Jane and the Genius of the Place: Being the Fourth Jane Austen Mystery (28 page)

“Excuse me, my dear, but I know
exactly
how I may judge,” Lizzy rejoined tardy. “Such nice distinctions between intention and action, belong solely to the province of the Justice, who must stand above reproach. His wife may indulge all the force of prejudice, and declare Mr. Grey an unfeeling brute.”

“Did his housekeeper confide the reason for this sudden journey?” I enquired.

“According to Mrs. Bastable, the master received an express from Town just before dawn, presumably on a matter of business. His journey necessarily resulted from it. To suppose more than this, would be sheer conjecture.”

“A pressing matter of business, then, to prevent his attending his wife's funeral. I should imagine it the sort of summons that might not be denied—from a person whose powers must command even Grey.”

“There can be very few of those,” Henry remarked. “A summons from Prime Minister Pitt himself, perhaps?— Who requires another loan to fund the ambitions of Lord Nelson and our brother?”

“Perhaps we should peruse the London papers,” I suggested with a smile, “and find in their subtle hints the reason for so much haste. The Comte, I suppose, was in evidence?”

“He might have been the bereaved husband himself, for all his display of anguish,” Neddie replied.

'You thought him insincere?”

“No, Jane—merely less restrained than an Englishman might be. His grief bore every appearance of arising from the deepest sense of loss. He accepted the sympathies of the assembled mourners with becoming grace, and begged us all to take some refreshment in the house, when once the service was over.”

“He took nothing himself, however,” Henry supplied, “and said even less.”

“Did you press him, Neddie, on the subject of Mr. Grey's flight?”

“I did not,” my brother replied, “but the Comte suggested freely that he thought Grey's absence arose not from a matter of business, but from a persistent disregard for what was due to his wife—a distaste for the scandal her death had caused—and a general desire to place events behind him.”

“The Comte will return very soon to France, I suppose.”

“If Grey's wishes are consulted, I am sure the fellow would presendy be at the ends of the earth! Not even Grey, however, may entirely control the disposition of forces. A fleet action in the Channel may forestall the departure of his unwelcome guest; and then we may observe how the two chessmen play.”

“Provided the one does not place the other in check,” I observed—and ran away to dress.

1
The ancient path of pilgrimage toward Canterbury cathedral ran through the meadows of Godmersham in Austen's day. —
Editor's note.

2
This 1765 Gothic by Horace Walpole was read and enjoyed bymost of Austen's family in her youth. It was the sort of book she later lampooned in
Northanger Abbey.
—
Editor's note.

3
Women never attended funerals in Austen's day, even those of close family members. They were deemed too delicate to support the pain of witnessing an interment, despite the fact that they presided over innumerable deathbeds.—
Editor's note.

Friday, 23 August 1805,
very late in the evening

W
E ARE ONLY JUST RETURNED FROM OUR VISIT TO
E
AST
well Park, and tho' it is nearly midnight now, my head is so filled with all that I have seen and heard, that I cannot sleep without setting down a few words in my little book. A roving owl calls spectrally through the darkness while the rest of the great house falls silent; monstrous shapes, born of my candle-flame, dance against the yellow walls. The maid, stifling a gape, has undone my best dinner gown and brushed out my hair. She is gone thankfully now to her bed under the airless rafters, while I sit at the dressing table in only my shift, desperate for a breeze that never comes. Another midnight I should be overwhelmed with loneliness, and dwell upon the follies of my past. But a circle of faces presently whirls before my eyes, caught in a shaft of memory; best to capture something of their outline, before it is dulled with sleep.

It was a large and stimulating party—for in addition to Mr. Finch-Hatton, Lady Elizabeth, and their five children (two of them very engaging little boys), we were treated to all the Finch-Hatton relations. This included the Miss Finches, Anne and Mary, both unmarried and as voluble as Lady Elizabeth is silent; Mr. Emilious Finch-Hatton, the younger brother; and Harriet, Lady Gordon, the one Finch sister so fortunate as to achieve the wedded state.
1
Her husband, Sir Janison, I liked too little to cultivate; his manner was haughty, as befits a baronet, and he gave way to the temptation to sneer at the foolishness of the Miss Finches more than once. I cannot love a man who despises a spinster.

Of Mr. Emilious Finch-Hatton, however, I formed a better opinion. I was so fortunate as to be seated next to him at dinner, and found him a stimulating companion—but more on that point later.
2

In addition to our two families, there remained a pair of bachelors: Mr. Thomas Brett, an attorney with expectations of a prettyish estate near Wye, called Spring Grove, whom I believe to be sadly in the thrall of Miss Louisa Finch-Hatton; and the remarkable Mr. Julian Sothey.

Tho' we had journeyed the four miles towards Ashford in expectation of a meeting with the Gendeman Improver, it was in fact several hours before he was introduced to the ladies' attention. Upon our arrival at Eastwell just after two o'clock, Lizzy and I were immediately conveyed to a pleasantly airy saloon, with French windows surmounted by an Egyptian frieze, done in quite an extraordinary plasterwork—as tho' Robert Adam had witnessed the excesses of Napoleon's campaign, and thought to reproduce all of Alexandria in a single room. The saloon's prospect gave out onto the garden, which my brothers were rapidly traversing in company with the male Finch-Hattons. They were bound for the stables and a pony-trap, in which they intended to tour the park.

Lady Elizabeth and her eldest daughter were reclining indolently on a pair of sofas, apparently overcome by the oppressive weather and the vexation of dressing for dinner; it was not in their power to rise at our entrance. The Miss Finches, in their neat, spare fashion, were industriously at work upon an extensive fringe, appar-endy divided between them; little George and Daniel were engaged in playing at spillikins, while Lady Gordon read aloud from a novel. (It was, alas,
The Sorrows of Young Werther;
and perhaps my countenance fell upon perceiving it, for the excellent woman set aside the volume direcdy we were announced.)

“Mrs. Austen!” Mary Finch cried.

“And Miss Jane Austen!” her sister Anne echoed.

The two ladies abandoned their work and bustled forward, ail anxiety for our comfort, as though we had arrived in the midst of a terrible storm, or were fainting from three days' hunger. In the fuss that generally ensued, the quieter salutations of the others were entirely overwhelmed.

“To think,” Miss Mary began, “—such excellent friends—travelling all this distance, and in such heat and dust! Entirely too amiable! You find us quite at home—reduced to utter stupidity by the oppressive weather—although Harriet has been so good as to amuse us with
Werther
—tho' perhaps amusing is
not
the properest word, for it
is
a trifle tedious in passages— Louisa was quite reduced to tears of boredom for entire chapters together, although I am sure it is very instructive. It is all the rage in Town.”

“Had we only possessed Mrs. Edgeworth's works, or even Mrs. Palmerston's,” Miss Anne added, “when Mary and I were girls—but, then, we were very fortunate to be taught so much as a syllable of French, or anything of geography, for it was hardly considered suitable to send
girls
to fashionable boarding establishments, such as our little Louisa has been treated to—and quite the fine miss she has returned, with such elegant taste, and her fingers so harmonious—they quite fly about the keyboard, as I am sure you will agree when she consents to play for us, after dinner. I am certain that Mr. Brett intends to teaze her on the subject of performance, blush how she might—”

“Pray allow the ladies to sit down, Mary,” Lady Elizabeth commanded in a quelling tone, “and ring for Hopkins with some punch. I trust your journey was uneventful, Mrs. Austen?”

“Entirely, Lady Elizabeth, I thank you.”

“You did not bring your eldest daughter. I had hoped she might be a companion for George.”

“How unfortunate, then, that she remained at home! She was excessively disappointed, I assure you. But Fanny's governess thought the journey too unhealthful in such heat, to permit of the treat.”

Lady Elizabeth inclined her head, and returned to fanning herself with a rush paddle; from Louisa we received not a word. She appeared engaged in studying the prospect of the garden—or perhaps she was hoping for a glimpse of its improver.

“Pray tell me, Miss Austen, how your lovely sister Cassandra does?” Miss Mary Finch cried. “We had hoped to have the pleasure of seeing her at Eastwell. It has been some months since we were so fortunate. Like yourself, I suppose, she yet retains the single state?”

“She does, ma'am,” I managed without loss of countenance. “Her recent period of mourning for my father rendered any change in domestic situation abhorrent.”

Miss Mary's expression turned so anxious at this, that I feared she might suffer a fit. “But of
course
—your excellent father—any change would be entirely out of the question for either of you girls—nothing so ideally suited to the comfort of a widow, as to have her children about her—I had entirely forgotten—that is, not
forgotten
, exactly, for who could ignore the loss of so admirable a soul, as the Reverend George? But, then, you are yourself no longer in mourning, Miss Austen, and I confess that your blooming looks put all thought of the dear departed quite out of my head. A charming man—and your brothers so very much like him—we shall have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Henry Austen, I hope, tho' my brother has quite stolen him away for the nonce. You will not take my little enquiry regarding your sister in an unamiable light, I hope?”

“Miss Austen is
from
Godmersham at present, I believe?” Miss Anne interjected, with a conscious look for her sister.

And so I related how Cassandra had gone to Harriot Bridges, with a view to assisting in the care of the invalid Bridges sister, Marianne; how she was expected at Godmersham on Monday, and appeared to be suffering herself from a return of the headache complaint that had troubled her ever since her unfortunate carriage accident in Lyme.
3

“So Miss Cassandra Austen went to Goodnestone Farm!” Miss Anne exclaimed. “That is very good of her, to be sure, when she must deny herself all the superior pleasures that your brother's estate may offer. But I shall hope that she has not found her time there
entirely
devoid of interest.”

“I believe my brother Edward intended to make her visit as stimulating as possible,” Lizzy remarked, without even the hint of a smile. “He is quite a slave to Cassandra's enjoyment, and shall presently turn his devotion to Jane. Jane is to make her own visit, you know, upon Cassandra's departure.”

In such asides, punctuated by strenuous Finch monologues and virtual silence from the other ladies in the room, nearly an hour and a half were suffered to pass away, before a nuncheon of cheese and fruit materialised upon a tray. After this was consumed, I gave way to the entreaties of the litde boys, and joined them in the establishment of cribbage. Daniel and I had just succeeded in winning several hands from Miss Mary and his elder brother, when an exclamation from the languorous Louisa alerted all our attention.

“Mamma! They are coming across the odious ha-ha! I see Mr. Sothey to the fore.”