Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Barque of Frailty

“My brother Edward does not live in penury,” I objected, “nor does he speculate.”

“No. Edward lives on a fortune he could never have looked to claim,” she retorted sharply. “I do not speak of your Kentish Knights, and their bequests; we cannot all be so fortunate. [6] Jane’s elder brother, Edward, was adopted by his distant cousin, Thomas Knight, who bequeathed extensive estates in Kent and Hampshire to Edward. — Editor’s note. Moreover, Edward has been very willing to place several thousands of his own funds in Henry’s bank — and I hope I am not an ungrateful creature. But we must make a push, Jane, to secure a nobler patronage — or Austen, Maunde & Tilson will never be more than a paymaster to an assortment of militia. That was Henry’s introduction to the banking business, and very fine it was — but it must not be his end also.”

I could not agree with Eliza — my heart misgave me when I thought of James Tilson’s warning, and his numerous cares; but knowing less than nothing of my brother’s affairs, or finance in general, I hesitated to voice too decided an opinion. I resolved to sound Henry on the subject when the next opportunity for privacy offered.

“I think, Jane, that you had better take charge of this parcel,” Eliza suggested. “It would look well for us if you entered upon the scene as the owner of the jewels from the outset. I suppose your literary talent extends to the concoction of fibs?”

What else, in short, is literature?

“I shall present these pieces as the spoils of Stoneleigh,” I told her. “You will recollect that my cousin, Mr. Thomas Leigh, inherited Stoneleigh Abbey from Lady Mary Leigh when she died some years ago; and being a widower, and quite childless, it should not be wonderful if he were to give Lady Mary’s jewels to his nearest relations. Having no occasion to wear such showy finery, the Austen ladies — being of a practical turn — determined to find what price the jewels might fetch; and you, our worldly friend, were good enough to consider of Rundell & Bridge.”

Eliza weighed this confection of lies with a pretty air of judiciousness. “Your Leighs are all descended, are they not, from a sister of the first Duke of Chandos? I think it should serve. But recollect, Jane, that in the telling of falsehoods, simplicity is all.”

“I cannot claim your degree of experience,” I returned in Cassandra’s most prudish manner; and we achieved Ludgate Hill in silence.

IT WAS TOO EARLY AS YET FOR MOST LADIES TO BE abroad, and we were fortunate to find the shop barren of custom when we descended from the hack. One cannot be too careful, when bartering valuables, to go unobserved by one’s acquaintance — lest rumours spread as swift as contagion. The jeweller’s door was opened by a liveried footman, and Eliza swept into the room with all the éclat of a grande dame, glancing imperiously about as tho’ an Unknown had offended her. I followed with the large box in my hands, more in the role of paid companion than sister of the bosom; my mouth was dry and my heart pounding.

The room was narrow and long, lit by oil lamps suspended from the ceiling; display tables lined with velvet were set against the walls. A few gilt chairs were arranged near these, to accommodate selection; and a neat clerk in a dark blue coat and buff breeches stood alertly at the far end of the shop. When we failed to glance to either side, ignoring the settings of miniatures, the eye portraits cunningly lapped in draperies, the parures of emeralds and diamonds, or the amethyst bracelets that are everywhere the mode — this person came forward immediately and bowed.

“May I be of service, ma’am?”

“Pray present my card to Mr. Rundell,” Eliza replied briskly. “We wish to speak with him privately.”

She had barely concluded the words when a door at the rear of the shop opened, and a white head was thrust out. A pair of bold blue eyes, aloof and calculating, swept over us, missing nothing of the significance of the parcel I held.

“Comtesse,” the apparition said, “good day to ye. Will ye be so good as to step back?”

Eliza inclined her head, motioned for me to go before, and the quiet elegance of the premises was exchanged for a spare room graced only by a desk and a strong oil lamp, a ledger and a quill to one side.

“I have brought my sister Miss Austen to you, Mr. Rundell,” Eliza said without ceremony as the jeweller held out a chair. “She requires an opinion as to the value of certain heirlooms come down through the Austen family, and being upon a visit to my husband in London, could do no better than to consult the foremost jeweller of the day — or so I urged her. ‘Mr.

Rundell will never toy with you, my dear, for he knows his reputation to be founded on honesty and discretion.’ ”

“Did you say so, indeed?” He glanced from my countenance to Eliza’s, his own impassive. “Obliged to ye, Countess. Let us see what you’ve brought then, madam.”

I opened the parcel, lifted out the velvet roll the Comtesse d’Entraigues had left us, and unfurled it before Mr. Rundell’s eyes. The myriad stones flared and danced under the light of the oil lamp, wickedly alive.

There was the briefest silence.

Mr. Rundell raised a quizzing-glass and bent low over the jewels, staring deep into their depths, passing with decision from one to another, lifting now this brooch and that ring, intent as a hound on the scent. An eternity might have passed thus, the room filled with the laboured sound of the old man’s breathing and the sick feeling of deceit growing in my stomach; but that Eliza said, with the barest suggestion of doubt, “I believe these came to you through your mother’s family, Jane? Some relation of … the first Duke of Chandos, was it not?”

The spell was broken; Mr. Rundell sighed, dropped his glass, and looked me accusingly in the face. “These were never made in England.”

“No.” I glanced swiftly at Eliza. “My knowledge of their origin is imperfect, but I believe many to have been acquired from certain jewellers in France … before the Revolution.”

“Oh, aye,” Mr. Rundell agreed drily; “you’ll not be finding the like o’ these among the Corsican set what rule France now. All for swans and bees, they are, and twaddle out of Egypt. No, these are the true gems of my old master’s day, long before either of you ladies was thought of.”

He lifted a ruby necklace in his fingers, and studied it intently with his glass. “I believe as tho’ I’ve seen this before,” he mused. “For cleaning, maybe— or to have reset. Dook o’ Chandos, ye say?”

He reached for his ledger and my heart sank— for if he determined to place the jewels, we were entirely undone — but Eliza interposed hurriedly, “If my sister wished to sell, Mr. Rundell, what price should these stones fetch?”

“Sell?” he repeated, as tho’ bemused. “Well, now, Countess — that would depend upon the interest of the buyer.”

“And what is your interest, sir?” I demanded boldly — for I felt it incumbent upon me to act as principal in the transaction. “I am, as the Comtesse says, in London but a short while — and should be glad to despatch this commission. I confess I am hardly easy in having such a treasure by me, in Sloane Street.”

“What lady would be?” Mr. Rundell agreed. The ledger was allowed to languish in its place; his entire attention was fixed upon me. “The premises of this shop are very secure, ma’am — very secure, indeed. I might venture to hold these stones on your behalf, until such time as a price is agreed upon between us, if indeed you are determined to part with your … heirlooms.”

“I have no occasion to wear such precious stuff.” I dropped my eyes demurely, the picture of spinsterly deprecation. “My dear father is dead, Mr. Rundell, and my brothers much preoccupied with their hopeful families — I am quite alone in the world — in short, I find that this princely bequest would serve me far better if transmuted to a different form. I hope I make myself clear?”