Jane and the Prisoner of Wool House Read online

  Extravagant praise for

  Jane and the Prisoner of Wool House

  “The narrative is true both to what’s known about Jane’s activities at the time and to her own private journalistic voice.”

  —The Denver Post

  “A murder mystery for everyone … Barron has penned a clever mystery and a diabolical plot”

  —Old Book Barn Gazette

  “A skillfully told tale with a surprising ending.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Skillful.”

  —Library Journal

  “Well done … passionate, colorful, and provocative.”

  —Mystery News

  Outstanding praise for

  Jane and die Stillroom Maid

  “This fifth Jane Austen detection gets … my Best in Series vote.”

  —Booknews from The Poisoned Pen

  “Another first-rate addition to the series.”

  —The Christian Science Monitor

  “Details of early 19th-century country life of all cases ring true, while the story line is clear, yet full of surprises.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Very appealing … As in Austen’s novels, the relationships are complex and full of suppressed passion.”

  —Booklist

  “Barron writes with greater assurance than ever, and her heroine’s sleuthing is more confident and accomplished.”

  —Knkus Reviews

  “This work bears all the wonderful trademarks of the earlier tides, including period detail, measured but often sardonic wit, and authenticity.”

  —Library Journal

  “Stephanie Barron does an excellent job of creating Jane Austen’s world…. A chilling mystery with a solution that will leave you spellbound.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Jane and the StiUroom Maid has a marvelous cast of characters. The dialogue is lively and sharp and … Ms. Barron beautifully depicts the English estates and countryside.”

  —Rendezvous

  Extraordinary praise for

  Jane and the Wandering Eye

  “Barron seamlessly weaves … a delightful and lively tale…. Period details bring immediacy to a neatly choreographed dance through Bath society.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Barron’s high level of invention testifies to an easy acquaintance with upper-class life and culture in Regency England and a fine grasp of Jane Austen’s own literary style—not to mention a mischievous sense of fun.”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  “For this diverting mystery of manners, the third entry in a genteelly jolly series by Stephanie Barron, the game heroine goes to elegant parties, frequents the theater and visits fashionable gathering spots—all in the discreet service of solving a murder.”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  “Charming period authenticity.”

  —Library Journal

  “Stylish … This one will… prove diverting for hard-core Austen fans.”

  —Booklist

  “No betrayal of our interest here: Jane and the Wandering Eye is an erudite diversion.”

  —The Drood Review of Mystery

  “A lively plot accented with fascinating history… Barron’s voice grows better and better.”

  —Booknews from The Poisoned Pen

  “A pleasant romp … [Barron] maintains her ability to mimic Austen’s style effectively if not so closely as to ruin the fun.”

  —The Boston Globe

  “Stephanie Barron continues her uncanny recreation of the real’ Jane Austen…. Barron seamlessly unites historical details of Austen’s life with fictional mysteries, all in a close approximation of Austen’s own lively, gossipy style.”

  —Feminist Bookstore News

  Lavish praise far

  Jane and the Man of the Cloth

  “Nearly as wry as Jane Austen herself, Barron delivers pleasure and amusement in her second delicious Jane Austen mystery. Worthy of its origins, this book is a delight”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “If Jane Austen really did have the ‘nameless and dateless’ romance with a clergyman that some scholars claim, she couldn’t have met her swain under more heartthrobbing circumstances than those described by Stephanie Barron.”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  “Prettily narrated, in true Austen style … a boon for Austen lovers.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Historical fiction at its best”

  —Library Journal

  “The words, characters and references are so real that it is a shock to find that the author is not Austen herself.”

  —The Arizona Republic

  “Stephanie Barron’s second Jane Austen mystery … is even better than her first… A classic period mystery.”

  —The News & Observer, Raleigh, NC

  “Delightful… captures the style and wit of Austen.”

  —San Francisco Examiner

  “Loaded with charm, these books will appeal whether you are a fan of Jane Austen or not.”

  —Mystery Lovers Bookshop News

  The highest praise for

  Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor

  “Splendid fun!”

  —Star Tribune, Minneapolis

  “Happily succeeds on all levels: a robust tale of manners and mayhem that faithfully reproduces the Austen style—and engrosses to the finish.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Jane is unmistakably here with us through the work of Stephanie Barron—sleuthing, entertaining, and making us want to devour the next Austen adventure as soon as possible!”

  —Diane Mott Davidson

  “Well-conceived, stylishly written, plotted with a nice twist… and brought off with a voice that works both for its time and our own.”

  —Booknews from The Poisoned Pen

  “People who lament Jane Austen’s minimal lifetime output… now have cause to rejoice.”

  —The Drood Review of Mystery

  “A lighthearted mystery… The most fun is that Jane Austen’ is in the middle of it, witty and logical, a foil to some of the ladies who primp, faint and swoon.”

  —The Denver Post

  “A fascinating ride through the England of the hackney carriage … a definite occasion for pride rather than prejudice.”

  —Edward Marston

  “A thoroughly enjoyable tale. Fans of the much darker Anne Perry … should relish this somewhat lighter look at the society of fifty years earlier.”

  —Mostly Murder

  “Jane sorts it all out with the wit and intelligence Jane Austen would display. ***(four if you really love Jane Austen).”

  —Detroit Free Press

  ALSO BY STEPHANIE BARRON

  Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scatgrave Manor:

  Being the First Jane Austen Mystery

  Jane and the Man of the Cloth:

  Being the Second Jane Austen Mystery

  Jane and the Wandering Eye:

  Being the Third Jane Austen Mystery

  Jane and the Genius of the Place:

  Bang the Fourth Jane Austen Mystery

  Jane and the Stilhoom Maid:

  Beingthe Fifth Jane Austen Mystery

  Jane and the Ghosts of Netley:

  Being the Seventh Jane Austen Mystery

  AND COMING SOON IN

  HARDCOVER FROM BANTAM BOOKS:

  Jane and the Barque of Frailty:

  Being the Eighth Jane Austen Mystery

  This book is dedicated with love to my uncle,

  Charles Cornelius Sibre,

  A Heart of Oak

  Who has sailed ma
ny a voyage with Nelson’s Navy

  From the comfort of his armchair

  Editor’s foreword

  Louisa… burst forth into raptures of admiration and delight on the character of the navy—their friendliness, their brotherli-ness, their openness, their uprightness; protesting that she was convinced of sailors having more worth and warmth than any other set of men in England; that they only knew how to live, and they only deserved to be respected and loved.

  —Jane Austen, Persuasion,

  The Oxford Illustrated Edition, page 99

  WHEN JANE AUSTEN CREATED THE CHARACTER OF Louisa Musgrove in her final novel, Persuasion, she endowed the young woman with a “fine naval fervour” that present readers might trace to the author’s experience of the port towns of Hampshire between 1806 and 1809, a period of considerable naval warfare in which her two brothers—one a post captain and the other a master and commander—were engaged. Austen took up residence in Southampton in the autumn of 1806, but her knowledge of the Royal Navy began as early as her seventh year, when she was sent briefly to school in Southampton with her sister, Cassandra, and cousin Jane Cooper. A few years later, elder brother Frank left home for a stint at the Royal Naval Academy in Portsmouth, and the Austens’ collective naval fervor was unleashed in earnest. The fortunes of Frank and younger brother Charles would occupy a large part of Jane’s energy and correspondence throughout her life. Both men ended their careers as admirals—Frank, as Admiral of the Fleet

  Jane and the Prisoner of Wool House is the sixth of the manuscripts to be collated and edited from a collection of papers discovered in 1992 in the cellar of a Georgian mansion outside of Baltimore. I find the present account to be one of the most fascinating I have been privileged to handle—because it places Jane Austen firmly in the midst of a world she knew intimately, admired profoundly, and cherished for its domestic virtues as much as its military importance. Her observation of naval men—their preoccupations, their endurance, their zest for hard living—is rife in these pages, as it is in her two “naval” novels, Mansfield Park and Persuasion, In this account, we may trace her steps through the streets of the port towns she would revive years later in fiction, and find the originals of Austen’s characters among the naval men of her acquaintance.

  In editing this volume, I found several works of significant aid. Deirdre Le Faye’s edition of Austen’s letters (Jane Austens Letters, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1995) was, as always, invaluable. A Sea of Words by Dean King (Henry Holt, New York, 1995) was a useful lexicon for translating the terms of art relevant to Nelson’s navy. J. H. and E. C. Hubback, descendants of Francis Austen and the authors of Jane Austen s Naval Brothers (Meckler Publishing, Westport, CT, 1986, reprinted), are greatly to be thanked. Naval Surgeon: The Voyages of Dr. Edward H Cree, Royal Navy, as Related in His Private Journals, 1837-1856 (Michael Levien, editor; E. P. Dutton, New York, 1981) was absorbing and informative. Band of Brothers: Boy Seamen in the Royal Navy (David Phillipson; Naval Institute Press, Annapolis, 1996) enlightened me regarding the Young Gentlemen at sea during the late Georgian period. Men of War: Life in Nelson’s Navy by Patrick O’Brian (W. W. Norton & Co., New York, 1974) offered a pithy and lighthearted survey of fighting ships. But nothing compares to the tome that is The Oxford Illustrated History of the Royal Navy (general editor, J. R. Hill; Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1995). If time permitted, I would be reading it still.

  I am deeply grateful for the generosity and scholarly depth of Dr. Clive Caplan and William C. Kelley, members of the Jane Austen Society of North America, who shared their knowledge, resources, and enthusiasm for Austen’s naval connections with me in conversations and letters over the past few years. The “fine naval fervour” of Austen’s most intelligent fans is a constant inspiration.

  Stephanie Barron

  Chapter 1

  A Passage Down the Solent

  Monday,

  23 February 1807

  Southampton

  HAD I SUFFERED THE MISFORTUNE TO BE BORN A MAN, I should have torn myself early from the affections of my family and all the comforts of home, and thrown my fate upon the mercy of the seas.

  That fresh salt slap, as bracing as a blow; the bucking surge of wave upon wave, a riderless herd never to be bribed or charmed into complaisance; the endless stretch curbed by no horizon, that must unfold an infinite array of wonders before the eyes—exotic climes, benighted peoples, lost cities set like rubies among the desert chasms—oh, to sail the seas as my brothers have done before me! Free of obligation or care beyond the safety of oneself and one’s men—free of the confines of home and earthbound hopes and all the weight of convention like an anchor about one’s neck!

  Casting my eye across the extent of Southampton Water to the New Forest opposite—verdure indistinct behind a scrim of morning fog—I shuddered from suppressed excitement as much as from the chill rising off the sea. From my position on Southampton’s Water Gate Quay I might dip my hand for a time in the cold current of English history. Southampton Water, and the Solent that runs between the mainland and the Isle of Wight just south, have ever been the point of departure for great adventure—for risk, and high daring, and fortunes made or lost. Here the troops of King Henry embarked for the battle of Agincourt; here the Puritan colonists hauled anchor for the New World. It is impossible to stand within sight and sound of the heaving grey waters, and be deaf to their siren call; and not for Jane Austen to resist the force that has bewitched so many Hearts of Oak.

  A forest of masts bobbed and swayed under my gaze: men o’war newly-anchored from Portsmouth; merchant vessels and whalers from the far corners of the Adantic; Indiamen, rich and fat with the spoils of Bombay; and a thousand smaller craft that skimmed the surface of the Solent like a legion of water beedes. Hoarse cries of boatmen and the creak of straining ropes resounded across the waves; a snatch of sea-chanty, an oath swiftly quelled. The smell of brine and pitch and boiling coffee wafted to my reddened nostrils. This was life, in all its unfettered boldness—and these were Englishmen at their most honest and true: a picture of glory enough to drive a thousand small boys from their warm beds, and send them barefoot to the likeliest ship, hopeful and unlettered, ill-fed and mendacious as to right age and family, for the sake of a creaking berth among the rats and the bilge-water below. Were I returned in spirit to the days of my girlhood, a child of seven sent to school in Southampton—I might be tempted to steal my brothers’ Academy uniforms, and stow away myself.

  “Are you quite certain you wish to accompany me to Portsmouth, Jane?” enquired my brother Frank anxiously at my elbow.

  I turned, the pleasant reverie broken. “I should never have quitted my bed at such an early hour, Fly, for anything less. You could not prevent me from boarding that hoy at anchor, if you were to set upon me with wild dogs.” It was necessary to suggest bravado— the hoy, with a single mast bobbing in the swell, was rather a small coasting vessel when viewed against the backdrop of so much heavy shipping: and I am no sea-woman.

  The weather shall certainly be brisk,” my brother persisted doubtfully. “The wind is freshening, and I fancy we shall have rain before the day is out.”

  “I do not regard a trifling shower, I assure you—and the air is no warmer in our lodgings. Mrs. Davies is of a saving nature, and does not intend that we shall ever be adequately served if our discomfort might secure her a farthing. My mother felt a spur beyond petulance and imagined ills, when she took to her bed after Christmas. She knows it to be far more comfortable than Mrs. Davies’s fire.”

  “I must lay in a supply of fuel for our own use,” Frank murmured. “I had done so, in December, but the faggots disappeared at an unaccountable rate.”

  “That we shall lay to sister Mary’s account,” I replied sardonically. “It cannot be remarkable that so cold-hearted a lady must require a good, steady fire. Her frame should lack animation entirely, Fly, without external application of heat.”

  He looked at me in hurt surprise. “Jane!”


  “Not your excellent creature, my dear,” I said quickly. “I speak entirely of James’s Mary! You know that I have never borne her any affection, nor she but a pretence of the same for me.” I would to Heaven that my brothers had possessed the foresight to marry women of singularity, in their names at least. Two of the Austen men having chosen Elizabeths, and another two, Marys, we are forever attempting to distinguish them one from the other. My elder brother James had brought his unfortunate wife, Mary, to stay with us in our cramped lodgings over Christmastide. This was meant to be a great treat but my relief at the James Austens’ departure far outweighed any pleasure won from their arrival.

  Frank grasped my elbow. “Steady, Jane. The skiff approaches.”

  A long, low-slung boat with two ruddy-faced fishwives at the oars had swung alongside the Quay. It bobbed like a cockleshell in the tide, and I should as readily have stepped into an inverted umbrella. I summoned my courage, however, so as not to disoblige my excellent brother.

  “Pray take my arm,” Frank urged. “It is best not to step heavily—and not directly onto the gunwales, mind, or you shall have us all over! Just so—and there you are settled. Capital.”

  Frank stowed himself neatly beside me on the damp wooden slat that served as seat, and began to whistle for wind. I attempted to ease my grip on the skiff.

  As the two women bent their backs to the task of conveying us across the water to the single-masted hoy— which, despite its diminutive nature, Frank asserted might serve as a respectable gunboat in any but home waters—I struggled to maintain my composure. I had never crossed the Solent much less been aboard a ship, before; but I refused to earn the contempt of the British Navy. I should throw myself overboard rather than admit to a craven heart, or plead for a return to shore.

  It had long been my chief desire to be swung in a chair to the very deck of one of my brothers’ commands—the Canopus, when Frank captained her, or the Indian, should Charles ever return from the North American Station. But we had always lived beyond the reach of naval ports; and our visits to the sea were matters of bathing and Assemblies. My mother’s decision to settle with Frank in Southampton, a mere seventeen miles from the great naval yard at Portsmouth, must ensure frequent occasion for familiarising myself with ships, and sailors’ customs, and all the ardent matter of my brothers’ lives, that have demanded such sacrifice, and conveyed so much of glory and regret.