Jane and The Wandering Eye jam-3 Page 8

  I undid the parcel with eager hands. And there, winking dully in the candle-flame, was the portrait of an eye — dark grey, heavily-lashed, and fully as arresting as the roguish ornament my dear Eliza had borne about her neck. It was an oblong pendant the size of a guinea, strung on a fine gold chain, and quite surrounded by seed pearls — beautiful, and undoubtedly costly. I lifted the thing and dangled it before the candle, at a loss for explanation. The eye returned my regard, as stormy in its expression as paint and art could make it.

  “My nephew tells me he found this resting on Portal’s breast, quite near his wound, as though left by his murderer in silent witness. Simon hung it undetected about his own neck, and succeeded thus in bearing it away to the gaol.”

  “But why did he not leave it for Mr. Elliot to discover?” I exclaimed. “For surely this miniature can have nothing to do with Lord Kinsfell! Indeed, its existence might divert suspicion from his head!”

  “I cannot offer an explanation.” Lord Harold’s voice was heavy. “But I surmise that Kinsfell has not told us all. No more intelligence of the portrait or its meaning could I wring from his lips, than the plea that it be prevented from falling into the magistrate’s hands — and from this, I must assume he would shield another, to whom the portrait points. He consented to place it in my keeping solely out of fear of its discovery while he remains in gaol.”

  “And does he expect you to shield that person also? Or are you at liberty to solicit the magistrate, where Lord Kinsfell would not?”

  “Having failed to entrust the eye to Mr. Elliot then, we cannot with impunity reveal it now,” Lord Harold said thoughtfully. “Mr. Elliot would be forgiven for believing it a foolish fabrication, and accord it no more significance than the anteroom’s open window. No, Miss Austen — if we are to fathom the portrait’s significance, we must do so ourselves.”

  “Only consider, my lord, the wonder that its disappearance must have caused,” I murmured. “Our murderer expected the portrait to be revealed — to point, perhaps, to the incrimination of another. But not a sign of the bauble has the magistrate seen!”

  “Then we may hope the villain’s anxiety will force his hand,” Lord Harold replied with quiet satisfaction.

  I turned the portrait again before the candle-flame, and felt the movement of the eye’s gaze as though it were alive. “It is a lovely thing, and must be dearly bought. I should think it far beyond the means of most.”

  “The setting is very fine, the pearls are good; and the portrait itself is excellent. I have known Mr. George Engleheart to charge upwards of twenty-five guineas for a similar likeness — and that would never encompass the jeweller’s bill. Such a bauble would indeed be well beyond the reach of the common run. It is to Engleheart in London I must go, Miss Austen — for I believe he keeps a log-book of his commissions; and if this pendant fell from his brush, he will have recorded the identity of its subject. Such knowledge should be as gold, in revealing the meaning of Portal’s death.”

  “Stay!” I cried, and sprang to my feet. “Of what use is London, when the foremost painter of such miniatures is already come to Bath?”

  Lord Harold surveyed me narrowly. “Of whom would you speak?”

  “Mr. Richard Cosway! I made his acquaintance this very morning, while promenading in the Pump Room. He intends a visit of some duration — three months, I believe. I have only to enquire of my sister Eliza, and his direction is known!”

  “Capital. We shall call upon him tomorrow — let us say, at two o’clock. Have you leisure enough to pay the call?”

  “My time is at your disposal, my lord.”

  “That is very well, Miss Austen, for I would beg another favour of you. There is an additional visit I feel compelled to make.”

  Lord Harold sat down beside me and reached for my hand. The intimacy of the gesture quite took my breath, and I fear my fingers trembled in his grip. He said, “We must go to the Theatre Royal, as soon as ever may be. I expect the magistrate to search Mr. Portal’s lodgings, but I do not think he will soon consider the manager’s offices at the theatre itself. A perusal of Portal’s private papers might tell us much.”

  “His papers?” I said with a frown. “Surely there can be no occasion for such an abuse of privacy.”

  “I have known a good deal of blackmail, my dear Miss Austen,” Lord Harold said drily, “and I cannot help but observe the marks of its effect throughout this unfortunate history.”

  “Blackmail!” I cried, freeing my fingers from his grasp.

  “I sense it everywhere in Richard Portal’s sad end. Lord Swithin’s anxiety regarding some letters, overheard by yourself in the Pump Room; Lord Kinsfell’s argument with Portal, and his assertion that the man was a blackguard; his own reluctance to speak fully of events that evening; and now, the curious portrait, returned like a bad penny to Portal’s breast. Blackmail, Miss Austen — as plainly as such dark arts may be seen!”

  “I confess I had not an idea of it,” I said.

  “You must understand that the practice is familiar to me through long association. I have employed it myself,” Lord Harold said equably, “when no other tool would serve; and have been in turn the object of necessitous importuning — a mad decision on the blackmailer’s part, for never was there a fellow with so little regard for public opinion, or so great a contempt for its deserts, as Harold Trowbridge.”

  “A more hardened object I cannot conceive.” I was amused despite the gravity of his words.

  “But tempting, regardless.” He jumped up and began to turn restlessly before the fire. “I have, in the past, acted in ways that may be judged reprehensible. I have sacrificed the reputations of my confederates, my mistresses, my dearest friends, in pursuit of those ends that have, to my mind alone, required such sacrifice. I have cared nothing, in short, for how my character is judged — except as regards one particular: That I am held in trust and esteem by certain men in high Government circles. It is as lifeblood to me, in ensuring the continuance of that activity which — alone among the pursuits of my life — is capable of stirring my interest, and of relieving the unutterable tedium of my existence.” At this, something of animation enlivened Lord Harold’s tone; but it was the animation of coldest anger. “Should any man attempt to queer my relations with the Crown, or with the very small number of men who direct its concerns, I should be entirely at his mercy. That, to date, has never occurred; and I pray God it never shall. I could not answer for myself in the eventuality.”

  One glimpse of his set features was enough, and I averted my gaze. Lord Harold overset — Lord Harold denied his life’s blood of peril and intrigue — was Lord Harold divided from his very soul. I should not like to be within twenty paces of any man who attempted it.

  “But my familiarity with the blackmailer’s art has at least taught me this,” he continued. “Among those who can profess no stern disregard for public views or public morals, it is the aptest means of persuasion. More lives have been ruined — more spirits broken — from a fear of idle gossip and report, than are numbered on Napoleon’s battlefields, Miss Austen. Portal’s death may be the result of a similar campaign.”

  And if it were, I thought, the tide of scandal should reach even so far as a ducal household. “I comprehend your meaning, my lord. I shall be happy to assist you by whatever means are within my power.”

  He reached for his hat, and smoothed its fine wool brim. “Will you do me the very great honour of attending the theatre tomorrow evening, Miss Austen, in the Wilborough box?”

  “With pleasure,” I replied.

  “It will require — forgive me — a certain subterfuge on your part.”

  “I am at your service, my lord.”

  “You will understand that any in the Trowbridge family must be known among the company. Even had Simon not been taken up in Portal’s death, our intimacy with the Conynghams — our attention to the Theatre Royal — must make us too familiar; and at present a tide of ill-feeling is directed against us all.
But as for yourself—”

  “Of course. What would you have me do?”

  “I intend a visit to the wings upon the play’s conclusion. It is my hope that you might then create a small diversion — a faint, a mishap, something along the female line — that should draw the attention of the principal parties.”

  “And in the flurry, you shall investigate the manager’s rooms?”

  “Exactly.”

  I bowed my head to disguise a tide of mirth. “I have always dreamed of performing in the Theatre Royal, Lord Harold. To tread the boards was the dearest ambition of my vanished girlhood. I may hope to do you credit.”

  “You have never failed me yet. It will be something merely to parade you in the box.”

  There was a grimness to his tone I readily understood. All of Bath must be hoping for a glimpse of the notorious Trowbridges, so deeply and publicly embroiled in a violent murder; and the appearance of the Earl of Swithin in Bath must only fan the flames of speculation. “You hope, then, to show the scandal-mongers your bravest face?”

  “And damn their eyes.”

  “Sir!” I cried. It has not been my province to know much of swearing, however I may subject my creatures to it.[36]

  “Tut, tut, my dear Miss Austen — do not grow missish on me, after all we have sustained!” Trowbridge seized his greatcoat and gloves. “Expect me tomorrow at two, about the interrogation of Mr. Cosway!”

  Chapter 5

  A Call in Camden Place

  Thursday,

  13 December 1804

  THE THEATRE ROYAL IN ORCHARD STREET IS HARDLY SO grand as Covent Garden or Drury Lane, being cramped and overheated in the extreme; its single entrance ensures a dreadful crush at the play’s commencement and close; and indeed, the space is so incommodious, as to have prompted the building of a new theatre in Beauford Square, immediately adjacent to Chandos Buildings, that is to open next season. But even the unfortunate nature of the present accommodation, and the possibility that my dress should be mussed, if not torn, in the attempt to gain my seat in Lord Harold’s box, could not dispel my intention of being as fine this evening as possible. Having condescended to escort a Miss Austen to the play, Lord Harold should not be suffered to blush for her appearance.

  I own but three gowns that are suitable for evening engagements — a sapphire muslin[37]; a white lawn with puffed sleeves; and the aforementioned peach silk, as yet in pieces with my fashionable modiste. It was this I determined to wear — it being in the latest style, with a square neck sloping down slightly to the bosom; an underskirt of cream-coloured sarcenet; and negligible capped sleeves, very slightly off the shoulder. It was the gown most likely to do me credit — and so to Madame Le-Blanc’s in Bath Street I went, immediately after breakfast this morning.

  The poor woman wrung her hands, and declared my request impossible to fulfil; the gown could hardly be pieced within a fortnight; but at the last, upon receiving the intelligence that I was to be on public view in the Wilborough box — to which all eyes in the theatre should undoubtedly be turned — she consented to set three of her seamstresses to making up the gown.

  I consulted her clock — perceived it to lack yet a half-hour until noon — and hastened my steps towards the White Hart. I must visit Eliza before receiving Lord Harold, and on so fine a morning I should be lucky to find the little Comtesse within doors.[38] Were I in her place, and free of all obligation in a city wholly given over to pleasure, I should take a turn in Sydney Gardens, or promenade about the Crescent, or commission Henry to hire a carriage for a drive about the countryside.

  And upon achieving the White Hart, my premonitions were rewarded, as such fears usually are, in finding the Austen rooms deserted of even the little dog, Pug. I turned away in some annoyance, and determined to look into the Pump Room on the chance of finding her — when a light step was heard upon the stair, and Eliza’s delicious laugh wafted towards the ceiling.

  “Good gracious, my lord, are you so determined in flattery? I have not heard its equal since I quitted Versailles. You are too wicked for Bath — you shall put the gentle invalids to flight in their chairs — and I shall not rest easy until you have secured your lodgings and left us in peace!”

  An indistinct murmur of male conversation — another musical laugh — and the little Comtesse tripped gaily towards her rooms, an enormous muff upon her delicate hand, and a fine glow of spirits animating her countenance.

  “Jane!” she cried, and halted on the landing. “But how very fortunate! I was intending to come in search of you; and now you have saved me the trouble. But then, you are always saving me a vast deal of trouble, are you not? A delightful quality in a relation.”

  “Good morning, Eliza,” I rejoined. “You look excessively well. Some handsome rogue has been turning your head, I fancy.”

  “Only the Earl of Swithin,” she confided mischievously. “How I love the proximity of an inn! I shall be quite desolate when he goes into Laura Place.”

  “Laura Place? Lord Swithin intends a visit to Lady Desdemona?”

  “He intends to land in her very lap, my dear. The Earl is taking the residence opposite the Dowager’s for the remainder of his stay.”

  “Such impertinence!”

  “—for a man of Swithin’s position and means, to hire a house in one of the most distinguished squares in town? I do not understand you, Jane. Camden Place might possess a smarter air, of course, but—” Eliza swept past me and opened the door to her room.

  “Eliza! Only consider of it! To perch like a bird of prey upon the stoop of a lady who has refused him! Surely Lord Swithin’s arrogance admits of some limit!”

  “But perhaps not his taste for abuse. One might wonder why he comes to Bath at all.” She threw down her muff and gave her spencer into the maid’s keeping. “Never fear the machinations of the Earl, my dear Jane. Now your Lord Harold is come to be gay in this splendid watering-place, I cannot find anything in Swithin to frighten Lady Desdemona.”

  “He is not my Lord Harold,” I retorted crossly, “but if I were the Earl, I should hesitate before invading the gentleman’s square.”

  Eliza’s smile widened. “So he is come! I heard the rumour in the Pump Room. And have you seen Trowbridge, Jane? Is he bent upon the routing of his nephew’s enemies? Shall you have a chance of engaging your energies in the matter? I own, I am excessively hopeful of some diversion in that quarter — there was nothing like the Scargrave business a few winters back, for wonderfully piquing the senses, and varying the dull routine of the day-to-day! Even Henry dined out on the strength of your particulars for weeks on end!”

  “Eliza, Eliza—”

  She collapsed upon one of the inn’s hard wooden chairs and breathed a sigh of relief. “Lord, Jane! I do find that length of stair a trial!”

  “Did you hurry less rapidly into speech, you might have breath enough for a thousand such!”

  “And yet it would never do to lodge in the ground-floor chambers,” she continued thoughtfully. “Such noise and smoke — and only last evening, a woman gave birth in the kitchens, if you will credit it!”

  “You would affect the complaints of the aged, my dear, to confuse your husband’s family — the better to conduct your flirtations unmolested,” I scolded her fondly. “Do not attempt to prevaricate with me. I see the cunning of your design, and know it for a sham; you have never been in better looks, and I warrant you are well aware of it. For certainly the Earl of Swithin has not allowed your beauty to go unremarked.”

  She laughed, and reached a tentative hand to her hair. Though it had been cropped grotesquely in the late summer, it was now growing out, the short curls caught up behind and the whole surmounted with a band across the forehead, àla grecque. I should feel silly in emulating such a style myself, and thought it better suited to a girl half Eliza’s age; but I could not deny it quite became her delicate features.

  “Are you famished, Jane? Shall I send for cold meat and cheese?”

  “For yours
elf, by all means — but do not trouble about me. I must be away directly, and tarry only to beg of you a favour, Eliza.”

  She sat up immediately. “But of course. Anything within my power.”

  “Might you see your way clear, I wonder, to penning a note of introduction on my behalf?”

  “Nothing should be easier. But to whom? For your acquaintance in Bath must be larger than my own.”

  “Mr. Richard Cosway.”

  “Richard Cosway!” Eliza exclaimed. “Jane, you astonish me! Can you possibly desire to spend so fine a morning in the company of so tedious a man?”

  “But I had thought him a painter of the first water.”

  “He is.”

  “And a renowned collector.”

  “As to that—”

  “I greatly desire to consult him, Eliza, on a matter of some personal importance.” This was no more than the truth, and I might utter the words without a pang.

  “I perceive your method, Jane,” the Comtesse observed with a roguish twinkle. “You intend that Mr. Richard Cosway shall so admire your fine eyes, that he shall not be gainsaid in taking their likeness. I see how it shall be. In a very little while Lord Harold Trowbridge will be the talk of the ton, for the pretty token he wears upon his waistcoat. But I warn you, Jane — Mr. Cosway’s services are dearly bought.”

  “I have no intention of sitting for my likeness,” I protested, “merely of enquiring as to Mr. Cosway’s method and usual fees.” It must be impossible to invoke the curious pendant Lord Kinsfell had found on the murdered Portal’s breast without explaining the nature of its discovery — and such frankness, even to Eliza, was beyond my power.

  “I might come with you, did you spare me an hour,” Eliza said, with an eye to the parlour clock. “Eccentric though Cosway is, his conversation at least bears the charm of absurdity; and I should dearly love a glimpse of his rooms in Camden Place.”

  But the little Comtesse’s company, in general so welcome, should quite incommode me in the present instance; for Lord Harold’s making of the party a third, should confirm her worst invention. I started up and laid a hand to hers.