I love her too well, in short, to have her broken for a moral.

My thoughts in this vein had only just borne fruit, in the composition of the novel's final pages, when the sound of hoofbeats on the dusty lane below my hilltop perch alerted all my senses. I half-rose, and peered round a column; observed an officer mounting the stone bridge over the Stour; and set aside my paper and pen. A moment's further study revealed the upright figure to possess an eye patch — and there could not be two such at large in the country. Captain Woodford, then, was come to Godmersham, and well before the usual hour for paying a morning call!

If I entertained the notion of a soul burdened with guilt, and advancing upon my brother for the full confession of its sins, I may perhaps be forgiven. I watched with narrowed eyes as the Captain achieved the gates and made his measured progress up the sweep.[16] He did not look a man overwhelmed by grief; yet neither was he galloping as befit an officer charged with the most urgent intelligence. The French were not upon our very doorstep, at least.

I gathered up my little sheaf of paper, secured Lady Susan and my pen in the pocket of my apron, and set off down the slope towards the house.

“CAPTAIN WOODFORD,” LIZZY SAID, WITH HER MOST charming smile — the one that is barely a smile at all. “I fear you find us quite abandoned by the gentlemen.”

Neddie had left early on horseback intent upon Valentine Grey, while Henry had been charged with learning what he could of Denys Collingforth's affairs. He intended, I believed, to spend the better part of the day drinking ale in the Hound and Tooth, the center of all gossip in Canterbury.

The Captain bowed low over my sister's hand, then inclined his head towards myself. “Mr. Austen is from home? should have suspected as much. The tragic business at the race-meeting—”

“Indeed,” Lizzy returned smoothly. “My husband left the house at eight o'clock, intent upon The Larches. Mr. Grey, it seems, arrived home just after dawn, and Mr. Austen wished to speak with him as soon as might be.”

“Of course. I had not known Grey was returned.” If the Captain felt a moment's uneasiness at the mention of The Larches, he betrayed nothing in his countenance. His entire aspect, in fact, was official and grave, as tho' he moved in a role not entirely his own. He handed Lizzy a furled despatch, tied round with a scarlet cord.

“I had hoped to speak with Mr. Austen himself, but given the pressing nature of the business at hand, can delay no longer. You will comprehend the urgency of this document's contents, I am sure, Mrs. Austen, and see that its instructions are fulfilled to the letter.”

But Lizzy was already perusing the despatch, a fine line growing deeper between her brows. “Evacuation orders?” she said faintly. “But is it certain?”

“Nothing can be certain, ma'am, when the enemy is so inscrutable as Buonaparte,” the Captain replied. “We merely thought it wisest to discharge these orders among the local gentry, in the event of an invasion's taking place. You apprehend that it would not do, ma'am, to have the populace choking the major routes of any army retreat towards London.”

“Retreat,” Lizzy repeated. “You have capitulated already, I see.”

Captain Woodford gave a short bark of laughter, and glanced at me uneasily. “There is no cause for alarm, Mrs. Austen, I assure you. It is merely wisest to be prepared.”

“What has occasioned the present release of these orders?” I enquired. “Have the French been sighted in the Channel?”

“I regret that I am not at liberty to disclose the intelligence,” the Captain told me with another bow, “since I am hardly in command of it myself. I may only say that Major-General Lord Forbes was called out in the middle of the night, and told of something that so excited his anxiety, he deemed it best to alert the surrounding countryside. It is everywhere rumoured that the fleet has escaped from Brest and Boulogne — that the Emperor has embarked — and that even now some thousand French ships with cavalry and cannon in their holds are bound for the shores of Kent.”

“The fleet escaped? While Admiral Nelson and the intrepid Fly Austen patrol the Channel? Unthinkable!” I scoffed.[17]

“Would that the General might share your fond hope,” said Woodford with a smile, “but caution must argue a more present surety. We would wish you to have the chief of your household goods packed and in readiness, in the event you must quit the country on little notice.”

“Packing is merely the tenth part of it,” Lizzy said abruptly. She crumpled the despatch into a tight little wad. “We are to fire the sainfoin harvest from June, and cull the herds as well? — It shall be a bitter winter in Kent, if every household does the same! And what if we refuse, Captain Woodford?”

“I should not like to have to enforce the orders against your will, madam,” he rejoined, “but if my general commands it, I will do so. We cannot have such a rich provision fall into the hands of the French.”[18]

Lizzy thrust the despatch into my hands, and turned away. “Forgive me, Captain — but I must see that the packing is commenced at once. A household of nine children, a variety of adults, and fourteen in service, may never move but at a ponderous pace. Pray overlook my ill-breeding, and accept a glass of lemonade. Mrs. Salkeld! Mrs. Salkeld!”

And so she swept out of the drawing-room, her carriage magnificent, the very picture of an outraged chatelaine. Captain Woodford gazed after her with an air of trouble on his brow, and then smiled ruefully at me. “At least she did not dissolve in tears. For that I am thankful. It is a difficult business, informing the populace of so unexpected a removal. I have witnessed all manner of behaviour in the past several hours — fainting fits, the tearing of hair, and even the threat of violence. One lady I shall forbear to name advanced upon me with a pair of sewing shears!”

I could not suppress a smile. “Poor Captain Wood-ford! Duty is a difficult master, in the best of times. We must all suffer from its effects. My unfortunate brother feels his burden as cruelly as yourself, I assure you.”

At that moment, Russell the manservant appeared in the doorway bearing a tray. Woodford's countenance lightened with an expression of relief. The conveyance of the King's orders must be a parching business.

“Pray sit down, Captain,” I said.

He removed his hat, and took a chair, and accepted a glass of lemon-water from Russell. “Little as I enjoy my present orders, I do not envy Mr. Austen his duty. It is one thing to kill another man in battle — that is merely a trick of Fate, the necessity of war. But to murder a woman, in cold blood — and a woman, too, in the full flush of youth! I shall never forget the sight of her dead face as long as I live, Miss Austen.”

“I understand you were intimate with the family,” I offered gently. “You have my deepest sympathy.”

The Captain coloured, and dropped his gaze. “It is true that I have known Grey from our earliest years. We were practically raised in each other's London households and schooled together at Harrow. But as for Francoise — the late Mrs. Grey — my acquaintance was very brief. She had been a bride but seven months.”

“So little.”

“You know, of course, that she was connected to an influential banking family in France.”

“I heard something of it,” I admitted, “but am ignorant of the particulars.”

“Mrs. Grey was the ward of the Penfleurs. They are a powerful and prodigious clan, with branches in every kingdom, and a wealth that approaches fable. There are Penfleurs who are princes in France, and Penfleurs who are counts in Naples; Penfleurs who advise the rulers of German states, and not a few who are essential to the Netherlands. Their resources remain entirely in the family, and their credit extends across continents. But remarkably, there were no Penfleurs in England—”