“Much altered. He was used to be a carefree youth — more concerned with the niceties of dress and appearance than I should like, and an aspirant to Mr. Brummell’s mantle, among the Dandy Set— but now he is grown grave and troubled. There is a want of openness which I might have imputed to the difference in our stations, and a disinclination to renew the acquaintance, had he not gladly accepted my invitation to dine this evening, in my rooms; we are to play at picquet afterwards, and I expect my pockets shall be wholly to let by dawn.”
“Then you were unable, in your first meeting, to divine any particulars of the Princess’s business?” Eliza enquired.
“It was not the place to do so — we met at Jackson’s Saloon, where Malverley was sparring. I knew him to be in the habit of taking lessons from Gentleman Jackson, and contrived to visit the premises at a convenient hour. I may have expressed myself as being sensible of the cares lately placed upon him — and suggested that a bit of diversion among friends might prove beneficial — but beyond that, I could not go.”
“Naturally. He did not suspect you encountered him by design?” I asked.
“I should not think so. Charles is not the sort to suspicion an old acquaintance. I shall have more to report on the morrow, to be sure.”
“In the course of your dinner, Mr. Chizzlewit,” I said, “endeavour to learn whether Mr. Malverley prevaricated, when he claimed never to have seen a letter from Princess Tscholikova at Castlereagh’s house. It would be well to sound the fellow on his lordship’s habits, too — as both gentlemen are far too closed-mouthed regarding Castlereagh’s movements during the hours before the Princess’s murder.”
“I shall do my utmost,” the solicitor replied. “You persist in regarding Lord Castlereagh as the guilty party?”
“There is a simplicity to the notion I find appealing,” I agreed. “He possesses, after all, the motive for murder — the opportunity to effect it — and the stubborn persistence in denying all knowledge of the act! When a gentleman will not say where he has been, there is usually good cause for silence!”
“But that cause is rarely murder,” Mr. Chizzlewit returned.
“I keep an open mind,” I assured him, “and one replete with enough suspicion to tar most of London. I shall not hesitate to act, when the alternative is injustice.”
Beside me, Eliza shivered, and reached for her handkerchief.
“I trust you have interviewed your friend, Mrs. Austen?” the solicitor enquired. “The French Countess?”
“Indeed, Mr. Chizzlewit.” My sister revived in sudden animation. “And most affecting, I found it too! I am sure you will acquit Anne of any wrongdoing when you have heard the whole—”
Anticipating a recital as lengthy as yesterday’s, I said abruptly, “The Comtesse claims a member of the Muslin Company gave her the jewels — as recompense for having stolen her husband.”
“Indeed!” Sylvester Chizzlewit was hard put not to smile. “And the name of the bit of muslin in question?”
“Julia Radcliffe. Are you at all acquainted with her?”
“Miss Austen!” he cried. “Such a question! I do not know how to answer you!”
“She is a fixture in Harriette Wilson’s salon, I believe, or perhaps she rules over one of her own — my intelligence is imperfect on that score, I confess. I merely wondered, Mr. Chizzlewit, if you had found occasion to pay the salon a call.”
“Since you put it so unblushingly — then yes, Miss Austen, I have,” he returned.
Eliza clapped her hands. “Do tell us what it was like!”
He shifted slightly in his chair; the first sign of discomfort he had allowed himself to betray. “Very much of a piece with a gentleman’s club — save that the focus of admiration and interest were the ladies present, all of whom conducted themselves with a passable degree of propriety. You will know that those who collect around Harriette Wilson are many of them quite wellborn … tho’ fallen in their standing due to a variety of youthful indiscretions. Miss Radcliffe is one of these.”
“And what is your opinion of her?” I asked.
“She is ravishing — a diamond of the first water,” he replied. “The difference in her situation, from what it ought to be, must trouble anyone who knows her.”
“Except those, apparently, whose first duty it should be to protect her,” I observed. “Her family.”
“As I am ignorant of the particulars of her folly, I cannot undertake to judge.” Mr. Chizzlewit met my gaze squarely. “She is the object of general admiration; a shifting party of gentlemen — many of them among the highest in the land — collect around her, and tho’ most bestow expensive tributes, she has allowed no one to become her sole protector. I know for a fact that any number have offered Miss Radcliffe carte blanche — and she refuses to take it up.[22] There are conjectures as to her reasons, of course— some would have it she remains faithful in her heart to a dead lover, others that she is angling for a title willing to offer marriage — but her independence has only increased her desirability.” The solicitor frowned. “To figure as the receiver of stolen goods — if indeed she apprehended that they were stolen — and to convey them, with malicious intent, to an innocent victim of her toils — is a piece of villainy I should like to think impossible.”
“I agree. There is a dignity in her carriage — a sweetness of expression unmarred by her traffick with the world — that must impress the observer with a belief in her goodness. I cannot make it out at all. I believe I shall have to pay Miss Radcliffe a call.”
“Pay her a call!” Eliza cried, scandalised. “Jane, you would never venture to such a den of iniquity! Only think if you were found out! I should not be able to look your mother in the face — and only conceive how lowering to reflect that in this instance, she would be justified in her poor opinion of me!”
“You speak as tho’ you are already acquainted with Miss Radcliffe,” Mr. Chizzlewit said.
“We have chanced to meet some once or twice. She was first raised as an object of interest with the Comte d’Entraigues — it is Julia Radcliffe he is said to wish to marry, when once he obtains his divorce.”
Mr. Chizzlewit’s countenance changed colour. “That old roué! It does not bear thinking of! Why, the girl is young enough to be his daughter—”
He rose, and took an agitated turn about the room.
“I understand she is but seventeen. But recollect what the Comtesse has told us: Miss Radcliffe pressed the jewels upon her as recompense. It would appear that she has made her decision — and means to seek a respectable alliance, even at the price of d’Entraigues.”
“Impossible!” Mr. Chizzlewit spat.
I shrugged, as tho’ indifferent to his contempt. “Then perhaps she merely intends to use d’Entraigues to secure the interest of another. Miss Radcliffe’s name is frequently linked to Mr. George Canning’s. But my sister assures me that Canning is unlikely to desert his wife and children — however much amusement he may find in salons of Harriette Wilson’s type.”
“Canning’s eldest son is lame,” the solicitor observed, “and Canning and his wife are both devoted to the boy. He would not so wound his family — and there are considerations of public office—”
“Then Miss Radcliffe deludes herself. Her affections, nonetheless, may be ardent and real — and thus could be used to villainous ends, when urged by an unscrupulous man. Mr. Canning has at times been described to me this way.”
“Unscrupulous?” Mr. Chizzlewit’s brow furrowed. “It is not a word I should apply. Bold in his ambitions, yes — implacable in his hatreds — but there is nothing in his career one may point to, as being less than honourable—”
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