Jane and the Canterbury Tale

Julian Thane was the very same; and I was sick with disappointment, for Fanny’s sake as much as for the ruin of my interesting ideas.

I drank the coffee the maid had brought and got out of bed, therefore, to dress myself with neatness and propriety, as befit a lady of dubious health who was determined to pay a call at Canterbury gaol.

I found my brother on the point of setting out for the town. He did not look as tho’ he wished for company, but I gave him no opportunity of refusing mine.

“You can have little to say to Burbage,” he observed. “It is to meet with that scoundrel that I am bound for Canterbury gaol.”

“I have nothing at all to say to Mr. Burbage,” I agreed, “other than that I prefer his countenance free of whiskers. I would speak, rather, with Adelaide MacCallister—and might profitably do so while you are closeted with the spurious solicitor. Surely you intend to release Mrs. MacCallister, now that her brother is to be held in both murders? I might convey the intelligence.”

Edward looked uneasy. “I ought to do so, I know,” he said at length. “But my fingers have been burnt once, Jane, in freeing Sir Davie Myrrh—had I then been less merciful, a deal of worry and trouble should have been saved. Mrs. MacCallister, returned to her family, might be a comfort to her mother; and that must weigh heavily with me. I am a magistrate, indeed—but I am first a father. You see how I am torn.”

“Mrs. Thane sets no value on her daughter at all,” I returned with asperity. “Her son is everything to her, and leaves no room for rival interest.”

“Indeed? Who chuses to tell you so?”

“Twitch and his good wife, who have been observing the family forever. Recollect that Adelaide was practically raised at Chilham; her mother had no use for the girl until she turned out a beauty—and then, the excellent lady’s attack upon the Marriage Mart was entirely in the cause of her son’s prospects. She hoped Adelaide might make a brilliant match, and use her husband’s fortune to save Wold Hall from the lien-holders’ clutches.”

“That is hardly a scheme designed to foster affection between a sister and brother,” Edward mused. “The one’s happiness to be sacrificed to the other’s security—they might justly be forgiven for hating each other.”

“And yet, their mutual cordiality appears complete. I should say rather they are united in their disdain for their mother.”

“Unnatural family.” Edward shuddered. “You may condole with Adelaide if you wish, Jane; but I do not envy you the task.”

The Warden’s dogsbody, young Jack, led me cringingly to the women’s quarters in the gaol, where a creature I took to be his mother, from the intimate abuse she bestowed upon him so cordially, surveyed me from head to toe.

“MacCallister?” she repeated. “Aye, we’ve got her, right enough—but her ’usband’s with her now, and I doubt as you’ll be welcome.”

Feeling absurdly out of place, I proffered the woman my card. “Pray convey this to Captain and Mrs. MacCallister with my compliments. I will await an answer.”

She was a massive and stone-faced creature in her middle years, with a plain cap pulled low over greasy locks of indeterminate colour—and took the card frowningly between her fingertips. Such an one might refuse my commission for the sheer pleasure of disobliging me. With a grunt, however, she sorted among the keys that dangled from her chatelaine, and having found the one she required, made her heavy way down the corridor, slippers loosely slapping the stone flags. I was reminded by the sound of a cavalcade of dead fish. I lingered some moments, the boy Jack staring at me fearfully but unblinkingly.

“How old are you, Jack?”

“Dunno.”

“Is that woman your mother?”

“Dunno.”

I was half-listening for the slapping notice of the woman’s return, and was startled nearly out of my wits when a cordial voice said, “Miss Austen. How kind of you to come.”

Captain MacCallister—his honest, plain face and thatch of red hair, looming from the shadows of the passage. “If you will allow me to conduct you—Adelaide is at liberty now.”

“How has she taken this dreadful news?”

“She refuses to believe her brother culpable,” he said simply. “She is positive the truth will out, with time. It is the quality one so admires in Adelaide—her loyalty! She has a courage that is beyond everything!”

I was gratified to know that the Captain’s ardour was undimmed by the hideous events that had attended his nuptials. “A quality you share, then, Captain—for certainly your faith in your wife has never failed.”

It was difficult to see much of the countenance beside me in the torchlit corridor, but I thought MacCallister’s expression changed. There was regret in his visage; and bitterness, too. “I ought to have saved her this. I ought to have prevented it—if only by taking the blame myself! But it could not be done—by the time I understood the danger in which she stood, the Law already had her in its grip. Any professions of mine should then have been dismissed, as a husband’s too-willing sacrifice.”

“Pray, do not berate yourself. I believe—I am almost certain—that all representations against Mrs. MacCallister’s innocence are done away with. Indeed, I am convinced she shall be very soon at liberty.”

He glanced at me then. “You have not understood, I fear. Adelaide shall never be free, so long as her brother’s life is at issue.”

I could offer the wretched man no answer; but thankfully, the prison door was nigh, and the Wardress poised to open it. The Captain bowed, and I passed before him within.

Adelaide MacCallister was standing composedly in a narrow shaft of sunlight afforded by a slit in Westgate Tower’s walls. I was recalled suddenly to the high, narrow windows that lined the servants’ quarters at Chilham Castle—and to her mother’s austere figure, silhouetted in the passage. There could be nothing in sharper contrast to Mrs. Thane’s harsh aspect than Adelaide’s dark beauty; but the air of self-command was the same.

My maid did not answer my bell, she had said. So I came in search of her.

“Mrs. MacCallister.” I dropped a curtsey. “I must offer my gratitude at your willingness to receive me. I should not have been surprized to find myself turned away, as being among your greatest enemies.”

“Not at all,” she said gravely. “Should you care to sit down? There is only one chair, but I am perfectly willing to stand. Indeed, I am obliged to sit so much that I grow restless—and pace and pace like a caged tiger. Pray sit, Miss Austen—if the mistress of such a shabby establishment may be allowed to protest, I insist you accept my meagre hospitality.”

I sat, conscious of the interesting couple’s eyes fixed upon me in perfect politeness, awaiting whatever I should chuse to tell them, without anxiety or fury. “I ought to say how distressed I am—how distressed my entire family is become, indeed, at the turn of events at Chilham—the arrest of your brother—but such words must fall hollowly upon your ears, when spoken by the Magistrate’s sister.”

“I am persuaded Mr. Knight is as mistaken in my brother’s guilt, ma’am, as he has been in mine.” Adelaide’s eyes kindled swiftly, but as swiftly the blaze died. “I accept your good wishes in the spirit they are offered. I bear you no ill will. If that is all the burden of your visit, however—to free yourself of anxiety, in offering condolences for the fate that has overtaken my brother and me—I must ask you to accept my thanks, Miss Austen, and be gone.” She swayed slightly as she stood. “You are very good—but I fear my nerves are not equal—”

Captain MacCallister supported her with his strong arm, and I rose immediately from my chair. “I will leave you in an instant, Mrs. MacCallister, if you will be so good as to answer one question.”

“What is that?”

“Where does your mother’s personal maid sleep, while your family is in residence at Chilham Castle?”

Adelaide stared at me in bewilderment. “Her maid? My mother employs none, Miss Austen. Our income did not permit of such luxuries. We shared the services of Martha Kean, until—” She paused, recovering herself. “Mamma was to be forced to an alteration, indeed, once the Captain and I should be married and gone—as we intended to be, a week since.”

They had shared Martha’s services. The thought reverberated in my head with all the force of a clanging bell. Mrs. Thane had lied, when I discovered her in the servants’ quarters—because her