“Most certainly, ma’am,” Lord Harold assured her. “My own thoughts at present are full of admiration for a lady of such advanced years, and indifferent health, who is yet capable of defending her honour with a chamber pot so soundly, that she lays a man of fifteen stone insensible at her feet.”

“My lord,” I said, “pray enlighten us.”

“Michael Tivey, being long familiar with The Rutland Arms, having assisted in its construction not two years ago through the manufacture of some iron implements and grillwork, engaged to enter the premises by the servants’ door, just off the stableyard, when the cook and the benighted Mr. Davies were otherwise diverted by the cares attendant upon the management of a posting inn. Tivey mounted to this corridor by the servants’ stair, and forced his way into the parlour — whose door, it must be admitted, was undoubtedly left on the latch. Your mother, being thoroughly wearied by the hurly-burly of trade, and the consumption of a rather heavy dinner, complete with iced cakes, had given way to the arms of Morpheus; when the stealthy footfall of Tivey in an adjoining room alerted all her senses. She called out, believing herself to have been joined by Mr. Cooper; and the footfall fell instantly silent. No answer did Mr. Tivey make. Alarm seizing the excellent lady—”

“—I took up the chamber pot and made immediately for your bedroom, Jane, where the scoundrel had hidden himself. He thought to push past me — he thrust himself savagely out of the door, my dear, so that I very nearly fainted — and with all my strength, I threw the pot at him!”

“You succeeded in striking him in the head?”

“Not at all,” my mother cried. “But the pot, in tumbling at his feet, quite tripped up the rogue; and he dashed his head against the corner of that table. There was a quantity of blood; but as I fainted away myself at that moment, I had no cause to regard it.”

“The blood fell to my lot,” Lord Harold observed, “or rather, to the excellent Sally’s; for the girl had just been conveying me to this room along the front passage while Tivey commanded the rear. She found the door already thrown open, and two bodies lying as if dead within; but happily, all such mortal fears were laid to rest with Mrs. Austen’s regaining her senses. I restrained the blacksmith, while Sally cried out for Mr. Davies, who was instantly in attendance — Davies summoned another man — and in a matter of minutes, the offending Tivey was removed to the kitchens below. Sir James Villiers is already summoned.”

“And have you enquired what the blackguard meant by invading our rooms in such a manner?” Cassandra demanded indignantly.

“I have not, because I rather fancy I know. He wanted the book your sister saw fit to carry away from Penfolds Hall; and he meant to have it.”

“Tivey!” I cried. “Then it must have been he who placed that highwayman in our way!”

“Highwayman?” gasped my mother, turning pale. “Whatever is to become of us? Whooping cough is nothing to it!”

I dashed towards my bedchamber, but stopped short on the threshold. The mattress had been tumbled from the bedframe. The quarto volume I had wrapped in a shawl was nowhere in evidence.

“But what possible use could the Coroner make of such a thing?” I asked despairingly.

Lord Harold touched my shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “Perhaps he regarded it in the light of evidence, Jane.”

“But against whom?”

“For that, we must peruse its pages.”

I turned — and saw the very volume resting in his hands.

“I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of the mattress as a hiding place — Adam, or Eve? No matter. I pried the stillroom book from Tivey’s clutches while he was as yet insensible. I advise you not to let it out of your sight.”

I could have kissed Lord Harold’s grave and inscrutable face; but instead, I clutched the volume to my breast and said only, “Thank you, my lord.”

“Thank your mother, my dear,” he advised. “It was she who was beforehand with the chamber pot.”

IT WAS ONLY AS I CONDUCTED HIS LORDSHIP TOWARDS the coaching inn’s door that I thought to enquire after his purpose in paying his call.

“Merely to offer these,” he said carelessly; “they should go very well, I think, with your hair.”

He held out a small velvet box, such as one might obtain from the dearest of London jewellers. I looked up at him wordlessly, my arms at my sides. It was impossible that such a man should make a gift of something precious to me; and impossible that I might keep them, if he did.

“They are ornamental combs belonging to my niece, Desdemona,” he said. Something flickered in his eyes — an understanding, harsh and painful, of my predicament. My cheeks flamed red.

“She enquired as to your dress”—he still held out the box in his gloved hand—“and I confess I could tell her nothing. Please accept them. Mona was most anxious that you should be happy on such an occasion — your first evening at Chatsworth.”

“The Countess is very good,” I said haltingly. I should have felt relief at the little parcel being anything but a gift; instead, a wave of shame and vexation at my mistake swept over me. I reached with trembling hand to accept the box.

“What is it, Jane?” Lord Harold enquired gently.

I shook my head, and opened the lid. The combs were ebony, and set with a pair of sapphires; they should look charmingly against Mona’s hair, and would do very well, indeed, with grey silk. I managed a smile. “Pray offer my deepest thanks to Lady Swithin,” I told Lord Harold. “I shall wear her combs with pleasure.”

“I have ordered His Grace’s carriage for your comfort,” he said. “It shall be standing at the door at six o’clock.”

And tipping his hat, he was gone.

Chapter 21

A Macabre Masquerade

30 August 1806, cont.

“MISS AUSTEN! I AM TOLD THAT YOU HAVE MET WITH the most abominable behaviour in the world this morning! Are you entirely well?”

Sir James Villiers, his countenance animated by the liveliest anxiety for my welfare, hailed me thus from the swinging door that separated the public rooms of the inn from Mr. Davies’s quarters. I assured the Justice that I was in perfect health and spirits, though justifiably apprehensive. I should prefer the experience of highwaymen and robbers to remain marked by its singularity.

“Naturally!” he cried. “And for that very reason I have instructed my men to throw Michael Tivey into the watchhouse, alongside his confederate Will Pickle. Tivey has been responsible for too many disturbances of late, and should benefit from a period of sober reflection.”

“Will Pickle, I presume, acted today as highwayman?”

“He did, and confessed the whole at my interrogation. He is a cousin of Tivey’s from over the Buxton way, and so was not likely to be recognised in this part of the world. I am assured he meant you no harm; but, however, he appeared on the road and brandished a firearm, and thus must be tried as a desperate and violent man. He shall be fortunate to escape hanging.”

“For that, I should have to lay charges against him, I suppose.”

Sir James appeared surprised. “I had not thought that was open to question. You will surely wish to do so.”