Read Online Jane and the Genius of the Place: Being the Fourth Jane Austen Mystery by Stephanie Barron - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephanie Barron
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had been longing to do for some time, I am sure—and sought out his master.
Neddie returned with Pratt in a moment.
“There is nothing more for you to do here, Lizzy,” he said. “Return to Godmersham with our party, and order a cold supper for Henry and myself. We shall be upon the road some hours, I fear. I ride even now towards The Larches, in the hope that something has been discovered of the missing phaeton.”
“Of course,” she said dismissively. “Jane and I shall both sit up against your return. But, Neddie—”
“Yes?”
“Can not you tell us something of how Mrs. Grey died?”
“She was throttled with her own hair-ribbon.”
“That much I had discerned. But the chaise! How did she come to be there?”
He shook his head. “I could find nothing within that might reveal her history. It is an ugly business—Mrs. Grey being what she is.”
“A Frenchwoman?” I concluded.
He nodded. “The danger of her nationality alone should have counselled a greater propriety of behaviour at such a time—but she was never very restrained, as I am sure you observed, and that may have excited the hatred or jealousy of any number of men. I hope to know more once I have seen her husband; but that cannot be until tomorrow.”
“You believe her killing an act of war , then?”
“In such times as these, with all of Kent in an uproar over the Monster's invasion, I cannot think it extraordinary. She must have been killed on the road, in a chance encounter, when she was quite alone and defenceless. But how she came to be in Collingforth's chaise—”
I gazed pensively at the constables' waggon and its tragic burden. Mr. Wood, the surgeon, had elected to attend the body, and was mounted on the box. Beside me, Miss Sharpe had completed the repacking of the picnic hamper, and Fanny was settled on the seat next to Lizzy. All around us the festive air of a race-meeting was fled, and a line of carriages lengthened towards the Canterbury road. The sedate assemblage of Kentish folk seemed the very last to harbour a political assassin; but other passions might be nearer at hand.
“Mrs. Grey possessed wealth, beauty, and spirit,” I mused, “and each might be an insult to a certain sort of man. Or woman, for that matter—for I believe that few among her own sex dared to call her friend.”
“And her end is not likely to improve her reputation,” Neddie observed. “There is already too much scandal and talk. The disappearance of the lady's habit bears an ugly aspect. I would that her husband were not in Town.”
“Unhappy gendeman! To receive such news, in so brutal a manner! No one can deserve such wretchedness.”
“Nor such an end,” Neddie added. “Tho' God knows Mrs. Grey made any number of enemies in the short time she was among us.” He surveyed the tide of his departing neighbours with unwonted shrewdness. “I can think of several spurs to violence, Jane, in the lady's case. A man might wager his purse on the outcome of a meeting, and lose a fortune in the toss; or fancy himself crossed in love, and ready to avenge an injury.”
Neddie slapped the barouche's side and nodded to Pratt. The coachman unwillingly lifted the reins.
“And must you charge Mr. Collingforth?” I asked hurriedly.
My brother hesitated, his grey eyes suddenly wary. “As to that—I cannot say, Jane. But I should be happy to canvass the matter at greater leisure, when once we are all together at Godmersham. Henry believes your advice is worth seeking; and I am not fool enough, I hope, to soldier on alone when good counsel is on offer. My experience has never run to murder. The duty must be a serious one. It must weigh heavily.”
He kissed his wife's hand, smoothed Fanny's touseled curls, and then moved off through the thinning crowd towards the glowering Mr. Collingforth. The latter's dark-suited friend, Mr. Everett, had not deserted him; but litde of comfort could be derived from so dour a companion. Further observation
Neddie returned with Pratt in a moment.
“There is nothing more for you to do here, Lizzy,” he said. “Return to Godmersham with our party, and order a cold supper for Henry and myself. We shall be upon the road some hours, I fear. I ride even now towards The Larches, in the hope that something has been discovered of the missing phaeton.”
“Of course,” she said dismissively. “Jane and I shall both sit up against your return. But, Neddie—”
“Yes?”
“Can not you tell us something of how Mrs. Grey died?”
“She was throttled with her own hair-ribbon.”
“That much I had discerned. But the chaise! How did she come to be there?”
He shook his head. “I could find nothing within that might reveal her history. It is an ugly business—Mrs. Grey being what she is.”
“A Frenchwoman?” I concluded.
He nodded. “The danger of her nationality alone should have counselled a greater propriety of behaviour at such a time—but she was never very restrained, as I am sure you observed, and that may have excited the hatred or jealousy of any number of men. I hope to know more once I have seen her husband; but that cannot be until tomorrow.”
“You believe her killing an act of war , then?”
“In such times as these, with all of Kent in an uproar over the Monster's invasion, I cannot think it extraordinary. She must have been killed on the road, in a chance encounter, when she was quite alone and defenceless. But how she came to be in Collingforth's chaise—”
I gazed pensively at the constables' waggon and its tragic burden. Mr. Wood, the surgeon, had elected to attend the body, and was mounted on the box. Beside me, Miss Sharpe had completed the repacking of the picnic hamper, and Fanny was settled on the seat next to Lizzy. All around us the festive air of a race-meeting was fled, and a line of carriages lengthened towards the Canterbury road. The sedate assemblage of Kentish folk seemed the very last to harbour a political assassin; but other passions might be nearer at hand.
“Mrs. Grey possessed wealth, beauty, and spirit,” I mused, “and each might be an insult to a certain sort of man. Or woman, for that matter—for I believe that few among her own sex dared to call her friend.”
“And her end is not likely to improve her reputation,” Neddie observed. “There is already too much scandal and talk. The disappearance of the lady's habit bears an ugly aspect. I would that her husband were not in Town.”
“Unhappy gendeman! To receive such news, in so brutal a manner! No one can deserve such wretchedness.”
“Nor such an end,” Neddie added. “Tho' God knows Mrs. Grey made any number of enemies in the short time she was among us.” He surveyed the tide of his departing neighbours with unwonted shrewdness. “I can think of several spurs to violence, Jane, in the lady's case. A man might wager his purse on the outcome of a meeting, and lose a fortune in the toss; or fancy himself crossed in love, and ready to avenge an injury.”
Neddie slapped the barouche's side and nodded to Pratt. The coachman unwillingly lifted the reins.
“And must you charge Mr. Collingforth?” I asked hurriedly.
My brother hesitated, his grey eyes suddenly wary. “As to that—I cannot say, Jane. But I should be happy to canvass the matter at greater leisure, when once we are all together at Godmersham. Henry believes your advice is worth seeking; and I am not fool enough, I hope, to soldier on alone when good counsel is on offer. My experience has never run to murder. The duty must be a serious one. It must weigh heavily.”
He kissed his wife's hand, smoothed Fanny's touseled curls, and then moved off through the thinning crowd towards the glowering Mr. Collingforth. The latter's dark-suited friend, Mr. Everett, had not deserted him; but litde of comfort could be derived from so dour a companion. Further observation
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