Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Genius of the Place

“Tell me of Mr. Collingforth, Lizzy,” I said softly.

“Collingforth? He is of no very great account, I assure you. Nothing to do with the Suffolk family, you know — a lateral heir, in the maternal line, who took the name upon his accession to the property.”

“Yes, yes — but what sort of character does he possess? Is he the sort of man to conceal a fresh corpse in his carriage?”

“I cannot fathom why any man should do so, Jane,” Lizzy retorted in exasperation, “much less contrive to discover it himself. Either he is very simple, or very devious, indeed — and my mind at present is divided between the two.”

“He seems to hate Mrs. Grey.”

She smiled mirthlessly. “Love often turns to hate, I believe — particularly when it is formed of obsessive passion. Six months ago, perhaps, Mr. Collingforth was very much in Mrs. Grey's pocket. But she tired of him, as she does of so many, and sent him on his way.”

“And the affair was countenanced by Society?” I enquired.

“Society, as you would style it, took no notice of either Mrs. Grey or Collingforth. Whatever their form of intimacy, it was quite without the pale of Canterbury fashion. Only Lady Forbes — the wife of the commanding General of the Coldstream Guards — condescended to visit Mrs. Grey after her first weeks in Kent, once the measure of her style had been taken; and Lady Forbes is very young, and cannot be trusted to know any better.”

“I see. You said she tired of any number of gentlemen. A motive, perhaps, for her brutal end?”

“Perhaps.” Lizzy's slanting green eyes rounded upon me. “My brother must be considered one of them, Jane— Mrs. Grey had him quite wrapped around her little finger — and Captain Woodford, of course. He has been intimate from boyhood with Mr. Valentine Grey, and has frequently called at The Larches.”

I glanced at Miss Sharpe's sleek, dark head; her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be dozing. I lowered my voice all the same. “You heard what Mr. Collingforth said of your brother?”

“In company with most of Kent. I wonder where the blackguard has got to? I would dearly love to know what Collingforth meant by accosting him in that fashion, just before the body was discovered. There is something ugly between them, and Woodford, too, if I am any judge of appearances; and such things are so tiresome when they are thrown in the public eye. How I long to shake brother Edward until his teeth rattle in his head!”

Our interesting discourse was broken at that moment by the arrival of the Canterbury constabulary, come at a gallop, it seemed, from town. They brought in their train a waggon draped in black; I knew it at once for a makeshift hearse.

Neddie strode to meet them; consulted, for a moment, with the man who seemed to be their principal; and this last commenced to bark out orders, dispatching some of his fellows in one direction, and some in another. A few made immediately for the Collingforth chaise.

Mr. Wood, the surgeon, placed his arm under Mrs. Grey's neck, and raised her slightly from the ground. The constables gathered at waist and feet. Neddie looked on, his arms folded across his chest and a line of care etched between his brows. And then Mrs. Grey, her unbound black hair sweeping over the surgeon's arm, was carried slowly to the black-draped waggon. The tide of the curious parted like a guard of honour, and not a whisper or a sigh was heard, as the men struggled forward with their unhappy burden.

“I should like to go home, Pratt,” Lizzy said quietly into the stillness. “Let us learn what Mr. Austen intends, and then seek the road without delay.”

“Very good, ma'am,” the coachman replied. He jumped from the box at once — as he had been longing to do for some time, I am sure — and sought out his master.

Neddie returned with Pratt in a moment.

“There is nothing more for you to do here, Lizzy,” he said. “Return to Godmersham with our party, and order a cold supper for Henry and myself. We shall be upon the road some hours, I fear. I ride even now towards The Larches, in the hope that something has been discovered of the missing phaeton.”

“Of course,” she said dismissively. “Jane and I shall both sit up against your return. But, Neddie—”

“Yes?”

“Can not you tell us something of how Mrs. Grey died?”

“She was throttled with her own hair-ribbon.”

“That much I had discerned. But the chaise! How did she come to be there?”

He shook his head. “I could find nothing within that might reveal her history. It is an ugly business — Mrs. Grey being what she is.”

“A Frenchwoman?” I concluded.

He nodded. “The danger of her nationality alone should have counselled a greater propriety of behaviour at such a time — but she was never very restrained, as I am sure you observed, and that may have excited the hatred or jealousy of any number of men. I hope to know more once I have seen her husband; but that cannot be until tomorrow.”

“You believe her killing an act of war , then?”

“In such times as these, with all of Kent in an uproar over the Monster's invasion, I cannot think it extraordinary. She must have been killed on the road, in a chance encounter, when she was quite alone and defenceless. But how she came to be in Collingforth's chaise—”

I gazed pensively at the constables' waggon and its tragic burden. Mr. Wood, the surgeon, had elected to attend the body, and was mounted on the box. Beside me, Miss Sharpe had completed the repacking of the picnic hamper, and Fanny was settled on the seat next to Lizzy. All around us the festive air of a race-meeting was fled, and a line of carriages lengthened towards the Canterbury road. The sedate assemblage of Kentish folk seemed the very last to harbour a political assassin; but other passions might be nearer at hand.

“Mrs. Grey possessed wealth, beauty, and spirit,” I mused, “and each might be an insult to a certain sort of man. Or woman, for that matter — for I believe that few among her own sex dared to call her friend.”

“And her end is not likely to improve her reputation,” Neddie observed. “There is already too much scandal and talk. The disappearance of the lady's habit bears an ugly aspect. I would that her husband were not in Town.”

“Unhappy gentleman! To receive such news, in so brutal a manner! No one can deserve such wretchedness.”

“Nor such an end,” Neddie added. “Tho' God knows Mrs. Grey made any number of enemies in the short time she was among us.” He surveyed the tide of his departing neighbours with unwonted shrewdness. “I can think of several spurs to violence, Jane, in the lady's case. A man might wager his purse on the outcome of a meeting, and lose a fortune in the toss; or fancy himself crossed in love, and ready to avenge an injury.”

Neddie slapped the barouche's side and nodded to Pratt. The coachman unwillingly lifted the reins.

“And must you charge Mr. Collingforth?” I asked hurriedly.

My brother hesitated, his grey eyes suddenly wary. “As to that — I cannot say, Jane. But I should be happy to canvass the matter at greater leisure, when once we are all together at Godmersham. Henry believes your advice is worth seeking; and I am not fool enough, I hope, to soldier on alone when good counsel is on offer. My experience has never run to murder. The duty must be a serious one. It must weigh heavily.”

He kissed his wife's hand, smoothed Fanny's touseled curls, and then moved off through the thinning crowd towards the glowering Mr. Collingforth. The latter's dark-suited friend, Mr. Everett, had not deserted him; but little of comfort could be derived from so dour a companion. Further observation was denied me, for at that moment the horses started forward under Pratt's meticulous hands, and we were sent back to Godmersham — like all of Canterbury's ladies, preserved from further intimacy with what was unpleasant.