“Very well. The Comte has chosen to style himself 'H,' and speak only of millinery to his ladylove. I suppose there are histories recorded that are yet more extraordinary. We must assume it is a sort of code.”
“Pray examine the letters yourself, Jane, and attempt to form an opinion. I shall be greatly in your debt.”
“Do not deceive yourself, Neddie. It is I who am under the greatest obligation. I have not been so diverted by a puzzle since the weeks before our father's death; and I make no apology for profiting so grossly by Mrs. Grey's murder. This will be the first disinterested service she has rendered to anyone, in life or death.”
TWO FULL HOURS WERE REQUIRED FOR THE REVIEW OF the correspondence. It was a tedious business; the Comte — our duplicitous “H” — was possessed of a fiendish hand, very nearly indecipherable. The elegance of his phrasing further confounded his despoilers; we were at pains to untangle the ravishing verbs from their dependent clauses, and must own to a head-ache after only a part of our work was done. But it proved, in the main, to be as Neddie had said — repeated discussions of lace and wool, and the most efficacious arrangements for the procuring of each. On rare occasions, the Comte commended his Francoise for her management of this friend or that — I am pleased to observe the progress you have made in securing the affection of Mr. Collingforth, for example; or, more interesting still, Captain Woodford appears unsuited to his task; I would suggest you discourage his visits. And gradually, about the month of June, another name crept into the letters: that of Julian Sothey.
Mr. Sothey's interest in your well-being must always ensure him a warm place in my heart…. Mr. Sothey is possessed of a peculiar aptitude for gossip. I was charmed by your report of his conversation with Lady Forbes…. Mr. Sothey's influence with your husband might do much towards the securing of our lace. Pray exert your charms towards this end, ma chere Francoise, for it appears that your own influence with the gentleman is limited.
Mr. Sothey, it seemed, had been a gratifying tool in Mrs. Grey's hands. How useful the Gentleman Improver should be, to a woman of her inclination! He knew everyone, and was welcome everywhere; he overheard the counsels of the Great at their very dinner tables. Where Mrs. Grey's sex and very foreignness should be a bar to a certain sort of male intimacy, Mr. Sothey was trusted and admired by the men of his acquaintance; before him, they should always be open. Had he understood, at last, that he was being worked upon — and confronted Mrs. Grey at the Canterbury Races? Was this the break that had sparked the lady's fury?
“Neddie,” I said abruptly, “pray consider the phrases I have translated. They are drawn from several of the Comte's letters, despatched during the course of June and July. I do not doubt that we shall discover more such, in the month of August.”
He read them, and a frown gathered on his brow. “Do you suppose Sothey to have been aware of the delicacy of the information he conveyed? Or that Mrs. Grey intended to use him against her own husband?”
“I cannot undertake to say. A man in the grip of infatuation, might do anything to win the favour of his lady; he might offer her the dearest intelligence, without a second thought as to the wisdom of the impulse. And, too, we know so little of Mrs. Grey herself — how subtle her manipulation may have been, and how patiently effected, week by week.”
“But can Grey have been blind to such a passion in his friend, or its consequences? Is it possible he should overlook Sothey's attempts to influence himself?”
“We rarely suspect a friend of the heart — a man whose integrity and opinion we esteem — of employing our affections for particular ends,” I observed. “It requires a doubt of intimacy, to reveal the snake.”
“That should make Sothey's betrayal all the more abhorrent.” Neddie considered a moment in silence. “But perhaps we read too much into these words, Jane. Sothey might be worked upon from any number of causes. He may have cared nothing for Francoise Grey — but possessed as ruinous a taste for gaming as his father. That should easily place him in her power.”
“It should not be surprising,” I agreed. “Such things are said to run in the blood. But what was he intended to procure, Neddie?”
“Gossip?”
“His charm and brilliance — his inclination for discourse — and the ease with which he moved among the houses of the Great, should provide him with a considerable fund of knowledge. But that appears to have been the least of his talents. He is specifically intended by the Comte to secure some Spanish lace, and arguably from Mr. Grey.”
“But what is the lace intended to signify?”
“Money, Neddie,” I replied with decision. “Recall what Henry has suspected, and what the Comte himself has said. Grey has a scheme under consideration, that must encompass the great banking houses of Europe; it is the only way in which Mr. Sothey might be of use to Penfleur.”
“But was not the Comte already Grey's partner in a Continental concern?” my brother protested, bewildered. “Why should he have need of subterfuge?”
“Because the intended use of the funds, my dear, should ruin Mr. Grey were it suspected. He should be accused of treason, or worse; and until the funds are secured, he must never be allowed to suspect the gravity of his betrayal.”
My brother whistled. “You suspect that Grey is to bankroll Buonaparte's invasion of England?”
“I can think of nothing else that should require such delicacy of arrangement and preparation. Only consider, Neddie — Francoise Grey was forced into a loveless marriage, for the express purpose of winning her husband's resources. Let us hope that she eventually failed — and was murdered as a result.”
“And if she succeeded?” A fine beading of sweat stood out on my brother's brow. “What then, for Grey and the security of the Kingdom?”
“That is a question,” I said drily, “that I suspect you must put to Mr. Grey.”
MY BROTHER MIGHT HAVE MOUNTED HIS HORSE AT THAT very moment, and ridden off in the direction of The Larches, had he not been prevented by the appearance of the Gentleman Improver. As it was, he was forced to be content with a hastily-scrawled note, despatched by messenger to Valentine Grey, that required that gentleman's presence at dinner — or if the banker were otherwise engaged, for coffee afterwards.
It was hardly Mr. Sothey's fault that he thus interrupted our counsels at a most inauspicious moment. He had arrived in good time — at a quarter past one o'clock— and looked so delighted at the prospect of his visit, that I could hardly believe him capable of a conscious deceit. He was elegantly dressed, and as cool in his appearance as tho' the short ride had no power to discomfit him; praised everything from the plasterwork in the hall, to the arrangement of the rooms, and would stay within doors only long enough to pay his respects to Lizzy, before proposing that we should all walk out and survey the grounds.
To my surprise and delight, Mr. Emilious Finch-Hatton had ridden over from Eastwell in company with the improver.
“Miss Austen!” he cried, bending low over my hand, “it is a pleasure to see you again. I have had a letter from our mutual friend, that would not delay of its communication to you; and so I have imposed upon Sothey and yourselves, in presuming to invite myself to dinner.”
“You will always be welcome, sir, as I believe you know.” We were awaiting Lizzy's appearance on the stairs, in stout boots better suited to walking than the slippers she had sported all morning, before crossing the Stour. Mr. Sothey had judged the prospect from the Doric temple's height ideally suited to an initial survey of the grounds; and there we should commence our tour. “Lord Harold is well?”