“But of course,” I murmured, as though the subtlety of the Prime Minister's conduct could never be lost on so keen a female mind. “I must wonder, sir, whether any coalition might avail us comfort, when the French are rumored to have left Boulogne.”

“Ah,” Mr. Emilious returned; and his eyes glinted. “And yet you will perceive, Miss Austen, that I credit rumour so little, I remain as yet in Kent.”

“As do we all. Town can offer few delights in August.”

“I hope that I may call upon you one day this week? You are quite fixed for the present at Godmersham?”

“Until Monday, sir, when I shall pay a visit to Lady Bridges, at Goodnestone Farm.”

The footmen then appearing to carry out the remove, and unfurl the clean cloth, all discourse was at an end.[45] I had little doubt that Mr. Emilious intended no idle pleasantry in his last remark. He had approached me with a purpose this evening, and had set about to sound my depths. Whatever Lord Harold's intention in directing his friend to my door, it was not of a sort to be broached over the dinner table; and I found myself impatient to know what it was. Indeed, my thoughts were entirely in a whirl: for I exulted — there could be no other word — in the knowledge that I had not been entirely forgot. Lord Harold elusive at so small a remove as Town, was cause for pain; Lord Harold despatched to remotest Russia, was quite another instance. My spirits, of a sudden, had soared ridiculously; Mr. Sothey, the murdered Francoise Grey, even the invading French — all consigned to oblivion in respect of Mr. Emilious's words.

Patience was to be my trial in the present instance, however. Having devoted the entirety of the first course to the amusement of Mr. Emilious Finch-Hatton, I should accord my elegant phrases to the gentleman seated at my left, Mr. Brett, during the second. When the covers were settled upon every square inch of the table's surface, I turned, and found the poor man's gaze fixed pensively on Miss Louisa Finch-Hatton.

That young lady was seated farther up the table, as suited the eldest daughter of the house; she was placed between my brother Henry and Mr. Sothey, whose interest she had tenaciously engaged, and refused to give up despite the appearance of the second course. Poor Henry looked quite put out, and in the throes of boredom, since his companion to the right was Miss Anne Finch. I perceived that that excellent lady was presently in full flood upon the subject of whalebone corsets, and the mortification of their creaking, particularly for a gentleman. This might be considered a daring launch in Miss Anne Finch's mind. One look at Henry's face reminded me of my duty to Mr. Brett.

“And how do you find the practise of law in Kent, Mr. Brett?” I began, my fascinated gaze fixed firmly on his profile.

He tore his eyes from Louisa and sought my countenance almost blindly. “I beg your pardon? I fear I was not attending.”

“You are a solicitor, I believe?”

“I am.”

“Then pray tell me, sir — what sense can you make of my brother's unfortunate business with Mrs. Grey?”

“I should rather have called it Mrs. Grey's unfortunate business,” he observed, with a quelling look, “and your brother's duty, Miss Austen.”

“But of course,” I murmured, “as who better than an Austen should know?”

Mr. Brett, I made no doubt, was burdened by an inclination to find all women dangerously forward in the expression of their opinions, excepting his delightful Louisa — who could be counted upon to voice nothing more challenging than a view of the weather, or the latest rage among the ton. “Then you have escaped the general fit of curiosity, Mr. Brett, as to the nature of Mrs. Grey's end?”

“If you mean the morbid preoccupation with her death — I can think of nothing less seemly. Curiosity in such a cause must be abhorrent.” His eyes strayed involuntarily to Mr. Sothey and Louisa, and of a sudden, I considered the utility of the Green-Eyed Monster. Many a man might be goaded by jealousy, where a judicious reserve should counsel otherwise. I should be very much surprised if Mr. Brett had not already acquainted himself with the chief failings of his rival, the better to combat the latter's power.

“You are entirely correct, of course,” I offered mildly, “and I must admire your forbearance. An attorney must be but too susceptible to an avid interest in such crimes; natural inclination would lead you to it, and your talents admirably suit you to the task. The temptation to indulge in theories and solutions must be nearly overwhelming — a temptation that Mr. Sothey, for example, could not be expected to feel.”

“No, indeed,” Mr. Brett vehemently declared, “Mr. Sothey's temptations must lie in an entirely different quarter. Neither reason nor propriety can be known to such a man.”

“You do not esteem a landscape designer?”

Mr. Brett turned upon me an eloquent eye. “It makes no matter what Sothey styles himself. A scoundrel with neither character nor feeling to recommend him may go by any name he chooses. I hope that I may never esteem a shameless poacher on the preserve of his betters, Miss Austen — a man who would take money for the expression of his merest opinion, and a few dabblings in watercolour! He should be run out of the country on a wood plank; and the sooner, the better, for all concerned.”

If Mr. Sothey caught a syllable of Mr. Brett's indignant words, he betrayed not a hint of it; Miss Louisa, I am certain, was too engaged in admiring his voice, to attend to any other in the room.

“What can Mr. Sothey have done, to merit such opprobrium?” I enquired.

“Only such as must make him the enemy of every respectable man in the Kingdom! That he has the impudence to show his face at this table, when the history of his connexion with that regrettable woman must be known to the entire country, surpasses belief! And yet, there he sits, in the most open coquetry with an innocent young lady, as tho' all the sins of lechery did not proclaim themselves in his countenance!”

I allowed his wrath to subside a little, and then ventured, “If you would allude to Mrs. Grey — I had understood that Mr. Sothey was engaged in the household in much the capacity that he is entertained here. As a landscape designer, and the intimate friend of Mr: Grey.”

Mr. Brett laughed abruptly — an unlovely sound. “That will be the tale he tells, no doubt. But I have seen the evidence of his cunning with my own eyes, and the memory of it is seared upon my brain. I would not call that fellow friend, for any amount of money in the world. He cannot apprehend the meaning of the word; friend must be as open to injury as enemy, to Mr. Sothey. He is not a man to be trusted.”

“If what you would imply is true,” I persisted, “I must wonder at Mr. Grey's permitting him the liberty of his household. Mr. Sothey only quitted The Larches this week, I believe.”

“As recently as the day of Mrs. Grey's death. I must think the coincidence quite telling.”

“You cannot mean—”

“—that he was somehow responsible?” Mr. Brett hesitated; but even the goad of jealousy, it seemed, was inadequate to a charge of murder. “I cannot know of what Mr. Sothey is capable. But I was privileged to witness his arrival here the day of the race-meeting — having ridden over to pay my respects to the ladies, unaware that the Finch-Hattons were as yet detained in Canterbury. The impression of haste and trouble Mr. Sothey then conveyed was unmistakable. He seemed in flight from the Devil himself, if you will pardon the expression; his hat gone, his appearance wild, with a great weal standing out on his neck; his baggage in disarray, and his manservant decidedly put out at the suddenness of the removal. 'Good God!' I cried, upon first perceiving them, 'have the French indeed made landfall in Kent? Has the alarm been sounded?'—for their appearance, Miss Austen, must give rise to every anxiety. Sothey attempted a laugh, but it came out queerly, and with entirely the opposite effect of ease he had intended. 'Merely a brush with a footpad, Mr. Brett,' he declared, 'who visited this injury upon me, before Frick bade him be off, with the persuasion of a pistol.' I saw the manservant, Frick, look swiftly at his master, as if to call him liar; and wondered at the tale. The two disappeared into the house as freely as tho' it were their own, and I turned my mount towards the Canterbury road. But later, when I learned of Mrs. Grey's death, and remembered Mr. Sothey's conduct in that house, I formed my own conclusion.”