Captain Woodford's single-eyed gaze, now bent upon his fair companion, now roving the room in search of some means of escape, came to rest at last upon myself. He smiled in acknowledgement, and nodded; I returned the courtesy. Just then I espied Lizzy, with her sister Harriot in tow, idling along the edge of the dance floor near the Captain — and his attention was immediately seized. Woodford abandoned Lady Forbes with a bow, hastened to Lizzy's side, and begged Harriot's hand for the dance just then commencing. With a blush and an averted gaze — but no apparent disinclination — she followed him to the floor.
“Miss Austen?”
I tore my eyes from the interesting pair, and was presented with one of Captain Woodford's fellow officers.
“Might I have the pleasure of this dance?”
To my delight and surprise, I discovered that I was much in request, and that full two hours went by before I had a moment to consider of the rest of my party, or indeed of my sister Cassandra. That she was less happy in her experience of the ball was evident from the pained expression with which she greeted Mr. Edward Bridges's attentions. He had elected to station himself by her side, her constant and insidious acolyte; he would fetch her a fresh glass of punch, or see her well-supplied with muffin, and she was utterly martyred to his cause.
The reason for my constant solicitation on the dance floor was soon made plain, however, by the repeated suppositions, cunning asides, and barefaced questions about Mrs. Grey's murder to which I found myself subjected. Neddie's role as Justice had rendered the entire Godmersham party the object of general fascination and enquiry. We were all to be besieged; no one was immune; and so, with an inward bubble of amusement, I set out to learn at least as much as I divulged.
Mr. Goldsmith tells us, that when lovely woman stoops to folly, she has nothing more to do but die; but when she stoops to be an object of scandal, murder is equally to be recommended as a clearer of ill-fame. Much of Kent was at pains to find Mrs. Grey more amiable in death, than they had ever acknowledged her in life; and I must wonder if the elegance of the Comte de Penfleur's address, and the loftiness of his title, must do away entirely with his adoptive sister's reputation. Collingforth, on the other hand, was everywhere declared the worst of fellows — his wife too foolish even to be pitied; and by the end of my third dance, it was evident that he had been judged already and despatched to the gallows by the neighbourhood at large.
Mr. Valentine Grey, however, was decidedly the object of general pity — the sort of pity that is as much knowing contempt, and that must render all condolence an outrage. As to Mr. Grey himself, the reports of his character I was afforded this evening were so at variance with one another, I could not make him out at all. Some would have it he was a shrewd and cunning fellow, too deep to have his measure taken; others that he was a naif who cared for nothing but his remarkable grounds at The Larches. As to his banking concern and its practises, the neighbourhood opinion was even more divided; and I was forced to conclude that the Greys, however fascinating, were very little known in Kent.
Except, perhaps, by one person: Captain Arthur Woodford.
I had consigned the first dance after supper to the gallant Captain. As the supper-room crowd began to thin, I looked about for his battle-scarred figure. He was so much the object of the ladies' attention — single men of excellent family and a respectable commission being hardly thick upon the ground — that I was surprised to find him deserted by the fair sex. He stood, rather, in the closest conversation with Mr. Edward Bridges.
My first assumption — that the two had made up their quarrel — was swiftly dispelled. Mr. Bridges hardly looked easy; he was awkward in his stance, and white about the mouth; while the Captain, whose words were too discreet to be overheard, spoke with a vehemence that argued some heat. On catching sight of me, however, he broke off abruptly, and parted from the curate without the slightest farewell. Mr. Bridges fairly flung himself from the room, as tho' all the imps of Satan were upon him.
“I have not forgot you, Miss Austen, as you see,” the Captain cried.
“I am gratified, Captain, that the French have not monopolised all your attention,” I returned with a curtsey. “I thought you should have been despatched to the coast, to talk peace or exchange prisoners, as the occasion demanded; and yet here I find you, as fine and easy as tho' Buonaparte had never been born!”
“Lord Forbes should choose poorly in sending me to the coast, Miss Austen,” he replied, “for I never talk peace, particularly in French, and I rarely take prisoners.” He bowed, and held out his arm; I slipped my own beneath it, and allowed him to lead me to the floor.
“You despise the French language? Then I suppose you have been denied the acquaintance of the Comte de Penfleur,” I said as we took our places in the line of couples. A poor command of Mrs. Grey's native tongue might have inhibited the Captain's intimacy with the lady — and surely precluded him from having authored the letter concealed in La Nouvelle Heloise.
“I was so fortunate as to make the gentleman's acquaintance this morning, on a visit of condolence to The Larches,” Woodford replied, “but happily, his English is most accomplished.”
“And have you made it a policy to abhor an enemy tongue?”
“I have kicked my heels twice in a French prison, Miss Austen, awaiting the necessary exchange,” he replied, “and on both occasions, my lamentable efforts at the mastery of French were the despair of my captors.[24] Indeed, I was returned to England post-haste that they might no longer have the burden of hearing me — and thus have never felt compelled to augment the lack.”
I laughed at him then, and abused his stupidity like the coquettish Miss I presumed to affect; and wondered all the while whether the Captain might be believed. A man who had endured the tedium of capture, in the company of French officers of equal rank (for so Wood-ford presumably was housed), should hardly have failed to learn something of the language. Was this a subterfuge, intended for the benefit of the Justice's sister? Had the Captain written the interesting letter, and suggested a flight to Pegwell Bay? And had his friend Mr. Grey discovered the whole, and murdered his wife in a jealous rage?
I could not determine whether Captain Woodford was the sort of man to make love to his oldest friend's wife; or to shield that friend, in a matter of murder. But perhaps he knew nothing of Francoise Grey's end — perhaps he merely suspected her husband guilty of a horror — and hoped that Denys Collingforth might hang for all their sins.
But I had been too long silent; it was not done, in the midst of a dance; and so I clutched at the thread of our conversation.
“And what did you think of the Comte de Penfleur?”
The Captain's countenance turned, if anything, too careful. “He is all right in his way, I suppose — for a Frenchman.”
I laughed in delight. “So much praise for an enemy, from a captain of His Majesty's Guards, may be termed a veritable encomium! And may I ask, sir, upon what grounds this weighty judgement was formed?”
“A little conversation only, I confess. I conveyed my sentiments of condolence, of course — assured the Comte of my affectionate respect for the late departed — and expressed my outrage at the manner of her death. He was almost overcome at such a demonstration of goodwill— I saw the tears start out in his eyes, Miss Austen — and could not speak for several moments. But he then assured me that he bore the people of Canterbury no ill-will on account of the murder; that such shocking episodes might be met with daily in the streets of Paris, and one accepted one's Fate as it was served. We exchanged a few pleasantries — the dry weather, the state of the roads — and then I took myself off.” He hesitated. “I pray you will not relate what I have said to any of my colleagues, particularly my commanding officer. Lord Forbes should be most put out, was he aware I had met with a Frenchman recently disembarked from the Channel, and yet had failed to learn the state of the French flotilla from his very lips. I could not think it likely, however, that the Comte had observed anything to the purpose — he had crossed in the night — and I did not like to encroach upon his mourning.”
24
It was the practice during this period to hold enemy officers in lodgings that befit their status as gentlemen, and to exchange them for captured officers of one's own army at the first opportunity. —