Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Man of the Cloth

I wish I could find it in myself to envy Miss Armstrong; I should like to strike the attitude of a slighted heroine, and languish in forsaken love for one or another of the gentlemen thrown in my way; but she is too pale a figure for competition. I am convinced, upon reflection, that Mr. Sidmouth enjoys her company as he might that of a flower found along the roadside — there is little of heat or intensity in his regard. He is not the sort of man for an easy passion.

“Sidmouth!” Mr. Crawford cried, in approaching his friend at the dance's close. “How comes your lovely cousin not to grace the rooms this evening? And T do not recall that she was with us last week, or the week before, if it comes to that. It is too bad of you! We must have Mademoiselle LeFevre, if Lyme is to aspire to any real elegance!”

“I regret that my cousin is indisposed this evening,’” Sidmouth returned, with a slight bow and a formal air; “but I shall convey to her your sentiments, which cannot but be pleasing.”

“And she must get out, eh? It has been an age since I have seen her — or, more to the point, been delighted by her singing! Come now. You cannot keep her at home in this stupid manner,” Crawford said, with a jocular glance for me. “I am to have a smallish dinner party Saturday e'en — a sort of farewell for my Lucy — and you shall both come. Mademoiselle LeFevre's indisposition, I trust, will be but a trifling matter in four-and-twenty hours?”

“I may not presume to say. But I shall provide her with the opportunity to choose — and try whether the delights of Darby exceed those of High Down.”

“Capital! I shall order a couple of dozen ducks killed on the strength of it — for Mademoiselle cannot give up a dinner at Darby; I am sure of it The Austens, of course, shall be there”—this, with a bow for me—“and one or two others. Capital!”

And so Mr. Crawford moved on, issuing invitations as he went, and leaving me to the mercies of Mr. Sidmouth, who gave me a long look and the barest suggestion of a smile.

“You do not wear your sister's gown this evening,” he observed, “and though the pink was becoming, and your own white muslin is more ravishing still, I should prefer to think of you always as you appeared a few mornings ago— like a siren on the rocks, your hair swept by the wind, and your arms wrapped close around a borrowed cloak.”

I blushed hotly — and cursed my wayward cheeks, which are too frequently suffused with scarlet, and ever the bane of my existence. The frankness of Sidmouth's speech— the warmth with which the words were spoken — almost unnerved me; but I recollected in time the nature of our parting that morning, and was strengthened enough to meet his eyes.

“I cannot think the episode too soon forgotten!” I cried. “Better you had saved your cloak to hide your shame! The reprehensible nature of your conduct — the blatant admission of your interest in the smugglers’ affairs — and now, to parade your renegade self before all of Lyme, and with impunity — it is, in every respect, incredible!”

His countenance changed; and the dark eyes lost their intensity, and became remote. “I can find nothing for which to reproach myself,” he told me. “I acted as any honourable man should, when a friend's endangered; and I should act in a similar way again, should circumstances require it.”

“A friend! You call such a common criminal friend !”

“I do,” he replied, with a set to his jaw. “I call any man friend who should not hesitate to lay down his life, if need be, in order to preserve my own. Davy Forely has risked as much, on several occasions 1 can number; and my own poor efforts to secure his freedom a few days past, are as nothing in the tally of obligation I owe.”

“You amaze me, sir! Do the claims of a gentleman, of your very country — indeed, of everything affecting your respectability and position in life — have so little power to move you?”

Mr. Sidmouth bowed, and was silent; but that he struggled with conflicting emotions, I perceived in his countenance; and felt that my words, and the truth behind them, had succeeded in striking his hardened heart. Indeed, I believe he would have spoken, had Captain Fielding not approached at that very moment, and with the barest acknowledgement of Sidmouth's presence, requested my hand for the next dance — a cotillion. [57] “A brisk dance characterized by intricate figures and frequent changing of partners. Other dances common to the country Assembly Rooms were the minuet — which generally opened a ball — the ecossaise, the contredanse, and a variety of Scotch reels and English country dances. The waltz, considered “fast,” made its first London appearance by 1812, and the quadrille — a type of square dance with music in five movements of varying tempos — in 1816. — Editor's note. I was enough possessed by my fever of indignation, to accept him with a very pretty grace; and when I turned to witness the triumph of my regard upon Mr. Sidmouth's features, I found him already across the room, and in the happy company of Miss Armstrong and Mrs. Barnewall.

I regret to say, that though Captain Fielding attempted to engage my attention the length of our half-hour, and exerted the full force of his intelligent person — though he paid me some fulsome compliments, and affected to place me above every other occupant of the room — that my thoughts were abstracted, more often than not, and my gaze would wander.

“You are not yourself, Miss Austen; you are decidedly not yourself,” the Captain observed, after several unsuccessful trials at conversation.

“Pray forgive me, sir,” I replied, with some remorse, and pulled my gaze back to his weathered face. “I am merely distracted by the remembrance of events I witnessed a few days ago.”

“Ah. I recollect. You were there, on The Walk, when Sidmouth showed his hand; I observed you standing in all the appalled recognition of the import of his behaviour.”

“I cannot deny that I was then as one amazed; but I am little reassured now by his appearance tonight! So easy as he seems, with all of Lyme in possession of his true identity, his unscrupulous way of life!”

“I agree that it is in every way incredible,” Captain Fielding said soberly. “But I expect little else of a man like Sidmouth. His propensities are so very vicious — his principles so very depraved — that even the open acknowledgement of the evil is as nothing to him.”

“Can he be so lost to everything?” I cried, unwilling to believe that any man might be.

“He can, and he is.” Captain Fielding's assurance would have been more acceptable to my ears had it rung less with quiet satisfaction. “But Lyme shall suffer his sort of insolence only a little while longer.”

I almost tripped in my movement through the figure, but recovered, and turned once more to face my partner. “You would apprehend him, then? Why did you not do so, that very morning of which we speak?”

“It would have won us only half our game,” the Captain replied, in a lowered tone. “To take the Reverend, as we might have a few days past with but a little application, should be to leave his confederates abroad and capable of continued Free Trade.” [58] Free Trade was the term smugglers applied to their business, since the purpose of smuggling goods into England was to avoid the numerous and costly taxes applied to a wealth of imported items. — Editor's note.

“But I thought the men were apprehended! There, on the shingle, and by the dragoons!”

“In the event, our effort was for naught,” the Captain admitted unwillingly. “When the barrels were examined, they were found to contain only common beer, and from the Golden Lion. No, Miss Austen — the Reverend won in the last instance. Mr. Cavendish, the Lyme Customs man, believes the true cargo to have been retrieved during the small hours of morning; and the effort you witnessed at dawn — and which the dragoons thoroughly routed — was but a sham, a diversion for the law. We could apprehend no one, for the unloading of a cargo of beer; and indeed,we were forced to make embarrassing amends, for the blows and injuries the labourers sustained.”