Jane and the Canterbury Tale

Tho’ I had as yet said nothing to my brother Edward, I detected a fatal flaw in the net he had spun for his killers of preference, Sir Davie Myrrh and Mr. Burbage—namely, that they could not be presumed to both flee the Kingdom by way of the nearest port, and linger in the neighbourhood to murder the unfortunate maid Martha. To entertain such conflicting purposes, as Edward plainly did, was to force the crimes to fit his interesting solution. I admired the entire fabric of Sir Davie’s history—the motives for revenge it argued—the indignation of the unfortunate Mr. Burbage, at his father’s ruin and demise—the very natural impulses that must bring both men into collusion with the late Curzon Fiske, and indeed, to Canterbury, where the final scene of Fiske’s long pilgrimage was played. To destroy Old Wildman by employing his son’s pistol, in the hope of placing James on the scaffold, should have been a stroke of genius only Lucifer might fully enjoy. Edward’s theory was neat; it was ingenious; it was seductive in the extreme. But my doubts lingered. They swirled about the dead figure of Martha. I found my brother’s confidence in Sir Davie’s guilt, arising as it had in total ignorance of this second murder, to be lacking. Perhaps Edward should reconsider, once he looked upon Martha’s cold form.

“You are very silent, Aunt,” Fanny observed as she took the left turning in the northern road towards Chilham and its castle.

“I am considering of motive,” I replied, “which must be a consuming subject for any woman. Our hearts so often work in subtle ways, towards complex ends, that the placidity of our outward appearance will invariably mislead the observer.”

Fanny glanced at me sidelong. “Is this meant for me, Aunt?”

“I think rather of that unfortunate creature in Canterbury gaol—whose heart remains obscure, perhaps even to those who love her best. I should wish you to study all the ladies of Chilham, Fanny, while we pay our call. I should dearly value your opinion.”

“And what will you be about, Aunt?”

“I shall study the men,” I replied, and subsided into silence for the remainder of the journey.

We were met in the great hall by the butler twitch. His countenance was grave, and he wore a black riband tied about his arm—in respect of the maid Martha, no doubt. I murmured a few words of condolence as I drew off my bonnet, and he inclined his head.

“I believe you discovered her, ma’am?”

“Miss Knight saw her first—but I was of the walking party, as was Mr. Finch-Hatton.”

“—And you met Mr. Thane, as was riding in the direction of Godmersham.” Twitch’s gaze fixed on my own; he was no fool, and would not wish to appear to gossip, but neither was he insensible to the murderous construction that might be placed upon the presence of that young gentleman so near a corpse. “Mr. Thane is not at home, being obliged to attend the crowner’s panel, but my mistress shall be happy to receive you, I am sure. If you will follow me, ma’am—”

“What do you mean, sirrah, by making free with my son’s private concerns?” a harsh voice demanded. “You ought to be horsewhipped. And if you were in my employ, that is exactly how you should be served. I should place the whip in my son’s hands, and have the satisfaction of seeing him exact revenge himself. Insolent scum!”

It was Mrs. Thane, of course, poised on the stairs descending to the Great Hall. Her eyes blazed in her haggard face, and her hands gripped the baluster so fiercely that the frail bones showed through the mottled skin. She appeared to have aged several years in the days since her daughter’s arrest; and she made no pretence of noticing Fanny or me, as we stood beside the butler. In the fog of her present torment, we must be invisible.

Or perhaps we were merely beneath her notice.

The butler did not reply—indeed, he did not even spare Mrs. Thane a look—but led us in stately fashion towards the gallery. “Mrs. Wildman will receive you in the drawing-room,” he intoned.

“Thank you, Twitch,” I managed unsteadily, aware of the crazed figure to my back. Even Fanny hurried a little in her pace, so as not to be left hindmost. We both of us dreaded to be the next object of attack; Mrs. Thane’s vituperation could chill the blood.

“Poor creature,” Fanny murmured low; “she has undoubtedly suffered in recent days! To see her daughter publickly shamed—to fear the worst of the scaffold—one cannot be amazed at her agony. It is a wonder she is capable of quitting her bed!”

“She doesn’t care that for Miss Addie.” Twitch angrily snapped his fingers, to our considerable surprize. “There’s only room enough in that shrivelled heart for Mr. Julian—he’s sun and moon both to Mrs. Thane, aye, and Prince of Wold Hall into the bargain! Much joy may that young devil bring her!”

Fanny raised her brows in wonder, but there was no time for conjecture or comment; we had achieved the drawing-room, and from the comfort of her sopha Mrs. Wildman was lifting a languid hand in greeting.

“Such palpitations as you must have suffered! I wonder you did not swoon! Was there a great deal of gore spread all about?”

“Mother!” Charlotte cried reprovingly.

Any plan I might have harboured, of surveying the gentlemen of Chilham on their home ground, was defeated at the start. The men of the house—Old Mr. Wildman, his son James, Captain MacCallister, and Julian Thane—were gone to the inquest in the village two miles distant. As Dr. Bredloe had convened his panel at noon, however, and the hour was now half-past one, we might reasonably expect to see the men soon returned; it was for this reason, no doubt, that Mrs. Thane had remained fixed on the staircase in the Great Hall, in hopes of greeting her son. It was for Fanny and me to entertain the ladies of Chilham during the tedious interval; we might have been delivered to their avid questioning expressly for that purpose; and the mistress of the Castle, at least, was determined to milk every drop of excitement from our threadbare phrases.

“Poor Miss Knight! How you must have felt it!” Mrs. Wildman exclaimed with ready sympathy.

“But she had Jupiter to support her,” Louisa observed with a sidelong glance, “and I am sure there can be nothing so romantickal as for a lady to find herself in such an interesting situation, with such a gentleman!”

“I declare I should swoon regardless, merely for the pleasure of having Mr. Finch-Hatton catch me!” Charlotte added with a tinkle of laughter, as tho’ the small matter of a seventeen-year-old girl with a severed throat was not worth consideration. “Is Jupiter yet at Godmersham, Fanny?”

“He departed for Eastwell this morning,” my niece answered. “My brothers having quitted the house for Oxford, there was nothing to keep Mr. Finch-Hatton longer.”

“Such modesty,” Louisa murmured, with a look for her sister that spoke volumes to my jaundiced eye. The Wildman girls were disposed to see in Fanny a rival. On account of Finch-Hatton, who had been staying at the Castle nearly a week before coming to us—or Julian Thane?

“And what do you think of this shocking business of Adelaide’s?” Mrs. Wildman said in a half-whisper, leaning towards me from her couch as tho’ to shield the ears of the younger girls. “I should not be saying so, when Mr. Knight is our magistrate, and our dearest neighbour these many years—but I confess I believe he must be mistaken! That our Addie should take James’s pistol and shoot her husband—impossible! But Mr. Knight will not believe her! And now this second distressing death—”

I might have seized the opportunity to assure Mrs. Wildman that her cousin should soon be released; I might have pressed her on the interesting question of which among her acquaintance might rejoice in seeing her son James accused of murder; but as I parted my lips to speak, I sneezed.

It was a small sound, discreetly suppressed, but fell upon Mrs. Wildman’s ears as a thunderclap. She surveyed my reddened eyes and nose with keen attention, and started upright as I sneezed again.

“Miss Austen! You are unwell!”

“I was some hours exposed to the rain,” I muttered from behind a square of linen, “the day of Martha’s discovery.”

“But of course! You should not be raised from your bed!”

I sighed lugubriously, and closed my eyes as tho’ deprived of all strength. “I was most unwell yesterday, to be sure, but I could not consider of myself when so much trouble has descended upon this household, ma’am. I insisted that dear Fanny convey me to you as soon as I felt restored enough to rise, for I should never wish to be backwards in any attention to so close a neighbour of my brother’s. I confess, however,