Jane and the Prisoner of Wool House

by Stephanie Barron

  “Mr. Chessyre,” I supplied. “When did you learn of his unhappy fate?”

  “LaForge had delivered his account of the French captain’s end, to considerable shock among the officers and much muttered consultation. There were those among the assembly inclined to discredit the surgeon,

  as a Frenchman and a dog; but others, more sanguine, expressed the view that LaForge should hardly have fabricated such a story about a British officer completely unknown to him. I believe that Seagrave might have received a complete acquittal at about six bells, and put the affair at his back, if it had not been for a lad rowed out to the Valiant He handed Admiral Hastings a note from the Southampton magistrate. Hastings broke the seal and read it silently to himself— appeared immensely struck—and handed the note around the panel. At length, Vice-Admiral Black read the intelligence aloud.

  “ ‘Compliments of Percival Pethering, magistrate of the City of Southampton, who begs to inform the commanding officers of the Channel Squadron, that Mr. Eustace Chessyre, commissioned first lieutenant of His Majesty’s frigate Stella Marts, was found dead this morning at eighteen minutes past six o’clock. Due to the irregular nature of the gentleman’s passing, an inquest into Mr. Chessyre’s death will be called by His Majesty’s Coroner not later than Wednesday next’ ”

  “So much for Seagrave’s acquittal,” I murmured as we approached the towering portals of the naval yard.

  “Indeed. It was clear that more than one man present considered Tom the very person to have throttled Chessyre to death.”

  “Was he throttled, then?”

  “With a garrote. It is decidedly a man’s weapon.” Frank threw me so troubled a look that my heart turned over with pity. “This death comes hard on the heels of your Frenchman’s story. Do you think it possible, Jane, that I spurred Tom Seagrave to murder when I sent him that express?—That I gave him every cause to avenge betrayal?”

  “It is what the court-martial will hasten to believe, certainly. But I regard Chessyre’s death in a different light altogether.”

  “That being?”

  “The sinister glow of conspiracy. You said that when you met the man he was mortally afraid. He came to you but a few hours later, and disappeared when he could not secure an interview. Chessyre meant to recant his testimony, Frank—to expose, perhaps, his employer—and he was killed to quell his conscience.”

  “Jane! You have read far too many horrid novels!”

  “Then I suggest you adopt the practise. You reveal a distressing naivete, Fly, with regard to the ambition of evil men. Think how much more useful Chessyre shall be, dead instead of alive! Rather than exonerate his captain, he shall seal his fate.”

  Frank’s countenance was wooden with disbelief. “But how are we to expose such a plot—if indeed it exists?”

  “You must look into Seagrave’s personal affairs. You have the means to do it, Frank. You know his colleagues— how he stands at home and at sea. From the men who esteem and serve him, the men who despise and mistrust him, we shall learn the answers we seek.”

  “You would ask me to spy on Tom!”

  “It would not be the first time, I assure you. Someone—someone who bears him no goodwill—has learned his habits long since.” My steps slowed as we approached the iron portal of the naval yard. “We may assume that Chessyre did not act on the spur of the moment His plans were set before ever the Stella hauled anchor off Spithead. I should dearly like to know the nature of Tom Seagrave’s sealed orders. Is it customary to sail in complete ignorance of one’s duty, as he did?”

  “I should not call it customary—but neither is it so unusual. Sealed orders are adopted when the duty at hand must be undertaken in extreme secrecy. They are intended to keep the ship’s destination from being common knowledge among the crew, which might talk too freely among their mates onshore.”

  “You have no idea why the Stella was sent to Lisbon?”

  “Tom has never said. I should never think to ask. These were sealed orders, Jane.”

  “I admire your delicacy,” I said wryly, “but must consider it ill-placed in such a turn. You must begin to ask questions you personally abhor, Frank, if you are to save your friend. Who should despatch him on such a duty?”

  “Admiral Hastings. But the directive might come from the Admiralty, in London—from persons unknown to Seagrave himself.”

  “I see,” I said thoughtfully. “Careful planning, and the simple employment of an established system for despatching ships, might answer the case of conspiracy. I wonder if the engagement with the Manon was intended as well?”

  “Absurd!” Frank cried. “Now you liave gone too far!”

  I wheeled upon my brother with ill-concealed impatience. “Etienne LaForge is afraid for his life, Frank. After what occurred in Southampton last night—can you blame him?”

  1A court-martial was automatically held for the commanding officer of any ship lost at sea or taken by the enemy, to determine whether dereliction of duty was the cause.—Editor’s note.

  Chapter 12

  A Sparring Among Friends

  26 February 1807,

  cont.

  ~

  “AUSTEN!”

  My brother withdrew his gaze from my earnest visage and peered about the yard. A gnarled figure under a battered cockade was advancing upon us.

  “Admiral Bertie!” Frank cried. “I did not know you was to be in Portsmouth this morning! We might have come down in the hoy together! How d’ye do?”

  “Fair enough, Captain, fair enough—though I could wish my legs in better trim. The gout has nearly crippled me; this is what comes of shifting too long on dry land. I cannot recommend it!”

  The Admiral has long been intimate with Frank, but now forms a part of our family’s Southampton acquaintance, in company with his invalidish daughter, Catherine. I felt a rush of affection at the sight of his weather-beaten countenance framed by an old-fashioned powdered wig. In his kindly manner and hearty goodwill, the Admiral must always recall my father, though he lacks the subtlety of my father’s understanding.

  “Nothing would do for Catherine but that I should be driven down from Southampton in the trap,” said he, “and all the while I was longing for the roll of the sea! Good day to you, Miss Austen. You look a picture.”

  A picture of what, might better be left undisclosed; the wind and persistent damps of February cannot have improved my complexion.

  “I hope you left Miss Bertie in good health?” I enquired.

  “A slight cold, nothing to refine upon. But I should better be enquiring after yours! I understand that you have spent several days with my surgeon, Hill, among the prisoners of Wool House. He speaks your praises whenever we chance to meet. There is no better nurse than Miss Austen, so Hill says, throughout the Kingdom.”

  “He is an excellent man. The French are in good hands.”

  “Pity. I could wish them in worse. Your brother, Miss Austen, should treat them as they deserve—eh, Austen? He should nurse them with a few good broadsides apiece, and scuttle what he could not tow!” The Admiral smiled at his little joke, and Frank attempted the same.

  “My sister has proved the value of charity,” he said, “in procuring the testimony of the French surgeon. I thought Monsieur LaForge should have achieved Tom Seagrave’s acquittal—but was sadly disappointed.”

  “I understand the proceeding has been suspended.” The Admiral drew a snuffbox from his coat and procured a pinch of fine grey powder. “Bloody business— meaning no disrespect, of course, Miss Austen.” He sneezed resoundingly.

  “None taken, sir, I assure you. Bloody is only too apt a term in the present case.”

  The Admiral looked slightly started at my freedom; Catherine Bertie, it must be supposed, should never have uttered an indelicacy. She should sooner have fainted at the blow of an expletive.

  “It looks very black for Seagrave,” the Admiral went on—“his sole accuser throttled on the very day of his trial! I wonder old Hastings did
not string him up directly. Still, we must afford the man an opportunity to explain himself. With the Southampton magistrate putting in his oar, however, we may expect a delay. There will be all the dispute of jurisdiction and authority, and Seagrave shall go free on the strength of it, I’ll be bound.”

  I glanced at Frank, whose looks had taken a lowering turn. “Would you suggest, sir, that…”

  “That Lucky Tom did for the scrub himself? Shouldn’t wonder at it.” The Admiral let out a bark of laughter. “After all, the Captain ran a Frenchman through with his own dirk, and after the colours came down, too. One cannot vouch for Seagrave’s temper.—Nor, I understand, for his whereabouts last evening.” Bertie raised one hoary eyebrow significantly.

  “I beg your pardon?” I managed.

  “The Captain will not say where he was last night,” the Admiral repeated, “nor allow his wife to be questioned. Hastings has just told me of it. Asked Seagrave himself. Seagrave replied that as the court-martial was suspended, he considered himself above the necessity of an answer. Damnable cheek! Should be resigned the service.”

  The alteration in Frank’s countenance was suddenly dreadful. Some thought of the express despatched on Tuesday—of Seagrave’s taking the news to heart—of Frank having put, as he phrased it, a spur to murder— all were evident in his looks.

  “I understood that Captain Seagrave meant to fix quietly at home until this business was concluded,” he said stiffly.

  Admiral Bertie shook his head. “I confess I cannot be sanguine as to his chances, Frank, when the court-martial is resumed. As it certainly must be. We shall have you in the Stella yet.”

  My brother was on the verge, I am sure, of refuting such an ill-timed hope—but I glimpsed Thomas Seagrave over Frank’s shoulder and clutched at the sleeve of his coat, forestalling any answer he might have made.

  The Captain had come to a halt some ten paces from our little party, and eyed us with a mixture of anger and mortification. He was resplendent in full dress uniform; his white pantaloons shone with brushing, and the gold at his shoulders gleamed. That he had overlistened some part of the conversation, I am convinced; and that he misapprehended the tenor of it was obvious.

  “Ah, Tom,” Frank said, his visage suddenly scarlet “There you are. You are acquainted with Admiral Bertie, I believe?”

  Seagrave inclined his head; the Admiral barely acknowledged the courtesy, and an awkward silence fell.

  “I must leave you here, Austen,” Admiral Bertie said abruptly. “Hastings is most pressing in his desire to take refreshment, and I cannot keep him waiting. My compliments to your wife. Good day, Miss Austen.”

  “Admiral.”

  He strode off without a backwards glance: the clearest example in my experience of a mind uncomplicated by subtlety. Such a one is distinctly suited to the pursuit of the Enemy—he will have the rules of engagement by heart, and follow them $o the letter. Life, in its attacks and repulsions, must seem a simple arrangement enough. All the infinite shadings of circumstance and will, decision and restraint, are not for him. It does not do to think overmuch on the point of batde; but woe betide the pure of heart on dry land.

  I glanced at Seagrave. Here was just such another; and he was aground and awash in the present perplexity of his fortunes. Even this little exchange between my brother and a senior officer was rife with betrayal and deceit. There is a brutal innocence in your seafaring men: tho’ accustomed to all the savagery of conflict from a tender age, they know little of social intercourse. Tom Seagrave was ill-equipped to take a sounding of the depths of such waters. I sincerely pitied him.

  “May I offer my heartfelt congratulations on the suspension of your trial, Captain,” I attempted.

  “You are too good, Miss Austen. Frank tells me you have been sitting some time with my wife. Pray, how did she take the news?”

  I felt my cheeks flame red. There seemed an embargo on every answer. For lack of a better, I said, “She fell into a swoon. But we left her in good hope of recovery. Her maid attended her.”

  “I see.” He drew his white gloves through hands made rough by constant exposure to the weather. “Louisa has not been well, for a twelvemonth at least, and I confess it wears at my heart. She abhors Portsmouth; and this wretched business has hardly contributed to her happiness. I thank you, Miss Austen, for your kindness to my wife.”

  “It was a pleasure, I assure you.”

  He appeared surprised, as well he might—there can be few that found aught in Louisa Seagrave to redeem the caprices of her temper.

  “I wonder, Captain,” I added, “whether you have consulted a reputable physician? For Mrs. Seagrave does appear a trifle … thin.” I had chosen my words; uneasy in her mind, or most dependent upon laudanum, must be discarded as ill-advised. “Mr. Hill, the naval surgeon, remarked upon her… nerves. I am sure that he—”

  “She will not bear a consultation,” Seagrave said abruptly, “though I have urged her repeatedly to it”

  “You must bring her to Southampton one day. I am sure the airing would do her good.”

  “Yes,” he replied, but his gaze fell to his gloves and he appeared less open than before. Perhaps he could not trust his Louisa amidst the delights of a watering place.

  “Tom,” broke in my brother with some urgency, “the Admiral tells me you were questioned as to your movements last night.”

  “I was.”

  “Why did you not tell them that you were at home?”

  The Captain smiled thinly. “I saw no reason to prevaricate. I was not at home. Though for all the good my activity did me, I should better have sat by the fire.”

  Frank slapped his thigh in irritation. “You went in search of Chessyre. I should never have sent you the contents of that express! The shock must certainly prove too great—”

  “Betrayal, particularly among friends, must always seize us unawares. A lifetime of experience cannot inure us to each new perfidy.”

  Seagrave’s accent was cold to the point of ice; but my brother appeared oblivious. Tom, you must own the truth before it is too late. If you killed Chessyre in an affair of honour—”

  “I wish that I had. I did not. You may chuse to believe me or no, Austen—it is all one with me.”.

  Again, Frank flushed. “I am happy to find you value the good opinion of your friends so highly!”

  “The idea of friendship, it seems to me, has suffered an alteration. I once called Eustace Chessyre friend; but he might better have thrust my dirk into my back than Porthiault’s chest—my end might have proved less lingering. I cannot forgive him for it”

  “Good God, Tom, will you build your gallows in the very naval yard?” Frank hissed.

  “And then there is Frank Austen,” Seagrave continued harshly, “whom I have also called friend. Frank Austen, whose desire for a fast frigate is everywhere known, whose ties to the Admiralty are so very good, whose efforts to clear me of dishonour must provide an occasion for the most officious and public spectacle of interference, and raise him in the esteem of everybody who has eyes to see—good, noble, avaricious Frank Austen, who should as soon steal a man’s livelihood as shake his hand!”

  Tom!” my brother protested, aghast.

  “Damn all friends, I say!”

  And Tom Seagrave stalked off without a word of apology.

  My brother stared after him. “I have half a mind to call him out! This is the basest ingratitude—and after all I have done, too!”

  I restrained him with one gloved hand. “It is a hard thing for an independent man to utter thanks. Seagrave must know himself indebted to your goodness; he shall reflect, and regret his harsh words, when anger has passed. Surely you see so much?”

  “I see nothing but a man determined to go to the Devil, Frank muttered. “He might at least have told us where he was last night.”

  “As to that—” I said, “surely it is obvious?”

  Chapter 13

  Mr. Pethering Pays a Call

  26 Febr
uary 1807,

  cont.

  ~

  “NOTHING ABOUT THIS WRETCHED BUSINESS IS OBVIOUS to me,” Frank commented bitterly as we made for the Portsmouth hoy.

  I glanced at him sidelong. “There is a woman in Seagrave’s case, Fly. Men never plead silence on the subject of their movements without they fancy themselves honour-bound to shield a lady’s virtue. In their ponderous reticence they succeed in exposing that which they would most protect.”

  “You suspect poor Tom of an illicit attachment?”

  “Why else would your friend refuse to say where he was last night?”

  “For any number of reasons! A man may have his privacy, after all!”

  “Tom Seagrave has been careless in defending his; he must not be surprised to find it invaded. Mary tells me that Lucky Tom is everywhere known as a taker of prizes—not all of them ships. The ladies of her naval acquaintance regard Captain Seagrave as one who cannot keep his breeches on.”

  Frank snorted. “Mary does not understand the meaning of the phrase.”

  “I fear she does.”

  My brother saw me safely into the hoy beside Mr. Hill, the surgeon; Etienne LaForge already sat in the bow, his manacled hands held before him like a penitent’s. The Frenchman’s face was flushed, his expression turned inwards. He was in the grip of fever or anxiety—the one hardly distinguishable from the other.

  “I do not mean to make out that Tom is a saint, Jane,” my brother persisted. “l do not have to tell you what the Navy is. Women are left at home, to commit every kind of folly in unguarded idleness, while the men exist without sight of England for years, sometimes, at a stretch. Neglect and thoughtiessness may account for every kind of misery on both sides. But Tom has always seemed happy in his wife.”