Jane and the Prisoner of Wool House (30 page)

“I do not harbour any grudge,” I said coldly. “I merely observed that the Marines were over-hasty in stating that no one but ourselves had entered the gaol. Plainly, others
have.
Sir Francis was certainly walking among the prisoners Thursday evening; and I saw him there again this morning. Any man with ill intent, and the good luck to know exactly which meat pasty LaForge would consume, might have done it.”

“Or any woman?—One who drives a coach emblazoned with the arms of a baronet?”

I thrust back my chair, ignoring his satiric look, and crossed to the fire.

“We ought to go to Percival Pethering with your intelligence,” Frank persisted. “Think what it may do for poor Tom! We know, in this, that Chessyre met with others before the end!”

“Nell Rivers's account, though provocative in the extreme, fails to prove Seagrave's innocence. The woman in the baronet's carriage might have dropped Eustace Chessyre anywhere, and left him prey to Seagrave's or another's violence,” I replied thoughtfully. “It should not be unusual for a man to employ a woman as his lure.”

Many ladies were but too willing to serve as the tool of a powerful man, and concerned themselves little with the purpose of their activity. Consider Phoebe Carruthers, for example, with her golden head bent to the words of her companion….

“Fly … Sir Francis Farnham is a baronet, is he not?”

My brother threw up his hands. “And I suppose he veiled himself as a woman, and spoke in a voice firm and low! Next you shall be suspecting Lady Templeton of having been in both Kent and Southampton at once.”

“That is hardly necessary,” I retorted. “Chessyre was killed on Wednesday night, and I observed Lady Templeton in Portsmouth on Thursday. She spoke a great deal of her decision to quit the place the following morning—but no one thought to inform me when she had
arrived.
⁹

“I should like a glimpse of Lady Templeton,” Frank said drily. “She must be a formidable person, and much used to arduous travel. After strangling Chessyre with a garrote Wednesday night, we must suppose she poisoned Monsieur LaForge on Thursday. That is quite a piece of road between Portsmouth and Southampton, to traverse three times in twenty-four hours! And what motive could she have for despatching either man?”

“We should have to assume that she wished Tom Seagrave to hang; that she formed a plot with his disgrace as her object; and that she was unwilling either for Chessyre to recant, or LaForge to destroy, the delicate subterfuge she had constructed.”

“But why?” Frank argued. “Because Tom married her niece against all opposition,
fifteen years ago?
It does not make sense, Jane.”

“Not yet,” I murmured, “but perhaps with time …”

“With time, you expect to learn that LaForge is a French nobleman in disguise, and Lady Templeton an agent of Buonaparte sworn to effect his ruin. Really, Jane! At times I must believe with my mother that you indulge too much in novels!”

I glared at him. “Have you a more apt solution, Frank? What did you learn from Seagrave this morning, in Gaoler's Alley?”

“Nothing to the purpose. Tom refused, without quarter, to discuss his activity Wednesday night; and he very nearly took off my head when I mentioned Phoebe Carruthers. All of Southampton was disposed to invade the lady's privacy, he said, because of her extreme beauty; she was an angel, she had suffered greatly, she deserved to be free of the wretched noose of gossip—et cetera, et cetera.”

“So he
is
in love with her.”

“Naturally. He managed, in every form of his refusal to discuss Mrs. Carruthers, to expose himself abominably. I only hope he does not behave thus before the magistrate.”

“Did you enquire about Tom's orders?”

“I did. In this, I am happy to report, he was more forthcoming.”

“Ah.” I turned away from the hearth with alacrity and regained my seat. “Excellent fellow! You have disdained all
niceties
and
forms,
you have abandoned constraint, and thrown yourself into the chase! Pray tell: Whither was Captain Seagrave bound on the fateful day he fell in with the
Manon?”

Frank's grey eyes glinted. “It is most intriguing, I will confess—the stuff of novels, as I declared before! Seagrave did not wish to disclose the whole; but when I impressed upon him the gravity of his condition, he relented. It is plain he considers the orders as having nothing to do with his fate; but I cannot be so sanguine.”

“I am all agog.”

“The
Stella Maris
was ordered to stand off the coast of Lisbon, between Corunna and Ferrol—a treacherous bit of coastline, which the men all call the Groyne— and signal with a lantern every half-hour of the watch. between two and eight bells for three nights in succession.
²
If he received a lantern beam in return—the signal was prearranged, of course—he was to land a boat and collect a stranger, for passage to Portsmouth in the
Stella.
Seagrave was given no hint of the man's identity, but suspected he must be a foreign agent of the Crown; your fast frigates are often employed in such jiggery-pokery schemes.”

“And did he collect his supercargo?”

“He did not. After the affair of the
Manon
—the battle done, the French ship repaired and despatched to port under Chessyre's management—Seagrave proceeded to the position specified in his sailing orders.

He opened the sealed packet, and commenced to wait for the proper day and hour. Three successive nights he stood off the Groyne, signalling to no avail. Not an answering beam did he discover, and no stranger was hauled from the rocks. The duty done, Tom returned to port—and found himself accused of murder.”

“Corunna might have been a subterfuge, I suppose.”

“Designed to lure Tom within striking distance of the
Manon?”
Frank enquired. “I thought the same. The idea is fantastic, however—particularly when one considers the possibility of the two ships missing each other in all that sea, the vagaries of wind and weather. No, Jane, it will not do.”

“By whom were the orders issued?”

“Admiral Hastings. And he can have no reason to wish Tom Seagrave ill—he and the
Stella Marts
have won Hastings a fortune! The Admiral should be a fool to hang the goose that laid all his golden eggs!”
³

“And were the orders written by the Admiral?”

Frank hesitated. “They were certainly transcribed by Hastings's hand. Seagrave wondered whether Hastings had noted the position in error—whether the
Stella
had missed the agent's signal, from standing off the wrong part of the Lisbon coast. Such a mistake is possible, I suppose.”

“I do not understand you. You said that Hastings issued the orders!”

“He put them in Seagrave's hand, assuredly, and

issued them with all his authority as flag officer in command of the Channel squadron. But the orders themselves were sent by the Admiralty telegraph. There is nothing unusual in this. Frank was attempting to marshal patience; but at his words my mind and spirit were animated as if by a shaft of lightning.

“The telegraph! Of course! A convention of the Navy bent to peculiar purpose! Why did we not see it before?”

Frank looked bewildered, but I lacked sufficient time to explain. For at that very moment Phoebe Carruthers was announced.

¹
“The chains” refers to the chain-wale or dead-eyes, the hardware used to secure the lower shrouds of a mast to the hull of the ship. We may suppose that Charles and Edward Seagrave climbed up the bow of the ship and entered at the spot in the chain-wale where a sailor usually stood to take soundings of water depth. —
Editor's note.

²
Bells were the time-keeping system aboard ship. Struck every half-hour, they indicated by the number of strokes the tally of half-hours elapsed in the watch. Eight bells indicated midnight, one bell 12:30 A.M., two bells 1:00 A.M., and so on to eight bells at 4:00 A.M., when the sequence was repeated.—
Editor's note.

³
When a British ship seized an enemy vessel, the profits accruing from the sale of the prize were divided into eight equal parts. The captain of the victorious ship received three-eighths; one of these eighths was then turned over to his admiral. The remaining five-eighths were divided among the crew according to seniority. —
Editor's note.

Chapter 19
A Picture of Grief

cont.

~

T
HE GOLDEN-HAIRED BEAUTY SWEPT INTO THE ROOM
on Jenny's heels, a veil of black lace all but concealing her features. At the sight of it I nearly gasped aloud; but stifled the sound in time. It would not do to betray a dangerous knowledge. Nell Rivers's very life might depend upon my silence.

She lifted the veil from her face. Her eyes, I saw now, were the green of pond-weeds in April, the green of lichens and stone. Another woman might have encouraged the hue with silks of gold and amber; but Phoebe Carruthers was resolute in her adoption of dark grey. In this, at least, she was sensible of the conventions of mourning.

“Captain Austen,” she said with a curtsey, “it has been many years since we first formed an acquaintance. I daresay you do not remember me, but perhaps you will recall my late husband—Captain Hugh Carruthers.”

Frank put his heels together and bowed. “He was an excellent man, Mrs. Carruthers; all England must feel his loss. You do not know my sister, I think. Miss Austen, Mrs. Carruthers.”

I inclined my head. “Pray sit down. Jenny, be so good as to fetch some tea.”

Phoebe Carruthers glanced over her shoulder at the hard wooden chairs ranged against the wall; Frank drew one of them forward and placed it near the hearth. She perched on its edge with all the poise of a figure carved by Canova.

“I am happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Austen. I was very sorry not to speak with you last night, at the Footes'; and seized the first opportunity of paying a morning call.”

My surprise must have shown in my countenance; Her green eyes flickered, and fell to her lap. She commenced to draw off her gloves.

I said, “You were obliged to leave the party rather early. But it was a delightful evening, was it not?”

“Or should have been, but for the manners of
one
in the room.” Her cool eyes came up to meet my own. “I had not intended to appear at the Footes'. Much as I respect them, I am ill-suited to mix in company. I recently lost my son, as you may be aware. For my own part, I would fix quiedy at home. But not all our obligations are matters of choice.”

I glanced at Frank. The lady was dispassionate; she was contained; but this frankness she affected among virtual strangers could not fail to pique our interest. It might be a cold-hearted campaign to win our allegiance, who should find cause to suspect her of complicity in murder—but that was absurd. Phoebe Carruthers could have no idea of Nell Rivers, or what the latter had seen. She had no reason to assume our mistrust. She must be a woman of considerable caution.

“Your son's death cannot but be deeply felt,” I said. “You have my sincere sympathy, Mrs. Carruthers.”

She bowed her beautiful head, and could not speak for several seconds. I thought I glimpsed the gleam of tears beneath her lashes; it was all admirably done.

“I heard of your warm support for the prisoners of Wool House, Miss Austen—of your habit of tending to the sick.”

Again, her tack in conversation surprised me; I inclined my head, but said nothing in my own cause.

“Tell me, are any of the
Manon's
crew imprisoned there?” she enquired.

“There were lately four,” I replied. My thoughts sprang to Etienne LaForge. If Sir Francis Farnham was somehow embroiled in Chessyre's scheme—if Phoebe Carruthers had lured the Lieutenant to his death— they would both be aware of the Frenchman's evidence at court-martial. Why, then, consult with me?

“One man died of gaol-fever, another is gravely ill, and all have been removed at Sir Francis Farnham's instruction to a prison hulk moored in Southampton Water,” Frank supplied.

“Removed? By Sir
Francis?”

The careful composure of her features was entirely torn. Her countenance evidenced shock. She stood, and moved restlessly towards the fire; grasped the mantel an instant in a desire for support—or suppressed anger—then turned, and regained her seat. When her gaze fell upon us once more, her looks were under management. The serenity of her features was as a lake no stone could ripple.

“You were not aware of the amendment,” I said. “I had supposed that being acquainted with Sir Francis, you might have known all he intended.”

“Sir Francis shares nothing, Miss Austen,” she said carefully. “He prefers to dispose of people's lives rather than consult them. I had expressed a wish to speak with the men of the
Manon,
and he has deliberately thwarted my ambition.”