“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 gentleman! 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 little of comfort could be derived from so dour a companion. Further observation was denied me, for at that moment the horses started forward under Pratt's meticulous hands, and we were sent back to Godmersham — like all of Canterbury's ladies, preserved from further intimacy with what was unpleasant.
In death, it seemed, Mrs. Grey had won what she preferred in life — the companionship of sporting men.
Chapter 3
The Unknown Cicisbeo
9 August 1805, cont'd.
FOR THE COMPLETION OF SEVEN MILES OF INDIFFERENT road to Godmersham, was required nearly two hours. Pratt will never allow the horses to travel at speed, from a horror of dust in an open carriage; and our progress in the present instance was decidedly impeded by the wealth of traffic on every side — most of it hastening from the race-meeting in equal perturbation of spirit. A happier party might have passed the journey in conversation, but Lizzy's thoughts were quite absent, Miss Sharpe's pallor was extreme, and Fanny was nodding in sleep before a quarter of the distance was achieved. We dawdled along between the high Kentish hedgerows while the sun declined into the hills, as silent as though our excellent Pratt conveyed an empty carriage.
From his unwillingness to address the subject, I believed it likely that my brother should arrest Mr. Denys Collingforth. In truth, I could not blame him; a shrewder man than Neddie would hesitate to discharge so obvious a malefactor. But I could not be easy in the determination of Collingforth's guilt. He was an unpalatable rogue, without question; he had spoken roughly of the murdered woman, and looked all his hate in his harsh features; and his carriage had borne the grisly burden of Mrs. Grey's corpse. But Collingforth should be a simpleton, indeed, to discover a body in his own chaise. Had he pursued Mrs. Grey along the Wingham road with murder as his object, he should better have abandoned her in a ditch along with her habit, than returned her to the world's sight. It looked very much as tho' someone else wished Collingforth to hang for the murder — and had arranged events to his liking.
But how had the corpse been conveyed to within the chaise? True, it had been divested of the red habit, and might have drawn less notice — if a corpse clad only in a shift, in broad daylight, could be said to look unremarkable. I did not think it likely, however, that Mrs. Grey had been brought to the chaise while yet alive, en deshabille, and strangled within it. Too little time had elapsed between her departure from the meeting-grounds and the discovery of her body, for the effecting of such a kidnapping; perhaps an hour, all told. Moreover, I had heard not a whimper of the poor lady's struggles, and our barouche had sat less than a hundred feet from Gollingforth's chaise. The tumult of a race might have covered the deed — but all of Canterbury knew the lady to have been alive and victorious for some time after the final heat
Revolve the matter of Mrs. Grey as I might, I could in no way account for her end, without the chaise itself having been removed. Upon reflection, I could not vouch for its presence behind our own equipage throughout the period in question — from Mrs. Grey's departure, until Collingforth had thrown open the carriage door. But who might have stolen the chaise for such an intricate purpose? And would there have been time enough to manage the business? It depended, I supposed, on the distance Mrs. Grey's team had already travelled, 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 gentleman.
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 little 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.