Jane Austen Mysteries 08 Jane and His Lordship's Legacy (21 page)

. . . My memory of these past few weeks is of one long and
barely endurable privation, first on the passage between Marseille
and the Spanish coast, where the jagged reefs and the
monumental seas at our point of landing would have driven us on
the rocks, and we were forced to wear and wear back out to sea,
almost to the point of achieving the Dorset coast, and might have
put in there but for the Comte's protests. The women, all sick
belowdecks and too weak even to tend to their children, one of
whom was nearly lost overboard when the ship was swamped
under a wall of water; and all the while, Geoffrey Sidmouth
shouting like a madman, half in French, half in English. I like
Sidmouth's looks, and love his courage; I shall want a good deal
of both if Grey's plans for the French are to achieve fruition.

And then the return to Aix, and the intelligence that Helene
was not to be found--the party lost in the Pyrenees having
emerged from the snows of the pass at last, and without her.

Freddy Vansittart, his noble reputation forgot, tearing at my
sleeve in frantic supplication. Promising me money, promising me
support, promising me a lifetime of servitude if only I will
undertake this journey-- Too afraid to venture himself, but too
overwrought to sit in idleness, never knowing--and so I am gone
again on horseback, working my way north by slow degrees and
worse roads, the people everywhere about in the most wretched
condition, and blood running in the streets.

I fear she has remained in Paris when all counsel would have
had her flee to the south. Perhaps it was the child--a sudden
chill or fever, and the desire to remain where food and shelter
were at least certain. But for how long? How long before the
tumbrel arrives for the Comte's fair daughter? I must find out
164 ~ Stephanie Barron

where she is hidden. I must see Helene safe, and the boy with her.

Not for Freddy or the Comte or the discomfiture of St. Eustace--

but for Horatia, my poor lost girl lying cold in the Viscount's
tomb. I must save Helene and her boy for the sake of those whom
long ago I sent to their ruin.

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Chapter 14

Catherine's Confession

7 July 1809, cont.

~

Neddie thought it only proper to continue on to the Great House, and pay his respects to his tenant Mr. Middleton, and listen with becoming gravity to all the discussion of roof-slates, stable accommodation, and patches of damp, while I made my thanks to Miss Beckford for the previous evening's en-tertainment.

"My brother tells me that you have suffered a loss, Miss Austen, as well as a second violation of your privacy," she said soberly. "A very valuable chest, I believe, that had only lately come into your possession."

"That is true. And the man Mr. Prowting has detained can-not tell us what has happened to it."

"Bertie Philmore," she said succinctly. "The Philmores are 166 ~ Stephanie Barron

an odious lot. Bertie's uncle, Old Philmore, is the owner of that group of hovels known as Thatch Cottages, where poor Miss Benn resides. Old Philmore drives a very hard bargain in rents, I believe, and does absolutely nothing towards the maintenance of his property. We really must endeavour to find Miss Benn more adequate accommodation before the winter; for the place is barely fit for stabling cattle, when the storms of January set in."

"Miss Benn is awkwardly left, I take it?"

"Very sadly so. Her father was once rector of Chawton, be-fore old Mr. Hinton's time; and her brother, while possessing a fair living in Farringdon, is so beset with children himself that he cannot provide much towards his sister's support. For a gen-tlewoman of good breeding and nice habits to be reduced to Miss Benn's present degree of poverty is lowering in the ex-treme. We do what we can for her, of course, by including her in some of our amusements; and she is very grateful, poor soul, for any attention."

But for the generosity of my brother Neddie, and the steady contributions of my other brothers towards the maintenance of our household, Cassandra and I might have been left in similar poverty at the demise of our clergyman father. I had viewed Miss Benn with easy contempt for her silly manners and vague understanding, for the spinster effusions to which she was too much given; but my conscience smote me at Miss Beckford's communication. My contempt for Miss Benn was too much like self-hatred at the aging woman I was myself become.

Miss Beckford led me to the wilderness that comprised the back garden, and here, for the first time in my acquaintance with the household, I observed no less than five children--four well-grown girls and a little boy of perhaps six--at play in the grass under the watchful eye of a maidservant.

"What fine, stout creatures they are," I observed with a Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 167

smile. "And how lovely to think of this house populated with young people! My brother, I am sure, is happy to find it so!"

"The eldest, John, has been at sea from the age of ten," Miss Beckford told me, "and at fifteen, is now become a Midship-man. I wish that my sister could have known of his success; she died the year before he went away, in 1803--after little Freder-ick was born."

The small boy was laughing as he tumbled down the gentle slope behind the Great House, and I thought of dear Elizabeth, and the babe she had left behind, with a pang. Someday her eleventh child would play even so with his sisters, forever ig-norant of the lovely woman who had given him birth and marred his father's life with her passing. The impermanence of existence--the cruel lot of women in childbed--impressed me with a weight of sadness that was become too familiar. As the years advance, we find more cause for sorrow, and less occasion for laughing in the grass.

"Mr. Middleton has had much to do with so many children to rear," I observed. "He is indeed fortunate in possessing an aide as admirable as yourself, Miss Beckford."

"I am happy to do it," she answered simply. "In truth, having no penchant for matrimony, I might otherwise have ended my days a governess. Here I may instruct and educate in the guise of a beloved aunt, without the discomfort of being forced to earn my living; and in the two eldest girls, I might imagine my sister revived again. To live in their presence, and watch them grow, is to fight a little against the awfulness of Death."

"And you have been travelling
en famille,
I understand, some months on the Continent."

"Yes--we spent the better part of last summer in Italy and the mountains of Switzerland."

"What courage! But I must suppose that Buonaparte's at-tention was happily fixed elsewhere."

168 ~ Stephanie Barron

"On Spain--that is very true. I should have regarded the ad-venture with trepidation, I confess, but for the steady influence of my brother, Mr. Middleton; and of course, we were accompa-nied from Rome to Spa by Mr. Thrace."

She had reverted in all tranquillity to a subject I was longing to introduce, but had known not how to do, without arousing a suspicion of inquisitiveness.

"He seems a very gentleman-like man," I said cautiously.

"Was he, too, a traveller like yourselves?"

"Mr. Thrace is an orphan--raised in the household of an English couple resident some years in Rome, I believe; the gen-tleman who oversaw his early education is Mr. Henry Fox, nephew to the late Whig leader, and now elevated to the title of Lord Holland. His lordship has spent much of his life abroad--owing to the extraordinary circumstances surrounding his mar-riage. His wife, Lady Holland, was once married to another, and eloped with his lordship."

"I see." The perfect household for the bastard son of a peer.

"John--Mr. Middleton, I should say--was acquainted with Henry Fox at school, and naturally called upon him during our travels. He suggested that Mr. Thrace might serve as tutor to young Frederick for the remainder of our trip, and then return to England in our train--Mr. Thrace having intended to visit London in any case. We were most happy in the arrangement, and must look upon Mr. Thrace as quite an intimate friend. But tell me, Miss Austen," she said decisively, "before I bore you too much with our family histories--is the damage to your house very great?"

"One window only; but we are less than fortunate in having the local joiner locked in Alton gaol. The likelihood of repair-ing the casement is thus put off."

"I am glad to see you retain your sense of humour," she re- Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 169

torted drily. "Another woman would have quitted the house en-tirely under such provocations, and sought lodgings elsewhere."

"But then we should be satisfying the dearest wish of our en-emies, Miss Beckford," I replied tranquilly, "and
that
I mean never to do."

She studied me with her sharp, intelligent eyes. "I have of-ten thought that the evils of a Town existence--the constant dangers and ill-health to which one is exposed--are as nothing compared to the quiet malice of a country village. The people look too much inward, and nurse their grievances in solitude."

"We have received nothing but kindness from the Prowtings and yourselves."

"But the Baigents would have it your house is cursed; Libby Cuttle refuses to sell you bread; and that impudent scamp, James Baverstock of Alton, offers you insolence in his own house. I know it all, Miss Austen. I have heard from Mrs.

Prowting what the Hintons are saying--and it is my opinion they should both be horsewhipped through the village. Such conduct, before the dear Squire and his family! Had I known of their behaviour before, I should never have asked them to dine with us last evening, I assure you."

"We have no wish to make of Chawton a divided camp," I protested.

"And no more you shall. By the serenity of your response to every adversity, Miss Austen, you show the Hintons their proper place. I am not the sort of woman to indulge in idle gossip--but I cannot like Jack Hinton. For all his fine manners, he has a taste for low company--for idleness and the kinds of vulgar pursuits that cannot become a gentleman--and I fear his morals are very bad."

Here
was a source from whom I might profit. "You men-tioned his fondness for
mills,
as I believe they are called--but 170 ~ Stephanie Barron

with every Corinthian in the country an enthusiast, it is not to be wondered that Mr. Hinton is no less immune."

"A prize-fight or two should be nothing," she returned dis-missively. "Even dear Mr. Middleton has been known to indulge the taste. But I cannot disguise, Miss Austen, that there have been other habits which every person of sense and feeling must deplore. I will not offend you with particulars; I will say only that two housemaids at least have quit Mr. Hinton's employ, and complained of ill-usage--of
improprieties--
at his hands. Nei-ther girl was friendless, and Mr. Hinton has inspired a degree of dislike in the surrounding countryside that is not to be won-dered at."

"I see. Miss Beckford--I wonder--"

She stared at me enquiringly.

"Was either housemaid any relation at all to Shafto French?"

Her expression altered. "I cannot undertake to say. I am not in possession of the girls' names--my intelligence derives from local gossip only, not personal experience. Tho' Mr. Middleton leased the Great House once before, my sister was alive then, and my place was elsewhere. He has only been returned to Chawton under the present lease for a twelvemonth."

"I understand. My thought was a passing one only. I did not mean to suggest--"

"Naturally not." She drew her light shawl about her shoul-ders as tho' suddenly chilled. "I hope that you will join us for the picnic at Stonings on the morrow, Miss Austen. The Hin-tons are
not
to be of that party."

"I look forward to the day with every possible hope of en-joyment," I told her; and after a quiet interval of examining the flower beds, and discussing my intentions for the cottage gar-den, I bid Miss Beckford
adieu.

*

*

*

Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 171

The morning was a fine one, as all Hampshire morn-ings in July must be; and as I exited the gates and made my way along the Street past the Rectory, I observed Mr. Papillon hard at work among the herbaceous beds, with a straw hat on his head and his shirtsleeves encased in paper cuffs against the dirt. John- Rawston Papillon is a diminutive, apple-cheeked man with luxu-riant silver hair and the correct, if fussy, conversation of a determined bachelor. His sister Elizabeth, whom I had glimpsed the previous evening, keeps his household, and both appear so comfortably situated in life--so decidedly happy with the lot they have chosen--as to never wish for amendment. Having at-tained the age of six-and-forty without encumbering himself with a wife, Mr. Papillon might have been supposed safe from the speculation and notice of the impertinent; but my mother is no respecter of single men's peace. My brother Edward's pa-troness, elderly Mrs. Knight of Kent, having once voiced the thought that Mr. Papillon should be the very husband for her own dear
Jane,
my mother has been insufferable in her impa-tience to meet with the gentleman. Despite the dazzling alter-native offered by Julian Thrace last evening, Mamma had not been disappointed. She had no notion I was as little likely to win the heart of an aging clergyman as an Earl's putative son nearly ten years my junior.

"So very amiable!" she had exclaimed in a barely contained whisper when first Mr. Papillon was introduced to our notice.

"So clearly the gentleman in looks and address! I declare I am quite overpowered, Jane! You could do far worse than to set your cap at him!"