“My brother, Captain Frank Austen of the Canopus, carried away the remnant of Sir John’s men this past January,” I said in a subdued accent. “From his account I must suppose the losses to have been frightful.”
“But no worse than we shall serve Buonaparte in future,” Spence replied stoutly.
We were both silent an instant, our thoughts far removed from the frivolity of a summer evening; mine were travelling in memory to Southampton the previous autumn, and the lowvoiced communication of a government spy in the hold of a Navy ship. Where Major Spence’s thoughts might be wandering, I could not hazard a guess; but from his expression, it was no Elysian Field.
“And so I threw myself upon the mercy of my relations,” he resumed with forced lightness, “and accepted employment as the Earl of Holbrook’s steward. I may say that I am entirely unfitted to the task — being a soldier is no recommendation for business — but his lordship was prevailed upon to accept me. I am a second cousin to the Earl, once removed, on the distaff side.”
“I am sure he has every reason to be grateful for your stewardship of Stonings,” I observed. “Mr. Dyer’s men have been very busy about the place, I collect?”
“It is a noble estate,” he said thoughtfully. “But the degree of neglect is much to be deplored. The Earl, being an intimate of the Carlton House Set, formed the early habit of repairing to Brighton in the summer months. He spends the winters at his hunting box in Leicestershire. The remainder of the year is passed in Town. I do not think the Earl has descended into Hampshire above three times since his accession to the title.”
He glanced about the panelled hall, gaze roving among the leaded windows. “Your brother, I believe, is the owner of this house! It is a very fine old place — Elizabethan, I should judge?”
“Exactly so. But like your Earl, my brother does not deign to live in Hampshire.”
“Middleton informed me that he is an excellent landlord; so very liberal, in fact, that Middleton cannot keep away from Chawton. He has leased this estate twice in recent years.”
“And is a most agreeable tenant in every respect. Are you very much acquainted with Mr. Middleton?”
“A sporting acquaintance, one might call it,” Spence said diffidently, “formed on the hunting field. He is all affability, however, and does not disgrace your brother’s good opinion. I hope to see more of him.”
“And was it you who introduced Mr. Thrace to Mr. Middleton’s acquaintance?”
“Not at all. Thrace fell in with the Middleton family while travelling on the Continent, I believe. But Thrace will have to tell you how it was himself; I am not perfectly in command of the history.”
Henry had referred to Thrace’s past as being obscured by war and curious incident — a childhood in France, or a French mother, perhaps. It was impossible not to speculate at what point he had first sought the Earl of Holbrook’s notice, and claimed the relation of son to father — impossible not to wonder how the Earl had received this news. Or broken it to Lady Imogen.
I found my eyes lingering on the Beau’s face, attempting to trace some likeness between himself and Lady Imogen; but I confess I could find none. One so dark, the other so light, they appeared to excellent effect — but hardly as brother and sister. But then I recollected: they were related in half-blood only. Much might be attributed to the influence of different mothers. Thrace, I noticed, was exerting himself to engage Catherine Prowting in conversation — despite the jealous attempts of her sister to divert the gentleman’s attention. Catherine’s colour was high, her eyes brilliant; and tho’ she remained the picture of elegant self-possession, I thought she did not meet Mr. Thrace’s attentions with indifference.
“I hope I do not intrude — but I could not forbear to offer my sympathy for the trials you have so lately undergone,” Major Spence continued in a lower tone. “Thrace told me of the shocking affair only this morning, as I was arrived with Lady Imogen from Sherborne St. John. I trust you have suffered no ill-effects from the anxiety?”
“None at all, I assure you.”
“And your home. it was not unduly disturbed? There were no losses of a personal nature?”
His concern was so earnest, his expression so truly amiable, that I could not be unmoved. “You are very good, sir — but the losses were not ours to tally. That has been poor Mrs. French’s office.”
“You will wish to take greater care in future, I am sure, Miss Austen, to secure your valuables against a similar invasion. The coroner, I understand, could arrive at no solution to the mystery of the labourer’s death? — Or at least, how he came to be in your cellar?”
“You must question Mr. Prowting on that score. He is our magistrate, and must be in command of more particulars than I.” With more courage than tact I added, “The poor man was often at Stonings, I understand, in recent weeks. Did you never notice him there?”
An instant’s confusion clouded the Major’s countenance, but any reply he might have made was forestalled by the approach of Miss Maria Beckford.
“Miss Austen,” she said in her brisk, decisive way, as tho’ commanding a parade ground, “allow me to introduce Miss Jane Hinton to your acquaintance.”
Major Spence stepped aside, and bowed; I curtseyed to the woman at Miss Beckford’s right hand, and regarded with amusement this new trial.
Jane Hinton was some years older than her brother — a woman nearly forty whose bloom had long since gone off. She appeared correct and unremarkable in a prim white cap and a pair of spectacles, behind which her flat brown eyes were intently appraising. Her dress was of a most unbecoming yellow hue, her skin coarse; and when she spoke, it was with a pronounced lisp that made her speech singularly unpleasing.
“I have heard your name everywhere, Mith Authten,” she said without warmth. “You are quite the talk of the village — indeed, of every habitation for mileth around. We are not accuthtomed, in our retired country way, to ladieth condethending to vithit a coroner’th inquetht; but I thuppothe, when the lady in quethtion hath actually thtumbled over the body, that we mutht be prepared for anything.”
“My brother did say that he met with you in Alton yesterday,” Miss Beckford observed, “and I thought it most courageous of you to attend, my dear. The notice of a member of the Squire’s family must be a great comfort in a death of this kind, and shall be felt as it ought, among the lower orders. May I present Mr. John-Knight Hinton, also of Chawton Lodge?”
My slight poet of the cut indirect was arrayed this evening in primrose knee breeches, a white satin waistcoat, and a black evening coat with stiffly-padded shoulders. His snowy cravat was of so intricate a construction that it bewildered the eye, and a quizzing glass dangled from a fine gold chain about his neck. Mr. Hinton clearly prided himself on his ability to ape the most current London fashion, and his magnificence might have turned the head of many a green girl; but to my more practised gaze, Julian Thrace’s neat elegance — or even Major Spence’s quiet rectitude — more clearly proclaimed the gentleman. He raised his quizzing glass, surveyed me impudently, and scraped a bow.
“I have already had a glimpse of Mr. Hinton,” I told Miss Beckford with a smile, “at yesterday’s inquest, and again today in Alton. What was your opinion of the tragic business, sir?”
“I thought it very singular that such grievous trouble should arise in so peaceful and respectable a place,” Mr. Hinton returned. “Indeed, I may say that I was ashamed the shades of Chawton must be so polluted.”
“And yet you could not keep away from the coroner’s panel,” Miss Beckford observed astringently. “I suppose it is of a piece with your usual sporting amusements. Mr. Hinton is quite a slave to the Corinthian Set, Miss Austen. There is not a prizefight or a cock pit within thirty miles that is unknown to him.”[15]
15
The term