“—Or was Lawrence attacked because of his acquaintance with Madam Lefroy?” his lordship countered.

At this, my senses were thrown entirely into turmoil. From dismay and incredulity, I swiftly moved to conviction — and returned to doubt again. “Impossible!” I cried. “It must be impossible! Dearest, most excellent, Anne Lefroy! That your life should be snuffed out like the merest taper — and for what? Where is the sense to be found in such evil?”

“Pray compose yourself, my dear Jane,” Lord Harold advised me gently, “and endeavour to think. Though I am no friend to magistrates in general, and must consider even Mr. Elliot’s conventions tiresome in the extreme, it is well to search for proofs before one contemplates the charge of murder — particularly when one is entirely without a culprit. Let us set about the ordering of our minds. What became of Madam’s mount? The beast that threw her?”

“My brother assures us that it was destroyed.”

“A pity. But only to be expected. We might have learned much from its harness — whether the saddle, for example, was meddled with. But at this remove from events, all such discovery is unlikely.” He commenced to pace again, the picture of brooding. “Unless … your brother might serve our purpose.”

“James?”

“He is resident in Hampshire, I presume?”

“Yes — and will have the performing of Madam’s funeral service in a few days’ time.”

“A clergyman!” Lord Harold’s countenance lightened. “But that is capital! He might well learn something to our advantage. I suggest you write to him with the desire for further particulars of your dear friend’s tragic end. Say that you cannot rest until you are apprised of every detail of Madam Lefroy’s death. This is often the way with ladies, I believe; they hunger for the minutest fact of a fellow creature’s passing, the better to brood over it, and lament, and sigh in contemplation of their own more happy escape. Let it appear, at least, that such is your inclination — the better to deceive your brother.”

“For that is required no undue exertion,” I replied, with a thought for James’s unfortunate Mary. “My brother has always inclined to the view that women are extremely foolish creatures; and it has been amply proved by his experience.”

“All the better. He will journey to Ashe — and there he will interrogate the family, or even perhaps the groom who attended Madam Lefroy, and faithfully report his intelligence. Do you make certain to beg that he relate the exact circumstances of the horse’s bolting. Was it a rook, calling too loud within a hedgerow? Or the sudden report of a gun? How came the servant to account for it? Depend upon it, all at Ashe will know; tho’ they cannot place upon events the construction that we should do.”

“And perhaps I may enquire,” I added slowly, “whether any strangers were remarked of late in the village.”

“A funeral is quite often an occasion for the exchange of gossip,” Lord Harold observed delicately. “They may have remarked a handsome young man of distinguished appearance, putting up at the local inn; or worse yet, a transient labourer of brutish aspect — remarkable for his dissimilar eyes.”

Chapter 15

Portrait of a Witch

Wednesday,

19 December 1804

I DEVOTED AN HOUR AFTER BREAKFAST THIS MORNING TO MY correspondence — a long-delayed letter of condolence to Anne Lefroy’s daughter, Jemima, and a second note intended for my brother James’s eyes alone. In this I begged him, with the most acute sensibility, to relate by return of post every particular of Madam Lefroy’s death — not excepting the loose talk of the neighbourhood that had undoubtedly arisen, in the train of so hideous an accident. I went so far as to hint that he might satisfy my anxiety with an interrogation of the unfortunate groom. And at the last, I enquired whether he had chanced to encounter some gentlemen of my acquaintance in the neighbourhood of Overton — the actor, Hugh Conyngham, or his lackey, Smythe, a hulking, great fellow with one blue and one brown eye. I thought them likely to have gone into Hampshire, and would not wish them to suffer from a dearth of acquaintance.

Not even James could resist so patent an invitation to gossip.

Quite pleased with my efforts, I sealed the sheet with a wafer, inscribed the direction, and had only to await the collection of the post. I have never been so decidedly impatient for correspondence from my eldest brother in all my life — for we do not enjoy as happy an intimacy as I might wish. I must hope that the oddity of my beseeching him for news, should not utterly rouse his suspicions.

I SET OUT NOT LONG THEREAFTER FOR LAURA PLACE; BUT had only achieved Pulteney Bridge, when I espied the figure of a woman in conversation with someone in a phaeton drawn up near one of the shops that line its length. Something in her elegant figure, the remarkable carriage of her head, seemed familiar, but the lady was so heavily veiled, I could not make her features out. As I approached she turned away, and hurried off into the marketplace that runs along the river at that point; and I decided I must have been mistaken. My conviction was given considerable reinforcement as I drew up with the carriage itself — and was hailed by none other than Colonel Easton.

“Colonel!” I cried. “And a very good day to you. Are you intending to call in Laura Place?”

“I am, Miss Austen — and should have been there already, had not I chanced upon the wife of a fellow officer, Mrs. Grimsby, a most excellent young woman, indeed. Grimsby is presently called away to the North, and she is sadly without friends. All the world is abroad this morning, I may say! But I am happy to find you here. May I carry you to Lady Desdemona?”

With these words, the Colonel chanced to take the measure of my sombre gown and black gloves, and his bluff good humour immediately faded. “I say — I hope I don’t intrude unhandsomely — but have you recently sustained a loss, Miss Austen?”

“I regret that I have.”

“My deepest sympathies, ma’am. And in such a season!”

“You are very good, Colonel. I should be delighted to attend you to Laura Place.”

He jumped out with a glad smile, and showed me into the phaeton. “I had hoped to ride with Lady Desdemona this morning, but I learned to my regret that she was a trifle indisposed.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?”

He shook his head. “I fancy she’s only blue-devilled by Kinsfell’s entanglement. And that uncle of hers cannot be a comfort — Trowbridge is forever dangling after one woman or another. I saw him myself in Orchard Street only last night, in such a display! Most unbecoming, with the family’s fortunes at such a pass; but the fellow never had the least discretion.”

Colonel Easton’s tact might as readily have been suspect; but I assumed he had not yet adopted the habit of reading the Bath Chronicle. He handed me into his chaise, then stepped up himself as swiftly as his wounded right arm would allow; and in pleasantries on one side, and some absence of mind on the other, we soon achieved Laura Place.

“MISS AUSTEN!” LADY DESDEMONA CRIED, RISING FROM what had obviously been a most interesting tête-à-tête with the Earl of Swithin. His long legs were stretched indolently towards the fire, in so comfortable an attitude that he might have claimed the Dowager’s drawing-room as his own these many months; but at the sight of visitors the Earl propelled himself to his feet, and managed a bow.

Lady Desdemona’s colour was high, and her eyes sparkling; and if she cast a guilty glance Lord Swithin’s way, and looked too conscious when she met my gaze, I could not find it in me to reproach her.