Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Canterbury Tale

“I think James’s delicacy is entirely admirable!” Fanny flashed. “He is not the sort of harum-scarum Corinthian so much the rage at present.”

“Corinthians would never have him, Fanny!” Jupiter protested. “Doesn’t box, doesn’t fence, and he crowds his leaders when he drives four-in-hand! Friend of mine—but there it is! Poor fellow was entirely cast in the shade by Captain MacCallister, who knew the right way to go about the business with Adelaide, for all he’s nothing like Curzon Fiske. Well, I mean to say! Hero of the Peninsula! Devilish fine fellow! So of course James retired from the field. Put a cheerful phiz on events once the engagement was announced. Urged his papa to stand the ready for the wedding ball, and planned the best bits himself. Well—couldn’t expect his mamma to lift a finger! Never does! And those sisters of his, with their noses out of joint—complaining to any who’d listen that it was too bad Addie should be married twice, when they’ve never had so much as an offer between them! James did it all.” Finch-Hatton nodded significantly. “Those lobster patties, brought down Express from Gunter’s in London? James . Threw himself into making Adelaide happy. S’all he’s ever wanted, in fact—Adelaide to be happy. Should imagine the poor fellow’s blue-devilled at the turn in events—Adelaide being borne off to gaol! That’s why I came away so early this morning—don’t mind saying the tone of the Castle is dashed awkward at present.”

Fanny was staring at Jupiter with something like awe. I suppose she had never heard him put so many words together without pausing for breath.

“Mr. Wildman’s feelings, and his conduct in the face of bitterest disappointment, may be said to do him credit,” I observed. “I wonder that Adelaide did not return his regard.”

Jupiter managed one of his lazy smiles. “My opinion? Found the whole Chilham set-out too tame , after the madcap life she’d lived with Fiske. Always was a bit of a romp, Addie. Loved travel. Loved adventure. Thought she’d find more of both following the drum. Romantickal notions about the Captain; saw him as a hero. Poor James couldn’t hold a candle to that.”

“She sounds the very last person to borrow Wildman’s pistol,” I mused.

Jupiter shook his head regretfully. “Can’t agree with you there , ma’am. Never said Addie wouldn’t use the pistol. She’s pluck to the backbone—and if she thought it best to shoot Curzon Fiske, daresay she’d steel herself to do it! Just don’t think she’d be careless enough to leave James’s pistol behind her. No desire to hang her cousin. Dashed sorry to see him in the box at the inquest, from all I can make out. Made her fair blue-devilled. But she’s no coward, Addie. She’d admit to murder rather than see James hang. Forced to conclude, therefore, that it wasn’t she who left the pistol in plain sight for the constables to find. Certain she’d have said so, straight out, if she had.”

I was on the point of posing yet again the obvious question, the one that had inspired all my interest in breakfast-parlour conversation— Who, then, wished James Wildman to hang? —when the sound of a gentleman’s approaching stride arrested all our attention. It should undoubtedly prove to be Mr. George Moore, come to bid his young friend welcome, and to regale himself in stony silence among the ortolans and kidneys. My heart sank. I might never be so fortunate as to fix Jupiter Finch-Hatton’s interest so entirely in coming days.

But it was not Mr. Moore who appeared in the breakfast-parlour doorway.

“Morning, Hatton,” Edward said with a careless nod. “Morning, Fanny—Jane. I hope you both slept well.”

“I should not have managed a wink, Father, had I known what you were about at the Castle last evening!” she returned with asperity. “To arrest Mrs. MacCallister! Every feeling revolts!”

“Do not enact me a Cheltenham tragedy, I beg,” he said brusquely. “If you’ve quite finished, perhaps you would be so good as to take Finch-Hatton for a turn in the shrubbery; it is no day for shooting, being likely to come on to rain.”

“I am to be occupied with Mrs. Driver for most of the morning, taking an inventory of the linen.”

“Do not be tiresome, Fanny! I wish to be private with your aunt!”

“Oh, very well,” she said irritably, and tossed her napkin on the table.

Jupiter regarded me with amusement. “Doesn’t like me above half, our Fanny. Daresay it’s because I’m a dashed Corinthian . Your servant, ma’am.” And with a bow of remarkable elegance, he ushered my graceless niece towards the back garden.

“You managed that very ill, Edward,” I observed as I rose from the table. “Fanny is no Lizzy or Marianne, to submit in silence to your tyranny. I begin to think the power of the magistracy has gone to your head.”

“I have only just heard that one Mr. Burbage, solicitor to Sir Davie Myrrh, is arrived in Canterbury, Jane. I intend to meet with him this morning, in the presence of his client. Would you do me the honour of accompanying me?”

25 October 1813, Cont.

To my dismay, we were joined in the carriage drive to Canterbury by the entire Moore family, not excepting Young George, whom his mother adjured anxiously not to be sick from the lurching of the carriage. Edward took one look at the lad’s face as his coachman sprang the horses, and called out to the fellow to halt.

“I am persuaded George should vastly prefer to ride on the box with Sallow,” he suggested, and overrode Harriot’s anxiety for her son’s safety by jumping out to lift the boy up himself.

“It is never any use to tell the Infantry not to be sick,” he advised his sister-in-law, “and in fact, might be regarded as a positive inducement to cast up their accounts! Fresh air is all the lad requires. He shall do splendidly now.”

“I was never rendered ill from carriage-travel as a youth,” Mr. Moore observed austerely, “tho’ I was forever going about with my father, on matters of Ecclesiastical importance. I cannot account for Young George’s lamentable weakness. I fear he lacks resolution. The influence of his mother’s family, no doubt. We must hope he acquires strength of character in time.”

The fond parent then buried his nose in his book—how anyone can read amidst the swaying of a carriage!—and ignored his companions for the length of the eight miles to Canterbury.

I was curious to learn how so ardent a champion of Adelaide MacCallister’s welfare must regard the latest episode in her career; and indeed, had surmised that Mr. Moore accompanied my brother to Canterbury from a desire to plead Mrs. MacCallister’s case. But in this I was evidently mistaken. Mr. Moore knew of the arrest; but he claimed to have inserted himself into Edward’s carriage merely from a desire of visiting a tailor, and having his hair cut—and professed a keenness to have Young George’s locks shorn as well. Harriot intended to do a little shopping while at liberty from her husband—visiting solely those Canterbury establishments that offered credit, no doubt.

“I wonder you may support the prospect of entering a gaol, Jane,” she said with a delicious shudder. “I am sure I should swoon at the scenes then unfolded before my eyes!”