Jane and the Wandering Eye: Being the Third Jane Austen Mystery

by Stephanie Barron

  “You regard her as beyond salvation, then? As being devoid of every proper feeling?”

  “I cannot reconcile her conduct in any other way,” he replied, with an edge of harshness to his usual tone. “And I confess that it troubles me exceedingly. Real evil is rare enough in this world, my dear Jane—but when found in the form of a beautiful young woman, sobering in the extreme.”

  WE ACHIEVED BRISTOL IN LESS THAN TWO HOURS OF EASY travel, and immediately sought one of the city’s principal inns—the ancient, half-timbered Llandoger Trow, which sits not far from Bristol’s Theatre Royal. Lord Harold reasoned that if the Earl of Swithin had been present in Bristol so early as Monday evening—and moving in concert with Maria Conyngham—then he should have been likely to seek a lodging not far from where the actress played. Before we embarked upon our interrogation of the publican, however, Lord Harold was intent upon bread and cheese, in the quiet of a little parlour, while I should not say nay to a respectable pot of tea.

  We pulled up on cobbled King Street and turned into the Llandoger Trow’s yard. A stable-boy ran out to seize the horses’ heads.

  “Morning, guv’nor,” the youth affably cried. “Will you be changing horses, or staying the night?”

  “Neither,” Lord Harold replied. “A bucket of oats, pray, and some water for the team.”

  “Quick as winking, guv. You just ask for Bob when you’re wishful of having them sent round.”

  “Very good. Tell me, Bob, are there any travellers in the habit of hiring equipages of the publican?”

  “Post horses, you mean?”

  “I do not. I am wondering whether your master—”

  “Mr. Twinkling,” Bob quickly supplied.

  “—Mr. Twinkling—keeps a carriage or two that he occasionally lets out for the use of travellers. Lodgers at the inn, for example, who might wish a morning’s drive; or those whose equipages may have fallen into disrepair.”

  The boy’s face cleared. “There’s his old chariot, and the missus’s tilbury, what he lets out with Nelly betimes.”

  “Very good, my lad,” Lord Harold said, and tossed him tuppence.

  The Llandoger Trow was a noble old pile, its casement windows secured against the draughts and a roaring fire in the massive hearth. I welcomed the tide of warmth, and its concomitant odours of roasting fowl and bubbling stew, and followed a woman I assumed to be Mrs. Twinkling into a private parlour at the broad building’s front. A scattering of local townsfolk held place in the public room, their tankards clattering noisily on oaken tables; but here, all was quiet and removed, with a faint scent of beeswax that was not unpleasing.

  “You’ll be wanting a nuncheon, I expect,” the woman said kindly. “Half frozen you must be, miss, coming all that way and the sun not half so warm as it should be. A toddy, perhaps, or some wine punch?”

  “Tea would suit me exceedingly,” I replied gratefully. “Are you Mrs. Twinkling?”

  “These thirty year or more, miss. You’re a stranger to Bristol?”

  “Yes.” I drew off my bonnet and gloves and set them on a chair. “Though our acquaintance have often praised the city—and the Llandoger Trow in particular—most handsomely. The Earl of Swithin was recently your lodger, I believe?”

  “And has been, off and on, a year and more. He’s a great one for the theatre, is the Earl.”

  “Indeed! We are speaking of the same Lord Swithin, I collect—a well-made, fair-haired gentleman with a commanding aspect, and a very fine coach-and-four, with the device of a tiger on its door?”

  “Aye, and he weren’t half put out when his axle broke and old Twinkling couldn’t set it to rights on Monday,” she replied with energy. “Fair shouted the eaves of the house down around us, he did, with all his oaths about needing to be on the road as soon as may be.”

  “Mrs. Twinkling,” Lord Harold said with a nod from the doorway. “Your excellent husband thought I should find you here. We should be greatly obliged if you could manage some victuals.”

  “I’ve bread and cheese and half a cold ham just waiting in the larder,” she said, beaming, and left us with a curtsey.

  “That was most unfortunate,” I told Lord Harold crossly, “for she was on the point of revealing our Swithin’s history. She remembered him in an instant, and said he was most put out by an injury to his equipage.”

  “Do not trouble yourself, madam.” Lord Harold drew a chair to the fire and warmed his hands. “I have had the whole from our host Twinkling himself. It would not do to have us both appear interested to a fault. Lord Swithin was present, from late Sunday until early Wednesday morning, when he sped like hell-fire—excuse me, my dear, a thousand pardons for the liberty—to Bath itself.”

  “And the carriage?”

  “A curious mishap, indeed; for the axle was unbroken upon his arrival, and appears to have acquired its injury while lodged in the carriage house itself. Mr. Twinkling suspects a band of local boys, who delight in the destruction of transient property. Though we might conjecture a more deliberate cause. The Earl should not have wished to drive his own equipage under Her Grace’s window for the purpose of receiving a murderer.”

  “This is most illuminating.”

  “The necessity of repairs required our Lord Swithin to hire the missus’s tilbury, about the conduct of some business on Tuesday.”

  “—When no doubt he sped like hell-fire to Bath,” I finished absently, “about the stabbing of poor Mr. Portal.”

  “Perhaps. Although Mr. Twinkling believed his direction then to have been Portsmouth.”

  “Portsmouth! But what could possibly have occasioned so sudden a journey?”

  “The Earl received news of a ship Monday—a homebound Indiaman, expected in Portsmouth the following day.”3

  “Good heavens!”

  “Whether it was one of Swithin’s vessels, miraculously returned, or merely another that brought news of his ships’ fate, Twinkling could not tell me. Perhaps he lacked the particulars.”

  “Or perhaps Swithin never went to Portsmouth at all.”

  “In any case, the Earl returned to the Llandoger Trow in the wee hours of Wednesday, and departed for Bath later that morning in his repaired equipage.”

  “If so much is true, it is unlikely that his lordship broke his pressing return from Portsmouth to parade in Laura Place bearded and disguised as Pierrot,” I mused.

  “Unlikely—but not impossible. As you say, we cannot know whether he travelled to Portsmouth at all.”

  I sighed with vexation. “I must observe, my lord, that we possess an abundance of miscreants, all clamouring for attention, in this sorry business! There is Miss Conyngham, who probably discarded the tiger in the passage; Mr. Smythe, who is a proficient in tumbling, and might have jumped from the open window; and Lord Swithin, who hired a carriage—possibly intended for Portsmouth, or possibly so that he might halt it in argument beneath the Dowager Duchess’s window in Bath.”

  “But unfortunately we have no proof of the latter,” Lord Harold retorted, “and that is the one thing Mr. Wilberforce Elliot will undoubtedly require.”

  On the heels of this dampening remark, the parlour door swung open, and Mrs. Twinkling appeared with flushed cheeks and a tray of victuals held high. Behind her, to our extreme surprise and no little delight, stood Mr. Elliot himself.

  “Lord Harold,” he said, with a bow and a creaking of his considerable weight, “and the little Shepherdess.”

  “Miss Austen,” I supplied.

  “Imagine my surprise at finding you come to Bristol to greet me! I should not have looked for such a courtesy for all the world. How d’ye do? How d’ye do? And a fine, bright day for a pleasure drive it is!”

  “Indeed,” his lordship replied, with a speaking look in Mrs. Twinkling’s direction. The magistrate winked, stood aside to allow her passage, and then eased himself into the little parlour.

  “Would you require some fortification against the hard miles remaining to Bath?” Lord Harold enquired
, with ironic solicitude, “or perhaps a seat in my carriage?”

  “Thanking you kindly, my lord, but I’ve fortified myself already, and your lordship’s funds have been so good as to supply a suitable conveyance.”

  “That is very well—for had you accepted, either Miss Austen or myself should have been obliged to remain behind.”

  Mr. Elliot laughed. “And isn’t that just like a lord! No politeness is too great, even if it comes at a loss. I’m infinitely obliged, my lord—but just you tuck into the victuals while I bend your ear, as the saying goes, and we’ll suit each other famously. I find you on the trail of a certain Earl, I expect?”

  “As no doubt you are yourself.”

  Mr. Elliot settled himself on a stout wooden chair, thrust his toes towards the fire, and nodded at me affably. “The cold has brought roses to your cheeks, ma’am, and a picture you do look. I must suppose you are in his lordship’s confidence?”

  “You must,” Lord Harold replied. “There is no one whose penetration I value more than Miss Austen’s.”

  “And when am I to wish you joy, my lord?” Mr. Elliot enquired with an innocent air.

  I coloured despite myself.

  “When you have freed my nephew from his unfortunate predicament,” Lord Harold concluded smoothly. He took up a spoon and attacked an admirable Stilton. “Tell us how you fared in London, Elliot. We are all agog for the news.”

  “I began my enquiries in Laura Place, as you were so good to suggest. When presented with the interesting tiger pin, the Earl of Swithin frowned—looked amazed— and unfortunately recovered his composure. He assured me he had never seen the thing before, and could only imagine that some sprig of fashion had adopted his device, from a misplaced desire to ape his lordship’s style.”

  “—Maria Conyngham, I suspect,” Lord Harold offered complacently.

  “Indeed?” Mr. Elliot’s black eyes widened. “I perceive you are before me in this, my lord, as in so many things. But to proceed—I next travelled into London and adventured St. James. The cunning insertion into Fortescue House, of a designing male—in short, a constable by the name of Warren I carried in my train—through excessive flattery of the under-housemaid, elicited the information that his lordship has been absent from London some weeks. Since Saturday a fortnight since, to be exact. Early Wednesday last the Earl sent for the Lady Fortescues from Bristol, without so much as a by-your-leave, and bid them all to travel down to Bath without delay; and quite indignant the under-housemaid was, too, at the disarray this occasioned in the household. All on account of the master’s ill-consideration, and his sisters in quite a taking. And so, perceiving as how I should never find my murderer in Town, I left Warren in possession of the cunning pin, and charged him with enquiring as to its origins among the principal London jewellers; and myself ambled along to Bristol. I have been enquiring of the inns these two hours at least.”

  “Then you know, I assume, what we have recently learned.”

  “That the Earl had occasion to hire an open carriage? Aye—though it took me a deal of trouble to get it out of old Twinkling,” Mr. Elliot complained. “Not to mention the publicans of the Hart and Dove, the Merry Milkmaid, and the Rose and Crown. There’s a deal of inns in Bristol, my lord, and only one of them had the lodging of the Earl. I’ll warrant any publican worth his ale can spy the Law from a mile off, and turn mute and deaf in an instant, though he’d shift to be of service to yourselves.”

  “You know, then, that he is supposed to have gone to Portsmouth Tuesday.”

  “And that I shall next be coaching that way myself,” Mr. Elliot rejoined with resignation. “It seems the Earl refused a driver, being intent upon handling the ribbons himself. I see how your thoughts are forming in that quarter. You think to find his lordship never went to Portsmouth at all. But tell me, my lord, your reasons for suspecting Miss Conyngham.”

  Lord Harold was engrossed in consuming a very fine portion of ham, and seemed entirely given over to enjoyment; but after an instant, he reached into his coat and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I believe you will find a few of your answers here, Mr. Elliot.”

  The magistrate seized them immediately. “Letters, my lord?”

  “Taken inadvertently from Mr. Portal’s theatre office. I might suggest, in future, that you search a fellow’s place of business as well as his lodgings, my good sir.”

  Elliot perused the papers swiftly, his brow furrowed in an effort to make out the hand, and then raised his eyes to Lord Harold.

  “Well, I’m blessed,” he said succinctly. “The girl and Swithin hand-in-glove. I shall take them up immediately upon returning to Bath.”

  “Stay, Mr. Elliot,” Lord Harold enjoined swiftly, and to me, “Pray pour out the tea, Miss Austen, and I should be very much obliged.”

  I did so, and offered a cup to the magistrate; but he declined it with an air of impatience. “And why should I leave these malefactors at liberty?” he demanded.

  “In deference to a most interesting matter that is as yet in abeyance,” Lord Harold replied. “I must confess a grievous sin, Mr. Elliot, on the part of my nephew Kinsfell. You will remember, I am sure, that he discovered the unfortunate Mr. Portal.”

  “Yes, yes—”

  “But you are not aware, I think, that he discovered something else on Mr. Portal’s person. A most intriguing miniature pendant, showing the likeness of an eye, and probably set upon Portal’s breast by the same hand that drove home the knife.”

  Mr. Elliot turned to me in confusion. I smiled at him benignly.

  “My nephew, from dubious motives, secured the portrait of the eye about his neck. He gave it into my keeping the following day.”

  “Tho Marquis made away with evidence?” Mr. Elliot exclaimed. “Why, the cunning rogue! I’ll have his head for it.” The uttering of this natural sentiment must immediately have struck him as being in poor taste, and he averted his glittering black eyes from Lord Harold’s face.

  “I applaud your feelings,” his lordship observed. “They are commendable, if somewhat ill-phrased. But however reprehensible the act, my nephew feared it could not be undone; and I think it just possible that he acted from the noblest of motives—the desire to shield his sister. She is possessed of grey eyes; and the portrait revealed a similar orb. Poor Kinsfell feared for her implication an Portal’s death, and attempted to prevent it.”

  I doubted the extent of this statement’s truth, and thought it more likely Lord Kinsfell had hoped to shield Maria Conyngham, whose name Portal had spoken as he breathed his last; but I knew that Miss Conyngham’s eye was brown, and so forbore from disputing with one of his lordship’s experience and perspicacity.

  “I undertook to consult an artist of Miss Austen’s acquaintance, an acknowledged expert in these things; and he, in turn, has applied for information to a quarter that might hopefully yield it. The token was left deliberately as a sign, and I cannot think Mr. Portal’s murder unconnected to the identity of the portrait’s subject. It is that subject’s name we seek, Mr. Elliot, and until we possess it we cannot hope to comprehend the depths of this affair. The letters you now hold, and the fact of the Earl’s presence in Bristol, are the merest fraction of your case.”

  “That can be of little account,” Mr. Elliot retorted. “Far better to seize the pair and learn the whole from them at the Assizes.”

  “But having acted precipitately once” his lordship countered, “and taken up an innocent man, you should hesitate to do so a second time. It cannot inspire confidence on the part of the public, or ease in the breasts of your benefactors.”4

  There was a feeling silence. Mr. Elliot availed himself of the Stilton, and chewed it ruminatively. At last he said, “And when do you expect the portrait’s subject to be exposed?”

  “I am daily in expectation of intelligence. Having received it, I should not hesitate to impart it to yourself.”

  “You must understand how irregular the business is,” Mr. Elliot said. “That portrait shou
ld have been turned over to me. As should these letters. You have been grossly behindhand, my lord, in your dealings with the Law.”

  “I regret and acknowledge the whole. But you might admit, my good sir,” Lord Harold observed with a smile, “that you gave me little reason to confide in your sense and benevolence. You seemed most easy at the prospect of hanging my nephew, and but for the word of a chairman or two, should still be deaf to reason. I cannot be dissatisfied with my conduct of the affair, and must trust the healing effect of time to do away with your injury.”

  Mr. Elliot sighed. “I suppose I must lose not a moment on the Portsmouth road, then.”

  “It would seem the logical course,” Lord Harold said comfortably. “Stilton, Jane?”

  1 The Crescent refers not to the imposing houses of the Royal Crescent on Brock Street, but to the broad green immediately opposite, where all of fashionable Bath was wont to walk on Sunday afternoons.—Editor’s note.

  2 Cassandra Austen was engaged in 1792 to marry the Reverend Thomas Craven Fowle (1765-1797), son of the Austens’ lifelong friends and a protégé of Lord Craven, whose naval expedition to the West Indies in 1795 Fowle felt obligated to join. He died of yellow fever in San Domingo in February 1797. He left Cassandra a legacy of one thousand pounds.—Editor’s note.

  3 An Indiaman was a merchant ship transporting cargo from the East Indies. They were usually owned by the Honourable East India Company, but in this case, we may read the term to indicate one of the Earl’s private vessels.—Editor’s note.

  4 Since magistrates were appointed by influential patrons, Lord Harold is suggesting that Mr. Elliot’s career might be at risk.—Editor’s note.

  Chapter 14

  An Unexpected Blow

  Monday,

  17 December 1804

  ~

  MY HEART IS HEAVY, INDEED, AS I TAKE UP MY FAITHFUL pen, the better to comprehend the intelligence received so suddenly this morning—an intelligence at which my whole mind revolts. Madam Lefroy is dead.

  She was suffered to depart this life on the very anniversary of my birth. And I was not at hand to comfort her, or to take a final leave.