Read Jane and the Genius of the Place: Being the Fourth Jane Austen Mystery for Free Online

in so many things. Your disappointment may serve as a cautionary chapter in the annals of the Sporting Life. I see the illustration now, in my mind's eye: A Gentleman Unbowed by the Vagaries of Fortune.”
    “—However driven upon the poorhouse,” he muttered, unreconciled.
    “The poorhouse!” I smiled at him conspiratorially, and dropped my voice to a whisper. “Then take comfort, Henry. You shall not travel there alone. The excellent Mr. Bridges is to cheer your solitude, for he named the Commodore as the salvation of all his hopes.”
    “Am I then to encompass others in my ruin?” Henry groaned in mock despair. “The reproaches that shall be mine! And how am I to face Lady Bridges, his redoubtable mother? I suppose we may expect the unfortunate curate to wait upon us at Godmersham before the day is out?”
    “He had better wait upon Mrs. Grey,” said Neddie, who had caught something of our conversation. “She is undoubtedly more amenable to charity at present.”
    “A debt of honour is a debt of honour.” Lizzy picked desultorily at the points of her gloves. “No lady would forgive what a gentleman would exact; it does violence to the equality of the sexes.”
    “You have been reading that wretched Wollstonecraft again,” my brother said in exasperation. “I shall burn the volume tonight.” 8
    “May we leave now, Papa?” Fanny implored. “I am most dreadfully hungry.”
    “Hungry!” Neddie searched in the depths of the picnic hamper. “And not a scrap of jellied chicken left for your fainting father? Scamp!” He pinched his favourite's dimpled cheek. “We shall take to the road directly I secure a draught of ale, Fanny. I have a thirst upon me that would parch the Stour itself.”
    And so he moved off, intent upon a tankard. Most of the gendemen of the neighbourhood were roving about the meeting-grounds, exchanging tales of woe or victory; some had placed their money on Mrs. Grey's filly, others on Henry's horse, still others on one of the mounts deep in the pack, who had fared no better than the Commodore. A great deal of hearty laughter and slapping of backs ensued, for which I had little temper; I was fatigued and overheated myself, and longing to be out of my ravishing lilac habit.
    “There is my brother Edward,” Lizzy observed, “looking bound for the gallows before sunset. You have much to answer for, Henry; I am not sure I should admit you to Godmersham this e'en! Look at the poor fellow—so chapfallen and mumchance! Were it not for the support of Captain Woodford's arm, I doubt he could place one foot before the other!”
    And, indeed, Mr. Bridges looked very unwell. His countenance was flushed, his fashionable coiffure disarranged, and his cravat askew. He clutched at his head—which ached, no doubt, from an unfortunate blend of spirits and wine—and muttered indistinguishable words in Captain Woodford's ear. A glance for his sister, and it seemed as tho' he might approach our barouche—until a third man came up with him suddenly, and tore at Mr. Bridges's arm. He was a burly gentleman, with sweeping whiskers and a raffish air; a gendeman I knew of old. Denys Collingforth, of slim means and illiberal temper, who was held in general disfavour by the whole neighbourhood. We should have seen much of the Collingforths, had they proved more genteel, for they lived but a few miles from Godmersham, at Prior's Farm. He was fond of using his fists at the slightest provocation, and was even said to have struck his wife—the unfortunate Laetitia, whose carriage Mrs. Grey had entered only an hour or so before.
    I had seen Denys Collingforth in more than one unsavoury moment, during my many sojourns in Kent; and his present appearance argued the immediate precipitation of another. He twisted the sleeve of Mr. Bridges's elegant coat, all choler and ill-humour in a single motion.
    The curate gasped, and attempted to shake him off; but he succeeded only in securing both of Mr. Collingforth's