Page 16 of A Fortune Most Fatal (Miss Austen Investigates #2)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The following morning, the air is crisp but heavy with the promise of heat yet to come. The pink roses stretching across the facade of Rowling House tentatively loosen their petals, as if all too aware they are about to be scorched by the blazing sun. Mr. Bridges sits on the bench of his two-wheeled gig in his too-tight breeches, looking immensely pleased with himself. Really, his attire is most impractical. The slightest sudden movement and the seam between groin and buttocks would give way entirely. “Good morning, Jane.” He smiles, revealing sharp canine teeth.
“Mr. Bridges.” Jane ignores his outstretched hand in favour of the handle to hoist herself into the gig.
“I’ve told you to call me Brook.”
“And I expressly have not given you permission to address me by my Christian name.” She wraps her pelisse around herself, and shuffles into the corner of the seat, as far away from him as possible. It is no good: her knee remains in danger of scraping his thigh.
“You’re prickly this morning.”
Jane ignores him. She is prickly. She has a conundrum to solve. Somehow, she must obtain one of Captain Fairbairn’s letters and a slip of paper from Neddy’s study, without aggravating Mrs. Knight or causing either of the Susans strife with her mistress. If the paper matches, Neddy can hardly deny sending them, and can Jane use this knowledge to persuade him to reform his licentious ways. Even if Mrs. Knight knows about his involvement in Eleanor’s downfall, it may not be too late to save his prospects. Eleanor has revealed herself to be far too unstable to manage a grand estate and, if Neddy is duly contrite, Jane is hopeful Mrs. Knight could be persuaded to forgive him. In the meantime, she will return to her earlier plan of interrogating the Riding Officer. There must be something about the circumstances in which Eleanor was found that will reveal who she is and where she came from. And, after dwelling on it all night, Jane concedes Elizabeth is right. She must school herself to remember that no good can possibly come of her developing a preference for Mr. Bridges. Thankfully, he is doing his utmost to prevent her from finding him agreeable, as he tips a small quantity of snuff onto the back of his hand and snorts it noisily up his left nostril.
“That’s a disgusting habit.” She tuts to underscore her disapproval.
“I know, but what’s a gentleman of fashion to do? One must comply with the times.” He tucks the snuff box inside his frock coat before replacing his gloves and gathering the reins with both hands. “Shall we?”
Jane nods, and he works his chestnut cob into an easy canter. It has not rained since Jane arrived in Kent and the countryside is showing signs of being parched. Sprays of creamy elderflowers weigh down the tired shrubs lining the hedgerow, and wilting umbels of cow parsley spill lazily into their path. As they advance towards Canterbury, Mr. Bridges explains he will take the new turnpike road to the coast so that he can give the horse licence to gallop. This news does not thrill Jane in the way he intended. The gig is so light, she fears the slightest bump will overturn it, sending them both somersaulting through the air to meet their maker in spectacular style.
“So,” he glances at her, from beneath the brim of his tall-crowned hat, “what are we really about in Whitstable?”
Jane flinches, “As your sister instructed. We’re to run her errands.”
“Come now, it must be more than that.”
“Why?”
“Your eyes. They’re sparkling. Even more so than usual. It’s as clear as daylight you’re up to something. And whatever it is, I want in on it. Remaining in the country for too long can leave a gentleman vulnerable to the most terrible ennui. I need you, Jane. You’re the only one who can rescue me from myself.”
Jane diverts her gaze. All around, the gently sloping fields are planted with neat rows of apple trees, speckled with pink and white blossom. As she pretends to admire the view, she is acutely aware of Mr. Bridges watching her, waiting for an answer. Heat rises in her cheeks at the prospect of his scrutiny. She cannot reveal all and risk this would-be Lothario blundering into her investigation. Or, worse, alerting Neddy that she is on to him.
She opts to distract him: “Why do you remain at your family seat if you find it so objectionable? I thought your appearance at the Midsummer Ball was a mere break on your journey to the Highlands.”
“Indeed, I’m determined to see Scotland before the summer is behind us. A very dear friend from Oxford is expecting me.” Mr. Bridges passes both reins into one hand so that he can scratch the back of his long neck. “But I’ve … er … rather overspent my allowance. And I can hardly arrive empty-handed at McBride’s castle. So, I’m waiting for my brother to throw me some coin. Alas, he’s doggedly determined not to part with any.”
“Oh …” Jane folds her arms across her chest. Mr. Bridges remaining in Kent has nothing to do with her. He is simply a profligate, who is used to being indulged by his rich relations. When will she learn to be properly wary of a gentleman’s intentions?
“I expect William will keep me here for at least a fortnight, while he gives me a set-to about applying myself to my studies, not to mention deciding on a profession. Then, before he knows it, he’ll relent and send me on my way with a more generous handout than I asked for. I merely have to wait for him to grow tired of admonishing me. Or of me making a nuisance of myself. Whichever comes first. It’s very trying, not having one’s independence.”
“Hmm …” Jane glances sidelong at him. She should have known he’d be just like his brother. Sir William is so accustomed to the privilege of his circumstances that, rather than exercising the moral responsibility that should rightfully accompany it, he guards his riches jealously. Through his adoption and marriage, Neddy has become as entitled as the rest of his set.
“What? Spare me your judgement. I’ve already sat through more lectures since I got home than I attended during the entire Michaelmas term.”
“Really, Mr. Bridges.” They are only a few miles into their journey, and Jane is already sick of his complaining. She may be obliged to defer to the baronet and suffer her sister-in-law’s self-absorption, and she is certainly resolved to win at the long game with Neddy, but there is nothing to bar her from speaking her mind to this impudent coxcomb. “You’re a young, able-bodied gentleman, well educated and from an excellent family. Can you not see that you have every advantage in making your way in the world? Are you so impotent that, with such an array of intellectually stimulating and lucrative opportunities open to a man of your good breeding and connections, you cannot decide which one to grasp first?”
Mr. Bridges’s jaw settles on his cravat. Evidently a Bridges lecture isn’t enough to prepare one for an Austen-style castigation. “I … I will. I just need a little more time, that’s all. There are so many factors to consider.”
Jane runs her eyes over his frame. A small part of her cannot resist comparing his person to Tom Lefroy. She is shocked to realise his lithe limbs do not come off too unfavourably. “Have you considered the law, for example?”
“Too dull.” Mr. Bridges sniffs. “I haven’t the patience for it.”
In Jane’s experience, the law is sadly anything but dull. But she supposes he is right in that it takes a studious mind to comprehend the myriad ways in which it can be applied to one’s advantage. “The navy, then? I have two brothers at sea. Frank has recently been appointed lieutenant on board a new frigate. Charles is only a midshipman, but he’s so bold we have high hopes he’ll be made an officer, too. And then they’ll both have a chance of winning their fortune.” Either that or be killed in action, Jane does not think it will be helpful to add.
Mr. Bridges fixes her with his honeyed brown eyes, one dark brow quirking in provocation. “I may appear to you to be in the prime of my life, Jane, but I believe I would already be considered too old to join the navy. Besides, although I was raised by the sea, I am no seaman. I suffer from acute mal de mer. ”
“The army?” she continues, ignoring his outrageous coquetry.
He tilts his head to one side, pretending to consider her advice in earnest. “Well, the regalia certainly appeals. I do think I’d look rather dashing in scarlet. But …” He trails off.
“But?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a war on. And I am a terrible coward. I faint at the sight of blood.”
Jane pokes her tongue into her cheek to still her laughter. It is impossible not to warm to a man who can own his inadequacies. “What about trying for a seat in Parliament?”
“Do you mind? I do have some principles.” He shakes the reins as if casting off her insult. “No, if I had the power of forcing people to listen to me, I’d be a poet and proclaim in verse my objections to sacrificing any more of our countrymen at the feet of the French.”
This causes Jane to check herself. She had not known Mr. Bridges had philosophical tendencies—but perhaps she might have guessed. While the government is determined to quash any dissent to the war on British soil by means of military might, there remain a few who dare to express their dissatisfaction by means of the quill. What would Elizabeth say if she knew her brother was prone to seditious fancies? “That won’t do. There’s no money to be had in writing. Not in my experience, anyway.”
He flashes her a conspiratorial grin, “Neddy boasts you compose your own stories. May I read one?”
“No.” She surprises herself by snapping. While she is delighted to hear that Neddy has shared his esteem for her compositions with his wife’s family, even if he will not indulge her by listening to them, she cannot allow Mr. Bridges to read her work. It would create an intimacy between them she is not prepared to permit. “I cannot trust you not to steal my ideas and pass them off as your own.”
“You’re probably right. Plagiarism is my one academic strength. No, all things considered, it’ll probably end up being the Ch—”
“Oh, for the love of God. Please, don’t say it.”
“The Church? What’s wrong with being a clergyman? My brother will soon have it in his power to provide me with a decent living. The present incumbent of Holy Cross is almost as Gothic as the building itself.”
“It’s not that there’s anything wrong with the Church, per se. I just feel it lacks imagination, when there are so many other avenues open for you to explore. It must be the oldest profession known to man.”
“Not quite the oldest. Now that really would be a bold choice.” He cocks his brow at her, and Jane’s cheeks flush: she has just compared priesthood to prostitution.
“Are you sure you won’t consider the militia? That way, you wouldn’t have to do any actual fighting until the French invade. And everyone will have to take up arms then.”
“Will you choose a sabre or a pike, do you think?”
“Stop with your jests.” Jane laughs at the image of herself armed to enter the fray. She does not tell him that her friend and Tom’s aunt, Mrs. Lefroy, is so concerned about the imminent French invasion that she sleeps with a spiked club under her bed. A moment later, she catches her breath: Mr. Bridges’s prevarication over his intended profession could be her ticket to enter the garrison. She would dearly love to be proved wrong about Neddy and find Captain Fairbairn does exist. Even if Jane is disappointed in her search, and there is no such person entered on the roster, this information is bound to prove helpful when she eventually confronts her brother. “Why don’t you speak to a recruiting officer? There must be one at Sir Edward Hale’s new facility in Canterbury. I’ll come with you.”
“Absolutely not. I shan’t go near that dreadful place. Why are you so passionate about turning me into a soldier? Are you working on commission? I’d better not come in for refreshment when we get back to Rowling, lest I find the King’s shilling nestled among my tea leaves.”
“I’m speaking in earnest. My brother Henry was all set to enter the Church but he volunteered for the militia instead. Now he’s a captain and acting paymaster for the Oxfordshires. By all accounts, he’s doing very well for himself.”
“Ah, but I’ll wager he’s not doing quite as well as the brother who is set to inherit his wealth.”
Jane tries to keep her features placid. It is more than a week since Mrs. Knight visited her lawyer. The widow must have her doubts about transferring her estate to Eleanor now that she has witnessed her strange outbursts, but that does not mean she has reinstated Neddy in her affections or her will. As Elizabeth pointed out, Godmersham Park is Mrs. Knight’s to dispose of as she sees fit. “No, not quite as well as that.”
Mr. Bridges lets out a defeated sigh. “Unfortunately, a legacy is the most expedient route to one’s independence.”
They drive on in silence until Jane realises that, in reconciling himself to take holy orders, Mr. Bridges is showing far more diligence than his sister expects. She cannot resist testing him on it. “I didn’t think you’d need to lower yourself to enter a profession. Beth says you’re to marry your fortune.”
“Ugh …” He slumps forward, elbows resting on his knees as he steers the horse. “Look, Jane. Far be it for me to speak ill of my own sister, but you must have noticed Beth’s a bossy old trout. After my mother died, she took it upon herself to act as matriarch. Nobody asked her to, and her interventions are far from welcome. She’s forever placing her oar where it’s not needed, telling the rest of us how to go on.”
“Well, I …” Jane reaches for a tactful answer, but it seems she’s prodded a particularly sensitive spot and there is no need for her to say anything at all, even if she agrees.
“Don’t believe everything she tells you. When I’m ready, I’ll make my own decision. She’s even worse with my sister. Hen had begun to despair of ever receiving an offer. Now she’s finally secured the attentions of a respectable country parson, but Beth keeps raising objections. She doesn’t think he’s smart enough to be one of the family, but it shouldn’t be her opinion that matters. Hen is the one who will be obliged to live with her choice.”
“That’s appalling.” No wonder Henrietta’s taste in music is so melancholy: she must be pining for her forbidden love.
“You might have met the gentleman. He has the living of a place on the Godmersham estate. What’s it called? Crudner? Crummy-vale?”
“Are you referring to Crundale?”
“That’s the one. Do you know it?”
Stunned, Jane sinks back into the seat. It seems Elizabeth is far more of a strategist than Jane had previously given her credit for. Perhaps it is she who should be introduced to the King’s recruiting officer if the British forces are to outwit Bonaparte. “No, but Beth is certainly very keen to send me there. Ideally for good.”
“She’s not trying to lure away the good cleric by dangling you in front of him, is she? Poor Hen won’t stand a chance. What a shame. She’s never warmed to any of the fools Beth has thrown her way previously, but I do believe she has a genuine preference for Mr. Blackall.”
“On the contrary, I have no intention in becoming mistress of Crundale Parsonage. Please inform Henrietta her sweetheart is quite safe with me.” Jane cannot understand why Henrietta would want to be Mrs. Blackall either but, as her brothers’ choices of mate have consistently taught her, there is no disputing taste. She wonders if the clergyman’s loyalty to Henrietta is the real reason he failed to escort her to Whitstable.
“You see?” Mr. Bridges laughs. “If Beth is trying to govern your marital prospects, too, we have more in common than we do apart. We should form an alliance, while I’m here. You can start by telling me the true purpose of our visit to Whitstable.”
Jane dips her chin, fearing her flushed cheeks will confirm her duplicity. She retrieves her tired old pocketbook from her reticule and pretends to check her list. “First, I must visit the haberdasher and barter a good deal on muslin. Then it’s on to the fishmonger, where I shall place an order for a hefty quantity of shellfish. And then …”
One corner of Mr. Bridges’s mouth turns up. “And then?”
Jane eyes him carefully. He has been charged with escorting her to the coastal town and back safely. There is no way she will be able to complete her mission without confiding at least some of the details in him. “And then I’d like a brief interview with the Riding Officer.”
“Ha, I knew it!” He drops the reins from one hand to slap his lean thigh. “You’re out to discredit that flimflammer Mrs. Knight has taken in, aren’t you?”
Jane presses the pocketbook to her chest, opening her eyes wide and batting her lashes. “What on earth would give you that impression?”
“Beth told me about her. She’s a threat to your brother’s inheritance. And we both know how critical an inheritance is. Even, or should I say especially, when it’s not your own.”
“I simply want to get to the bottom of her story. That’s all.”
“You should have come straight out with it. I’d be more than happy to do your bidding. It will provide an excellent distraction from my own concerns.”
Jane peers at him, trying to decipher if he is sincere. How is a lady to know, before it is too late? One thing she cannot deny is that she is in need of an accomplice and this pliable young man is eager to fill the vacancy. “And you won’t tell Beth? Or Neddy? Or anyone else for that matter?”
Mr. Bridges shakes his head vigorously. “Absolutely not. You have my word as a gentleman. How thrilling, to be taken into your confidence.”
Jane stuffs the pocketbook back inside her reticule. “Don’t make this out to be anything more than it is. You’re a convenience to me, that’s all.”
“Oh, I understand completely. Now, let’s hurry up and fetch your bobbins and whelks and whatnot so we can get to the exciting part of our little adventure together.” He gathers the reins, prompting the horse forward.
Jane digs her teeth so hard into her bottom lip to prevent herself from smiling that she fears she’ll draw blood. Despite her best efforts, she is genuinely enjoying the young man’s company. It is an attraction that could prove most inconvenient. She is not prepared to expose her heart again and she reminds herself that, even if she was, it would be reckless to form an attachment to such an unsuitable choice. As a younger son, Mr. Bridges can no more afford to marry Jane against his family’s wishes than Tom Lefroy. Elizabeth has already stated her objections to such a match and she expects Sir William will be inclined to agree with her. What a shame so many brothers lie, or rather stand, between Mr. Bridges and the magnificent Goodnestone House.