Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Man of the Cloth

“And what do you believe is Sidmouth's business?” I enquired of her tentatively. “He is much abroad, in France, I hear — though perhaps not so much of late.”

“Because of the war, you would mean?” She sat back against the cushions, one delicate forefinger to her reddened nostrils. “Aye, that is very bad for business, I have no doubt. I myself intended to purchase a lovely length of silk, promised me by one of the Free Traders hereabouts, and I find it is not to be had. The controls at the ports are much stronger, I hear, and the Royal Navy less amenable to turning a blind eye, no matter how much brandy is waved beneath their noses.”

“Whatever would you speak of, Mrs. Barnewall?” My brow was furrowed, my countenance the very picture of confusion.

“Why, the Gentlemen of the Night, of course! The Reverend's men, who keep us all in silk and snuff, and playing cards and sealing wax. You will have heard of the Reverend — as I recall, we discussed his exploits at your very first Assembly.”

I studied my acquaintance's expression — the slanting eyes, sparkling with fun — or was it calculation? — the determined smile, which might hide a mind curious to know how much I had guessed of her affairs — the impenetrable facade of a carefully composed woman, betraying nothing of her true mind. She had allowed me to know that she was familiar with the smugglers’ habits, that she patronised them for their wares; and had even referred obliquely to Maggie Tibbit's silk. One might almost think that she knew of my visit to the woman, and my own purchase of the stuff — as perhaps she did. For the first time I was afraid in her presence, from knowing myself to be in waters too deep for steady footing.

“I did not know that people in my acquaintance were aware of the clandestine trade,” I said slowly.

“Aware of it? But, my dear, they run it,” she replied, in some amusement. “Whatever do you think Sidmouth's business is? His errands for the little LeFevre? His grudge against the Captain, whom we all know to have been opposed to the Trade? Depend upon it, Miss Austen, the Captain's death — however conveniently it might be ascribed to an affaire de coeur over the petite mademoiselle — was a matter of business. And if I adjudge Sidmouth righdy, he will dispose of the coroner's charge in similar terms. He will disappear, of a sudden, from his Lyme gaol, and take a swift ship for France, where he shall be given up for dead; but in a little while, in a different town, on another part of the coast, the Reverend will reappear.”

“You are very intimate with the gentleman's business, Mrs. Barnewall,” I observed.

“Am I?” She laughed mockingly, and reached for her snuffbox with the archest of glances. “I must say I find the gentleman irresistible. But then, most women do, do they not, Miss Austen? I daresay you have fallen victim to Sidmouth yourself, on one or two occasions.”

“If I have, I should be the very last to own it,” I said firmly, and rose to take my leave. “It has been a most enjoyable afternoon, Mrs. Barnewall; I regret that I visited Wootton House only at the close of your stay in these parts. I should like to have seen it in finer weather.”

“Then do not stay away, while yet we both remain in Lyme,” she rejoined, with perhaps an equal level of insincerity; and so we parted — two women of self-sufficient habits, and little inclination for the society of females, and yet driven together by a mutual need for confidences gained. I had come to Mrs. Barnewall with the intention of soliciting intelligence; but it was only at our parting that I knew her to have received me with an equal aim in view. I felt that I had been carefully managed from my first step inside her hail; but the why of it eluded me.

Sunday, 23 September 1804

IT WAS NEARLY THE HOUR FOR DINNER WHEN I RETURNED TO WINGS cottage from Wootton Fitzpaine yesterday afternoon, but the fog had lifted under the influence of a light breeze, promising a shift in the weather; and so I seized a few moments of liberty to slip down Pound Street to the linendraper's, of a mind to view Mr. Milsop's latest sketches of evening gowns, so important to the effect of a good length of peach-coloured silk, and to consider whether a demi-turban [71] This was less a turban than a length of material — often lace — tied around the crown and knotted at one side of the head, in a somewhat Turkish fashion. — Editor's note. or a feather should be better suited to my headdress; and with such pleasant fancies dancing before my eyes, and banishing all thoughts of smugglers, their wives, and their purported bloodlettings, I very nearly ran down poor Mr. Dagliesh, who was engaged in conversing with a rotund lady of middle age, not five paces from Mr. Milsop's door.

“Miss Jane Austen!” he cried, with a flourish of his hat and a hasty bow. “I hope I find you well?”

“Very well, Mr. Dagliesh,” I replied, with a nod for his companion, who paid no heed to ceremony and made her lumbering way on up the street, leaving me to enjoy the gentleman's undivided attentions. “I am relieved to see you in excellent health.”

“Had you any reason to fear for it?” he enquired.

“Oh! No reason at all — though I guessed you were so much in demand, and in the middle of the night, too — about the shingle and the downs, in attending to all manner of wounds of a sudden received, whose victims have not the luxury of appearing by the light of day — that I thought you must soon be quite broken down.”

He started, and gave me a narrow look, and with a foolish smile, said that the demands of a country practise were sometimes unmanageable.

“Particularly when one is under the obligation of attending to one's friends,” I continued. “The demands of a stranger might be put off to another day; but the necessity of one's intimate acquaintance may not be gainsaid. And there has been so much of that sort of thing in Lyme, of late! A lady thrown from a horse here, a shot to the back there, a skirmish at sea that might leave a man at the mercy of Fate — I wonder you have slept at all, from riding to the Grange.”

“Miss Austen—” he began, and then halted in confusion.

“I know now why you could not be summoned, the very night of my sister's unfortunate injury — for you were undoubtedly in attendance upon some smugglers’ band, deep in the folds of the Pinny, or secreted in a convenient cave. And nothing is plainer than your failing to appear the morning of her departure for London, to pay your respects. It was the very morning that Mr. Sidmouth routed the dragoons, just below the Cobb, and even 1 observed Davy Forely the lander to have been shot Was it Mademoiselle LeFevre who cared for him there, in the kitchen garret, against the Preventy Men's discovery?” [72] The Preventy Men was a common name for the officers of the Board of Customs. — Editor's note.

“I could not undertake to say,” the surgeon's assistant replied. “It was not there that I attended him, certainly. But tell me, Miss Austen — would you have a man die of a wound he did not merit, when a surgeon could easily be called? Is there some wrong you might find, in my ministering to such unfortunates? For to heal is my calling in life.”

“No wrong, Mr. Dagliesh — unless it be that your care for the local criminal set prevents you from attending to those more worthy of your attention. Had my sister died of her injuries, I should look with less gentleness at the manner in which you spend your evenings.”

“Heaven forbid!” he cried, with a sensible look. “And how does your sister? She continues to mend?”