Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron jam-10 Read online

  “Henry!” I hissed, as Lord Moira halted in abrupt confusion.

  The man swung round. George Hanger, intimate of the Regent and more than sixty if he was a day; and the girl — crumpling to the floor as he released her —

  Was none other than Catherine Twining.

  Chapter 8 The Girl in Boy’s Clothing

  SUNDAY, 9 MAY 1813

  BRIGHTON

  “COLONEL HANGER!” LORD MOIRA CRIED. THE EARL’S heavy jowls trembled with emotion — outrage or uneasiness, I could not tell. “The young lady — I trust she has not been overcome by the heat — Miss Austen, you perceive, is in a similar case — ”

  “Miss Austen,” Catherine Twining repeated faintly; her eyelids fluttered as tho’ she roused from a dream. “Again you are my salvation!”

  “Shhhh,” I murmured, kneeling down beside her and shaking my head once, sternly, in mute admonition. It would not do to make a scene — any hint of scandal in such a place should damage Colonel Hanger not at all, but should leave Miss Twining’s reputation in shreds.

  “Allow me,” Henry said gently, extending his hand to assist the girl. “Are you all right?”

  The lace ruff at the edge of Catherine’s bodice was torn and dangling; observing this, her cheeks were suffused with scarlet. Her fingers fluttered at the scrap ineffectually.

  “Perhaps a pin,” I suggested hastily, and searched in my reticule for one I kept there against just such a need.

  My brother turned coldly on Colonel Hanger. “Sir, I have not the honour of your acquaintance, and must leave it to others more closely connected with Miss Twining to question your conduct — ”

  Hanger grinned, displaying a lamentable set of wooden teeth. “The General, d’ye mean? He’s not likely to cross a brother officer over a bit of muslin, even if she is his daughter. From what I remember of her ma, there’s not much virtue in the female line.”

  “Sir! You forget yourself!” Henry said fiercely.

  Hanger’s eyes narrowed. “Think you’re entitled to teach me conduct, do you?” He stepped pugnaciously towards my brother. “And what if I slapped your face with my glove, you damnable mushroom? Would you accept the honour of my acquaintance then? The girl encouraged my attentions, if you must know — and led the way to this secluded spot!”

  Henry stiffened, and I feared for the issue. “Sir, your imputations are insupportable! Pray step outside, where we may discuss this in greater privacy!”

  Hanger strode like a bantam cock towards a pair of great iron doors that let out from the Conservatory onto the Pavilion’s grounds. “Lead on, my fine fellow! I should be happy to draw your cork for you!”

  I looked in desperation to Lord Moira, who shouldered his way between my brother and his unusual adversary. “George, if you do not take care, you will bring all of Brighton down upon us — and I cannot think you wish that! You have too many creditors among the townsfolk, ha! ha! And in any case — His Highness sent me in search of you. He desires you to attend him in the Blue Saloon.”

  “Does he, indeed?” Hanger eyed poor Catherine, huddled under my wing, with hungry chagrin. “I had forgot what I was about. It was the Regent who was wild to make your acquaintance, my dove, only I tarried too long in presenting you. But don’t cry — we shall have other opportunities — and the Prince was never one for little girls, nor dark-haired ones, neither. He prefers them billowy and blond. I should know — I was ever Prinny’s procurer.”

  “George,” Lord Moira breathed warningly. “Have a care!”

  Hanger smirked. “You’re a diplomat born, Francis, for all you’re so hopeless at cards. You’ll do very well among the savages and Nabobs — you shall indeed. I wish you at Bengal right now, truth be told; or at the Devil — whichever you will. It’s all one to me.”

  “I dare swear you’re foxed, George,” Lord Moira returned despairingly.

  Hanger bowed in Catherine’s direction. “Pleasure, Miss Twining — one I hope to have often repeated.”

  Henry surged forward, but I placed a restraining hand on his arm; we could not endure a meeting at dawn with such an opponent. Hanger might very well be foxed — his whole person reeked of brandy — and Henry might have the advantage of him in years; but the Colonel was known for an excellent shot. Catherine Twining’s honour was not my brother’s to defend.

  As Hanger swung out of the Conservatory with the arrogant stride of a man half his age, Lord Moira, without requiring to be told, had the good sense to draw Henry aside and speak to him very sensibly on the subject of our late Eliza. I busied myself with tucking up Miss Twining’s torn lace, using the least number of pins.

  “How came you to be in such a sad case?” I enquired in a lowered tone. “Where is your father? Why are you all unprotected?”

  “I am here at the invitation of a neighbour,” she murmured, “Mrs. Silchester. I do not think she knows where I am. It was she who introduced me to the Colonel, at his particular request. He said he wished to present me to the Regent. I am sure Mrs. Silchester thought there could be no objection. Only that odious man carried me directly here, where I am sure the Regent has not been at all!”

  “You ought not to have walked off with a strange gentleman alone, Miss Twining. That is considered to be very fast, you know. Let us hope it has not excited comment.”

  I glanced up, and discovered tears on the poor girl’s face. I added firmly, “Tho’ in such a crush, how could the movements of any one person be remarked upon? I am sure we need not refine too much upon events. Dry your eyes, lest Mrs. Silchester be in a quake, and escort you home too soon to your papa! You would not wish him to receive you in moping looks! But I am glad to know he allowed you to come this evening — he was so very stern when we met at the Camp, with his talk of beatings and locked doors. Shall I restore you to your party?”

  “Oh, yes,” the child said gratefully. She slipped her hand through my arm. Her thin shoulders, bare in her evening dress, heaved as with a sudden chill. “Is this not a dreadful place, Miss Austen? And yet the World would have it the Pavilion is everything great! I shall not recall it with anything but disgust. So hot and so crowded — and the people one meets are not at all kind, except for you! I confess I have the headache. I wish I might go home — ”

  “And so you shall, as soon as we achieve Mrs. Silchester,” I soothed.

  NOT LONG AFTER THE INCIDENT IN THE CONSERVATORY, Henry and I quitted the Regent’s pleasure dome — having at last submitted to Lord Moira’s persistent desire to present us to his crony. The man who would one day be King of England took my hand, patted it earnestly if absentmindedly, and remarked to the Earl that he could not abide to see a woman go in mourning — it made him feel quite low, in thinking of all the good friends lost in recent years. His Royal Highness took my brother’s blacks in better part — as a banker and thus a possible source of funds, Henry should be an invaluable friend did the Regent’s luck at faro turn sour. Henry treated the great man’s notice with surprising circumspection, betraying a caution I had not thought him equal to; and so we parted without regret from the Royal Presence, feeling we had attained every sensation of body and spirit the Pavilion could offer.

  I did not see Desdemona, Lady Swithin again — a disappointment — but was permitted a brief glimpse of Catherine Twining, departing in the train of a frail woman dressed in lavender silk with many flowing veils; Mrs. Silchester, no doubt.

  “I rather wonder about your protégée, Jane,” Henry observed as we crossed the Steyne once more towards the Castle Inn, and our longed-for beds. “That chit has a positive genius for landing in scandal with some of the most notorious men in England; and yet I swear there’s not the slightest calculation behind it!”

  “She is too much of a goosecap for calculation, Henry.”

  “Even the unintelligent may seek the world’s notice. Perhaps Miss Twining craves flattery — excitement — the sensations of a broader world. Perhaps she dreams of treading the boards on the London stage, and Brighton is her a
pprentice-play!”

  “Surely not!”

  “You persist in believing her a wide-eyed innocent?”

  “She suggests nothing else!” I protested.

  “ — Tho’ we found her on the verge of ravishment for the second time in two days? I wonder,” he repeated. “Is Miss Twining a mere fawn — or a cunning puss, as shrewd as she can hold together?”

  I stopped short before the Castle door. “What has the poor girl done, to inspire such enmity?”

  “Required me to defend her honour, at the risk of several duels, among a party of fellows with whom I am not the least acquainted!”

  I could not subdue a smile. “Henry! Such Corinthian airs!”

  “Be serious, Jane — I am uneasy at something Hanger said: that he had ever acted as the Prince’s procurer, and was charged with presenting Miss Twining to the Regent.… Can it be so? Or was it invention, designed to shirk responsibility? How has such a meek little mouse drawn such a riot of notice?”

  “For all she is so young and unformed, she will be a Beauty, Henry,” I quietly replied. “Have you not observed it? Her skin, like porcelain; her features, all excellent — and the depth of innocence in those wide, dark eyes — her artless wonder at the Great World — Miss Twining is all that is enchanting! How else should she have ensnared both the greatest Prince and the greatest Poet of our age?”

  SUNDAY MORNING BROUGHT FITFUL SUNSHINE, AND OUR dutiful attendance at St. Nicholas’s Church. There was such a squeeze to obtain seats among the congregation that Henry chose to stand at the rear, and thus had a prime view of the Regent and his brother, the Duke of Clarence, as they made their ponderous way up the main aisle and took their places in the Royal pew. I was better employed over my prayer book, and in listening to the sermon of the Reverend Mr. Michel, who taught the Marquis of Wellington his letters as an ignorant schoolboy — or attempted to do so, for there are those, including the Marquis’s mother, who insist the soldier’s understanding was never powerful. Mr. Michel spoke on vanity and the Way of All Flesh, which brought the old roué Hanger uncomfortably to mind; these seemed to be pertinent topics for the collected ton, tho’ from the expressions of virtue on every countenance, the clergyman’s words fell on deaf ears. I gave up attending to poor Mr. Michel, whose voice is decidedly thin, and studied my neighbours’ fashions instead.

  At the close of Divine Service, Henry proclaimed himself anxious to seize the sea air in a stroll along the Marine Parade, a pleasant promenade that borders the shingle and the sea; and as little other amusement offered on the Sabbath for two raised by such observant parents, I readily agreed.

  We had progressed some distance along the sea-front, in the direction of a local wonder known as Black Rock, when my name was called in a cheerful accent, and I confronted once more Lady Swithin. Beside her, elegant in figure and dress, was her lord: visibly older than when we last met eight years since, when the Earl of Swithin was a buck of the first stare, a celebrated parti on the Marriage Mart, and Desdemona’s infuriated slave. As he doffed his silk hat, I saw that Swithin’s forehead was a little lined, his hair beginning to thin; such are the wages of a vigourous career among the Opposition.

  “My lord, my lady — how delightful to meet again.” I dropped a curtsey. “May I recall my brother, Mr. Henry Austen, to your acquaintance?”

  Henry had been presented to Lady Swithin when she was but a girl in Bath and the object of our sedulous researches, on the occasion of her brother’s being taken up for murder; but he was unlikely to pursue the acquaintance once she exchanged the station of Duke’s daughter for that of Countess. Her husband, Henry knew not at all. But he bowed; the Earl returned the courtesy; and at Lady Swithin’s suggestion, Henry and I retraced our steps towards the Steyne.

  “And what did you make of the Marine Pavilion, Miss Austen?” the Countess enquired, drawing a fine Paisley shawl about her shoulders against the brisk sea wind. “You will shock Swithin, I am sure, for I know your pert opinions of old.”

  “I thought the place very grand, and befitting the honour of the Regent,” I returned sedately; “but the heat and crush were intolerable.”

  “Not to mention the better part of the company,” Swithin observed carelessly. “The Carlton House Set are never good ton in London, to be sure, but by the seaside the freedom of their manners is shocking. I’ve a mind to take a house in Worthing, Mona, for the rest of the summer; the children should be happier there, without all this bustle, and I should never fear my wife’s receiving an insult. That blackguard Hanger was mincing about the passages last night like an unholy imp, itching to snatch at any passing female. I very nearly tossed him out on his ear.”

  Lady Swithin smiled, and rapped her husband’s arm with one gloved hand. “Pay Swithin no mind, Miss Austen. You will recall he has a shocking temper. It would not do to be absent from Brighton when all the world is present — that excites comment, you know, and speculation, which should fuel the Tories’ vile projects: they should say that Swithin was ailing in the country, and that the moment was ripe to strike against the Whigs. We cannot have that on any account. But I think I should like to remove to Italy in June, as Lady Oxford intends: a change of scene entire should suit me, and the children may by all means go to Worthing, with Nurse.”

  She glanced sidelong at the Earl from under her lashes, a ploy I remembered from her girlhood. “You, Charles, may do as you please — accompany me or stay behind; but I should find June sadly flat without you.”

  Her husband smiled wistfully; his plans did not include Italy, I suspected; but he remained as enchanted by his Mona’s wiles as ever. “I do not like Lady Oxford.”

  “I am well aware of it.” Desdemona dimpled.

  “She is a pernicious influence.”

  “Piffle. You are simply jealous, Charles. She’s far more clever than any man in London.”

  “A powerful understanding, I grant you, well supported by judicious study — but I cannot like her morals, Mona,” Swithin said warningly.

  “Oh, pooh — such stuff! She conducts her affaires quite discreetly; and were I chained to such a dead bore as old Harley, I should be forced to similar expedients — tho’ fortunately I am not,” she amended hastily.

  I was amused to observe that eight years of marriage had not dulled the wits of either husband or wife; prone to argue vociferously as young people, they remained as testy in their affection as ever.

  “What part of Italy does Lady Oxford intend?” Swithin demanded.

  “Sardinia. Or was it Sicily? I am forever confusing the two.”

  “Then we shall be forced to descend upon the Lakes,” he replied. “Have you yet been on the Continent since Napoleon retired to Paris, Miss Austen?”

  It was like his good manners to recollect his acquaintance, and turn the conversation.

  “I have not,” I answered, with some dignity — never having been on the Continent at all.

  “My late wife,” Henry interjected, “was so unhappy as to be deprived of extensive estates in France, bequeathed to her by her murdered husband — the Comte de Feuillide, guillotined by the mob at the height of the Terror — and it has been in my mind for some years to attempt their recovery; indeed, we once ventured together to France to push our claim, during the Peace of Amiens — but now that my wife is gone, all such efforts must be futile.”

  The two men walked ahead a little, discussing Kutusov’s rout of Buonaparte; and I seized the opportunity to mine the Countess for intelligence. Lord Byron had tossed Catherine Twining out of Lady Oxford’s chaise; and Desdemona was intimate with Lady Oxford. I know nothing of the woman at all — except for her scandalous reputation, which I liked as little as did the Earl.[13]

  “You have known the Countess of Oxford some years, I apprehend?”

  “Indeed. We have been friends this age — tho’ she is considerably my elder. I believe she may be as old as forty,” Desdemona observed.

  I winced, but forbore to announce my own decrepitude. “I di
d not see the Countess at the Pavilion last evening.”

  “No — she cannot abide the Regent, you know; she is all for the Princess’s party, and remains in London to support her.”[14]

  “I commend Lady Oxford’s loyalty,” I said warmly. “I pity the Princess exceedingly; and must believe that however imperfect her conduct has been, had her husband’s been above reproach, she should not have erred. His was the poor example; his the duty to guide; and his negligence the more to be deplored, in exposing his wife to contempt and ridicule.”

  “I am entirely of your opinion, Miss Austen!” her ladyship cried, and slipped her arm through mine. “But the gentlemen will not see it; they abuse the Princess as a jade and a joke. Can any woman stand mutely by, and allow such indignities to go unanswered?”

  We conversed a little longer in this vein; and I could not help but be forcibly put in mind of Lord Harold Trowbridge, as I listened to his niece’s sentiments. She marshalled her arguments with logic and care, as Lord Harold had been wont to do; and I thought it very likely her husband’s success in Parliament owed much to the cold judgement of his primary auditor — his wife.

  “And Lady Oxford is just such another,” Desdemona concluded as we achieved the far end of the Marine Parade, and halted to observe some boats putting into the waves. “Swithin is in the right — he is always in the right: her conduct goes beyond what is pleasing, even in so great a lady, in the constant parade of her amours. But she should not have behaved so ill, I am sure, had her husband not been so weak. He practically abandoned her to Sir Francis Burdett, her first lover, and when one is left entirely alone in the house for a week with so eloquent a man, I am sure one cannot be blamed for the consequences.”