I signed the letter, sealed it with some candlewax and my brother's fob, and waited for the storm to break above my head.
Chapter 4
A Passage with the Bereaved
Tuesday
20 August 1805
IN NEARLY THIRTY YEARS OF LIVING I HAVE OFTEN HAD occasion to observe, that one sensational event may only be supplanted by another of equal or greater import. And so it has been with all of us at Godmersham this morning: Mrs. Grey's brutal murder is quite forgot, and the agent of her eclipse is none other than Captain Woodford.
He appeared in the approach to our gates at noon, arrayed in his full dress uniform and mounted on a dappled grey. I was privileged in having the first sight of him — for I had profited from the interlude after breakfast, when the little ones were taking turns with patient Patch, the old pony, to escape to my Doric temple and my solitude. There in columned shadow I was established with paper and pen, secure in such privacy as I may rarely command. There I might gaze out over the chuckling Stour, and watch the growing heat of morning raise a fine mist above the meadows; feel birdsong throbbing in my veins, and attempt to wrestle Lady Susan to her Fate.[15]
The nature of that Fate is much in question at present, for Lady Susan is not a woman to suffer the vagaries of fortune as willingly as her creator might intend. She is a vengeful and calculating Virago, in fact, and I am entirely delighted with her. Cassandra believes there is something shocking in a woman so very bad; she would have Lady Susan repentant and reformed at the tale's end. But in this we may read the force of sentiment— and the failure of Art to mirror Truth. For I have known a thousand Lady Susans; have seen them sail unremarked through the Fashionable World, their consequence increasing with every fresh outrage. Unnatural mother, adulterous schemer, and treacherous friend — what can such a woman ever know of virtue?
I love her too well, in short, to have her broken for a moral.
My thoughts in this vein had only just borne fruit, in the composition of the novel's final pages, when the sound of hoofbeats on the dusty lane below my hilltop perch alerted all my senses. I half-rose, and peered round a column; observed an officer mounting the stone bridge over the Stour; and set aside my paper and pen. A moment's further study revealed the upright figure to possess an eye patch — and there could not be two such at large in the country. Captain Woodford, then, was come to Godmersham, and well before the usual hour for paying a morning call!
If I entertained the notion of a soul burdened with guilt, and advancing upon my brother for the full confession of its sins, I may perhaps be forgiven. I watched with narrowed eyes as the Captain achieved the gates and made his measured progress up the sweep.[16] He did not look a man overwhelmed by grief; yet neither was he galloping as befit an officer charged with the most urgent intelligence. The French were not upon our very doorstep, at least.
I gathered up my little sheaf of paper, secured Lady Susan and my pen in the pocket of my apron, and set off down the slope towards the house.
“CAPTAIN WOODFORD,” LIZZY SAID, WITH HER MOST charming smile — the one that is barely a smile at all. “I fear you find us quite abandoned by the gentlemen.”
Neddie had left early on horseback intent upon Valentine Grey, while Henry had been charged with learning what he could of Denys Collingforth's affairs. He intended, I believed, to spend the better part of the day drinking ale in the Hound and Tooth, the center of all gossip in Canterbury.
The Captain bowed low over my sister's hand, then inclined his head towards myself. “Mr. Austen is from home? should have suspected as much. The tragic business at the race-meeting—”
“Indeed,” Lizzy returned smoothly. “My husband left the house at eight o'clock, intent upon The Larches. Mr. Grey, it seems, arrived home just after dawn, and Mr. Austen wished to speak with him as soon as might be.”
“Of course. I had not known Grey was returned.” If the Captain felt a moment's uneasiness at the mention of The Larches, he betrayed nothing in his countenance. His entire aspect, in fact, was official and grave, as tho' he moved in a role not entirely his own. He handed Lizzy a furled despatch, tied round with a scarlet cord.
“I had hoped to speak with Mr. Austen himself, but given the pressing nature of the business at hand, can delay no longer. You will comprehend the urgency of this document's contents, I am sure, Mrs. Austen, and see that its instructions are fulfilled to the letter.”
But Lizzy was already perusing the despatch, a fine line growing deeper between her brows. “Evacuation orders?” she said faintly. “But is it certain?”
“Nothing can be certain, ma'am, when the enemy is so inscrutable as Buonaparte,” the Captain replied. “We merely thought it wisest to discharge these orders among the local gentry, in the event of an invasion's taking place. You apprehend that it would not do, ma'am, to have the populace choking the major routes of any army retreat towards London.”
“Retreat,” Lizzy repeated. “You have capitulated already, I see.”
Captain Woodford gave a short bark of laughter, and glanced at me uneasily. “There is no cause for alarm, Mrs. Austen, I assure you. It is merely wisest to be prepared.”
“What has occasioned the present release of these orders?” I enquired. “Have the French been sighted in the Channel?”
“I regret that I am not at liberty to disclose the intelligence,” the Captain told me with another bow, “since I am hardly in command of it myself. I may only say that Major-General Lord Forbes was called out in the middle of the night, and told of something that so excited his anxiety, he deemed it best to alert the surrounding countryside. It is everywhere rumoured that the fleet has escaped from Brest and Boulogne — that the Emperor has embarked — and that even now some thousand French ships with cavalry and cannon in their holds are bound for the shores of Kent.”
“The fleet escaped? While Admiral Nelson and the intrepid Fly Austen patrol the Channel? Unthinkable!” I scoffed.[17]
“Would that the General might share your fond hope,” said Woodford with a smile, “but caution must argue a more present surety. We would wish you to have the chief of your household goods packed and in readiness, in the event you must quit the country on little notice.”
“Packing is merely the tenth part of it,” Lizzy said abruptly. She crumpled the despatch into a tight little wad. “We are to fire the sainfoin harvest from June, and cull the herds as well? — It shall be a bitter winter in Kent, if every household does the same! And what if we refuse, Captain Woodford?”
“I should not like to have to enforce the orders against your will, madam,” he rejoined, “but if my general commands it, I will do so. We cannot have such a rich provision fall into the hands of the French.”[18]
Lizzy thrust the despatch into my hands, and turned away. “Forgive me, Captain — but I must see that the packing is commenced at once. A household of nine children, a variety of adults, and fourteen in service, may never move but at a ponderous pace. Pray overlook my ill-breeding, and accept a glass of lemonade. Mrs. Salkeld! Mrs. Salkeld!”
And so she swept out of the drawing-room, her carriage magnificent, the very picture of an outraged chatelaine. Captain Woodford gazed after her with an air of trouble on his brow, and then smiled ruefully at me. “At least she did not dissolve in tears. For that I am thankful. It is a difficult business, informing the populace of so unexpected a removal. I have witnessed all manner of behaviour in the past several hours — fainting fits, the tearing of hair, and even the threat of violence. One lady I shall forbear to name advanced upon me with a pair of sewing shears!”
15
17
From his youth, Jane's elder brother, Francis Austen, RN, was called “Fly.” He was posted to the Channel station in 1804 as captain of the
18
Warren Roberts, in