Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron jam-10

by Stephanie Barron

  “The General did not look with favour on a brother officer — and one in possession of estates?” I asked in some puzzlement.

  Mrs. Silchester shook her head. “When Catherine’s childish infatuation was penetrated by her headmistress, a letter to the General was the unfortunate result. The General sent for his daughter immediately, and threatened to keep her so close she might never see the light of day again — but that I persuaded him to let me try what a little judicious chaperonage might do. I thought it very likely that the Brighton Season should put all thought of officers out of her head. And the General agreed! He trusted me to put all right! I do not know how I am to meet with him now. His reproaches — ”

  “And Lord Byron?” I persisted. “That affair began some few weeks ago?”

  “ — He glimpsed her, as I understand, in the Promenade Grove. He fell instantly in love — sent round a tribute of flowers to Church Street that very afternoon — begged to be introduced to the General, which favour was immediately repulsed; and left again for London in flat despair. We congratulated ourselves that he had been defeated — for it would never do, you know, Miss Austen, to encourage the pretensions of such a person; his reputation for vice is so very bad. And he has no fortune to speak of — only debts, which intelligence the General naturally procured, before repulsing his lordship entirely.”

  There it was again: General Twining must be mercenary. That Louisa Silchester saw nothing to object to in this was hardly to be remarked upon; her understanding did not appear to be powerful.

  “Lord Byron returned to Brighton, I collect?”

  “And to his pursuit of Catherine,” the lady said ominously. “A direct approach having failed, he began to haunt Church Street — he has acquaintance in the vicinity — and barely a day went by that we were not forced to meet with his pleas. Entire cantos of poetry were left with Lord Byron’s card, which verses the General immediately confiscated and threw on the fire; a sad waste of talent, I daresay. It was as tho’ Lord Byron was mad with love, and I might have pitied him — but for the turn his passion took. You know too well the episode at Cuckfield; that he returned to Brighton at all, in defiance of a parent’s natural indignation, is to be wondered at — and that he should prove so bold as to appear at the Assembly, as tho’ nothing untoward had happened — ”

  Mrs. Silchester was correct: Such behaviour must provoke wonder. Either Lord Byron was too firmly in the grip of passion to retain his reason, despite the claims of propriety; or he cared nothing for propriety at all. Either attitude, for a gentleman of his consequence, argued a disregard for the bounds of society that bordered on the mad. But when one had already so far overstepped convention, it was not, I reflected, so very far a stretch to murder.

  “Having been discovered in an attempted abduction, I had assumed that his lordship would never descend upon Brighton again,” Louisa Silchester muttered. “But I failed to consider that nobody but ourselves was aware of the event; it could not be generally published; the town remained in ignorance, and welcomed Lord Byron’s return; the General observed the strictest silence, for Catherine’s sake. He had lately formed the idea of uniting her in marriage to a respectable clergyman — Mr. Hendred Smalls — from a desire to preserve the child’s good name. Questionable young officers and poets proved too much for the General’s patience; he wished to see Catherine safely bestowed in matrimony before another month was out. No reproach could attach to the virtue of Mr. Smalls’s wife, the General believed; no blemish could darken the Twining name. The General is very jealous of his dignity,” she added, by way of explanation.

  “So I have been made to understand.”

  “Lord Byron saw his advantage in our silence. Not content with destroying the poor child’s peace, he pursued her the length and breadth of the Assembly last night, calling Catherine by a heathen name — Leila, some Attic language of which I know nothing — glowering at her through every dance; thrusting his way, on that hideous leg, into her slightest conversation, to demand a private word she could not grant — his face by turns burning with passion, and dead white with rage. I could have kissed the painted feet of that Caro Lamb, when she entered the ballroom and put flight to the Fiend — I was never so pleased to see anybody in my life!”

  Startled, I asked, “You are acquainted with her ladyship?”

  “I knew her mother, the Countess, a little in my salad days,” Mrs. Silchester said dismissively. “Her daughter I confess I know not at all — but only fancy! She sought an introduction to Catherine and me! And nothing would do but that she must carry Catherine away for a private tête-à-tête at the Pavilion — such an honour, I am sure — promising faithfully to see the child home in one of the Regent’s carriages, when at last they were done.”

  I felt myself go swiftly cold. “Miss Twining left the Assembly in Lady Caroline’s company? And the General made no objection?” This was hardly being jealous of his dignity, or his daughter’s reputation; only the ignorant encouraged the attentions of the scandalous Caro Lamb.

  “The General was no longer present; he could not be appealed to. I saw no harm in Lady Caroline’s condescension. Catherine wished to go.”

  Catherine had wished to return to a place she despised upon first acquaintance — a place where no less a roué than George Hanger had forced his attentions upon her — and the woman entrusted with her safety had sent her off with a complete stranger. The whole narrative defied comprehension.

  “You blame me,” Louisa Silchester said. “I am sure you blame me, Miss Austen. But after all, what was I to do? The Pavilion, you know! It was very nearly a Royal summons! I could not gainsay so obliging and august a personage. Indeed I could not. And so of course I granted my permission. But the General is so dreadfully angry! He would not admit me this afternoon, when I attempted to pay a call of condolence! If the General abandons me, Miss Austen, so shall all of Brighton — and then I do not know what I shall do!”

  Chapter 14 A Call to Justice

  TUESDAY, 11 MAY 1813

  BRIGHTON, CONT.

  “WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN SAYING TO POOR LOUISA SILCHESTER?” Lady Swithin demanded as she led me to the fire, where a pair of chairs were at liberty, owing to the general warmth of the night. “She looks as if she had received a sentence of death—tho’ I suppose that is very natural, given the loss of her protégée.”

  “I did not rebuke her; tho’ I confess I was tempted. She is an excessively silly woman, my lady—and ought never to have been entrusted with Miss Twining. She tells me she allowed the child to go off to the Pavilion last night with Caro Lamb!”

  “Did she?” Desdemona enquired, all interest. “I had not an idea of it. I stayed only to observe Byron’s outrage at Caro’s entrance—to judge the effect her costume made upon the room—and then Swithin pled boredom, and we made good our escape. What did Caro mean by carrying that child off to the Pavilion? They were not acquainted before last night, I am sure—and there must be more than a decade between them in age. It is a singular condescension.”

  “I cannot say what her ladyship was about, but I must endeavour to learn,” I replied. “Lady Caroline should have been one of the last to see Catherine Twining alive. It may be in her power to disclose something vital of the child’s movements. At what hour did you quit the Assembly, my lady?”

  Desdemona shrugged. “Far too early for Fashion. It was not above one o’clock, I am sure—Lady Caroline having put in her appearance just after midnight. But do sit down, Miss Austen”—the Countess was already arranging the folds of her silk gown—“so that we may be comfortable. No one shall teaze us; your blacks will keep them all at a distance, you know.”

  I sat. My mind, I confess, was worrying at the problem of Lady Caroline—and my thoughts ranged so far abroad as to render me almost uncivil. I drew my attention back to my hostess; she had, after all, summoned me to her home that evening with the object of conversation.

  “You must have formed your own opinion of Catherine Twining,” s
he began. “For my part, I knew her not at all. But any lady capable of engaging Byron’s entire interest, must have been a paragon. And when one considers her youth—it is in every way extraordinary. He has been in the habit of pursuing married ladies of a certain age—not virgins of fifteen.”

  “Our acquaintance was so slight, and of such recent formation—we met in a stable yard in Cuckfield, on the journey south,” I said. I hesitated at disclosing the nature of our meeting—but the silence so fervently embraced by the General and Mrs. Silchester had already done damage enough; I could not regard myself as bound by it. “I rescued Miss Twining from Lord Byron’s clutches, in fact. He had formed the intention of abducting her—to what end, a Gretna marriage or a swift ruin, I know not. Certainly he had bound her wrists and gagged her; she made her presence known by beating on the side panels of Lady Oxford’s chaise, which his lordship had borrowed for the purpose.”

  “Good God!” Desdemona said blankly. “And he chose Jane’s chaise for his seductions? The man’s insolence knows no bounds! I shall have to suppress the fact—tho’ it may already be all over Brighton.”

  The fact of the abduction did not appear to outrage her ladyship nearly as much as the bad ton his lordship betrayed; there was little that could shock Lord Harold’s niece.

  “I do not think anyone but the Twining family, and ourselves, is aware of it,” I assured her. “Lady Oxford may remain in ignorance—but I cannot think it wise. There may be worse shocks in store, if Lord Byron is charged with murder.”

  She looked at me speculatively. “What sort of girl was Miss Twining?”

  “I should have said that she was no different from every other young lady of respectable birth and gentle rearing. She was diffident, shy, easily imposed upon—” I might, at this juncture, have disclosed my encounter with George Hanger in the Pavilion Saturday, but doubt as to what I had actually seen, stopped my mouth. “Her appearance of goodness, I thought, was entirely genuine. And she was afraid of Byron—she dreaded a meeting with him. Indeed, only last evening, she begged me to remain with her.”

  “And now you berate yourself for having failed to do so.” Desdemona reached impulsively for my hand. “My dear Miss Austen—you were not her parent. You were not her chaperon. Having saved her once from a predator’s clutches, you cannot always have been her protector. What of the girl’s family?”

  “There is a General Twining—Mrs. Alleyn had much that was ill to say of his character—and a brother in the 10th Hussars, lost in the Peninsula.” I hesitated. “My lady, to what end do these questions tend?”

  She chose her words with care. “You are aware, I think, that Lady Oxford is my friend—Swithin would not have me call her so, to be sure, as she is regarded askance by almost everyone of consequence in the ton, on account of her sad tendency to seek consolation outside her marriage.”

  “And yet you brave the Earl’s displeasure?” I interjected, curiously. “This is being a loyal friend indeed!”

  “The Countess is a clever woman, and unafraid to appear the bluestocking before her friends; it is for this reason so many gentlemen seek her company—she possesses a well-informed mind. Have you any notion, Miss Austen, how rare a powerful understanding is, among women of Fashion? It is insupportably dull, I assure you, to spend all one’s days among creatures who talk of nothing but dress, and children, and the gifts their husbands have lately showered upon their mistresses! I prize Lady Oxford for her courage in living life as she chuses, without entirely affronting the Polite World, as Caro Lamb must perpetually do; and if Swithin fears her ladyship’s example—so much the better for me,” she added with a droll glint in her eye. “Anxiety keeps the Earl attentive; and that is saying a good deal.”

  We had wandered from the subject of Catherine Twining, and the Countess recognised it. She took up the reins of conversation with a brisk twitch. “I do not need to tell you that Lady Oxford is in love with Lord Byron. Indeed, a degree of affection subsists between them that would make any risk to his life or reputation a matter of extreme anxiety to the Countess.”

  A degree of affection subsists between them … and yet he had been obsessed with Catherine to the point of madness. How to explain it? Was Lady Oxford deceived, or was Byron the sort who must seduce every creature he encountered?

  “That can be nothing to me,” I said, tho’ the words felt thick and ungracious on my tongue. “I am acquainted with neither the Countess nor the poet; my bond, slight as it was, lay with the unfortunate victim, and my sympathies must be entirely devoted to her cause.”

  “I do understand,” Desdemona said with swift warmth. She squeezed my hand. “Indeed, I expected no less—and honour you for your sentiments. Which is why I craved your society this evening; I cannot help recalling, Miss Austen, how brilliantly you acted in the matter of my brother Kinsfell’s being mistakenly taken up for murder—and how deftly you then penetrated the motives of those who would have seen him unjustly hanged.”[18]

  “It was your uncle’s brilliance that prevailed on that occasion, not mine.”

  A bold statement and a painful one in such a house, with all that remained of the past lying unspoken between us; and for an instant, Desdemona stiffened. “We will not speak of my uncle, I beg.”

  She had loved Lord Harold like a daughter—or perhaps, their natures being so alike, more as a companion in adventure. When he was killed, I must believe she blamed me—for tho’ present, I was entirely unable to avert the deed, or save him from the mortal effect of his wounds. I had fully expected to be petitioned for the details of the Rogue’s final hour; but thus far, her ladyship had not asked for them. I guessed it was a form of Wilborough pride—and the fear of opening old wounds. I waited all the same for the moment when Desdemona’s desire should overcome her dignity.

  “Are you suggesting that I ought to exert my energies to clear Lord Byron’s name?” I demanded. “—Given that gentleman’s extraordinary history, I doubt any woman could do so.”

  Desdemona’s countenance eased. “You are annihilatingly frank, are you not? I care nothing for Byron myself; it is merely the fashion, you know, to swoon over his verses. I find him boorish and ungentlemanly; which is to say that he has never made the slightest push to engage my attention. Naturally I must regard him as my enemy! But with Lady Oxford it is otherwise; and I should not be most truly the friend I profess, did I not endeavour to help where help was wanted.”

  “What is your honest opinion of Lord Byron’s mind?” I asked. “I spoke to him only once—in Cuckfield—and he was not then master enough of himself to know what he said. But you, who have seen him a good deal … would you regard him as entirely sound?”

  “Are you asking whether he is mad?”

  I made a diffident gesture with my hand. “I had wondered, indeed, whether he was perfectly sane. His behaviour of late has been most unsteady. Even in his writings there is much that is violent. It is of a piece, you know, with Romantical poetry, to be driven to the brink of murder—by thwarted love.”

  “Caro Lamb would certainly think so! I am sure she is wishing it were she, and not poor Miss Twining, who was dropped like a sacrifice in Byron’s bed last night.”

  The words, however farcical, were too close to truth for comfort. Her ladyship seemed to feel it; there was the briefest uneasiness between us; and then Desdemona attempted a recovery.

  “Such stuff may be exotic, and feed the rage for all things Oriental that the Regent himself is so wild about—but it is not to my taste at all! I vastly prefer a good novel, about people such as one knows, and circumstances one may comprehend—something delightful and brimming with excellent conversation! I adored Pride and Prejudice—has it come in your way, by the by?”

  “It has, yes—indeed, I was so happy as to look into it this winter,” I stuttered, feeling my countenance flush as tho’ her ladyship had let slip an indecency; and then, reverting to safer subjects, “But if you do not care for Byron, how can you be so solicitous for his welfare—?�
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  “It is all Lady Oxford. She sent me such a letter by Express this evening—the courier drew rein at our door just as the dinner bell was rung. I do not scruple to say, Miss Austen, that her ladyship is wild with fear that Byron will be hanged.”

  My senses sharpened. “Has he been taken, then?”

  “You did not know?” Desdemona sat up alertly in her chair, the fire in the hearth edging her profile in gold. “He was met at the door of his lodgings—he has rooms in Bennet Street, St. James’s—by the Brighton constabulary. Lady Oxford—her Christian name, like yours, is Jane—says Byron listened to them patiently, but when told he must return for the inquest, he kicked up a dust. One of the constables had his cork drawn, and another was tossed on his ear into the street, whereupon Byron remounted and rode directly to Mortimer House, the Oxford residence in Town. The constables followed, and it was the Earl of Oxford in the end who urged Byron to do their bidding—fearing, no doubt, a hideous scene at his very door. Adultery may be one thing—Oxford is accustomed to that—but murder is quite another.”

  “And Lady Oxford?”

  “—prepares to follow her heart. She wrote to beg a room here on the Marine Parade, and tho’ Swithin dislikes it, he has given way to my wishes.” She glanced affectionately at her husband, who was deep in conversation with Sir John and my brother. “He is an excellent husband, is he not? I never dreamt, during those distant days in Bath when Charles was disposed to be excessively disagreeable, intent upon winning every battle and making myself the object of his conquest—that I should be so content with my surrender!”

  “I am glad to hear it,” I said; and meant it. Tho’ the Earl and his Countess had rarely met without quarreling in their salad days, it had been obvious to all who observed them that they were formed for each other. I envied them completely.

  “Jane—I hope I may call you Jane?”