The household and I are to follow in their train, to take up abode in the Earl's Town house; even if I would be gone now to Bath, my duty as a friend forbids it, for Isobel will not hear of me deserting her in this, her most mortal hour. Indeed, she has charged me with a burden I scarce know how to fulfil.

“Discover the truth, my dear Jane,” she pressed me, her brown eyes dry and her carriage unbent, as she prepared to be shut up in her rooms. “It is beyond my power to do so. As God is my witness, I am innocent of my husband's death. Sir William is unmoved, and the townsfolk easily led; but your penetration, your understanding, must be my only hope. Do not fail me, Jane!”

28 December 1802

I AWOKE THIS MORNING TO THE RATTLE OF THE UPPER house maid laying the fire — a comforting sound, suggestive of other winter mornings retrieved from the memory of childhood, when the certainty of a good breakfast before a blazing hearth awaited one downstairs, and duties no more onerous than the reading of a lesson filled up the morning. I felt a sharp longing for Cassandra, and intimate conversation in our dressing gowns — and for Steventon, the home of my youth abandoned these eighteen months. Tho’ Hampshire is often derided for its ugly chalk cliffs and quiet farmland, I cannot think Derbyshire's crags more lovely, nor the gardens of Hertfordshire to have a greater claim on my affections. It was partly from homesickness that I once entertained the notion of marriage to Harris Bigg-Wither — for an alliance with his considerable fortune and Hampshire estates would have returned me to the circle I so dearly loved.

I burrowed deeper in the quilts as the maid lit her tinder. My person might be in Scargrave this morning, but my mind was upon home. When my father moved our family to Bath eighteen months ago, my conviction of Steventon's merits was only strengthened.[32] Bath itself I find abhorrent, even as it fascinates — as is ever the case when I am surfeited with a certain kind of society. The sameness of the crowd in the Pump Room, though the faces themselves may change, is such as to weary; the endless parading, the restless nothingness of conversation, the crush of the public assemblies; the ennui of one's partners, generally stupid young men with little to recommend them; the insipidity of a crowd that comes for the sole purpose of being amused, and finds it an insult to exert itself towards that end. Not for anything in the world would I have chosen a pleasure place for a permanent home.

And the system of drains in the house at Sydney Place is not to be supported.

I cannot but wonder at my father having chosen such a town for his remaining years, and yearn still for my snug upstairs room in the rectory and die society of Madam Lefroy, my dearest Anne. To consider brother James and his poor Mary now in possession of all that was dear to me is a further source of displeasure; they cannot appreciate its merits as I, nor find the same delight in its simple comforts. They exist only to criticise. But I recollect; I myself have been criticising at great length, and must declare it to be a family failing.

I rose up on one elbow and peered around the bed-curtains. “Martha,” I said to the maid bent at the grate, “is anyone else yet abroad?”

“I can't rightly say, miss,” she declared, sitting back on her heels and brushing away a stray lock of black hair, “seein’ as those fellers are posted a'tall the doors. Took the kindlin’ from me and sent me abaht my business, they did, as though I'd ‘ave the savin’ of the Earl with a bit o’ tinder.”

“Events have taken a sad turn,” I commented.

“That they ‘ave, miss, and for nothin’ but Lizzy Scratch and her palaverin’ ways. That girl Margie was a bad ‘un, make no mistake, and she's sure to ‘ave met her end from ‘er fancy man as anything else. Least, that's what Mr. Cobblestone and Mrs. Hodges be sayin’ below stairs.”

“Did you know Marguerite very well?” I enquired curiously.

“Didn’ ‘ave time. She ahn't been ‘ere but a week or two ‘fore she quit the ‘ouse.” Martha stood up and dusted off her hands. “There now. That's burnin’ smartly. Jest you bide there in bed, miss, until the chill come off the room, and I'll fetch the tea.”

When she had gone, I lay back on the pillows and considered all that Lizzy Scratch had recounted the previous day. Marguerite's unknown man may also have been her murderer; certainly Sir William Reynolds believed so, and thought him found in the present Earl. That Fitzroy Payne was hardly likely to have made love to the Countess and her maid at one and the same time (particularly when I knew him possessed of a mistress in Town), was not an aspect to trouble Sir William. Perhaps he knew more than I of the habits of gentlemen.

It was equally possible, however that Marguerite's lover had nothing to do with the events at the Manor, and that fear of the law prevented the man from coming forward. Now that Fitzroy Payne had been charged, perhaps the unknown swain should breathe more easily, and consider acceding to an interview — could one but locate him.

“Martha,” I said, as the maid returned with tea-tray held high, “does Mrs. Hodges or Cobblestone know the identity of Marguerite's young man? I wonder that he did not come forward at the inquest.”

“That Man,” Martha said, implying the coroner Mr. Bott, “made out as if ‘twere the new Earl, Lord Payne as was, ‘ad goings-on with Margie. Ha! He'd as like ‘ave to do with Mrs. Hodges, and her sixty if she's a day. Lord Payne — Lord Scargrave, I mean — is that proud, he looks through us serving folk. He's called me Kate or Daisy as often as my Christian name.”

“Perhaps Marguerite had no young man.”

“Oh, that she did,” Martha declared stoutly. “Always goin’ on about ‘ow flash he were, and ‘ow ‘e'd bring ‘er things that were that costly when she saw ‘im again.” She set the tray by the fire and poured out a cup.

“So it was an affair of some duration,” I mused. “I had supposed her young man only recently encountered — since her coming to Scargrave.”

“Oh, Lord, no! She was ever givin’ ‘erself airs, sayin’ as ‘ow she weren't likely to be in service no more when ‘er ship come in, and ‘ow we'd all ‘ave to call ‘er Miss Marguerite.” Martha thrust her nose in the air and shrugged her shoulders, affecting Marguerite's haughty disdain. “Showed us a gold locket she'd ‘ad off ‘im, that she kept real close-like, and wore under ‘er shift. Thought ‘e'd marry her; she did — or worse.”

I threw back the covers and reached for my dressing gown, my eyes on Martha's tray. “Perhaps it was a fellow from her native island, encouraged through steady correspondence? “

Martha looked doubtful. “I don't think as it was a ferriner, miss, but I can't rightly say.”

“I suppose she might readily have formed an acquaintance during her months in London.”

“Come to think on it, miss, she did say as he'd took ‘er strollin’ of an evenin’ in Covent Garden.”

I took a sip of tea and studied the maid over the rim of my cup. “I wonder her mistress the Countess did not know of it. The entire affair is curious, Martha. As curious as Marguerite's friendship with Lizzy Scratch.”

“Old Lizzy's ‘avin’ the time o’ ‘er life,” Martha averred with scorn. “If she were any friend to the girl, I'm yer widowed aunt, I am. You ask anyone, you'll find that woman was chargin’ Margie dearly for ‘er keep when she took ‘er in. She's a warm woman, is Lizzy.”

I BREAKFASTED WITH FANNY DELAHOUSSAYE, ARRAYED THIS morning in a dove-grey gown and lace collar that gave the barest nod to the conventions of mourning, but appeared to decided effect against her blond curls and blue eyes. My own brown muslin looked as dull as clodded earth by comparison, and made me feel just as heavy. I sought refuge in silence and Mrs. Hodges's excellent chocolate, but peace was not a quality Miss Delahoussaye prized, and so I was soon forced to all the tedium of an early morning tête-à-tête. For Fanny was up early, impatient for her return to London, and possessed of complete equanimity as to its cause.