today. Captain Seagrave is very low, as should not be extraordinary.”
“And his wife has put up at the Dolphin, I understand. Edward fell in with her in the High Street at the very moment she was descending from her carriage. He says the little boys are fine fellows!” This last was said with a wistful air; for all her pregnancies, Mary had produced nothing but girls.
“Very fine,” I returned with some amusement, “and despite their present trials, undiminished in both spirits and appetite.”
“You've paid a call, then?” Mrs. Foote enquired sharply.
“I left my card at the Dolphin this morning,” I said, “but did not like to disturb Mrs. Seagrave. She must be involved in all the chaos of unpacking, for herself and three children; there are the servants to think of, and the ordering of dinner. But I shall certainly call tomorrow. She will require the support of many at such an hour.”
Mary Foote sighed. “Then I must go as well, I suppose—though I am sure Louisa Seagrave has never warranted much attention from the naval set! We must consider it a kindness on behalf of Tom. For my part, I never believed him a murderer. I made the poor fellow quite a cause among my acquaintance! I shall look a fool, now—for of course the magistrate should never be wrong.”
“I am afraid that magistrates are quite often wrong, Mary. Do not abandon your hero yet.”
“Very well. But I depend upon you, Jane, for all the latest intelligence. If I am to look a fool, it were as well I should be prepared.” She rose, and held out her hand. “The lion has gone, and taken his prize with him; so let us venture your acquaintance once more. I would not see those plumes wasted cm my back passage, Jane. Martha would never forgive me.”
Chapter 16
Nell Rivers
Saturday,
28 February 1807,
~
OUR HACK CHAISE WAS THE FIRST TO ARRIVE AT THE Footes' door, once the carriages were summoned—a testament to its driver's impatience, one must assume, or the penetrating cold. Frank handed in his wife, then Martha, and then myself. When we were all settled, and Mary had begun an animated discussion of baby Elizabeth's manifold charms, to which Martha kindly attended, I asked Frank softly, “What do you know of Phoebe Carruthers?”
He started; perhaps he had hoped to doze on the journey home. “No more than anyone may know. She was orphaned early, and worked as a governess, I believe—in a very wealthy household somewhere to the north. There was threat of a scandal—an attachment on the part of the eldest son—that led to her dismissal. She married Hugh Carruthers not long thereafter. He was her cousin, you see.”
“She is very beautiful.”
Frank glanced at his wife sidelong, but Mary remained insensible. “If you like that proud, untouchable look—yes, I suppose that she is.”
“Louisa Seagrave observed that all of Southampton was at Mrs. Carruthers's feet. 'Even Thomas/ she said, and then broke off.”
“Did she?” enquired Frank with quickness. “They have been acquainted some years. Hugh Carruthers was a great friend of Seagrave's, I believe, and when he was killed by a ball aboard the Témérairt, nearly two years since, Tom undertook to give young Simon a step.”
“Perhaps his esteem for Captain Carruthers now extends to his widow. Certainly Louisa Seagrave believes as much.”
“You imagine her to harbour envy of Phoebe Carruthers? But she seemed to grieve so deeply for the boy!”
“Louisa Seagrave grieves for herself,” I returned tardy, “and for the loss of an amiable marriage. She spoke of Mrs. Carruthers with pity, for the death of her son; that death must justify Mrs. Seagrave's refusal to send her boys to sea. She was unstinting, however, in her abuse of her husband for having showered young Carruthers with affection—at the expense of his own children.”
Frank whistled sharply between his teeth. “She regards the woman in the nature of a rival.”
“Mrs. Foote declares that it is so.”
“What Mary Foote professes to know, all the world must see is truth,” muttered my brother. “You suspect Mrs. Carruthers as the lady Tom Seagrave would shield? The lady in the case, as you put it?”
“He did say, with some bitterness, that he might better have remained at home for all the good he achieved Wednesday evening. What if he rode out to Southampton—not with the intent of murdering Chessyre, but of calling upon Phoebe Carruthers?”
“—Whom we know to have been occupied with Sir Francis Farnham in French Street,” Frank cried.