Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor

Presently a kindly-faced woman of advanced years descended, and made herself known to me as a Mrs. Hammond — a name which must make me start, as having been attached to the woman identified by Harold Trowbridge as Fitzroy Payne's mistress. Observing that she might rather have been his mother, I decided it to be the merest coincidence; and forebore from impertinent questions. She bade me follow her up several flights of stairs, to an apartment of a few rooms and some comfort, though little style.

“And how, Miss Austen, may I be of service?” Mrs. Hammond said, in the manner of a genteel servant, having seated me on a worn settee by the fire and taken her place opposite. “Your card and your name are unknown to me.”

“But the name of Rosie Ketch is not?” I enquired.

“I have known a Rosie Ketch,” she replied, her kindly eyes nonetheless steely.

“I am come at the behest of Rosie Ketch's sister, Mrs. Barlow, whom I met while a visitor at Scargrave Manor. Mrs. Barlow is in some distress from the fact that she cannot hear from Rosie, and would have news of her by any means; and thus she prevailed upon me to call on her behalf, knowing that I was to be in Town.”

“Dear Jenny!” Mrs. Hammond exclaimed, her features softening. “As kind a girl as ever lived. How those two were born of that father, I'll never understand; but Susan Ketch was a lovely woman, and her children take after her, though she died so young in their rearing.”

“The girl is within, then?” I said.

“Aye, and she is. Jenny will have told you of her trouble?”

I replied in the affirmative.

“I'll have her out for you in a moment, then, and you can be the judge of her yourself,” said Mrs. Hammond; and rising with an energy commendable in one of her advanced years, she disappeared in pursuit of her young charge.

She had no sooner returned, with a slight girl of angelic appearance behind, than there was a knock upon the outer door; and with a curtsey, Mrs. Hammond left me with Rosie Ketch.

That she was far along in her condition was immediately evident; although how frail a girl, and of such apparent youth, could be expected to bear a child, was indeed to be wondered at. She had Jenny Barlow's fair hair and blue eyes, but where her sister's face showed that awareness of the world's harsher cares that maturity brings, Rosie's countenance was altogether innocent. I might readily believe her to have come by her condition, without any understanding of how she had been got that way; and pitied her deeply for the vagary of her fate. That any man could so impose upon such a child, was incredible; but that it should have been the late Earl — as I doubted not from Jenny Barlow's dark looks at his name and George Hearst's accusatory words in his study — must detract from his reputation for goodness.

“You are Rosie Ketch,” I said gently.

The girl nodded shyly, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, and her hands clasped before her.

“I am Miss Austen, Rosie,” I told her. “I am come to bring you the love of your sister, who placed it in my charge when last I was at Scargrave. She is all benevolence on your behalf, and her concern has grown with the distance between you, and what I understand to be her husband's injunction of silence. May I assure her of your good health and steady spirits?”

“Tell Jenny as I am well,” she said carefully, in a clear, high voice, “though I fear for myself when my time comes, and would have her by me, if Ted can spare her.”

“I shall tell her so,” I said. “Are there yet many months to wait?”

“I can't say as I know rightly,” she said.

“And you have been here how long?”

At that, her eyes glanced to the door, which was even then opening to reveal Mrs. Hammond, ushering her latest visitor within. Imagine my shock upon discovering it to be a gentleman of my acquaintance — none other than Mr. George Hearst!

My surprise must have shown upon my face, or perhaps his own sensibility taught him to expect it; for he looked as confused as I. His intelligence quickly overcame his discomfiture, however, and he impeded my questions with a determined swiftness.

“My dear Miss Austen,” he cried, “what can have brought you here?”

“Mr. Hearst!” I exclaimed. “I might ask you as much!”

He coloured at that, but said nothing; and recovering himself swiftly, bent over my hand in greeting.

“You are acquainted with Mr. Hearst?” Mrs. Hammond said, looking from himself to me with a shrewd eye, as well she might; for I discerned that she had given him no knowledge of my presence, though knowing me only lately arrived from Scargrave, and more than likely to have encountered him there.

“Indeed,” Mr. Hearst said; “it has been my privilege.”

“Rosie,” Mrs. Hammond said briskly, “you must attend to the washing now; get along, girl. I'll be with you directly.”

At her charge's exit, she turned once more to me, and said, not without kindness, “You'll be wanting tea, miss, I expect. I'll fetch it and leave you to yourselves.”

As George Hearst clearly awaited my adoption of a seat, I chose the settee once more, and he assumed Mrs. Hammond's position opposite. He regarded me for the space of several seconds, and I, him. I may say that his countenance lacked his customary expression of melancholy; he appeared rather to be freed of some great weight, and at peace with what troubles he may have had.

“I know the confusion my presence in this house must cause you,” he began. “I will not pretend to mislead you, Miss Austen. Having found me out, you can expect nothing less than a full recital.”

“My own appearance must have similarly astonished you,” I rejoined. “/ am come at the behest of Jenny Barlow, but that she sent you on a similar errand, I must believe unlikely.”

“You would be correct,” the curate said, nodding. “I am here because of the letter I received of Mrs. Hammond Christmas Eve.”

“The day of the maid's murder — the day you made in haste for London.”

“I was called hither by Mrs. Hammond, who had only lately heard of the Earl's death,” he explained. “She felt certain that Rosie's circumstances should change as a result, and desired me to attend her with any news it might be in my power to convey.”

“But why should the lady enquire this of you? Had she not better have asked it of the present Earl?”

“As her grandmother, she is necessarily anxious on Rosie's behalf, and I am the man whose interest must decide the girl's fate.”

“Mrs. Hammond, Rosie's grandmother? She did not mention it.”

“Rosie's mother was a Hammond, and much beloved by her mother, though left behind at Scargrave when Fitzroy established Mrs. Hammond here.”

“Then the Earl is Mrs. Hammond's patron?” I remembered Harold Trowbridge's look of exultation, as he stood by the library fire talking of Fitzroy Payne's mistress. The grandmotherly woman even now preparing my tea was not at all what I should have expected. “It seems incredible!”

“That such a man should remember the affection of a nursemaid? I suppose it must seem so to you, who can have known him so little; but I assure you, Fitzroy is not without his goodness.”

“Nursemaid?” I cried, too late to stifle my astonishment; and at George Hearst's penetrating look, felt the colour enter my unfortunate cheeks.

“You thought her perhaps as having provided a nearer service?” he asked, in a rare moment of amusement; but at my confused dismay, he became sober once more. “No, Miss Austen, Mrs. Hammond is guilty of nothing more than having suckled the eighth Earl at her breast, and that, when he was hardly of an age to place an unpleasant construction upon it.”