Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Genius of the Place

“What about Mrs. Grey?” someone called. “You call what you did to her Respect? Where's her habit, Collingforth? You keep it to give to your wife?”

“Silence!” Neddie shouted, in a tone I had never before heard him employ. “I require a fast horse and rider for Canterbury! There's a gold sovereign for the lad who makes the journey in under an hour!”

“I'm your man,” cried a fellow in a nankeen coat; one of the stable boys, no doubt.

“Ride like the wind to the constabulary,” Neddie instructed him, “and send back a party of men. We will require any number. Where is Mrs. Grey's groom or tyger?”

“Mrs. Grey's tyger!” The cry went up, and was repeated through the swelling ranks; and after an interval, the boy with the bent back was rousted from the stable-yard, with the Greys' jockey in tow.

The tyger stopped short at the sight of his mistress, and gave a strangled cry. Then he looked blindly about the ring of men, his fists clenched; saw Collingforth still pinioned; and rushed at him, flailing and pummelling. “Why'd you want to do it, you coward? Why'd you want to go and kill 'er for? She wanted none o' your kind! You couldn't leave 'er in peace!”

Neddie grasped the boy's shoulders and pulled him away. “What is your name, boy?”

“Tom,” he said. “Tom Jenkins.”

“Why did your mistress leave you behind?”

“She asked me to walk La Fleche back home. Crandall, 'ere, was to walk the filly.”

Very white about the lips, the jockey touched his cap.

“La Fleche?” Neddie enquired.

“The black 'un, what she rode in the heat.”

“I see. And what road did she intend to take?”

“Why, the road to Wingham, o' course. The Larches lies just this side o' Wingham.”

Neddie glanced around him. “Henry! Have you a fresh horse?”

“Of course.” My brothers had gone mounted to the race grounds well before our party in the barouche, being eager to see the Commodore into his stall, and survey the course. We had joined them some hours later.

“Then set out immediately along the Wingham road. Mrs. Grey's phaeton must be found, and secured from injury. Ten to one it has been stolen—” He stopped, perplexed. The unspoken question hovered in the air: How had Mrs. Grey come to lie in Collingforth's chaise, quite devoid of her scarlet habit, when we had all observed her to drive out of the grounds a half-hour before? And if she had met with mishap along the road, and her phaeton been stolen — why was her body not lying beneath a hedgerow?

“I shall send a constable towards Wingham immediately I have one,” Neddie continued, “but until he arrives, Henry, I beg of you, do not stir from The Larches. If you happen upon the phaeton by some lucky chance, remain with it until the constable appears. Now, Tom!”

“Yes, sir?” The tyger dashed away his tears and endeavoured to stand the straighten

“Is the black horse in any state for ajog?”

“As fresh as tho' he never was out, sir.”

“Very well. You and your colleague — Crandall, is it? — shall bear Mr. Austen company along the Wingham road. If the phaeton is discovered, leave Mr. Austen in custody and proceed to The Larches. Inform the household of what has befallen your mistress. Is that clear?”

“As glass, sir.”

“Your master is from home, I presume?”

“He's in London, like always.”

“Then a messenger must be sent to him with the news. The housekeeper will look to it.”

“Like as not she'll send me,” the jockey volunteered. “I usually knows where the master can be found.”

Tom glanced at his murdered mistress, who lay so still amidst the dust and the singing cicadas. “What about milady?”

“We shall convey her to Canterbury,” Neddie answered gently, and clapped the boy's shoulder. “She must lie for a while at the Hound and Tooth, for there will be an inquest.”

“Inquest? But that rogue as did for 'er is standing 'ere, large as life!” the boy spat out, and his fists clenched again. “If I'd been with 'er, as I shoulda been, you wouldn't be looking so easy, Mr. Collingforth, sir!”

“Hold your tongue, Tom,” Neddie said sharply. “This is not the time or place for harsh words. The coroner will determine Mr. Collingforth's guilt. You must tell the housekeeper where Mrs. Grey lies — the Hound and Tooth, in Canterbury.”

“I'll tell 'em everything,” he replied, his face crumpling once more. “They'll want to come and see to 'er.”

“I'm afraid that will have to wait until after the coroner has examined the corpse. Now off with you both to the stables!” Neddie's voice was stern — a palpable support, at such a time. “You have a duty that cannot wait.”

“Aye, sir.” The tyger touched his cap, the jockey bowed, and away they dashed without another word.

“Neddie,” Lizzy murmured in his ear, “I cannot like Fanny's situation. Miss Sharpe, too, is most indisposed.”

“I shall send you back to Godmersham with Pratt.”

“Not until the constabulary arrives,” Lizzy replied firmly. “I will not quit the scene until I know how things stand with Mr. Collingforth. I am in part responsible for his discomfiture, but I thought it necessary to speak.”

“Undoubtedly. You did well. Jane!”

“Yes, Neddie?” I joined them in a moment.

“I should dearly love another pair of eyes. If you and Lizzy would return to the coach, and from that vantage survey the crowd for anything untoward — the slightest detail that might seem amiss — it should be as gold.”

“With alacrity,” I said, and slipped my hand through Lizzy's arm.

“And now, Mr. Collingforth,” Neddie said, as we turned away, “I must ask leave to search your chaise. Stand aside, Mr. Everett!”

“WHAT A CURIOUS LIGHT THIS SHEDS UPON ONE'S neighbours, to be sure.” Lizzy sighed, as her green eyes roved intendy over the equipages drawn up helter-skelter near our own. “There is Mr. Hayes, bustling all his party into a closed carriage, and intent upon his return to Ashford. He will not stay a moment, even in respect of the dead — the chance at seizing a clear road before his fellows is too tempting to be missed. Lady Elizabeth Finch-Hatton is pretending to an indisposition. See her there, with her kerchief over her face? I suppose I brought on a fit, by descending from my barouche and approaching the corpse. What a comfort that we need not be so nice, when Lady Elizabeth is on display!”

“I admired your activity, Mrs. Austen,” Miss Sharpe said suddenly. “I wished that I might imitate it. That dreadful man required an answer!”

“You observed the lady to enter his chaise as well?”

“Yes,” the governess replied, her eyes averted, “but I did not remark her leaving it. I cannot recollect the slightest instance of her passing, in fact, until the moment that litde Fanny espied her at the rail — mounted on the black horse, and at the very moment of joining the fray. I shall not soon forget that. ”

“Nor any of the day's events, I am sure,” Lizzy replied. “It is quite an introduction, Miss Sharpe, to the elegant delights of Canterbury Race Week. I am sure your friends the Portermans will be appalled, when they hear of it, and shall request your immediate return to London.”

Anne Sharpe glanced up at her mistress swiftly, then dropped her eyes once more to the little chapbook.

“I cannot tell the answer to your riddle, Sharpie,” said Fanny fretfully, “and I am very hot and tired. When will Papa be done?”

“In a little while, my dear,” her mother said, “in but a very little while. Lay your head upon my lap, if you choose, and endeavour to sleep.”

While my sister smoothed her daughter's curls, I surveyed the milling crowd. [10] It was common in Austen's day to refer to relations by marriage as though they were relations of blood. Although the term in-law existed, it was frequently used to describe step relations. — Editor's note. Several of the parties had no intention of awaiting the constabulary, as Lizzy had said. A clutch of horses and harness clogged the gates of the meeting-grounds, and it should be hours, perhaps, before the turf was cleared.