Jane and the Canterbury Tale (16 page)

I bent over the gun. There, chased in the silver, was an intricate monogram of a large
W
, flanked with a
J
and a
B
.

“The father is James, as is his son—but the son claims as his middle name
Beckford
,” my brother explained.

I wrinkled my nose at monograms. “I cannot conceive of a person less likely to provoke a quarrel, or more completely in control of his own temper, than young James Wildman. Indeed, he is the very
last
person I should expect of killing a man in a fit of rage!”

“But this was
not
a crime of passion, Jane,” my brother rebuked me. “Surely you must see that. Fiske was despatched by one who appointed the hour and place of his killing; one who conducted himself with a cool calculation throughout. Young Wildman is entirely capable of a premeditated act; and I should judge he possesses enough courage to undertake even murder, if circumstances so compelled him.”

“Circumstances! They should have to be quite extraordinary, for Wildman to risk so much—”

“That is understood. But Fiske’s reappearance in this country—Fiske
alive
when he was thought to be dead—is extraordinary enough.” Edward rose abruptly from his chair. “I must ride to Chilham Castle without delay, and enquire of James where he keeps his pistols, and the habits that attend his use of them. The inquest is set for tomorrow morning, Jane. It would be as well to be apprised of certain facts before the event, lest the wrong fellow be clapped summarily in chains.”

“You would not gaol a man on mere
suspicion
, surely?”

“No.” He gave me a level gaze. “But Bredloe’s panel might. I am required to submit to the coroner’s judgement,
my dear—and that judgement, in our awkward English fashion, derives from the inquest’s panel of good men and true. I should like to be able to influence the panel’s conclusions—I should like them to return a judgement of Murder by Person or Persons Unknown, if I can manage it, and thereby purchase myself an interval for the conduct of our researches—but to that end I am forced to interrogate most of my neighbours in a limited amount of time.”

“
Our
researches?” I demanded.

“You should be invaluable in conversing with the ladies of the household—particularly Mrs. Thane, and Mrs. MacCallister. I must assume that unhappy lady is returned from her ill-fated honeymoon. Will you ride with me, Jane?”

I
DID NOT REALLY
RIDE
WITH MY BROTHER, OF COURSE
. I have never been an accomplished horsewoman, but on the rare occasions I find myself mounted sidesaddle on a sweet-mouthed little mare, it is invariably at Godmersham, where the whole world is on such easy terms with Edward’s stables that I should feel absurdly dowdy in refusing to ride. I do not at present possess a riding habit, however—the one Elizabeth once pressed upon me being long since outworn and outmoded—and I did not like to appear at Chilham Castle arrayed in a manner that must do my brother little credit. I proposed, therefore, that Fanny and I should take out Young Edward’s tilbury, so that Fanny might practice her driving; and her father should ride beside us as escort.

In truth, Fanny requires neither instruction nor much practice in driving, being a pretty enough whip and fully inclined to drive herself about the Kentish countryside whenever opportunity offers; but the present scheme allowed my niece to indulge one of her chief delights—instructing
me
in the art—and we had not proceeded a hundred paces up the country
lane in the direction of the crossroad for Chilham, before she was placing the ribbons confidently in my hands.

There is nothing to equal the sensation of holding two narrow strips of leather while, at the nether end, the mouth of a horse fights one for mastery. Clutch too tightly on the reins, and the poor animal will throw its head up, eyes rolling, as tho’ one fully intended to break its neck; allow the reins to lie slack in the palm, and the beast will seize the bit between its teeth and career off down the road with every intention of overturning the vehicle and casting horse and driver both to ruin. Fanny is adept enough to drive two-in-hand, a feat I have not been so brave as to attempt; today we had but the single horse before the tilbury, and trotted along at a jaunty pace I felt myself
almost
equal to maintaining.

“You look very well, Jane!” Edward cried, “and in that new bonnet with the curled ostrich plume, quite
dashing
, indeed!”

“The road bends a little just ahead, Aunt, as you will perceive,” Fanny murmured with commendable calm. “You will wish to ease back a trifle on the left rein, and guide Rowan’s head around.”

I accomplished this feat, my heart pounding in my mouth as the tilbury tipped slightly to one side, terrified lest the equipage lose all purchase on the bend and roll without warning. But Rowan, if the truth be known, is better able to find his way than I am to guide him—and the good horse made me appear to greater advantage than I deserved.

“I should not like to be put to the test of a truly
fresh
animal,” I muttered to Fanny. “When I recollect the pair of smart goers the Countess of Swithin was wont to drive, and before a perch phaeton, too—”

“She sounds to be what George would call
top of the trees
,” Fanny observed comfortably.

“She hunts with the Quorn.”

“Ah. There you are—we cannot hope for such daring in Kent.
It would not be tolerated by your Jupiter Finch-Hattons, you know. No gentleman of the neighbourhood should like to think the ladies more
Corinthian
than himself.”

Some thought of the probable retort the late Lord Harold Trowbridge’s niece, Desdemona, Countess Swithin, should offer this paltry complaisance brought a smile to my lips; but I did not accuse Fanny of poor-spiritedness. For one thing, I was too intent upon controlling my horse; and for another, I knew full well that the manners obtaining among countesses of the
ton
would never do for a Miss Knight of Godmersham. Fanny judged the tolerance of her society to a hairsbreadth, and should never be accused of overstepping its limits.

Such, of course, had
not
been the experience of one Adelaide Thane Fiske MacCallister—and I reflected, as I returned the ribbons to Fanny’s capable hands, that therein lay a question: Had Adelaide acquired so many surnames—so many changes of station and fortune in her brief four-and-twenty years—
because
of her willingness to flout convention, or in despite of it?

Endeavour to learn what her relationship has been with James Wildman
, Edward had urged in a lowered tone as he handed me up into the tilbury.
I must ask her about the tamarind seeds, of course, and what her movements were after the ball was done at Chilham that night—but you, Jane, have the whole of her life to discover
.

The whole of her life. I wished I did not feel so daunted by the task; I am accredited a subtle conversationalist, I own, and am not unperceptive regarding the motives of much of the human race—but I dislike playing the busybody, and Adelaide MacCallister had no reason to confide anything to a stranger. Her family was all about her, did she require a confessor. To urge her conversation at such a time must be repugnant to any right-thinking person’s sentiments. I should be forced to contrive.

It seemed but a moment more, and we were trotting up the broad sweep that led to the Castle. Fanny pulled up her
horse, and a footman ran from the hall to Rowan’s head, while another stood ready to help us down. I heard Edward call carelessly as he swung from the saddle, “Is your young master at home, Twitch?” and the Wildman family’s butler, a rather stout figure in black, scraped a bow.

“Mr. James is at home, sir, as is Mr. Wildman, but I must enquire whether they are receiving visitors. The household is a trifle … discomposed.”

“I’m here as First Magistrate, Twitch,” Edward said gently, “not as a neighbour paying a call. Please convey my apologies to your master and his son, and beg that they receive me on business that may not be delayed.”

“And the ladies, sir?”

Edward’s eyes drifted over me and Fanny.

“We had intended to pay a call upon Mrs. Wildman, but if that is inconvenient, pray do not disturb her,” Fanny said impulsively. “We are quite happy to send in our cards, and drive home. It is a lovely day for an airing, after all.”

I had not expected my niece to wilt before the manners of an imposing upper servant, and was momentarily exasperated with her. But I reflected that even so pert a creature as Miss Eliza Bennet should have done the same, upon arriving at Pemberley, had she been aware that Mr. Darcy was already in residence—and that perhaps some explanation might be found for Fanny’s unwillingness to thrust herself into the Chilham household.

“Twitch,” said a voice from the doorway, “why do you leave our visitors dawdling on the sweep, when they ought already to have been announced? Step lively, you fool!”

I glanced towards the entry, and saw a formidable figure: iron-haired, thin-lipped, her eyes dark and imperious as Cleopatra’s.

“Yes, Mrs. Thane,” Twitch answered woodenly, and led us into the Castle.

  
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  

22 O
CTOBER
1813,
CONT
.

I
T IS ONLY NOW THAT WE ARE RETURNED HOME, AND
I
AM
established in a comfortable chair before the library fire with a shawl draped over my chilled feet, that I may reflect a little on the strangeness of the atmosphere at Chilham Castle today. I have been somewhat acquainted with the household and family in past years, and have reckoned them to be a fine, high-spirited, handsome collection of people, without much seriousness in their heads or purpose in life; a family that enjoys giving pleasure to others as much as to themselves, and which has been marked out neither for great distinction nor hideous misfortune.

Mr. James Wildman amassed his wealth in trade—through the management of a vast sugar plantation in Jamaica, owned by one Mr. William Beckford. Mr. Beckford is grown infamous
in the Polite World, I understand, for having seduced at a tender age the son and heir of an earl—and for being forced to flee the country with his wife in the wake of the subsequent scandal. To us Austens, however, he figures merely as cousin to our own Miss Beckford of Chawton, who until this past spring lived at the Great House with all the Middletons. How small is the world between Hampshire and Kent, to be sure!
¹