Other Novels of Intrigue and Romance
The Revelation of Louisa May
Always Emily
Nobody’s Secret
Prisoners in the Palace
To Max and Madi
Copyright © 2016 by Michaela MacColl.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Names: MacColl, Michaela, author.
Title: Secrets in the snow : a novel of intrigue and romance / by Michaela MacColl.
Description: San Francisco : Chronicle Books, [2016] | Summary: The young Jane Austen is not particularly interested in getting married, although she does find the mysterious Mr. Lefroy an intriguing possibility—but first she has to deal with the accusation that her cousin Eliza is a French spy, and solve a murder.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015047480 | ISBN 9781452133584 (Hardcover) | ISBN 9781452138022 (epub)
Subjects: LCSH: Austen, Jane, 1775-1817—Juvenile fiction. | Women authors, English—19th century—Juvenile fiction. | Detective and mystery stories. | Great Britain—History—1789-1820—Juvenile fiction. | France—History—Revolution, 1789-1799—Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Mystery and detective stories. | Austen, Jane, 1775-1817—Fiction. | Authors, English—Fiction. | Great Britain—History—1789-1820—Fiction. | France—History—Revolution, 1789-1799—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction. | Historical fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.M13384 Se 2016 | DDC 813.6—dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015047480ISBN 978-1-4521-3358-4
Design by Lisa Schneller and Kayla Ferriera.
Typeset in Hoefler Text, Copperplate, and Shelley Allegro.
Chronicle Books LLC
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San Francisco, California 94107
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Become part of our community at www.chroniclebooks.com/teen.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
AUTHOR’S NOTE
FOR FURTHER READING
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
“What have wealth or grandeur
to do with happiness?”
“Grandeur has but little,” said Elinor,
“but wealth has much to do with it.”
SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
Jane lay in bed, listening to the sounds only heard in a rich man’s house. The slight creak as the door was shoved open by a servant’s hip. The slight clink of china as the tray was deposited on the bedside table. The rattle of curtain rings as the heavy drapes were drawn back. The thud of coal being fed to the fire. All done without any effort on Jane’s part.
The steamy aroma of freshly made tea—measured generously and never reused—crept like tendrils of fog through the room.
Slowly, Jane opened her eyes, blinking against the pale winter sunlight. She stretched her fingers and toes to all the corners of the narrow bed.
“Cassandra?” Jane whispered. “Are you awake?”
From across the spacious room, Jane heard a gentle yawn, then her sister answered. “Good morning, Jane. I smell tea.”
“Don’t you think tea smells better when you don’t have to make it yourself?”
“I feel quite indolent,” Cassandra admitted. “How will I ever go home again and have to do for myself?”
“Don’t worry, dear Cass, our brother’s wife will make sure you earn your keep.”
“Jane! That’s unkind,” Cassandra scolded, but there was laughter in her voice. “Elizabeth needs our help to prepare for the next baby.”
They had arrived at their brother Edward’s palatial home by hired carriage the evening before. Jane and Cassandra’s means were as modest as their elder brother’s were exalted. When Edward was twelve, the Knight family, cousins to the Austens, had adopted him. Rich as Croesus, they lacked only an heir to their fortune. Edward was more than happy to change his name in exchange for a large estate.
“Elizabeth has a fortune and an army of servants,” Jane reminded her. “She always takes pain to make it clear that we aren’t welcome houseguests, but Edward’s poor relations.”
“Aren’t we?” Cassandra asked simply.
“I’m in no mood to be clear-eyed this morning,” Jane said, sweeping the blankets away and leaping out of bed. She pulled her soft wool shawl around her shoulders and went to the window to consider the weather. “The weather is fine enough for a walk before breakfast,” she said, pouring herself a cup of the strong Indian tea and adding a generous spoonful of sugar. “Would you like some tea?”
“Not yet. How can you be so vigorous this early?” Cassandra said with a shake of her head. She pulled her blankets up to her nose. “I’m still exhausted from our journey.”
“I’ve time for a long walk round Godmersham Park before breakfast,” Jane said. The park was lovely in the summer and autumn, but now in the dead of winter it had a desolate air. She would have the paths to herself, which suited her admirably.
Jane quickly pulled her corset on over her chemise and slipped into a morning gown. She exchanged her slippers for walking boots and let herself out of the room, leaving Cassandra dozing.
When Jane returned from her usual vigorous walk, the hem of her skirt was wet and her boots were covered with mud. Rather than go in the front door so disheveled, she slipped through the tall doors that led from the garden to the library. She stopped short when she saw that her brother was sitting in front of one of the fireplaces.
“Jane!” He jumped up and embraced her. Edward was the very image of an English country squire, heavyset and blond with a florid complexion. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here last night to greet you properly. I had a meeting with the regimental commander,” he said, looking pleased with himself. “My goodness, it’s already almost ten o’clock. We had better go to breakfast. Elizabeth hates if I’m late.”
“I’ll just change my clothes . . .”
“Nonsense. We want to see you, not your dress. How like a woman to think of changing one’s clothes instead of eating the best meal of the day.”
“I doubt that Elizabeth will be of the same opinion regarding my attire,” Jane said waspishly.
“Don’t be like that, Jane,” Edward harrumphed. “Elizabeth means well.” Jane smiled to see that away from his shrewish wife, her brother still resembled the sweet lad she remembered.
She followed Edward into the blue pastel drawing room where breakfast was waiting. Her sister-in-law was a handsome woman; her pale blond looks suited her drawing room. Jane noticed the fleeting frown as Elizabeth’s glance took in Jane’s unfashionable bonnet and filthy petticoat. She wondered how long it would take for Elizabeth to feel compelled to comment on her sister-in-law’s appearance.
“Mr. Knight, Jane—there you are!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I wondered where you two were.”
Jane quickly glanced at Cassandra, who hid her smile behind her hand. Elizabeth must have been complaining about their tardiness. The only other guests, Colonel Waring and his wife, were drinking their tea and nibbling at toast.
“C
olonel, Mrs. Waring,” said Edward with a slight bow. “And Cassandra—so lovely to see you.” Edward put his arm around Jane. “And look who I found sneaking into my library! Knowing how Jane likes to read, I’ll have to count the books when she leaves.” As Edward laughed heartily at his own joke, Jane tried to keep herself from wincing.
“Jane, have you been outside already?” Elizabeth asked, her eyebrows lifted. “It’s so damp.” She leaned slightly over the table to catch a glimpse of Jane’s shoes. “And muddy.”
“The weather is very fine,” Jane replied, smiling to herself that Elizabeth couldn’t even wait a full minute before criticizing her.
“So long as it doesn’t snow, we’ll have hunting through next week,” the Colonel said. He looked like exactly what he was: a military man with a good income and a tendency to enjoy port a little too much.
“Good morning, Miss Austen,” Mrs. Waring said. “Did you really go walking?”
“I’m used to keeping country hours, Mrs. Waring. At home in Steventon, we don’t usually have a formal breakfast. We just toast bread by the fire.”
“The deprivations of my youth!” Edward laughed heartily again.
Cassandra smiled politely while Jane bit her tongue. It was fine for Edward, with all his wealth, to joke, but in a few weeks his sisters would return to the same economizing.
Jane consoled herself with the sideboard filled with rich pastries. Her mouth watered when she saw the honey cake. Cassandra had a slice of plum cake and brioche on her plate, while Mrs. Waring had confined herself to toast but was indulging in hot chocolate.
“My goodness, Jane. You must restrain yourself or forfeit your figure,” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Jane can eat anything and never grow larger,” Cassandra assured her sister-in-law.
Colonel Waring was reading the latest newspaper from London. Looking up, he addressed Edward. “I see the French are up to their usual tricks in the Mediterranean. Our navy will have to be quick to put a stop to it.”
Jane and Cassandra exchanged concerned looks. Two of their older brothers were in the navy.
England and France had been at war for the past three years. So far the French had not dared set foot on English soil, but everyone knew the danger was real. Even here in the country, the rumors flew that French spies were everywhere.
Jane slathered fresh butter on her cake and asked, “If you are finished with the newspaper, Colonel Waring, perhaps I could have it?”
Elizabeth drew in a scandalized breath. Edward was grinning. Colonel and Mrs. Waring looked shocked. A hint of condescension in her voice, Mrs. Waring said, “Elizabeth, I had no idea your household was so permissive.”
“It is not,” Elizabeth said sharply. “Jane, I realize that you live a rusticated life in your little parsonage, but at the finer homes a young lady need never read the newspaper. It’s a vulgar habit. Edward will tell you the news you need to hear.”
Jane slowly put down the butter knife. “Firstly, dearest Elizabeth, I am quite capable of reading the newspaper myself. Secondly, our brothers are in the navy, so naturally Cassandra and I are deeply interested in any news from the Mediterranean.” She paused, waiting for her sister to speak. “Aren’t we, Cassandra?” Jane asked pointedly.
Cassandra’s face was crimson. “We do worry so for Francis and Charles. This dreadful war is claiming so many of our finest young men.”
Elizabeth flushed with embarrassment. “Of course, Jane. We are all concerned about the war. Mr. Knight and the Colonel are working closely with the regiment stationed at New Romney.” Edward nodded solemnly.
“Since we are agreed that the news of the war is important, Colonel, may I again trouble you for the paper?” Jane inquired.
Grudgingly Colonel Waring handed the broadsheet to Jane.
Elizabeth pressed her lips tightly together. Her disapproval was interrupted by a footman carrying a letter on a silver tray. He murmured in Elizabeth’s ear.
“A letter for you, Jane,” Elizabeth said. “It arrived with the first post.”
Jane broke the red wax seal and unfolded the thick paper. She scanned it and then smiled.
“Good news, I trust,” Edward said.
“Indeed. It’s from our cousin Eliza.”
“Edward’s cousin is the Comtesse De Feuillide,” Elizabeth said to Mrs. Waring, who looked suitably impressed.
“Our cousin is staying with her friends in London and planning on coming to Steventon in a fortnight,” Jane said. “But her hostess has fallen ill. She thought to come to the parsonage, but . . .” She let her voice trail off, inviting Elizabeth’s response.
“You must have her come here!” Elizabeth said eagerly. Jane nodded, knowing that hosting a countess, even one whose title came from France, would be a social coup for her sister-in-law.
“Are you sure you have enough staff to accommodate her?” Jane asked innocently. “Ow!” She glared at Cassandra, whose pointed shoe had found her shin.
“Stop it, Jane,” Edward said. “Naturally Eliza should come here. She’s family.”
“De Feuillide? It sounds French,” Colonel Waring said with a slight scowl.
“Eliza is English,” Jane corrected. “She married a French count.”
The Colonel blew his nose loudly into his handkerchief. “I don’t hold with our young ladies marrying foreigners in wartime,” he said. “It makes for divided loyalties.”
Jane felt her temper rising, but was careful to keep her voice measured. “Colonel Waring, my cousin’s loyalties to England are clear. She married the Comte more than a decade ago. Besides, she is now a widow. Last year her husband was guillotined by the French Republic!”
Waring’s face, bulbous and unattractive at the best of times, turned red. He mumbled an apology.
“I entreat you to take your newspaper back, sir. You can read of true enemies to our nation there, no doubt.” Jane pushed herself away from the table and shoved the letter into her pocket.
No sooner had she left the room than she regretted her impertinence. Thank goodness Eliza was coming so that Jane would not have to tolerate Elizabeth and her dull guests alone. Cassandra was no use; she was too polite to have any fun at others’ expense. But not Eliza. Recently out of mourning for her poor husband, Eliza would still know all the gossip. And of course her trunks would be full of the latest fashions. Despite the fourteen-year difference in their ages, Jane adored her beautiful and accomplished cousin. She headed for the library; she had an invitation to write.
CHAPTER 2
“How!” cried Elinor; “have you been
repeating to me what you only learnt yourself
by listening at the door? . . . How could
you behave so unfairly by your sister?”
SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
The library was by far Jane’s favorite room in the house. There were two fireplaces and ample furniture. She had once counted twenty-eight chairs and five tables. From Edward’s desk she took a piece of creamy notepaper from a generous stack—now this was true luxury—and settled herself at a table. A trimmed quill pen was ready and the ink was fresh. She drafted a quick invitation to Eliza and then rang for a servant. “Please put this in the next post,” she said. The footman took the letter and withdrew as silently as he had arrived.
Jane wandered about the room. The library was fully stocked from floor to ceiling with leather-bound books, but few of them had their spines cracked. As she scanned the shelves she noted there was not a novel published in the last few years to be found, much less Mrs. Radcliffe’s latest. That was a pity, but not unexpected. Edward and Elizabeth were not readers.
She selected an illustrated edition of Cowper’s poems and settled herself in a high-backed chair in front of the fire at the far end of the library. Without ceremony she propped her feet up on the grate and began to read.
Before she could make much progress, she heard the door open at the other end of the library. She peeked around the back of the chair, fully prepared
to remain hidden if the newcomer was unwelcome. It was Edward.
She was about to reveal herself when there was a tapping at the doors to the garden. From behind the chair’s wing, Jane watched, curious. Who could be visiting Edward this early? Morning calls weren’t made until after lunch, and it was just half past ten.
Edward let in the visitor himself. Jane ducked down further into the chair and drew in her feet.
“Mr. Knight.” The visitor’s voice was deep and graveled. “Thank you for seeing me so early.”
“Major Smythe, have a seat.” There was the scraping of chair legs against the parquet floor. “You said it involved a matter of England’s security,” Edward said. “What does the War Office want with me?”
Jane raised her eyebrows. The War Office was a nebulous term for the men who ran the war and, it was rumored, a vast network of spies and informants. Abroad, its role was to fight foreign enemies, but at home the War Office concerned itself with stemming the spread of radical ideas from France.
After a long pause, Major Smythe said, “It concerns a member of your family.”
Edward’s voice became less affable. “Which brother?”
“None of them, Mr. Knight.”
Both Jane and Edward sighed in relief. Jane covered her mouth with her hand. She must not make a sound.
“I’m speaking of your cousin, the Comtesse de Feuillide.”
Jane went very still.
“Eliza?” Edward repeated. “Why on earth would you care about her?”
“We have reason to believe that she is working with the enemy.” Major Smythe paused. “That she is a spy for France.”
Jane was stunned. Apparently Edward was, too, because he was silent for a long moment. Then he hooted with laughter. “My dear man. Her husband, the Comte, was brutally guillotined not more than a year ago. Why would she help the French? The idea is preposterous!”
“She has been observed visiting a Frenchman, a Mr. Balmont, whom we believe is spying for the French. And we have intercepted communiqués addressed to her that are very suspicious.”
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