the ship was a chaos of men,” LaForge said faintly. “I turned and glanced up at the quarterdeck, where the Captain already lay dead. It was then that I saw him.”
“Seagrave?” I whispered.
“The British captain was being set upon, by our second lieutenant, Favrol; the two were fighting du corps a corps”
“So the ship had not yet struck.”
The surgeon shook his head.
“Seagrave was alone?”
“For all the good his support did him—he ought to have been. But no, mademoiselle, the Captain had an officer at his back. I did not, at the time, observe the rank—but I recognised him later. He was master of the ship that carried me prisoner into this British port.”
“Lieutenant Chessyre,” I breathed.
“Very well. I observed him, bent over le capitalize Porthiault, while Seagrave and Favrol were at each other's throat; he knelt there a moment—his arm rose—and when he stood, Porthiault's sword was in his hand.”
“What of the colours?”
LaForge shook his head. “At such a time—who can say when the Manon struck? All was confusion. But know this, mademoiselle”—his voice became almost indistinct—“when the officer rose from Porthiault's side, the dirk was in my captain's breast. I would swear on my mother's grave that it was not there before.”
My breath came in with a hiss. LaForge's eyes widened in alarm; he raised a feverish hand to his lips.
“Mademoiselle—do not betray us both. More than one man's life may hang upon your discretion.”
His fingers dropped heavily to his side.
“But why thrust a blade into the breast of a dead man?” I murmured, with a swift glance around the shadowy chamber.
“Must I always translate for you, mademoiselle} The word is not why, but who. Who among all the men of the British Navy would wish your Seagrave to hang? For that was certainly Chessyre's object. He did not strike for vengeance against the French, but from motives none may penetrate. This was no act of war, Miss Austen. Your Seagrave was betrayed from within.”
1Gaol-fever and ship fever were the common names for typhus— an acute infectious disease caused by a rickettsia transmitted to man by the bite of fleas or lice. Typhus is not to be confused, however, with typhoid fever—a malady caused by a bacillus found in unpasteurized milk.—Editor's note.
2An Ordinary seaman was a man with little experience of the navy or of ships. He was paid less than a sailor rated Able, a designation accorded men who had mastered the skills required for the working of ships. The French navy probably employed different terms and standards from the Royal Navy in this regard; but Austen would have used the designations familiar to her.—Editor's note.
3The Naval Chronicle was a journal published twice annually from 1799 to 1818. It detailed Royal Navy actions as well as other topics of interest relating to the sea, with maps and illustrations.—Editor's note.
Chapter 7
Messenger to Portsmouth
24 February 1807,
cont.
~
I RACED HOME THROUGH THE DARKENING STREETS, intent upon finding Frank and relating all that LaForge had told me. I must have looked a trifle mad among the sedate ladies and aging sailors that made their careful way along the High; in the darkness and stench of Wool House I had become like one of Mrs. Radcliffe's desperate heroines, with Etienne LaForge my cryptic prisoner of the keep. I do not think that I would have accorded the Frenchman's words the same horrific weight, had he not presented a failing aspect. There is something chilling about the word betrayal when uttered by a sinking man, particularly against the backdrop of ancient stone walls. LaForge had chosen his moment—and his auditor—well.
My brother was established with Mary before the fire in Mrs. Davies's sitting-room; at the sight of my flushed face and heaving breast, he rose at once in alarm.
“Jane! You are unwell!”
“Nothing I regard. A trifle fagged from haste.”
“But where have you been, my dear?” Mary enquired.
“At Wool House. Tending the French prisoners laid low with gaol fever.”
“Gaol fever!” Frank's countenance darkened. “Have you lost your reason, Jane? To expose yourself to such a scourge, when Mary's health—and the health of our child—is certainly at stake? I forbid you to go so close to my wife as twenty yards, madam, until we may be certain that you have not contracted the disease! No, nor so close as fifty yards to our mother, given her delicate state of health! I am in half a mind to procure you a room at the Dolphin until we may be sure that you are clear!”