Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor

Chapter 10 Nuts in the Gun Case

24 December 1802, cont.

SOME HOURS LATER, WHEN SIR WILLIAM REYNOLDS HAD been summoned and had seen all there was to be seen in that terrible shed, Marguerite's poor body was borne away to the Manor by some stout fellows of the home farm. She was placed upon the oak settle in the butler's pantry, a sheet covering her still form, and Mrs. Hodges set about making her body decent — though how the housekeeper retained the use of her wits, in the midst of the furore the maid's murder created, I cannot think. The Scargrave household was in the throes of Christmas preparation, despite its deep mourning; and a partly-stuffed goose, its neck hanging at an unfortunate angle, was Marguerite's companion in death.

I sat before the fire in the drawing-room, quite alone, for at the news of Marguerite's sad end, Fitzroy Payne had offered his assistance to Sir William, while Isobel had hastened to the side of Mrs. Hodges. Their duties fulfilled, the Earl and the Countess had then retired to their respective sanctuaries — Payne to the library, and Isobel to her room. Fanny Delahoussaye, being a fashionable miss, had fallen into fits upon hearing of Marguerite's discovery; her mother even now attended her above stairs, with a basin of gruel and pursed lips, while Fanny played the victim. Mr. George Hearst was gone to London, on some errand of a private nature — it was for this he had retained the mighty Balthasar — while Lieutenant Hearst, summoned from the cottage at the body's discovery, had decamped to hit billiard balls in the smoking room.

My thoughts were disturbed by Cobblestone the butler, who flung wide the sitting-room door. The poor man's countenance was ashen; the appearance of a corpse in his pantry had routed his spirits entirely. Behind him stood my good friend Sir William Reynolds, and at the sight of his benign white head, I felt all the force of my late misadventure rush upon me. My eyes filled with tears.

“Miss Austen,” Sir William said, hastening to my side, “my poor, dear Jane.” He took my hand in his leathery old grasp and patted it gently. “Since it was your unfortunate lot to discover the murdered maid, my dear. I had hoped to speak with you at some length. But you must tell me whether your nerves can bear it.”

I managed a smile. “My nerves have benefitted from quiet and contemplation, Sir William. Several hours’ distance from events have brought some peace of mind.”

“I rejoice to hear it,” he said, pulling a chair close to the fire, “for I fear I must return you to your unhappy experiences of the morning. What took you to the paddock in the first place?”

I told him of my apprenticeship in riding, and my determination to bridle the horse alone; of Lady Bess's hesitation at the gate, and the mare's horror of that end of the field.

“And there was no outward sign of anything amiss?”

Without a word, I handed him the scrap of fabric I had found by the paddock gate.

“A handkerchief?” he said quizzically.

“It bears Isobel's initials.”

“So I observe. The C is for her maiden name?”

“Collins,” I said. “Her father was English, her mother a Creole by the name of Delahoussaye.”

“Ah, yes — related, no doubt, to the impertinent miss who would have nothing to do with barristers,” he said. “But of what import is the handkerchief?”

“I found it by the paddock gate, before I discovered the maid,” I told him. “And though it pains me to avow it, the article cannot have been there long. We must declare it to have fallen once the snow had ceased — well after supper last evening. But it was not frozen, as it might have been had it lain out all night; nor yet was it soaked through, as any fabric lying on melting snow should be. I put its appearance at very little before the murder itself.”

“Very well,” Sir William said, “the Countess lost her handkerchief by the savaged body of her maid, who had accused her of the murder of her husband. We shall attempt to draw no conclusions from the fact.”

“It is possible that another obtained the handkerchief, and placed it where it might be found, with the intent of throwing suspicion upon Isobel.”

“It is possible, yes.”

“There were but two sets of footprints leading to the body, and one of those was the maid's,” I continued. “The other was formed by a man's boot.”

“Perhaps the Countess wore her husband's shoes,” Sir William said mildly, “the better to counterfeit her appearance.”

“It is absurd!” I cried.

“It is as acceptable as the notion that someone dropped her handkerchief by the gate,” the magistrate rejoined with equanimity. “You must own it to be at least possible, my dear Jane. Now, tell me of the finding of the maid, with your usual sense and power of organisation.”

I related all that I could remember of the grim scene in the shed, though the images it recalled were of so vivid a nature as to cause me to pause now and again in my search for composure. I did not except to recount my first exit from that gruesome place, nor my return; and upon closing my recital, I handed to the magistrate the bloodstained slip of paper retrieved from the maid's bodice.

Sir William settled his spectacles on his nose with a frown, and looked at me over their rims. “This is most singular, my dear, most singular. Two items of evidence, removed from the scene of the crime? I would advise you in future to leave such corpses as you may encounter, completely untouched.”

“But I found the handkerchief before I had reason to wonder at its presence,” I said, “and I foresaw that the body should be brought to the house. In preparing Marguerite for burial, the note might have been lost — by accident or design.”

“By design? You would have the murderer a member of the household?”

“How can it be otherwise?”

He shook his head. “One might perfectly see how it could be otherwise, my dear Jane. A penniless servant girl, abroad in the depths of winter, may readily fall prey to any number of misfortunes, and none of them at the hands of her employers.”

“You do not credit such coincidence, Sir William.”

He smiled at me in submission. “No, Jane, I do not. It is too much to believe that Marguerite should be found dead upon the very morn that her last missive was received.”

“Her last missive—” I began, but was silenced by his raised hand.

“We shall talk of that in good time. For now, I would read this scrap of foolscap.”

I knew the words by heart, though the hand was unfamiliar to me; it was a fragment of paper only, with a fragmentary sentence, let us meet in our accustomed place was all it said, without salutation or farewell. Its author had not been foolish enough to sign his name, so much was certain.

“It tells us little enough,” Sir William said gruffly, “but that the paper is of excellent quality, and so small as to be passed from one hand to another without notice in public. The fragment lacks a watermark, but it is clearly of pure rag, and purchased at some expense.” He tucked the note into his waistcoat and stroked his chin, his gaze distracted.

“It is an elegant hand, as well,” I observed, “and for my part, I would judge it to be masculine. The diction would suggest a person of higher station than the maid's.”

“I am in agreement, my dear.”

“And now for the maid's final letter,” I reminded him.

Sir William reached into his waistcoat once more and handed me a folded sheet. “This was nailed to the door of the Cock and Bull sometime before dawn,” he told me. “Half the town has read it, and the other half has heard the news. I trust you to make as much sense as I of its meaning.”

I looked up, my question in my eyes.

“It is as bad as it may be,” Sir William said, his face sombre. “She accuses the Countess of murder before the whole of Scargrave Close, and deigns to sign the accusation. Odd that she was slain so soon after writing it, do not you think, my dear Jane?”

I wrung my hands in consternation. “Can any be so unfortunate as poor Isobel? What are we to do, Sir William? What are we to do?”

“I am directed to search the personal effects of a lord,” the magistrate said. “And since I cannot presume to know exactly of whom the maid writes — whether of an Earl deceased or living — I propose to review both the belongings of Fitzroy Payne, and of the late Lord Scargrave. That should amply serve the purpose, should it not, Jane?”

I SOUGHT ISOBEL IN HER ROOM, AND FOUND HER GONE to the pantry, where all that remained of Marguerite was bathed and freshly clothed preparatory to Christian burial. I requested that the Countess join me in the drawing-room; but words and courage failed me to warn my friend of the outrage she was soon to endure. Isobel read nothing of my dread in my face, and complied with alacrity.

I found the Earl awaiting us in the company of the magistrate. That Fitzroy Payne expected Sir William to address him regarding the maid's foul murder, was obvious by his surprise at that gentleman's hardly referring to it. Sir William lost no time in disclosing the nature of the third letter, to the confounding of the Earl, who had known nothing of the previous notes’ existence. His face, upon learning the history of the letters, was a study in composure; never before have I seen the weight of social education brought to bear upon a matter so grievous and intimate. The Earl did not suffer himself to reproach Isobel for her secrecy, nor did he betray the slightest sensibility to the writer's dark words concerning a grey-haired lord. But his anger at the public nature of the accusations was palpable; and when requested to submit his belongings to the magistrate's penetrating eye, Fitzroy Payne's features stiffened.

“Is the very privacy of our home to suffer from the calumnies of this woman?” he burst out.

“This woman, as you call her, has been silenced; and I cannot believe so brutal a consequence to be unconnected to the activities of her pen,” Sir William rejoined. “To the public eye, her end does but give credence to her assertions; and as such, we must do our best to answer them, and all rumour into the bargain.”

The Earl's hand went to his brow, and he paced rapidly several times before the hearth, a muscle in his jaw working. After a moment, however, and a look for Sir William, he bowed his assent. “My man, Danson, will lay the contents of my apartments at your disposal. “

“My late husband's things remain as yet in his rooms,” Isobel said, her voice barely a whisper. “I shall escort you to them.”

“There is no need to disturb yourself, Countess,” Sir William told her. “The butler shall serve as my guide. And you, Lord Scargrave — do you be so good as to remain here as well. It is best that all parties be within reach while the work is toward.”

“And barred from meddling with our rooms, if I undertake your meaning correctly,” Fitzroy Payne said with a bitter smile; “very well.”

WAITING IS ALWAYS A TEDIOUS BUSINESS, BUT NEVER MORE so than when coupled with apprehension. At Isobel's request, I moved to the pianoforte, and attempted to play for her amusement; but my fingers stumbled more often than is their wont, and despite the holiday season, my selection of airs tended almost exclusively towards the melancholy. It was as I was thus employed that Lieutenant Hearst appeared in the sitting-room, having wearied, one supposes, of striking at balls without an adversary to lend the game spice. He stood at my shoulder, his brows knit, and an unaccustomed gravity in possession of his countenance.

“Sir William has been here?” he enquired, with an effort at diffidence.

“And is not yet departed,” I replied. “He is about his work above, while we await his pleasure below.”

The Lieutenant hesitated, as if debating what to say, and then looked about the room. I ended the minuet of Mr. Mozart's I had struggled to perform, and gave up the piano altogether. As I rose from my place, too restless to seek another seat, Tom Hearst reached a hand as if to stop me.

“The magistrate has found nothing untoward, Miss Austen?”

I stared my amazement. “Untoward? Besides a blackmailing maid with a gruesomely ravaged throat, abandoned in a shed? I do not pretend to understand you, Lieutenant. Are such things in the common way, for an officer of the Horse Guards?”

He looked abashed, and cast about for an answer, but I turned swiftly from him and moved to the sitting-room window in an effort to overcome a sudden trembling in the limbs. I confess to feeling more disturbed by the memory of Marguerite's poor face than I should like. I may expect to have nightmares — or another visitation from the ghostly First Earl — by morning.

My companions in tragedy were no less cast down. Fitzroy Payne laboured under the pretence of absorption in his book, but his eyes strayed to Isobel's face as often as they were fixed on the page. I noted the expression, both sad and wistful, that played over his features in gazing upon the Countess; and pitied him for the silence that divided them. Marguerite's death and the revelation of the letters had not unmastered the newly-titled Earl, however; if anything, Fitzroy Payne seemed burdened with a greater dignity, as befit his station, and the uncertainty of events surrounding it.

Dear Isobel's gaze was fixed on emptiness, her hands lying idle in her lap; from the frequent waves of emotion that swept o'er her countenance, I judged her to be reviewing the length of December's sad history, and falling ever more into despair at the terrible reversal in her fortunes. I ached to go to her; but the presence of the others — and the weight of Sir William's impending return — froze me in my place. So in search of calm, I turned my eyes from the room to the snowy view beyond the window, marvelling that a day marked by such terrible events, should still appear so fine.

In the flurry over the maid, all notions of Christmas Eve dinner had been lost to us, but not to Mrs. Hodges, the dependable Scargrave housekeeper; and it was with a start that I heard the bell summoning us to table. Tom Hearst was first to the door, and held it open for the ladies. Fitzroy Payne closed his book with a slap, his eyes upon Isobel, who rose from her chair as if waking from a dream. I inclined my head to the Earl and followed the Countess down the hall, feeling a trifle sick. But none of the party paused in its progression to the table, however little appetite we might possess; the activity of lifting a fork should at least prove a welcome alternative to restless silence.

Once in the dining parlour, however, I felt my efforts at equanimity completely routed. Mrs. Hodges had endeavoured to impart a seasonal aspect to the meal, by the addition of red bows and holly to the great Scargrave candelabra — and at the sight of such cheerful nonsense, my mind would turn to my family circle in Bath. What did my dear Cassandra, my father and mother say of me tonight? Did my absence cause in their breasts as much loneliness as in my own? But I looked to Isobel, who failed even to notice the table's ornaments, so desolate and bereft was she; and felt my resolve stiffen. The maid's death meant little of a happy nature lay before the Countess; she had need of stalwart friends.

Madame Delahoussaye was already seated, though her countenance bode poorly for the meal's prospects. Her black eyes were sharp and her lips compressed. “Isobel, my dear; your cousin remains indisposed,” she said.

“I regret to hear it, Aunt.” The Countess sank into the chair the footman held ready, her face as pale as death. “Perhaps you should take dear Fanny to London once the holiday is passed — for certainly Scargrave can offer little to cheer her.”

“It is decidedly unhealthy,” Madame declared, her eyes upon Tom Hearst, “and I believe we shall depart the day after tomorrow. The society of Town, Isobel, must effect an elevation in poor Fanny's spirits.”

“The society of Town being so much superior to Scar-grave's, Madame?” the Lieutenant broke in. His distracted air was banished, and he shook out his serviette like a man possessed of good appetite. “I must confess that we are of one mind. In truth, I may congratulate myself that a better understanding has rarely existed between two such people, divided though we are by temperament, years, and experience. I shall seek my regiment in St. James at the first opportunity, the better to escort Miss Fanny to the gaieties of the Season.”

“Insolent rogue!” Madame burst out, her face turning white with anger. “You shall do no such thing.”

“I fear that I must, dear lady. I received a summons from my regiment this very day.”

And what of the affair of the duel? I thought. Did his regiment welcome the Lieutenant with open arms, all his sins forgotten?

Madame clenched the handle of her fork as though she would drive it through the Lieutenant's heart. “There is nothing I desire less than that Fanny's prospects should be poisoned by your acquaintance.”

“Dear Aunt!” Isobel cried, starting in her chair. “You forget yourself. Lieutenant Hearst is a member of the Scargrave family!”

“He is all too much a member of the family. He presumes upon his relation, Isobel. He thinks to have Fanny's beauty and her fortune for a song. And what is he? Nothing but an adventurer in a blue coat. The second son of a wastrel.” Madame threw down her serviette and thrust back her chair. “I have no appetite for dining in such company. Inform Mrs. Hodges, Isobel, that I shall take a tray in my room.”

Lieutenant Hearst raised his glass to the lady. “Your health, Madame,” he cried, as she swept by him, her eyes snapping. Then he tipped his wine towards me. “It shall make quite a picture, shall it not, Miss Austen? Miss Fanny and the Lieutenant. So little sense, allied with so much sensibility.”

“Good Lord, Tom,” Fitzroy Payne chided, “must you plague Madame so? Her daughter's care is as the world to hen We who know you, know that you delight in provoking; but she feels only insult in your raillery.”

“Reproaches, Fitzroy?” The Lieutenant affected dismay. “And I had looked for thanks! For by my offices the good woman is returned to her room, and we may take Christmas Eve dinner in peace.”

Tom Hearst may have meant his words in jest, but his tone was cutting; and I wondered, as I listened, at the edge of bitterness in his voice. The truth of it all escapes me. Does he admire Fanny? His barbs would suggest the opposite. But he continues to tease Madame unmercifully with his attentions, as though her daughter remains his object. And yet, and yet — when I spend an hour in his company, and feel his warmth, my heart whispers that Fanny hopes in vain.

IT WAS WHILE WE TOYED WITH MRS. HODGES'S EXCELLENT oyster soup that Sir William returned. Not two hours had passed since he had left us, I judged; but from the transformation of his countenance during that time, it might well have been a year.

He stood in the doorway, clearing his throat, his eyes on the Countess's pale face. “I am distressed to disturb you at your dinner, my lady,” he said, “but I am forced to ask of those present a few questions.”

“But of course, Sir William.” Isobel set down her spoon, her features more composed than I could have believed, despite the air of strain that governed the room. “How may we be of service?”

The magistrate glanced at the two footmen ranged against the dining parlour's walls, and then gave the Countess an expressive look. “I should prefer to speak to the family alone. Excepting, that is, Miss Austen.”

Isobel lifted her hand in a gesture of dismissal, and the footmen departed. Their removal only heightened the tensions around the table. But Sir William did not prolong the suspense.

“I believe this is yours, my lady,” he said, advancing upon Isobel's chair with hand extended.

“Why, so it is!” she exclaimed, taking the proffered handkerchief. “I am forever leaving my linen about like a forgetful schoolgirl. Where did you encounter it?”

“Miss Austen was so good as to retrieve it from the paddock this morning,” the magistrate replied.

“The paddock …” Isobel's face drained of its last vestiges of colour. “But I have not been to the paddock these several days. Jane—” Her eyes sought mine in confusion.

“It was lying by the gate, Isobel,” I told her quietly “From its appearance in the snow, it was quite recently let fall.”

Sir William interposed smoothly. “Have you any recognition of the hand that penned these words, Countess?” He took from his waistcoat the bloody slip of paper I had retrieved from Marguerite's bodice.

Isobel bent to study it with indrawn breath. She looked at me and then at the magistrate. “But what does it mean?” she said.

“The hand, my lady?”

With her eyes fixed upon the Earl's face, she replied slowly, “I should swear it to be Fitzroy's.”

Tom Hearst cleared his throat and pushed back his chair. As I watched, he folded his arms across his chest— the better, perhaps, to contain himself. Our eyes met, and his eyebrow lifted — a mute plea for some sense from all this muddle.

Sir William turned to the Earl, and withdrew his hand from his pocket. In his open palm sat a clutch of small brown objects. “My lord,” he said, “is it in your power to name these?”

Fitzroy Payne frowned and replied in the negative.

“And you, my lady?”

Isobel peered at the fruit, each one as small as a seed, in the magistrate's hand. “Why, they are the nuts of the Barbadoes tree!” she exclaimed. “The humble folk of my native island swear by them as a physick. But where did you find them?”

“Wrapped in velvet — in the present Lord Scargrave's gun case, my lady,* Sir William replied, and his face was very grave. “I had thought it possible, but could not be certain, that they were the very seed you have named.” He placed the nuts carefully on a serviette that lay upon the sideboard, and folded it into a neat package.

“And have you journeyed to the Indies unbeknownst to me, Fitzroy?” Isobel looked at the Earl, her brown eyes troubled. She retained admirable command of her voice, but I saw the pulse throbbing at her throat, and knew her heart was racing.

“You know it to be impossible,” Fitzroy Payne replied. “Sir William, are the nuts wholesome?”

“The taste is so delightful, that to eat one is to eat them all,” Sir William said, “which is what we may judge the late Earl to have done. For the Barbadoes nut is poison, Lord Scargrave; so deadly a purgative, in fact, that illness commences but a quarter-hour after ingestion, and death is achieved in a very few hours.”

Tom Hearst leapt to his feet, his hand upon his sabre hilt. “Good God, man, what do you mean to say?”

There was a small sound, almost a whimper, from Isobel, whose face had gone a deadly white. Her hands were clenched on the table edge, as though without its support, she should crumple to the floor.

“Sit down, Tom.” Fitzroy Payne's voice was weary.”Sir William intends us to believe the nuts caused my uncle's last illness.”

“But, Fitzroy, are you mad? The fellow is suggesting—”

“I know what the Justice is suggesting.” At his cousin's look, Tom Hearst stiffened, but regained his seat. Fitzroy Payne inclined his head to Sir William. “Pray continue.”

“It is my duty, Lord Scargrave,” Sir William said slowly, his eyes upon the floor; “to ask that the body of Frederick, Lord Scargrave, be exhumed from its resting place in the Scargrave vault.”

“To what purpose, sir, would you so disturb my uncle's rest?”

“I should like Dr. Philip Pettigrew, of Sloane Street, who attended his lordship at his death, to reexamine the body.” Sir William's eyes came up from the floor at that, and the coldness in them startled me.

“And what end may that serve?” The Earl's voice had lost its accustomed courtesy. “Pettigrew has already declared the man to be dead.”

Sir William glanced at Isobel, and following his gaze, I saw my friend's hand had gone to her throat. “It is possible, my lord,” the magistrate said, “for a physician to divine the contents of the stomach, even days after death; and from those, the cause of a man's demise.”

“You would anatomise[29] my husband?” Isobel's countenance was sick with shock.

“I fear it is our only course, my lady,” Sir William said, not without gentleness. “In the case of poison, even a purgative that induces vomiting, it is the only method for proving the truth or falsity of the murdered maid's claims.”

I drew a deep breath, and found I was wadding the brown wool of my gown between my fingers.

“Sir William, I doubt you do this for your own satisfaction,” Lord Scargrave said, in a low voice. “There is a public aspect to all of this.” His dark eyes revealed nothing of the nature of his thoughts.

“There is, my lord. I should like the summary of Dr. Pettigrew's findings to be presented to a jury summoned by the coroner assigned to Hertfordshire, who shall be charged with finding the cause of the late Earl's demise. We must in any case summon such a panel for the poor maid Marguerite, and it may as well serve for the presentation of evidence in your uncle's death.”

“My dear Countess,” Tom Hearst's voice broke in, “I fear you are unwell.” Isobel's eyes were closed, and her breathing shallow. The Lieutenant rose as if to go to her; but Isobel stopped him with an upraised palm.

“I feel only what I should, dear Tom,” she said, “and for that, there is no remedy. Please — let us hear Sir William out.”

The magistrate had the grace to look uncomfortable for having caused a lady so much pain, and turned his gaze from Isobel with relief.

“The two cases can have nothing to do with one another” Fitzroy Payne avowed. “The maid's assertions are calumnies and lies. My uncle suffered a common complaint, and though he died of a sudden and was cheated of his span, such things have happened before.”

“Have they, my lord?”

“Fitzroy,” Isobel said faintly, and all our eyes turned to meet her own.

“Do as he asks, my love,” she said, now past all care forpropriety. “We shall never be free of doubt if we resist, and there shall be no living in the country.”

“I very much fear, my lady, that you are right.” Sir William inclined his head stiffly. “And my duty as a magistrate forces me to insist — for the maid's sake, if not your own.”

Tom Hearst coughed, as though he choked, and I raised my eyes to his; but he gazed at something in the middle distance. I observed that his fingers gripped the arms of his chair so fiercely, the knuckles had gone white.

“The maid,” Fitzroy Payne said thoughtfully. “That piece of paper, written in my hand, bears the marks of blood.”

“You are observant, my lord.” Sir William paced about the room and came to rest opposite my chair.

The new Earl appeared to hesitate before asking the question that burned in his mind, but apprehension is a cruel master. “You found it on her person?” he said.

“It was found there, assuredly, my lord.” Sir William cast an uneasy glance my way. I felt my face overcome with blushes, but none of the Scargrave party could spare a moment to study Miss Austen.

“But this is madness!” Fitzroy Payne rose forcefully to his feet, his calm deserting him at the last. “Madness, I tell you!”

We were all of us struck dumb. When a quiet man is moved to passion, it seems the very earth will shake; and at the violence of the Earl's words, Scargrave Manor trembled. Tom Hearst moved to stand tall behind his cousin, and the two faced Sir William with all the strength of their ancestors rising in the blood.

“I swear to you on my honour as a gentleman,” the Earl cried, in a fevered accent, “on the reputation of the proud family of which I claim a part, that I have not seen the girl Marguerite since the day after my uncle's death.”

“And the nuts found among your possessions, my lord?” Sir William's voice was as mild as the dusk beyond the windows.

“If they did cause the Earl's death—”

“If they did, assuredly.” The magistrate turned and strolled towards the door, as though the Scargrave men suggested no belligerence. “For that, we must await the word of the good doctor:”

“—even if it be that those foul seeds struck him a mortal blow, it can have nothing to do with me,” Fitzroy Payne asserted. “I have known nothing of their existence until the moment you showed me them.”

“Very well, my lord,” Sir William said, and bowed to the entire room.

“You must believe me!”

The magistrate's gaze was on the Earl, and I was struck by die grimness of my old friend's countenance. “I greatly fear; Lord Scargrave,” Sir William said, “that you plead with the wrong man. It is the coroner you must convince.”