Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor Read Online Free PDF

the incumbent's death. Sale of a living after the incumbent's death was considered trafficking in Church property—a violation of the laws of simony.— Editor's note.
5. To kill one's opponent in a duel was considered murder in England, and as the nineteenth century wore on, the successful combatant was often forced to flee the country if he did not wish to face the law. Around the turn of the eighteenth century, however, the authorities still occasionally winked at dueling—particularly among military men, for whom the concept of personal honor was as vital as wealth or high birth. As Lieutenant Hearst is a cavalry officer, it would be left to his commanding officers to decide his fate.— Editor's note.

11 December 1802, cont.
    ˜
    THE MOST CURIOUS OF THE INCIDENTS I WITNESSED LAST night sprang from the arrival of a man—a gentleman and a stranger, but of so malevolent an aspect, that I shiver to find him still beneath our roof as the Earl lies dying. He is the chief of what I would understand about life at Scargrave Manor; and I must look to my friend Isobel for explanation, since it was in pursuit of her that he came.
    I was engaged in observing Lieutenant Hearst's progress towards the wine punch, when Isobel appeared at my side. Her face was becomingly flushed, and her brown eyes alight.
    “My dear Jane! Is not this an excellent ball? Is not it an elegant assembly? And yet I have bade my husband be off, that I may steal a few moments in your company,” she declared, taking my hand. “Come into this corner and tell me all that has happened, for since your arrival I have not had a moment to spare for your cares.”
    She led me to a settee placed conveniently within the alcove of a window, the better to view the progress of her ball while conversing unmolested. I confessed to some little fatigue after the rigours of Lieutenant Hearst's conversation and enthusiasm, and sank into the seat with relief,
    “I had hoped to be able to wish you joy, my dear Jane,” Isobel began, “but you are determined to deny me the pleasure. Now, do not run away,” she added, as I looked conscious, “in the fear that I am going to scold you—on the contrary, I admire you. Yes,” she insisted, when I would protest, “I admire your courage. It is rare to find a woman who places her personal happiness above her fears for the future. You refused Mr. Bigg-Wither, refused his offer of a home, a family, and the comfortable means they assured, to retain your independence, despite the counsel of all who wished you well and threw their weight behind the match. What strength!”
    “Did you know Mr. Bigg-Wither, you would think me less noble,” I said. “There cannot be two men so likely to meet with refusal in the entire country. What is remarkable is that I accepted him at all, if only for an evening. The thought of an eternal fireside tête-à-tête with Mr. Bigg-Wither; the endless presiding over the Bigg-Wither teapot; the possibility of little Bigg-Withers, all equally as dull as their father—such nightmares were enough to chasten me by morning.”
    “But at least your nightmares were of short duration, Jane.” Isobel smoothed the elegant folds of her green silk gown, her aspect turned sombre in an instant. “There are too many ladies, I fear, who must suffer them the length of an unhappy marriage. Better to reject a suitor, than to lie forever wakeful in contemplation of one's mistake.”
    “Indeed. Had I joined my life to Mr. Bigg-Wither's, the alliance must be brief; for I would certainly have died of insomnia before the week's end.”
    My design was to provoke laughter, but in truth, my decision to reject Mr. Harris Bigg-Wither of Manydown Park a mere four-and-twenty hours after accepting him—to the joy of my dear friends, his sisters—has caused me great pain and mortification. He is heir to extensive estates in Hampshire, and his position and fortune would be thought a conquest for any lady, particularly one such as