Read Online Jane and the Prisoner of Wool House by Stephanie Barron - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Barron
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advanced years. “I 3m Cecilia Braggen,” she added, as if by way of afterthought, “wife to Captain Jahleel Braggen. I do not usually force acquaintance, you may be assured; but I am come expressly on a matter of some urgency, and must solicit the aid and benevolence of you both. May we beg a seat in your parlour?”
“Of course!” Mary breathlessly replied, and led her visitors within.
I glanced at Mrs. Foote, who returned an expression of amused condolence; however urgent the matter to Mrs. Braggen, it could not command the entire sympathy of her companion.
“Jane,” Mrs. Foote whispered, as we moved to follow the others, do not feel obliged to satisfy her in the least regard. I fell in with the woman as I progressed along the High. She could not be turned back. But I am come myself to press you all most urgently—your mother and Miss Lloyd included—to join us for an evening party at Highfield House on Friday.”
“Friday? We should be delighted!” I cried. “I may answer for the others—we have no fixed engagements.”
“That is excellent news. And perhaps we shall have cause for celebration! Edward confides that Captain Austen may soon be posted to a frigate!”
“How very unlucky that the intelligence should already have spread so far,” I murmured uneasily. “There is just that degree of doubt in the case, that I should not wish the matter canvassed too soon. Mary, as yet, knows nothing of it.”
“Then I shall not breathe a word,” Mrs. Foote returned in a whisper. “Better that the full joy of it should burst upon her unawares!”
“… most distressing implications for the entire port,” Mrs. Braggen was exclaiming, as we joined the three women in Mrs. Davies's parlour. “Nineteen of the prisoners have fallen ill already, and with no one to nurse them, the situation will soon grow desperate! You cannot conceive the conditions in which they lie; the inclement weather must sharpen every discomfort. I have undertaken to organise our little society in shifts for the remainder of the week; but we are sadly pressed for hands. May I count upon each of you for at least a few hours—today or tomorrow, if convenient?”
I looked at Mary's pallid face and anxious eyes, and saw her palms pressed against her stomach. “Of what are you speaking?”
Cecilia Braggen wheeled upon me. “Of the French prisoners of war, confined in Wool House. There are forty of them held there, in a room fit for at most half that number; and they are all shaking with fever. The men who guard them—Marines, for the most part, and decidedly ill-educated—appear indifferent as to whether the poor fellows live or die. But I am persuaded that if disease is allowed to ravage the prisoners' ranks unchecked, it may soon spread to the Marines themselves—and you know what Marines are. The sickness will be all over the streets of Southampton in a thrice. We must act to stem the tide, before it is too late!”
“Mercy!” whispered Catherine Bertie. She held her vinaigrette to her flaring nostrils, and closed her eyes.
“But surely the French will soon be exchanged,” Mrs. Foote observed most sensibly. “I am sure they should fare far better on their native shores.” 3
“I have it on good authority—from no less a personage than your father, Miss Bertie—that an exchange is not to be thought of before May. So you see where we are. I have presented my arguments most vigorously to the Admiral, and he agrees that we must attempt everything for the prisoners' comfort, and our own safety. He has offered me the services of his shipboard surgeon, a Mr. Hill.”.
“You would have us to nurse the French officers presently held in Wool House?” I repeated, for the sake of clarity. “What an extraordinary idea!”
“Do you speak French, Miss Austen?”
“A little,” I replied, revolving the idea in my mind. I had just been struck by the possible utility of a nurse, and the method by which I might serve my brother
“Of course!” Mary breathlessly replied, and led her visitors within.
I glanced at Mrs. Foote, who returned an expression of amused condolence; however urgent the matter to Mrs. Braggen, it could not command the entire sympathy of her companion.
“Jane,” Mrs. Foote whispered, as we moved to follow the others, do not feel obliged to satisfy her in the least regard. I fell in with the woman as I progressed along the High. She could not be turned back. But I am come myself to press you all most urgently—your mother and Miss Lloyd included—to join us for an evening party at Highfield House on Friday.”
“Friday? We should be delighted!” I cried. “I may answer for the others—we have no fixed engagements.”
“That is excellent news. And perhaps we shall have cause for celebration! Edward confides that Captain Austen may soon be posted to a frigate!”
“How very unlucky that the intelligence should already have spread so far,” I murmured uneasily. “There is just that degree of doubt in the case, that I should not wish the matter canvassed too soon. Mary, as yet, knows nothing of it.”
“Then I shall not breathe a word,” Mrs. Foote returned in a whisper. “Better that the full joy of it should burst upon her unawares!”
“… most distressing implications for the entire port,” Mrs. Braggen was exclaiming, as we joined the three women in Mrs. Davies's parlour. “Nineteen of the prisoners have fallen ill already, and with no one to nurse them, the situation will soon grow desperate! You cannot conceive the conditions in which they lie; the inclement weather must sharpen every discomfort. I have undertaken to organise our little society in shifts for the remainder of the week; but we are sadly pressed for hands. May I count upon each of you for at least a few hours—today or tomorrow, if convenient?”
I looked at Mary's pallid face and anxious eyes, and saw her palms pressed against her stomach. “Of what are you speaking?”
Cecilia Braggen wheeled upon me. “Of the French prisoners of war, confined in Wool House. There are forty of them held there, in a room fit for at most half that number; and they are all shaking with fever. The men who guard them—Marines, for the most part, and decidedly ill-educated—appear indifferent as to whether the poor fellows live or die. But I am persuaded that if disease is allowed to ravage the prisoners' ranks unchecked, it may soon spread to the Marines themselves—and you know what Marines are. The sickness will be all over the streets of Southampton in a thrice. We must act to stem the tide, before it is too late!”
“Mercy!” whispered Catherine Bertie. She held her vinaigrette to her flaring nostrils, and closed her eyes.
“But surely the French will soon be exchanged,” Mrs. Foote observed most sensibly. “I am sure they should fare far better on their native shores.” 3
“I have it on good authority—from no less a personage than your father, Miss Bertie—that an exchange is not to be thought of before May. So you see where we are. I have presented my arguments most vigorously to the Admiral, and he agrees that we must attempt everything for the prisoners' comfort, and our own safety. He has offered me the services of his shipboard surgeon, a Mr. Hill.”.
“You would have us to nurse the French officers presently held in Wool House?” I repeated, for the sake of clarity. “What an extraordinary idea!”
“Do you speak French, Miss Austen?”
“A little,” I replied, revolving the idea in my mind. I had just been struck by the possible utility of a nurse, and the method by which I might serve my brother
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