Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Ghosts of Netley

“My lord knows his business,” Frank murmured.

“In that coat he has given Ord a double set of buttons, and no division in front, to confuse the fellow should he attempt to aim for the heart. By Jove! But he is cool.”

“Jane,” Lord Harold said, and bowed low over my hand.

Frank’s brow came down at his lordship’s use of my given name — but he forbore to comment. The Rogue looked up, and said, “Will you do me the honour of introducing me to your friend?”

“My brother, sir. Lord Harold Trowbridge — Captain Francis Austen, of His Majesty’s ship St. Alban’s .”

“You were in Oporto, I think,” his lordship said.

“Off the coast of Merceira only. I cannot claim to have set foot on the Peninsula. May I wish you every hope of good fortune, my lord?”

They clasped hands, and then with one serious, parting look for me, Lord Harold moved to stand by his second, Orlando.

A horse’s whinny brought my head around, and there, in the gloaming, was Mrs. Challoner. She held the phaeton’s reins, and her mettlesome greys pawed the ground. Mr. Ord sat to the lady’s right; and behind the equipage, on horseback, rode the gentleman’s second — the Conte da Silva. Mrs. Fitzherbert, it seemed, had not deigned to witness an event whose mere idea had caused such profound misery.

“Miss Austen!” Sophia cried aloud in amazement.

“How come you to be here?”

“I begged her attendance,” Lord Harold said swiftly. “Miss Austen is, after all, a witness to Wednesday’s challenge — perhaps the only disinterested one. She has brought her brother, an officer of the Navy whose integrity must be unimpeachable, to set the marks.”

Frank started — he had not understood he was to be employed in the affair — and looked to me for explanation. “Do we await a doctor? Or are we to proceed without? The light will soon be too full for action, and the parties shall risk discovery.”

Mr. Ord rose from his place and bowed. He looked pale, but resolute. “I have no objection to proceeding.”

“Nor have I,” Lord Harold returned.

“We expect Dr. Jarvey from Southampton at every moment,” Sophia Challoner broke in, “but you may set the marks, Captain, in expectation of his appearance.”

“Very well.” Frank’s jaw was rigid, his eyes hard and unsmiling. “I should judge the proper alignment to be north-south, along the greater edge of the common, running parallel to the lane. Any glare from the rising sun shall thus be equally borne by the duellists. I shall set the first mark on the furthest southern extent of the flat part of the ground — and for the second mark, pace off thirty yards to the north. The gentlemen shall draw straws for their positions.”

I apprehended, of a sudden, that my brother had witnessed such affairs before. As second — or principal? Defender — or accused? Fly stepped forward, and we turned as one to observe his progress. For the first time that morning, our eyes fell full upon Butlock Common. Slanting yellow light from the east picked out the withered grass stems, silvered with frost; and in the very centre of the field, a pile of rubbish lay abandoned as if for firing.

Frank stopped and raised his hand to his brow. He peered into the sun — the slight slope of high ground, his quarterdeck, and the entire common his sea.

“My lord,” he said — and in that instant, I could not tell whether he addressed the man waiting quietly by his coach, or the God of Heaven above. But I, too, had seen the cloak of Prussian blue, and the simple poke bonnet tossed in the grass like an empty basket. I did not need the confirmation of Frank’s horrified gaze to apprehend the truth.

“It is a girl, Jane.”

And then — as though the lifeless thing were his own Mary — he rushed to her side.

Dr. Jarvey made short work of his examination, though he had been an age in arriving.

“The cords of the neck have been cleanly severed, and the corpse drained of blood. Life will have been extinct in a matter of seconds.”

James Ord, his countenance pale as death, walked slowly forward and fell on his knees near Flora Bastable. Had Orlando glimpsed the truth, a few nights past, when he saw the American enter the girl’s cottage? Had Ord loved Flora, despite the difference in their stations?

Ord raised his hand as though he might caress the dead cheek — and then, to my surprise, he made the sign of the cross over the body, and began to murmur in a tongue that could only be Latin. After an instant, both Sophia Challoner and the Conte da Silva knelt together behind him.

“Last Rites,” murmured Lord Harold. “But the girl is not Catholic, and Ord is no priest.”

The American did not falter in his speech until he had done. Then he rose, and turning first to assist Sophia Challoner to her feet, said abruptly to Lord Harold: “You are over-hasty, sir. Tho’ I am no priest, I have long been a student of the Catholic faith, and intend to enter the Society of Jesus in time.’’

I stared at the young man — the blond Adonis — and exclaimed: “You, intended for the Church! I cannot credit it! No Jesuit would challenge a gentleman to a duel!”

He smiled at me wryly. “Do you believe us incapable of defending our honour, ma’am? Or perhaps — that we possess none?”

We were all of us silent a moment in confusion, but Lord Harold surveyed James Ord’s face with interest. “You were raised, I understand, among the Carrolls of Maryland? Archbishop Carroll — also a member of the Society — is your patron in the Church, I collect?”

“He is, my lord. I have been acquainted with His Grace almost from infancy, my family having emigrated to America in the Archbishop’s ship.”

“And are you also acquainted, I wonder, with the Conte da Silva’s brother?” Lord Harold enquired silkily. “Monsignor Fernando da Silva-Moreira, of the Society of Jesus — late of Oporto?” [24] The term “monsignor” now refers to a specific rank of seniority within the church hierarchy, and is only rarely applied to members of the Jesuit order — specifically, when a Jesuit is designated a monsignor by the local bishop. In Austen’s day, however, monsignor — or monseigneur, as it was variously spelled — was an honorific or term of respect applied to persons of rank throughout Europe, whether ordained or not. — Editor’s note.

The Conte da Silva started forward, his hand on his sword hilt. “What do you pretend to know of my brother?”

“Too little, alas. I know that he was educated at Liège, and that he has wandered throughout Europe in the years since the Jesuit order’s suppression. I am reasonably certain that he came to these shores aboard His Majesty’s ship St. Alban’s , and that he has lately been staying in Brighton with Mrs. Fitzherbert — as you have done yourself, Conte. I suspect that he has come to rest in Southampton — and that he haunts the ruins of Netley Abbey in a long black cloak.” [25] Founded by Basque nobleman Ignatius of Loyola in 1540, the Society of Jesus came to be regarded as an army devoted to the Papacy, and thus as a threat to temporal kingdoms and power. It was expelled from Portugal, Spain, and their overseas possessions between the years of 1759 and 1768; it was also outlawed in France. In 1773, Pope Clement XIV suppressed the order under pressure from the Bourbons, and many Jesuits fled Europe to join their brethren in the American colonies. By 1814, however, Pius VII had revoked the brief of suppression and restored the Society of Jesus. — Editor’s note.

The Conte drew breath as though he would hurl Lord Harold’s claims in his face, but Sophia Challoner intervened. “His lordship knows everything that moves in England, Ernesto,” she said softly.