Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Ghosts of Netley

“That is decidedly strange!”

“I agree,” said Lord Harold coolly, “for even did we believe him capable of a liaison with Sophia’s late serving-maid, we must assume her to claim a populous family, not excepting a querulous old grandparent, which must decidedly diminish the charms of amour .”

“Mrs. Challoner believes Flora Bastable to be an agent of blackmail,” I said thoughtfully. “She received an unsigned missive, alleging privileged knowledge, and suggesting a meeting to the advantage of both.”

“Blackmail?” Lord Harold repeated with quickened interest. “Is it possible that Ord was sent as intermediary?”

“Possible,” I said doubtfully, “but I cannot say whether the note I read tonight was received so early as Sunday.”

“That was the day the girl Flora was turned away from her employment, was it not?”

“For an injudicious fit of strong hysterics — the natural result of having witnessed a bout of witchcraft, or a Catholic Mass.”

“I recollect a commotion in the servants’ wing near the close of my call at Netley Lodge: the sound of tears and lamentation, and the hurried departure of a girl in the direction of Hound. Perhaps Sophia regretted of her haste, and despatched Ord later as supplicant for Flora’s return.”

“Such solicitude is hardly in keeping with Mrs. Challoner’s character! We must declare it a puzzle, and have done. But tell me of Orlando!”

“As he waited in suspense in the underbrush of Hound, a man came upon him from behind, and delivered such a blow to the head as to knock him insensible.”

“No!”

“Orlando was bound hand and foot, and spent the better part of the night and day subsequent in the Abbey tunnel. He awoke to find himself bobbing down the Solent in his own skiff, with a Portuguese gentleman in a long black cloak and hat plying the oars — bound for Portsmouth. His captor having achieved Spithead, Orlando was tossed summarily into the water, and left for dead.”

“Good Lord! The cloaked figure from the subterranean passage!”

“ Mon seigneur, ” Lord Harold agreed. “He must have worked at Ord’s orders, and mounted watch upon his confederate’s back when the American ventured to Hound.”

“—and served poor Orlando with such vicious treatment! No wonder you feel no compunction in challenging Ord to a duel! But, my lord—” I paused in puzzlement. “I had thought the cloaked figure to be the Conte da Silva. And we know him to have arrived at Mrs. Challoner’s on Monday .”

“Do we?” Lord Harold countered.

“Flora, the serving-maid, did observe a tall man in a black cloak to enter the house on Sunday,” I said slowly, “the man we presumed to be a priest. But perhaps it was the Conte.”

“However that may be — Orlando is an adept at freeing himself from tight corners, and had the better of his captor. He slipped his ankle bonds and swam so far as Sally Port, where he dragged himself up onto the breakwater. From that position he witnessed the liberation of the prison hulks.”

“With mon seigneur —the liberator?” I breathed.

“Would that Orlando knew the man’s name — or had seen his countenance! But he was struck on the head by a flying splinter from one of the fired boats, and nearly drowned. When the seaman roused him at dawn yesterday, Orlando had swallowed a quantity of the sea, lost a good deal of blood, was chilled to the bone — and was taken at once to tell his story to the Master of the Yard.”

“An unenviable position, in the circumstances.”

“Yes,” his lordship agreed grimly. “Orlando was nearly hanged for the second time in his young life. It seems the Royal Navy was convinced they had a spy on their hands: a foreigner out of Oporto, who could neither produce his employer nor explain his presence near Sally Port. He cooled his heels a full day before they sought my advice at the Dolphin Inn.”

“Poor fellow! I saw the marks of his struggle on the passage floor,” I mused. “They were everywhere in evidence.”

His lordship’s profile was suddenly arrested. “You returned to the tunnel, Jane? Quite alone?”

“Yesterday morning. I was under Mr. Hawkins’s especial care. We ventured within, but were surprised by a man in a black cloak, who dashed out our tapers, hurled me flat against the wall, and stole Mr. Hawkins’s boat!”

“Left to your own devices,” he murmured, “you shall get yourself killed, one day. What if it should have been Orlando’s assailant?”

“I must assume that it was. But why should he return to the Abbey?”

His lordship shrugged. “To hide from the naval authorities presently in search of him? Or. . to retrieve something precious he once dropped there?”

Lord Harold reached for the gold crucifix at my neck and held it up to the lanthorn light. “The gold is warmed by the pulse at your throat,” he said softly. I could not speak — and for a second time that evening, felt as though I might swoon.

“Did anyone at the Lodge deign to notice this?” he asked.

“The Conte da Silva,” I replied with difficulty.

“He all but accused me of stealing it — and claimed that the seal of his house is stamped on the obverse.”

Lord Harold turned the cross in his fingers and peered at it more closely. The brim of his hat grazed mine; I closed my eyes, and drank in the scent of tobacco that clung to his greatcoat.

“There is an emblem of arms, certainly — the head of a wolf, with teeth bared, and two sabres crossed. Curious . And yet: he did not claim it as his? Merely of his house, he said?”

I nodded. “He chose not to interrogate me too closely; and if he knew me for the woman encountered in the tunnel, he did not betray his fear.”

“Perhaps he considered of his risk — or perhaps. . perhaps he intended to shield another. Someone, as he said, of his house ... ” Lord Harold dropped the chain. “Tell me, Jane: what was the scene, when you quitted the Lodge?”

“Mrs. Fitzherbert was utterly overcome — almost fainting with despair — and urging Sophia Challoner to seek your pardon. She wishes Mrs. Challoner to retract her accusation against you; but I do not believe that Mr. Ord will allow it — tho’ they are on such terms as for the lady to call him James .”

“So Maria would shield the boy?” In the light of the side lamps, I saw him frown. “I confess I do not understand the business at all, Jane. What interest binds that party? Such a disparate group of souls — so ill-matched, to all appearances, and yet united by an unspoken trust.”

“It has the look of conspiracy; and Mrs. Fitzherbert is in the thick of it.”

“The blackmail note,” he demanded suddenly.

“It prescribed a meeting, you say?”

“At the Abbey ruins — tomorrow at dusk.”

“Then I shall be there.”

“If you live so long.”

“ Jane, ” he returned patiently. “There shall be no duel until Friday morning at the earliest. You can have no idea of the details to be arranged — wills to be witnessed, doctors procured, the ground to be laid out, and the hour of meeting to be struck — and my pistols fetched from my flat in London. All conducted in the gravest secrecy, so that the Southampton constables are not alerted.”

“Wretched business! I might inform upon you myself, and save a good deal of trouble.”

A faint gleam of teeth as he smiled at me through the darkness. “If I killed Ord, I should have to flee to the Continent — duelling is illegal in England, as you well know. Flight is not at all in my line, Jane. The cub’s life is safe with me.”

“But what of yours, my lord? Are you safe with him?”