ball is growing in my esteem by the moment.”

  Jane sipped her wine, unsure how to respond. Suddenly she remembered that she should be keeping a watchful eye on Eliza. She shook her head with annoyance. How could she have let herself get so distracted? She looked around the crowded ballroom; Eliza was nowhere to be seen.

  CHAPTER 11

  “You must allow that I am not likely to

  be deceived as to the name of the man on

  whom all my happiness depends.”

  SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

  “Thank you for the dance,” Jane said. “If you will excuse me, I must find my cousin.”

  “Another mysterious assignation?” Mr. Lefroy asked, his eyebrows arched high.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “My cousin may need me.”

  His face lost its playfulness, and he stepped back. “Then I must let you go.” He bowed from the waist. His speculative look made Jane feel as though he had bested her and she was retreating from the battlefield. Nevertheless, she hurried away, worried for Eliza.

  Jane circled the ballroom, distractedly greeting acquaintances. She spied Henry standing in a corner with a group of other officers, drinking and joking. If Eliza was not with him, where was she?

  There was James standing by the fire. Dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief, he was talking earnestly with the Reverend Lefroy, Madame’s husband, who was as ponderous as James was.

  James beckoned her over. “There you are, Jane. Where is Eliza?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for her now,” Jane answered.

  “I want to claim the next dance with her,” he said. “I’ve been practicing, you know. Henry can’t keep her all to himself; it’s my turn.”

  “I’ll tell her you asked after her,” Jane promised.

  Madame Lefroy was sitting near the fire with the other older ladies. As Jane was about to approach her to inquire after Eliza, she caught a glimpse of a flash of yellow muslin across the room. With a quick wave to Madame, she hurried over to the corner, where a discreet door was tucked away behind a potted plant. Eliza must have gone through it.

  Behind the door, a stairwell led to the private courtyard of the Assembly Hall. Lit by torches in every corner, the yard was seemingly deserted. Just then a woman cried out. In the farthest corner, Jane saw a woman crumple to the ground. A masculine figure bent over her.

  “Eliza!” Jane ran to the spot. Her cousin lay on her back on the cold ground.

  Although she had known Eliza would try to meet her mystery man, Jane was still shocked to see him a stone’s throw from all the notables of Hampshire. His face was uncovered now, but he had retreated to the shadows when Jane approached. Throwing her arms across Eliza’s body to shield her, Jane stared up at the man.

  “Stay away from her!” she ordered. He raised his hands as if in surrender.

  “Eliza, speak to me,” Jane pleaded. Eliza moaned, and Jane let out a breath of relief. She lifted Eliza’s head from the ground and cradled it in her lap.

  “She is not hurt; only overcome,” the man said. “If you will permit me, I will pick her up and bring her somewhere more suitable.”

  “Don’t touch her!” Jane cried. “You have no right.”

  “I have every right in the world,” he said, coming out into the light of the torches. His face was uncovered now, but it was still not familiar to Jane. Except for those eyes. She had seen them before. Who was he?

  “What right?” Jane demanded.

  “Don’t you recognize me, cousin?” the man asked.

  Eliza’s eyes flickered open. “Jane,” she said faintly.

  “I’m here,” Jane said. “Did this man hurt you?”

  “No of course not,” Eliza said, her hand to her forehead. “He is my husband.”

  Jane stared, disbelieving. It couldn’t be. Eliza’s husband was dead.

  The gentleman clicked his heels together and made a low courtly bow. “Miss Austen, Jean Capot de Feuillide, at your service.”

  After a moment Jane found her voice. “But, sir, we were told you were dead.”

  “Thankfully, the reports were inaccurate,” the Comte said, kneeling at his wife’s side. “My dear, can you stand?”

  They helped Eliza to her feet and led her to a rough bench against the wall. He sat with her, his arm wrapped protectively about her shoulder.

  Eliza’s pale face stared up at her resurrected husband. “Is it really you, Jean?”

  Jane’s eyes went from one to the other. A moment ago, she had assumed Eliza must have known the Comte was alive, but no one could fake Eliza’s genuine surprise.

  “Sir,” Jane began. “H
ow are you here, in Hampshire, when you were supposed to be dead in Paris these past eighteen months?”

  “Cousin, call me Jean,” he said.

  “How is it that you are alive?” she insisted. “And here in Hampshire?”

  Before he could answer, the door opened across the courtyard, spilling a rectangle of light across the bare ground. “Miss Austen?”

  It was Tom Lefroy. When he spied her across the yard, he hurried toward her. The Comte tensed, ready to flee. Jane held up a hand to reassure him.

  “I’ll take care of him,” she said quietly. She moved quickly to meet Mr. Lefroy in the center of the courtyard. Blocking his way, she asked, “Are you following me, Mr. Lefroy?”

  The flickering torchlight picked out the golden highlights in his hair, and the shadows sharpened his cheekbones. “I was concerned when you left the ball so abruptly,” he said, but something in his face made Jane suspicious of his motives. He seemed to sense her wariness. “But if you do not require my assistance, I shall go.”

  While he spoke, Jane saw his eyes searching the shadows behind her and she made a quick decision. “Thank goodness you have come,” she said, injecting as much relief as she could into her tone. “My cousin is indisposed. I must take her home. Can you find Henry?”

  Surprised, he asked, “The Comtesse? What is wrong?”

  He started to move past her toward Eliza, but Jane placed a hand on his arm. “Mr. Lefroy—Tom! Please get my brother! Hurry!”

  He stopped. “Of course,” he said. She heard a hint of reluctance in his tone, but as a gentleman he could hardly ignore such a direct plea.

  Jane waited until he had reentered the Assembly Hall, then she rushed back to Eliza and the Comte. He was whispering quickly in her ear and Eliza was nodding as if in a daze. “I got rid of him, but not for long,” Jane warned.

  The Comte said, “I must not be seen. No one must know I am alive.” His eyes darted about the shadows.

  “What are you afraid of?” Jane whispered.

  “I must go now!” He brushed Eliza’s forehead with a kiss and took Jane’s hand. “I am very pleased that my dear Eliza has such a magnificent ally.” Then he disappeared into the darkness.

  For a moment, Jane allowed herself to enjoy his compliment. But there was no time. She turned to Eliza. “Did you know your husband was alive?”

  “Of course not,” Eliza said weakly. “I have worn mourning for a year! And you know how I hate how black dulls my complexion.”

  Despite the gravity of the situation, Jane couldn’t keep herself from giggling.

  “Eliza!” The door was flung open and Henry’s footsteps pounded across the courtyard. “Are you ill?”

  Eliza gripped Jane’s hand tightly. “You must not tell anyone about Jean!” she whispered.

  “I shall keep your secret,” Jane promised. “So long as you bring me fully into your confidence.”

  The arrival of Henry, followed by Tom Lefroy, rescued Eliza from having to answer. The men easily accepted Jane’s explanation that Eliza had felt faint and needed to go home. Henry, as befitting an army officer, took charge. Within minutes, Mr. Lefroy had retrieved their coats and Jacques had brought the carriage directly into the courtyard. Effortlessly, Henry carried Eliza into the carriage.

  As he was arranging the blankets around her, Jane waited outside. She heard Henry whispering sweet nothings to Eliza; words that were in no way appropriate to say to a married woman. Jane sighed. What would happen to Henry and Eliza now? Equally important, didn’t Eliza realize how suspicious it would look to the War Office that her dead husband had suddenly reappeared—alive?

  Contemplating Jacques perched on his driver’s seat, Jane wondered what he would think of his master’s miraculous return. How was it that he had not recognized the Comte on their earlier encounter on the road from Godmersham?

  “I hope I was able to be of service,” Mr. Lefroy said at her elbow. She started, having forgotten his presence.

  “Yes, thank you for fetching my brother,” she said. “That was very kind.”

  “If you would only confide in me, I’m sure I could help you further,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Jane asked.

  “Once again, I’ve found you in a clandestine meeting with a mysterious man,” Mr. Lefroy said. His eyes were bright and interested. “And I thought this ball was going to be dull!”

  With a sinking heart, Jane realized that Mr. Lefroy was intrigued.

  “Don’t deny it, Miss Austen,” he went on. “I saw him. It was the same man you met outside the parsonage. I recognized his build and way of moving. But this time he was with your cousin; are you protecting her reputation?”

  Jane couldn’t help but appreciate the irony; Eliza’s secret meeting with a stranger was with her own husband!

  “Perhaps I am protecting my own respectability,” she said.

  “With your independence of mind, you care nothing for the opinion of others,” he said. “Who was that gentleman?”

  “There was no gentleman,” she lied. Her voice, even to herself, lacked conviction. “You saw a shadow and built a fantasy around it.”

  “Twice? I think not,” Lefroy said.

  Jane was silent, trying to think of something to say to distract him. She had no reason to trust Mr. Lefroy.

  Suddenly, Henry stepped out of the carriage. “Come quickly, Jane,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m worried about Eliza. The sooner we get her home the better.”

  Mr. Lefroy stepped closer to Jane and with a slight bow said quickly, “I am at your complete disposal should you need my help.” She listened for a false note but was forced to admit she heard none. “And you can trust my discretion. There is no reason that anyone else needs to know what I saw.”

  Jane’s breath caught in her throat. Was he threatening to expose her? Or could she accept his offer was sincere? “Thank you, Mr. Lefroy,” she said noncommittally. Then she climbed into the carriage, grateful to put a little distance between her and Mr. Tom Lefroy.

  Sitting next to Eliza, Jane pulled the blankets around their legs. Until now, Jane hadn’t noticed how chilled her hands and feet had become. She pressed her slippers against the heated bricks. Henry hopped into the carriage as well.

  “I shall call tomorrow to see how the Comtesse is feeling,” Mr. Lefroy promised as he carefully shut the carriage door.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Jane called.

  “Nevertheless, you shall see me tomorrow.”

  As they drove away over the cobblestoned courtyard, Henry said to Jane, “Mr. Lefroy seems very interested in your affairs. I think you’ve made a conquest there.”

  Startled, Jane looked at Henry. Had he overheard their conversation? But the expression on his face was teasing, not suspicious.

  “With Mr. Lefroy? Heaven forfend,” she said. “He is bored. Eliza’s indisposition was the only point of interest for him at a dull ball.” At least she hoped that was the extent of his interest. She closed her eyes and tried to make sense of her contradictory thoughts and inclinations.

  Eliza leaned against the wall of the carriage and lifted her head. “Jane, you underestimate your charms. Mr. Lefroy is smitten, just as his aunt hoped he would be.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jane snapped. Irritated with both of them, she turned to the window. She desperately wanted to talk to Eliza, but Henry’s presence constrained her. She would have to wait.

  Jane stared out the window; the moon cast a bright light over the snow-covered fields. Although the sky was clear, she thought she could smell snow in the air. James often teased her about her weather sense, but it was nearly infallible.

  She sat bolt upright.

  “Jane, what is wrong?” Henry asked.

  “We forgot James at the ball!”

  CHAPTER 12

  And his behaviour, so strikingly altered,—

  what could it mean? . . . but to speak with such

  civility, to inquire after her family! . . . />
  Never had he spoken with such gentleness

  as on this unexpected meeting.

  PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

  When Jane woke up the next morning, the first thing she did was to glance at her sister’s empty bed and wish Cassandra was there to talk to. The night before, Eliza had avoided any private conversations by summoning Marie as soon as they arrived home. Mrs. Austen had bustled about, making a fuss over Eliza and scolding Jane and Henry for forgetting James at the ball. Jane consoled her mother, assuring her that James would find a ride from any number of neighbors or stay with the Bigg-Withers. Henry had carefully avoided participating in the conversation, and from the smirk on his face, Jane wondered whether he had deliberately left James behind so he could have Eliza to himself. Little did Henry realize that he had a new rival—one who had the advantage of already being married to the lady in question.

  Jane had tried to visit Eliza after the household had gone to sleep, but Marie had insisted that her mistress was not to be bothered. And now Eliza would stay abed until at least noon. Perhaps even later, depending on how much she wanted to avoid Jane’s questions.

  Jane hopped out of bed and dressed quickly in the chilly room. Then she went downstairs, and with only Dame Staples, their cook, for company, she ate a quick breakfast in front of the kitchen fire. Finally, taking advantage of the quiet, she continued her letter to Cassandra.

  So you see, Sister, the only terrible thing that ever happened to Eliza is undone. Once she recovers from the considerable shock, she will be overjoyed. Poor Henry, on the other hand, will be left in the cold.

  Jane crumpled the paper and tossed it into the fire. Any letter she sent to Cassandra might be intercepted, although she thought it unlikely. The War Office didn’t know this secret yet, and until Jane knew more, she would not be the one to tell them.

  Why had the Comte kept Eliza in the dark for over a year? And why reveal himself now? Did this have something to do with the War Office’s suspicions of Eliza?