Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor (32 page)

“You do not share her scruple?”

“Where love exists, how can fortune matter?”

How, indeed! Fortune, or lack of it, has been the main impediment to every trifling attachment of my life; it was certainly the means of dividing me from my first love, and my truest—Tom Lefroy.
²
Young as we both were, I do not believe we lacked anything conducive to our mutual affection and happiness,
but
fortune. But I forbore to give way to self-pity, and agreed with Miss Delahoussaye that her comfortable means must allow her to bestow her affections where her heart chose.

“And you have been promised to the Lieutenant how long?”

“These three weeks.”

Three weeks.
His attentions to me must, therefore, have been as nothing; I had been deceived by flattery yet again. It is not to be borne!

“I declare,” Miss Delahoussaye said expansively, “but it
is
a change! I have been wild about Tom for ages, but he was ever of a mind to abuse me unmercifully; and there was a time last summer when I almost thought him promised to a Miss King, and gave him up for lost. But apparently that went off, and when he came to us at Scargrave, there was never a man more attentive! I must believe it the effect of my purple silk; it
is
a cunning gown, and might almost make my eyes the same shade.”

I made some answer, equal to her speech in its lack of sense, and she continued almost without pause.

“Mamma thought nothing of his presence at the house, it being taken up with mourning; and he would look glum as all whenever she appeared, and pretend to dance attendance on you, only to brighten immediately once she was out of sight, and profess himself violently in love! A capital scheme, I declare! Only now there is the trial, and Tom and I must live apart, and barely speak; not a ball are we to have, or any amusement—”

“Miss Delahoussaye,” I interrupted, “I fail to see where my advice is wanted.”

“But you must tell me what to do!”

“In what manner may I be of assistance?”

“Tom—Lieutenant Hearst—was to go to Isobel the night the Earl died. We had determined that she should be told, whether she should give her consent or no, and that we should be married after Christmas if we must go to Gretna Green to do it.” Her words were unusually vehement.

I confess to a quickening of my pulse. “And did Lieutenant Hearst obtain his interview?”

“I cannot make out whether he did, but it cannot signify
now.
Isobel is past all consent, and cannot plague us any longer. But it is Mamma I think of; and I cannot believe she will see reason until the marriage is made.”

“I cannot stand in lieu of either, Miss Delahoussaye, if it is consent you seek.”

“But here is the point, Miss Austen. Tom
will
have us marry as soon as possible—he is wild to get me, I own. And now we are in mourning, and the trial is soon to happen—I declare I am almost distracted! For how am I to marry when the whole world is set against it?”

I confessed that even my age and experience had failed to teach me ways to circumvent such convention; but I ventured the opinion that a marriage within six weeks of the trial might not be considered ill, if it were conducted quietly and without undue pomp. At this Fanny seemed reassured, and professed her unshakable intent of waiting for Lieutenant Hearst until they could hir away to Gretna Green.

Having had time to absorb this news, along with its implicit warning against such things as kisses in the moonlight, I was possessed of a new thought.

“The maid Marguerite knew of your plans, did she not?” I enquired.

Miss Fanny started, and all the delicate colour of her soft complexion drained from her face. “She never told you!” she cried in protest.

I adopted an all-encompassing wisdom as my best deceit.

“But of course,” I said. “You did not think your secret died with her?”

At this, Fanny's breath quickened and the tears started to her eyes; she sat down upon a stone bench and was quite overcome. I suffered from some perplexity—for I had referred to nothing more than a planned elopement, the fact of which she had just imparted. Such distress could hardly spring from
this.
The secret, then, was of far greater import; and it behooved me to learn it. I sat down at her side and placed an arm about her shoulders.

“You need not pay me to keep your confidence, Fanny,” I told her. “J do not expect a bag of coins by the hay-shed door.”

She lifted her pretty face, tear-stained and miserable, and stared at me wildly. “But you understand, then, why we must be married as soon as ever,” she said. “In very little time, my gowns shall hardly fit. Already Marguerite has had to let out the seams; and she tried to ruin me for her knowledge. Now Mamma would have us at the warehouses for our mourning, and I
must
have a gown for the House of Lords, and if I stand before a seamstress, she is sure to know in an instant!”

I perceived, at last, the trouble. “When is the child to be born?” I asked her.

Fanny shrugged helplessly. “How should I know? I have no experience of these things. I only know that my corset does not fit, and that my seams are bursting, and that I have felt decidedly unwell these past few weeks. Marguerite said my time should not come until July at least. But she may have been lying.” A pair of drowned blue eyes sought my own. “Deceit and self-interest were ever Marguerite's way, Miss Austen.” Fanny's voice held unaccustomed bitterness.

“You met with the Lieutenant while still in London,” I mused. “After Isobel's marriage—while she travelled abroad.”

“It was better that she be ignorant of our concerns,” Fanny replied, her eyes downcast. “She did not approve of my meeting Tom.”

And with good reason, I thought, remembering the click of Fanny's door several nights past; had the Lieutenant entered her room, even as he parted from me? His conduct was in every way infamous. And here, assuredly, was a powerful motive for murdering the maid and dropping Isobel's kerchief; by these vile actions, Fanny's blackmailer should be dispatched, and her guardian silenced. But what of the damning note in Fitzroy Payne's hand?

Poor Fanny was in no state to be further interrogated; I patted her shoulder, said a few words, and helped her to her feet. We parted at the Orangerie door, she to trip deceitfully to her Mamma, and I to seek my chamber and my pen with a heavy heart.

I
CANNOT CONSIDER THE MATCH WITHOUT SOME LITTLE
dismay. It has been long, indeed—despite my capricious words to Fanny Delahoussaye—since I encountered a man of Lieutenant Hearst's easy manners and amiability, however false his intentions; and it seems I am forever to witness such men apportioned to an other. I confess to indulging in a review of my affairs of the heart, and wondering for the thousandth time if I did wrong in refusing Harris Bigg-Wither; to avoid the continued painful recognition of all I have been denied, in finally accepting some
one
, would be relief enough from a lifetime of bitter disappointments.

And I am all wonder at Lieutenant Hearst's behaviour! He has snubbed Fanny, and sought my company over hers, whenever opportunity afforded. Were I his professed love, I should find his conduct reprehensible. Was this merely a shadow play as she described, intended to deceive others and fend off the suspicious in his family circle? If so, I can declare Tom Hearst to have engaged in it too heartily, and feel myself to be a laughing-stock. It would have been enough to speak of Miss Delahoussaye with neutral praise, such as any man might bestow; whereas he never missed an opportunity for raillery. Her infatuation with himself, her false pride, her preoccupation with clothes and self-importance—all have been the subject of his disparagement in the course of our riding lessons together. I cannot comprehend it. I might almost believe him regretting his choice; and if he feels so little respect for a woman whose charms alone may have quickened his interest, I cannot feel sanguine about his prospects for happiness in marriage.

And did the Lieutenant
obtain
his interview with Isobel that e'en? And an opportunity, perhaps, to place the Barbadoes nuts in the Earl's dish?

Isobel is past all consent
, Miss Delahoussaye had said; and indeed, my friend is now conveniently incapable of opposing the match, and the bestowing of Miss Delahoussaye's thirty thousand pounds. I wonder she could not be persuaded that the marriage would keep Fanny's fortune in the Scargrave family, and thus be made to look with favour on the union; but perhaps that did not serve Lieutenant Hearst's purpose. Isobel—and Fitzroy Payne—would undoubtedly have tied the money in such legal binds as made it virtually useless to him; and it may be that it is
cash
for which Tom Hearst seeks. And if it be that the gentleman is in desperate need of money, I must consider his appearance of guilt as black, indeed.

Or am I merely comforting myself with the thought that he chooses Miss Delahoussaye for her fortune, rather than any preference over myself? Stupid, stupid Jane! Your vanity rises again, even in the hour of its most thorough defeat.

Can such a man, whose fine appearance and good humour suggest all that is pleasing, be so infinitely dissembling? I declare his charm, and think him a murderer; I encourage his attentions, and find him promised to another. Were I acquainted with his person a twelvemonth, and had ample scope for observation, I should believe myself still as likely to be deceived. No, I shall not begin to understand it, be Miss Fanny Delahoussaye turned Mrs. Tom Hearst, and her third child on the way.

1. Clergyable offenses were those that might be sentenced “with benefit of clergy,” meaning, with a dispensation against the death penalty. Manslaughter, for example, was a clergyable offense, with transportation rather than death the usual sentence. This legal provision arose from the tradition of trying ordained clergy in ecclesiastical courts, but spread to the population at large. —
Editor's note.

2. Jane Austen fell in love with the nephew of her good friend Anne Lefroy at the age of twenty, while the young Irishman was visiting the Hampshire town of Steventon, where Jane grew up. Anne Lefroy was opposed to the match because of Jane's lack of fortune, and sent Tom away before any engagement was formed. —
Editor's note.

˜

I
SENT FOR MR. CRANLEY EARLY THIS MORNING, AND WAS
gratified to see that gentleman arrive with alacrity not an hour later. To stem his apparent disappointment at Fanny Delahoussaye's absence—she was even then standing before Madame Henri, the Bond Street
modiste
—I bent myself briskly to business.

“Let us talk, Mr. Cranley, of evidence,” I began, closing the study door behind us, the better to guard against a servant's ears. “The presence near the paddock gate of Isobel's handkerchief, we may count as nothing. Any person desiring to throw blame upon the Countess, might readily have obtained her linen, monogrammed as it is, for the purpose; access to her apartments is not even necessary. I myself have observed Isobel leave her kerchiefs behind her wherever she goes.”

Mr. Cranley nodded. “I had assumed as much.”

“And what of Fitzroy Payne? Have you intelligence of his writing habits?” I perched on the edge of a chair, and Mr. Cranley did the same, leaning towards me in his eagerness.

“Your excellent understanding, Miss Austen, is cause for rejoicing,” he began.

“Capital!” I cried, clasping my hands together. “You have learned something to their advantage!”

The barrister nodded. “As you are no doubt aware, Fitzroy Payne was engrossed in resolving the business affairs of his uncle at the time of the maid's murder. He remained closeted in the library for days on end, over a quantity of papers, and much correspondence passed between Lord Scargrave and his London solicitors,”

“Well I remember it. The solicitors appeared at Scargrave immediately upon the Earl's death, but stayed only a few hours; thereafter all matters were conducted by post. And what a quantity of post! Madame Delahoussaye undertook several times to tidy the Earl's library, and was all agog at the mess.”

“According to Lord Scargrave, he never varies from routine in matters of business. In writing a letter, he painstakingly draws up a draft, and then copies it for clarity's sake onto another sheet of paper. It is the final copy which he sends to the recipient.”

“He has copies of all his correspondence?”

“He does. I think it possible that the phrase in question was torn from just such a
draft
—left lying about the Earl's library desk, to which everyone might have access—and the rest of the sheet destroyed.” The barrister slapped his knees in excitement, and sat back in his chair.

“But how to find the very letter?”

“I am directed to Fitzroy Payne's valet,” Mr. Cranley said, looking about him as though the man were hiding in one of the corners, “who retains a list of the Earl's correspondence, as well as his personal papers. If the draft of a letter is missing, we may discover to whom the final copy was sent, and search for the incriminating phrase in its text.”