“There is my brother Edward,” Lizzy observed, “looking bound for the gallows before sunset. You have much to answer for, Henry; I am not sure I should admit you to Godmersham this e'en! Look at the poor fellow — so chapfallen and mumchance! Were it not for the support of Captain Woodford's arm, I doubt he could place one foot before the other!”
And, indeed, Mr. Bridges looked very unwell. His countenance was flushed, his fashionable coiffure disarranged, and his cravat askew. He clutched at his head — which ached, no doubt, from an unfortunate blend of spirits and wine — and muttered indistinguishable words in Captain Woodford's ear. A glance for his sister, and it seemed as tho' he might approach our barouche — until a third man came up with him suddenly, and tore at Mr. Bridges's arm. He was a burly gentleman, with sweeping whiskers and a raffish air; a gentleman I knew of old. Denys Collingforth, of slim means and illiberal temper, who was held in general disfavour by the whole neighbourhood. We should have seen much of the Collingforths, had they proved more genteel, for they lived but a few miles from Godmersham, at Prior's Farm. He was fond of using his fists at the slightest provocation, and was even said to have struck his wife — the unfortunate Laetitia, whose carriage Mrs. Grey had entered only an hour or so before.
I had seen Denys Collingforth in more than one unsavoury moment, during my many sojourns in Kent; and his present appearance argued the immediate precipitation of another. He twisted the sleeve of Mr. Bridges's elegant coat, all choler and ill-humour in a single motion.
The curate gasped, and attempted to shake him off; but he succeeded only in securing both of Mr. Collingforth's hands firmly about his lapels. The gallant Captain Woodford attempted to intervene — and was thrust heavily to one side.
“LizzyI” I half-rose from my seat. “What can Mr. Collingforth mean by such behaviour?”
Her elegant head came swiftly round, and caught the scene at a glance. “Contemptible blackguard,” she spat out, “he will draw Edward's cork in a moment.”
Not only the children had proved susceptible to Henry's fighting cant.
And draw Mr. Bridges's cork, Collingforth did. A wide, swinging arc of his fist, and the curate fell backwards, blood spurting from his nose. Captain Woodford fell on his adversary immediately, and the three disappeared in a whirling knot of flailing limbs and brightly-coloured breeches. In a moment, however, Neddie had perceived the difficulty — he and Henry raced to the aid of their friends, along with half a dozen others who had no cause to love Collingforth; and the bully was deftly wrenched from the melee.
Muttering an oath, he retired to nurse his wounds. A man I did not recognise — I suppose I may call him a gentleman — threw an arm about his shoulders and said something softly into his ear. The newcomer was dressed all in black, and wore an expression of contempt on his countenance; but his words seemed to calm his friend.
“There'll be the Devil to pay,” Collingforth shouted at Mr. Bridges's dusty back; and then shaking his fist, he moved off through the crowd towards his shabby black chaise.
If his wife was within, she did not dare to show her face.
“Well, Lizzy,” my brother said as he pulled himself into the barouche, “I believe it is time we turned towards home. This meeting is become almost a brawl, and I will not have Fanny treated to such scenes.”
Lizzy's answer, did she contemplate one, was forestalled by a fearful cry. It was a man's voice, torn with suffering and revulsion, as though he looked upon the face of evil and knew it for his own. It came from somewhere behind us.
I turned, aghast, to enquire of Neddie, and saw my own confusion mirrored in my brother's countenance. And then our entire party was on its feet, and the gentlemen had sprung from the barouche, all fatigue and acrimony forgotten. A crowd had gathered at the open door of Collingforth's chaise. I looked, and then turned swiftly to gather Fanny to my breast. Death is not a sight for the young, however sporting-minded.
For spilling from the carriage doorway, arms out-flung in supplication, was the figure of a woman. Her streaming hair was dark, her eyes were staring, and tho' the veil and scarlet habit had been torn from her body, leaving her pale and child-like in a simple cotton shift, I knew her instantly for Mrs. Grey.
And knew, with a chill at my heart, that she would never ride again.
Chapter 2
An Act of War
19 August 1805, cont'd.
“GOOD GOD! MRS. GREY, IN COLLINGFORTH'S CHAISE.” Neddie threw his elegant top hat into our barouche, and hastened towards the gruesome scene. Henry was hard on his heels.
“Mamma!” Fanny slipped from my grasp. “What has happened to Mrs. Grey? And why is she lying so, in her shift? Does she suffer from a fit?”
Mrs. Grey's face was contorted, her lips thrust apart, and her tongue protuberant; around her neck was a length of red ribbon, such as once must have bound up her long black hair. She had certainly been strangled with it. To gaze upon her was terrible — so much beauty turned horrible in an instant, and utterly beyond salvation.
With a choked cry from the seat opposite, Anne Sharpe fainted dead away.
“Sit dawn, Fanny.” Lizzy clutched at her daughter's sash and tugged on it firmly. “If anyone is suffering from a fit, it is your governess, child — and who can wonder, with a charge so troublesome as yourself? Endeavour to behave with a little decorum, while Aunt Jane secures Miss Sharpe's vinaigrette.”
I had already scrambled about the carriage in search of such an item, and found it at last in a little travelling case of Fanny's, tricked out with such necessaries as a lady might require. Extra handkerchiefs, a roll of sticking plaster, tiny scissors, and a packet of threaded needles— and, joy of joys, the crystal flacon filled with smelling salts. I waved it under the governess's nose, and watched her snort like Henry's champion.
Fanny was all concern in a moment, and hovered over Miss Sharpe like a little mother; the governess looked quite ill, indeed, but protested that she was entirely well, and struggled to sit upright with something like her usual composure. She accepted a glass of tepid cordial, but kept her face studiously averted from the Colling-forth chaise.
For my part, I felt no compunction in regarding the interesting scene unfolding to the rear. My brother had not leapt to the dead woman's side merely from an excess of chivalry — no, in the present instance, such a mark of active concern was absolutely required. The Lord Lieutenant of Kent himself had appointed my brother Justice of the Peace — a capacity in which Neddie had served barely six months. It was an honour without recompense (for gentlemen are never offered the insult of remuneration, as a more common magistrate in Town might be), and tedious in its general description, but quite suited to a man of Neddie's talents and inclination. For tho' my brother has assumed the polish of Fashion — tho' he has moved in the best circles from the age of sixteen, made the Grand Tour with unimpeachable grace, and imbibed all the follies, indulgences, and vices of Society as mother's milk — he was nonetheless reared in a country parsonage, by a father whose chief values lay in application and industry. Possessed now of great estates — and stewards to manage them; of numerous children — and phalanxes of servants, Neddie should decline into peevishness and indolence, without the care of public office as diversion.
And watching him as he knelt over the body of Mrs. Grey, I felt a familiar chill at my heart. I had witnessed such scenes too many times before. For a moment, I might have joined Miss Sharpe, in averting my eyes; but another instant's reflection steeled my resolve. However unpleasant the evil might be, it should encompass all our family; and I could not refuse to help my brother, whom so many occasions had proved so generous to myself. Neddie's superior knowledge of the world, and easy passage among the Great, had used to comfort his shy little sisters; now, it was he who should enter a strange and bewildering land, and I who must walk along familiar paths.