Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor

And the system of drains in the house at Sydney Place is not to be supported.

I cannot but wonder at my father having chosen such a town for his remaining years, and yearn still for my snug upstairs room in the rectory and die society of Madam Lefroy, my dearest Anne. To consider brother James and his poor Mary now in possession of all that was dear to me is a further source of displeasure; they cannot appreciate its merits as I, nor find the same delight in its simple comforts. They exist only to criticise. But I recollect; I myself have been criticising at great length, and must declare it to be a family failing.

I rose up on one elbow and peered around the bed-curtains. “Martha,” I said to the maid bent at the grate, “is anyone else yet abroad?”

“I can't rightly say, miss,” she declared, sitting back on her heels and brushing away a stray lock of black hair, “seein’ as those fellers are posted a'tall the doors. Took the kindlin’ from me and sent me abaht my business, they did, as though I'd ‘ave the savin’ of the Earl with a bit o’ tinder.”

“Events have taken a sad turn,” I commented.

“That they ‘ave, miss, and for nothin’ but Lizzy Scratch and her palaverin’ ways. That girl Margie was a bad ‘un, make no mistake, and she's sure to ‘ave met her end from ‘er fancy man as anything else. Least, that's what Mr. Cobblestone and Mrs. Hodges be sayin’ below stairs.”

“Did you know Marguerite very well?” I enquired curiously.

“Didn’ ‘ave time. She ahn't been ‘ere but a week or two ‘fore she quit the ‘ouse.” Martha stood up and dusted off her hands. “There now. That's burnin’ smartly. Jest you bide there in bed, miss, until the chill come off the room, and I'll fetch the tea.”

When she had gone, I lay back on the pillows and considered all that Lizzy Scratch had recounted the previous day. Marguerite's unknown man may also have been her murderer; certainly Sir William Reynolds believed so, and thought him found in the present Earl. That Fitzroy Payne was hardly likely to have made love to the Countess and her maid at one and the same time (particularly when I knew him possessed of a mistress in Town), was not an aspect to trouble Sir William. Perhaps he knew more than I of the habits of gentlemen.

It was equally possible, however that Marguerite's lover had nothing to do with the events at the Manor, and that fear of the law prevented the man from coming forward. Now that Fitzroy Payne had been charged, perhaps the unknown swain should breathe more easily, and consider acceding to an interview — could one but locate him.

“Martha,” I said, as the maid returned with tea-tray held high, “does Mrs. Hodges or Cobblestone know the identity of Marguerite's young man? I wonder that he did not come forward at the inquest.”

“That Man,” Martha said, implying the coroner Mr. Bott, “made out as if ‘twere the new Earl, Lord Payne as was, ‘ad goings-on with Margie. Ha! He'd as like ‘ave to do with Mrs. Hodges, and her sixty if she's a day. Lord Payne — Lord Scargrave, I mean — is that proud, he looks through us serving folk. He's called me Kate or Daisy as often as my Christian name.”

“Perhaps Marguerite had no young man.”

“Oh, that she did,” Martha declared stoutly. “Always goin’ on about ‘ow flash he were, and ‘ow ‘e'd bring ‘er things that were that costly when she saw ‘im again.” She set the tray by the fire and poured out a cup.

“So it was an affair of some duration,” I mused. “I had supposed her young man only recently encountered — since her coming to Scargrave.”

“Oh, Lord, no! She was ever givin’ ‘erself airs, sayin’ as ‘ow she weren't likely to be in service no more when ‘er ship come in, and ‘ow we'd all ‘ave to call ‘er Miss Marguerite.” Martha thrust her nose in the air and shrugged her shoulders, affecting Marguerite's haughty disdain. “Showed us a gold locket she'd ‘ad off ‘im, that she kept real close-like, and wore under ‘er shift. Thought ‘e'd marry her; she did — or worse.”

I threw back the covers and reached for my dressing gown, my eyes on Martha's tray. “Perhaps it was a fellow from her native island, encouraged through steady correspondence? “

Martha looked doubtful. “I don't think as it was a ferriner, miss, but I can't rightly say.”

“I suppose she might readily have formed an acquaintance during her months in London.”

“Come to think on it, miss, she did say as he'd took ‘er strollin’ of an evenin’ in Covent Garden.”

I took a sip of tea and studied the maid over the rim of my cup. “I wonder her mistress the Countess did not know of it. The entire affair is curious, Martha. As curious as Marguerite's friendship with Lizzy Scratch.”

“Old Lizzy's ‘avin’ the time o’ ‘er life,” Martha averred with scorn. “If she were any friend to the girl, I'm yer widowed aunt, I am. You ask anyone, you'll find that woman was chargin’ Margie dearly for ‘er keep when she took ‘er in. She's a warm woman, is Lizzy.”

I BREAKFASTED WITH FANNY DELAHOUSSAYE, ARRAYED THIS morning in a dove-grey gown and lace collar that gave the barest nod to the conventions of mourning, but appeared to decided effect against her blond curls and blue eyes. My own brown muslin looked as dull as clodded earth by comparison, and made me feel just as heavy. I sought refuge in silence and Mrs. Hodges's excellent chocolate, but peace was not a quality Miss Delahoussaye prized, and so I was soon forced to all the tedium of an early morning tête-à-tête. For Fanny was up early, impatient for her return to London, and possessed of complete equanimity as to its cause.

“For,” said she, turning a gold bracelet idly upon her wrist, “I cannot abide the ennui of a country existence. One's circle is so fixed, so little varied, that one might complete the sentences of one's neighbour with very little thought or effort. When I am married, I shall suffer myself to spend as little time as possible at my husband's country seat.”

“Then perhaps we should wish you the wife of a man who has none,” I replied, with perhaps more of acid in my tongue than I intended.

“How you do tease, Miss Austen!” Fanny cried. “What is a man, without an estate of his own? A poor sort of gentleman, I declare.”

“Perhaps — but he is very often a soldier, you know; for though it is the profession you prefer above all others, it is generally the province of second sons.”

“Oh, piffle,” Miss Fanny said, returned to her good humour. “What is country life in any case, but shooting and billiards and the coarseness of country neighbours? An establishment in Town, such as an officer possessed of a truly good commission might claim, is far to be preferred. I long to be returned to Hyde Park, and the shops of Bond Street, and the theatre, and a hundred delightful schemes, even if London will be rather thin — until Easter at least. “

My patience for such a rattle was at an end. “I think it likely that we shall be so engaged, when in London, by matters of a sober and troubling nature,” I said stiffly, “that we shall have very little time for diversion.”

“One cannot be always going about with a long face,” said Fanny, intent upon adjusting her bodice. “It behooves us to meet adversity with a certain style. I intend to find Madame Henri — she is quite the most fashionable modiste , my dear Miss Austen — as soon as ever I arrive, and order a proper gown for the gallery at the House of Lords. It must be of black, of course, as we are in mourning for the Earl; a pity, for it was never a colour suited to my complexion.” Impervious to my disdain, she pursued her delightful fancies with clasped hands and uplifted eyes.