the gaze of a murderer; and even the sight of the low-roofed Norman building, with its narrow slits of windows, could not dampen our spirits.
I am no stranger to your modest house of incarceration, having visited no less a prison than Newgate in my time; I have entered the gaols of Lyme and Bath, and glimpsed the exterior of Canterbury's. Though I should never traipse through the dungeons of the Kingdom for a fee, as many a fashionable lady presently does, and call it a lark and a dissipation—I can find no shame in cheering an intimate of the gaol when the occasion arises.
Frank approached the heavy wooden door and peered through a small window barred in iron. “Halloo there, Constable,” he cried. “You have visitors for Captain Seagrave.”
“Captain Seagrave be presently entertaining a visitor, sir,” called a voice laconically from within. “Ye shall have to cool your heels a bit until the lady is done.”
“It must be Louisa,” muttered Frank. “I thought her unlikely to condescend to such a duty. Perhaps her humours are under amendment.”
He stepped back from the doorway and clasped his gloved hands together.
“Were it not Sunday, I should suggest a cup of chocolate at a pastry shop in the High,” said Mr. Hill. “The sun, though bright, quite fails to quell the bite of the cold. Are you well, Miss Austen?”
I had parted my lips to reply, when a rustle at the iron-barred door brought all our heads around. The oak was thrust back and a figure appeared—a woman clothed in black, with a veil about her face. She stepped out into the alley and nodded in acknowledgement of ourselves, but made no attempt to converse.
Phoebe Carruthers.
In another instant she had turned into the High, her carriage superb and her hands encased in a black fur muff. We watched her go in silence.
1The First Lord of the Admiralty to whom Jane refers was Thomas Grenville. Lord Moira was a client of Henry Austen's bank—and his failure to repay substantial loans later contributed to Henry Austen's bankruptcy.—Editor's note.
2Mrs. George Austen refers to her sister-in-law, Philadelphia Austen Hancock, who went out to India in 1752 for the express purpose of finding a husband among the employees of the Honourable East India Company. Philadelphia was the mother of Jane's sister-in-law, Eliza de Feuillide.—Editor's note.
Chapter 23
The Lady in the Case
1 March 1807,
cont.
~
“AUSTEN!”
Tom Seagrave stood with his back to the wall of his prison. His right leg was tethered to an iron ring set into the stone floor. He might travel five feet in every direction; such was the extent of his liberty—a man who had spent his life in roaming the seas. The floor was covered with straw, and smelt strongly of mould. The temperature within the cell was barely higher than in the streets, but the small space offered one advantage, in being sheltered from the wind.
“How d'ye do, Tom?” Frank bowed. “You will recollect my sister, Miss Austen—and perhaps Mr. Hill, Admiral Bertie's surgeon. He was present—”
“—at my court-martial. I remember him well.” Seagrave bowed. “You are come in some state to see me, Austen—and I cannot think that I deserve such attention. I have abused you to your face and behind your back, and still you dance a faithful attendance. I owe you a very great apology, I believe.”
“Not at all,” my brother returned, with all the appearance of awkwardness. “I should be a scrub of the first order, did I expect one.”
Seagrave shifted in his chains, the clink of metal resounding in the small space, and his eyes drifted towards me. “I understand from my wife that I owe you all a considerable debt as well—that it was you, Miss Austen, who discovered the whereabouts of my sons, and your brother who retrieved them from the Star of Bengal. We have put our few friends to decided trouble! I should have urged Louisa to send the children into Kent with her uncle when this dreadful business first broke upon us. They should have been safe and well cared-for.”
“They are charming rogues, Tom,” Frank broke in with warmth, “and you must get them to sea as soon as may be, for they will not consent to stay moored on dry land forever. They are pining for a berth in the orlop, and should do handsomely for all their pluck!”
Seagrave nodded, but without much enthusiasm or attention; his mind, I judged, was decidedly elsewhere. His straight naval figure had lost a good deal of its confidence in