Jane and the Genius of the Place: Being the Fourth Jane Austen Mystery by Stephanie Barron

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. “Litde as I enjoy my present orders, I do not envy Mr. Austen his duty. It is one thing to kill another man in batde—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 gendy. '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 littler
    “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—”
    “Until Francoise,” I said.
    “Until Francoise,” he agreed. “I tell you this, Miss Austen, so that you might comprehend the nature of my friend's marriage. It was arranged, I believe, by the elder Penfleur himself, who had the charge of Francoise from infancy; she cannot have been very well acquainted with Mr. Grey, when first she arrived on these shores.”
    “Did she come to England, then, against her will?”
    “I doubt that Francoise Lamartine ever did anything against her will,” he replied with a faint smile.
    But it could not be surprising, I thought, that in the face of such a marriage—exiled by her family and treated coldly by her husband—she had turned to an unknown lover.
    “How very tragic,” I murmured. “For so young a woman, and a stranger to Kent, to find her death in so brutal a manner … You had no hint of Mrs. Grey possessing any enemies, I suppose?”
    He eyed me over the rim of his glass, then set it deliberately on the table. “You are not of Kentish society yourself, Miss Austen, any more than I may claim to be. We are both of us merely visitors to this delightful place, and care litde how its intimates may treat us. But that was not the case with Francoise. I am sure that your sister and brother have told you a little of her reception.”
    “But a coldness on the part of a strange society, in itself, should hardly lead to murder,” I persisted. “Surely that is another order of violence altogether, Captain?”
    “I have been taught to think so.” He rose, and took up his hat. “A sense of what is due to my friend Grey, Miss Austen, must prevent me from speaking plainly. I may only tell you that his wife's enemies were thick upon the ground. You might look no farther than the lady's own household.”
    I gazed at him narrowly. “I cannot believe you would accuse your oldest friend, Captain Woodford, of doing away with his wife. This cannot be what is due to him, as you put it.”
    “I, accuse Valentine Grey? Impossible!” he cried. “I merely meant to underline,