Jane and the Canterbury Tale

by Stephanie Barron

  It was only as sleep overcame me that I recollected two sources of intelligence should be furnished me on the morrow. Sir Davie Myrrh’s solicitor should arrive in Canterbury; and Jupiter Finch-Hatton in our drawing-room. Of the two, I placed greater hope in Jupiter—for tho’ I regarded his understanding as less than powerful, he was not the sort to suppress his opinions when offered the slightest opportunity of declaring them. I should undertake to cultivate the young man tomorrow—if a lady so burdened in years could hope to engage his attention for a quarter-hour together.

  I WAS AWAKENED BRIEFLY, NOT LONG AFTER MIDNIGHT, BY the sound of my brother’s carriage returning to Godmersham. I did not go down to ask him how Adelaide MacCallister liked her new quarters in Canterbury gaol.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  History of an Entanglement

  Situations like that, today or tomorrow,

  Let children turn too ripe too soon, and bolder.…

  GEOFFREY CHAUCER, “THE PHYSICIAN’S TALE”

  MONDAY, 25 OCTOBER 1813

  “IS IT TRUE, AUNT JANE? HAS FATHER UNDERTAKEN THE hideous step of arresting Mrs. MacCallister for the murder of her first husband?”

  Father, not Papa. Fanny was looking indignant, which lends considerable animation to her countenance, and by any stranger’s judgement should be called a fine figure of a girl this morning, as she sat in the breakfast-parlour in her figured rose lawn, with her cheeks flushed and her grey eyes sparkling dangerously.

  I had caught her in the act of pouring out coffee, as I entered the room; and saw that Jupiter Finch-Hatton was already lounging at his leisure opposite her, having arrived at Godmersham with a promptness unusual in him. That he had brought the intelligence of Mrs. MacCallister’s arrest I little doubted; the young man came to us from Chilham Castle, after all. It was Godmersham’s position halfway between Chilham and Finch-Hatton’s home at Eastwell, that recommended us to him at present—tho’ I suspect the prospect of bidding Young Edward farewell, and engaging in some last days of shooting before Fanny’s brothers departed for Oxford, was an added inducement. Jupiter is the sort of man who progresses from one idle amusement to another, week after week, and thereby constructs of his pleasures a sort of life. Whether in his estimation Fanny figured as chief attraction or mere addition to Godmersham’s charms, I could not tell. His provocative gaze, a complex of insolence and invitation, lingered on her countenance—then travelled, with some absorption, to her bodice. It was swelling with outrage at the moment.

  “You had better tax your father with that question, my dear,” I said. “I was not present on the occasion.”

  “But you knew that it was toward!”

  “Indeed.” I raised the lid of a silver dish set out on the sideboard, and inspected some kidneys, not without a shudder. The next dish held a species of small roasted bird, possibly ortolans, possibly snared by my nephews. To my infinite relief, the third dish held nothing more offensive than boiled quail’s eggs. “Why do you suppose I could not stomach dinner last evening? But I should dearly like a cup of that coffee, Fanny. And some of that toast.”

  “How can you be so insensible, Aunt?” Fanny cried, as she set down the coffee pot with more decision than grace. “Only consider of the distress to Mrs. MacCallister, and all her relations. Her mother, and her brother.” She hesitated a little over the idea of Julian Thane, and cast a sidelong glance at Jupiter. “Good God—consider the feelings of her husband, the gallant Captain! I wonder that he or Mr. Thane did not call my father out, for the insult visited upon Adelaide!”

  “I assume they have more wisdom, and less heat, than you do, Fanny. One does not challenge the Law to a duel—duels being entirely illegal in England at present.”

  “You cannot believe her guilty, Aunt? No, no!—Father has merely fallen into the gravest error. It springs, no doubt, from the limitations of his sex,” she added thoughtfully. “For you and I will agree that no lady could shoot a man to whom she was once united in Holy Matrimony. It must be impossible! However one regards it—impossible!”

  “Don’t know about that,” Jupiter drawled. “Known any number of ladies who were devilish fine shots, Fanny. And the gun was to hand, after all. Poor James is beside himself, ’course. Keeps saying he ought to have kept his pistols under lock and key! But I ask you! What possible use should they be to him then? Couldn’t have thought that any passing rum’un would borrow the gun to settle a grudge. Stands to reason! Man’s a gentleman, in his own home! I’ll tell you what it is, Fanny. Dashed impudence. Not to say bad ton. Ought to use one’s own pistol to shoot a feller.”

  “Exactly so.” I settled myself at the breakfast table between the two of them, and availed myself of the rack of toast. “That is precisely the point I wished to canvass with you, Mr. Finch-Hatton—and I am thankful you saved me the trouble of introducing it! For I am persuaded that you are so well acquainted with James Wildman, that you must have an opinion on the subject. Why should any person employ James’s gun in a murder, and then leave it behind to incriminate that unfortunate young man?”

  “See him hanged, ’course,” he returned with unexpected shrewdness.

  I met his idle blue gaze, and detected a spark of interest in its depths. I began to wonder if the seductive Jupiter effected eternal boredom not because he was hopelessly dull, but because he found the bucolic environs of Kent a challenge unequal to his wits.

  Fanny’s eyes widened. “Incriminate James? Whatever do you mean, Mr. Finch-Hatton?”

  “Do try,” I urged, “to be a little less ingenuous, Fanny. I know that innocence is all the fashion in girls of your stamp—but it is a grave impediment to securing an intelligent partner in life! Obviously the murderer hoped to see James Wildman hanged. Else he—or she—should not have left the young man’s pistol where the constable must be sure to find it. I am in complete agreement with Mr. Finch-Hatton. But knowing Mr. Wildman so little as I do, I cannot apprehend why.”

  Jupiter leaned back in his chair, so that the front legs of the spindly little article lifted several perilous inches from the carpet. His hands were thrust into his breeches pockets, and his eyes glinted lazily. “Needle-witted, ain’t you, ma’am?”

  “Flatterer.” I took a draught of coffee; it was scalding, but I suppressed the impulse to choke. “If you know of any reason why Adelaide MacCallister should hate her cousin enough to attempt to kill two birds with one lead ball, I wish you may tell us, Mr. Finch-Hatton.”

  “Adelaide? Lord—when she and James have been smelling of April and May for years together?” The chair legs met the floor with a decisive crash. “Grew up in each other’s pockets, y’know, Mrs. Thane being the sort to hang on Old Wildman’s sleeve once her loose-screw of a husband stuck his spoon in the wall. Never had two groats to rub together. Mrs. Thane used to leave Addie at the Castle for months at a time, being determined to spend her blunt on young Thane’s education. Hoped James would take Addie off her hands. That’s why she turned Tartar when the girl eloped with Fiske.”

  I glanced at Fanny. “I had not realised Adelaide formed a part of the Castle household in her youth.”

  Fanny shrugged. “She may have visited Kent from time to time—and that, for protracted periods—but it is not as tho’ the Wildmans adopted her. It is possible, however, that I was in ignorance of the extent of her ties to the family. Recollect that Adelaide is four years older than I, and among children, that is a considerable span. When I was but thirteen, and still in the schoolroom, Adelaide was married.”

  Of course; tho’ neighbours, Fanny and Adelaide should never have been playmates. The fact of the former’s being the eldest child of a gentleman’s household, and the latter but a poor relation of another’s, should have widened the gulf between them.

  “Did Mr. Wildman form an attachment for his cousin, do you think?” I demanded of Jupiter.

  “Should say he had! Always stiled himself Addie’s devoted slave, long before Curzon Fiske bamboozled her in Bath. Thought he assumed he’d marry
her, myself. Girl had other ideas. Regarded James as another brother. Could have knocked him over with a feather when she ran off with that scaly fellow. But James was only eighteen at the time—calf love, y’know—and I was sure he’d come about, provided Addie stayed on the Continent as she was meant to. But it didn’t serve. Three years later the Fiskes were back in Kent, and cutting quite a dash. Met them everywhere. Devilish bad for James, poor fellow. Didn’t like the cut of Fiske’s jib. Thought him a rum customer. And he was right, of course—Fiske ran straight into Dun Territory in the end, and had to flee the Kingdom. The Wildmans stood by Addie, ’course, and saw her set right with her mamma. Tho’ why she’d want to be—” he added reflectively, “when that Friday-faced woman never has a kind word for her—”

  “And once Mr. Wildman knew Fiske to be in India—did he pursue his cousin?” I enquired bluntly.

  Jupiter leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Truth be told, he urged Adelaide to sue for divorce! Fearful scandal at the Castle—Old Mr. Wildman dead set against it, and none too eager to see his son hitched to an Adventuress, either. But it all came to nothing—Mrs. Thane wouldn’t hear of divorce. James was at a stand. Addie, too. Seemed likely to dwindle into a grass widow, at an age when most girls were dreaming of their bride-clothes.”

  “The news of Mr. Fiske’s demise must have sprung upon the entire family as an act of Providence.”

  “You’ve got that right and tight,” Jupiter agreed. “Never knew a man so transported as James, when he learnt Fiske was dead!”

  “And yet, he did not succeed in securing the lady’s hand,” I mused.

  “Mourning,” Jupiter confided owlishly. “Adelaide put on blacks for a year, of course, and shunned Society. Should have thought James would secure the girl’s affections, all the same—she saw rather a lot of him—but the fellow’s too dashed respectful by half, my opinion. Treats Addie as tho’ she were a goddess. Too reverent, in short. Lacks address.”

  “I think James’s delicacy is entirely admirable!” Fanny flashed. “He is not the sort of harum-scarum Corinthian so much the rage at present.”

  “Corinthians would never have him, Fanny!” Jupiter protested. “Doesn’t box, doesn’t fence, and he crowds his leaders when he drives four-in-hand! Friend of mine—but there it is! Poor fellow was entirely cast in the shade by Captain MacCallister, who knew the right way to go about the business with Adelaide, for all he’s nothing like Curzon Fiske. Well, I mean to say! Hero of the Peninsula! Devilish fine fellow! So of course James retired from the field. Put a cheerful phiz on events once the engagement was announced. Urged his papa to stand the ready for the wedding ball, and planned the best bits himself. Well—couldn’t expect his mamma to lift a finger! Never does! And those sisters of his, with their noses out of joint—complaining to any who’d listen that it was too bad Addie should be married twice, when they’ve never had so much as an offer between them! James did it all.” Finch-Hatton nodded significantly. “Those lobster patties, brought down Express from Gunter’s in London? James. Threw himself into making Adelaide happy. S’all he’s ever wanted, in fact—Adelaide to be happy. Should imagine the poor fellow’s blue-devilled at the turn in events—Adelaide being borne off to gaol! That’s why I came away so early this morning—don’t mind saying the tone of the Castle is dashed awkward at present.”

  Fanny was staring at Jupiter with something like awe. I suppose she had never heard him put so many words together without pausing for breath.

  “Mr. Wildman’s feelings, and his conduct in the face of bitterest disappointment, may be said to do him credit,” I observed. “I wonder that Adelaide did not return his regard.”

  Jupiter managed one of his lazy smiles. “My opinion? Found the whole Chilham set-out too tame, after the madcap life she’d lived with Fiske. Always was a bit of a romp, Addie. Loved travel. Loved adventure. Thought she’d find more of both following the drum. Romantickal notions about the Captain; saw him as a hero. Poor James couldn’t hold a candle to that.”

  “She sounds the very last person to borrow Wildman’s pistol,” I mused.

  Jupiter shook his head regretfully. “Can’t agree with you there, ma’am. Never said Addie wouldn’t use the pistol. She’s pluck to the backbone—and if she thought it best to shoot Curzon Fiske, daresay she’d steel herself to do it! Just don’t think she’d be careless enough to leave James’s pistol behind her. No desire to hang her cousin. Dashed sorry to see him in the box at the inquest, from all I can make out. Made her fair blue-devilled. But she’s no coward, Addie. She’d admit to murder rather than see James hang. Forced to conclude, therefore, that it wasn’t she who left the pistol in plain sight for the constables to find. Certain she’d have said so, straight out, if she had.”

  I was on the point of posing yet again the obvious question, the one that had inspired all my interest in breakfast-parlour conversation—Who, then, wished James Wildman to hang?—when the sound of a gentleman’s approaching stride arrested all our attention. It should undoubtedly prove to be Mr. George Moore, come to bid his young friend welcome, and to regale himself in stony silence among the ortolans and kidneys. My heart sank. I might never be so fortunate as to fix Jupiter Finch-Hatton’s interest so entirely in coming days.

  But it was not Mr. Moore who appeared in the breakfast-parlour doorway.

  “Morning, Hatton,” Edward said with a careless nod. “Morning, Fanny—Jane. I hope you both slept well.”

  “I should not have managed a wink, Father, had I known what you were about at the Castle last evening!” she returned with asperity. “To arrest Mrs. MacCallister! Every feeling revolts!”

  “Do not enact me a Cheltenham tragedy, I beg,” he said brusquely. “If you’ve quite finished, perhaps you would be so good as to take Finch-Hatton for a turn in the shrubbery; it is no day for shooting, being likely to come on to rain.”

  “I am to be occupied with Mrs. Driver for most of the morning, taking an inventory of the linen.”

  “Do not be tiresome, Fanny! I wish to be private with your aunt!”

  “Oh, very well,” she said irritably, and tossed her napkin on the table.

  Jupiter regarded me with amusement. “Doesn’t like me above half, our Fanny. Daresay it’s because I’m a dashed Corinthian. Your servant, ma’am.” And with a bow of remarkable elegance, he ushered my graceless niece towards the back garden.

  “You managed that very ill, Edward,” I observed as I rose from the table. “Fanny is no Lizzy or Marianne, to submit in silence to your tyranny. I begin to think the power of the magistracy has gone to your head.”

  “I have only just heard that one Mr. Burbage, solicitor to Sir Davie Myrrh, is arrived in Canterbury, Jane. I intend to meet with him this morning, in the presence of his client. Would you do me the honour of accompanying me?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A Visit to Canterbury

  “Brother,” he said, “do you really want me to tell?

  I am a devil, and the place I live in is hell.”

  GEOFFREY CHAUCER, “THE FRIAR’S TALE”

  25 OCTOBER 1813, CONT.

  TO MY DISMAY, WE WERE JOINED IN THE CARRIAGE DRIVE to Canterbury by the entire Moore family, not excepting Young George, whom his mother adjured anxiously not to be sick from the lurching of the carriage. Edward took one look at the lad’s face as his coachman sprang the horses, and called out to the fellow to halt.

  “I am persuaded George should vastly prefer to ride on the box with Sallow,” he suggested, and overrode Harriot’s anxiety for her son’s safety by jumping out to lift the boy up himself.

  “It is never any use to tell the Infantry not to be sick,” he advised his sister-in-law, “and in fact, might be regarded as a positive inducement to cast up their accounts! Fresh air is all the lad requires. He shall do splendidly now.”

  “I was never rendered ill from carriage-travel as a youth,” Mr. Moore observed austerely, “tho’ I was forever going about with my father, on mat
ters of Ecclesiastical importance. I cannot account for Young George’s lamentable weakness. I fear he lacks resolution. The influence of his mother’s family, no doubt. We must hope he acquires strength of character in time.”

  The fond parent then buried his nose in his book—how anyone can read amidst the swaying of a carriage!—and ignored his companions for the length of the eight miles to Canterbury.

  I was curious to learn how so ardent a champion of Adelaide MacCallister’s welfare must regard the latest episode in her career; and indeed, had surmised that Mr. Moore accompanied my brother to Canterbury from a desire to plead Mrs. MacCallister’s case. But in this I was evidently mistaken. Mr. Moore knew of the arrest; but he claimed to have inserted himself into Edward’s carriage merely from a desire of visiting a tailor, and having his hair cut—and professed a keenness to have Young George’s locks shorn as well. Harriot intended to do a little shopping while at liberty from her husband—visiting solely those Canterbury establishments that offered credit, no doubt.

  “I wonder you may support the prospect of entering a gaol, Jane,” she said with a delicious shudder. “I am sure I should swoon at the scenes then unfolded before my eyes!”

  “I suspect I shall be obliged to enter only the Chief Warden’s room,” I returned calmly, “which is likely to offer a good fire and a clean floor—which is all that I regard.”

  “But do not you intend to visit Mrs. MacCallister?” Harriot’s looks were puzzled; she could not conceive another purpose for bearing Edward company.

  “Jane indulges me, Harriot,” my brother interjected, “and should not be present at all but for my urgent request. I am to meet with a distinctly odd fellow, who comes into this affair in ways I profess to understand not at all—and as I value my sister’s wits above all others’, I could hardly spare her presence at the interview.”