“I know nothing of any visit!” he shouted; and a vein in his neck pulsed dangerously. One of his captors lost his grip on the man, and Lizzy stepped backwards as the right arm swung free.

“I perfectly apprehend your reasons for raising the point,” Neddie said politely to his wife, as tho' he presided over a ruling in a parlour game. “Did Mrs. Grey knock upon the chaise's door?”

“She did. It opened immediately to admit her.”

“So there was someone within?”

“I must assume so. I did not glimpse the face.”

“Miss Austen?” Neddie enquired formally of me.

I shook my head in the negative.

“Mr. Collingforth,” he continued, “what of the boy you engaged to stand watch over the carriage?”

“Ran off to spend his coin, I must suppose. Such things have occurred before.”

“Will the young man engaged by Mr. Collingforth come forward now and tell his story?” Neddie cried.

This time, there was no movement to the rear of the crowd. Neddie repeated his words, to no avail; and Collingforth looked blackly at his friend Everett. The latter's countenance was as contemptuous as before.

Neddie mopped his reddening brow with a square of lawn and turned once more to the unfortunate gentleman. “Can you offer any explanation for Mrs. Grey's visit to your carriage, Collingforth?”

“I cannot. And as your good lady says, Mr. Justice, it makes no odds. The jade lived to win her race, and carry her plate from the field. How she came to end up here, and in such a state, I cannot say. But I suggest you enquire of the parson, Mr. Bridges, and his fine military friend. Ask them why they might have wanted the French trollop dead, and I'm sure you'll hear an earful.”

Beside me, Lizzy's fingers clenched about the pearl handle of her parasol, and her green eyes drifted languidly over the assembled faces. Searching for her brother, perhaps, with the barest hint of anxiety.

“You have a marked proclivity for abuse, Collingforth, that you would do well to suppress,” Neddie said warningly. “The lady is Mrs. Grey, whatever your opinion of her; and I would request that you show some respect of the dead.”

Collingforth shot a look full of hatred at the corpse, and I shuddered to observe it. However Mrs. Grey had charmed the gentlemen of Kent, this one had not been among their number.

“Did you invite her to the chaise, Collingforth, and fail to keep your appointment?”

“I did nothing of the kind. I'm a respectable married man.”

Someone in the crowd guffawed loudly, and Collingforth cast a bloodshot gaze over the assembled faces. “I'll demand satisfaction of the next man who offers disrespect.”

“What about Mrs. Grey?” someone called. “You call what you did to her Respect? Where's her habit, Collingforth? You keep it to give to your wife?”

“Silence!” Neddie shouted, in a tone I had never before heard him employ. “I require a fast horse and rider for Canterbury! There's a gold sovereign for the lad who makes the journey in under an hour!”

“I'm your man,” cried a fellow in a nankeen coat; one of the stable boys, no doubt.

“Ride like the wind to the constabulary,” Neddie instructed him, “and send back a party of men. We will require any number. Where is Mrs. Grey's groom or tyger?”

“Mrs. Grey's tyger!” The cry went up, and was repeated through the swelling ranks; and after an interval, the boy with the bent back was rousted from the stable-yard, with the Greys' jockey in tow.

The tyger stopped short at the sight of his mistress, and gave a strangled cry. Then he looked blindly about the ring of men, his fists clenched; saw Collingforth still pinioned; and rushed at him, flailing and pummelling. “Why'd you want to do it, you coward? Why'd you want to go and kill 'er for? She wanted none o' your kind! You couldn't leave 'er in peace!”

Neddie grasped the boy's shoulders and pulled him away. “What is your name, boy?”

“Tom,” he said. “Tom Jenkins.”

“Why did your mistress leave you behind?”

“She asked me to walk La Fleche back home. Crandall, 'ere, was to walk the filly.”

Very white about the lips, the jockey touched his cap.

“La Fleche?” Neddie enquired.

“The black 'un, what she rode in the heat.”

“I see. And what road did she intend to take?”

“Why, the road to Wingham, o' course. The Larches lies just this side o' Wingham.”

Neddie glanced around him. “Henry! Have you a fresh horse?”

“Of course.” My brothers had gone mounted to the race grounds well before our party in the barouche, being eager to see the Commodore into his stall, and survey the course. We had joined them some hours later.

“Then set out immediately along the Wingham road. Mrs. Grey's phaeton must be found, and secured from injury. Ten to one it has been stolen—” He stopped, perplexed. The unspoken question hovered in the air: How had Mrs. Grey come to lie in Collingforth's chaise, quite devoid of her scarlet habit, when we had all observed her to drive out of the grounds a half-hour before? And if she had met with mishap along the road, and her phaeton been stolen — why was her body not lying beneath a hedgerow?

“I shall send a constable towards Wingham immediately I have one,” Neddie continued, “but until he arrives, Henry, I beg of you, do not stir from The Larches. If you happen upon the phaeton by some lucky chance, remain with it until the constable appears. Now, Tom!”

“Yes, sir?” The tyger dashed away his tears and endeavoured to stand the straighten

“Is the black horse in any state for ajog?”

“As fresh as tho' he never was out, sir.”

“Very well. You and your colleague — Crandall, is it? — shall bear Mr. Austen company along the Wingham road. If the phaeton is discovered, leave Mr. Austen in custody and proceed to The Larches. Inform the household of what has befallen your mistress. Is that clear?”

“As glass, sir.”

“Your master is from home, I presume?”

“He's in London, like always.”

“Then a messenger must be sent to him with the news. The housekeeper will look to it.”

“Like as not she'll send me,” the jockey volunteered. “I usually knows where the master can be found.”

Tom glanced at his murdered mistress, who lay so still amidst the dust and the singing cicadas. “What about milady?”

“We shall convey her to Canterbury,” Neddie answered gently, and clapped the boy's shoulder. “She must lie for a while at the Hound and Tooth, for there will be an inquest.”

“Inquest? But that rogue as did for 'er is standing 'ere, large as life!” the boy spat out, and his fists clenched again. “If I'd been with 'er, as I shoulda been, you wouldn't be looking so easy, Mr. Collingforth, sir!”

“Hold your tongue, Tom,” Neddie said sharply. “This is not the time or place for harsh words. The coroner will determine Mr. Collingforth's guilt. You must tell the housekeeper where Mrs. Grey lies — the Hound and Tooth, in Canterbury.”

“I'll tell 'em everything,” he replied, his face crumpling once more. “They'll want to come and see to 'er.”

“I'm afraid that will have to wait until after the coroner has examined the corpse. Now off with you both to the stables!” Neddie's voice was stern — a palpable support, at such a time. “You have a duty that cannot wait.”

“Aye, sir.” The tyger touched his cap, the jockey bowed, and away they dashed without another word.

“Neddie,” Lizzy murmured in his ear, “I cannot like Fanny's situation. Miss Sharpe, too, is most indisposed.”

“I shall send you back to Godmersham with Pratt.”

“Not until the constabulary arrives,” Lizzy replied firmly. “I will not quit the scene until I know how things stand with Mr. Collingforth. I am in part responsible for his discomfiture, but I thought it necessary to speak.”

“Undoubtedly. You did well. Jane!”

“Yes, Neddie?” I joined them in a moment.

“I should dearly love another pair of eyes. If you and Lizzy would return to the coach, and from that vantage survey the crowd for anything untoward — the slightest detail that might seem amiss — it should be as gold.”