“But a fortnight, I believe.”
“And you are lodged …?”
“At the Castle.”
“Excellent! So perfectly to hand!” She reached into her reticule and offered me her card. “Swithin has taken a house for us on the Marine Parade, tho’ he is hardly ever there. I shall hope to find you in my drawing-room one morning, Miss Austen.”
And with that she passed on, to bespeak of Miss Jennings the latest verses of Lord Byron, the name of which she had forgot, but which her friend Lady Oxford assured her were most extraordinary.
Chapter 6 Encounter at the Camp
SATURDAY, 8 MAY 1813
BRIGHTON, CONT.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK, JANE?” MY BROTHER EXCLAIMED as I perused the fashion plates of La Belle Assemblée, the latest edition of which was in considerable request among the patrons of Donaldson’s. It was clear from the exquisite modes draped on the impossibly tall ladies represented by the artist’s brush that I was fortunate in being obliged to wear black; not even the hundred and forty pounds I have earned from Sense and Sensibility — much less the hundred and ten Mr. Egerton gave for the copyright of P&P — should purchase a wardrobe suitable for Brighton. Spring fashions ran to jonquil crape, Nakara silk — a pearly shade ideally suited to a lady of my colouring, and which I guessed had been exactly the hue the Countess of Swithin was wearing — and apple green. Slippers were beaded and embroidered to match; pelisses of white jaconet, falling just to the knee, were buttoned over gowns; and a profusion of frills graced hemlines this season, which had risen above the ankle to reveal patterned stockings!
“Jane,” Henry repeated, somewhat more stringently this time, and I set down La Belle Assemblée, only to see it immediately taken up by the lady on my left.
“What is it?” I asked with pardonable crossness.
“The Regent.”
I glanced about me wildly. “In Donaldson’s?”
“Good God, no. In Brighton. Lord Moira informs me that the Prince came down from London but two days ago, and already intends a Reception at the Pavilion this evening. We are both to go!”
“But would it be entirely proper? Recollect that we are in deepest mourning — ”
“Piffle! I should not like to be seen dancing at an Assembly, Jane — but the crush of the Pavilion on Reception evenings is akin to that of Picadilly Circus; one may meet the world there, and be jostled about in the greatest discomfort, in an attempt to pay homage to the Crown.”
“Little as I admire the Regent, I cannot think that Eliza would forgo such an opportunity,” I admitted doubtfully.
“She should be wild to see the Pavilion — and all the quizzes who frequent it — and moreover, should already have secured the cards of invitation herself; for you know she was a little acquainted with Prince Florizel, as he was known in his elegant youth. But I have had our cards expressly from Colonel McMahon — he is the Regent’s private secretary.”
“The gentleman in buff and blue, I collect?”
“All of the Regent’s intimates sport that livery. McMahon had only to hear my praise from Lord Moira’s lips, to beg the honour of our presence. Do consider, Jane! The notice of the Regent! What a spur to my banking concerns!”
“ — Or a possible run on them. That gentleman’s pockets are perpetually to let; and you should be bankrupt in little more than a week, did his notice prove too great.”
Impervious to caution, Henry merely grinned. “Our retiring Jane, amidst the Carlton House Set! How Mamma should stare!”
“She should suffer palpitations,” I corrected, “and utter a vulgarity. She cannot help but do so — which is the spur, no doubt, to her daughter’s deplorable novels.”
“Who dares to say that your books are vulgar?” Henry demanded, momentarily diverted.
“The proprietress of Donaldson’s,” I returned dejectedly. “She abused Pride and Prejudice as mercenary, Henry, and not fit to spring from a lady’s pen.”
“As to that,” he drawled, slipping my arm through his and leading me towards the door, “you should hate far worse to learn it was called dull, and that nobody of consequence could look into it without yawning. You must know by now, Jane, that your books are all the crack! You ought to be in high gig! I have half a mind to bring you into Fashion — see if you do not hear P&P spoken of, at the Pavilion this evening!”
“Henry,” I said, in a voice heavy with suspicion, “you are not going to puff off my consequence before McMahon and his ilk, are you?”
“Puff off — ! Where do you learn such cant expressions, Jane?”
“From my vulgar mother,” I rejoined calmly, “and my fashionable brother. Promise you will not expose the secret of my authorship. I have a dread of its being generally known.”
Henry cast up his eyes to Heaven. “I cannot think why. I should be proud as a peacock, had I done anything half so clever!”
“And I should as soon ride bareback at Astley’s Amphitheatre as admit to publication! Were my identity known, I could not walk at liberty through the village of Chawton! I should be suspected as a spy at every dinner table, every Assembly — and I should never be so frank, Henry, in my expressions; or so faithful a depicter of the world and its follies. Anonymity accords me freedom to speak as I find — and I cherish freedom above all else!”
“Lord knows you have had little enough of it,” he answered soberly. “Very well — I promise to guard your secret. Tho’ it shall go hard with me! Do you not apprehend, Jane, that your whole family is bursting to boast of your accomplishments — that we are all devilish proud of you?”
“Then praise the novels rather than their wretched author,” I told him roundly, “and inflate Mr. Egerton’s sales! You cannot display your pride more profitably, or in a manner more suited to my taste; for I mean to have one of those gorgeous confections,” I added with a nod towards La Belle Assemblée, “as soon as I have put off my blacks.”
WE DAWDLED ALONG THE SHOPS OF NORTH STREET, STOPPING now and again to admire a particularly fine picture displayed in a window, or a daring hat, or a zephyr cloak such as might have driven Eliza wild; and after taking a cold collation in a parlour at the Old Ship, drove out in a hired gig along the coast. All manner of natural beauties may be found to the west of town — the fall of boulders known as The Rocks, at the mouth of a little inlet just brushed by the road near Southwick — and the natural wonder called Egypt, just shy of Shoreham, which looks to be the work of antique Pharaohs in its scattering of monoliths, standing upright amidst the sea. With the wind on my cheeks and my curls whipping from beneath my bonnet, I might almost have been nineteen again — and felt lighter of heart than I had in all the sad weeks since Eliza’s decline.
On our return to Brighton, Henry elected to drive out a mile or two along the Lewes road to the encampment of the 10th Royal Hussars — being an inveterate Paymaster, my brother must needs renew acquaintance among the officers; he can never be entirely at his ease, even at a watering-place, but must be about the business of winning custom wherever it may offer. As his conversations could in no way include me, I was at leisure to walk about. I had alluded to Brighton Camp in Pride and Prejudice, without ever having seen it — and thought it should prove very good sport to learn how much the truth differed from my invention.[8]
There is much colour in the general scene, for the Prince of Wales Own, as they are called, are scrupulous as to the quality of their horses, their curricles, and their uniforms. They are among the most dashing set of men in England, and betray little sensibility of their losses in the Peninsula, at Corunna and Vittoria. Their manners, when in possession of their senses and not foxed from the bumpers of brandy they are known to take at all hours of the day, are elegant in the extreme; and so I suffered no impropriety or insult — on account of my black clothes, and matronly cap, and general appearance of outworn looks. There are silly girls enough for hanging on the sleeve of every red coat — and one of my advanced years must appear in the nature of deserted chaper
on.
It was with a start, therefore, that I heard my name called in an excited accent. Turning, I observed Miss Catherine Twining, accompanied by her father. She was dressed with extreme propriety this morning, in dove-grey muslin drawn up to the neck and a dark blue spencer; a close bonnet concealed her glossy chestnut curls; her eyes, however, were sparkling with delight.
“Miss Austen! What good fortune! Is it not remarkable that we should meet again, within a day of our first acquaintance? I must ascribe it to the workings of Fate!” Miss Twining cried.
“Providence, rather,” the General corrected drily, “who sees all and orders all. I wonder you have the courage to call down His notice, unfortunate child.”
Miss Twining’s pink cheeks blanched; her imploring gaze fixed on my countenance.
“General Twining,” I said with a curtsey. “Miss Twining. I hope I find you fully recovered from your ordeal of yesterday?”
“We were not to speak of it!” General Twining looked all his rage. “I wonder at your insolence, ma’am! And your lack of delicacy! Indeed, I must suspicion some dark purpose in your deliberate allusion to events that cannot too soon be forgotten. Understand, Miss Austen, you shall never hope to profit by your shameful knowledge.”
“Profit?” I repeated, bewildered.
The obsidian gaze swept over my figure. “Was it that hope that brought you to Brighton Camp? A handsome sum, perhaps, in exchange for the preservation of your silence — the alternative being the publication of my daughter’s wantonness throughout the streets of Brighton?”
“Sir!” I gasped, outraged.
“Papa!” Miss Twining cried, at the same instant.
“How else am I to understand your pursuit of us here this morning, madam? Disgraceful! On such a day of melancholy importance to the Twining family! If it is not advantage you seek — if it is not interest that has brought you hard on my daughter’s heels — then how may you account for your brazen appearance here, in an encampment of soldiers, and entirely without protection? I might almost assume you to have been Byron’s confederate, and posted in Cuckfield a-purpose, the better to blackmail your victim!”
I stared at him, my body rigid with indignation. “I am thankful that my brother, Mr. Austen, is unable to hear your insults, General — for he should not hesitate to answer them with a demand for justice. I have nothing further to say to you but Good day.”
I would have stepped past the repugnant fellow on the instant, and made my way blindly in any direction opposite the Twinings’ own, had not Miss Twining impeded me. “Pray — I implore you, Miss Austen — do not — do not take my papa in bad part — it is only that he is suffering, you see, on account of dear Richard.”
I stopped short. What courage the child possessed, to speak out against all caution, all portents in that black and furious face, wavering above her! Where had she learnt such courage? Or was it the broken voice of desperation that spoke — seeking a support of any kind that offered? I could not walk coldly from such a plea; my heart must hear it, and my temper cool. I felt my looks soften, and I forced a smile for the girl. She was so very young, after all —
“If I have offended you, Miss Austen, I beg leave to apologise,” her father said stiffly. “Such words ought, I apprehend, to have been reserved for Byron himself. But he is unfortunately from Brighton at this present. When he returns, I shall know how to act.”
“Papa!” In alarm, Miss Twining grasped his coat sleeve. “You cannot challenge a poet to a duel! Every feeling must be offended!”
He shook her hand away as tho’ it had been a fly.
“It is difficult, Miss Austen, for a father to know what he should do for so wayward a daughter. How Catherine can have abandoned propriety yesterday, and entered the coach of a stranger — abandoning reputation and every claim to honour.… I know my duty — the girl ought to have been soundly whipped, and confined to her room — but circumstances prevented the natural consequence of sin.”
This was heaping mortification upon mortification; Miss Twining looked weak with shame, and she could not lift up her eyes. I sincerely pitied her.
“I have an idea that your daughter repents of her impulsive folly,” I said firmly, “and would be grateful for silence from us both on the subject. It is no deprivation to me, sir, I assure you, to talk of more cheerful matters.”
“It would have been better for her, had she not been seen abroad this se’ennight,” General Twining persisted heavily, “but our visit to the Camp could not be put off. I observe you are in mourning, ma’am — and that you will have noted, for your part, that I am in blacks as well. My son — my only heir — was killed on this day, a year since, under that disreputable fool Wellington’s command in Spain. It is for that reason — for that solemn observance of our irremediable loss — that Catherine and I have visited the Hussars this morning.”
“You have my deepest sympathy,” I murmured.
“Mr. Hendred Smalls,” the General said broodingly, “ — a most respectable clergyman, with every distinction bestowed by the Regent himself — was so good as to offer a service of penance for the redemption of my poor son’s soul. His brother officers took leave from their duties to attend — they have not entirely forgot my martyred Richard. You will apprehend that Catherine’s absence should have excited comment, at a moment when comment was least desired. Her penance, therefore, has been forestalled a little.” He unbent so far as to lean towards me, as if to confide. “I would not have Mr. Smalls think ill of her for the world. I should not wish that gentleman to have a horror of one who might, with a little push, be all to him in future.”
I collected the General intended to make a match between his daughter and the loyal clergyman — was it for Mr. Smalls that Miss Twining had rebuffed so dramatic a parti as Byron? Was it possible the clergyman had won her heart, to the exclusion of all other interests — even the most Romantic Lord to walk the streets of Brighton? And how had such an ardent attachment won the General’s approval? The girl was, after all, but fifteen; Mr. Smalls, if he had advanced so far as to earn the Regent’s notice and favour, must be somewhat older than a curate, and an unlikely companion for a child barely out of the schoolroom. I glanced at Miss Twining in sympathy — there is nothing as dreadful as the publication of one’s love affairs — and found her disgusted gaze fixed upon some object behind me.
I turned, and espied a rotund gentleman of advanced years hastening towards our party. His face shone with perspiration, despite the mildness of the day; his hatless head betrayed a balding pate; and his general corpulence suggested a familiarity with the pleasures of the table that must supersede all other pursuits. A cheerful-looking gentleman enough; and however unlikely it seemed, on excellent terms with General Twining. He appeared determined, in his purposeful waddle, to pay his respects on the sad occasion.
“Ah,” the General muttered uneasily. “How very unfortunate — Miss Austen, I must beg you to preserve the profoundest silence on the subject of my daughter’s recent disgrace, before Mr.… That is, I hope I may depend upon your discretion … Catherine, do not slouch so, and at least attempt to suggest the angelic in your looks!”
“You cannot mean, sir — ”
“Indeed, Miss Austen,” Miss Twining burst out. “Behold the aspirant to my hand! Am I not to be congratulated? Every girl in Brighton must envy me such a beau! I do not think he is above three years older than my father, indeed! May I present the extremely respectable Mr. Hendred Smalls to your acquaintance?”
Chapter 7 The Regent’s Reception
8 MAY 1813
BRIGHTON, CONT.
“A PLEASURE, TO BE SURE,” MR. SMALLS PRONOUNCED AS he bent with effort over my hand; “for any young lady who is accounted a friend to our dear Miss Twining, must be a treasure indeed.”
I murmured some pleasantry, acutely aware of Catherine Twining’s discomfort; she had stepped back a pace, as though to put as much distance as possible between herself and this preposterous suitor, t
his puffing Romeo some four decades her senior, whose countenance shone with the exertion of making his bow and whose fingers clutched damply at my own. Hendred Smalls effected a smile — his teeth, as should not be unusual in a man of his span, were very bad — and then turned with a simper to his real object, Miss Twining. Having learnt, no doubt, from previous experience, she kept her hands firmly clutched on her reticule and merely bobbed a curtsey, her face all but obscured beneath the brim of her bonnet.
General Twining placed his hand in the small of his daughter’s back and thrust her ungently towards the clergyman. “Pray show your gratitude to Mr. Smalls, my dear, for that most eloquent tribute to your brother. Mr. Smalls, for my part, I can conceive of nothing more fitting to the martial nature of Richard’s life — and the bitter waste of his end.”
“Sacrifice,” Mr. Smalls observed, with his small black eyes fixed upon Miss Twining’s cheek, “is the highest purpose of man’s existence on earth. You may be proud, General — if I may so express it — that Richard’s life was wasted; for it is the death won without glory, the obscure and insignificant ending, that is most valued in the eyes of the Creator. We should not set ourselves up as rivals, I am sure, of that consummate sacrifice at Calgary.”
I found this sentiment so revolting I had not a word to utter in response to it. Miss Twining’s fixed regard for the paving-stones at her feet — she had ignored her father’s injunction to effuse her thanks — suggested that the poor child was as little moved. Mr. Smalls’s eloquence may perhaps have been marred by his manner of speaking — he was given to richly rolling consonants, as affected as though he had been trained up in the theatre in his youth, rather than the pulpit; one might suspect him of prating Hamlet when he had no babes to baptise. I wondered if he spoke thusly even in the breakfast parlour, crying out for his bread and butter; or if he was liable to declaim from the nether end of the table, when desperately in want of soup.
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