Page 22 of A Fortune Most Fatal (Miss Austen Investigates #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

By the time Neddy’s phaeton, loaded with tired, fractious children, draws up at Rowling, Jane is determined to confront her brother. Neddy is a liar and a licentious brute. The Knights elevated him in society and made him their heir, and he repays their generosity by squandering his allowance on debauchery while his wife is carrying his child. The reason he is short on funds is that he is reduced to paying Captain Fairbairn to maintain his silence over his dissolute habits. Jane must apply the same pressure to force her brother to do the right thing. Her hints about his previous involvement with Agnes have been too subtle and easy for him to refute. As soon as she has handed over the children, she will reveal to him that she overheard his argument with Spooner in the lane and that she knows he is being blackmailed over his infidelity. Moreover, she will threaten that, unless he uses his authority to arrest Fairbairn and charge him with unlawful killing, she will repeat what she knows to Elizabeth and confirm Mrs. Knight’s suspicions that her son has fallen prey to dissipation.

In her heart, Jane cannot believe Neddy is so depraved as knowingly to harbour a murderer, even to protect his own good name. He may be unaware of the tragedy at sea, and the lengths the captain goes to in order to subjugate Agnes and the other girls, but he should know better than to associate with a man so deep in hardened villainy. Once she has informed him of Fairbairn’s abhorrent crimes, she is confident Neddy will be eager to perform his duty as justice of the peace, even if it means forsaking his own reputation. If her trust is misplaced, and Neddy continues to deny what she has witnessed with her own eyes, Jane will confide in Mrs. Knight and accept the consequences to herself and her wider family. Her father did not raise her in moral ambiguity. She cannot sit idly by while girls as young as nine are being enslaved to vice and a killer walks free.

A freshly revived Elizabeth tackles Jane as soon as she steps into the hall. “Did you have a pleasant time?”

“Perfectly so.” With the tempest of opposing notions raging through Jane’s mind, she cannot meet her sister-in-law’s eye as she passes her a sleeping Georgy.

“It was exhausting. Look at these two.” Neddy staggers behind her, with Fanny and Ted tucked under each armpit. The children slide further down his legs with each step he takes. Kitty and Alice dash to retrieve one each before they hit the floor. Even Conker, with his snout pressed to his master’s heel, looks ready to drop.

“A rousing success, then? Before you wander off, darling, some papers came from your mother. She wants you to look at them immediately. I put them in your study.” Elizabeth gestures towards the closed door. “You’d better hop to it. The lease for Briar Farm is in there, along with some correspondence from her lawyer.”

Neddy’s shoulders sag. “As you wish.”

“Do check she’s letting it to a respectable farmer, won’t you? Not those dreadful nuns who’ve been trespassing.”

“They’re not trespassing. They have Mrs. Knight’s permission,” says Jane, slighted on the sisters’ behalf. As for the correspondence from Mr. Furley, if Neddy’s mother was still intent on disinheriting him, surely she would do him the courtesy of notifying him herself rather than asking him to oversee the paperwork.

“Then what do you call living somewhere without paying rent? Whoever takes on Briar Farm will be our neighbours.” Elizabeth turns to her husband. “If you cannot prevent your mother from handing over the tenancy to a coven of papists, please ensure the arrangement can be dissolved at our convenience.”

“I’ll see to it.” Neddy gives a half-hearted wave over his shoulder as he unlocks the door.

“Wait.” Jane steps towards the threshold. Once Neddy has barricaded himself into his study, he will be unreachable for hours. She must confront him while she remains fortified with righteous fury or risk losing her resolve. “I would speak with you.”

Neddy halts. “About what?”

“I …” Jane glances at Elizabeth, a cherubic Georgy still wrapped around his mother’s neck. She cannot even bring herself to hint at the topic before her. The shock of Neddy’s betrayal could send Elizabeth into labour. As much as Elizabeth irritates Jane, she could not live with the death of her sister-in-law and her unborn baby on her conscience, never mind depriving her niece and nephews of their mother.

Neddy gives an exasperated sigh. “Say what you require of me now, Jane. You heard Beth. Mother wants this paperwork seen to forthwith.”

“It’s a private matter. It will take only five minutes of your time.”

“Then I’m afraid it will have to wait. I don’t have five minutes.” He slams the door, causing a smattering of dust to emanate from the plaster.

“A private matter, Jane?” Elizabeth’s eyes are lit with curiosity. “Let me guess. Mr. Blackall declared himself. I know he’s not your first choice but I really do think he’s the best you can hope for, under the circumstances. Refuse him and you risk never receiving another offer for as long as you live.” She hands Georgy to Alice who, having already taken Ted, kicking and complaining, to his bed has returned for his younger brother.

Jane’s nerves are too frayed for her even to pretend to submit to Elizabeth’s designs. “Mr. Blackall most certainly did not declare himself to me. In fact, his attentions were entirely diverted towards another young lady.”

“ Another young lady was present at the picnic?”

“Yes, a Miss Bridges of Goodnestone. I believe you’re acquainted?”

All of Elizabeth’s hard-won serenity dissipates from her features. “Hen? What was she doing there?”

“We met her and Mr. Bridges at the abbey. Quite by chance, they were out for a leisurely drive and insisted on joining us for the tour. A most fortuitous encounter, wouldn’t you agree?” Jane knows she is shooting barbs at her sister-in-law because she has missed her real mark. It is hardly fair: Neddy’s reprehensible behaviour is no fault of his wife. “She and Mr. Blackall were inseparable. If I were to guess, I’d say Crundale Parsonage won’t lack a mistress for long.”

“I will talk to William. Hen must not be allowed to demean herself by making such a lowly connection.”

“But I should be encouraged to?” Jane cannot help but notice Alice, with a sleeping Georgy in her arms, ascend the stairs with exaggerated care. No doubt she is lingering to listen to the argument.

“It’s different for you.”

“Why?” Jane’s voice rises in pitch. She must be careful, or she will alert Neddy to their petty squabbling. If her brother was to scold her for her impropriety, she does not think she would be capable of holding her tongue about his.

“Because you’re—you’re—”

“A future burden on your purse, rather than Sir William’s?” By now Alice has receded beyond view, and Elizabeth and Jane are the only two remaining in the entrance hall. They stand at the foot of the staircase, glaring at each other.

“How can you say that? Haven’t I welcomed you here with open arms? I would never resent accommodating any of Neddy’s family. It’s just that you will insist on being so very … very … yourself.”

Jane grips the newel post, her knuckles turning white. “Who else can you expect me to be?”

“An elegant, genteel, well-bred young lady. The sort who doesn’t go around scheming to evade her suitors. If Hen waits just one more season, she could catch a far better sort of husband. I could persuade William to take her to Bath. It would help with his gout, and she’s bound to find someone of nobler birth there. Oh, why must my brother be so resistant to travel?” Elizabeth continues, seeming to forget Jane is even there. “Perhaps Edward could be convinced of the necessity of taking the waters.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Neddy doesn’t even have gout.”

“He will do, eventually. All gentlemen of consequence have gout. And Edward will be of great consequence, one day.” Jane tries to leave, but Elizabeth reaches for her wrist. “What about Dr. Storer? Did you manage to further your acquaintance with him or were my efforts all in vain?”

“I made considerable progress with the doctor. I’d say I got to know his character much better.”

“And?”

“He’s a leech. And not even an artificial one.” Jane wrenches her arm away and hurries up the stairs, desperate to retire before she says something she really will regret.

“Stop! A letter came for you too,” Elizabeth cries after her.

“It did?” Jane freezes. Please, God, let it be a note from Cassandra at last. Or her mother, with news of the old man’s whereabouts. If Jane could present Neddy with an impartial witness to Fairbairn’s crimes, he would have no choice but to act. Elizabeth jerks her head to the mantel, where a small square of paper is propped up against the mirror. Jane thunders down the stairs, scrutinizing it for Cassandra’s or her mother’s handwriting. But there is no mark and no seal, and only “Miss Jane” written across the front in block capitals with a pencil, as if a child has been practising their letters. Even stranger, when Jane reaches for the yellowed sheet, she recognises it as one of her own.

“It was tucked in with Neddy’s post. I had to give the packet a good shake to get it free.” Elizabeth gives the note a fretful glance before Jane opens it to find only three lines written inside. Dear Miss Jane, I am seven years old and I live inside of Agnes. Please help, I am so frightened. He says he is going to kill me. If you do not stop him, he says he will kill us all. Biddy

Jane reaches for the banister, swaying as if she’s been doused with a bucket of water. Agnes must have taken the paper while Jane was working and now Biddy, another of Agnes’s personae, has used it to call Jane back to her. The poor child is terrified. Jane must do whatever she can to reassure her that she has a plan to set Agnes free.

“Rather sinister, isn’t it?” Elizabeth inclines her head. “Tell me, who’s Biddy? And how can she live inside Agnes?”

“You read it?” Jane affects an indignation she has no right to. In Elizabeth’s place she would, and has, done the same.

“It wasn’t sealed.”

Jane frowns at the note in her shaky grip. “I can’t say for certain, but I think Biddy is Agnes.”

“Agnes? Then who does she believe is going to murder her?”

Jane takes a deep breath. Elizabeth is so close to her time—only another three weeks at most. At the very least, Jane could collude with Mrs. Knight to protect her from the awful truth until after she and her child are out of danger. “Someone from her past who wishes her harm. But try not to be alarmed. The park is well guarded.”

“She’s lying. This will be another of her tricks to encroach upon Mrs. Knight’s hospitality. First Eleanor, then Agnes, now Biddy. It’s all a ruse.”

Jane fears the girl’s affliction is beyond the limits of Elizabeth’s compassion, especially as she is not party to the depravities Agnes has been forced to endure, but she must at least try to explain. “Agnes has been subject to the most appalling abuse and it has left her mind fragile. The circumstances of her life are too cruel for her to withstand and, therefore, she imagines she’s another and wills herself into inhabiting that character entirely. It’s not a masquerade. She really did believe herself a princess and, when she wrote this, I expect earnestly thought herself a seven-year-old child.”

“But this is all Neddy needs to arrest her for deception.” Elizabeth jabs a finger at the page.

“No, Beth, he mustn’t do that. Did you not hear me? None of this is Agnes’s fault. We have to help her.”

“This is madness. You’ve all run mad. You’ll be giving her the coin from your own pocket next.”

“She’s not after money or Godmersham Park, just somewhere she can take refuge until her tormentors are captured. Which they will be soon, I am sure of it. Then, I pray, she will remember herself.” More than anything else, Jane wants this to be the case. She is resolved to do whatever it takes to bring the captain to justice, and she can foresee no other way of granting Agnes peace. “I must go to her. It’s the only way to resolve the matter. Please will you ask Neddy to convey me first thing tomorrow?”

Elizabeth nods mutely, and Jane pats her hand before retreating up the stairs to her bedroom. All the while, Jane’s sister-in-law stares after her with as much misgiving as if she had danced the carmagnole while sporting the colours of the French Revolutionary Army. But Jane knows, as treasonous as she may appear, her loyalty must lie with the true injured party.