Jane and the Man of the Cloth (39 page)

ST. MICHAEL'S BEING BUT A SHORT WALK DOWN BROAD TO BRIDGE
Street, and from thence, after a brief look at the sea and Broad Ledge, which was visible now at low tide,
⁴
up Church Street, I had a very little way to go. I set out not long before three o'clock, accordingly, in my demure close bonnet and with a basket of clothes depending from my arm; for at my mother's hearing that I intended visiting the church, she
would
charge me with delivering her contribution to the ladies’ auxiliary, and was only persuaded with difficulty against accompanying me herself.

St. Michael's is not a handsome edifice; and that may be attributed, perhaps, to it being two churches at once— a late Norman one, and the present building, which dates from the sixteenth century. It sits nobly upon a cliff, however, and seems quite suited to the spirit of Lyme, with all its peculiarities. I should not
wish
a more regular building to take its place; it seems, indeed, to have been a part of this coast forever.

I stood a moment on the stoop of the church, and glanced back the way I had come; and shivered to think that I detected a figure lingering behind; but it must have been an effect of the sunlight, a chimera of sorts, for when I blinked to observe a second time, the figure was no more. I pushed open the church's heavy oak door, and stepped into the cool dimness of its vestibule.

All was hushed, and the few supplicants scattered amidst the pews, too bowed in prayer to attend to my arrival. I looked about for James's broad shoulders, and could not find them; and so, after a moment, I progressed up a side aisle and took my place among the reverent. The church bell tolled the hour.

After fifteen minutes of silent contemplation, I determined to search for James outside the church; and made my way once more to the vestibule. It was
tliere
I encountered Miss Crawford, as staunch as a general the afternoon of a batde. She stood to one side of the vestibule itself, in the Auxiliary's anteroom, in an imposing black cap arrayed with jet. Her nostrils were pinched as though in reception of a noisome odour, but her bony hands fairly flew among the ordered piles of cast-off clothing. She looked up as I hesitated on the iitde room's threshold, and under the command of Miss Crawford's gaze, I could not but drop a curtsey.

“Good afternoon, Miss Austen,” that lady said sharply over her spectacles. “I understand you were at Wootton Fitzpaine on Saturday. You should have informed me of your visit prior to having paid it, and I should have charged you with enquiring of Mrs. Barnewall
when
she intends to make her contribution to the ladies’ auxiliary. My brother tells me she is to leave the country soon; and it should be a very shabby thing, if in all the busde of making ready, St. Michael's were forgot. But no matter. I was not to know you were to go—and on such a foggy afternoon, too!—and so I shall have the trip to make over.”

“My apologies, Miss Crawford. I could not imagine you to have an interest in that quarter, and thus could not be expected to inform you of my plans.”

“Expected! Hardly. The
young
are never
expected
to treat anyone with consideration. But never mind. I see you have your mother's things in that basket”

“I do, and I send them with her compliments.”

Miss Crawford paused to examine a tiny nightdress, of fine cambric, overlaid with my mother's excellent satin stitch; and sniffed audibly. “The seams might have been straighter; but then, one never gives as much care to things for the poor, as for one's own; and I suppose her eyes are weak, at her age.”

“I shall inform her of your gratitude,” I said drily, and turned for the door.

“Do you remember, Miss Austen, to tell her of the ladies’ tea, to be held at Darby on Saturday,” Miss Crawford called sharply after me. “It is meant as a kindness to the good-hearted women who do so much for the unfortunates of the parish. It is a vast deal of trouble, to be sure, but I count it as nothing. It is the
least
that I may do. It is to be a very fine tea.”

“Though, perhaps inevitably,
tealess,”
I observed.

“Whatever do you mean to say, Miss Austen?”

“I had understood there was not a leaf to be had, in all of Lyme.”

“But that is hardly the case at
Darby,
I may assure you.” Miss Crawford spoke with an air of smug complacency. “My dear brother is never at a loss for tea—but then, we may consider him as having resources, that should be denied a mere
visitor,
such as yourself.”

“Indeed we may,” I rejoined, in some amusement at her vanity, and quitted the church and Miss Crawford together.

I made my way to the little churchyard, and found James with his back against a headstone, and a burly man, quite ill-shaven, at his side. The latter discarded a bit of grass he had been twirling between his teeth, and pulled himself to his feet He had no hat to hold, and so stood with his head slighdy bowed, awaiting my notice—a balding fellow, with a crooked nose, a perpetual dimple in one cheek, and a rough warmth to his gaze. Despite his attitude of deference, he had a confident air, as though life held no mysteries beyond his understanding.

“Miss Austen, miss,” James said, with the barest suggestion of anxiety in his aspect. “We thought as you weren't coming/’

“I was somewhat detained by church business,”I replied. “I take it you are Matthew Hurley?”

“Matty'll do just fine, miss.”

“I've been a-teliin’ Matty here how Maggie Tibbit'd have it ‘e owes her money,” James began, “and Matty— well, you tell Miss Austen, then.”

“I don't owe Bill Tibbit nothin’ nor a curse,” the fellow said comfortably, “and haven't done, since he ran the
Royal Belle
aground.”

“The ship's loss does seem to have turned all of Lyme against him,” I observed.

“It did that. He were paid to lose the
Belle,
and three fine young men o’ town was lost with it.” Mr. Hurley paused a moment to clear his throat, and as abrupdy spat.

I glanced at James's untroubled countenance, then turned to his companion. “It was the Reverend's ship, I understand.”

“Now,?? be tellin’ you that?” Matty Hurley said, with a narrowed eye.

“Maggie Tibbit. She said that her husband had been a regular spotter for the smugglers’ crews, and that he lingered too long over his tankard, when he should better have been gone to Puncknowle and the signal tower.”

“It's right convenient she should think so,” the man replied, “but that warn't the truth of it. Bill were
paid,
and he met ‘is end fer it, as did the feller as paid ‘im.”

I looked from one to the other with a growing apprehension. “You cannot mean—that is to say—Mr. Hurley, would you have it that
Captain Fielding
paid the man to ground the
Bella
And that he lost his life as a result?”

“I ain't savin’ here nor there,” the fellow asserted, his eyes shifting. “It's a deep business, as no lady should concern hersel’ wit. But Maggie Tibbit oughter know better.”

This was
a thought to give one pause, indeed. The Captain must have believed the ship to be engaged in smuggling, and attempted to thwart the trade in a ruthless manner, considering the consequences. And yet, if the doomed ship was not the Reverend's—

“How can you be so certain that the
Belle
was
not
the Reverend's, Mr. Hurley?”

“Let's jist say as I was awaitin’ on the Chesnil beach for ‘er to land, and had the pulling of the bodies out o’ the surf,” he replied darkly. “I hope I may never see another such a sight, as long as I may live. Terrible it was, and Nancy Harding's boy but fifteen.”

“But what can a ship have been doing, in so clandestine a manner, if
not
to smuggle contraband?”

Matty Hurley shrugged, and flicked a glance at James, who turned back a bewildered countenance. “You'll be a stranger to Lyme, miss, and all our ‘fairs,” Matty offered. “I'm not sure yer needin’ to know. Just settle as it was a matter o’ some importance, as three young coves and a passel of Frenchies give their lives for, and not a thing to do with brandy barrels or kegs o’ snuff. Bill Tibbit was no good, and a traiter, and we're well quit of ‘im, whatever ‘is Maggie says. You can tell ‘er so for me.” He turned away, of a conviction, no doubt, that our discussion was at an end; but I could not suffer him to leave in so sybil-like a manner. A cloud of conflicting thoughts held converse in my mind, but through them ail I grasped at one. The man had declared that the boat was
not
the Reverend's; but I knew of one other household, at least, that was much given to signalling ships at sea.

“Matty,” I said, reaching a hand to detain him, “did the
Royal BeUe
belong to Mr. Geoffrey Sidmouth?”

The astonishment that overlaid his hardened features was a spectacle to behold, and should have elicited my delighted laughter, had not I perceived his underlying consternation, as having betrayed perhaps too much. “Never fear,” I assured him. “Your secret is safe with me—though from your words, I must declare it a rather open one, since most of Lyme seems admitted to it.”

“Just the folk o’ the Buddie district,” Matty said grudgingly, “and only them as are trusty.”

“So it was
Mr, Sidmouth s
ship that ran aground,” I said thoughtfully, “as a result of Bill Tibbit's carelessness, or design. And Bill Tibbit died for it, as did Captain Fielding. That
does
alter the complexion of Sidmouth's case. For his motives and his natural reticence about the matter, become all too clear.”

“I thought she come here on a matter o’ Maggie Tib-bit's,” Matty protested, with a glare for James.

“She did!” the poor man rejoined, in natural dismay. “Miss Austen?”

“No matter,” I replied. “There is another of whom I had better enquire, and leave Mr. Hurley in the clear.” I turned and looked towards the horizon, in an effort to judge of the time—for of a sudden I had a notion to conduct a further piece of business in the hours remaining before dinner. It could not be far from half-past three; and we generally dined at five. It should just do.

“You have been very helpful, Mr. Hurley, and I thank you—for what you would not, as well as what you might, impart.” The wretched fellow shifted from one foot to the other, and looked desperate to be gone, his native confidence fled. I reached into my reticule and retrieved several coins, which I pressed upon the two men, who bobbed their thanks, however doubtfully. For my part, I affected a desire to return to the church, that they might be freed of my presence, and go about their business, as unmolested as I preferred to go about
mine
—for I had no desire to be observed, in making my way, as I must, towards the grim stone keep that served as Lyme's gaol.

1
This was less a turban than a length of material—often lace—tied around the crown and knotted at one side of the head, in a somewhat Turkish fashion. —
Editor's note.

2
The
Preventy Men
was a common name for the officers of the Board of Customs. —
Editor's note.

3
Austen's brothers James and Henry, while students at Oxford, established the literary journal
The Loiterer,
to which Austen herself may have contributed the occasional letter. —
Editor's note.

4
Broad Ledge was originally a part of Lyme proper—medieval maps of the area suggest it once was crowded with houses—but was later inundated by the sea, and is now visible only at low tide. It serves as a reminder of the shifting nature of the Dorset coastline. —
Editor's note.

24 September 1804, cont.

∼

R
ATHER THAN HUGGING A LONELY STRETCH OF COASTLINE HIGH
above the turbulent seas, bereft of civilisation and the comforts of humanity, as should befit a prison in Lyme, the gaol where Mr. Sidmouth was held sat in the very midst of the town, with a stock in front and a cubby for the watchman; I should move under the keenest observation as I approached the place, but could not find it in me to care, as my errand seemed too urgent to admit of delicacy. I knew not whether the gentleman was permitted visitors—but deemed it likely that what persuasion might not produce, the application of coin should speedily acquire.

The watchman—a smallish fellow clothed in nankeen, with a sharp nose, watery eyes, and a perpetual habit of sneezing—rose from his stool as swift as a street tumbler, and danced a bow before me.

“Gordy Trimble at yer service, ma'am, though what service ye might be seekhV
here,
‘tis beyond me to say,” he offered by way of introduction.