No stouter than one of my own boys should be.” She turned upon me as a wolf might avenge the baiting of her young. “Simon Carruthers should not have been at sea. I blame my husband! As who could not! He is guilty of the grossest folly—guilty of abuse and murder! It was Thomas who would have the boy torn from his mother at the tender age of five—Thomas, who being denied his own sons to parade about the quarterdeck, must borrow the heir of a hero, and throw the child into all the violence of a fighting ship in the midst of a brutal war. Madness, this crush of young lives in the gun's breech, like the maul of apple blossom beneath a booted heel! Can you bear to think of his mother, Miss Austen?”
His mother. The beautiful Phoebe Carruthers, in her gown of dark grey, her mass of golden hair. I had thought her a sort of Madonna when I glimpsed her in French Street last night, before I even knew of her mourning. Strange that a woman with every cause for grief should venture to a play.
“Are you at all acquainted with Mrs. Carruthers?”
“One cannot reside in Hampshire, and yet be ignorant of Phoebe Carruthers,' Louisa Seagrave replied. “She is reckoned the most beautiful woman of the naval set; certainly she has suffered the most. The entire Admiralty is at her feet, I understand, from respect for her courage. Even Thomas—”
She broke off, and stared at her hands. “You think me bitter, no doubt. You think me vengeful and cruel to urge my husband's sacrifice. There are some, I know, who do not hesitate to call me mad. But I cannot view the Navy's folly, Miss Austen, without I declare it criminal. I would not give my sons to Thomas when he longed to take them to sea. I refused him—and my refusal has long divided us. It is the rock upon which our marriage has broken. But I am justified in that poor child's death! And if God is yet in His Heaven, Tom will hang for what he did.”
There was a bustle in the hallway and the parlour door swung inwards to reveal my brother. Behind him I detected the forms of Mr. Hill and Monsieur LaForge. All three were subdued; and from the turn of Frank's countenance, my heart sank. I feared the worst.
“Mrs. Seagrave,” he said with a bow, “pray forgive an intrusion so unannounced. We thought it best to inform you—”
“Oh, God, pray tell me at once!” the lady implored.
Frank hesitated, and his eyes sought my face. “Captain Seagrave's court-martial has been suspended by order of Admiral Hastings.”
“He is free, then?” Mrs. Seagrave asked faintly.
“For the moment. But he remains under charge. Suspension, I am afraid, is not the same as acquittal.” Frank glanced over his shoulder at the pair on the threshold. “I must apologise for carrying strangers in my train, and thrusting them upon you at such an hour. Mrs. Seagrave, may I present Mr. Hill and Monsieur LaForge, two gentlemen who have been most active on your husband's behalf.”
Louisa shielded her eyes as the gentlemen made their way into the room, then sank once more upon the sopha. From her attitude, she might be overpowered with relief and thankfulness; I alone of the party must suspect the truth.
“The Lieutenant, Mr. Chessyre, failed to appear?” I enquired of Frank in a lowered tone.
“Mr. Chessyre is dead,” my brother returned without preamble. “He was murdered last night in a brothel beyond Southampton's walls, his body discovered only this morning.”
I pressed one hand to my lips in horror.
Louisa Seagrave began to laugh.
1Jane refers here to a heraldic shield that has been split down the middle to accommodate the arms of the lady's family, to the right, and the gentleman's, to the left. The gentleman is presumably a baronet, for the symbol of the bloody gauntlet is traditionally accorded to that rank.—Editor's note.
Chapter 11
The Sourse of the Crouble
26 February 1807,
cont.
~
“THAT IS A VERY ILL YOUNG WOMAN,” MR. HILL DECLARED as we stood in Lombard Street almost an hour later. We had subdued Louisa Seagrave's hysterics, and partaken of the dry sherry and iced cakes the maidservant had thrust upon us, however little appetite we felt for them.
“If she were my wife,” the surgeon continued, “I should engage a private nurse and demand absolute quiet. Her children should be taken from her care, and a strict control placed upon her diet. A tour in