Page 20 of A Fortune Most Fatal (Miss Austen Investigates #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I cannot comprehend what you are telling me.” Elizabeth places her cup in its saucer. “If the girl, Eleanor, Agnes or whatever we are supposed to call her, has admitted she lied to elicit sympathy and accepted your mother’s hospitality under false pretences, why have you not charged her with deception?”
As Elizabeth was asleep by the time Jane and Neddy returned from Crundale, Neddy has been relaying the events of the previous evening to his wife over breakfast. At some point during the service, probably amid Mr. Blackall’s lengthy sermon, Mrs. Knight had confided to Neddy that Agnes had confessed to being nothing more exotic than a destitute Irishwoman. Elizabeth is responding to the news with all her usual sweetness of temper. “You’re the magistrate. It’s your duty to ensure justice is served. She’s owned to being guilty of vagrancy. She should be locked in a pillory and flogged in front of the entire parish.”
Neddy pours himself more coffee. The dark circles beneath his eyes indicate his night was as devoid of sleep as Jane’s. Judging by how cordial he and Mrs. Knight were when they left the service, Jane does not believe he confessed to any involvement with Agnes’s past. “It’s also my duty to comply with Mother’s wishes, and she has no wish to see the girl punished.”
“She’s a vagrant. Why is your mother condoning her crimes?”
“Mrs. Knight simply wishes to be charitable,” says Jane. Although she does not yet know how charitable, she is confident Mrs. Knight will have revised her plan to transfer her fortune to Agnes. While she may wish to continue supporting the girl, it is clear Agnes is not capable of bearing the responsibility of being a wealthy landowner. Her affliction would leave her vulnerable to exactly the kind of trickster Jane once thought her to be. “Providing Agnes with a refuge is her way of paying alms.”
“But for how long does she intend to keep her?” asks Elizabeth.
Jane has no answer for this. It is tempting to reveal the reason Mrs. Knight cannot release Agnes is that she is being threatened by a vicious scoundrel, and that if Neddy would only use his powers as justice of the peace to locate and prosecute Captain Fairbairn, he would clear the way for her to depart. But even if Neddy agreed to help, Agnes is in no fit state to testify. Jane may take her word for the abuse she suffered at the captain’s command, but she doubts Agnes’s performance would be enough to satisfy a judge and a jury. Rape is a capital crime and men have been known to hang for it. When Frank was serving as a midshipman on the Perseverance, one of the men was found guilty of raping another’s child aboard the ship and sentenced to death. But in Agnes’s case, so much time has passed since her initial abduction, it would be impossible to prove. Her fragile state would make her testimony all too easy for the defence to pick apart. And, with no guarantee of victory, a trial would be a terrible ordeal that would most likely exacerbate her confusion.
The captain would stand a far better chance of being served justice if Jane could bring forth another to corroborate her story about the shipwreck. Unfortunately, Mrs. Austen is yet to reply to her letter and Jane is growing so anxious she has even contemplated writing to the innkeeper. Alas, she fears her witness will prove to be one of many grey-bearded, pipe-smoking old men, who like to sit by the fire and spout what sounds suspiciously like nonsense.
“For as long as that girl is tolerated at Godmersham Park, she remains a threat,” Elizabeth continues, fixing her husband with an icy glare. “I will not be able to rest until your mother dismisses her entirely.”
Jane’s sister-in-law speaks more truth than she realizes. Agnes attracts danger. The captain is a ruthless, violent man and, by his own admission, he will stop at nothing to silence her. He has already tried to enter Godmersham Park, and Jane fears he has an accomplice, possibly in the shape of the cook or even Armand, who will allow him entry whenever he is ready to strike again. She can only hope Mrs. Knight’s increased security measures are enough to prevent him from gaining admittance. She remembers Agnes’s warning: He will smother anyone who stands between us. By continuing to harbour the girl, Mrs. Knight is placing herself and her household in peril. Jane must find a way to warn her that Fairbairn’s threats should be taken in earnest.
Without saying a word, Neddy scrapes his chair from the table. He tears his napkin from his collar and throws it onto his unfinished breakfast, sending egg yolk splattering across the white linen.
“Where are you going?” asks Elizabeth.
“Out.”
“Don’t think of disappearing, not today. You’re to escort Jane on a picnic.”
“A picnic?” Neddy’s neck flushes red.
“Yes. Remember how taken she was with the remains of St. Augustine’s Abbey on Sir Edward Hale’s estate? I’ve persuaded Lady Hale to grant her permission to enjoy a closer viewing.”
“You have?” Jane pictures the tumbledown ruin she spotted on the way from Canterbury. She had described it to Elizabeth in order to provoke some compassion for the sisters lodging at Briar Farm, doing her utmost to make their destitution sound like a romantic tragedy. It was kind of Elizabeth to follow up on her throwaway remark. Almost suspiciously so.
“Can’t that wait?” asks Neddy. “I’ve important matters to attend to.”
“This is an important matter. Jane’s time with us is coming to an end, and she’s made no progress at all in securing her future.” In all the commotion, Elizabeth did not appear to have noticed that her plan to thrust Jane and Mr. Blackall together was thwarted. But now Jane’s indomitable sister-in-law pulls an ace from her sleeve. “Lady Hale’s former housekeeper, Mrs. Roche, has volunteered to give you a guided tour of the site at noon. More to the point, Mr. Blackall and Dr. Storer have both confirmed their attendance.”
“Have they, indeed?” Jane crosses her arms tight over her chest but she does not object. While she has no desire to see Mr. Blackall again, she is willing to give Dr. Storer a chance to redeem himself as a physician if not a suitor. Given the doctor claimed to have encountered Agnes’s condition before, he may know of a medical precedent for treating it. If anything can be done to ease Agnes’s torment and make her a more credible witness, it would be remiss of Jane not to solicit his advice. Can the girl really be so frightened that she constructed Princess Eleanor, and then, for a time, convinced herself she was really her? Jane is incredulous. And, yet, who better than Jane to understand? She, who longs to wear another’s cloak so that she can say and do the things in her stories that she could never allow herself to do in real life.
But even Jane does not give herself to her characters entirely. She holds them at the sharpest point of her pen. Maybe that is why The Sisters remain a pair of card cut-outs, rather than lifelike portraits. What would happen if Jane were to allow herself to delve inside the mind and heart of Miss Dashwood, evoking all her innermost thoughts and feelings? Could she, should she, do such a thing? She may very well risk her equilibrium in recording the torment of her own grim fortitude in Miss Dashwood, even worse, by confronting the extent of her fears for Cassandra’s sanity through Marianne’s determined path to self-destruction. But, then, giving herself fully to her work might just be the saving of her wits. She dismisses the terrifying thought, returning her attention to her sister-in-law. “Would you like me to flirt with both gentlemen at once or by turns?”
Elizabeth chews her toast thoughtfully, one hand holding the bread, while the other flicks crumbs from her swollen belly. “I do believe you’re finally catching on. There’s nothing like a little competition to strengthen a man’s desire.”
Neddy sighs, still lingering on the threshold. “Then you’ll have to accompany her, since it was you who made the arrangements.”
“Don’t be a blockhead, Ned.” Jane’s patience with her oafish brother is stretched so thin it’s becoming brittle. “She’s about to be brought to bed. Whatever business you have can wait.”
“I’m afraid Jane’s right.” Elizabeth takes a sip of tea, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “It would be inadvisable for me to wander so far from home at this late stage. And when we were filling the hamper, Cook and I noticed the larder is in a terrible state. If we don’t clear it out soon, it’ll be infested with mice come winter. We’re going to take everything off the shelves and give it a good scrub.”
Neddy glowers at the pair of them, “Surely that’s the kitchen girl’s job.”
“Indeed, but it’s imperative I’m there to supervise. You know the servants can never be trusted if left to their own devices. I want everything spick and span before the new baby arrives.”
A cold drip of dread runs down Jane’s spine. She’s witnessed this urgent need to put the world to rights before. James’s late wife, Anne, insisted he replace all the curtain rails and re-thatch the poultry house immediately before her pains began. Elizabeth is nesting. Which means, very soon, she’ll be lying in. There may be another three weeks before the baby was anticipated but, at any moment now, Elizabeth’s labour will commence and Jane will be called upon to assist. If only Cassandra would respond to her letters asking what she should do. But Mary writes that, although Cassandra now allows herself to be laced into a house gown each morning and joins the family in the parlour for their meals, she barely touches her food and remains entirely mute. All this despite Mary’s best efforts to tempt her appetite with such irresistible delicacies as ox cheek and cold souse. Jane even wishes her mother was there to bark instructions in her impatient tone. Assistant midwife is not a role Jane was ever intended for. How is she to bear it?
“There was a light shower earlier, but now it looks to remain fine.” Elizabeth stares pointedly out of the window. “I’ve instructed Susan to wrap the children up for the carriage ride and to pack a change of clothes in case of any accidents.”
Neddy’s ire looks set to explode. “We’re taking the children?”
“It’s a picnic. Of course you’re taking the children.” Elizabeth’s forbearance sounds just as fragile. “They wouldn’t want to miss it.”
“I’ll manage them, Ned,” Jane volunteers. She can cling to her niece and nephews as a shield against Mr. Blackall’s instruction, but she fears she may need to find a more compelling distraction for the clergyman if she’s to consult Dr. Storer on the delicate matter of Agnes’s condition.
“Thank you, Jane. And Conker. Don’t forget to take the dog, will you?”
“Why should we take the dog? We’re not going shooting,” Neddy replies.
“Well, neither am I!” Elizabeth retorts.
Neddy harrumphs as he resigns himself to his fate. “I’ll go and ready the carriage.”
Elizabeth rubs her belly, and gives a satisfied sigh, and Jane realises that, rather than being solely for the purpose of marrying her off, the picnic is an elaborate ploy to get everyone out from under her feet. The poor woman is subject to the demands of her rowdy family day and night. Since Jane arrived, Elizabeth has not enjoyed so much as five minutes of peace. With her very real concern over her children’s fortunes, added to her apprehension of her own impending trial, it is understandable she should wish to banish the lot of them. In her current state, Elizabeth is clearly not a woman to be trifled with. But, happily, neither is Jane. Before she finishes her breakfast, she tears a page from her pocketbook and scrawls a note to Mr. Bridges instructing him to convey Henrietta to the ruined abbey for a serendipitous encounter with her sweetheart, bribing a groom to deliver it to Goodnestone forthwith. Hopefully, Henrietta is as artful as her sister and will command all of Mr. Blackall’s attention. A terrible picture of herself imprisoned in Crundale Parsonage, surrounded by earthenware tankards in the shape of little men and Mr. Blackall’s big-boned children, flashes through Jane’s mind. She gives a shudder and washes away the horrifying image with a gulp of sweetened tea. Now, that really would be enough to drive her insane.