Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Prisoner of Wool House

“So he is in love with her.”

“Naturally. He managed, in every form of his refusal to discuss Mrs. Carruthers, to expose himself abominably. I only hope he does not behave thus before the magistrate.”

“Did you enquire about Tom's orders?”

“I did. In this, I am happy to report, he was more forthcoming.”

“Ah.” I turned away from the hearth with alacrity and regained my seat. “Excellent fellow! You have disdained all niceties and forms, you have abandoned constraint, and thrown yourself into the chase! Pray tell: Whither was Captain Seagrave bound on the fateful day he fell in with the Manon?”

Frank's grey eyes glinted. “It is most intriguing, I will confess — the stuff of novels, as I declared before! Seagrave did not wish to disclose the whole; but when I impressed upon him the gravity of his condition, he relented. It is plain he considers the orders as having nothing to do with his fate; but I cannot be so sanguine.”

“I am all agog.”

“The Stella Maris was ordered to stand off the coast of Lisbon, between Corunna and Ferrol — a treacherous bit of coastline, which the men all call the Groyne— and signal with a lantern every half-hour of the watch. between two and eight bells for three nights in succession. [22] Bells were the time-keeping system aboard ship. Struck every half-hour, they indicated by the number of strokes the tally of half-hours elapsed in the watch. Eight bells indicated midnight, one bell 12:30 A.M., two bells 1:00 A.M., and so on to eight bells at 4:00 A.M., when the sequence was repeated. — Editor's note. If he received a lantern beam in return — the signal was prearranged, of course — he was to land a boat and collect a stranger, for passage to Portsmouth in the Stella. Seagrave was given no hint of the man's identity, but suspected he must be a foreign agent of the Crown; your fast frigates are often employed in such jiggery-pokery schemes.”

“And did he collect his supercargo?”

“He did not. After the affair of the Manon —the battle done, the French ship repaired and despatched to port under Chessyre's management — Seagrave proceeded to the position specified in his sailing orders.

He opened the sealed packet, and commenced to wait for the proper day and hour. Three successive nights he stood off the Groyne, signalling to no avail. Not an answering beam did he discover, and no stranger was hauled from the rocks. The duty done, Tom returned to port — and found himself accused of murder.”

“Corunna might have been a subterfuge, I suppose.”

“Designed to lure Tom within striking distance of the Manon?” Frank enquired. “I thought the same. The idea is fantastic, however — particularly when one considers the possibility of the two ships missing each other in all that sea, the vagaries of wind and weather. No, Jane, it will not do.”

“By whom were the orders issued?”

“Admiral Hastings. And he can have no reason to wish Tom Seagrave ill — he and the Stella Marts have won Hastings a fortune! The Admiral should be a fool to hang the goose that laid all his golden eggs!” [23] When a British ship seized an enemy vessel, the profits accruing from the sale of the prize were divided into eight equal parts. The captain of the victorious ship received three-eighths; one of these eighths was then turned over to his admiral. The remaining five-eighths were divided among the crew according to seniority. — Editor's note.

“And were the orders written by the Admiral?”

Frank hesitated. “They were certainly transcribed by Hastings's hand. Seagrave wondered whether Hastings had noted the position in error — whether the Stella had missed the agent's signal, from standing off the wrong part of the Lisbon coast. Such a mistake is possible, I suppose.”

“I do not understand you. You said that Hastings issued the orders!”

“He put them in Seagrave's hand, assuredly, and

issued them with all his authority as flag officer in command of the Channel squadron. But the orders themselves were sent by the Admiralty telegraph. There is nothing unusual in this. Frank was attempting to marshal patience; but at his words my mind and spirit were animated as if by a shaft of lightning.

“The telegraph! Of course! A convention of the Navy bent to peculiar purpose! Why did we not see it before?”

Frank looked bewildered, but I lacked sufficient time to explain. For at that very moment Phoebe Carruthers was announced.

28 February 1807, cont.

THE GOLDEN-HAIRED BEAUTY SWEPT INTO THE ROOM on Jenny's heels, a veil of black lace all but concealing her features. At the sight of it I nearly gasped aloud; but stifled the sound in time. It would not do to betray a dangerous knowledge. Nell Rivers's very life might depend upon my silence.

She lifted the veil from her face. Her eyes, I saw now, were the green of pond-weeds in April, the green of lichens and stone. Another woman might have encouraged the hue with silks of gold and amber; but Phoebe Carruthers was resolute in her adoption of dark grey. In this, at least, she was sensible of the conventions of mourning.

“Captain Austen,” she said with a curtsey, “it has been many years since we first formed an acquaintance. I daresay you do not remember me, but perhaps you will recall my late husband — Captain Hugh Carruthers.”

Frank put his heels together and bowed. “He was an excellent man, Mrs. Carruthers; all England must feel his loss. You do not know my sister, I think. Miss Austen, Mrs. Carruthers.”

I inclined my head. “Pray sit down. Jenny, be so good as to fetch some tea.”

Phoebe Carruthers glanced over her shoulder at the hard wooden chairs ranged against the wall; Frank drew one of them forward and placed it near the hearth. She perched on its edge with all the poise of a figure carved by Canova.

“I am happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Austen. I was very sorry not to speak with you last night, at the Footes'; and seized the first opportunity of paying a morning call.”

My surprise must have shown in my countenance; Her green eyes flickered, and fell to her lap. She commenced to draw off her gloves.

I said, “You were obliged to leave the party rather early. But it was a delightful evening, was it not?”

“Or should have been, but for the manners of one in the room.” Her cool eyes came up to meet my own. “I had not intended to appear at the Footes'. Much as I respect them, I am ill-suited to mix in company. I recently lost my son, as you may be aware. For my own part, I would fix quietly at home. But not all our obligations are matters of choice.”

I glanced at Frank. The lady was dispassionate; she was contained; but this frankness she affected among virtual strangers could not fail to pique our interest. It might be a cold-hearted campaign to win our allegiance, who should find cause to suspect her of complicity in murder — but that was absurd. Phoebe Carruthers could have no idea of Nell Rivers, or what the latter had seen. She had no reason to assume our mistrust. She must be a woman of considerable caution.

“Your son's death cannot but be deeply felt,” I said. “You have my sincere sympathy, Mrs. Carruthers.”

She bowed her beautiful head, and could not speak for several seconds. I thought I glimpsed the gleam of tears beneath her lashes; it was all admirably done.

“I heard of your warm support for the prisoners of Wool House, Miss Austen — of your habit of tending to the sick.”

Again, her tack in conversation surprised me; I inclined my head, but said nothing in my own cause.