“True — but what if it was left there some time ago? I believe Catherine Prowting carries a tendre for Julian Thrace, and might do much to shield him. What if she did not in fact recognise the man near the pond that night to be Mr. Hinton — but his rival for her affections?”
Neddie whistled beneath his breath. “We ought to tax her for the truth.”
“She is likely to plead the head-ache, and retire to her bedchamber in an attitude of misery. We shall get no more from Catherine, Neddie; we must try the man she has accused.” I sealed my sheet of paper with wax and wrote Major Charles Spence, Stonings, Sherborne St. John on the reverse. “Should you like to walk with me into Alton? I might post my letter — and we might take in the gaol on your way to the George. The constable is likely to prove no more particular about the disruption of his Sunday than we.”
My brother stared at me with narrowed eyes. “Do you know, Jane — I believe you possess more wit beneath that linen cap than any of the rest of us?”
“Avarice, Neddie,” I reminded him. “Do not be wishing for what is beyond your God-given merits; for that way lies ruin, as Mr. Papillon has assured us.”
There were four cells no bigger than a clutch of loose horse-boxes in the Alton gaol — for indeed the building had once been a stable, and the constable yard an accommodation for grooms, until the passion for local justice caused an alteration. I had visited gaols before — alone, when the occasion required it, and with Edward at Canterbury, in his capacity as magistrate; they held no terrors for me.
“Mr. Austen to see ye, sir,” his gaoler called as he opened the oak door of the box with a heavy iron key. “No tricks, now, as we’re prepared for anything you might offer.”
John-Knight Hinton was lying in the straw of his prison, in clear disregard for the state of his clothes; the Hoby boots were dulled with dust, and he had not shaved since his arrival two days before. The physical dereliction of the gentleman was a sign of his oppression of spirits; and I confess my heart sank as I observed him.
He was master enough of himself to rise to his feet and reach for the coat he had discarded on the wooden bench that served as both seat and bed; he donned this article before deigning to notice us, as tho’ we were servants that must await his pleasure. Then, having adjusted his cravat and shirtsleeves with careful dignity, he met my brother’s impervious gaze, and bowed.
“Mr. Austen. To what do I owe this signal attention?”
“To a sincere desire to be of what help I may in your present trouble.”
Hinton’s lip curled. “I should be grateful, I suppose; but I fear I must decline your offer. I cannot believe any help of yours should improve my circumstances.”
“I am uninterested in gratitude,” my brother replied quickly. “Understand, Hinton, I neither expect nor wish for it.”
“Are you come, then, to triumph over me?”
Neddie deliberately removed his hat and gloves. “I am come to learn the truth.”
“Your sister” — Hinton inclined his head with sneering civility in my direction — “professes to know it already.”
“My sister is well aware there may be various constructions placed upon a person’s behaviour. It is to her insistence you owe our visit today.”
“Really?” He stared at us with mock incredulity. “Miss Austen no longer has confidence in the power of a footprint?”
Pup, Edward had called him; and he was certainly a graceless one. I struggled to maintain at least the appearance of civility.
“Mr. Hinton, do you apprehend the gravity of your circumstances?” I enquired.
“—That I might hang for a murder I did not commit? Yes, Miss Austen, I think I understand that much.”
“And have you heard that another person has lately died by violence — and the man believed responsible has fled the country?”
Jack Hinton’s expression changed. The sneer — which I now recognised to have been born of a desperate defiance — drained from his face, to be replaced by a look of surprise and dawning hope. “I hear nothing in this beastly place. Not even my sister has come near me. What has occurred?”
“Lady Imogen Vansittart was killed while riding horseback yesterday morning. The horse was tampered with. Her acquaintance, Mr. Thrace, rode off in panic when the worst was discovered — and has not yet been found.”
“Thrace!” he muttered in a goaded tone. “It would be he, of course. Life was quite different in this village before that gentleman came into Hampshire, Miss Austen.”
“I can well believe that your own prospects changed as a result of his appearance.”
Hinton glanced at me searchingly. “You know that Catherine Prowting betrayed me to her father?”
“Yes.”
“There was a time when she did not treat me with such coldness.”
“Are you suggesting,” my brother broke in, “that Miss Prowting lied about what she saw last Saturday night?”
“No.” Hinton shook his head deliberately. “I will only say that she was too ready to believe me Shafto French’s enemy, in part because of the talk circulated by that person. Thrace is rather freer in his conversation to young ladies than I should be.”
“He told Catherine that you had pursued French’s wife?”
Hinton laughed. “As indeed I had. Years ago — before she was married. It was a common enough flirtation in a country town: the idle gentleman just down from Oxford, with little to do of a summer’s morn, and the pretty young maid all too often underfoot. Jemima cannot have been more than sixteen at the time, and I was but six-and-twenty. We had practically been reared together, recollect.”
“And you were in a position of power over her,” I added smoothly. “Being dependant upon your household for her wages, Jemima could hardly refuse to accept your attentions. Until your sister dismissed her for impropriety.”
A hot flush rose in his cheeks. “I did not ruin the girl then or later. Nor did I get her with child under French’s very nose. But Thrace would say anything to cut out a rival — and so he styled himself in Miss Prowting’s eyes. The silly little fool believes herself in love with him — a man who will never honour her affections as he ought! Thrace is to be an earl one day — he told me so himself. He will never ally himself with the daughter of a provincial nobody, however many times he consents to take dinner at Prowting’s table.”
“I am sure you are right. But Mr. Thrace’s actions suggest an intimacy with Shafto French’s history. Was he at all acquainted with the man?”
“He had met him in the course of the repairs undertaken at the Earl of Holbrook’s estate — Stonings, at Sherborne St. John. He affected to enjoy French’s rough humour and easy ways. I do not think Thrace has lived all his life in the most select society, whatever his present affectations may suggest. I think he was rather more intimate with his labourers than you or I should be. Certainly he undertook to drink with Shafto French of an evening, at the Alton publick houses. I more than once observed him there.”
Blood money, Jemima French had said; and it was the heir as would pay. Shafto French had spoken more freely than he ought of his wife’s adventures in the Hinton household; had Julian Thrace disclosed his private affairs under the influence of drink, and ruthlessly silenced his confidant when the man turned blackmailer?
“Will you not tell us what really occurred on Saturday the first of July, Mr. Hinton?” Edward asked quietly. “For however disappointed in Miss Prowting’s affections, you cannot wish to throw your life away on her rival’s account. I am sure you cannot.”
Hinton glanced at my brother, weighing the odds of silence and disclosure. Speech won out.