Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Prisoner of Wool House

Our French colleague looked almost prostrate with apprehension. He had attempted too much in his weakened condition. I smiled encouragement at LaForge. “Did you speak before the court, monsieur?”

“I did,” he returned with feeling, “but I wish that I had not My tale served no purpose in freeing your captain — he was no longer in danger — and it exposed me most decidedly.”.

“Exposed you? In what manner? I confess I do not understand.”

“A man has been killed, Miss Austen. This Chessyre who lied about murder. I am the sole remaining person who professes to know the truth. That is not a healthy position, hein? You see before you a man in terror for his life, mademoiselle.”

“I suspect you take too much upon yourself, LaForge,” said Mr. Hill drily. “A good lunch should defray the worst anxiety. Pray come along and allow me to buy you a glass of claret There must be smugglers enough along the Channel coast to provide us with refreshment.”

I could not be so sure that the answer to a Frenchman's care must always be found in wine. I reflected, as I watched the two men proceed up the street, that there were worse habitations than a comfortable gaol of stone.

“NOW, FRANK,” I CHARGED, AS WE STEPPED SWIFTLY INTO the High, “you must tell me everything you know about the proceedings against Seagrave and Mr. Chessyre's death. Relate the particulars without exception.”

He told me then of the ships of Seagrave's squadron drawn up at anchor off the harbour, in the strait of die Solent opposite to Spithead; of the signals that flashed from each to each, and the air of unhappy expectancy that pervaded the crews assembled on deck; of the solemn looks of the empanelled officers — a vice admiral, a rear admiral, and Admiral Hastings, Seagrave's commanding officer; of how Frank was forced to cool his heels while the court convened, his spirits oppressed by the gravest anxiety for his friend's fate.

My brother has never commanded a ship that has struck to the enemy, or been wrecked upon a stormy coast; and thus he has been spared the indignity and suspense of a court-martial. [15] A court-martial was automatically held for the commanding officer of any ship lost at sea or taken by the enemy, to determine whether dereliction of duty was the cause. — Editor's note. He had supposed that his ardent wish of speaking to Seagrave's character, and delivering a witness in the form of Monsieur LaForge, might be exercised at the first opportunity; but, in fact, he was forced to await the court's pleasure, while the charges against his friend were read out. Next Mr. Chessyre was summoned, and found to be absent; a tedious interval ensued, while the Admirals deliberated their course; and at last, Captain Seagrave was called before the panel to give his account of the Stella's engagement with the Manon.

In relating the latter, Frank became so enthralled with the details of battle that he quite forgot for a period the point of his recital, and I was forced to endure all the tedium of broadsides and their timing, until we had left the High Street behind and turned towards the Portsmouth naval yard. It was there we intended to fall in with Captain Seagrave, before undertaking the passage back up the Solent. I felt compelled to interrupt my brother's effusions regarding the excellency of the Stella's guns.

“Mr. Chessyre,” I supplied. “When did you learn of his unhappy fate?”

“LaForge had delivered his account of the French captain's end, to considerable shock among the officers and much muttered consultation. There were those among the assembly inclined to discredit the surgeon, as a Frenchman and a dog; but others, more sanguine, expressed the view that LaForge should hardly have fabricated such a story about a British officer completely unknown to him. I believe that Seagrave might have received a complete acquittal at about six bells, and put the affair at his back, if it had not been for a lad rowed out to the Valiant He handed Admiral Hastings a note from the Southampton magistrate. Hastings broke the seal and read it silently to himself— appeared immensely struck — and handed the note around the panel. At length, Vice-Admiral Black read the intelligence aloud.

“ ‘Compliments of Percival Pethering, magistrate of the City of Southampton, who begs to inform the commanding officers of the Channel Squadron, that Mr. Eustace Chessyre, commissioned first lieutenant of His Majesty's frigate Stella Marts, was found dead this morning at eighteen minutes past six o'clock. Due to the irregular nature of the gentleman's passing, an inquest into Mr. Chessyre's death will be called by His Majesty's Coroner not later than Wednesday next’. ”

“So much for Seagrave's acquittal,” I murmured as we approached the towering portals of the naval yard.

“Indeed. It was clear that more than one man present considered Tom the very person to have throttled Chessyre to death.”

“Was he throttled, then?”

“With a garrote. It is decidedly a man's weapon.” Frank threw me so troubled a look that my heart turned over with pity. “This death comes hard on the heels of your Frenchman's story. Do you think it possible, Jane, that I spurred Tom Seagrave to murder when I sent him that express? — That I gave him every cause to avenge betrayal?”

“It is what the court-martial will hasten to believe, certainly. But I regard Chessyre's death in a different light altogether.”

“That being?”

“The sinister glow of conspiracy. You said that when you met the man he was mortally afraid. He came to you but a few hours later, and disappeared when he could not secure an interview. Chessyre meant to recant his testimony, Frank — to expose, perhaps, his employer — and he was killed to quell his conscience.”

“Jane! You have read far too many horrid novels!”

“Then I suggest you adopt the practise. You reveal a distressing naivete, Fly, with regard to the ambition of evil men. Think how much more useful Chessyre shall be, dead instead of alive! Rather than exonerate his captain, he shall seal his fate.”

Frank's countenance was wooden with disbelief. “But how are we to expose such a plot — if indeed it exists?”

“You must look into Seagrave's personal affairs. You have the means to do it, Frank. You know his colleagues— how he stands at home and at sea. From the men who esteem and serve him, the men who despise and mistrust him, we shall learn the answers we seek.”

“You would ask me to spy on Tom!”

“It would not be the first time, I assure you. Someone — someone who bears him no goodwill — has learned his habits long since.” My steps slowed as we approached the iron portal of the naval yard. “We may assume that Chessyre did not act on the spur of the moment His plans were set before ever the Stella hauled anchor off Spithead. I should dearly like to know the nature of Tom Seagrave's sealed orders. Is it customary to sail in complete ignorance of one's duty, as he did?”

“I should not call it customary — but neither is it so unusual. Sealed orders are adopted when the duty at hand must be undertaken in extreme secrecy. They are intended to keep the ship's destination from being common knowledge among the crew, which might talk too freely among their mates onshore.”

“You have no idea why the Stella was sent to Lisbon?”

“Tom has never said. I should never think to ask. These were sealed orders, Jane.”

“I admire your delicacy,” I said wryly, “but must consider it ill-placed in such a turn. You must begin to ask questions you personally abhor, Frank, if you are to save your friend. Who should despatch him on such a duty?”