recourse, as I'm sure you're aware, being of the naval set yourselves. If Father hangs, we shall be tossed overboard in a manner of speaking. I mean to say—no connexions worth having, and no influence with the Admiralty. We shall have to make our way if we mean to advance.”
Martha gazed at Charles doubtfully. “I am sure your father—even supposing the worst should happen, which I do not admit for an instant—would wish you to serve as support for your mother. She should be in ever greater need of you, if she were … alone … in the world.”
“Muzzer that go into Kent,” Edward declared through a mouthful of pastry. “We thould be more of a burden if we thayed.” He swallowed mightily. “Besides, I cannot support Aunt Templeton. She means to engage a tutor for us! As if we did not know all we needed to learn, already! She is an apeleader! Poor Uncle Walter—how he must suffer it!”
“He is shot of her for now,” returned Charles, “and must be having a jolly time of it. But I for one shall certainly run away to sea if we are bound for Luxford!”
I met Martha's eyes over the heads of the two boys. She raised one eyebrow. At that moment, the bells of St. Michael's Church, adjacent to our seats in the shop's bow front window, tolled half-past eleven o'clock. The inquest into Mr. Chessyre's death must be concluded, or nearly so.
I was suddenly sharply impatient to know what the judgement might be, and determined to place the boys in Martha's charge—they were getting along famously, for Martha has always been a slave to children's amusement—and set off in search of Fly. I gathered up my paper parcels—one held a pair of gloves in dark blue satin, quite unlike my usual wear, but perfectly in keeping with the iridescent hue of the three feathers I had chosen under Martha's instruction—and motioned for the reckoning. Pray God I had sufficient coin to satisfy the ravages of two healthy young predators.
“Jane,” observed Martha in peering through the window panes clouded with February cold, “is not that Mr. Hill I see before us? He looks worn to a fag end. I should judge that travel by sea does not agree with him—a curious recommendation for a naval surgeon, I am sure!”
The thin frame, the narrow, black-clad shoulders, the periwig—indeed, it could be none other than Mr. Hill. I set down the gloves and hurried out of the shop to intercept him.
“Miss Austen!” The surgeon started at my address, as though lost in a brown study. “How well you look this morning! I should say that your cold is quite gone off!”
Martha appeared in the doorway, her parcels precariously balanced in her arms and the Seagrave boys hiding behind her skirts.
“Miss Lloyd, too! And you have been making a few purchases at the milliner's, I see—a pursuit that is always calculated to bring animation to a lady's countenance.”
“We have been entertaining Captain Seagrave's sons,” I informed Mr. Hill. “Master Charles, his heir, and Master Edward.”
Both boys scraped their bows. Mr. Hill inclined his head benevolently.
“Your brother is well, I hope, Miss Austen? No ill effects from yesterday's voyage?”
“I do not think that Frank could ever suffer at sea. You might better enquire how he fares on dry land!” I scanned the surgeon's face. He looked very ill indeed. “But what of yourself, Mr. Hill? Are you quite recovered from your exertions?”
He hesitated. “I could wish our friend Monsieur LaForge to be in better frame. I sat up with him all night. The effort of achieving Portsmouth yesterday— his testimony on Seagrave's behalf—or perhaps simply the exposure to poor weather in his weakened state—”
Chessyre is dead. I shall not long survive him.
“You find me just returning from a consultation with Dr. Mount,” the surgeon continued, “a physician of considerable reputation, and a great traveller in his day. He has seen many cases of gaol-fever—or ship fever, as it is also known. Even he cannot account for LaForge's symptoms. I confess that I am greatly disappointed; I had hoped for some inspiration. Instead, I have fetched only laudanum. It shall ease his suffering, at the very least.”
Then you think … you believe it possible …”
That the man will die?” Mr. Hill gazed at me baldly. “I should never undertake to say, Miss Austen. It is a point that only his Maker may answer. I will tell you that his fever has increased; that from cramping in