Jane and His Lordship's Legacy (18 page)

“So little, in fact, that you carried his body across the road and left it for the rats in this very cellar! Did you use your nephew Baverstock’s key for the business? We are aware, Mr. Hinton, that he may possess one. You cannot deny, man, that you stood here. For the last time, Mr. Hinton:
What explanation will you offer for your actions?
”

Of a sudden, the fury seemed to drain from Hinton’s countenance, to be replaced by the coldest contempt. “I should never feel myself called upon to offer an explanation to you or any of the present miserable company. I am the
last true heir
of the Knights of Chawton, Prowting—and must consider myself above your jiggery-pokery
Law.
”

“Very well,” the magistrate replied. “Then John-Knight Hinton, it is my painful duty as magistrate to arrest you—for the murder of Shafto French.”

Chapter 17

Too Long in the Back

Saturday, 8 July 1809
~

“A
S THE HOUSE WAS BUILT IN THE LATE SEVENTEENTH
century,” Lady Imogen observed as she led us into a long gallery at Stonings that was more lumber room than habitable space, “it remains firmly rooted in Palladio. The serene limestone façade, for example, is virtually free of adornment; no Jacobean chimneys or Tudor panelling are to be found, and as successive generations did not see fit to alter the original style, the house preserves a delightful unity—without the awkward shifting from epoch to epoch one so often observes in less modern creations.”

“Lord!” Ann Prowting exclaimed. “I wonder you can find your way to breakfast of a morning! I should require signposts in each passage to direct me from place to place. It is a vast pile, is it not?”

“Nearly three hundred rooms. Mr. Wyatt, whom we consulted regarding the improvements, has widened the whole and brought reason to the arrangement of the principal apartments.
¹
This is the saloon,” Lady Imogen added, throwing open a set of lofty doors surmounted by a pediment, “—where we often play at cards of an evening. The music room, where my instrument is set out, is adjacent. The apartment is our chief delight at present, as Mr. Wyatt’s work here is nearly complete.”

Mr. Prowting, whose anxious bulk hovered at my right elbow, managed a phlegmatic “Magnificent!”

It was a bright and airy chamber, with ivory-coloured walls and mouldings picked out in gold leaf; a massive chimney piece of carved white stone, in the form of nymphs supporting a plinth, dominated each end. The chief virtue of the room, however, lay in its great windows, which gave onto a delightful prospect of lawns and trees sloping gently towards the lake. This was skirted and surmounted in its narrowest part by a great stone parapet, over which our carriages had clattered only a few moments before.

We had set out from Chawton at ten o’clock, taking in Henry on our way. It was a smaller party than originally planned, my brother Neddie having pledged himself to all the cares and irksomenesses of Quarter Day, and being even now established in Mr. Barlow’s back parlour awaiting the appearance of his numerous tenants. My mother could not be torn from the vigourous excavations undertaken in her back garden, of which she had unflagging hopes; and Mrs. Prowting was indisposed for a long carriage drive in the heat of summer, but thought it highly necessary that her husband accompany the two girls. We had therefore placed ourselves at Miss Maria Beckford’s disposal, Cassandra and I taking two seats in the Middleton carriage. The three Prowtings and Miss Benn went in the magistrate’s barouche; and the three eldest Middleton girls went in a hired equipage with their maid. Henry had made a dashing cicisbeo, trailing beside Miss Benn on his hired hack, and offering charming observations on the suitability of the party; and the weather had not seen fit to disappoint. We had achieved the intervening miles at an easy pace, and arrived in Sherborne St. John a few moments before noon.

We had been cordially met by Major Spence and Lady Imogen, who tarried only long enough to see our wraps bestowed on a housemaid, before conducting us through the marble-floored entry hall to the delights within.

“I am reminded,” Cassandra said in a lowered tone, “of the Duke of Dorset’s establishment at Knole, in Kent; but tho’ easily as extensive as this, that is a house in an entirely different style.”

Mr. Thrace, we were told, was still engaged in his morning’s ride, but was every moment expected. Lady Imogen looked as tho’ she did not notice her rival’s absence. She was in excellent spirits, her manner a mixture of the arch and the sweet that could not fail to please. She was clothed this morning in a light muslin gown of pale jonquil colour, with beribboned sandals on her feet, her countenance glowing with the animation of her speech. There was a kind of triumph in all her aspect that suggested a victory gained—and I felt a surge of anxious solicitude on the subject of my stolen chest. Such happiness could not be due merely to last evening’s win at cards—she had a deeper game in train, and appeared confident of her luck. The admiration of every gentleman in the room was evident; the rest of the ladies must be cast in the shade; and it was as well for my brother Edward that he had stayed in Alton—this lady was far too bewitching for
his
fragile state to bear.

Major Spence did not need to proclaim his captivation: tho’ correct and more often silent than not, he frequently bent his dark eyes upon Lady Imogen’s face or form, and she did not move to a door or a chair but he was before her instantly as guide. How difficult must be the trials of such a man, placed in a position of subservience to the object of his ardent love! To offer his heart, as he clearly had done, in the shattering knowledge that were she to accept him, the match should be called a misalliance by the Great. Had she ever attempted to use her power over him? —Attempted, perhaps, to employ his allegiance
against
Julian Thrace? I could hardly say. Lady Imogen showed Spence nothing more than easy affection, of a sort she might have reserved for a groom that had placed her, long ago, upon her first pony.

As I stood near Cassandra in the elegant saloon, and gazed out at the picturesque view offered through its windows, I considered of the beauties of the Earl’s estate—and very nearly forgave the theft of Lord Harold’s precious documents. To be mistress—or master—of Stonings was an ambition that might inspire any number of crimes!

“And to think that all this has been left slumbering for years!” Henry declared.

“Having never expected to inherit the title—he was a younger son, you know—my father was disinclined to live in the style befitting an Earl,” Lady Imogen replied. “I do not think his lordship’s memories of childhood in this place are entirely happy ones. And having been a single gentleman for much of his life, he naturally prefers to maintain an establishment in Town—near his clubs and cronies—or retire to his shooting box when a craving for the country seizes him. I cannot remember when we last visited Stonings together; when I was no more than three, I daresay.”

The year the Countess of Holbrook ran away with a Colonel of the Horse Guards,
I thought; and from Henry’s looks, his mind was reverting to the same. But whatever the Earl’s past feelings towards the house, he did not seem disposed to hold it in contempt
now.
So much sudden and expensive activity, on behalf of a putative heir—or an elegant daughter with habits of expence?

“Stonings frightened me when I was little,” Lady Imogen confided. “It was always cold and cheerless, and the servants were not the ones I knew. I used to lose my way in the upper storeys and be found crying behind some moth-eaten curtain, convinced I had been buried alive. But now I am grown, I see the place for what it is: an ancient and honourable seat that ought not to be allowed to fall into ruin.”

“Mr. Dyer’s folk have much to do, I presume?” Mr. Prowting enquired.

Charles Spence inclined his head. “They have been engaged on the repairs nearly three months, and are likely to continue their labour a year or more. The roof tiles had given way extensively in a number of places—the south end of the east wing, and the central hall—so that there is damp in nearly every ceiling and wall, and the plaster has required to be replaced throughout. Then there are the ravages to wainscoting and floors from a variety of feral creatures we are even still discovering in various corners, and the collapse of stone walls about the property. For you must understand, Mr. Prowting, that however grand the house itself, it is as nothing to the gardens, which were extensively improved in the last century by the present Earl’s grandfather, with the assistance of Mr. Capability Brown.”

“Major Spence is a fund of knowledge regarding Stonings,” Lady Imogen observed, “and his work is tireless. I believe Charles loves this place better than all of us.”

“When one has been far from home, and privileged to defend it,” he replied, “one cannot help but hold English soil more precious than anything else in life.”

“My father would not agree with you!” Imogen chortled. “If you could hear him deplore this rackety old barracks!”

“And yet he chose wisely, in placing the Major here,” I observed. “Perhaps the Earl will descend upon Hampshire soon, and inspect the progress.”

“The Earl will be arrived in less than three weeks’ time,” said a voice from the music room doorway, “and intends, so I believe, to give a ball. I will be three-and-twenty then, you know—and you must all drink to my health!”

It was Mr. Thrace, arrayed in his riding dress; he strode towards us, bowed, and was made known to Cassandra, who alone of the party was yet a stranger to him.

“A ball!” Ann Prowting cried. “I am longing for a ball!”

“Then you must certainly come,” Mr. Thrace returned easily, as tho’ the office of inviting guests to Stonings was already his, “and as the distance between our homes is so great . . .” his gaze moved with warmth to Catherine Prowting, “. . . you and
all your family
must certainly spend the night.”

“Julian,” Major Spence interposed gently, “we must leave the details of her party in Lady Imogen’s capable hands.”

“Does she plan to attend? I had not thought she would remain so long in the country.” Mr. Thrace bowed, a satiric expression about his lips. He lacked her ladyship’s high animal spirits this morning—the natural result, perhaps, of his losses at the faro table; but he appeared no less certain of himself than when I had first observed him. He was determined to display himself as the lord of Stonings. The battle, then, was well and truly joined.

But which of them
—which of them?—
had Lord Harold’s proof ranged on their side?

It seemed unlikely that Lady Imogen should have hired Old Philmore or his nephew to steal the chest; she was too little known in the country, and too high in the instep to condescend in Normandy Street or at Thatch Cottages. But necessity might work the cruellest alteration in a person’s habits, and necessity was Lady Imogen’s goad. She was distressed in her circumstances, and on the brink of losing her fortune. In such a case, might she avail herself of those same bonds of obligation and custom I had remarked in our servant Sally Mitchell? Lady Imogen’s
maid
might be familiar with every soul in Alton, and be despatched with certainty to the very man required to do the job.

In the case of Mr. Thrace, the matter was entirely easy. He came and went from Chawton and Alton as tho’ Hampshire born and bred. He was in the habit of dining at the Middletons’, and might have encountered Old Philmore any time these past several weeks; for a gentleman to engage the discreet services of a labourer was a simple matter of pounds and pence. And there was
this
that must arouse the deepest suspicion in my breast: Thrace had regaled our entire dinner party with the history of the Rubies of Chandernagar—a story which must be apocryphal, and employed for only one purpose: to explain the sudden appearance of strangers at Chawton Cottage, searching by stealth for a hidden treasure—or entering the house by force when its owners were absent.

“Pray come through to the terrace,” Lady Imogen commanded. She did not rebuke the upstart Beau for his pretensions, or throw down her gauntlet in public; indeed, she looked blithely unconscious. “It is in a dubious state of repair, but will serve charmingly for a nuncheon. See, Charles, how I have ordered Rangle to scatter the little tables about, and arrange the pyramids of fruit so delightfully? This is the only sort of picnic I will bear: with firm stone underfoot, and ample accommodation for every guest, and no fears of dirt or damp to tarnish one’s clothing.”

“An excellent arrangement,” he replied with playful courtesy, “but hardly so like a picnic.”

“Bah! You cavalry officers are never content unless you may bivouac on the hard ground, with a fire at your feet and a Spanish maiden to boil your coffee. I know how it is! Don’t attempt to beguile
me,
Charles—I know you for a blackguard of old!”

W
HEN THE RASPBERRY CORDIAL AND THE
M
ADEIRA WINE
had been drunk, and a quantity of cold meat and peaches eaten, there was nothing to do but watch the Middleton girls chase one another through the grass. Mr. Prowting, with all the beauty of the lake spread before him, expressed a regret that he had not thought to bring rods and tackle; and this began an exhaustive discussion of coarse fishing among the gentlemen, Mr. Thrace in particular being addicted to the sport. He and Mr. Prowting determined to walk down to the water itself, but could not tempt the ladies to join them. Mr. Middleton and Miss Beckford elected to rest in the shade before the arduous journey back to Alton; Cassandra was observing the little girls at play; Henry amused Lady Imogen with an anecdote regarding their mutual acquaintance in Town; Major Spence listened courteously to some effusion of Miss Benn’s. I guarded my privacy jealously, and cast about for the most effective means of searching the vast property.