I was struck by all the power of Trowbridge's words, so carelessly bestowed, and clearly without a suspicion that the Earl might have died by other than natural causes. That Fitzroy Payne had a motive to murder — and well before the Earl should get himself a son, and thus disinherit his nephew — was patently obvious. The image of Fitzroy Payne's noble face rose in my mind; could such a man be capable of killing? But certainly his appearance gave no hint of the pressure of his circumstances; he had never betrayed the desperation that must haunt his every thought. I understood better now, why he had not pressed Isobel to break off her engagement to the Earl, and marry him instead; the wrath of his uncle should have blasted his future prospects entirely. Better to win the Countess's heart from her husband — and so guard against the possibility of an heir and the loss of an immense estate.
What had seemed noble, in retrospect was revealed as vilely mercenary. But my thoughts were interrupted by Lord Harold's implacable voice.
“… and then there is the matter of Mrs. Hammond.”
“Mrs. Hammond?”
“A woman he keeps in a flat in Cheapside. It pains me to wound the sensitivities of a lady, but there it is. Her tastes are somewhat extravagant, according to my sources.”
A mistress, when Payne had professed love for Isobel. By any account, it was too much. “Your information has been complete, indeed, Lord Harold,” I said contemptuously. “I would that the gathering of it did you more honour.”
“I make it a point to learn all that I can of my adversaries,” Trowbridge replied easily. “Finance is war; Miss Austen, and one cannot wage war without knowledge. The force of mine was readily apparent to the Countess.”
“You told her of this?” I exclaimed, with horror. “Of Mrs. Hammond as well?”
“It was essential for little Isobel to understand that any hope of succour from the new Earl must be impossible. I could not defer my offer for Crosswinds until such time as she might marry the rogue. I could not depend upon his funds being directed my way.”
I comprehended now the utter defeat of my friend's aspect as she sought the stairs; the air of bewildered pain. Where she assumed strength and love to be hers, she was met with treachery and deceit. And / had urged her only this morning to put aside regret and turn to the living. / had pled Fitzroy Payne's case, when all such pleading must be injury.
“I believe the Countess felt the truth of my arguments,” Lord Harold continued, reaching for the decanter of Port to refill his glass. “She agreed to accept a sum — quite generous, under the circumstances — in return for her properties and the discharge of her debt. She shall have something to live on, at least, which she certainly could not say before.”
And so he feels himself to have been magnanimous. Vile man.
I wheeled for the door, intent upon taking no leave of Harold Trowbridge, but a thought stopped me where I stood. An adventurer like his lordship never wagers without great purpose; and so there must be a value to Crosswinds of which dear Isobel knew nothing.
“What can have been so important, Lord Harold,” I said, turning again to face him, “that you should struggle so long against the Countess?”
“Winning alone has made it worthwhile,” he answered carelessly, drawing on his cigar and releasing the smoke in a foul-scented cloud. “But then there is the matter of the property itself. The lands run down to a deep-water harbour perfect for the mooring of heavy ships; it is unique to the Barbadoes in being held in private hands. Such a port is essential.”
“Essential for what purpose?”
“One you should hardly understand, my dear. And now,” he said, drawing forth a pocket watch, “I fear I must depart. It has been a delightful encounter^ Miss Austen. We make a compelling pair. My initiative, and your wits — had you a greater fortune, I should almost think myself in danger. But alas, you are quite portionless; and hardly possessed of enough beauty to make lack of means a trifle.”
“That is just as well, Lord Harold,” I said clearly, “for your lack of finer feeling, of scruple and honour — of everything, in truth, that turns a man a gentleman — makes you the very last person I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”
Chapter 9
The Animal Smell of Blood
24 December 1802
A CONSTRAINT HAS FALLEN OVER OUR PARTY WITH LORD Harold's departure — an event so fervently desired, and yet in its achievement, offering little in the way of ease or peace. That his disclosures to Isobel have poisoned her feelings for Fitzroy Payne, I do not doubt; she encounters the new Earl with a determined coldness, and spends much of her days alone in her rooms, while he — cast down and grown even more unhappy — keeps to his library, his walks through the Park, and the comfort of his books.
Fitzroy Payne has often during these long hours, by a look or a word, seemed on the verge of requesting my counsel, but is prevented by his strong reserve. I may confess myself relieved at his hesitancy, for it is an interview I would at all costs avoid. He undoubtedly knows of Isobel's decision to turn over her estates to Lord Harold; but it is certain he did nothing to impede that gentleman's departure. And so I must judge him to have failed her when she most required aid.
With the Countess distracted and the new Earl little better, Scargrave Manor's habits of order might be expected to run awry; but Madame Delahoussaye has assumed her niece's role of chatelaine with admirable relish. She now vies with Mrs. Hodges for authority over the principal rooms, and sets about directing the housemaids at their work. When Fitzroy Payne happens to leave his refuge for his customary ramble, Madame descends upon the library and will suffer no one to assist her. Danson, the Earl's man, is banished thin-lipped and grim to the servants’ quarters, and a fearsome racket emanates from behind the library's closed doors. When Madame emerges, however, the Earl's papers have been tidied, his cigar ash disposed, and his letters neatly grouped in a pile for Danson to file away. A veritable war has ensued between the Earl's valet and his beloved's aunt; and I must declare Madame to be the winner in the majority of their engagements.
Fanny Delahoussaye continues to suffer from a poor stomach, though most afternoons she rallies enough to play at lottery tickets with Tom Hearst, when he is so inclined — and that is often, for it seems the atmosphere in the cottage down the lane is less than congenial. Mr. George Hearst looks decidedly morose, being lost in a brown study that lifts only when he is repeatedly addressed; hardly the sort of society the boisterous Lieutenant should choose. We are blest in that the moody ecclesiastic rarely darkens the Manor door; and his stupidity often sends his brother in desperation from the cottage.
Isobel's persistent sorrow makes me feel a useless friend, and I have wondered more than once whether I did right by staying on; but when I voiced my intention of returning to Bath in Fitzroy Payne's hearing, he started in dismay, and pressed me so urgently to remain — that I might endeavour to lift the Countess's spirits — that I could not in good conscience depart. Whatever Lord Scargrave's faults and vices may be, I can know nothing of them. He remains all that is honourable in my presence.
And since I must await the offer of the Scargrave carriage to convey me home, I am, more to the point, utterly without the means to leave.