Jane and the Ghosts of Netley jam-7

by Stephanie Barron

  “He never means that Mr. Smythe?” demanded the Bosun’s Mate.

  Lord Harold half-rose from his position near the front of the room, and glanced over his shoulder. His gaze sought out the figure of his valet: but he was unlikely to find the man. Having escaped the threat of a noose on one occasion, Orlando had no taste to dance attendance upon another. He had been sent in search of refreshment a quarter-hour since; and I knew now he had seized his chance — and fled Southampton.

  Much was suddenly explained: Flora’s visits to the Dolphin Inn; her recourse to the Abbey ruins after the fit of hysterics; even Orlando’s familiarity with the direction of the girl’s cottage. Had he fallen into a dalliance with the maid while standing guard upon the subterranean passage? I suppose it must be natural enough. They were both of them in positions of servitude; Flora was pretty, and Orlando, perhaps, as restless as any man of seven-and-twenty.

  “It’s never true!” cried Rose Bastable hotly. She sprang from her seat and thrust an accusing finger in Mr. Ord’s direction. “You saw her dead, and now you’ll see her good name ruined! It was you as came to our cottage, knocking at the door in your fine clothes and asking to speak with Flora! Fie upon you!”

  Mr. Crowse took up his gavel and struck it several times. “Pray contain yourself, Rose Bastable. You impede sworn testimony! Mr. Ord: were you on such terms with Deceased as to call at her home?”

  “I did so only once,” the American replied evenly,

  “on the day the girl was dismissed from her position.”

  “That would have been—”

  “Sunday, the thirtieth of October, six days ago.”

  Mr. Crowse peered at Ord. “And why did you seek out the maid?”

  “I felt some concern regarding her fate. She had left the Lodge in considerable distress. I told her that her mistress was sometimes hasty in her temper, and that matters might be improved with the passage of a few days. I then gave her a few shillings, and quitted the place. I should judge I did not remain in the cottage above a quarter-hour.”

  And in that period, Orlando had been abducted and conveyed to Portsmouth by an unknown: Monsignor Fernando da Silva? I craned forward, the better to observe Mr. Ord’s face. It shone, as ever, with sincerity. Did he speak the truth? Or did he spin a subtle web designed to ensnare us all?

  “Mr. Ord, do you intend to quit the vicinity of Southampton in the near future?”

  “I do not, sir.”

  “Very well. You may step down. The coroner calls one Orlando, valet to Lord Harold Trowbridge!”

  The words fell heavily into silence. Mr. Crowse waited, his eyes roaming the room. Heads turned; speculation rose; and still the valet did not appear.

  “By your leave, Mr. Crowse,” Lord Harold said quietly, “I shall go in search of my man in the public room.”

  He rose and strode towards the doorway, his countenance inscrutable as ever; but I read in the steadiness of his gravity the depth of his concern. He was absent perhaps seven minutes, all told; and when he returned, he was alone.

  “Well, my lord?”

  “My valet appears to have quitted the inn.”

  “That is very singular behaviour!”

  “I confess I cannot account for it. We might enquire after him at the Dolphin.”

  “And keep this assembly waiting on the man’s pleasure? I think not, my lord.” The coroner stared meditatively at his clerk, whose pen hovered in midair, awaiting direction. “I have no choice but to suspend this proceeding, until such time as all the testimony regarding the death of Flora Bastable has been heard. Inquest adjourned!”

  • • •

  “Jane,” Lord Harold said hurriedly as we met near the door, “I must not stay. Captain Austen, my thanks for your support of your sister this afternoon. It has been a trying few hours.”

  “But less troubling than it might have been — thanks to the American,” Frank replied.

  “You believe so? I cannot be sanguine.” The Rogue thrust himself into his greatcoat, his expression abstracted. “They strike first at me — then at my valet — but it is all diversion! There is devilry in train, and the wretched girl was deliberately silenced. She knew what was towards — but her knowledge died with her. Captain, I must ask of you a great favour—”

  “If it is within my power—”

  “Will you take a horse from the inn’s stables, and ride like the wind to Portsmouth? I wish a message despatched by your Admiralty telegraph. Inform the First Lord that Trowbridge believes the Enemy will strike tonight. All yards must be placed on alert — and the Channel ports closely guarded. Will you do so much?”

  “Gladly, my lord, once I have seen my sister safe in Castle Square.”

  “I am perfectly capable of effecting the walk in solitude,” I retorted drily. “Whither are you bound, Lord Harold?”

  “I hardly know.” He raised bleak grey eyes to my own. “I must go after Orlando. I am responsible for the man, and he is more than valet; I count him among my friends. His flight is natural in one afraid — but it must look damnably like guilt to those unacquainted with his character. If you were in fear for your life, Jane — and possessed no private equipage, no gentleman’s claim upon society, and very little coin — how should you proceed? What course must I set?”

  “That depends,” I said slowly, “upon your object, my lord. Do you mean to find Orlando, and subject him to the law — or allow him to go free?”

  Chapter 27

  The Usefulness of Brothers

  5 November 1808, cont.

  “And so your rakehell Corinthian, Lord Devil-May-Care, has come to grief at last!” my mother declared as I seated myself at the dinner table. The inquest had demanded the whole of the afternoon, and it being already half-past four o’clock, the ladies of the household were assembled in honour of my parent’s early dinner hour. “You were very close this morning, Jane, as to the nature of your interest in the coroner’s panel; but I know it all!”

  “Has word of the proceedings sped through town?” I enquired, as she handed me a dish of potatoes.

  “Folk are all but shouting it from the very walls! I had the story of Madame Clarisse, whose establishment I had occasion to visit, once you were gone out to the Coach & Horses. She learned it of her drover, who had chanced to look into the Coach’s public room for a tankard of ale.”

  “I have an idea that the drover’s story derives more from his ale, than from anything approaching the truth.”

  Mary tittered from her position across the board.

  “He knew enough to say that a young girl — no more than a child — was left for dead in the middle of a field, and not a body within miles but Lord Harold!” my mother returned indignantly. “There is nothing I abominate more than a man who has a straw damsel in keeping — unless it is one who sees fit to cut throats! I may only thank God — as I told Martha this morning — that your name was never joined to his! How your father should have blanched at a public scandal being visited upon his household! Not that we are such strangers to the magistracy — my poor sister, Mrs. Leigh-Perrot, having taught us what to expect of justice — but I cannot think that murder is at all the same as pilfering a card of lace.”[27]

  “That is because you are a woman of excellent understanding, Mamma — and so must equally discern how unlikely it should be for Lord Harold to have anything to do with that unfortunate maid’s murder.”

  “I see nothing of the sort!” she cried. “He has sported with your interest in the most abominable manner imaginable, Jane — and as there is not the least likelihood of your getting him now, I hope he may hang! That will teach him how a gentleman ought to behave. You intend to wear the willow for him?”

  I stared at her archly. “Mamma! You have been indulging in dissipation! When we thought you prostrate upon your bed, you have only been reading novels! Where else can you have learned such a despicable cant expression?”

  “Madame Clarisse is forever using it,” she replied unexpectedly, �
��and if one cannot learn the latest expressions, along with the latest fashions, from one’s modiste — then for what does one pay her?”

  “True enough. We all want excellent value for our coin. But I see no cause to mourn Lord Harold’s loss: I know him to be quite innocent, and must trust to Providence. Others among Madame Clarisse’s acquaintance must sigh in vain for love. Mary, I trust you received Frank’s note from the Coach & Horses?

  He is gone to Portsmouth on a matter of business.”

  “Orders, I reckon,” she said darkly. “They will be sending him to Portugal again, and the St. Alban’s in want of coppering for her bottom. It’s a positive disgrace!”

  I sought relief after dinner in the pages of Sir Walter Scott, for my thoughts were in a whirl and I feared the onset of a head-ache. I had hardly opened Marmion, however, when a tug at the bell brought Phebe from the kitchen. A murmur of conversation in the hall: the sound of a woman’s voice, rich and low. Instantly I set my book aside and moved to the door.

  “Sophia!” I said in surprise. “I had not looked for the pleasure of seeing you in Castle Square today! Pray come in and sit by the fire!”

  “I may stay only long enough to take my leave of you, Jane.” She drew off her gloves with fretful, impatient movements. “You are well, I trust? James told me you were in attendance at the inquest today.”

  “It seemed the least I could do for that unfortunate girl.” I led Mrs. Challoner into the parlour and closed the door behind us. “Are you leaving Southampton, then?”

  “Ernesto — the Conte da Silva — quits Netley for London tonight, and I shall be with him. You are to wish me joy, Jane. The Conte has begged my hand in marriage.”

  For a lady charged with so weighty a communication, she lacked the appearance of happiness. I stared at her, all amazed. “The Conte? He is a formidable personage — and — decidedly handsome. .”

  “—And possessed of a title, vast wealth, and estates considerable enough that I might be prevented from ever feeling want,” she concluded briskly.

  “Though somewhat dull and ponderous at times, he is a man of integrity and worth, Jane. I do not love him — but I shall be able to respect him; and he shall never impinge upon that freedom I once talked so much of.”

  “But, Sophia—” I sank into a chair. “You cannot require so much security, surely? There is nothing you presently lack. You command an independence — a home — a life ...”

  “I command them in England, Jane — and I declare I detest the entire Kingdom! Portugal is my home, and Portugal is at war. I cannot return there without protection — and the Conte will ensure that I am safe.”

  “I see.”

  “I cannot pretend to regret anything I shall leave behind,” she continued, “except you, my dear friend.”

  Did the sum of our intercourse deserve the name of friendship? I knew that the term was too great a benediction; I had approached Mrs. Challoner from motives of deceit, and had acted by design throughout. She cannot have understood so much — but her trust in me was ill-bestowed.

  “I wish you safe, Sophia, and very happy,” I told her.

  “Would that I could see you the same! But I have a favour to ask, Jane, before I go.”

  “Anything in my power.”

  “I cannot leave without knowing that Mr. Ord is well looked after.” She gazed at me clear-eyed and forthright. “He is a dear friend, far from home, and unacquainted with our ways. He requires safe passage on some ship or other bound for the Atlantic station — but in all the flurry of my own departure, I scarcely know where to begin!”

  “The coroner requested that he remain in Southampton for the nonce,” I told her with a slight air of puzzlement.

  “Pshaw! Mr. Ord has done nothing wrong, and thus cannot be considered subject to the coroner’s trifling ways!” she declared warmly. “That is why I have sought you out in this application — discretion is essential. I will not have the poor boy subjected to the nonsense of a murder enquiry. When I cast about for a means of brooking delay — I recollected, of a sudden, your excellent brother!”

  Frank. Of course she would consider of Frank.

  “He is a naval Captain,” she continued, “and must be aware of all the ships that are bound for the Americas. Can you not engage his interest on behalf of our friend, and solicit passage in some naval vessel — without too great a publicity?”

  I felt myself flush hot, and then cold, as the full comprehension of what she asked broke upon me. Sophia Challoner had so far mistaken my position as to believe me capable of aiding Mr. Ord to escape English law! Was she so desperate? Did she consider me naïve?

  “—By dawn, if possible?” she added.

  Was the American that vulnerable to a charge of murder, that he must flee with the tide?

  I gripped the arms of my chair and said only, “My brother is from home at present, in Portsmouth. His orders have come from the Admiralty, it seems; he was forced to a desperate haste. I suppose it is even possible he shall embark in the St. Alban’s without our meeting again.”

  Her countenance fell, and her restless gaze shifted about the room. It occurred to me then that if I turned her away, she should find a more certain method of spiriting Mr. Ord from the country — and that I should have no share in the knowledge. Hastily I said, “I consider that eventuality unlikely, however, for his wife is presently in our care, and he should never abandon her without a word. I expect him returned this evening. I might speak to him then on Mr. Ord’s behalf.”

  Mrs. Challoner expelled a soft breath, as though she heard my amendment with relief. “Excellent Jane! I knew you could not refuse to help me. I knew you understood the worth — the goodness — the sanc- tity of that boy! It is a duty to shield him from the eyes of the impertinent — from the invasion of the Law! A duty of friendship, as well as honour—”

  She broke off, as though she had been betrayed into saying what she ought not, and cast her eyes upon the floor. I expected her to rise at that moment, and hold out her hand — or, perhaps, condescend to kiss my cheek, at which point I must convey her from the room — but after a space she continued.

  “I ought to have said that Mr. Ord travels with a companion. Passage for two will therefore be required.”

  “A companion?” My surprise was real — my mind, instantly in search of a possible candidate. The intimates of Netley were in general accounted for. Unless — surely it could not be— Maria Fitzherbert ?

  “A companion — a superior — an instructor of the highest order, and one I may soon claim as a brother,” Mrs. Challoner said. She lifted her eyes to mine. “Monsignor Fernando da Silva-Moreira, of the Society of Jesus, who is bound for America in his student’s train.”

  “Monsignor? ” I repeated.

  “You may recall Lord Harold Trowbridge pronouncing his name. Monsignor is the Conte da Silva’s brother, and a Jesuit these five-and-twenty years at least,” she replied. “An excellent man, though vastly persecuted as are all his brethren in this violent age. He first fled France, at the Revolution, and took up residence in his native Portugal; but the present circumstances of battle made his position there impossible. It was to conduct Monsignor da Silva to Maryland that Mr. Ord came to Oporto — and found himself subject to English liberation.”

  I thought of the black-cloaked figure; of the encounter in the tunnel; of Mr. Dixon with his throat cut, and Orlando abducted to Portsmouth. It was the Conte’s brother, who spoke nothing but French, who had dined with Frank in his cabin on the St. Alban’s; the Conte’s brother who had met with Mrs. Challoner in the Abbey ruins. I was to be the means, through Frank, of despatching a French agent to safety — or, if I alerted Lord Harold, of betraying a friend.

  “Where is this Jesuit — this brother of the Conte’s — presently situated?” I enquired in a faltering accent. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting him at your house.”

  She shrugged indolently. “The Monsignor detests England. The Society of Jesus has suffered to
o much at Protestant hands — I need not outline the executions and martyrdoms to which they and all Catholics have been subjected — and his predilection for the French tongue makes him doubly subject to suspicion. He took a room at the George, and scarcely ventured forth without a long black cloak, as though fearful that a priest should be attacked in the streets. Indeed, I may say that he quitted his rooms only to enter a hack bound for Netley — so that he might say Mass each day, and enjoy Mr. Ord’s company. The two have much to discuss, for the Monsignor intends to join Mr. Ord’s college in Georgetown — and Mr. Ord, the Monsignor’s Society, when his years of study should be complete.”

  “And can you accept that kind of destiny for your young friend? Do you think the cloister a fitting end for so charming a man?”

  “I know that in God, James Ord has found peace — and I would not deny that gift to anyone.”

  “Has it proved so elusive in your life, Sophia?”

  “I have known the want of peace since I was five years old! Bitterness and rage soured my father, and blighted my early years; but I vowed to differ from my parent in this: I vowed to practice forgiveness.” Her brilliant eyes shone with inner warmth that was entirely engaging; she laughed aloud. “And I do not believe I have utterly failed, Jane! I made a life — if only for a fortnight — in England; I made at least one English friend” — this, with a smile for me — “and I have even managed to forgive so desperate a character as Lord Harold!”

  “Indeed?” I exclaimed, with surprise. “But I thought you hated him!”

  “I do,” she replied serenely, “but I forgive him, from my heart, for being what he cannot help — the most detestable man in England.” She rose, and held out her hand. “I must leave you now. There is a quantity of packing, and the servants to be directed. I owe you a debt I shall be a lifetime repaying.”

  Her expression of gratitude and faith was so sincere as to smite my traitorous heart. If forgiveness was her chosen art, I hoped she might spare a little of it for me, when all was known.