Jane Austen Mysteries 08 Jane and His Lordship's Legacy (18 page)

"I had not heard this story of my father," Lady Imogen im-posed, "tho' I know him to have moved in a very rakehell set while in India. Chandernagar, however, was some thirty years before his time on the Subcontinent."

"I believe the story has achieved a permanent place in the Indian firmament," Thrace said, "due to its bloodthirstiness.

No doubt your respected father learned it of an eyewitness."

"But surely the marauding Lieutenant was a man of parts?"

Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 139

Lady Imogen objected. "What are a whole company of Hindu against one hardened English soldier? Major Spence, for exam-ple, should never be parted from his treasure so easily!"

Her liquid eyes were dark with excitement, her voice throb-bing and low. I observed that while her gaze was fixed on Julian Thrace, Major Spence was observing
her;
as he did so, an ex-pression of pain crossed his countenance.

"The Lieutenant who seized them, to the ruin of their French owner, had his throat cut while he lay in that very inn which you, ma'am"--this, with a gracious acknowledgement of my mother--"have now the happy fortune to inhabit," Thrace continued. "The wounded man dragged himself to the publick house, wounded and bleeding, seeking refuge from his pur-suers. His body was discovered on the morning following--but of the rubies no trace was ever found."

"Perhaps this is the root of the cottage's ill-fortune," Mr.

Hinton observed languidly. "If your story is true, Thrace, the digger of the cesspit was not the first corpse to lie there. I dare-say it was the necklace that good-for-nothing ruffian French was searching for, in the depths of Mrs. Austen's cellar."

"But it will not do, man!" Mr. Prowting exclaimed, and threw down his napkin. "Shafto French was
drowned,
as the coroner has said. He cannot both have been treasure-hunting in the cottage cellar, and breathing his last in Chawton Pond!"

A slightly shocked silence followed this outburst; one which the clergyman Mr. Papillon had the grace to end.

"But in the case of the Earl's Indian story," he observed with a correct smile, as though improving an archbishop's views on Ordination, "nothing is clearer. Naturally the rubies were not to be discovered. The thieving Lieutenant gave up his booty with his life, and his murderer lived ever after on the proceeds."

"One should suppose no such thing," Mr. Thrace retorted, 140 ~ Stephanie Barron

"it being attested by those who study these matters, that the stones never afterwards came onto the market. What sort of thief makes away with a considerable prize, and does not at-tempt to profit by it? No, no, my dear sir--the Rubies of Chan-dernagar are in one of two places: either hidden beneath the stones of your own St. Nicholas's crypt, where the errant Lieu-tenant--already fearing for his life--placed them before receiv-ing his deadly wound; or concealed still about the grounds of the late inn."

My mother's looks were eloquent: a mixture of rapacity and uneasiness.

"And does our home accommodate the murdered soldier as well?" I demanded lightly, "--his ghost creaking of nights upon the stairs of the cottage, crying out for vengeance?"

"You may inform us whether it is so in the morning, Miss Austen."

Amidst general laughter, Lady Imogen protested, "For my part, I think it imperative that a search party be formed after dinner, as a kind of amusement, so that we might fan out across the countryside with lanthorns and dogs and discover the trea-sure. We might call the entertainment 'Hunt the Necklace,'

and begin in St. Nicholas's vestry!"

"Under the very flags of the church," murmured Mr. Papil-lon distractedly, "or perhaps in the crypt! I cannot believe it possible--for there are several of the Deceased newly-laid in that part of the building, you know, and I cannot recollect any irregularities about the interments."

"It is all a piece of horrid nonsense!" cried Ann Prowting with an arch look for Mr. Thrace, "but I am sure I shall not sleep a wink tonight, for gazing out my window at the cottage in my nightdress, in an effort to glimpse your ghost!"

"Let us hope, Miss Prowting," murmured Mr. Hinton acidly, Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 141

"you do not encounter Shafto French--or his murderers--instead."

When the ladies retired from the dining parlour, it was a most ill-suited party that collected around the tea table in the Great House drawing-room. Lady Imogen took herself off to the instrument standing near the tall windows giving out onto the lawn, there to turn over the leaves of music with a deeply preoccupied air; she showed no inclination to revive the sport of Hunt the Necklace. Ann Prowting threw herself into a chair and yawned prodigiously, her conversation confined to such peevish utterances as, "Cannot we get up a dance this evening? I declare I am
pining
for a ball!" Her mother con-tented herself with arranging the stiff black folds of her dress and conversing most animatedly to Maria Beckford of the mer-its of Benjamin Clement, RN, who was perhaps not unknown to that lady; Miss Beckford listened in any case with the attitude of a sparrow trained upon a worm. Miss Benn had seated herself on the opposite side of Mrs. Prowting and was industriously knitting; while Jane Hinton drew forth a volume of sermons from her reticule and commenced reading, lips visibly lisping over the inaudible words.

This left me a choice of companions until the appearance of the gentlemen should restore Henry to me: Miss Elizabeth Papillon, sister to the rector of St. Nicholas's and his spinster housekeeper, with whom I thus far had exchanged only curt-seys; and Catherine Prowting. Naturally, I chose to approach the latter.

She was a solitary figure positioned near the hearth, in which no blaze burned; her eyes were fixed upon the empty firedogs, and so painful an expression of unhappiness was in all 142 ~ Stephanie Barron

her bearing that I would have turned away without speaking to her, but for the sudden swift glance she gave me, and the lifting of her right hand as tho' in supplication.

"Are you unwell, Catherine?" I asked without preamble.

"Only this wretched head-ache," she replied in a suffocated voice. "I suppose I must ascribe it to the heat; but indeed I can-not bear it, and as soon as my father returns, I shall beg him to escort all our party home."

"Are you displeased with the party? Is the Bond Street Beau not to your liking?"

She flushed. "Mr. Thrace is a most gentleman-like man in every respect. I own I am pleasantly surprised. If only the rest of the company were so well chosen!"

"Should you not lie down? I might enquire of Miss Beckford whether there is vinegar-water, for bathing your temples--"

She shook her head fiercely, which I should have thought would increase her pain; but if so, she was determined not to re-gard it. "Miss Austen--you have lived in the world more than I, and know far more of . . . gentlemen, and such things. . . ."

"A little, perhaps," I returned guardedly; but my heart sank.

Was I about to receive an unlooked-for confidence, and be bur-dened hereafter with an intimacy I had not sought?

"If only I knew what I
ought
to
do,
" Catherine whispered, her fingers on her temples and her eyes closing in pain. "If only I understood my
duty.
"

"Duty is the clearest path we know," I told her. "It is the path of the
heart
that descends into obscurity."

These words seemed to arrest her thoughts. The fluttering hands fell to her sides, and her mouth opened in a soundless O.

At that instant, the drawing-room door opened and the gentlemen returned--faces flushed, heads thrown back in laughter at some jest of my brother's--all except one. Mr.

Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 143

Hinton alone was morose and solitary. His sneering gaze fell upon Catherine where she stood at my side, and I observed her to stiffen, her lips compressed. Then, with an attitude of resolu-tion, she approached her father and spoke low in his ear.

"All in good time, my dear," he said heartily. "All in good time. The night is young, you know--and the card tables about to be brought out!"

She looked despairing; but her mother and sister were in-sensible to her pleas of ill health, and determined to remain as long as possible in such interesting company; and so Catherine retired to the far end of the room, intending to form no part of the groupings around the tables.

In a few moments I observed Julian Thrace to join her there. He seemed to enquire after her health, and unlike Mr.

Hinton, I thought he should not be repulsed.

"Jane," my mother said indignantly as she approached the fireplace,
"wait
until you hear what that woman has been saying to me. I
will
not call her a lady; I will not
condescend
to offer her that distinction."

"Which woman, Mamma?"

"The Hinton creature. In her lisping, oily way she has de-sired me to understand that his lordship's treasure chest is everywhere known to be residing in our cottage, and that spec-ulation is rife as to the morals of my younger daughter. That
in-
timathy on both thideth undoubtedly exithted,
Miss Hinton would have me know,
without the benefit of the marriage vow,
is firmly es-tablished; and the horror of the ladies in the surrounding country, at being forced to acknowledge a hardened bit of muslin such as yourself--if only to remain on good terms with the Squire, whom she also suggested is of the lowest depravity imaginable, as evidenced by his heartless actions towards his tenants--is an insult from which the best local families are 144 ~ Stephanie Barron

unlikely to recover. As though you were a Cyprian of the most dashing kind! It is too bad, Jane, when all he left you was a quantity of paper! I could
cry
with vexation!"

"Miss Hinton said all this?" I demanded with amusement. "I am astonished at her powers of articulation."

"I do not mean to say she spoke it out plain," my mother re-torted impatiently, "but I am not so green that I cannot divine the meaning of a pack of lies. It is insupportable, Jane, that the Rogue should see fit to sink your character from his very grave!

And you not a penny the richer!"

"Lord Harold's notice remains one of the chief delights of my existence, Mamma," I answered quietly, "and I shall never learn to despise it. If I care nothing for the malice of a Jane Hinton, why should you listen to her words? It is all envy, igno-rance, and pride; and we need consider none of them."

My mother being very soon thereafter claimed for a table of whist, I was relieved of the necessity of calming her further, but longed to share Miss Hinton's absurdity with Henry--who should value it as he ought. That the spite of the lady sprang in part from the ill-will of the brother, I had little doubt; and won-dered whether Jack Hinton was determined to part Catherine Prowting from my dangerous company. The girl's indecision might account for the troubled looks, and pleas of a head-ache.

One fact alone in my mother's recital gave rise to appre-hension: that so many of the inhabitants of Chawton and Alton purported to know of my affairs, and were conversing freely about Lord Harold's chest. I had not yet accustomed myself to the littlenesses of a country village; and tho' I had perused some part of the chest's contents, I was not yet mistress of the whole. I resolved to spend the better part of the morning in achieving a thorough understanding of Lord Harold's early life.

Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 145

The resolution was strengthened by a chance comment from a surprising quarter: Lady Imogen Vansittart, who passed so near to me in her progress towards the gaming tables that she
must
speak, or appear insufferable.

"I find, Miss Austen, that we have an acquaintance in com-mon," she said with her bewitching smile. "The Countess of Swithin is my intimate friend. I believe you were acquainted with her uncle, the late lamented Lord Harold Trowbridge?"

"I have had that honour--yes," I replied.

"Poor Desdemona is very low. She practically lived in Lord Harold's pocket, from what I understand. And who can blame her, with
such
a father? Bertie is the meanest stick in the world--I should not be saddled with him for a parent for all the Wilborough fortune! Marriage was the wisest choice Mona ever made. It freed her from one form of imprisonment--tho' we must hope it did not throw her into another."

I was at a loss for a proper response to this observation, and so managed only to say, "I cannot wonder that the Countess should mourn her uncle. They were very good friends as well as relations."

"I understand Mona nearly rode out from London in search of you herself," Lady Imogen observed. "She was quite wild with fury that his lordship had left you all his papers.
Care-
less,
she called it."

A thrill of apprehension coursed through my body, setting it to tingling as tho' Lord Harold's hand had caressed my skin.

"Papers? What papers?"

"Those in the Bengal chest, of course. The diaries and cor-respondence his lordship guarded with such vigour in life."

Lady Imogen tossed me an arch look. "Do not play the village idiot with
me,
Miss Austen. The Great World has long been agog to know what was recorded of its vicious propensities in Lord 146 ~ Stephanie Barron

Harold's inscrutable hand. My own father--who has been inti-mate with his lordship these thirty years--would part with half my inheritance to know in what manner he himself figures in those pages, and which secrets have been let slip like the veriest cat out of the bag."

"Lady Imogen," said a gentle voice at my shoulder, "I believe you are wanted at the faro table. Mr. Thrace is attending you."

"Good God, Charles, do you wish to see me ruined?" Lady Imogen reached her hand to Major Spence's cheek, where he stood correctly awaiting her with no quarter offered his weak leg. "You know my luck is damnably out. There will be a line of duns a mile long awaiting us at Stonings, and you do not pre-vent me from wagering everything I have!"