Jane and the Prisoner of Wool House Page 0,36

I am gone, you shall consider—too late, alas!—how advisable were your words.”

“The joint,” Mrs. Davies announced, entering the room with admirable timeliness—and, “Here, my dear Mrs. Austen—pray sit by me!” cried Martha, with an anxious look for myself. “I am sure that I may coax you to take a little of mutton!”

And so we sat over a joint rather underdone, and debated with all the appearance of interest the minutest activity of Martha's Berkshire connexions. I heard more than enough of hunting, and the business of a country parish, to suffice for several dinners; laughed at Martha's pointed jokes, where Mary entirely failed to comprehend them; and listened for the sound of an express messenger's horse on the cobbles of East Street. The halloo and rap at the door came before we had done with the nuts.

Frank's voice was heard in the corridor—a clink of spurs and a horse's neigh; and in another instant, my brother was seated at table, intent upon the cooling joint.

“You're looking very well, Mamma. Descending for dinner agrees with you. May I serve you more of mutton?”

My mother closed her eyes and raised one hand in mute protest “It was very ill-turned,” she remarked. “I wonder how Mrs. Davies came to choose such a leg. She buys food on the cheap, I've no doubt, and saves the cost of our board.”

“But it was Jane—” stammered Mary, her cheeks flushing.

“Captain Austen, sir.”.

We turned as one to look at the parlour doorway, where Jenny, our housemaid, stood twisting her large hands in her apron. The girl made such a picture of guilt and regret that I was certain she had killed Mrs. Davies over some dispute in the scullery, and now meant to make a clean breast of it.

Frank set down his knife. His countenance had begun to show the harassed expression of a man desperate for victuals. “What is it, Jenny?”

She held out a card that had once been white, but was now grubby with over-fingering. “The officer did seem most urgent that I should give you this. But I was that taken up with the washing, and Mrs. Davies did want me to dress the mutton, on account of Miss Lloyd coming from such a distance, and the day being so dreadful. 'I'll just put this card in me pocket,' I says to myself, 'and give it to the Cap'n when I sees him—' “

Frank took the card and studied it with a scowl. Then his countenance changed.

“When did the Lieutenant call?”

Jenny looked all her misery. “Quarter past one o'clock, it must've been, while you and the Missus was out walking. I ca' remember the time, because the butcher had just called round with the mutton as Miss Austen bought special. I hope as I did no wrong—”

“That remains to be seen,” Frank said in clipped accents. He stuffed the card into his coat and rose from the table. “Forgive me, Mary—Mamma—ladies. I am called away and may not tarry.”

“But, dearest—” Mary protested. “You have had nothing since breakfast!”

Had Chessyre summoned him to his rooms at the Dolphin? Or did Frank hope to seek him there, and learn the purpose of the Lieutenant's call? My eyes sought my brother's face, but his countenance told me nothing. He was intent upon retrieving his cockade from the table by the door.

“A little cold meat upon my return shall do very well,” he said over his shoulder. “I beg you will not wait, but retire as usual. Forgive me.”

“But whatever is the matter?” Mary cried. “It is too unkind, to call you from your dinner! And a mere lieutenant, too. I wonder you regard it!”

The sound of the outer door closing must stand as reply.

Chapter 8

Mr. Chessyre Vanishes

Wednessday,

25 February 1807,

~

MY BROTHER DID NOT RETURN UNTIL THE EARLY HOURS of the morning. I knew of the length of his absence, from Mary's small movements about the boarding house—her stealthy descent of the main stairs by the light of a taper, not long after midnight; the occasional squeak of a poorly-oiled door hinge, as she peered un-availingly from the parlour out into the hall; and then her faint rap on my own door, rousing me instantly from the bedclothes. Her face was pale, her expression miserable, in the flickering light of her poor flame.

“May I come insane?”

“Of course.”

She slipped through the doorway, and the taper went out

I groped for my candle in the darkness, then coaxed a flame from the embers of the fire. I set the light on the

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