“Captain Austen,” said Mr. Hill, “it occurs to me that proper feeling might dictate a call upon Mrs. Seagrave. Would you regard such an act as likely to break the Sabbath—or entirely within the compass of these extraordinary circumstances?”
“I shall bear you company, Hill,” said my brother grimly, “and regard it as a charity. Jane? Are you greatly fatigued? I confess I should welcome the presence of a lady at this interview.”
“I was always a slave to the poor and downtrodden,” I observed piously, and placed my hand within his arm.
Chapter 24
Incitement to Vice
1 March 1807,
cont.
~
MRS. SEAGRAVE LOOKED VERY ILL INDEED AS SHE WAS ushered into the Dolphin's upper parlour. Her hair in its cruelly tight knot was lifeless, her eyes overly bright, and her countenance determinedly sallow. If she had taken anything by way of food in the days since I had last seen her, it had added nothing to her frame.
“Forgive me,” she said without preamble. “I am not attired to receive visitors. I hardly looked for any today.”
“Pray do not make yourself anxious,” said Frank. He thrust himself hastily from his chair and bowed. “I trust you are well, Mrs. Seagrave?”
“I am thoroughly wretched; but what of that? It is become my usual condition. Miss Austen—it is a relief to see you again. I had begun to think that the world was solely populated by hypocrites and scoundrels.”
I went to her and curtseyed. “You may remember our friend Mr. Hill from our last meeting in Lombard Street.”
“The naval surgeon.” She offered him the barest nod. “I do recall. And how is your French colleague, Mr. Hill? The one who succeeded in preventing my husband from hanging?”
“Sadly—he is dead, ma'am,” lied Mr. Hill with the gravest of looks. “He died most tragically in a shipboard fire last evening. You may have heard rumour of the event.”
A spot of colour flared up in Louisa's cheek. “I never attend to rumour, sir, I assure you. Will you take some bread and cheese? Or a glass of wine—may I fetch you one?”
“Thank you—but no,” I returned after a glance at the impassive gentlemen. For my own part, I was faint with hunger. I do not break my fast before Sunday service, and the hour was fast approaching noon.
“I can stomach nothing at present,” Louisa murmured, “but I may at least ring for tea. Pray avail yourselves of chairs—” this last, with a vague gesture about the parlour, as though she were viewing its contents for the first time. At her ring, a maidservant appeared in the doorway, then disappeared in pursuit of a tray.
Frank waited for the ladies to adopt their seats before settling into his own. Mr. Hill seemed determined to stand. Louisa sank into her chair with so complete a weariness that I understood nerves alone must be animating her frame. She put her head in her hands, insensible for an instant to everything about her.
I broke the silence. “And how do the children? Charles and Edward are well?”
“Well enough in body,” she said, “but low in their spirits and cowed as mice. It is something to see one's father—whom one has always considered a sort of god, from his habit of command—taken from the house under armed guard, and conveyed like a pauper through the streets. I do not know what to tell them. Every sentiment must sound false in my ears. All my words are lies.”
“Not all,” I urged her. “Surely you have hope for the future—and not all hope is false. Some prayers must be heard, and answered.”
“But I do not know what to pray for,” she said bleakly.
“Good God, woman!” my brother ejaculated. “Would you have your husband called a murderer—when those who love him must believe the accusation false—and hang for it? I can think of several dozen prayers that might adequately serve.”
“We have only just quitted your husband's cell,” I told her.
A light flared in her eyes—but of joy or anger, I could not tell.
“You have seen my husband?”
“And found poor Tom quite sunk,” said Frank. “It was all we could do to elicit a word from those stern lips. He bears his troubles nobly. I intend to search out a reputable barrister on his behalf tomorrow—and shall travel to London if I must, to secure such a man!”
“Did he tell you where he went on Wednesday night?”
Louisa's expression, as she asked the question, was painfully acute. Every ounce of passion in her famished countenance was directed at my brother's