Jane and the Genius of the Place jam-4

by Stephanie Barron

  “Your brothers are already gone, Jane,” she said over her teacup, “for the inquest is to be at noon, and Neddie would search the hedgerows with that detestable man Pyke, before he might face the coroner with something like self-possession.”

  “Then let us hope that Pyke has consulted his lad,” I returned, “that Neddie's efforts might end in something.”

  “You do think of everything, Jane.” Lizzy set down her cup and dusted her fingertips for crumbs. “I am sure that Neddie should be lost without you and Henry to give him spur. I required him to return to the house before venturing into Canterbury, by the by, in the event you wished to accompany him….”

  Lizzy's natural delicacy prevented her from adding the words, “… since you have made such a habit of inquests of late, “and I mentally praised the excellent breeding of baronets' daughters. I settled myself into a chair.

  “Tea, Daisy, I think — and perhaps some toast.”

  “Very good, miss.” The housemaid bobbed vaguely in my direction, and quitted the room with obvious reluctance. I leaned conspiratorially towards Lizzy.

  “What of Collingforth and the interesting note?”

  “I could get nothing from your brother — except that Collingforth was not to be found at Prior's Farm, and his wife has not seen him since Monday e'en. Neddie says that she was quite distracted, and fainted twice in a quarter-hour.”

  “Did they show her the unfortunate note?”

  “Why else should she faint?”

  “I suppose we must conclude the hand to be Collingforth's, then. And Mr. Everett?”

  “—was naturally your brother's next resort. But when Neddie arrived quite late at the Hound and Tooth, it was to be greeted with the intelligence that Mr. Everett had settled his bill some hours since, and had quitted the place entirely.”

  “Then it is as Henry feared. Collingforth and Everett have fled in terror of the Law.”

  Lizzy nodded expressionlessly. “I confess your poor brother has taken it quite to heart. He feels himself to be excessively to blame, and utterly in neglect of his duty— however little any of us should tell him so.”

  “You may be certain that Mr. Grey will not be so forbearing.”

  “This flight cannot help Collingforth's chances before the coroner and his panel,” Lizzy added.

  The passage door swung open, and Daisy's young face appeared over a tray of tea and toast. I accepted it gratefully, and poured out a cup.

  “It must look like an admission of guilt,” I agreed. “But I wonder—”

  “You cannot believe him innocent, Jane!”

  “A wider experience of the world has taught me, Lizzy, that I am capable of believing any number of things. Denys Collingforth might be a murderer, it is true — or he may be merely a man pushed past endurance, by an unhappy congruence of circumstances. Ruined by debt, and now suspected of murder — what desperate fellow, unsure of his chances, might not resort to flight?”

  Lizzy considered this in silence, while I consumed a quantity of toast. Godmersham's stillroom was evident upon the table, in an admirable preserve of quince, that I knew I should long for in the relative deprivation of a Bath winter.

  “I suppose anyone might have murdered the woman, and placed the note in her bodice,” Lizzy observed at last.

  “But the handwriting?”

  My sister shrugged. “Let us suppose that Collingforth sent the letter after all — that he sent it well before the events of Monday, and the note survived in Mrs. Grey's correspondence.”

  “But Monday's date is inscribed above.”

  “It is a small thing to forge a date, Jane — hardly of the same order as the forgery of an entire note.”

  “Very true. I confess, Lizzy, that I had no notion you possessed so cunning a mind. You display a decided talent for subterfuge, and were Neddie aware of it, he should never trust you farther from home than Chilham.”

  “I have spent the better part of my existence in deceiving my friends,” she returned with complaisance, “and if you betray me to the world, Jane, I shall deny you the freedom of Godmersham forever.”

  “Your secret is safe with me. But there is one point on which I should like your opinion. A note of Collingforth's, placed to advantage and quite out of context, should serve, like the body in the chaise, to throw suspicion far from the actual murderer. But why conceal the note in the habit? Why not leave it in Mrs. Grey's dead hand?”

  “Perhaps to underline its plausibility,” Lizzy offered. “Two such items, found together, might appear excessive. But placed at a distance, and discovered by individual parties, entirely without reference to one another—”

  “Admirable.” I partook of the last bit of toast with regret. “The coroner is unlikely to exhibit so much imagination, however.”

  “You comprehend, Jane, that our notion is only possible if we suppose the murderer to possess an intimacy with Mrs. Grey's correspondence.” Lizzy refolded her napkin and arranged it beside her plate. “Someone of her household, perhaps.”

  Or someone familiar at least with her desk. The image of Captain Woodford and Edward Bridges in the lady's saloon the night of her murder filled my mind. But I only gazed at Lizzy speculatively.

  “You are in a fever to indict Mr. Grey, my dear. And the poor man has done very little that we know of, to deserve it!”

  “He had the shockingly bad form to marry that woman in the first place,” she replied caustically, “and to challenge my husband in the second. I cannot like him, Jane, however little I love poor Collingforth.”

  “We must hope that somebody loves poor Collingforth,” I observed, “for the coroner most certainly shall not.”

  Chapter 7

  A Canterbury Tale

  21 August 1805, cont'd.

  NEDDIE AND HENRY RETURNED SOON AFTER BREAKFAST, shaking their heads at the duplicity of men in general, and Constable Pyke in particular. The fellow had drunk the better part of his sovereign in the Hound and Tooth, and was utterly insensible at the appointed hour for meeting. My brothers dallied along the Wingham road for some time, expecting Pyke at every moment. A breathless boy proved their messenger instead — trotting along the hot and dusty road with the constable's regrets. Mr. Pyke was indisposed, and Neddie's errand for nothing.

  “Lizzy assured me that you would wish to attend the inquest,” he said to me now, over a cooling glass of lemonade, “and I have returned to Godmersham expressly that Henry and I might convey you into Canterbury in the barouche.”

  “You are very good—”

  “Do not tell me that you intend to refuse!” He set down his glass with an emphasis that might have shattered a lesser piece. “Am I to be sent on a fool's errand every hour of the day?”

  “Of course I should be happy to accompany you into Canterbury,” I said quickly. “I might complete a few purchases towards my toilette, before tonight's Assembly.”

  “I see that Lizzy was entirely mistaken in your character,” he returned, amused. “She was convinced you should be drawn to the macabre deliberation as a fly to jam.”

  “It is just that I have learned to despise the coroner and his panel, Neddie.”

  “You are acquainted with Mr. Wing?”

  “Of particular coroners I may say nothing. Mr. Wing, and his merits or detractions, are entirely unknown to me, as I am sure you are aware. It is just that every instance of a coroner's judgement I have seen, has proved so fallacious and, indeed, injurious to the parties concerned, that I dread to countenance another by attending.”

  “Strong words, Jane. Unless I am very much mistaken, Mr. Wing and his panel shall return the only conceivable verdict in the present case.”

  “—That Mrs. Grey was murdered, and by Denys Collingforth.”

  “Can there be any other construction placed upon events?”

  “You know full well, Neddie, that there can.”

  He was silent a moment.

  “Given how little we truly comprehend of what was toward, any ju
dgement at present must be the grossest presumption. What is required is time, and sufficient proofs, if the guilty party is to be charged. That must be true whether Mr. CoUingforth is eventually revealed as that party or no.”

  “You are suggesting I should request of Mr. Wing a postponement.”

  “As Justice, you might be heard.”

  “But Valentine Grey is most insistent that the burial be effected at the soonest moment. In this heat, the decay of the corpse must be advanced; and yet the coroner's panel must view the body before they are empanelled. Any delay will be most unfortunate for all concerned.”[23]

  “That is true. You must do as you think best, of course.”

  “I must confess that I long for a swift judgement against Collingforth,” he replied with becoming candour. “The man is already fled, and quite unlikely to be discovered; he cannot suffer from the charge. It is the judgement, in fine, that all of Kent expects. Valentine Grey would be appeased. I should feel that I had discharged my duty, and there would be an end to the affair.”

  “Until you found yourself lying wakeful at night, besieged with a thousand doubts as to the body's disposition,” I said. “Why was it returned to the race-meeting at all, much less to Collingforth's chaise? That, and an hundred other questions, should plague you until your final hour.”

  “God preserve me from a prescient woman!” Neddie exclaimed. He drew his watch from his waistcoat. “Let us summon the carriage, Jane, and set about the wretched business.”

  WE MADE OUR WAY DOWN THE CANTERBURY ROAD UNDER a blazing sky, with the Stour very low in its banks, and a haze of insects hovering over the bent heads of the meadow flowers. Already a shelf of cloud hung over the Kentish downs, replete with the false promise of a shower; I knew these clouds of old, and dismissed them as false friends. If Napoleon's hordes had truly embarked for Kent, as the London papers would have it, then Fortune sailed with them. No furious wave should guard the chalk cliffs, or howling wind send the flotilla to oblivion; the French might make the crossing unharassed but for the few leaking, timeworn vessels of the Royal Navy's Channel fleet.

  As Neddie's bays jingled their harness, and snorted at the dust, I considered of my brother Frank, and the daily perils he endured. His circumstances must be uppermost in my thoughts, far more than the invasion's threat to Kent; for if the Navy were overwhelmed, and Frank cut down by a French gun, it mattered little what hole we bolted to. The Kingdom would capitulate in a matter of days.

  Such a surge of melancholy was unlike my usual spirits, and I detected the effect of the oppressive weather — the lurking, ominous portent of the heat, as though even the air above Kent awaited the thunder of cannon. Activity was the best remedy for such thoughts; but the fever of packing was done, the delights of dressing for the Assembly still ahead; I could hardly do better than to expend my energies in a trip to town.

  Canterbury is a place that I have known and admired for almost half my life. Its soaring fortifications, so thick that ten men might walk abreast, and the spires of its venerable cathedral rising above its prosperous shops and houses, must proclaim its storied place in English history. Crowds of the penitent and the hopeful still choke the narrow streets on high holy days, while those who would profit by the pious, hawk their relics and bits of the True Cross under the shadow of the cathedral gates.

  It was to the West Gate we proceeded this morning, for tho' the Canterbury gaol is some miles distant, in Longport, the constabulary's offices are housed hard by the gate, in a crabbed and swaybacked Tudor building desperately in want of whitewash. A few steps along the street stood the Hound and Tooth, where the inquest was to be held.

  “We shall call for you at White Friars, in two hours' time,” Henry assured me. This was the elegant house belonging to Mrs. Knight, Neddie's adoptive mother, not far from the cathedral close. I was always happy to visit Mrs. Knight, who had shown such good sense in reverting Godmersham to my brother well in advance of her own death; for she had been willed a life interest in the estate, and might have presided in Lizzy's place a decade or more. In Canterbury, however, she might learn all the news of her friends without stirring a step from her door; she had the comforts of ready provision, without the care of an estate.

  “White Friars, in two hours' time,” I repeated, and Henry handed me from the barouche. I watched the coachman's impatient progress down the crowded High Street, until the carriage had turned in at the Hound and Tooth's stableyard; then my gaze drifted back along bow-windowed shopfronts and came to rest upon the curtained first floor of Delmar's Rooms. Here was the scene of this evening's ball — where Mrs. Grey, and all her deceits, should be forgot for a time. Tho' my purse had grown thin from so protracted a visit in Kent, I intended to make as fine an appearance as my means and years would allow. A new pair of long silk gloves, at the very least, was quite essential — and perhaps an ornament for my hair. I turned with a little skip of pleasure, and went in search of the linendraper.

  “MISS AUSTEN! JANE!”

  The voice was Harriot Bridges's — so very like Lizzy's, and yet lacking her languid elegance. Harriot, tho' four-and-twenty, retained all the claims of youth, and might betray the breathlessness of sixteen in her accent. She hastened down the length of the draper's shop, still clutching a card of lace, and embraced me as an old friend.

  “Harriot! You are blooming. And does my sister accompany you?” I enquired, with real pleasure. All resemblance to Lizzy ended in her sister's voice; for Harriot's hair was a light brown, and her eyes were blue — where Lizzy was a graceful column, Harriot was a cheerful rolling-pin.

  “She does not, I am sorry to say. You find me quite alone — excepting my brother, Mr. Bridges, who consented to drive me into town. But how delightful to find you here! Have you completed your purchases? And what do you think of this lace? I confess it is rather dear — but quite bewitching, when I consider of my drab old gown. I might sew it along the flounce in a quarter-hour, and feel myself the queen of the Assembly!”

  I had learned long ago that Harriot rarely required an answer, or valued an opinion; she was content to swim in an easy flow of conversation that was as unconsidered as it was constant; and so I merely smiled, and nodded, and hovered at her elbow, while she flitted among the shop's fine stuffs like a bee in a full-blown border. It was part of her enchantment to be as wanting in guile as a child; men found her rosy plumpness and inveterate good humour utterly bewitching; she was constantly in request among the wide acquaintance she cultivated in Kent. It was merely a wonder, I thought as I found her laughing over a length of sprigged muslin, that she had not been snatched up by Captain Woodford long ago.

  “And how does Mr. Bridges?”

  Harriot pulled a face. “Very ill, indeed. He is fretful and tiresome and hovers about the house until I think I shall run mad! It would be one thing if my brother managed some pleasant conversation — if he endeavoured, at least, to be charming — but he mutters barely a word, and only then when he is spoken to. I thought Cassandra might have the taming of him — he was prodigiously civil to her last week, and seemed to exert himself a little, as he rarely does when we are just a family at home — but he has fallen mumpish of late, and can barely be stirred to exercise his horse. Did I not know Edward, indeed, I should think him to be suffering from a Dreadful Presentiment.”

  “A Dreadful Presentiment?”

  Harriot looked over her shoulder, and attempted an air of gravity. “He seems a man goaded past endurance, Jane. He can neither submit to the confinement of the Farm, nor find courage to venture beyond it. He has not been farther than the lane into the Park, in fully two days!”

  “How extraordinary.” Mr. Bridges was the sort of gentleman who was never to be found at home. Fishing, playing at cricket, cocking, or riding were his usual pursuits; but Harriot's description suggested he was ill. “He consented to drive you into town today, however?”

  “On account of Mrs. Grey's inquest. My brother was most insistent that he should attend — th
e duty of a clergyman, he said, tho' I believe that is so much stuff. When has Edward ever considered the duties of a clergyman before his own comfort?”

  There would be no proper answer to such a comment; and the speaker being Harriot, happily none was expected. But her words must give me cause to wonder. Edward Bridges was behaving like a man in fear for his life — and his behaviour might be marked from the very day of Mrs. Grey's death. He bore watching.

  “Does Mr. Bridges intend the Assembly this evening?”

  “Oh, yes — as does Captain Woodford!” Harriot cried, her countenance reddening.

  “Captain Woodford? You astonish me, Harriot. From his aspect yesterday, I was certain he should be mounted in a beacon post somewhere along the coast, searching the horizon with his one good eye, and single-handedly in defence of the French.”

  “How can you speak of him so?” she said reproachfully. “I am sure I can offer him nothing but respect. Such wounds as he has suffered—”

  “Yes, yes,” I rejoined, “but only consider how ludicrous, Harriot! At one moment the Guards would have us dismantle entire estates, and in the next, they are dashing about the floor of Delmar's Rooms, as tho' Buonaparte might be bested in a quadrille!”

  “Captain Woodford assured me that it was a question of honour,” Harriot told me stiffly. “General Lord Forbes would not have the populace alarmed, by an appearance of anxiety on the part of his men.”

  “How like a man of the General's talents,” I muttered, thinking of Neddie's sainfoin harvest put to burn; but the irony must be lost on Harriot.

  I PARTED FROM LLZZY'S SISTER IN THE HIGH, AND TOOK my separate way to the circulating library. I selected one of Maria Edgeworth's novels—Castle Rackrent—then turned my steps towards Mrs. Knight at White Friars, a quarter-hour before my brothers were expected. I might sit for a decent interval with the older woman, and regale her with Fanny's exploits and the progress of my nephew Edward's cold, without prolonging the visit beyond what was comfortable.