Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Prisoner of Wool House

“How very inconvenient. One wonders what the Lieutenant might have said. Were you very pressing in your invitation, Captain, to seek out your lodgings? Or was the matter of business you wished to discuss better concluded… behind the Walls?”

“Good God, man, if you wish to accuse me of murder — then do so at once! I am confident you will be made to look a fool!”

But the magistrate was studying my indignant brother with calculation. He neither accused nor offered quarter. I understood, suddenly, that he hoped to frighten Frank with his suspicions — and draw forth some intelligence presently withheld. The contents of his express to Captain Seagrave, perhaps?

“Pray come inside, Mr. Pethering,” Frank said at last. “My sister is greatly in need of a warm fire and a glass of claret after her passage up the Solent, and I cannot believe you likely to refuse either.”

“I never take wine,” the magistrate rejoined. “It is most injurious to the health, in my opinion. But I should not say nay to a glass of warm gin, if you have any in the house.”

“It shall be sent for directly.”

THEY WERE CLOSETED IN MRS. DAVIES'S BEST PARLOUR nearly three-quarters of an hour. I sat with Mary before the fire in the dining parlour adjacent, while she tried to attend to her sewing, and threw it down again; chewed at her fingernail, and sighed her impatience. I thought I glimpsed the stain of tears about her pretty eyes; some trouble with the child she carried, or a depth of anxiety for Frank must be the cause. But when at last she spoke, her voice held only fretfulness.

“And so Tom Seagrave's accuser was murdered, and must bring the magistrate to our very door! Thank God my mother has no notion of the scenes to which I am daily subjected — the indignities and sufferings quite thrust upon me, and in my delicate condition! I am sure that Mamma would carry me off to Kent directly, without stopping for a word of explanation; and I am in half a mind to summon her!”

I studied her petulant young face over the edge of my book. “Mr. Chessyre called at this house in search of Frank on Tuesday. It was Chessyre who occasioned Frank's absence from home that night, and Chessyre you must thank for your extreme anxiety then. Mr. Pethering, the magistrate, knows that Frank solicited an interview with Chessyre on Tuesday morning; he has found Frank's card among Chessyre's things. As Tom Seagrave's friend, Frank must be counted among Chessyre's enemies. Must I speak any plainer, Mary, or will the recital do? Your husband is in the gravest danger of being accused of murder.”

Her mouth formed itself into a tragic O. “Frank went in search of the Lieutenant Tuesday night? When I could not sleep?”

“He sought the man throughout the quayside, and among the most unsavoury circles; but failed in the end to meet with him. Tom Seagrave should consider himself greatly obliged to Frank, once he learns of the energy exerted on his behalf—” I broke off. Mary's hand was now pressed to her lips, as though she were ill, and her eyes had filled with tears. “I have upset you. What a wretched thing in one who professes to be your sister! Pray forgive me—”

“So that is why she came in search of him.”

“Who came?”

Mary shook her head. “She would not give her name. A very vulgar sort of person, Jane. Indeed, I believe one might refer to her as a …a …”

“Barque of frailty?” I enquired. [16] Barque of frailty was the cant term for a mistress or courtesan. — Editor's note.

“Not nearly so well-bred as that! She was quite disreputable in her person, and her clothes were in rags. I must confess that she smetted, Jane, most disconcertingly. No, I am afraid we must call her simply a jade, and leave it at that 'As much as my life is worth,' she insisted, 'to speak to Captain Austen; but I must do it' I thought her quite out of her senses.”

“Wherever did you meet with such a woman?” I enquired, bewildered.

“She came to Mrs. Davies's kitchen door, just after breakfast, and asked for Frank.”

“How very unfortunate,” I breathed.

“Mrs. Davies felt it her duty, she said, to summon me — Captain Austen being from home.” Mary's countenance was scarlet; she must have presented just such a picture of consciousness and mortification in our landlady's kitchen. I apprehended, now, the source of those tears I had suspected in the poor girl's looks, her misery and thoughts for her mamma.

“And did she state her business?”

“She would not, though I pressed her most severely. I thought at the time that she was simply surprised to find that Frank had a wife — that he had suggested otherwise, on a previous occasion in her … company. But I wonder—”

“You did not learn her name?”

Mary's eyes slid away. “I suppose in common decency I should have requested it, Jane, but I will own that I was so dumbfounded by her appearance that I wished only to be rid of her. I told her that Captain Austen was from home, and that if she refused to disclose her business with my husband, she must seek him on another occasion. She wrung her hands, and insisted that she was in terror of her life — she looked most pitiful, Jane — but in the end, I shut the kitchen door, and she took herself off.”

I could imagine the scene without considerable effort. Young Mary — unequal to the display of pride that Mrs. Davies would require — sailing past our landlady with her chin quivering, to spend the remainder of the morning in her empty bedchamber.

“Do you think it possible,” Mary enquired of me, “that this person sought Frank with regard to Chessyre?”

“Anything, in this sordid business, is possible,” I replied with unhappy candour. “Frank was open in his effort to secure the Lieutenant, the night before the man's death; from my brother's account, he searched the quayside for some hours, asking directly for Chessyre. Any with ears to hear and eyes to see, would know that the one man was concerned with the other. “

Mary did not reply. She appeared lost in sorrowful reflection; the young bride's quick remorse for hasty judgement, I presumed.

There was the sound of a distant door thrust open, and the murmur of voices quick and low; then a decisive thud in the passage to the street as the house turned its back upon Mr. Pethering. Another instant, and my brother strode into the room, his countenance considerably lighter than it had been when we parted.

“I do not believe we have the slightest cause for worry,” he declared without preamble. Mary, my love, have you been dreadfully disturbed in spirits? I must beg your pardon for occasioning anxiety, and lay the whole before you without delay.”

“Spare your breath, Frank,” she replied with energy, “for I am well-acquainted with the business.”

My brother shot me a look of hurt surprise; he had not believed me so unreliable a confidante; but Mary hastened to disabuse him.

“Would you take me for an ignorant child? Am I to remain unconscious of a subject that has engrossed the better part of my acquaintance these many months, solely because my husband did not chuse to speak of it? Fie, Frank! That you could credit me for a goose! I wonder at your opinion of my understanding.”

Frank begged forgiveness; Mary wept a little into her square of lawn; and I was spared a further indulgence of bridal humours, by the urgency of the matter at hand.

“Pray tell me, dearest Frank, what that dreadful man Pethering would lay at your door,” Mary begged.

“He had hoped to disturb a desperate murderer in his plans for flight,” my brother answered calmly, “but was forced to conclude, from my sanguine air and excellent head, that I had nothing to do with the Lieutenant's sorry end. I pointed out that any number of lodgers in this establishment might vouch for my presence last evening; and proceeded to inform the magistrate that I thought it likely the man was killed in a brawl.”