Jane Austen Mysteries 08 Jane and His Lordship's Legacy (24 page)

"What of it?"

The child moved swiftly to her mother's side and stared at me with wide and frightened eyes.

"Would it be possible to talk a while," I attempted, "in pri-vate?"

"Do you go in search of your brothers, Mary," Mrs.

Philmore said. "They'll be down near the Wey, I'll be bound, fishing with young Zakariah Gibbs. Tell them their dinner's waiting. Go on, now."

The girl fled out a rear door, two washtubs visible in the grass beyond it. I waited until the door creaked shut behind her before speaking again.

"Mrs. Philmore, I know that your husband is detained in Al-ton gaol at this moment. He may be guilty of entering my home--he may even have taken something of great value that belongs to me--but I do not believe he murdered Shafto French."

Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 189

"He was home at midnight Saturday," she said stoutly, "like he said. I'll swear to that, to my dying day."

"I am sure you will. But Mr. Prowting thinks otherwise, and Mr. Prowting is magistrate for Alton, and determined to hang somebody for French's murder. I do not think it will concern him much if he hangs the wrong man."

In this, I may have done my neighbour an injustice; but my words had the effect I desired. Rosie Philmore closed her eyes, as if surrendering to a sudden shaft of pain, and drew a shud-dering breath.

"It's all on account of those jewels," she said.

I frowned. Had Thrace's tale of the rubies of Chandernagar reached so far as Alton?

"--That chest of yours, what the great man from London brought special in his carriage. People will talk of anything, ma'am. You're a stranger in these parts, so you're not to know.

Scandalous it was, how they talked--about the fortune you'd re-ceived from a dead lord, and what the man might have been paying for. I didn't listen no more than others--but Bert's ears grew so long with hanging on every word, I thought they'd scrape the floor by week's end. And then he told me, two nights past, the truth of the tale."

"The truth?"

She opened her eyes, still rocking the infant, and stared straight at me. "That 'tweren't jewels a'tall, nor gold neither, but a chest full of papers. Papers as somebody'd pay a good bit to see."

A thrill of apprehension coursed through me. "Your hus-band
knew
what the chest contained?"

"Of course. Heard it of his uncle, Old Philmore, he did."

"Old Philmore? But I am not even acquainted with the man."

"Old Philmore knew, all the same."

190 ~ Stephanie Barron

As had Lady Imogen. Was it she who set the joiner's family on to
stealing Lord Harold's papers?

"Your husband was engaged by Mr. Dyer to work at my cot-tage. He was also employed, I understand, at Stonings in Sherborne St. John--the Earl of Holbrook's estate. Was Old Philmore ever working there?"

"Of course. It was from Old Philmore my Bert learned his trade. He's a rare joiner, Old Philmore."

"Has your husband's uncle been to see you? Has he called upon Bertie, in Alton gaol?"

She appeared to stiffen, like a woods animal grown sud-denly wary of a trap.

"He'll be along, soon enough."

"You do not know where he is at present?"

"In Chawton. He lives there, same as yerself."

"Old Philmore has not been seen since your husband was taken up last night, Mrs. Philmore."

She leaned forward in her chair, the babe thrust into her lap. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

"Old Philmore appears to have fled. Is not that a singular coincidence? --That your husband should be sitting in gaol for a theft that cannot profit him, while his uncle is nowhere to be found?"

For an instant, I watched Rosie Philmore comprehend the import of my words. Then she laughed with a bitter harshness.

"Not if you know Bert's family, ma'am. If there's a way to turn a penny from hardship, Old Philmore'll find it."

From Normandy Street I made my way towards Austen, Gray & Vincent, feeling exposed to every eye and the subject of every chance conversation. Far more of my business was known Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 191

than I had understood before, and the knowledge could not help but make me uneasy. Lady Imogen had spoken of the exis-tence of Lord Harold's papers with easy familiarity; but this I had dismissed as the knowledge of a family friend. I must now as-sume the contents of the chest were also known to Major Spence and Mr. Thrace, with whom her ladyship was intimate; as clearly they were known to the Philmores and their circle. I could no longer suppose the information to be privileged.

Last night I had presumed the chest was stolen because of the rumour of fabulous wealth attached to it. I apprehended now that Lord Harold's legacy had been seized for exactly the reason it has always been so sedulously guarded by the solicitor Mr. Chizzlewit and his confederates--because of the danger in-herent in its communications. The theft had not been made at random: deep in the chest lay a truth that one person at least could not allow to be known. Was he content in having stolen the trunk and the dangerous memories it held? Or did the threat still walk abroad, with an intelligence that lived and breathed?

Was I even now in peril, by virtue of what I had already read?

I revolved what little of Lord Harold's history I had pe-rused. There were anecdotes of Warren Hastings; an old scan-dal of early love and a hasty duel; the animus between Lord Harold and one man--the Viscount St. Eustace--and his friendship for another, the Earl of Holbrook. A vague sugges-tion of activity on behalf of noble French emigres during the Reign of Terror, and Lord Harold's dedication to the salvation of a few; and the mention of Geoffrey Sidmouth, whom I had known myself in Lyme Regis some years before, and remem-bered with poignant affection. And then there was the French-woman named Helene, whom the Rogue first met while en 192 ~ Stephanie Barron

route from India to England in 1785. But I had found no firm indication as to the
father
of Helene's child, to whom he later referred. It was possible, I supposed, that Julian Thrace might claim to be the woman's son. But as to his paternity? Had Thrace been sired by her affianced husband, the Viscount St.

Eustace? Or by wild Freddy Vansittart, smitten on the
Punjab
?

Or Lord Harold himself ?

At that thought, I stopped dead in the middle of the High.

And saw again in my mind's eye the lazy beauty of Thrace's face.

It bore not the slightest resemblance to Lord Harold's sharp features; but neither did it resemble Lady Imogen Vansittart's.

And the Rogue, I felt sure, was the sort of man who should al-ways know his sons.

The truth was somewhere in Lord Harold's papers.

That the chest was seized on the very night I had dined with the intimates of Stonings, must cause me to believe that one of them--Lady Imogen, or Thrace himself--had long been aware of the danger Lord Harold's writings posed. One of them had hired Old Philmore and his nephew.

"Jane," my brother Henry said with a frown as I entered his rooms at No. 10, "it has been as I predicted. Julian Thrace has had the poor taste to stop here on his way to Sherborne St.

John, and require of me a
loan.
"

"Lady Imogen's Devil in the cards?" I enquired. "How much is demanded for the preservation of the Beau's honour?"

"All of five hundred pounds! --To be issued in notes backed by gold in my London branch! The effrontery of the fel-low, Jane, to presume on such a slight social acquaintance! But what else, after all, has Thrace ever done?"

"You
are
a banker, Henry--and I must suppose a gaming debt contracted in a gentleman's household is a pressing affair, that must be paid with despatch. Particularly when one is living cheek by jowl with the lady demanding payment."

Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 193

"He might have offered her his vowels," Henry retorted crossly, "and applied to friends in London for the whole.2 I can-not be easy in my mind regarding Thrace's security for any sum advanced to him, despite the Earl's apparent regard, and all the frenzy of activity in rebuilding Stonings."

"Perhaps you shall be easier once you have visited the place."

My brother merely stared.

"We are all invited to picnic there tomorrow--yourself ex-pressly desired by Major Spence, who should like to interrogate you regarding the Vyne hunt, Henry."

"But I had meant to return to London in the morning!"

"Poor sport, Henry! Consider the heat and stink of Town in such a season; and then, you know, nobody worth your notice is likely to be there."

"No more they are," he replied thoughtfully, "but Eliza is sure to have my head if I desert her in all the packing. We in-tended our removal for the end of July, you know--in time to join our friends in Scotland for the shooting months."

"August is weeks away," I said equably, "and if you stay in Hampshire, you might assist me in the treasure hunt."

"Not the rubies, Jane?"

"Mamma will have discovered those before the month is out," I told him dismissively. "No, Henry--it is Lord Harold's papers I mean to find. I am convinced they are even now well hidden at Stonings."

2 A person's "vowels" were his or her I.O.U.--a signed note promising re-payment of a debt of honor that could not be immediately settled.
--Edi-
tor's note.

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Chapter 16

If the Boot Fits . . .

7 July 1809, cont.

~

It was a pleasant thing indeed to find dinner on the table at my return--a roasted capon, a bit of white fish Sally had got by proxy from Alton, and beans from Libby Cuttle's garden--"her being that ashamed of herself, ma'am, when I told her how respectable you all were, and how good to me." I guessed that the inclusion in our household of a Chawton girl born and bred, with all the hundred ties of obligation and habit that knit her close to the surrounding country, must prove a de-cided advantage. Sally Mitchell was worth ten times the notice of a Mr. Middleton, in being related to the dairy man, the sheep farmer on her mother's side, and the fellow who mended tools from his cart each Wednesday; and to crown all, we should not be reduced to stratagems and subterfuge in order to buy bread Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 195

from the baker each morning. Even Cassandra had interro-gated the new housemaid and was satisfied--"for she is not un-intelligent, and will prove a useful set of hands in the stillroom, Jane--which you must know I intend to establish as soon as Martha Lloyd is arrived from Kintbury. And I find Sally is not at all incommoded by dogs, which is an excellent thing, as Link means to learn all about the stillroom--don't you, you cunning scamp?"

The stillroom meant Cassandra's orange wine; I should have to profit from my association with the Great in the days re-maining to me before Martha's return, and drink deep of the claret they offered.

Henry sat down with us in the dining parlour, and we had just enough chairs for four disposed around the table. Tonight was our first evening spent entirely
en famille
since our arrival, and the first in many days that Cassandra had enjoyed in her own abode. For ten months she had been resident at Godmer-sham--and I had almost despaired of my sister's ever return-ing, in the belief that Neddie must grow so dependant upon her as to regard her as another of his innumerable possessions.

I had broached the subject only once in Kent, during my visit there the previous month; but Cassandra had averted her eyes, and after a little hesitation observed, "Dear Fanny is quite a woman, now. It cannot be a comfortable thing, to see her aunt sitting always in her mother's place, and taking precedence. I flatter myself I have been useful among the little children--but with the boys soon to be returned to Winchester, and Fanny grown so capable . . . I cannot feel I am needed, Jane."

That truth must be a sorrow to Cassandra, who has made a kind of life from devoting herself to her brothers, as tho' the selflessness of her quiet ways must in some wise justify her hav-ing remained single when Tom Fowle died. We must each of 196 ~ Stephanie Barron

us in our own way earn the keep we require of our brothers'

pockets.

"There is this comfort at least," she concluded now. "Frank's Mary must be confined at any moment--and I shall be much in demand at Rose Cottage in Lenton Street, once the second child is arrived. How fortunate that we are not above a mile from her door!"

My sister is exceptionally
good,
and accepts the cruel injus-tice of her lot without complaint or reversion to the hopes of former days; but with advancing age, I have observed Cassan-dra's tendency to take pride in her very sublimation to the uses of others. I cannot admire it; it is too much like martyrdom. For my part, I have never been one to submit readily to denial.

"I wish that Mr. Thrace had been more exact in his intelli-gence regarding the necklace," my mother mused pensively as she stabbed a chicken thigh with her fork. "I have devoted quite three hours to turning over the earth in the back garden, and have only blisters on my palms to show for it, Jane."

"We must beg some cuttings from Miss Beckford's garden at the Great House, Mamma, and have you plant while you dig," I suggested. "Only this morning, she promised me a syringa and a plum sapling."

"As we are to meet with Mr. Thrace on the morrow, Jane, perhaps you could ascertain more narrowly where the rubies were hidden," Henry suggested with devilry in his eye. "I should not like all Mamma's work to be wasted; and, too, there is the trouble of thieves in the neighbourhood. What if they should come again by night, and profit from our labour?"

"Mamma may hit them stoutly over the head with her shovel, and so make an end to the business," I replied.

Scarcely had these words been spoken than we heard a knock upon the outer door, and having failed to discern the ap-proach of a visitor over the clamour of our own conversation, Jane and His Lordship's Legacy ~ 197