Jane and the Sins of Society

by Sarah Waldock

  “I believe I’ll go out tonight,” said Radcliffe.

  “Yes, sir,” said Fowler. It was none of his business, unless Radcliffe meant to warn the man who wagered. Fowler would let Caleb know that the fellow was going out tonight as well, in the hopes that he and Mrs. Jane could keep an eye on him. He wrote his letter, and looked out of a window. He saw Cecily playing with another child, their voices shrill as they argued over a game of knucklebones, and noted absently that she was playing the boys’ version of the game, where the way the bones landed accrued different points, rather than the girls’ version where a ball was thrown up and an attempt was made to pick up all the bones while it was still in the air.

  He lifted the sash window.

  “Here, you kids, have a sow’s baby each and go away, you’re giving me a headache,” he called, throwing two sixpences wrapped in the note near to Cecily. She picked it up, threw one sixpence to her companion, shrugged, gathered the bones, and slouched off down the street.

  Hot chocolate was welcome on a cold day which did not manage quite to be raining or sleeting, or even foggy, but which held enough damp in the cold air to seem to hold anyone out in it hostage to threatened precipitation of some kind. Cecily warmed her hands on the tankard of the hot, sweet drink, sipping in pleasure. Hot chocolate was as good a reason to learn to cut benely whids like a gentry mort as any.

  “Well, Jane-girl, what do you think?” said Caleb, passing the note to Jane.

  “What did Mister Fowler say?” asked Cecily. “Am I allowed to ask?”

  “You didn’t read it?”

  She shook her effulgent locks.

  “You didn’t say I might,” she said.

  Caleb stared, and then ruffled her hair.

  “In all my years, I’ve never known anyone who had a chance to read a note have the self-control not to do so because I hadn’t said they might,” he said. “You’re a very good girl, Cecily. But I’m going to give you blanket permission to read any note, either way, so if anything happens, you can pass it on by mouth. And you shall also read it presently.”

  Jane passed the note to Cecily, who mouthed the words as she read them, not being as fluent at reading as the adults. It had been a long time since her mother had taught her.

  She looked up.

  “Do you fink Radcliffe has turned coat again and means to warn the man who wagers?”

  “It crossed my mind,” said Caleb. “But I note that Fowler said he got upset about the child being killed.”

  “We should really try to be where he is tonight,” said Jane. “I may be wrong, but it seems to me that they go to entertainments run by those ladies who can scrape a way into Almack’s and the like, but are not truly high society, and yet cannot be said to be skirting society.”

  “Any suggestions?” asked Caleb.

  “Without throwing any aspersions on Mrs. Elliot, she of the daughter who fancied herself in love with the Russian Poet, she moves within the right circles. And she has a ball for her daughter tonight, and I believe we even accepted the invitation because you took a proprietary interest in the chit, for having managed to put her off the poet,” said Jane. “Last I heard, she was making eyes at a Mr. Gregory Aspinall, whose main interest seems to be in racehorses, so I expect he’ll want to examine her teeth and check her hocks for splints.”

  “He inherited enough fairly recently to indulge his hobby, I believe,” said Caleb. “Which is interesting in itself.”

  “Do you think Radcliffe is going to do in the Ashall cove what had the swell kinchin coe killed?” asked Cecily. “If he feel bad abaht putting the old codger in danger, ‘e might see it as a way to make good, like.”

  Caleb and Jane exchanged a look.

  “We’ll be on the watch,” said Caleb.

  “Not that I’d be that averse to letting him succeed,” said Jane.

  “We’ll see what happens,” said Caleb.

  He was not averse to letting someone kill Viscount Ashall either, but it was his duty to try to stop blatant crimes. And besides, Radcliffe was an investment to catch a murderer, and if he was dead or taken up by the law, that plan would fall through.

  The ball in honour of Miss Elizabeth Elliot could only be described as lavish. The building shone with illuminations in every window, each one filling the whole window and depicting beautiful scenes. They had surely been painted by professional artists with ink on thin silver paper, which was fine enough for light to shine through. Coloured lanterns were strung up outside, and the effect was almost garish.

  “A trifle excessive, murmured Jane, feeling her nose wrinkle slightly.

  “My lady is the mistress of understatement; I’d have said it was damned tawdry myself,” said Caleb.

  “I was trying not to think so,” said Jane. “Ah, well, the woman is a wealthy widow with an only daughter, and she wants her marrying well.”

  “She won’t get a good stud if the filly is shown to be a showy high stepper rather than a good goer,” said Caleb.

  “You’re thinking that Aspinall is not necessarily any better than the poet.”

  “It crossed my mind, but I’ve nothing definite against him.”

  “You had nothing definite against the poet.”

  “Other than the fact that he wore a perfumed pomatum in his hair and made improper remarks to you?”

  “The first should be irrelevant,” said Jane, sternly.

  “Well, it ain’t,” said Caleb. “Taking care of his appearance is one thing, stinking like a Spanish brothel is another.”

  “I’ve never smelled a Spanish brothel,” said Jane, demurely. “Is there anything you should be telling me about your time on the peninsula?”

  “Yes, we were stationed in one, and I swear I’d rather face the Old Guard than have to deal with twenty assorted Spanish whores again. We had to barricade ourselves in not to have our virtue stolen. Sir Henry assured us the ones that didn’t have pox had the clap, because the French had been before us, and he put enough of the fear of disease in us, we relieved ourselves in the nearest bushes for fear of something jumping on us in their jakes.”

  “And were all your fellows so continent?”

  “No, and Jackson had to be invalided out with something that had him vomiting uncontrollably, which may not have been the pox, but whatever it was we didn’t want it,” said Caleb. “I strongly suspect Sir Henry of having something slipped in his drink to make an example of him and keep the rest of us scared, but he weren’t much of a soldier and nobody missed him. Except, maybe, the whores. As most of them weren’t even passingly pretty, it wasn’t much temptation anyway.”

  “Are you telling me you remained continent throughout your time as a soldier?”

  “Of course not, Jane-girl, but I was busy comforting a cavalry officer’s wife because his sabre wasn’t enough to satisfy her,” said Caleb.

  “Ah, the war stories the ladies never usually hear,” said Jane.

  “Quite right too,” said Caleb. “Lud, it’s as bad inside as out,” he added as he led Jane into the house.

  The effect could be described as glittering. Every candelabrum dripped with cut glass, enhancing the candle flames and turning them into myriad diamond prisms of colour. Mirrors all around the walls of the vestibule could be seen to be but an extension of the mirrors and prisms in the ballroom.

  “Someone has heard of Versailles,” said Jane.

  “Indeed, and with all those mirrors, I think I’d be afraid to dance in case I ended up in the arms of my own reflection’s reflection,” said Caleb. “Deuced confusing.”

  “Something to bear in mind if ever setting up a meeting with an enemy,” said Jane.

  “Not such a bad idea, Jane-girl,” said Caleb. “You go and mingle; I’ll see if I can find where the card games are, which is where the gambling will be.”

  Jane nodded, and smiled at him. She left her cloak in the cloak room, and checked her appearance in front of the mirror. She was wearing a sheer muslin, embroidered in sprigs of flo
wers, originally white, but dyed grey for the royal mourning, and not a moment too soon before it lost its freshness. One advantage of mourning was to hide how a muslin was no longer new. Her undergown was deep lilac, and the overall effect with the grey muslin was of greyed lavender. Silver ribbons trimmed it and caught the light, and Jane reflected that there was a lot of light to be caught, and was glad she was not wearing silver net instead of the gauzy muslin, or she might have half blinded anyone who saw her.

  She went to greet the hostess, and exchange a word or two with Miss Elliot.

  Miss Elliot was wearing silver net over a lavender gown, and the effect was unfortunately a trifle garish.

  “Oh, Lady Armitage!” Mrs. Elliot gushed, “What do you know about a Miss Evans?”

  “Miss Laura Evans? The child with a golden voice who still needs to lose her puppy-fat?” said Jane.

  “She’s a dumpy little squab of a thing,” said Miss Elliot.

  “Now, Elizabeth, let us not be rude,” said Mrs. Elliot. “You know her, then?”

  “Yes, a nice girl, very clever,” said Jane. “And, poor child, not sensible enough to hide it. However, she appeared to find favour with Falkrington.”

  “I know,” said Mrs. Elliot, hollowly. “He’s just offered for her.”

  “He has? Why, I thought he was just flirting, I must congratulate her,” said Jane.

  “It is a coup for any girl,” said Mrs. Elliot, with something of a snap.

  “I didn’t want him anyway,” said Miss Elliot. “I’d like to be a countess, but not if I had to live with a miserable Friday-faced fellow like Falkrington, he’s only handsome when he is bothering to look pleasant.”

  “He is rather sardonic,” said Jane. “I think you are wise to steer clear of him, Miss Elliot, he is plainly drawn to a bluestocking.”

  “See, Mama? I told you so,” said Miss Elliot. “I rather think I prefer Mr. Ferrant to Mr. Aspinall now anyway; Mr. Aspinall is boring about his horses, and he got irritable with me because I could not remember which of his race horses was called Bustard and which was Buzzard, and if you ask me, calling horses after birds is pretty silly.”

  “In my opinion, racing is pretty silly,” said Jane.

  “Mine too,” said Miss Elliot. “Mr. Hillborough Ferrant has a really good fund of stories, however, and he says nice things.”

  Jane reflected that he was probably a fortune hunter, but she could not rescue all the girls from all their problems. It was not as if Miss Elliot did not have a mother looking out for her interests.

  Caleb negotiated the ballroom floor, lavishly chalked, though the design had already been churned up, exchanging words when he could not avoid doing so, and moving eventually to the small antechambers set up for the purpose of card playing. He finally ran Radcliffe to earth, talking quite loudly, having gathered a small audience. Caleb listened, remaining out of sight behind the door.

  “Well, tomorrow the wager you made runs out, don’t it, Ashall? And didn’t you wager that your uncle would wed before he died and sire another heir? Have you had any news?”

  “What’s it to you?” Viscount Ashall’s rather nasal voice spoke.

  “Well, look at it this way, you bet to lose, but as it stands, you can demand your winnings as soon as the time is up, right?”

  There was a long, pregnant silence.

  “I can demand my winnings now; the old fool is married,” snarled Ashall. “And at least that will be some compensation.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Radcliffe, brightly.

  “I’m going to see him now,” said Ashall.

  Caleb stood back as the viscount and several other young men surged out of the room. Radcliffe followed, more slowly.

  “Evening, Radcliffe,” said Caleb.

  “Oh! Evening, Armitage,” said Radcliffe. “I suppose I should have expected to see you here.”

  “Not that I’m much in favour of the decor or the illuminations,” said Caleb.

  “Oh, Mrs. Elliot is a vulgarian, but she sets a good table,” said Radcliffe. “I’ll miss dinner, alas. I’m off home.”

  “Done what you came to do?”

  “Do, Armitage? I haven’t done anything,” said Radcliffe.

  “Just dropped a word and a hint?”

  “I don’t like people who hurt children; I have my limits,” said Radcliffe. “And what happens next is going to depend entirely on the greed of the viscount, and what he decides to do over getting something out of this business. I have my suspicion that he won’t stop short of threatening someone with exposure. Of course, I might be wrong; it’s nothing but a wager with myself, you understand.”

  Caleb nodded.

  “I understand,” he said. “I came to stop you killing Ashall.”

  “My dear Sir Caleb! I am not so crude,” said Radcliffe.

  “No, so I see,” said Caleb. “Well, as you say, all hangs on how venal Paul Strode, Viscount Ashall turns out to be. Enjoy your evening, and tell Fowler about it. He will probably think it a neatly-turned solution to Braxstrode’s problem. You will have lost me a large reward for getting him arrested, but I can’t say I will weep for the loss.”

  “Sorry about that,” Radcliffe shrugged.

  “I’d rather have those little girls safe than have any amount of reward money, so don’t be,” said Caleb. “And we never had this conversation.”

  “Of course we didn’t. I missed running into you,” said Radcliffe.

  Chapter 22

  Jane and Caleb remained for the evening to be polite. Caleb tried to find out where Ashall and the other young men had gone, but though he saw several of the young men he thought had been with the viscount, he did not see Ashall himself. Jane had a dance with each of Gregory Aspinall and Hillborough Ferrant. Mr. Aspinall was, as Miss Elliot had said, quite boring on the subject of his racehorses.

  “So have you owned your horses long?” asked Jane, brightly.

  “Eh? No, bought them last year, after the end of the Season,” said Mr. Aspinall.

  “Oh, all at once? Not one at a time?”

  “Well, when my old gager of a grandfather died, I had the money to get as many as I wanted,” said Mr. Aspinall. “Got them as soon as probate cleared.”

  “Dear me!” said Jane. “Your grandfather loved racing, too, then, that you made your stables a memorial to him?”

  Aspinall stared.

  “No, he hated horses, silly old fool, best thing that ever happened to me, having him die, and worth ... worth having to wait for probate.”

  “And the wager worth every penny,” said Jane, brightly.

  “Oh, I didn’t realise you were in the know,” said Aspinall. “That’s how come you and that bruiser of a husband of yours popped up so suddenly. Well, we’re in the same boat, so let’s not rock it, eh?”

  “Indeed,” murmured Jane.

  Mr. Ferrant was a most pleasant young man. He smiled a lot, and kept up a babble of small talk when he did not manage to draw Jane out about herself. His mouth smiled but his eyes did not, and Jane felt sweat pooling down her spine. However, she laughed at his stories, and thanked him for the dance.

  “Oh Lady Armitage, what did you think of Mr. Ferrant?” asked Miss Elliot, as soon as she could get Jane to herself.

  “He ... he reminded me of my first husband, who was very charming and made me fall in love with him,” said Jane.

  “Oh! How romantic!” cried Miss Elliot. “Isn’t it?” she saw Jane’s expression.

  “Frank was very charming and very good with older ladies too, at flattering them with arch little comments,” said Jane. A slight frown showed that Miss Elliot recognised this behaviour. “He liked to play games and have secrets. When we were married, the big secret was that he beat me, and expected me to put on the appearance of great wealth when we were actually quite poor because he was addicted to gambling. I’ve seen Mr. Ferrant in the gaming rooms.”

  “Everyone ... but yes, he does gamble rather a lot,” said Miss Elliot. “Do ..
. do you think he would beat me?”

  “I think if he thought you ever knew any secrets about him, he would kill you,” said Jane.

  “You are scaring me!”

  “Good. If you are scared, you will think twice. If you do not see a man as a safe haven from all troubles, one you can tell everything to, and who you expect to tell you everything, one who you know can procure a hackney carriage in the rain, organise the dismissal of a troublesome servant, arrange a funeral, go and change when the baby has been sick on him without raising his voice, then he is not the right man for you.”

  “I see,” said Miss Elliot. “Well if you have had two husbands, you have twice the experience of most people. It looks as though I may have to share my life with a Draisine, for Mr. Grey has offered for me, and he is capable of speech outside of Draisine racing.”

  “I’d accept if I were you,” said Jane. “He is a pleasant and honourable young man, a little hot of temper, but quick to cool off if taken to task for it, and a man who will extend every courtesy to a rival is a man who will also extend every courtesy to his wife.”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am,” said Miss Elliot.

  Jane met up with Caleb.

  “I know who I think it is,” she said.

  “Yes, I have seen the fellow who was behind you that day, and had a name put to him,” said Caleb. “Of course, getting the evidence on him is the problem. I had intended to follow Ashall, but I stopped to speak to Radcliffe, and lost him. I was foolish enough to assume he would speak to someone in this building and then stay at the ball, but he’s gone. I suspect he was told to go straight home, and whether he would meet with an accident there or on the way to his home, I do not know. The actual killer may not even have returned to town yet, but I have a nasty feeling that Viscount Ashall is already dead. I must check that Radcliffe went straight home from here. I don’t think he would have gone after Ashall, leaving it in the hands of fate, as you might say, but I’ll want Fowler’s nice sense of timing to tell me when he got in.”

  “I think I would like to go home, now,” said Jane. “I fear we may have a busy day tomorrow.”