Page 3 of A Fortune Most Fatal (Miss Austen Investigates #2)
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning, Jane wakes from her fitful sleep with a determination to find her brother alone and wring the truth of Mrs. Knight’s disaffection from him. She dare not ask Elizabeth for any more details in fear of, once again, despoiling their domestic harmony. After the scene in the entrance hall, her hosts decided to forgo a formal dinner in favour of retiring early, presumably to bicker in private. The taller Susan brought Jane a supper of toasted cheese, which she ate in the nursery with only the children and the maid for company.
Through her enquiries, Jane has discovered this Susan was baptized Kitty and is the upper servant owing to her age and experience. Her younger colleague is named Alice and holds a terrible grudge against Kitty for stealing the seniority when she has served the family the longest. According to Kitty, there was once a Susan who worked at Goodnestone when Elizabeth was a child, and since then Jane’s sister-in-law has found it easier to refer to all her maidservants as “Susan.” Prior to this, Jane did not have much faith in her own ability to manage a large household—but she’s quite sure that even she could memorize the Christian names of all who slept under her roof.
When Jane locates her brother, she finds he has shut himself away in his study. She rattles the handle to confirm he has turned the key to keep out intruders, an action that would be inconceivable in Steventon. No matter how preoccupied her father was, he would never bar his wife or any of his children from entering his library.
“Ned?” she calls softly, not wanting to alert the rest of the house.
“Not now, Jane. I’m busy,” comes his gruff reply.
As it is Sunday, she knows he cannot be working. Even her father puts aside his ledgers to remember the Sabbath. Her brother is clearly avoiding her. She experiences a pang for him. It must be a terrible humiliation to have invited Jane to enjoy his good fortune at the very moment it is in question. Neddy does not emerge until it is time to squash his family into his phaeton and drive the short distance to attend service at Holy Cross, the handsome flint church on the Goodnestone estate. With all the time it takes to ensure the horses are properly tethered, and for Elizabeth to adequately attire herself and her children for the draughty ride, Jane suspects it might have been quicker to walk. As, indeed, the Susans and the rest of the household do, to arrive before the family despite setting off after they had begun to fill the carriage.
Throughout the journey Jane is discomforted by Neddy’s sullen manner. Gone is her genial brother in favour of a stern patriarch who reprimands his children for fussing and tuts and sighs at his wife’s pointed remarks about the risk to their health represented by an open carriage.
Upon entering Holy Cross, Elizabeth introduces Jane to the first three baronets of Goodnestone and their lady wives, who are all interred in the family vault. While Elizabeth’s father lived to enjoy his dotage, her mother died suddenly a fortnight after the birth of her eleventh living child, presumably satisfied that she had delivered on her end of their bargain and had earned a place in the Kingdom of Eternal Rest. In this realm, a woman’s work, even within the marriage bed, is never done. After Jane has been seated in the front pew for several awkward moments, under the scrutiny of the small congregation of farmers and estate workers, Elizabeth remembers to acquaint her with the fourth and only living baronet, Sir William, and her sister, Henrietta.
“And did you travel through Town on your way here, Miss Austen?” asks Sir William. The gravity of his demeanour and silver hairs at his temple place him at a generation older than Elizabeth, while Henrietta, despite approaching thirty years of age, is similar in air and form to her younger sister. Jane attributes her relative preservation to her lack of maternal cares.
“No, sir. We were eager to reach our destination, and therefore took the roads to the south, passing through Croydon.” It occurs to Jane that since Neddy will not divulge any more details about Mrs. Knight’s house guest, she might probe his wife’s family for their estimation of her. Especially as Elizabeth is occupied in quieting her children, while Neddy, who has placed himself at the furthest end of the pew from Jane, is equally studious in ignoring them.
“Croydon?” Sir William splutters, looking appalled. “But that must have been a very disagreeable route to follow.”
“Would you recommend passing through Town?” Jane asks. She must admit she had been disappointed not to drive through London. A trip to the theatre would have cheered her immensely. But, as her father liked to remind her throughout their journey, Parliament’s efforts to fund the war, combined with the recent bouts of civil unrest, have made touring dangerous and expensive. It seemed churlish of Jane to complain too loudly about a lack of entertainment when elsewhere in the Kingdom of Great Britain people are rioting for want of bread.
“Absolutely not. The metropolis must be avoided at all costs.” Sir William echoes Mr. Austen’s refrain.
Jane pictures the map of south-east England, trying to work out how she might have arrived at Kent from Hampshire without passing through either Surrey or London. She had had no hand in the matter, of course. Her father and Neddy had managed the details of their journey between them. “Then which route would you suggest?”
“I would not, Miss Austen. I would recommend staying at home.”
“Oh …” Jane rebukes herself for having so offended the baronet that he rather wishes she had not left her native Hampshire. He will be of no use to her investigation unless she can win his confidence. Their interaction is observed by Henrietta—who watches Jane with the same mistrusting dark eyes as Elizabeth. Henrietta has clearly grown accustomed to being the only unmarried sister in the family and, despite the undesirability of the position, is loath to have it snatched away by another. She need not fret. Jane is able to suffer through her time as an unnecessary appendage only because she knows it is temporary.
“I do not understand young people’s obsession with continually being upon the move.” Sir William shakes his head. “I was most looking forward to having my younger brother safely returned from Oxford. Now he informs me he plans to spend the summer with a friend, all the way up in the Scottish Highlands. Added to that, my wife has decided to visit her relations in Merseyside. I warned her not to go, that the roads to the north are fraught with danger, and the air around Liverpool is very bad, but she would not listen.”
Henrietta pats her brother’s hand. “She’ll be regretting that now, William.”
“Oh dear,” says Jane. “I do hope she hasn’t come to any calamity.”
“Calamity?” Sir William creases his brow. “No, she writes to say she’s been invited to return next year.”
Jane wonders if Lady Bridges is willing to risk touring because she knows her husband is determined to remain at home. She resolves to use his concerns over the safety of England’s roads to obtain his opinion of Mrs. Knight’s house guest. “Indeed, these are perilous times to be abroad, what with the continued insurrections destroying the peace in our towns and cities, and the Fleet daring mutiny at Spithead and the Nore … But I must say, Mrs. Knight is extraordinarily generous in providing hospitality to a stranger merely to save her from the inconvenience of further travel. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I do, but then to think how the princess has been so violently abused … I can understand why she would take pity on her. For a person of rank to be robbed of their status and property is an affront to the rightful order.”
Elizabeth leans forward in her seat to hiss at her brother—a not inconsiderable feat for a woman in her condition. “I’ve told you several times, William. That wretch is not a princess. Don’t you dare go around hailing her as such.”
Jane bristles. She did not think Elizabeth was listening and she does not want to cause a fracas in the family pew.
Sir William’s eyebrows pull down in consternation. “But Dr. Wilmot insisted she was.”
“Since when do you pay any mind to Dr. Wilmot?” Elizabeth is trying to whisper, but her sharp voice is audible throughout the nave. “Have you reduced your meat intake yet? You’ll never rid yourself of the gout if you don’t.”
“Never mind my gout.” Sir William waves a hand, dismissing her concerns for his health. “How else do you account for the young lady being found wandering along the beach? Dr. Wilmot informed me her ship went down in the Swale.”
“She’s a conniving little thief who’s trying to cheat Edward out of his inheritance. That’s how I account for her,” Elizabeth replies.
“Ship?” asks Jane, her interest piqued higher than ever. “The princess was involved in a shipwreck?”
“Yes.” Sir William nods. “It’s a miracle she survived. She was forced to swim all the way to shore.”
“No, she most certainly was not. She’s making it up. Such a feat would have been impossible. Tell him, Edward.”
“Enough! This is hardly the time or place for idle talk,” says Neddy, tersely, causing Elizabeth to stiffen and shaming the pew into silence.
While the others might read her brother’s piety as a symptom of his early upbringing as the son of a clergyman, Jane can tell by the tic at his jaw how agitated he is. It must be humiliating to have any threat to his position discussed before his wife’s family and, owing to the confines of the church, within earshot of the entire congregation. But, to her dismay, Jane finds her sympathy lies with her sister-in-law. Neddy will not resolve this matter by refusing to discuss it. As the elderly priest shuffles down the aisle, she bows her head and prays that, for her brother’s sake, they can work together to untangle this mess before his prospects suffer any lasting damage.
By Monday, Jane is increasingly fraught that she has not managed to consult her brother in private. If the situation was as innocuous as he claimed, he would allow himself to be drawn rather remaining in a thunderous mood and hiding in his study. She is sanguine, however, that she will have the opportunity to quiz him that very afternoon: Neddy has arranged to escort her to Godmersham Park. The knowledge that Jane is to meet with Mrs. Knight and, in all probability, her mysterious house guest imbues her with an uncharacteristic amount of patience for Elizabeth’s disparaging remarks.
While Jane has failed to pin down Neddy, Elizabeth has pinned Jane in all manner of places in preparation for introducing her into society. Jane attempts to look grateful rather than pained as Mrs. Green, Elizabeth’s dressmaker, does her best to make the yellow silk of the latest cast-off gown meet the floor. Really, it is all a terrible waste of effort. Jane will not be using her time in Kent for husband-hunting. Apart from anything else, Cassandra will need her at home. It would be most cruel of Jane to abandon her sister in favour of her own marital bliss, at a time when Cassandra is still mourning the loss of her beloved fiancé.
“Up straight now.” Mrs. Green turns Jane to face her sister-in-law’s judgement.
“I sincerely hope it didn’t look that ugly on me.” Elizabeth appraises her from a chaise-longue in her crowded dressing room. The small chamber, adjacent to Neddy and Elizabeth’s bedroom, is overstuffed with hatboxes and chintz-covered furniture. “I fear that shade makes you look sallow. Shall we try the gold stripes instead?”
“Mmmf …” replies Mrs. Green, through a mouthful of pins. The harried dressmaker hardly has time to arrange each garment before Elizabeth finds a reason to object to it.
“Yes, terribly sallow. And stop slouching, Jane. Otherwise, the hem will be all wrong. Oh, this isn’t going to work. You’re too tall. We’ll have to get you some new ones made up.”
As much as Jane might prefer to select her own attire, her father would not be pleased to be presented with the bill for a new wardrobe at the end of her stay. Her eye drifts to the carriage clock over the mantelpiece. Only another hour of this torture to go before Neddy has ordered her to be ready to leave. “Honestly, Beth. It’s fine. There’s no need for you to go to all this bother for me.”
“Oh, but there is, dear.” Elizabeth beats a cushion against the head of the chaise-longue and squirms against it. With the weight of the baby pressing down against her midriff, it seems impossible for the expectant mother to be comfortable. She hasn’t sat still for a moment since Jane arrived. Her condition must be partly to blame for her terrible mood. Jane must not begrudge her being so fractious and she must really try to be more forgiving of Elizabeth’s well-intended insults. After all, the season is far too hot to be lugging around another being inside oneself.
She sucks in her own trim waist for Mrs. Green’s measuring tape. “But I can wear what I brought from Steventon.”
“No, Jane. Believe me, you can’t.”
Then again, maybe her sister-in-law does possess a rather disagreeable nature. Thankfully, Jane is prevented from responding to this latest slight by Kitty, who hoists the rejected garment over her head before she can speak. Mrs. Green holds out the striped gown for her to step into and together they wrestle her into the low-cut bodice.
“That’s better. It almost fits, and we could add a flounce along the bottom.” Elizabeth pushes herself up to a sitting position. “You could be quite elegant, if you put your mind to it.”
“Why, you are gracious.” Jane tries to curtsy, but Mrs. Green grips her shoulders and pulls them back sharply.
“Not at all. As I said, it’s no more than I would do for my any of my own sisters. And if we can get you well settled, you’ll be less of a drain on our resources. When the time comes.”
Elizabeth’s words dash the smile from Jane’s face just as surely as if she had struck her. Presumably, “the time” she refers to is when Mr. Austen shuffles off his mortal coil. She closes her eyes, forcing down her ire at Elizabeth’s willingness to consign her father to his grave. He may be elderly but, unlike Mrs. Austen, he’s always been of robust health. He certainly does not complain as much. It could be many years before Jane is forced to face the eventuality of his death, and anything could happen to improve her circumstances before then. She knows she will probably have to marry eventually: it would not be fair to expect to live off her father or her brothers forever, especially now it seems even Neddy’s future is far from secure. But while she is young, with her writing to occupy her, it is only prudent not to be hasty. If she waits long enough, Tom might even manoeuvre himself into a position where he can afford to marry her without requiring the approval of his family.
Or Jane might find some other means, apart from marriage, to support herself. Thomas Cadell is rumoured to have paid Frances Burney (or Madame d’Arblay, as she styles herself since she married her French emigré) a thousand pounds to publish her latest work and she raised the same amount again from her subscribers, among whom Jane was proud to be listed. The enterprising authoress is said to have bought a cottage in Surrey with the proceeds and named it after her eponymous heroine, Camilla. If Jane applies herself, she is confident she can pen something worthy of publication. Despite Elizabeth and Mrs. Austen’s design that she secure a match among Kent’s elite, Jane suspects she would be happier in a humble country cottage, with leisure to read and write all day, and in the company of one she truly loved. She is not foolhardy enough, though, to admit indulging in such outlandish fantasies to Elizabeth.
“Why don’t you tell me what you can about the situation with Mrs. Knight’s house guest, if I’m to call on her this afternoon?” she asks, keen to divert her sister-in-law’s attention as far from herself as she can. “Everything I’ve heard has only left me more perplexed.”
“You’re perplexed? All I get is garbled nonsense from Edward and placatory notes from the great lady herself,” replies Elizabeth. “I want you to ingratiate yourself with her and determine exactly what’s going on. You’re my emissary, Jane.”
“I am?”
“You are.” Elizabeth casts a doubtful eye over Jane, as if she, too, is incredulous at entrusting her with such an important task. “Remember how you got Georgy out of that pickle with the necklace.”
“I suppose I did …” says Jane, as Mrs. Green and Kitty undress her. “But I had to. Georgy’s life was on the line, and I had Henry to help me.” Eighteen months have passed since Jane’s brother Georgy was accused of stealing the necklace of a murdered woman. It was a dreadful time for all of the Austens, and they rarely speak of it in hopes they will soon forget.
Elizabeth sighs. “That will be all for today, thank you, Mrs. Green. You have her measurements. We’ll purchase some new cloth and have it sent on. Do what you can with the stripes in the meantime.”
As Kitty shows Mrs. Green to the door, Jane cannot find her original gown. She fears the dressmaker has carried it off by mistake as she pads around the room in her petticoat, searching for it.
“The truth is, Jane, I’m reliant on you. You must find some proof the girl is lying. She can’t be a princess. The whole charade is ridiculous.”
“Have you raised your concerns with Mrs. Knight?” Jane lays a hand on her exposed bosom, the skin on her arms turning to gooseflesh.
“I have written to her, yes, but it’s too easy for her to fob me off by letter. Since Mr. Knight passed away, she hardly ever leaves Godmersham, and I can’t very well go around making enquiries like this.” Elizabeth nods to her distended belly. “I’m hesitant to take any long carriage journeys in case the motion brings on the baby. I’ll not be forced to labour by the side of the road, like some wretched beast.”
“You fear the baby may arrive early?” A worrisome pregnancy would explain why relations between Neddy and Elizabeth are quite so strained. If so, why has Providence entrusted Jane with Elizabeth’s care? Elizabeth will have a midwife, of course, and possibly a doctor on hand for the actual birth—but, as the female relation designated to attend her, it is Jane’s duty to make sure she is well cared for throughout this hazardous period. She should defer to Henrietta. Indeed, Jane was surprised to realise Elizabeth had chosen herself as her companion over her own sister, but she supposes Sir William can hardly be expected to manage with only his retinue of servants to assist him while Lady Bridges is away.
“No, I’m sure that won’t happen.” Elizabeth creases her forehead. “But I’ve been having these twinges—a tightening as if labour is about to commence, but then, thankfully, nothing further occurs.”
“You must consult your physician immediately.” Jane spies her chintz gown, strewn over a footstool and masquerading as a cushion. She throws it over her head and fiddles with the bodice. As inexperienced as she is, even she knows that the baby must be allowed the proper time to develop before it begins its descent into the world. Jane herself arrived a full month after the date on which her parents had anticipated her arrival. Mrs. Austen often complains that she has continued to disappoint her expectations ever since.
“Not yet. It’s probably the situation with Mrs. Knight that’s aggravating me. And this will be my fourth lying-in. As you’ll discover, carrying a baby to term gets harder each time, not easier. I’m several years older than I was when I had Fanny, and believe me, Jane, I feel every day of those years.”
Childbirth is one of the very few experiences upon which Jane has no desire to satisfy her curiosity first-hand. She can tell just how wearisome it must be for Elizabeth by the shadows beneath her eyes and her permanently fraught expression. “You really should tell Neddy. Ask him to call in the physician, just in case.”
“No, Jane. And don’t you dare breathe a word either. Dr. Wilmot would insist on complete rest, and I’d be powerless to object. I’d go out of my wits, cooped up in here all day, with nothing to do but torment myself with my concerns. Besides, I can’t have Neddy fretting about me, not when he should be exerting his energy on driving that artful wench out from under his mother’s notice. Now, before she does any further damage to his prospects.”
“Beth, calm yourself.” Jane sits beside Elizabeth, covering her hand with her own.
“You’re the only other person I can trust to place Neddy’s interest above all else. You must expose her, the lying, cheating little strumpet.”
“I’ll do whatever I can, I promise. Anything for you and Neddy.”
“It’s not just for us, Jane. Need I make myself any clearer? If Neddy’s disinherited, your own prospects will be ruined too. Who do you think will marry you then?”
Jane rears back, but it is impossible to avoid being skewered by the truth of Elizabeth’s words. Without Neddy’s anticipated wealth to prop up the family, her parents would be considerably worse off. It is not only Georgy’s future that would be in jeopardy. Jane would have to forgo dedicating any more years to her writing while she waited to see if Tom ever found his way back to her. She’d be obliged to accept the first man who asked for her hand. If there was one. And what about poor Cassandra? How could she bear to pledge herself to another so soon after losing Mr. Fowle? It could take years before Jane’s beloved sister is ready to contemplate marriage to anyone else.
“You’re right, Beth. I’ll do whatever it takes to oust her, I promise.”
“Good girl.” Elizabeth squeezes Jane’s hand tight. “I knew I could rely on you.” 1. Letter to Cassandra Austen
Rowling Farm, Monday, 12 June 1797 My dearest Cassandra, To the great disappointment of your niece and nephews, I am safely ensconced in Kent. So far, no amount of rolling around in the nursery playing Spillikins has proved sufficient to make up for being the “wrong aunt.” Their mother is hardly more delighted to see me. One Susan says I must not take it personally as her mistress lives in continual dissatisfaction with all members of her household, while the other fears Beth’s condition is responsible for her sour temper. I will leave you to guess which Susan I am inclined to agree with. In even worse news, I am not the only interloper in the Garden of England. Mrs. Knight has taken in a beleaguered foreign princess. I am yet to meet the young lady, but I suspect she will prove herself even less at ease than myself among such venerable society. Fear not, I am resolved we will both return to our natural stations forthwith. Yours always,
J.A. P.S. I regret to inform you that no letters of yours have arrived. I can only assume some calamity must have befallen them for I know you would not leave it so long without writing to your faithful sister. Have you left your missives lying about somewhere that James’s hounds might discover them? They are a hungry pack, but I do not think even they can be hungrier than I for some token of your affection. Please check and rectify this matter immediately. Miss Austen Rev. Mr. Austen’s Deane Hants