“No, of course not. And I resent the implication, on Eliza’s behalf and my own,” Henry muttered. “But that doesn’t mean that she did anything wrong.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Jane agreed. “And the snow last night would have made the path here very difficult. She’s not a strong walker.”
“Still, we have motive and opportunity. Now as to means,” Tom said. “She had access to the knife.”
“But she’s tiny,” Jane said. “There is no way she could inflict any of those wounds, even the shallower ones. And my cousin is no fool. Why leave a knife in the body that could be traced back to our house?”
“Maybe it was the only knife she could find,” Tom countered. “And don’t forget the handkerchief. It proves she was here.”
“We know she was here,” Jane countered. “I was here with her. Besides, anyone could have dropped it in the church.” She pulled out the handkerchief again. “Look at the darning on the corner. Eliza would never carry such a thing. She would have discarded it immediately. Anyone from here to London might have picked it up.”
Tom pursed his lips as though he wanted to argue with her. Jane held up a hand. “Eliza is family and my dear friend, so I know you don’t trust our faith in her. But I have a vivid imagination. Try as I might, I cannot see her creeping out of the house in the middle of a storm, luring her husband out in the snow, and stabbing him twice in the back and then again in his chest. I honestly do not believe that she did it.”
“Thank you, Jane,” Henry said, wiping his brow. He took his place on the bench, his fingers drumming on his knees.
Tom gazed at her with admiration. “Jane, would you take it amiss if I told you that your powers of deduction are as logical as any man’s?”
“I would say you do not know enough women,” Jane retorted.
“Look, Tom, you’ve made her blush!” Henry crowed. “Hardly anyone has the power to do that.” His delight in teasing his sister trumped, for an instant, the gravity of the situation.
“Don’t talk nonsense,” Jane said severely. “Tom, if we are agreed that we can exclude Eliza . . .”
“For now,” he said cautiously.
“Then we must consider other possibilities,” Jane finished.
“Who do you believe might have done the deed?” Tom asked.
Without pausing, she said, “Jacques, Eliza’s coachman.”
“That insolent fellow who wouldn’t give you the mail?” Tom asked.
She nodded and explained her suspicions of Jacques. “So you see, he is most likely spying on his mistress either for the French regime or for the English—who knows? He has reason to hate the Comte, who was responsible for the death of his brother. He tried to keep me from coming here this morning. And he is a big man, certainly strong enough to inflict the wounds we saw.”
“What about the chain?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know,” Jane admitted. “I’ve never noticed whether Jacques wore one. But we mustn’t assume that the owner of the necklace is the killer. It might have belonged to the Comte. Although, if the killer did wear it, there may be marks around his or her neck from where the necklace was ripped away. Or there may be an entirely innocent explanation.”
“We should watch Jacques carefully,” Henry said eagerly. “He might try to flee. After all, he has Eliza’s carriage.”
“We don’t have an unassailable case yet,” Tom said, “but there is definitely enough to suspect him. It would be best if he were still here to talk to the magistrate.”
“The two of you must make sure he doesn’t run,” Jane said. “And I will find out more about this necklace.” She ran the chain through her fingers, feeling the cold metal grow warmer. “I have to tell Eliza what’s happened.”
“Jane, I’d prefer to tell her,” Henry said.
“No!” Jane and Tom cried in unison.
“You mustn’t talk to Eliza before I do,” Jane said.
“Why not?” Henry was as petulant as a little boy.
“It is not proper for you, of all people, to tell her that her husband is dead.”
Henry’s crestfallen expression reminded Jane of how he used to look when their mother forbade him some treat.
“Even though I think she is innocent,” Jane said, “she may have knowledge that will help us.” Unspoken was Jane’s conviction that Eliza could mislead Henry and he would never think to challenge her. “And then I’ll talk to Marie.”
“Very well. I’ll guard Jacques,” Henry said. “Tom, you’ll watch over Jane?”
“I don’t need watching over!” Jane exclaimed.
“Jane, there’s a murderer loose,” Tom said. “The last thing I . . . we want is for you to be the next victim. Henry, I’ll take care of her.”
“Do you want to borrow my pistol?” Henry asked.
“That’s not necessary!” Jane cried.
Tom held up his hands. “You’ll need it more than I,” he said hastily. “Jacques is more likely to give you trouble.”
“As far as we know, he’s not armed,” Henry protested. “But the ladies, they are the more dangerous sex by far!”
“Enough!” Jane snapped. “No one is armed except my idiot brother.” Even as she said it, she wondered if it were true. The Comte had had a pistol. Tom hadn’t found it on his body; he would have said so. Where was it? And where were his belongings? She remembered seeing his leather satchel near the fire the night before. Perhaps the gun had been taken away by the murderer.
She started to tell the others, but was interrupted by Henry. “We’ve been gone long enough. Let’s go home,” he said. “Mother hates to wait breakfast for us. I’m starved.”
Tom agreed. “We mustn’t rouse anyone’s suspicions. It will be easier if no one knows what we are about.”
Jane, feeling the chill in her feet and the emptiness in her stomach, was amenable. She would tell them about the pistol later.
Henry set off ahead of Jane and Tom, arms swinging. His tousled blond hair caught the sun. Jane envied him his easy ability to shake off tragedy.
“Life is easy for people like Henry,” Tom said.
Jane was startled; his words echoed her thoughts exactly. “What do you mean?”
Tom shrugged. “A younger son. No expectations. He can think only of himself and no one will think any less of him.”
“He’s worried about Eliza,” Jane pointed out.
“And that’s not selfish?” Tom asked.
“Eliza is the first thing his charm might not secure for him,” Jane said. “But he perseveres nonetheless. I think his feelings are genuine. However, you are right; he is the most lighthearted of all my brothers.”
“He is certainly more entertaining than James!”
They both laughed, and it was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
“James is not so bad,” Jane said. “But he is the oldest and feels the responsibility of that.”
“I sympathize,” Tom said. “I’m the oldest son in a large family, too.”
“But you aren’t as poor as we are!” Jane said, her eyes fixed on the ground. If Tom didn’t already know that she had no fortune, he did now. He was silent, and she let her gaze wander to see his face.
“My father was even poorer,” Tom said. “He was an ensign in the army. His only patron was his uncle, Judge Langlois. Father fell in love with the daughter of an impoverished local squire. But he knew my great-uncle wouldn’t approve of such an improvident match.”
“What did he do?” Jane asked, working hard to keep her tone casual.
“He married her, but kept it secret.”
Jane’s laugh was more a snort. “How long could that strategem succeed?”
“The judge lives in London and refused to visit Ireland. Father was certain that if he presented his uncle with an heir, then all would be forgiven.”
“And you are the heir in question?” Jane asked, smiling.
“Only after five sisters,” he said.
“Five!
Every new girl dashing your family’s prospects!” She could not help laughing at the idea.
Tom shrugged. “Happily I was born. But I am at the mercy of the same pigheadedness. All my hopes rest on my great-uncle’s favor.”
Jane didn’t answer. She was lost in thought. Her fingers tingled, longing for a pen. What possibilities there were in Tom’s story! A family desperate for a son. Perhaps the property is entailed and only a male relative can inherit. But daughter after daughter is born. Their only hope is to marry well. But how can five girls all manage to find husbands? The Austens couldn’t manage two!
“Jane?” Tom’s voice interrupted her plotting.
She came back to herself. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought you were lost to me; your thoughts were so far away.”
“Not at all. I’m grateful. You’ve given me the seed of a story. Who knows what it will grow into?”
He looked puzzled. “I cannot imagine what kind of tale you could spin from my dull family, but I look forward to seeing it.”
As they walked, they kept to the path their footsteps had trod on the way to the church. The sun was bright but not warm, for which Jane was grateful. The longer the road was impassable, the more time she had to think of a way to protect Eliza and the Austen name. She sighed at the size of the task before her.
The parsonage was in sight, windows gleaming. “Your home is charming,” Tom said.
“It’s drafty and dreadfully plain,” Jane retorted.
“The warmth of your family’s hospitality more than compensates for the chill.”
“You are very gallant,” Jane said. Stopping on the doorstep, she turned to Tom. “When I first met you, I never would have thought that we could be friends.”
“When we first met, I was a churlish idiot. My only redeeming feature is that I can learn from my mistakes.” He reached out and took her hand. “I am honored to be your friend. Perhaps more than friends.”
Jane felt warmth spread from his hand to hers. She squeezed his hand ever so slightly and for a moment forgot about Eliza, the dead Comte, and all their troubles.
CHAPTER 19
I will venture to say that my
investigations and decisions are not usually
influenced by my hopes or fears.
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
“Jane, there you are!” A voice from above drew their eyes upward. Eliza’s worried face poked out of a half-open window. Unobtrusively, Jane withdrew her hand from Tom’s. “I’ve been waiting and waiting. Tell me everything!”
“I’ll come in a moment,” Jane promised. Eliza nodded and closed the window.
“Should I come with you when you talk to the Comtesse?” Tom asked.
“I don’t think so,” Jane said. “She is more likely to confide in me if we are alone.”
“Very well. I’ll wait downstairs.”
Jane tried to tell him that it was unnecessary, but he insisted, reminding her there was a killer about. “If you insist,” she said. “Do as you like.” She slipped inside.
Eliza was waiting at the top of the stairs. She pulled Jane into her bedroom and closed the door. They were alone. “What did he say?” Eliza asked. “Will he take our offer? Is Hastings safe?”
“Not precisely,” Jane said, trying to find the words to tell Eliza that she was a widow. Again.
“Even knowing that I don’t want to go to America, he insists that I go with him?” Eliza wailed. “I think I hate him.”
“Don’t say that,” Jane said, remembering the Comte’s eyes, glassy in death, staring up at the sky.
“But I do, Jane! I wish he were still dead!”
Jane couldn’t let Eliza keep talking as though the Comte was still alive. “Eliza, he is dead,” she blurted.
Eliza blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I found him lying dead in the snow.”
“Dead?” Eliza repeated slowly as if trying to take it in. She sank into her chair.
“Murdered.”
Her blue eyes widened. “Murdered?” Jane nodded.
Eliza gripped Jane’s hand tightly. “It’s an answer to my prayers,” she whispered. “Now I can marry Henry. And Hastings and I will stay in England.”
Suddenly she looked worried. “Will everyone have to know? Will Henry have to find out that Jean was still alive?”
Jane snatched back her hand. “Of course people will know. Bodies have a way of being noticed. Besides, Henry is already aware of the whole story.”
“You told him? Jane, how could you?” Eliza leapt to her feet and began pacing angrily about the room. She picked up a silk scarf and twisted it between her hands. “Does he blame me?”
“He understands,” Jane assured her. “And we’ll do our best to keep this as quiet as we can, for your sake.”
“And yours,” Eliza said shrewdly.
Jane pulled the chain and cross from her pocket. “Do you recognize this?”
Eliza squinted until she took the necklace to the window and held it up to the light. “Oh, yes, I know this! Ten years ago Jean went to Rome. He met the pope. He had these necklaces blessed as gifts for his servants. Where did you find this?”
“Did he keep one for himself?” Jane asked, ignoring Eliza’s question.
Eliza’s brow furrowed in thought. “Yes,” she said finally. “But I think Hastings has it now.”
“Which servants?”
“Jacques and his brother were each given one.”
“Not Marie?”
“No. She hadn’t come to work for us yet. But I think she might have René’s necklace. I’ve seen her wear it.” Eliza’s face was full of questions. “Why are you asking about an old necklace? Where did you find it?”
“We found it clutched in the Comte’s hand,” Jane explained.
Eliza’s hand went to the hollow at the base of her throat. “Do you think one of my servants killed him? No, Jane, it’s impossible. They were devoted to Jean.”
“Do you include Jacques in that number?”
“Until yesterday, I would have said he was absolutely loyal. But that was before I knew what Jean did to Jacques’ brother.”
“He has a strong motive,” Jane agreed.
“How could he know what Jean had done? I didn’t know until last night and I didn’t tell anyone.”
Jane admitted the truth of that. “What about Marie?”
Eliza shook her head decisively. “Marie would never harm Jean. She owed him everything.”
“But his actions led to her husband’s death,” Jane pointed out.
“Nonsense. Marie was happy enough with René, but it was no love match. Marie was a girl on Jean’s estate who got into trouble. She was with child and had no husband.” She shrugged as if to say “these things happen.”
“Who was the father?”
Eliza shrugged. “Someone on the estate; I never knew. Jean arranged for her to marry René. So she was grateful to Jean for safeguarding her reputation and ensuring her son was provided for.”
Jane added these facts to the ones she already had. It didn’t seem as though Marie would have a reason to kill the Comte.
Eliza went on. “Besides, Marie, like Jacques, had no way of knowing what my husband had done.”
“But unlike Jacques, she is with you all the time. Could you have let slip anything about Jean being alive?”
Eliza couldn’t meet Jane’s eyes.
“Eliza?” Jane demanded. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I knew it was a secret about Jean. But I needed my warm clothes!” Eliza finally burst out. “I told her that I had to go to the church yesterday and that she should lay out my coat and gloves. I might have mentioned Jean.” She frowned. “I don’t really remember. I was in a state.”
“Marie could have told Jacques,” Jane pointed out. “He’s intelligent and could have figured out how Jean survived the guillotine.”
Jane slipped her hand into her pocket and fingered the other bit of evidence, the handker
chief. After a moment’s reflection, she decided that Eliza had so many such bits of linen, there was no point in asking her about it. “Can you fetch Marie?” she asked finally.
Eliza lifted her eyebrows. “Why?”
“Don’t worry. I just want to ask her to show me something.”
“Very well,” Eliza said reluctantly. “It’s very aggravating to have to go find my servants. Jane, this house needs bells.”
“Eliza, please?”
Eliza hurried out of the room. A few minutes later she returned with Marie in tow.
“Hello, Marie,” Jane said. Surreptitiously she examined Marie’s throat. The maid still wore two chains round her neck.
Marie bobbed a curtsy. “Mademoiselle.”
“Are you feeling better?” Jane asked. “Last night you were indisposed.”
“Much better,” Marie said.
“Is that why you didn’t come to me last night?” Eliza asked.
“I took some laudanum,” Marie said. “But I must have taken too much because I slept through the whole night and neglected my duties. Je suis désolée.”
There was an awkward silence as Eliza and Marie waited for Jane to speak.
“Marie, may I see your necklaces?” Jane asked.
Marie’s attention suddenly sharpened. “May I ask why, mademoiselle?”
“No,” Jane answered.
Marie unfastened her necklaces and laid them on the chest near the door. One held the locket containing her son’s picture, and the other looked very much like the chain and cross in Jane’s pocket.
Jane didn’t need both, but she didn’t want to draw any more attention to the cross than she had to. Jane’s fingers twitched in her eagerness to examine the necklaces. “Thank you, Marie. I’ll return them to you presently.”
Eliza understood that Jane wanted Marie to go. “You may leave us now,” she said. Marie left reluctantly, her eyes fixed on her jewelry.
Once the door had closed, Jane hurried to the chest, pulling the cross from her pocket. She compared it to the one that was still warm from Marie’s skin. They were identical, down to the intricately worked chain. “She didn’t lose her necklace at the church,” she announced.
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