Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Man of the Cloth

I HAD BARELY ACHIEVED THE COURTYARD BEFORE THE FARMHOUSE, and steeled myself for the tedious return to Wings cottage, when I espied a strange coach pulled up before the Grange's door. A man, whose appearance bespoke him a gentleman, stood aloof and grim at the horses’ heads. Barely a moment upon the heels of this observation, the front door was thrown open, and a party of men exited, with Sidmouth in their midst. An expression of rage suffused the latter's countenance, and his bearing bespoke a wounded dignity; had not these apprised me that he went against his will, the manner in which the four burly fellows at his side secured his wrists and arms within their grasp, should assuredly have served as guide. In the grim huddle's wake came Mary, the housemaid, anxiously wringing her apron.

“Mr. Sidmouth!” I cried, aghast.

He found my eyes with an expression at once so ashamed and outraged it stopt all speech.

“Whatever has happened?” I enquired of the aloof fellow by the carriage. His eyes swept my figure with grudging interest, but he hesitated with his answer.

“I am Miss Jane Austen, a friend to Mr. Sidmouth's cousin, Mademoiselle LeFevre.”

The gentleman's eyes shifted from my face to something at my back, and I turned to find Seraphine there, her expression one of horror as she gazed upon Sidmouth.

“Geoffrey!” she cried. “Qu'est-ce que cest tout cela?”

At her appearance, the gentleman stepped forward and bowed. “Mademoiselle LeFevre, I presume.”

Seraphine directed at his person the wildest of glances, and sprang towards Sidmouth's side, until prevented from reaching him by his captors’ diligence.

“Some intelligence, for the love of God,” I said, in exasperation.

“Mr. Dobbin at your service, madam.”The gentleman removed his hat with a sweeping gesture. “I am appointed justice in Lyme, and am presently at High Down in that capacity.”

“What business can you possibly have with my cousin?” Seraphine interjected angrily.

“Mr. Sidmouth has been seized on suspicion of the murder of Captain Percival Fielding, and will be held in the Lyme gaol until the inquest Friday next.”

There was a gasp of horror from Mademoiselle LeFevre, and a swift glance of agonised sensibility for Sidmouth; it seemed almost to me as though she recognised, in one look, that he might have killed for her sake; and felt all the horror of her regret and culpability. That Mr. Dobbin might read an equally telling truth in her countenance, I greatly feared. Her cousin, however, maintained a superior gravity that betrayed nothing — neither sensibility of Seraphine's doubt, nor confirmation of his guilt.

“And on what basis do you thus seize him?” I enquired of Mr. Dobbin boldly. My familiarity with the unjust imperilment of friends — so lately undergone at Scargrave Manor — gave me the courage to probe the law.

The justice's face closed. “I suggest you attend the inquest, madam, for the better satisfaction of your curiosity. And now I must beg leave to depart. The law may not be tarried, nor impeded in its course.”

“Fiddlesticks,” I muttered under my breath, and looked to Seraphine. Her every attention was claimed by her cousin, however, as he was hustled into the carriage in the company of two fellows, while the remainder stepped up behind. One look only I had from the master of High Down, as his head was forced below the carriage's sill; an intensity of purpose was in it, that spoke volumes without a word. I was to care for Seraphine as best I might, in Sidmouth's absence; and I felt the charge as surely as though it were his last.

I moved to take her arm, as the coachman clucked to his team; and found her stiff with horror and helplessness.

“Take heart, my dear,” I said, with the falsest of hope. “Your cousin is not without friends. The first of these is Mr. Crawford. And though Justice Dobbin might pay little heed to the entreaties of a few women, he cannot ignore those of the first gentleman in town. To Crawford we shall go, therefore, as soon as ever we may.”

19 September 1804, cont.

“I AM AFRAID, MISS AUSTEN, THAT THINGS LOOK VERY BAD INDEED for Mr. Sidmouth.” Mr. Crawford turned from his decanter of claret with a sober look. “You are certain you will take nothing? Such an excellent wine as this cannot but be restorative. Even my sister acknowledges its healthful properties. And you have already endured much that is distressing—”

“Thank you, but no. I am already overly-fatigued, and fear it should unnerve me completely. You know, then, the nature of the evidence that would indict Mr. Sidmouth?”

Crawford bowed his head and hesitated an instant before answering. “I am ashamed to say that I do.”

“Ashamed?” I gave a quick look to Seraphine, who sat white-faced upon the settee in the Crawford drawing-room. We were spared the thinly-veiled triumph of Miss Crawford, who had been on the point of paying a call at our arrival, and had tarried only long enough to express her sympathies to Mademoiselle LeFevre in as insufferable a manner as possible.

‘Ashamed, indeed — for it was through my intelligence that Mr. Sidmouth was arrested.”

“What!” Seraphine started to her feet, her eyes glittering and her aspect enraged. She would have leapt to Crawford's face, her fingers bent to claw at his eyes, had I not intervened; but though she struggled against me, her golden hair flying, her speech remained unfettered. “You, who arc his dearest friend, would betray him so utterly? You would repay every kindness he has shown — all the days of good fellowship — with such lies as this? What depth of malevolence could have so turned your affection from my cousin?”

“No malevolence, my dear,” Mr. Crawford protested, his countenance flushing deeply. “Only the conviction of my duty as an Englishman. For duty alone — and my respect for all the law upholds — could have prevailed in any contest of loyalty for Sidmouth. Had he been accused by another, on spurious claims, I should have defended him stoutly to the last; but the evidence of my own eyes threw in question the nature of the unfortunate Captain's end, and where my eyes bore witness, my tongue could not remain silent.”

“Pray elucidate the matter, Mr. Crawford,” I said quietly, as 1 helped Seraphine to regain her seat. The fight had drained from her slender form, leaving her beset with despair and trembling.

Crawford threw back the contents of his glass and sighed deeply, pausing to collect his thoughts; I knew then what his actions had cost him.

YOU will remember, Miss Austen, during the course of Saturday evening last, when you and Mademoiselle LeFevre honoured us with your presence at dinner, that Mr. Sidmouth engaged in a lively debate with the Honourable Mathew Barnewall.”

I looked all my bewilderment, and saw it mirrored in Seraphine. “But of course, Mr. Crawford. Mr. Barnewall wished to purchase Sidmouth's horse/’

“The very Satan. So he did. Barnewall went so far as to jest that he should be reduced to robbing the Grange's stables, did Sidmouth persist in opposing him.”

“And Sidmouth rejoined that it should avail him nothing, for his horses’ shoes bore the mark of his initials.”

“No, Miss Austen; I fear that it was /who voiced that opinion. You will remark that I knew full well how Sidmouth cared for his stables; and of how much value the horse Satan was to him. It was I who let slip the fact of the shoes being forged with a GS on their surfaces, and underlined that any who might steal one of the Grange's animals should leave a trail for all to observe.”

Comprehension began to dawn, and I closed my eyes with a sudden weariness — the exhaustion of my hopes, perhaps.