Free The Mysterious Death of Miss Jane Austen by Lindsay Ashford

father died. And she tells me that you have been looking after little Anna as well as Fanny.”
    “Yes,” I began, “Anna was with us for a—” Before I could finish the sentence she was off again.
    “Ah, poor Anna,” she sighed. “Her new mother is very mean to her, I think. Have you met her?” I shook my head, thinking that she was very free with her opinions. There had been several Frenchmen amongst my father’s clients, but none as bold as this lady. “Mary Austen is a very jealous woman,” she went on. “Do you know, she will not allow my mistress to accompany Monsieur Henry when he visits them in Steventon? And do you know the reason why?”
    I shook my head, but I doubt if she noticed, so intent was she on telling me.
    “It is because she is the second choice. When Anna’s mother died, her father wanted to marry my mistress, but she turned him down. She said she could not imagine herself as the wife of a country parson!” She rolled her eyes, as if the very thought was quite insane. “So now James Austen has a scold for a wife. Not only is my mistress banned from their house, her name must never be mentioned, Monsieur Henry says. Imagine how difficult that must be for him, when he goes to visit!”
    “Does he go there often?” I asked, with a sudden presentiment of dread.
    “Quite often,” she replied. “He has plans to open a branch of his bank nearby.”
    Seeing my blank look she chuckled again. “Did you not know? That is where he is now, not in Hampshire—at the bank he has in town.”
    I nodded silently. So that was where Henry’s money came from. As I tucked into my buttered shrimps I wondered how he had come by the means to start such a business. Had Edward helped him out? This seemed unlikely, given his apparent reluctance to spend even trifling amounts on clothes for Jane and Cassandra. I decided that the money must have come from Eliza’s side of the family. That would explain why two Austen brothers had vied for her hand in marriage.
    “It is an amazingly clever thing, to run a bank,” I ventured. “Your mistress must be very happy to have made such a match—her parents too, I should think.”
    Madame Bigeon gave a little sigh and rubbed her hands on her apron. “I wish that poor Madame Hancock had lived to see the day,” she said. “She was the very best of mothers—and it was not easy for her, being left a widow so early.”
    “Oh?” I said, “Eliza’s father is dead too?”
    “Yes,” she replied, “it is a great pity. She hardly knew him at all because his business kept him far away. But she is lucky to have a godfather, a very kind and generous man, Monsieur Hastings. He was a great friend of her parents when they lived in India. She named the child after him, you know, because he has none of his own.”
    I turned my face to the shrimps to consider this. The Governor General was Eliza’s godfather then, not a relative, and India was the connection. By “generous,” I assumed that Madame Bigeon was alluding to money. Henry’s wife was becoming more intriguing than ever. I wondered when she would return from her errand and whether I would have the chance to meet her. Goodness, what a busybody you are turning into! I heard my mother’s voice, as clear as if she had been sitting at the table beside me. I suppose I was poking my nose in further than I should, taking advantage of the garrulousness of Henry’s housekeeper. The fact was that I couldn’t help myself. Two years at Godmersham, almost starved of adult society, had turned me into a glutton for every morsel I could gather from the lives of others. I felt like Arabella in The Female Quixote , locked in a castle with only books to give color to her life.
    Before I could probe any further, though, a face appeared around the door. It was a woman of about my own age, very similar in features to Madame Bigeon.
    “This is my daughter, Marie Marguerite.” The housekeeper beckoned her into the room. Marie