Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Genius of the Place

We regarded her with some wonder. As a theory, it was not entirely without merit.

“But why return Mrs. Grey's body to the race-meeting grounds, and risk the gravest complications?” I protested. “Why not leave her in her phaeton on the Wingham road?”

“Because he had secured his friend Everett's word as to his absence from the chaise throughout the racing,” Lizzy said calmly, “and could not be secure if her body were discovered elsewhere. Collingforth hoped, perhaps, that the incongruity should linger in our minds, and prove his best security of innocence.”

“Admirable!” Neddie cried. “Upon my word, I am ready to accede to it myself!”

“Excepting,” Henry broke in, “for the considerable weight that may lie behind the Comte's words.”

Neddie and I both frowned in perplexity.

“He may have spoken no more than the truth,” Henry persisted.

“Regarding what or whom?” Neddie cried.

“Speak plainly, Henry, for the love of God,” I added, in exasperation.

“In perusing the Times , Jane — which you admirers of country life only rarely look into — I have been powerfully reminded that we have entirely ignored the fact of Mrs. Grey's courier.”

Neddie threw up his hands in disgust.

“Her courier?” I prompted.

“—The elusive fellow from France, in green and gold livery, who was charged with the most pressing intelligence. The courier who arrived on the very morning of her death, and may unwittingly have precipitated it.”

“I like your theory not half so well as my own,” Lizzy murmured, and stretched as comfortably as a cat. “It lacks simplicity.”

“We believed it possible that the courier came to warn of a French invasion.” Henry waved his furled newspaper like a martial baton. “But no invasion has occurred. The watchtowers stand unfired. Evacuation is put off. Has it not occurred to you, Neddie, that the news for Mrs. Grey must have been entirely otherwise?”

“Grey himself has said that her family often chose to communicate with her in such a fashion. Perhaps the man was charged with delivering the Comte's final letter — the proposal of elopement we discovered in La Nouvelle Heloise .”

“Or perhaps it was in your friend Mr. Grey's interest to suggest as much.”

“I do not understand you, Henry. Why should Grey conceal the nature of his wife's intelligence?”

“Because it threatened the security of his banking concern, his reputation, and, indeed, his very life.”

“What do you know?” Neddie reached unconsciously for his clay pipe, and felt in his pockets for a pouch of tobacco. Lizzy took the pipe from his hand without a word and set it aside.

“I know nothing at all, I assure you,” Henry protested, “—but I might suggest a good deal. Grey is certainly involved in a very deep game, as the Comte has observed. Did you learn nothing from the state of his household?”

“The Larches? I thought it charming.”

Henry snorted. “Charming. Perhaps it was. But I should very much like to know, brother, what sort of difficulties the man has incurred, and how he hopes to extricate himself without the most public scandal!”

“Scandal?” Lizzy echoed. “I should have thought the murder of his wife scandal enough for the present.”

“I refer to the conduct of Mr. Grey's business,” Henry retorted. “I had not spent above an hour at The Larches, before I knew that his firm is extended to the breaking point.”

“How can you say so?” I enquired. “Certainly Mr. Grey maintains a considerable estate. The maintenance of the grounds at least must exact a fortune. But his circumstances appeared quite easy.”

“And yet he employs no housemaids,” Henry observed. “Mrs. Bastable is required to perform the slightest office. The condition of the stables, moreover, is appalling — the boxes have not been mucked out since Mrs. Grey's death. When I enquired as to the cause, I was told that the master had refused an order for bedding, and turned away the better part of the stable lads. As a result, it was impossible to discover anything of Julian Sothey's assignation with an unknown lady in the stable-yard. No one with the slightest pretension to knowledge had been retained in service.”

“Such a dismissal of staff might be very much to Mr. Grey's purpose, did he intend the sale of Mrs. Grey's string,” I argued, “but I cannot see how it reveals his circumstances to be hopeless.”

“Have you any idea of the quality of the blood in Grey's stables? It will be the sale of the decade. He stands to make thousands of pounds. And from the look of things, I should say that he is desperate for funds.”

“Perhaps he cannot bear to be reminded of his wife's passion for horseflesh,” Lizzy observed, “and merely hopes to dispose of her stock in the most efficacious manner possible. I see nothing of scandal in this.”

“Then perhaps the London papers shall convince you.” Henry tossed the Times onto the sofa beside us. “Examine the notice at the bottom of page three, I beg. It concerns Mr. Grey closely.”

Neddie, Lizzy, and I bent our heads over the sheet, and endeavoured to make it out.

” 'Dutch banks fail to back French securities' “I read slowly.” 'Government loans feared in default.”

“Read on,” Henry said.

” 'The Secretary of the Treasury, Mr. Pitt, is gravely concerned by yesterday's decision on the part of the House of Hope, Scots bankers resident in Amsterdam, to refuse the French government further security. [52] The Prime Minister always held the portfolio of Secretary of the Treasury. As a member of the cabinet as well as its leader, he was thus primus inter pares — first among equals. — Editor's note. While the confusion of our enemies is devoutly to be wished, in the halls of commerce as well as on the battlefield, the delicate state of the Imperial treasury must threaten relations of finance throughout Europe, and devolve to this kingdom's ultimate disadvantage. In light of this consideration, Mr. Pitt has sent an envoy to Amsterdam for consultation.' “

I raised my head from the broadsheet. “And how might Mr. Pitt's conduct of business concern Mr. Grey, Henry?”

He rolled his eyes in impatience. “Grey is allied to a French banking family, Jane, and his resources must in part be theirs. If Buonaparte has gone to Amsterdam for credit, and been denied by so great a house as Hope, then we must assume that the French banking establishment has exhausted its capital. Furthermore, the government itself can offer nothing as security for its desired loan— or nothing that Hope will accept. The Comte de Penfleur must be aware of that much. As to what else he knows or suspects, I cannot say.”

“You believe Grey to have invested heavily in the French government, at the behest of his wife — funds that Buonaparte has presently exhausted?” Neddie demanded.

Henry shrugged helplessly. “Who can say? But if Grey's stables appear so neglected, only consider the state of the Emperor's!”

“But Buonaparte has a stranglehold on much of Europe,” I cried, in disbelief. “Surely he might plunder any number of coffers.”

Henry hesitated, then shrugged. “I cannot undertake to say. I have heard rumours in the City that the French government is bankrupt, but I dismissed such talk as a mixture of bluster and hope. I can dismiss it no more.” [53] The ears of the City's businessmen, in this instance, were keener than Henry Austen knew. By mid-August 1805, Bonaparte's funds were completely exhausted. No relief, either from bankers or allies, was forthcoming. — Editor's note.

“The French, bankrupt?” Lizzy's voice was a study in disbelief. “But I have seen the plates of the Empress's coronation gown, Henry. She did not appear in rags, I assure you.”