Page 13 of A Fortune Most Fatal (Miss Austen Investigates #2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jane and Neddy walk home in the early hours, as Roger had driven Elizabeth in the phaeton and Neddy insisted he stable the carriage and horses for the night rather than return. Rowling is a mere stone’s throw from Goodnestone. Jane imagines taking a pebble and skimming it across the fields, which are as flat as the surface of a lake. She is sure her brother Frank could do it, allowing the stone to bounce only three or four times before it reached its destination. Neddy had retrieved a pair of top boots he kept at the great house for whenever he joins Sir William in an impromptu bout of field sport. Further proof, if any was needed, of her brother’s tendency to wander from his own fireside whenever he pleases. A thoughtful maid had found a pair of ladies’ boots for Jane. Presumably they once belonged to Elizabeth or Henrietta, but the girl assured her they had long been discarded and would not be missed before she returned them. The buttery soft leather is of the best quality and they are in greater repair than the ones Jane brought with her from Steventon.

As Neddy walks ahead, his outline silhouetted by the rising sun, Jane fixes her eyes on his back and contemplates how best to interrogate her brother on his connection to Eleanor. Is there anything in Mrs. Wilmot’s testimony that could help draw the truth from him? She is mindful that, on several ill-fated occasions in the past, she has been guilty of leaping to conclusions and accusing others without just cause. Such injudicious behaviour laid her open to criticism and resulted in nothing but her own disgrace. On this occasion, she would rather not reveal her suspicions until she has enough evidence to make Neddy’s culpability for Eleanor’s appearance at Godmersham Park irrefutable. If Jane can gain this one advantage over him, she may be able to use it to force him to act in a manner that would protect the fortunes of his wider family.

Neddy half turns, flashing his strong profile against the pale morning light. “What did you make of Dr. Storer? You were talking to him for quite a while.”

Jane kicks small stones from the dusty footpath as she trudges after him. “If I wanted to listen to a quack for the rest of my life, I’d ask Mother’s advice on hatching a duck.”

He lets out a booming guffaw, sending the chaffinches nesting in the hedgerow into frenzied song. “I told Beth you’d be ill-suited. You seemed to have more in common with young Mr. Bridges.”

“We only danced together.” She bristles, preparing herself for a lecture on how she cannot afford to dally with Elizabeth’s younger brother when there are older, richer and altogether far less appealing prospects waiting to be snatched up.

They reach a stile, leading to a field of ripening wheat. Neddy offers his arm. “I know that. He’s a pleasant fellow. Not much of a sportsman, but I wouldn’t hold that against him.”

“Aren’t you going to warn me off ? I don’t think Beth would approve.” As she climbs over, reluctantly holding on to Neddy as lightly as she possibly can without risking injury, Jane’s skirt catches on a splinter of wood. She tugs it lightly to release it, cautious not to rip the delicate fabric on the post-and-rail fence.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. As you said, you were only dancing. And he won’t be here long enough for you to form a serious attachment. It was a relief to see you enjoying yourself. I was afraid your spirits had become rather oppressed since you arrived.”

“I’m merely tired, that’s all, what with helping Beth with the children and travelling to Godmersham every day. I’m not accustomed to so much gaiety.” Can Neddy sense Jane has grown wary of him? She does not wait for him to climb over the fence before she treads the narrow strip of hard-baked earth at the edge of the field. All around her, ears of wheat point to the sky, their stems still strong enough to support the tightly packed kernels of their burgeoning heads.

“I know you’re worried about Cassy. We all are. Her loss is still so fresh. Given time, she’ll rally.”

Neddy’s sudden mention of Cassandra causes Jane to falter. He is not worthy to utter her beloved sister’s name. He is hardly worthy to be an Austen at all. How dare he pretend to be so amiable, encouraging a friendship with the only interesting young man Jane has met in months, and expressing concern for her sister? He must be the real thespian in the family. James would be most incommoded to discover what a superior actor his younger brother is. As much as Jane wishes Neddy was right in his assertion about Cassandra, she scrutinizes every line of Mary’s letters for the truth of her sister’s condition and can see no evidence that she will ever recover. In her latest missive, Mary writes that Cassandra will not even leave her room. James has taken to sitting at her bedside, patting her hand as he composes verses to their dead companion. Poor Cassandra. As if she wasn’t suffering enough without the jarring accompaniment of James’s half-rhymes.

“I didn’t see you dance much. Were you in the card room?” Jane asks, unwilling to share her anxiety with such a brute.

“I was, more fool me. I lost two hands to Sir William. Pray don’t mention it to Beth. I fear she’ll have my guts to tie as garters if you do.”

Perhaps the rift between Neddy and his wife will prove an opening large enough for Jane to exploit. By examining Elizabeth’s concerns, she may be able to ascertain the extent of his own. “Oh dear. Is there often disagreement between the two of you?”

“I was speaking in jest,” he huffs, from several steps behind her.

“Everything is well, then, in your marriage?”

“Why wouldn’t things be well? We have everything we could ever wish for.”

“Do you, really?”

“Maybe not quite everything. You must understand, Beth expects a certain style of living. It can be difficult to keep up. She’s not used to roughing it, like one of us.” He laughs softly, leaving Jane wondering who “us” can be. Has Neddy failed to notice he keeps a manservant and a fashionable carriage, and was groomed to inherit a fortune, while the rest of his family eke out every penny? “And all marriages need work. Even if you begin with a fond fit, you invariably need to make accommodations for each other at some point.”

“Hmm …” Jane is in no mood for a lecture on fidelity, from Neddy of all people. “Only I can’t help but notice how nervous Beth appears to be.”

“Well, it’s getting very close to her time, and you know she’s very concerned about the situation with Mother.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’ve said I’ll handle the matter and I will.”

“Yes, but are you sure you haven’t done something to arouse Mrs. Knight’s displeasure?” Jane watches Neddy for any hint he is aware of his mother’s intentions.

His countenance remains unperturbed. “Has she said something to you to indicate she’s displeased with me?”

“Not to me, no,” she replies, thinking of the conversation she overheard between Mrs. Knight and Mr. Furley. Unfortunately, she caught only the tail-end, but Neddy’s mother must have expressed a great deal of disappointment with her son in the course of instructing her lawyer to transfer her fortune elsewhere. “But you don’t wait on her very often.”

“I admit I may be guilty of neglecting her of late. I am rather straitened for time. Alongside my own concerns at Rowling, Mother has me overseeing the management of the plantations, preparations for the harvest, repairs to the perimeter wall. If I have eschewed her company, it’s because I have been busy carrying out her commissions.”

The path is not wide enough for brother and sister to walk side by side. Neddy is forced to let Jane lead, while he follows. She wonders if Mrs. Knight, having some notion of his licentious ways, is deliberately keeping her son occupied. After all, the devil makes work for idle hands. “Shouldn’t that be her steward’s responsibility?”

“Yes, but Mother’s keen for me to oversee it. She’s always impressed upon me my duty to be useful to the neighbourhood. Besides, I can’t call on her at present because her house guest remains with her.”

Jane pauses, eyeing Neddy over her shoulder. “You’re keen to avoid Eleanor?” Perhaps he had not accompanied Mrs. Knight to Canterbury because he assumed Eleanor would be with her.

Neddy blusters, flapping his arms at his sides. “She, or rather Mother, will not admit me to her presence.”

“You were mistaken. I was attending to the Wilmots rather than Dr. Storer.” Jane takes a breath, readying herself to confront Neddy with the little she has learnt. “Dr. Wilmot is still under the impression he plucked Eleanor fresh from the waves, but his wife is not so convinced. She believes, as do I, that the girl was present in Whitstable before that morning. If so, someone must recognise her. Don’t you think?”

“I dare say you’re right.”

Jane refuses to move, blocking his path as she continues to level her gaze at him. “Do you recognise her, Ned?”

“Me? Where on earth would I recognise her from?”

“You certainly go abroad.”

“On estate business.”

“And sport.”

“You mean assisting Sir William in taking stock of the game rather than escorting Mother to Canterbury, I suppose. I had to, Jane. You can see he’s not in the best of health. And he may be my brother-in-law but he’s also my landlord. It’s important I remain on good terms with the baronet, as I am in his debt.”

Jane bites her cheek, resisting the urge to release her temper. Her brother is being deliberately obtuse. “Why did it take you an extra night to retrieve me from Dartford? Your wife certainly did not expect you to be away for so long.”

“I departed a day early to ensure I was there waiting when you arrived. Beth is not always sympathetic to my feelings towards my Steventon family, but I wanted to spend every second I could with Mother and Father before they were obliged to return. I so rarely see them, Jane. I so rarely see any of you. Why? Are you accusing me of something?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Jane wraps her shawl tighter around her shoulders and gives an exaggerated shiver as she walks on, hastening her step to put as much distance between herself and her brother as she can. She is tired of baiting Neddy to no effect, and desperate to kick off her borrowed boots and sink into bed. If their conversation has proved anything, it is that Neddy is adept at bending the truth to his advantage. He is too practised in the art of deception to disclose himself to Jane, and she does not yet have the information necessary to accuse him outright. The field emerges onto a narrow lane, snaking up to what must be the main road to Canterbury. Rowling is visible through a small copse, the tiled roof gleaming above the treetops. She heads straight towards it.

“Wait! We can’t go that way.”

“But I can see the house.” Jane climbs the steep bank and enters the modest woodland, sheltered by a cover of spindly alder and willow. The ground is soft underfoot, carpeted with graceful ferns. An old path, not quite grown over, runs straight through it.

“Come back, will you?” Neddy calls from the lane. “That’s one of Sir William’s favourite shooting spots.”

She ignores him, padding onwards through the dense foliage. “He’s hardly likely to be out at this hour, and I’m not walking all the way round to avoid disturbing his grouse. My feet are throbbing.”

Neddy comes crashing through the undergrowth, grabbing her wrist. “I mean it, Jane. You can’t cut through here.”

“Let go!” Jane tries to shake him off, but Neddy is holding her so tightly she fears her skin will bruise. There is an edge to his voice. It is the same sharp tone she overheard him use when arguing with Spooner in the lane. “You’re hurting me.”

He releases his grip, just enough to prevent it from smarting but not loose enough for her to walk on. “It’s too dangerous. There are traps.”

Jane casts her eye around the woodland floor, well shaded by the trees’ canopy. The ferns are up to her knees in places, but the path is clearly visible. “So? They’ll be in the undergrowth, not near the path. If Sir William’s gamekeeper is snaring hares, he’ll be careful to keep the traps away from where anyone might accidentally step on them.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Neddy’s eyes widen, features pained. “They’re man traps.”

“Mantraps!” Ever since she was a little girl, such instruments of devastation have been the subject of Jane’s imagination—and her nightmares. Yet she has never seen one in real life. Plenty of rabbit and other game traps, but never anything designed to wound, trap or even kill a fully grown man. According to the advertisements in her father’s agricultural magazines, the giant spring-loaded steel jaws can weigh more than six stone and have teeth an inch and a half long. She is both repulsed and strangely thrilled at the notion of stumbling across one. “But why?”

“He’s grown intolerant of poachers. We’d probably be safe walking single file on the footpath, but I don’t want to risk it. Or get into the habit of cutting through this way. I’m always warning the staff to stick to the lane. If they see me taking the shorter route, they’re bound to follow. And God forbid the children get the impression it’s safe to play in these woods.”

Jane claps a hand over mouth, sickened at the prospect of Fanny or Ted being clamped in half. “You must tell Sir William to remove them. Now, before the little ones are old enough to wander off on their own.” She tries to remember when she was considered mature enough to play unsupervised. Come to think of it, she cannot remember a time when she was not free to roam out of doors.

“I have. I will. And I’m sure he’ll relax his efforts once the Enclosure Bill goes through.”

“He’s enclosing the estate?” An increasing number of landowners are applying to Parliament for permission to fence off great swathes of what was previously thought to be “common land,” thus ending the freedom to graze animals and gather kindling that the lowliest members of society have enjoyed since time immemorial. Jane is forced to listen to her father rant against the practice for hours every time a new Act is reported in the newspaper. “That’s abominable.”

“It’s his right, as squire. Otherwise it’s too tempting for his tenants to help themselves. He lost so many birds last year that the hunting party was rather an anticlimax.”

“And we can’t have families providing for themselves when there’s sport to be had.” Despite herself, Jane’s voice rises with her ire.

“It’s more complicated than that, Jane. He’s only enclosing a few choice shooting spots. Hopefully, it’ll give him the peace of mind to remove these ghastly devices. I don’t agree with them either. But it’s his land, not mine.”

“Would you enclose Godmersham in the same manner?” Jane may not be able to pass judgement on the way Neddy manages his marriage, but she can at least take him to task over the way in which he intends to govern his land. If he ever inherits it.

“I won’t have to. There’s already an eight-foot wall running all the way around it.”

“The park is walled off, yes. But what about the commons and the meadows that make up the wider estate? There are bound to be families who’ve relied on access to it for generations.”

Neddy shrugs. “I’ll see. I’d rather not.”

“Good.” Jane is glad some part of her parents’ pragmatism has been communicated to their most affluent son.

“It’s an awful lot of trouble and expense to go to, if I don’t have to.”

Jane recoils, drawing her arm away from her brother’s grasp. It’s an Act of Parliament Neddy is keen to avoid, not starving and freezing his tenants. His principles are risible. She turns her face towards the wilderness, lest he see her contempt for his character writ across her features. Through the greenery, at the base of an ancient alder, something glints. Is it a deadly contraption, or are her eyes deceiving her? “Show me the trap, before we go.”

“There’s one.” Neddy puts a hand to her waist and guides her, as if they are dancing, two steps further along the footpath. “See, at the base of the alder with the bleeding canker?”

As Jane gets closer, the livid bruises scarring the tree move into sight. The ugly marks blotch the pale green trunk, oozing reddish-brown sticky liquid down to the woodland floor. The gamekeeper will have set the trap at the base of the distinctive tree so that he could keep track of it. The ferns, rising in a perfect circle, signal the earth has been disturbed. Most of the mechanism is covered with greenery, leaving only a few jagged iron teeth exposed. A strange, nefarious desire pulls Jane towards it, tempting her to walk right into the deadly device. Is this the same thrill that Neddy experiences when stepping outside the bounds of loving husband and doting father—the triumph of staring one’s own destruction in the face, and cheating it?

“That’s enough. Promise me you won’t come back and try exploring on your own.”

“Very well, I promise,” Jane says meekly, letting him tug her back towards the lane. All the way, she fights the urge to twist her neck and look back into the jaws of death. Who would have thought such an ugly device could be hidden among such a pretty wilderness? The Garden of England is fraught with more danger than she imagined. Beneath the bucolic scenery, barbaric devices are laid out by men who feel the need to hoard their wealth and stake ownership of that which ought not to be owned. For now, Jane is content to let Neddy lead her to safety, but if she wants to know the truth, she’ll have to find her own way.