Jane and the Canterbury Tale

“I did, sir—and give it to Joseph to present to the lady.”

“Do you know what the purse contained?”

Twitch smiled. “I saw it opened myself. At the time I had no word for what was in it, but I know now they was tamarind seeds.”

A second murmur rose from the crowd; they were so far diverted from the matter of murder at this point, being adrift on an exotic sea, that I doubted they should ever find their way back.

“You have heard, I think, that a tamarind seed was found in Deceased’s coat, wrapped inside a note that established a meeting on the Pilgrim’s Way.”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

Edward glanced at the coroner’s panel. “I put it to the men of the jury that this seed we speak of, which must be considered a rare and unusual item in England, is unlikely to have come from a different source than the seeds in the silken pouch.”

Edward allowed the panel an instant to absorb the implications of his thought, but I wondered very much what he was about. Did he intend to condemn Adelaide, whose hands had opened the stranger’s gift? Would he next imply that her hand had written the note, and tucked the seed inside it? I could not risk a glance in the lady’s direction; I feared to see her sensibility, or her husband’s indignation.

The sailor beside me was agog with interest, leaning forward intently with his elbows resting on his patched knees. He must have taken shore leave from one of the Kentish ports—Deal, perhaps, or Dover—and wandered into Canterbury with an eye for publick spectacle. As a source of entertainment, an inquest could hardly equal a Tyburn hanging; but beggars could not be choosers, after all.

Edward was speaking again; I must attend.

“Were you at all acquainted with Deceased in previous years?” he asked Twitch.

“Mr. Fiske? Aye—I’ve known him, to look at, these seven years or more.”

“Would you kindly step into the closet with Dr. Bredloe, and inform us whether Deceased is the person who delivered the silk purse to Chilham Castle? We might then explain the seed discovered in his pocket.”

Ah. Edward hoped to keep Adelaide entirely out of it.

Twitch opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it with resignation. He was led into the compartment where Curzon Fiske lay.

The seaman rose and began to make his way towards the centre aisle; we had not succeeded in securing his interest for so much as a quarter-hour.

“That’s Mr. Fiske, well enough,” Twitch declared as he emerged from the closet, “tho’ I’d not have known him straight off, with that beard.”

“And was it he,” Edward asked, with palpable satisfaction, “who rang the bell at Chilham Castle Wednesday night, and asked that the purse of tamarind seeds be presented to the lady?”

“No, Your Honour, it was not.” Twitch shook his head emphatically. “But I can tell you who did.”

He lifted his arm and pointed directly at my seaman, who had almost achieved the publick room’s door.

Chapter Seventeen A Man Impossible to Move

“That quickness of mind is given, at birth, to every

Woman: lying and weeping are birthright gifts

From God, natural weapons to help us live.”

Geoffrey Chaucer, “The Wife Of Bath’s Prologue”

23 October 1813, Cont.

Such a little thing, that pointed finger; but it caused the sort of chaos to which even a Royal rout should never be equal.

“Stop that man!” Dr. Bredloe cried, at which the seaman heaved open the publick room door, and dashed towards the Little Inn’s front entry.

I rose, but the entire throng was before me; I had an idea of MacCallister and Thane surging through the Canterbury bystanders, determined to seize the fellow, and being stopped by a knot of men in the doorway; heard a great halloing from the main body of the inn, and the crash of an overturned bench besides. I glanced about me, and saw that Adelaide MacCallister had not stirred from her place; her head drooped a little beneath her bonnet and veil, the countenance obscured. I hesitated, and then crossed the aisle to where she sat.

“Are you unwell, Mrs. MacCallister?”

She turned her head, then raised her veil. “Miss Austen! What a comfort it is to see another lady in this miserable place!”

Impulsively, as it seemed, she extended her gloved hand, and I took it between both of my own. “I hope that we need not remain very much longer.”

“They have not called me,” she said in some agitation. “They have not called Andrew, or Julian.… The agony of waiting! How long are we required to endure it? I confess that I live in dread of the moment, however. It was almost too much to witness poor James—”

“And yet he acquitted himself admirably, did he not?”

She drew a trembling breath in an effort to calm herself; she was far more discomposed than I had ever seen her. “I cannot say whether he spoke well or ill. He certainly did not speak frankly. I cannot blame him for that; we are all terrified of what we do not know—of what may be hidden in those around us, the impulse to violence. You cannot know what it is like at Chilham Castle—each of us aware of James’s pistol, and the use to which it was put, and wondering who among us employed it.… Every word is charged with unintended meaning, and the very air of the place is turned poisonous. Oh, God, that I had never come there, to trouble such good friends!”

I sank down on the bench beside her; she was shivering, and I placed an arm about her shoulders. “Come. You require refreshment. Shall I get you some coffee? A glass of wine, perhaps?”

She shook her head, and leaned a little towards me; I perceived that she was weeping. And then a shadow fell across us.

“Mrs. MacCallister,” Edward said gently. “I am sure you feel faint. It has been a very trying day, indeed; will you not take an airing? I should be happy to escort you outside through the side door; no one shall trouble you in that direction. We might attend your husband’s return.”

She glanced up, her eyes as dark as rain-washed violets; then she nodded and pulled the veil once more over her features.

When Edward returned a few moments later, he was alone.

“I set her to walking in the Cathedral Close until such time as MacCallister is able to escort her home. There is nothing for her to do here. It is a damnable business, Jane!”

My brother, the gallant. Not even Edward is immune to the pleasure that a pair of fine eyes, in the face of a pretty woman, may bestow.

The coroner’s panel had proved admirably restrained during the interval, and had failed to break ranks when the rest of the room had pelted out the door in pursuit of the seaman; but the patient fellows were beginning to shift uncomfortably on their benches, as if uncertain what next should be required of them.

“I warrant you did not expect this result, when you put your questions to Twitch,” I observed drily.

Edward studied the Wildmans’ butler, who still stood placidly in the area reserved for witnesses, until he should be told he must do otherwise.