Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Canterbury Tale

“Increasing?” I repeated, quite startled. “I had not an idea of it. No one has mentioned a child.”

“Lost it,” Jupiter said significantly, with a tentative eye towards Fanny. “Miscarried, soon as Fiske took off without a word to anyone the next day. Kept the matter quite close at Chilham, it being but another tragedy in Mrs. Fiske’s life.”

“I see. Mr. Wildman took them in, of course?”

“Sent Adelaide straight upstairs with his wife, and shut Fiske into the library with a bottle of his best claret. Probably hopeful the damned fellow would drink himself senseless and leave the party in peace. Wildman urged us into the ballroom—you’ve seen it yourself, Miss Austen, so no need to recite the particulars—and we made a poor show of dancing, but the talk that flew round the couples was like nothing on earth. Any number decided to depart quite early, and made their excuses to James’s mamma, once she appeared back downstairs. It was a sad end to their chit’s coming out, and I daresay the girl holds it against Adelaide to this day.”

“But you remained.”

Jupiter shrugged. “Been invited to stay. Traps all unpacked in the best bedrooms. M’mother and father yawning their heads off, sister determined to seek her bed. I repaired to the library with James and Plumptre and a few others, and we found Fiske in a feverish state—the wine having done its work. Another man would have been snoring on the floor, but not Fiske. He was game for anything. Demanded we play whist, for pound points. James tried to reason with him—we were all aware the fellow’s pockets were entirely to let, and he had no business playing on tick when the blunt to settle his debts should undoubtedly come from Old Wildman’s purse—but Fiske would have none of it. Jeered at James, and called him a stripling too callow to play a man’s game . Well, must tell you that Plumptre and I fired up at such Turkish treatment! James was no more a stripling than ourselves—well, perhaps Plumptre was full young to be laying down his quarterly allowance in such a cause, being then not above eighteen; but he knew what it meant to stand buff for James, and sat down at the whist table he did.”

Now Jupiter was coming to it. I slowed my footsteps as we achieved a plateau in the Downs, a slight shelf in the continual rise, and paused to survey the view. Edward’s is a splendid fall of country, the house situated in a valley between two hills, and the Stour winding below; it was difficult to believe that so frightful an event as murder could occur amidst such peace.

“Mr. Moore and Mr. Lushington sat down as well, I collect?”

“Not to play, whist being a game for four hands—but the prosy old parson and the gabster from Parliament thought to keep a stern eye on the doings—it being plain as a pikestaff Fiske meant to pluck us all! I mean to say—fellow’d been a Master Sharp for years, ran gaming hells on the Continent, stood to reason he took us for a bunch of flats! He meant to fuzz the cards, I daresay, and clear out of England plumper in the pocket than he’d arrived at Chilham that night!”

“And did he?”

Jupiter shrugged. “Curiously enough, Fiske was badly dipped by the time he broached his third bottle. James and Plumptre and I decided between us to take our winnings, and politely toddle off to bed—but Fiske would have none of it. Demanded another round. Meant to win his own back, I gather, tho’ as he’d nothing to pledge, it was hard to see how he meant to come about. James was fool enough to mention the point—in the most circumspect way, ’course—but Fiske told him to go to the Devil. And then the fellow dealt us a leveller—”

“A what ?” Fanny demanded with knitted brows.

“That is boxing cant, my dear,” I informed her. “It signifies a stunning blow.”

“Up to every rig, ain’t you, Miss Austen? Nothing a fellow can’t say to you . Friend Curzon floored us, to be frank,” Jupiter affirmed. “Having not a feather to fly with—Fiske tossed his wife into the pot, and invited any who was man enough, to play for her.”

26 October 1813, Cont.

“You cannot be in earnest,” Fanny protested. The exertion of our uphill climb had brought a becoming flush to her cheeks; but her colour was heightened, I thought, from indignation.

“ ’Fraid I am,” Jupiter replied cheerfully. “Told you the fellow was dashed loose in the haft.”

“Staking his wife,” I repeated, “as tho’ she were no more than a … a …”

“—Bit of muslin he wished to cast off. In the family way, too. Shockingly bad ton ! Wouldn’t touch the betting, myself.”

“But others did not share your compunction, Mr. Finch-Hatton?”

“James did,” he allowed. “Threatened to call Fiske out, for offering his cousin such an insult! Plumptre and I had to talk James down, naturally—can’t challenge a man who’s three-parts bosky to a duel! Stands to reason. Not in his right mind. Can’t be held accountable for what he says. Besides, James was Fiske’s host. Can’t go shooting one’s guests whenever they put a foot wrong, what? Very bad ton . There was a good deal of it to go around, that night.”

“Lord!” Fanny exclaimed in strong disgust. She began to plod forward like a foot-soldier, her shawl wrapped tight around her; I guessed her romantickal notions of gentlemen and chivalry were suffering a reverse.

“And then?”

Jupiter kept his gaze fixed upon the uneven ground. “Plumptre took James into a corner while I told Fiske he’d had his jest—much better to go to bed before he found himself at Point Non-Plus. But he wouldn’t listen to me; drunk as a wheelbarrow, of course. Kept demanding of any who’d listen, What am I bid for as fine a baggage as ever strutted the boards of Covent Garden? Naturally, that stuck in Moore’s craw. Nursed a tendre for Adelaide since I don’t know when. Never seen the prosy parson look so enflamed! He pulled out his purse and tossed it into the centre of the table, and called Fiske’s bluff.”

“George Moore played a hand of whist for Curzon Fiske’s wife?” I whispered.

“Loo, actually—whist being out of the question, as there were only three players by that time. James, Plumptre, and I would have none of it; James was all for fetching his papa and breaking up the party entirely, but Fiske locked the library door and pocketed the key.”

“And the third player?” I queried.

“Lushington consented to sit at the table. Think he only meant to keep an eye on the other two, myself—no sort of personal interest in Adelaide. Thought the affair should get out of hand, no doubt, and the two men be at each other’s throats once tempers flew high. Devil was in it, he was right!”

“I cannot conceive of George Moore being so easily drawn!” I exclaimed. “Nor gambling for another man’s wife! His own should have been sleeping upstairs, I collect?”

“Understand,” Jupiter said as he halted earnestly on the path, “no desire to slander the prosy parson! No interest in canvassing his morals! Moore’s a right one, however dreary his conversation. Fiske simply tried the poor fellow too high. I should judge Moore hated Fiske with a passion. Cut him out once with Adelaide, then had the deuced effrontery to treat her like a doxy. Moore meant to teach Fiske a lesson—and play the Knight Errant with Fiske’s wife.”