Page 4 of A Fortune Most Fatal (Miss Austen Investigates #2)
CHAPTER FOUR
Godmersham Park lies to the west of Rowling, on the far side of Canterbury. A buzzard disturbs the serene blue sky with its constant cry of “keeyah!” as Jane and Neddy racket through the narrow lanes. For miles, the bird hangs above them, resting its weight on the grace of its enormous wings, and scanning the flat expanse of lush green fields and bushy hedgerows for its prey. Each time it swoops, Jane holds her breath, expecting to see it collide with a smaller bird, but instead the buzzard pulls up short and soars even higher—more interested in showing off its spectacular form than in finding its dinner. The sultry disquiet affords Jane the perfect opportunity to corner Neddy. He may be able to evade her when they’re at home, but in the confines of the phaeton he’s her captive and she’s determined to interrogate him. “Where did Mrs. Knight make the acquaintance of her foreign princess? I presume they didn’t meet at court.”
Neddy flicks his eyes away from the road for a fraction of a second. “Must we discuss it?”
“Alas, we must. If we’re to call on them both, it’s best you prepare me. What can you tell me about this mysterious young woman?”
“Nothing. I’ve barely laid eyes on her.” Neddy exhales loudly, resting his elbows on his knees as he handles the reins. “Dr. Wilmot and his wife found her on the beach at Whitstable a week ago.”
Jane waits for him to elaborate but he remains stubbornly silent. “And she indicated to them that she’d swum ashore after being shipwrecked?”
“She must have. I’d have delivered her to the nearest bridewell, but they thought the incident warranted reporting to the Riding Officer.”
“The Riding Officer?” asks Jane, unfamiliar with the term.
“Since the navy has been called away to fight the French, the local Revenue Office has appointed a man to ride on horseback up and down the coast looking out for smugglers. He’s their only hope of enforcing the King’s dues.”
Jane ties the lace band of her straw hat tighter under her chin, to prevent it being carried away by the breeze. She doesn’t fancy the Riding Officer’s chances. One man and his horse are hardly sufficient to prevent a ship full of brigands creeping through the blockade. It is a wonder he has not been murdered already. “Did he confirm whether any vessels had been lost?”
Neddy shrugs. “One of the sailors recognised a few words of Spanish and offered to translate for her. That’s when this ridiculous story about her being a princess came out.”
“She doesn’t speak English?”
“No. Apparently she’s a native of the Canary Islands but she claims to have been kidnapped and held for ransom ever since she was a girl.”
“Kidnapped?” Jane stares at the grim set of her brother’s profile. She knows she need not point out to him that a rich, lonely widow like Mrs. Knight would make an easy mark for a trickster, and this young woman’s story sounds too fantastical to be true.
“By pirates, arggh.” Neddy glances sideways, making a fist and swinging his elbow in his best impersonation of Blackbeard.
Jane’s heart twists. The action calls to mind a rare memory of young Neddy, wearing a paper hat and organizing his siblings in a game of pirates. First, he’d force her and Cassandra to “walk the plank,” which involved teetering along a fallen branch in the garden while he brandished a stick in place of a cutlass and shouted, “You’re fish food, wench!” The sisters would jump off the log and pretend to flail in the sea, before Frank and Charles came to their rescue. Then the real fighting would begin, and she and Cassandra would have to get out of the way before their brothers were whacking each other mercilessly.
Jane shakes her head slowly. This is not sport and she cannot let Neddy’s pretended levity at the situation distract her from getting to the truth. “I fear you’re not affording this matter the gravity it deserves.”
“I am. Honestly, I am. If this young woman is out to cheat Mother then, believe me, I shall take it very seriously indeed. But indulging Beth’s concerns will only make her more agitated. You can see how upset she is. She’ll wear herself out with worry. I’m so glad you elected to join us. Hopefully, while you’re here, Beth will be able to rest and restore her strength before the baby comes.”
“Hmm …” While the sentiment is admirable, Jane cannot help thinking the best way to preserve Elizabeth’s health would be if she and Neddy were to employ the simple regimen of separate rooms. Not that Jane would ever dare suggest such a thing. She is not supposed to know what goes on in the marriage bed, much less have an opinion on it. Although how it would be possible to maintain such ignorance coming from a family of eight children, and growing up in a boarding school for boys, is beyond her.
“You’ve got to admit it’s a fantastic story. Like one of yours.”
“It’s really not. If you’d let me read to you, you’d see my work has matured vastly since the last time you heard any.” Jane folds her arms and sits back in her seat, trying not to let Neddy see just how vexed she is that he and Elizabeth have thus far declined her offers to entertain. She left First Impressions on the sideboard, hoping a glimpse of the title page beneath the ribbon securing the sheaf of papers, would pique their curiosity. Reading her work aloud is the best way to gauge its effectiveness. Cassandra is always willing to listen and will respond to each draft of Jane’s manuscript as if it’s the first time she’s heard the story. Simply by studying her sister’s expressions, Jane can tell if her words are provoking the intended reactions. It is usually when she’s performing to her sister that Jane is struck with the inspiration for how to improve her composition. “Was Mrs. Knight present in Whitstable while all this occurred?”
“No.” Neddy shakes his head. “Mother rarely leaves home. The Wilmots invited the girl to stay with them in Canterbury, gullible fools that they are. The doctor even wrote to the King with a message to pass on to his Spanish counterpart.”
“And did His Majesty reply?” Jane arches an eyebrow.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Neddy snorts. “It’ll have been thrown on the fire by one of his courtiers, along with the rest of the begging letters.”
“If she was the doctor’s responsibility, how did Mrs. Knight come to accommodate her?”
“That’s the thing …” Neddy sighs heavily, tossing the reins into one leather-gloved hand. “Something untoward must have taken place as, overnight, the Wilmots washed their hands of her. Mother was visiting Mrs. Wilmot at the time, which is peculiar in itself. As I said, she hardly ever pays calls. But rather than seeing the girl turned onto the street, she offered to take her.”
Jane swivels in her seat to face her brother. If Mrs. Knight’s friends have already turned against her protégée, it is odd that she should insist on maintaining her. “Did you hear why the Wilmots rescinded their hospitality?”
“I’d hazard a guess they caught her making off with the family silver,” he says. “I’ve little doubt she’ll show herself to be a gold-digging tavern wench, but you know how tender-hearted Mother is.”
Jane’s mother is many things but tender-hearted she is not. A beat too late, she realizes Neddy is referring to Mrs. Knight, rather than Mrs. Austen. The family have long since reconciled themselves to Neddy’s adoption, but it will ever be strange to hear him defer to the Knights as his parents. She wonders when he began to think of Mrs. Knight, rather than Mrs. Austen, as his “mother,” and on what terms he now considers the original holder of that title. She knows her parents will never cease to describe him as their son. “Did you not quiz the Wilmots yourself?”
“It’s difficult. I cannot go against Mother’s wishes, or I risk a total breach. She’s always been such a champion of the ill-served. If I make any unfounded accusations about the girl, it could very well encourage her to cleave to her even tighter.”
“She sounds like a very singular lady, your mother.”
Neddy slows the carriage to a crawl as an attendant waves them through the gates of Godmersham Park. Lebanese cedars and evergreen oaks are enclosed by a high brick wall, and further encased in a belt of valuable woodland. Once inside, an air of artificial tranquillity settles over the landscape. “She is. I’m so looking forward to reintroducing you. Mother has long expressed a desire to become better acquainted with my brothers and sisters. At the very least, our time here will give you some respite from Beth’s matchmaking schemes.”
“Can you not call her off ? I appreciate her good offices, but I’m in no humour at present to be courted.”
“In her defence, she’s trying to be of service.”
“I know. It’s just …” Jane bites her lip, unwilling to detail the many reasons she does not relish the prospect of marrying into Neddy’s world. He and Elizabeth would think her pathetic for clinging to the hope of Tom’s return, and they would no doubt laugh heartily if she dared to articulate her dream of seeing her work published. Or, worse, they might be scandalized that she could even consider such a vulgar notion as exchanging her words for money. Elizabeth would accuse her of planning to bring the entire family into disrepute and give her a long tiresome lecture on the various pastimes befitting a young lady—every one of them designed to conceal any spark of wit or ingenuity she may have.
“Just what? It’d be wonderful to have you settled nearby. Our children could grow up together, as we did.”
Jane simply smiles, fearful of offending him by pointing out that they didn’t actually grow up together. During the first three years of Jane’s life, Neddy lived at the rectory while she was cared for by her dry nurse in the village. Shortly after Jane returned to the family home, Neddy began his prolonged visits to the Knights. Within two years he had decamped to Kent to learn all the habits that separate a fashionable young man of fortune from an ordinary gentleman. Shooting at things, mainly. She is not sure there has ever been a time when all eight of the Austen children resided at the rectory together. Georgy only ever came home on fleeting visits, James and Henry went up to Oxford at fourteen and seventeen, and Frank and Charles left for Portsmouth at eleven and twelve. Among her siblings, Cassandra is Jane’s only constant companion, remaining at her side even during the two brief periods when they were sent away to school.
“Look, there’s the house.” Neddy pats her arm.
Jane catches her breath as a Palladian mansion rolls into view from behind a cluster of weeping willows. It’s enormous. A huge expanse of redbrick, slates, and freshly painted window frames. Three oval-shaped portholes above the front door are its only concession to femininity or restraint. If Mrs. Austen were here, she’d be counting the glass panes and the number of steps it took to cross the imposing facade in order to boast to the neighbours back in Hampshire. A matching pair of box-like structures flanks an even larger central portion. Neddy has already explained these wings house a magnificent ballroom and an extensive library but Jane must not expect entry to either. Since Mr. Knight’s death, his widow has closed off large parts of the house, claiming it is too big for her to manage alone. Which begs the question: why has she not invited her adoptive son and his young family to share it with her?
Neddy leans forward, resting his elbows on his spread thighs. “Well, what do you think?”
Godmersham Park is so large it appears to span the entire valley. Either of its superfluous wings could swallow Steventon Rectory whole. A peacock saunters towards the carriage, baring its plumage and squawking as if it fancies itself a guard dog. Jane’s chin has dropped towards her chest and she is having trouble getting it to move. “It’s very … grand.”
“Yes. Impressive, isn’t it? That’s the marvellous thing with these newer houses. It’s all very well adding an extra bay or two to an old place like Rowling, but the proportions are always going to make it feel poky. If you knock it down and start again, as Grandfather Knight did, you’re able to rebuild on a much grander scale. It’s a temporary inconvenience, certainly, but I dare say it’s worth it in the long run. Don’t you agree?”
Jane blinks at him. How is it possible she shares the same blood as this man, who thinks nothing of demolishing a perfectly good home and raising a grandiose mansion from the ashes? She spares a thought for the “poky” Elizabethan manor the first Thomas Knight demolished to make room for this monstrosity.
As Neddy helps her from the carriage, the butler and several footmen appear. Jane brushes herself down and pats her coiled hair while the servants bow and scrape before her brother. They are all adorned in matching black breeches, with brash gold-and-purple-striped jackets and old-fashioned powdered wigs. Beneath Jane’s tawny pelisse, she is hiding her best morning dress in a strawberry flower print. Even compared to the household staff, she looks like a country bumpkin. Perhaps she should be more grateful for the sumptuous silks Elizabeth is so determined to throw her way.
“I take it Mother’s in the north drawing room, Penlington.” Neddy walks swiftly through the open front door into the entrance hall. Jane trails behind, trying to orient herself in the new surroundings. A magnificent chimneypiece dominates the centre of one wall while a carved frieze rests beneath the panelled ceiling. Several doorways promise sumptuous locations beyond, while a marble nymph dances in a scallop-shaped alcove. Merely admiring the grandeur causes Jane to feel lightheaded.
Neddy strides towards the most ornate exit: an archway topped with a triangular pediment and framed by a pair of Corinthian columns. The family portraits are lined up on either side. Thomas Knight the Elder manages to look genial, even with the hilt of his sword poking out from behind his waistcoat, while his son and namesake appears more thoughtful. Mrs. Knight is depicted exactly as Jane remembers her, with handsome features and penetrating eyes. The pale silk of her gown is so luminescent it might have been fashioned from the bark of a silver birch. There is even a painting of Neddy as a boy. He is all curls and pouting lips, trying to look dignified in a frilly collar.
Penlington jogs beside adult Neddy, his buckled shoes tap-tapping over the black-and-white tiles as he dives to reach the handle before the visitors. “She is. Yes.”
Neddy halts, drawing himself up to his full height and puffing out his chest as he waits for the butler to open the door. “What is it? You’re in my way, man.”
Penlington’s neck flushes scarlet, clashing horribly with his purple livery. “Princess Eleanor is with her, sir.”
“P-Princess Eleanor?” Neddy spits the words, astounded that a stranger is hailed as royalty in a home he has long been taught to think of as his by right.
“And since Mr. Blackall’s visit, we’re under strict orders not to let any male persons into the room while she’s present.”
“But that’s ridiculous.” Neddy’s voice booms around the cathedral-like space.
Jane draws a sharp breath at his outburst. He is clearly riled by this latest relegation and who can blame him? She cannot imagine the anguish of being refused notice by one’s own mother. “Perhaps we should return at a later date, Ned.”
“Mrs. Knight did leave a message in anticipation of your arrival, sir.” The butler’s spine curls into the shape of a snail. He takes no pleasure in delivering this humiliation. “She’d be most pleased to receive your companion but asked if you could possibly inspect the boundary to the east. We’ve received reports that one of the great oaks fell during the storm.”
Neddy splutters, a deep blush crawling up his cheek. “Can’t the steward do it?”
“She instructed me to inform you personally, as she fears there may be substantial damage and is anxious for the timber to be collected before any of the tenants discover it.”
Jane swallows, fearful of what her brother might say next. He may be reluctant to risk a breach with his mother, but she is not averse to demeaning him before her household. Has Mrs. Knight forgot she named Neddy her son, not her servant?
“If you’d be so kind as to have Armand convey Miss Austen back to Rowling after her meeting with my mother?” Neddy’s clipped tone betrays his fury.
“I will, sir.” Penlington peers at Jane as Neddy flicks up his collar and turns on his heel. She tries to smile, wanting to reassure the butler he has not mortally offended his prospective lord and master by following the orders of his current mistress, but her mouth is so dry that her lips stick to her teeth. As Neddy’s footsteps retreat, followed by the sound of the front door slamming after him, the butler opens the entrance to the drawing room just wide enough for Jane to slip through.