Read Online Jane and the Genius of the Place: Being the Fourth Jane Austen Mystery by Stephanie Barron - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Barron
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and where along the Wingham road she had been overtaken.
I should have considered of this earlier, and charged Neddie with examining the ground beneath the chaise's wheels. Some mark of hurried movement might have been discerned—
I sighed aloud, and Pratt glanced over his shoulder.
“It's not long now, miss. That be the turning for Chilham, as you'll know.”
Chilham—where I had danced on occasion at the modest little Assembly Rooms, and pined in my youth for Mr. Taylor's beautiful dark eyes. He bestowed them upon another young lady more in keeping with his station—his irrepressible cousin, Charlotte—and the two have passed the remarkable family feature to yet another generation. I had called only last week at Bifrons Park, and found all the Taylors thriving.
As I wandered thus among the byways of my youth, the road dipped and swung along an embankment—the hedgerows parted—and we were presented with a fine sweep of country. All the beauty of Godmersham broke suddenly upon me. I suspended thought and sat back in the seat cushions, refreshed immediately by the serenity of the scene.
My brother's principal estate, a fine modern building of rosy brick, nestles like a jewel between two saddles of the downs. Every line of the house as it rises from its deer park—the copses where pheasant thrive, and hares burrow—the enclosed kitchen gardens, and the noble avenue of limes we call Bentigh, that leads sweetly along the river to the old Norman church of St. Nicolas—all must proclaim to passersby, that here lives an English gendeman.
I have known Godmersham from the first days of Neddie's removal here, some ten years ago. I have been privileged to linger within its comforting walls for months at a time, and I regard the place as in some measure my home—and one I must quit always with regret. My own style of living is determined by the scant provision I bring to it; there is a constraint in relative poverty that weighs upon the soul and renders the mind weary. At Godmersham I am always free of penury's burdens, and the interval must be embraced with relief. To leave the place is to be cast out a litde from Heaven.
As I considered the relative nature of peace and privilege, Pratt snapped the reins over the horses' backs, and the barouche rolled easily towards the turning for the park. Vivid green hills rose behind the house, shimmering and unvaried as velvet. Here and there a clump of trees broke the evenness of the landscape, rendering both hillside and clump more absolute in their disparity the one to the other. It was a style of beauty first brought to prominence in the last century—a paean to Naturalism, and quite in keeping with my sensibilities.
The Stour murmured a winding course through the meadow, and along its banks the willows trailed, restless in the slightest air. Swallows darted and swooped over our heads as we achieved the turning for the lodge, carriage wheels complaining at the paving's treatment, and litde Fanny stirred and sighed. The slanting light of late August splashed gilt over her cheek—and over stone bridge, mown field, and rosy brick—as it turned the air to honey.
The whole was a scene of such measured beauty, in fact, that the horror of death seemed impossible, and the very notion of murder, absurd.
“Are we home, Jane?” Lizzy enquired, rousing herself. “It cannot be too soon. How Neddie must feel the burden of his duty, on such a day!”
“How happy you must be,” I returned impulsively, “to call these fields and hills your home! What richness, in the dull routine of a country life! Is there anything to compare with the peace and beauty of Kent?”
“The dust is intolerable,” Lizzy observed, as we pulled up at the door. “I am sure I shall have the headache.”
Her conviction bore fruit at the house's very entry, and so, calling for her excellent maid, Sayce, my sister was borne away to her room. The rest of us were not to be released without a trial,
I should have considered of this earlier, and charged Neddie with examining the ground beneath the chaise's wheels. Some mark of hurried movement might have been discerned—
I sighed aloud, and Pratt glanced over his shoulder.
“It's not long now, miss. That be the turning for Chilham, as you'll know.”
Chilham—where I had danced on occasion at the modest little Assembly Rooms, and pined in my youth for Mr. Taylor's beautiful dark eyes. He bestowed them upon another young lady more in keeping with his station—his irrepressible cousin, Charlotte—and the two have passed the remarkable family feature to yet another generation. I had called only last week at Bifrons Park, and found all the Taylors thriving.
As I wandered thus among the byways of my youth, the road dipped and swung along an embankment—the hedgerows parted—and we were presented with a fine sweep of country. All the beauty of Godmersham broke suddenly upon me. I suspended thought and sat back in the seat cushions, refreshed immediately by the serenity of the scene.
My brother's principal estate, a fine modern building of rosy brick, nestles like a jewel between two saddles of the downs. Every line of the house as it rises from its deer park—the copses where pheasant thrive, and hares burrow—the enclosed kitchen gardens, and the noble avenue of limes we call Bentigh, that leads sweetly along the river to the old Norman church of St. Nicolas—all must proclaim to passersby, that here lives an English gendeman.
I have known Godmersham from the first days of Neddie's removal here, some ten years ago. I have been privileged to linger within its comforting walls for months at a time, and I regard the place as in some measure my home—and one I must quit always with regret. My own style of living is determined by the scant provision I bring to it; there is a constraint in relative poverty that weighs upon the soul and renders the mind weary. At Godmersham I am always free of penury's burdens, and the interval must be embraced with relief. To leave the place is to be cast out a litde from Heaven.
As I considered the relative nature of peace and privilege, Pratt snapped the reins over the horses' backs, and the barouche rolled easily towards the turning for the park. Vivid green hills rose behind the house, shimmering and unvaried as velvet. Here and there a clump of trees broke the evenness of the landscape, rendering both hillside and clump more absolute in their disparity the one to the other. It was a style of beauty first brought to prominence in the last century—a paean to Naturalism, and quite in keeping with my sensibilities.
The Stour murmured a winding course through the meadow, and along its banks the willows trailed, restless in the slightest air. Swallows darted and swooped over our heads as we achieved the turning for the lodge, carriage wheels complaining at the paving's treatment, and litde Fanny stirred and sighed. The slanting light of late August splashed gilt over her cheek—and over stone bridge, mown field, and rosy brick—as it turned the air to honey.
The whole was a scene of such measured beauty, in fact, that the horror of death seemed impossible, and the very notion of murder, absurd.
“Are we home, Jane?” Lizzy enquired, rousing herself. “It cannot be too soon. How Neddie must feel the burden of his duty, on such a day!”
“How happy you must be,” I returned impulsively, “to call these fields and hills your home! What richness, in the dull routine of a country life! Is there anything to compare with the peace and beauty of Kent?”
“The dust is intolerable,” Lizzy observed, as we pulled up at the door. “I am sure I shall have the headache.”
Her conviction bore fruit at the house's very entry, and so, calling for her excellent maid, Sayce, my sister was borne away to her room. The rest of us were not to be released without a trial,
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