“Sloane Street — all of Hans Town — is a rural vicinity,” I reminded him, “and its denizens are not much in the habit of such dissipation as dining out late on a Sunday night. It must have been all of eleven o’clock when our hackney arrived at the door; and by then, nearly every candle was extinguished. We have not your expensive gas-lighting in these parts; the oil lamps are dim at best; and even I, who was but three yards from her position, heard and saw nothing— until it was too late. Can you have an idea how I blame myself?”
I broke off, and shielded my eyes with my hand. “Forgive me. I passed an uneasy night.”
“Not at all,” he murmured. “And the surgeon — Haden? Has he given you cause for concern?”
“He believes she will recover fully — and when I hear how she orders all of us about, and how thoroughly she enjoys the attention, as she reigns like a queen among her bedclothes, supplied with draughts, and panadas, and surrounded by the latest numbers of the Ladies Monthly Museum and La Belle Assemblée, I should laugh to think she gives me the smallest moment of anxiety![24] If it were not that my brother charged me expressly with taking the utmost care of her in his absence—”
“She saw nothing, heard nothing, of her attacker?”
I shook my head. “The wheels of the departing hackney obscured every sound; and in the darkness—”
“Of course.” Mr. Chizzlewit turned the brim of his curly beaver between his hands; it was a handsome article, as was everything about his neat and elegant form. “But what I must demand is why? Why should anyone chuse to strike down Mrs. Austen? Her reticule was not stolen, I collect?”
“Nor anything else she carried on her person. The sole object of violence was Eliza herself. And so we must conclude that the attack found its motivation in this dreadful business of the Princess’s murder.” I held the solicitor’s gaze. “For my part, I can think of only one person who has reason to fear my sister — and that is the Comtesse d’Entraigues, who may now believe she divulged too much of a private nature, in her various interviews. Perhaps she has learned somehow of the jewels’ discovery, and restoration to Prince Pirov — perhaps her entire story was a fabrication, intended to obscure a far more malevolent history — I do not know. I may only say that the Comtesse was promised to dine with us last evening, then sent her son as proxy, complaining of a sick headache.”
“—So that she might lurk in wait for your carriage in Sloane Street, and murder her friend?” Sylvester Chizzlewit’s brows soared. “I should call the idea fantastic — were the whole business not already so!”
I raised my hands in supplication. “One has only to consider of her story as a farrago of lies from beginning to end, to admit that she is ideally positioned to have murdered the Princess — and thus to fear my sister’s knowledge of her affairs. A woman who has killed once, should not hesitate to kill again.”
“But happily, she failed to do so. I think perhaps I should consult my grandfather — and enquire whether he knows of a likely personage in Barnes, Surrey, who might be set upon the d’Entraigues household. We ought to be informed of their movements — provided the informer acts with discretion.”
A bell sounded somewhere above — from Eliza’s room, no doubt — and Mr. Chizzlewit said, “I have trespassed too long. I stay only to enquire if there is any way I may serve you, Miss Austen? — Any want of Mrs. Henry’s I might supply?”
“You are very good! For of course you must apprehend that I called you hither only to presume upon your generosity. I should like the hackney driver questioned, if possible. He may, indeed, have seen something as he drove off that he failed to put to the proper account.”
“Of course! The jarvey! You engaged him in Portman Square?”
“There is a stand of such men, waiting on the custom of the inhabitants. It is possible that our driver makes a habit of loitering there—”
“—and thus might be readily found. I am happy to oblige you — and shall search for him instantly.”
“Not so swiftly, I hope.” I raised a hand as tho’ to hold him back. “There is one other who might well have observed Eliza’s attacker — tho’ if he should have done so, I am all amazement that he did not come forward.”
“Indeed? You observed someone in the street — or a neighbour, perhaps, whose lamp was yet lit?”
I shook my head. “Nothing so comforting. For the past several days, I have been aware that the Bow Street Runner, William Skroggs, has dogged our movements — following us when we leave the house, much as you desire someone to watch the d’Entraigueses. I have said nothing of this to Eliza, not wishing to alarm her. But it is possible Skroggs witnessed the whole of last evening’s episode.”
“The scoundrel!” Mr. Chizzlewit cried. “And if he did so, he should better have sounded a hue and cry! I shall certainly seek Mr. Skroggs in his lair — for I have been desiring to inform him of my interest in your affairs. The shadow of a reputable solicitor may well be enough to dim a Runner’s ardour for the hunt. We have a nasty tendency to make them prove their allegations.”
Mr. Chizzlewit bowed, and would have set his beaver upon his head, and departed without another word; but not even the press of events could entirely quell my curiosity.
“Sir, before you go—”
He halted, and looked his enquiry.
“May I know whether your dinner engagement with Mr. Charles Malverley proved of interest?”
“Malverley!” he repeated, as tho’ recalling an old acquaintance long since laid to rest. “To be sure, it was a delightful evening, full of reminiscence and interest! Particularly as pertains to our present enquiries. But have you the time — the energy — to devote to a recital?”
“I should like nothing better,” I told him. “From something that was said last evening, I have a burning desire to know more of the gentleman. Pray — sit down.”
Mr. Chizzlewit obliged me, and commenced his tale.
“I keep a suite of rooms in Ryder Street, near St. James, and it was there I had engaged to dine with Malverley. He arrived at half-past six o’clock, and at seven we sat down to the meal my man had prepared; beefsteaks and Yorkshire pudding, with a couple of roasted fowls. I took care to see Malverley amply supplied with claret — which you must know my grandfather himself laid down years since, when our family’s intercourse with France was customary, and not subject to the Monster’s embargoes. I intended that he should be pretty well to liveby the conclusion of dinner, when the decanters of port and brandy were set out; and he did not disappoint me. He set aside the air of reserve acquired so lately in Berkeley Square, and talked with a freedom more characteristic of the Malverley I recalled from Oxford days.”
“So you thought him altered, then, from when you last knew him?”
“Much altered. The Malverley of memory was a rackety fellow enough, full of high living and dash; the sighing object of every maiden’s heart; not the sort to set up as a statesman’s clerk, bowing and scraping to a man whose bloodlines he may best by a full five centuries. I confess I was astonished to learn of his accepting such a position of Lord Castlereagh — I should rather have expected him to follow a rake’s progress, dicing in the clubs and embarrassing his father the Earl with his obligations; wagering on horses that always fail to place; pursuing an heiress when nothing else served to tow him from the River Tick.[25] But I collect that in his final year at Oxford he overstepped the line too rashly — and committed a sin so unpardonable he was banished for a time to the Continent — or that part of it unfettered by the Monster’s chains. I do not know the whole, but must conclude that he returned a reformed character, ready to earn his bread by honourable means, in the service of his country. His father the Earl of Tanborough being a notable Tory in Lords, the position of secretary to Lord Castlereagh was readily obtained — my friend’s return to England coinciding with Lord Castlereagh’s resignation from office, some eighteen months since.”
24
A panada was a dish made of bread or crackers, boiled to a pulp and flavored, and generally served to invalids. —
25
This was a cant term for indebtedness, as the wellborn who lacked means tended to live “on tick” — or credit. —