“Miss Austen!” he cried. “And the delightful Miss Jane Austen! How well you both look this evening, I declare. That such beauty and wit should be united in one lady surpasses all experience … but that two such, and claiming the same family name, should so subjugate us all to their charms…”
“Mr. Bridges,” Cassandra broke in, “I must suppose you are come to tell us that the carriage is called. You are very good.”
“Not at all! A decided pleasure — and only exceeded by the honour of escorting you home at the close of these delightful festivities. Or should I say — back to the Farm, which, although not your home, must be, I hope, very nearly as dear to you as though it were. That it might prove even dearer in future, through the accomplishment of a certain change…”
Cassandra's countenance, I fear, offered no encouragement to the gallant performer; and so he was suffered to dwindle into silence under the glacial influence of her gaze. He merely bowed to me, and offered my sister his arm, and thus the unfortunate pair moved off through the thinning crowd. I pitied Cassandra, but reserved some measure of the feeling for myself— for that Mr. Bridges would soon bring the matter to a point, and as speedily earn his refusal, I little doubted. It would be but a matter of days, then, before I should be despatched to the Farm in Cassandra's stead. And I should hardly meet Mr. Bridges's attentions with my sister's steady tranquillity. I had not the recourse to a headache complaint; for I was commonly acknowledged to be in riotous good health.
“LIZZY,” HENRY BEGAN AS WE SETTLED OURSELVES WITH some exhaustion in the Godmersham carriage a quarter-hour later, “have you heard what your young brother is up to? He has actually waited upon Major-General Lord Forbes in the card room, in a matter of pheasant-shooting! — Was pleased to bring the General's attention to a rumour of the Guards' troop movements, and expressed his concern that the marching men might entirely rout his birds! The cheek of it all! Can not you put a word in your brother's ear?”
“I am sure the General gave him a dressing-down,” Lizzy returned languidly.
“In too subtle a manner, I fear, for Mr. Bridges's understanding. Lord Forbes informed him that if only the birds were routed, he should consider all of Kent but too fortunate.”
Neddie's sharp bark of laughter cut through the darkness of the coach. “And how did the young popinjay take it?”
“He suggested an alternative route for the troops— through the hayfields to the west, which he represented as a course that might save several miles.”
“And ensure the crops' ruin,” Neddie said with satisfaction. “I am sure the General knew how to express his gratitude for young Edward's sage advice.”
“He was too much engrossed in play, to lend Mr. Bridges more than half an ear,” Henry returned, enjoying the moment hugely, “but I believe he took the point under consideration; for I observed him not a half-hour later, in a frightful rage, with poor Captain Woodford as his object. Lord Forbes was displeased, it seems, with the general knowledge of his manoeuvres. All of Kent may command it; and if we are apprised of the Guards' plans, can Napoleon's spies be in ignorance? While the General marches to Deal, the Monster will throw his troops quite elsewhere.”
“I doubt it was Captain Woodford who published the intelligence,” I mused, “but I should not vouch for Lady Forbes. She has quite the look of a woman who enjoys a sensation — and herself at the centre of it, above all things.”
“She is quite the persecution of poor Woodford,” Lizzy murmured. “Were it not for the deference he owes his commanding officer, I am sure he should shake her off in a trice; but she will hang upon his arm, and regard him as her personal pug-dog, to be petted and spoilt for show.”
“You observed once that Lady Forbes was intimate with Mrs. Grey,” I said. “On what was their friendship founded?”
Lizzy waved her fan, a gleaming arc of ivory in the darkness. “On a mutual love of finery — of spending more than they ought — and of a desire for shared confidences. There is little that occurred in the Army's Officer Corps, I am sure, that was not known at The Larches an hour later. Lady Forbes is the kind of woman who delights in confiding secrets.”
“And Mrs. Grey, in possessing them?” I added thoughtfully. The notion of blackmail was never far from my mind, when I considered of that lady. What might she not have known regarding Captain Woodford, for example, that should thwart his career in the Army? — Or of the spendthrift curate, Edward Bridges, whose luck proved so ruinous at her card-table? She should be unlikely to toy with them for money; she possessed enough of it herself. What, then, had been her object? What form of pressure had she employed? And was her interest merely a malicious delight in the unhappiness of others — or had she a greater object in view?
“Mrs. Grey's relation is a secretive sort, as well,” Neddie observed from his corner, as the carriage jolted down the road. “I could not make the Comte out at all; but I quite liked him, all the same.”
“The Comte de Penfleur! A very elegant gentleman, indeed.” Lizzy was all approval. “But I cannot think it the wisest thing you have ever done, Neddie, to closet yourself fully an hour in his company. All of Canterbury must be alive to the interest of your tete-a-tete; and all of Canterbury will be chattering even now.”
“It is clear, at least, that the Comte attended the Assembly solely with our conversation in view. He is greatly distressed at Mrs. Grey's death, and cannot feel sanguine with Grey's management of it.”
“Grey's management? — But Grey is not the Justice responsible,” I cried.
“No more he is,” my brother replied comfortably, “and the Comte de Penfleur was relieved to hear of it. He was circumspect enough, for the first quarter-hour; but he unbent a great deal, and intimated almost too much, for the remaining three. I should judge him much attached to Francoise Grey; profoundly distrustful of her husband; and anxious that her murderer should not go unpunished.”
“As he believes Denys Collingforth will,” I added.
“He cares nothing for Collingforth, unless he be guilty — and it is quite clear, from his manner of speaking, that he cannot believe him so. Mr. Grey is too eager to charge poor Collingforth with the murder, for the Comte's liking.”
“How very intriguing, to be sure.” Lizzy sighed. “It has quite a Continental flavour to it, Jane, almost of a tragic opera. I am sure the stage shall be littered with the dead and dying, before the final curtain is rung down — do not neglect to inform me of how it all ends. For the present, however, I must implore you, Neddie, not to forget that the Finch-Hattons are to be at dinner tomorrow. We cannot neglect what is due to our friends, however tedious they might prove, merely because of invasion and murder.”
My brother laughed aloud, and kissed his wife's gloved hand, and was content to pass the remainder of the drive in reflective silence.
But I very much wondered, as the shades of night flitted disconsolately past the carriage windows, how greatly the Comte had been attached to his adoptive sister — and whether it was he who had written that letter, in agonised French, to urge a meeting at Pegwell Bay.
Chapter 10
A Desperate Diversion
Thursday,
22 August 1805
I SET DOWN MY ACCOUNT OF THE BALL IN THE EARLY hours of the morning. Once in bed, I tossed and turned until the rain broke before five o'clock, and brought a cooling breeze through the open window. I rose not three hours later and took tea in my room, where I might collect my thoughts before the rest of the house had stirred.