The Colonel hastened immediately about this errand; and we were rewarded, in a very little while, with his reappearance in company with a constable—one of the two, I believe, who descended upon Laura Place the night of the murder. He was a jaded personage addressed only as Shaw, who possessed a broken front tooth displayed to advantage in leering at the Quality. I judged him to be full sixty years of age and unastonished by any of life’s present vicissitudes; accustomed to the seizure of pickpockets, drunkards, and footpads of every description, but hardly equal to the elucidation of a murder. He was content to believe that Kinsfell had stabbed poor Richard Portal from inebriated rage.
Mr. Shaw surveyed us with a curious blend of contempt and sympathy, and urged us to reconsider our notion of conversing with so dangerous a man; but Lady Desdemona was admirably determined. She pled the duty and feelings of a sister, and when seconded by so imposing a presence as the uniformed Colonel Easton, could not be gainsaid. Presently we were conveyed to a low door in a wall, where a gaoler sat whittling a stick. The fellow jumped up at our appearance, and pulled his forelock in salutation, at which Constable Shaw cuffed him absent-mindedly and bent to his keys.
“I shall return in a quarter-hour, sir,” he said with a bow to Easton, and an unfortunate exposure of the broken tooth, “a quarter-hour and no more.”
“Very well,” the Colonel replied.
Lady Desdemona drew a shaky breath, composed her features, and entered the dimly-lit room. I followed, with the Colonel behind.
I had known these odours before—of musty hay, poor drainage, and human excrement—but was nonetheless tempted to secure my handkerchief beneath my nose in an effort to block them out. The door shut-to at our backs, and I heard the key grate in the lock.
“Kinny!” Lady Desdemona cried.
A shadow against the opposite wall struggled to its feet, and shuffled but a few steps before halting to peer at us through the gloom. The cell was lit only by a small window cut into the wall at ceiling’s height, and so late in December the shadows outside were already long.
“Have you been riding, Mona?” Lord Kinsfell enquired easily. Upon closer observation, the gentleman was revealed as being in irons at his wrists and ankles. “I don’t suppose you thought to exercise the Defender. He must be kicking down his box door from sheer boredom. And who is that with you?”
“You remember Colonel Easton, Simon?” his sister anxiously enquired.
“How could I possibly forget? I stood second to Swithin. Your servant, sir—and no ill feelings, I hope.”
“None whatsoever,” Easton replied. “I should be a rogue, indeed, did I extend my grievance to my enemy’s friends.”
“And this is Miss Austen, Simon—an acquaintance of Uncle’s, and now a friend of mine.”
“Your humble servant, madam—particularly in my present circumstances,” Kinsfell said with a smile. He attempted to bow, but his shackles denied him something of grace; and I observed a wave of irritation to pass over his countenance, leaving it careworn and older than his five-and-twenty years. The weight of his fears—the ignorance of his fate—the enforced inactivity and misspent energy—all must eat away at his complaisance and tell upon his nerves. For I judged that like his uncle, Lord Kinsfell was a man who must be constantly doing something. To be confined was for him to be entombed alive.
I stepped forward and bobbed a curtsey. “We have already met, Lord Kinsfell. Indeed, we danced a half-hour in each other’s company at Her Grace’s rout.”
“The little Shepherdess! But how delightful to meet again! Though I confess I am astonished to find you here, and Mona, too,” he added, turning towards his sister. “The guv’nor will be fit to be tied, does he hear of it!”
“And what if he is? Papa has quite despaired of me already, I assure you, Simon. Are you well?”
“Well enough,” her brother said diffidently. “I long for an exchange from hay, however—and the victuals my gaoler is pleased to offer fairly turn my stomach! Never knew how glad I should be for a fresh pot of coffee, or a pipe if it comes to that, until they were quite beyond my reach!” He reached a hand to his tousled head, as though to make the fair locks more presentable—but the irons at his wrist turned the effort awkward and ineffectual. A muttered oath, and he dropped his arms to his sides. “But tell me if you are able—how does Uncle get on?”
“As swiftly as the most cunning mind in the kingdom may,” I assured him. “He is never idle on your behalf.”
“It gladdens my heart to hear it—for I am to be moved to Ilchester soon, and shall have precious little hope of news.” He hesitated, and looked from his sister to Colonel Easton. “At least that magistrate cove is done hanging about. He quite puts the wind up a fellow.”
“The impertinence of the Law is not to be borne,” Colonel Easton remarked, “but we cannot presume that impertinence will prevail. Have courage, Kinsfell—for I am certain matters will come right in the end.” He bowed, and moved to the door. “I should not wish to presume upon such intimacy, Lady Desdemona. I shall await you in the courtyard.”
“You are very good, Easton.”
“Perhaps I should go with the Colonel,” I remarked.
“No—stay, I beg of you,” she cried, with a hand to my arm.
Her brother did not speak until the door had closed behind the Colonel. “So Easton is dancing attendance again, Mona? And when did he arrive in Bath?”
“Only yesterday. He was so good as to call in Laura Place, and express his outrage at your cruel treatment.”
“Then all the world must know of this business, if Dash Easton has left St. James on the strength of it,” Kinsfell mused gloomily. “And did he shave his whiskers as a sign of deference to a family overset by misfortune, I wonder? Or has he learned that you prefer your beaux clean-shaven?”
“Never mind that, Kinny,” she retorted in exasperation, and then stopped short. “‘Dash’ Easton? However did he come by that name?”
The Marquis smiled faintly. “He won it as his right—the result of a wager. Some of the fellows at White’s said he couldn’t dash from London to Brighton in record time without changing horses, and Easton said he could.”
“And did he?” I enquired curiously.
“Oh, yes—though at the expense of the unfortunate horse. Poor brute expired not five minutes after achieving Brighton. But Easton thought it worth the toss—he had wagered a year’s pay.”
“Good Lord!” Lady Desdemona cried, though not without admiration. “But, Kinny—we did not come here to talk of Easton’s pranks. Miss Austen is entirely in Uncle’s confidence, and may hear whatever you would say.”
“I can tell you nothing, Mona,” her brother said wearily.
“You know that to be the grossest falsehood, Kinny,” Lady Desdemona retorted impatiently. “Swithin attended the inquest, and he is convinced that you labour under an affair of honour—that you mean to go to the gallows rather than betray your trust. I did not sleep a wink last night for considering of it!”
“Swithin! But I thought you despised the fellow!”
“Oh, as to that—” She paused awkwardly. “He is the most odious of men, and throws poor Easton into quite a favourable light. Do you know that Uncle suspects Swithin of the murder? And of leaving you to bear the blame?”
“But he was not even invited to Grandmère’s rout!”
“No more he was. But Uncle has found a pin we believe to be his—a snarling tiger, with rubies for eyes—dropped and forgotten in the anteroom passageway. You know it cannot have come there honestly, Kinny. Swithin must have crept in unannounced, under cover of a mask.”
“The Devil!” Lord Kinsfell exclaimed, and then looked to myself with comic anxiety. “I beg your pardon, Miss Austen. I hope I did not offend—”
“So you see, Kinny, there is no need to protect the Earl. You must tell us what you know,” his sister persisted. Her face shone palely through the gloom, and I knew that the abandonment of her favourite was not accompli
shed without a struggle. “Whatever your loyalty to Swithin, you must certainly never hang for it. He does not warrant such regard.”
“I do not pretend to understand you, Mona. I have no intention of shielding Swithin.”
“Kinny—you must try to be sensible, my dear.” Lady Desdemona reached a gloved hand for his manacled one. “Did you observe him, when first you entered the room and found Portal insensible?”
Lord Kinsfell shook his head. “I saw nothing of Swithin that night.”
“But perhaps you saw a Pierrot?” I suggested. “A broad-shouldered fellow, not unlike the Earl. Throughout Her Grace’s rout, I observed a similar figure in conversation with Maria Conyngham.”
He started at this, and surveyed me narrowly. “And what should Maria Conyngham have to do with Mr. Portal’s death? You saw yourself how destroyed she was by his end.”
I shrugged. “We know her to be allied in the closest terms with Lord Swithin.”
“I fear you are mistaken, madam,” Kinsfell cried, with a conscious look for Lady Desdemona. “Lord Swithin is excessively attached to my sister!”
“Oh, Kinny,” Lady Desdemona retorted in exasperation, “how can you serve Miss Austen so! She speaks no more than the truth. We have all been treated to a display of Swithin’s attachment for myself—and it is nothing compared to his attentions to Miss Conyngham! He waits upon her at the Theatre Royal, and the Lower Rooms; and she meets his attentions with the most lively sensibility.”
The Marquis threw himself down on the dirty hay and put his head in his hands. “I cannot believe it of Maria.”
“But you must, my dear,” Lady Desdemona said gently. “For it is no more than the truth. Whatever we each might have chosen to hope regarding the respective parties, I for one refuse to continue in ignorance.”
He was silent a moment, and his sister glanced at me uneasily.
“Kinny,” she said, “was it this that caused your words with Mr. Portal? Did he expose Miss Conyngham’s character to you that wretched night?”
“It matters nothing, now.”
“It matters a very great deal, indeed. I have only one brother, and I will not part with him for the sake of such a jade, for any inducement in the world!” Lady Desdemona cried stoutly. “You know something, I am sure of it.”
“Did you chance to observe the lady on your passage to the anteroom—while her brother was declaiming Macbeth?” I enquired.
The Marquis’s answer was drowned in the clamour of knocking at his door. “Time, my lady!” called Constable Shaw.
Lady Desdemona looked about her wildly. “Tell us, Kinny, I beg! Your life may depend upon it!”
“Very well,” he said, with infinite weariness; “I now no longer care what happens to myself. I did not observe Maria Conyngham, nor Swithin either. If he killed Portal and availed himself of the passage, however, it must have been at Miss Conyngham’s urging—for she knew of the passage’s existence, where Swithin could not. You will remember, Mona, how often the Conynghams dined in Laura Place, in the weeks before Her Grace’s rout; and any might observe the servants to pass from drawingroom to kitchen, by way of the anteroom passage.”
“That is no more than the truth,” his sister thoughtfully replied.
“But there is something, Lord Kinsfell, that you know regarding the lady,” I said.
He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes devoid of hope. And then he nodded once. “It is a word only.”
“A word?”
“Maria,” he said. “I heard it on Portal’s lips, in his final agony.”
WE LEFT LORD KINSFELL TO THE MOST MELANCHOLY thoughts, and found Colonel Easton pacing in the central courtyard. He very kindly escorted us both to his phaeton, and enquired of our direction; and at Lady Desdemona’s declaring herself faint from hunger, agreed to set us down in Milsom Street, for the procuring of a nuncheon at Molland’s, the confectioners.1 There he was forced to part from us, being elsewhere engaged; but we assured him of our ability to walk the remaining distance home in the strongest accents possible.
A little while later we were established on a pair of stools in the bow-front window, well-fortified with chocolate and macaroons.
“It would seem that Portal named his killer in his last moments,” I began. “We must inform Lord Harold without delay.”
“May I beg you to accompany me to Laura Place, Miss Austen, and dine there with us? For the morning is much advanced, and you cannot return home without first advising my uncle. I should feel the deprivation of your understanding most acutely, I vow, in attempting to make sense of our interview with Kinny. You will not desert me?”
Having reasons of my own for wishing to consult Lord Harold—a consultation already too-long deferred—I readily agreed.
“Then do you jot a little note for the instruction of your family, and I shall send one of Mrs. Molland’s messengers to Green Park Buildings,” Lady Desdemona suggested, with admirable efficiency.
The paper was brought, the note written, and the messenger despatched in a matter of moments. Mrs. Molland refreshed our cups, and we settled down to indulge in a thorough canvassing of Lord Kinsfell’s affairs.
“Poor Kinny,” Lady Desdemona observed. “I fear he is sadly overset by the revelation of his beloved’s true character.”
“Had you any notion of your brother’s regard for Miss Conyngham?” I enquired.
“No, indeed,” Lady Desdemona exclaimed. “You must comprehend, Miss Austen, that Kinny is beset by the attention of ladies wherever he goes—and thus I suppose I have grown used to his general air of indifference. He is considered a most eligible parti, because of his title and Papa’s estates; and his personal address is not unpleasing. And though he has always been mad for the theatre, I had not understood that one among the multitude had particularly caught his eye.”
“Perhaps he found a value in discretion.”
“Rather than risk Papa’s disapproval, you would mean? I should not be greatly surprised. But I must reproach myself for failing to detect the change in his behaviour. For Kinny would never have been so ready to come to Bath upon Papa’s errand, or so little desirous of dragging me back again to London, had Miss Conyngham not been in residence here. He abhors the stupidity of Bath above all things.”
“A man of taste and elegance, I see. Does his acquaintance with the lady, then, predate this visit to Bath?”
“He came down last Easter to stay with Grandmère, and may have met Miss Conyngham then. I must suppose Mr. Portal to have thrown her in his way—for Portal was an intimate of long standing in Laura Place. But what I cannot comprehend, is why Miss Conyngham should wish to murder Mr. Portal. I always believed them united by the strongest ties of affection.”
“Perhaps she misconstrued his attentions to yourself,” I offered gently. “The theatre alone can give an hundred examples of jealousy inciting a murderous rage.”
“But it is too absurd!” my companion cried. “I cared nothing for the fellow!”
“—Though you may have encouraged him, from a desire to pique the Earl of Swithin.”
Lady Desdemona flushed hotly. “Perhaps I may—perhaps I did. I have never regretted a similar indiscretion so intensely in my life, Miss Austen. For if either Swithin or Miss Conyngham was driven to violence by the appearance of my regard for Mr. Portal, I shall never forgive myself.”
We were silent a moment, and toyed with our macaroons. I considered my nightmares of early morning, in some confusion and vexadon. Jealousy of Lady Desdemona—from either the Earl or Maria Conyngham—could not hope to explain the haunting pendant eye Lord Kinsfell had found on Richard Portal’s breast. “Do not reproach yourself excessively, Lady Desdemona,” I said at last. “I would warrant that the Earl—if indeed it was his hand that struck the blow—acted as much at Miss Conyngham’s behest, as from a desire to despatch his rival.”
She smiled faintly. “There is very little of comfort in that reflection, however. I cannot rejoice in the suspicion of S
within’s attachment to another.”
I studied her narrowly. “You regret the Earl’s defection, then?”
“I cannot help but do so. The sensation is nothing, however, to my horror at his lordship’s being suspected of murder. The torments of the past few days, Miss Austen, have been extreme. You cannot have the slightest notion; for revolve the matter in solitude as I might, I can arrive at no very satisfactory conclusion. Lord Swithin is either a murderer, a deceiver, or both; and the knowledge can only give me pain.”
“Then why, when he was eager to marry, did you refuse his proposals?”
Her countenance clouded. “Mamma does not admire him, on account of his being so much in the way of the Carlton House set. They are very fast, you know, as is everything to do with the Prince, and spend a vast deal of money; and Mamma suspects that Swithin sought me for my fifty thousand pounds.”
I silently blessed Desdemona’s Mamma; and concluded that the Duchess of Wilborough was less empty-headed than I had thought her.
“But Papa saw nothing wrong in Swithin—and said that with so vast a fortune at his command, mine should be the merest pin money. He was almost gratified, in fact, that I should have attracted the suit of a man who has spurned nearly every woman in London.”
“The Earl is much sought-after?”
“Oh, Miss Austen—I have observed such doings in Town, as should curl your hair! Such barefaced flattery, and complaisant simpering, and obnoxious efforts to please! There are ladies who go about in nothing but puce, because they believe it to be his favourite colour—though I know he quite abhors it, and laughs at them all the while. And there are others who embroider his device upon their sleeves—” She stopped short, her eyes widening. “Oh, good Lord!”
I seized her hand. “Like Mrs. Fitzherbert, who carved the Prince’s feathers in the lintel of her door in Richmond Hill.2 The tiger! Of course!”
“A gift to a lady, and not his own.”
“The Maria Portal named with his dying breath! Why did we not perceive it before?”
“And so it was Miss Conyngham who killed Portal, and fled through the anteroom passageway, and lost the tiger unbeknownst to herself,” Lady Desdemona whispered breathlessly. “Oh, my dearest Miss Austen—we must away to my uncle.”
Jane and the Wandering Eye: Being the Third Jane Austen Mystery Page 20