She held the reins of a showy pair whose coats exactly matched the tint of her own cropped curls; her landaulet was piled high with baggage. A diminutive tyger was mounted behind—no more than a child—in the chocolate and maroon livery the Lambs favoured. Her ladyship pulled up at the sight of us, and inclined her head; and Mona—when put to the test of acknowledging the reprobate, or offering the cut direct—deeply curtseyed.
“Bound for London, Lady Caroline?”
“Naturally—for Byron has already gone, you know.” The Sprite’s mobile countenance—so often captured in dreaming or fury—was woebegone today. Byron had escaped her toils again; her pallor was extreme, her glance feverish, her eyes encircled with darkness. She had not slept from the moment the wild plan of impersonating the Regent’s page had overtaken her, I judged; and now that her god was freed, her costume thrown off, her drama run—she was cast off, by Regent and poet both. Poor Sprite! So like a child in her passions and tantrums, and a lost child now in her misery, lips trembling and fingers clutching at the reins. The smouldering fire of life was doused—Byron, in all his intensity and chaos, had fled. “There is nothing else in Brighton I should stay for,” she said petulantly. “I quite despise the sea, and this town is grown impossibly stuffy—all quizzes and dowds! Besides, my poor William will be wondering where I have got to.”
Poor William, I thought, should more likely be enjoying the first peaceful interlude he had known in nearly ten years of tempestuous marriage; but it should not do to say so aloud.
“I almost forgot!” Caro cried. “I have thought of the most cunning thing—only look at the buttons of my tyger’s livery! I mean to have all my servants sport the same!”
We approached the carriage at her ladyship’s behest, and leaned closer to study the boy’s buttons. Engraved on their face was the Latin inscription Ne crede Byron.
Do not believe Byron.
“The Regent’s silversmith engraved them for me,” Caro confided, “and is not the phrase apt?—For you cannot believe a word his lordship says. It is all poetry. George assured me, when I rescued him from that horrid gaol, that he meant to remain in England all the summer; and now I find he intends to sail to Sardinia, in pursuit of that tiresome Jane Harley. Byron, of course, insists it is to gather impressions for his verses—having done with The Giaour, he means now to embark upon a long narrative entitled The Corsair, and must therefore put to sea at once. I am sure it will be vastly exciting, but I dread the effort of persuading poor William to embark. I may be forced to abandon my home. Do you think,” she enquired dreamily, “that I should look well in the garb of a pirate? Or perhaps a pirate’s jade?”
Mona and I exchanged glances, then stepped back from the landaulet.
“Walk on,” Caro commanded her pair; and with a flick of her whip and a nod of her head, moved briskly up the New Road.
“Jane,” Mona said faintly, “I stand in need of a good, stout nuncheon; and then I must look into Donaldson’s. I have had enough of poetry. I require a dose of prose. I shall spend my remaining hours in Brighton established on the sopha, with a volume of Pride and Prejudice in my hands. Do you think it at all likely the authoress has commenced a third novel?”
“I had heard,” I answered cautiously, “from sources I should judge unimpeachable, that such a work is undertaken—but is not yet launched upon the unsuspecting publick.”
“It does not, I trust, deal with piracy?”
“I believe the subject is Ordination.” I glanced at her with considerable apprehension, to learn how so fashionable a member of the ton should receive such a tedious topic.
Mona closed her eyes in relief. “Thank Heaven. My dear Jane, should you care to join me at Donaldson’s? We might enquire the title of Miss Jennings. She is certain to know it.”
“With pleasure,” I said; and linking arms, we strolled off in the direction of Marine Parade.
A FEW QUESTIONS FOR STEPHANIE BARRON
Q: Your ten-book series about Jane Austen as detective has carried readers through more than a decade of the novelist’s life, from December 1802 to what is now the spring of 1813 in Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron. How closely do you follow the historical record of Austen’s life, and how much of the series is pure fiction?
A: Some of the books are so faithful to Jane’s letters that I’ve used the actual calendar of her week as the structure of the novel—and included everyone she mentions as a character. But others, like Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron, are complete invention. Although Jane chose Brighton as the site of Lydia Bennet’s infamous elopement in Pride and Prejudice, there’s no record of her ever having visited the town, for example, and certainly none of her having met Lord Byron. And to be fair, the man was never taken up for murder in 1813. But I knew Jane had seen almost every major town on the Channel Coast over the years; I knew she read Byron’s poetry—she refers to several of the poems in her letters, and in her novel Persuasion—and they had acquaintances in common. It was just within the realm of possibility for them to meet. I like the realm of possibility; it’s the bedrock of all my writing, and far more interesting than the known world. When I saw that Byron was writing that spring about a doomed love affair and a drowned girl—and that he made a habit of sailing in Brighton—I knew I had to place Jane in the town. And remarkably, at Byron’s death in 1824 he was laid in state not at Westminster Abbey, which refused to have him—but at the London home of Fanny Knatchbull, Jane Austen’s niece. No one has ever explained why.
Q: Brighton seems like the last place Jane would be comfortable. In fact, she derides it in Pride and Prejudice.
A: True. But she was always happy to go anywhere a friend was willing to take her, which is why her brother Henry is so vital to the story. Henry was fashionable and ambitious and well connected to people in the Prince Regent’s set, who would have descended on Brighton by April for the Royal birthday. Henry would absolutely love the frivolity and display, the pretty and available women, the horse races and the crowd of gamblers at Raggett’s Club. Given that he was in mourning—and that we know Jane spent both late April and late May in London with him—it seemed logical to send them off to the seaside during the intervening weeks, to recover from the death of the incomparable Eliza.
Q: Was Byron as promiscuous as you suggest?
A: He was far more promiscuous than I suggest! He seemed to require constant sexual stimulation, from a variety of women—usually twenty years his senior—and young boys. There’s a suggestion he forced himself on Lady Oxford’s eleven-year-old daughter while staying at her estate, Eywood; and he certainly had an incestuous relationship with his half sister Arabella, and fathered one of her children. When he eventually married Annabella Millbanke—a cousin of Caro Lamb’s—the relationship lasted barely a year. Although she would never disclose what Byron had done to her, Annabella was probably physically and sexually abused. Byron was not a mentally healthy man.
Q: Byron is called a mad poet in this novel, but frankly Lady Caroline Lamb seems a bit more unhinged. How faithful to the actual woman is your portrait?
A: Oh, my goodness—I was probably far kinder to poor Caro than she deserves! I think today she’d be diagnosed as manic-depressive. Or possibly a narcissist. Or both. She was certainly volatile in her moods, violent in her rages, compulsive in her attachments, and extreme in her self-destruction. A few months after Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron ends, in July 1813, Caro put herself completely beyond the pale of good society by attending a waltz party at the home of one Lady Heathcote. She encountered Byron in the dining room, and when he avoided her, she smashed a wine goblet and tried to slash her wrists with the shards of glass. She had to be carried screaming from the party, and from that moment forward, she was rarely invited anywhere again. William Lamb, her husband, nearly divorced her that time—but he found it impossible to abandon Caro. He sent her into exile at his family’s country estate instead, which for Caroline Lamb was probably a kind of death-in-life.
Q: Speaking of death-in
-life, how deeply attached was Jane to her cousin and sister-in-law, Eliza de Feuillide, whose death opens the book?
A: I think Jane was one of the few Austens, other than Henry, who truly loved her. Jane was witty and sophisticated enough to enjoy Eliza’s essential nature, which was frivolous, fun-loving, and profoundly of the moment. Eliza connected Jane to the Great World, and her kindheartedness and intelligence would more than make up for any French pretensions she persisted in displaying. The rest of the Austens seemed to mistrust Eliza as a bad influence. But her amusements were so tame—she never appears to have hurt Henry in any way, and added greatly to his consequence and comfort—that one wonders whether there was not a bit of envy at the base of the family’s poor opinion.
Q: And yet Jane and Henry go on.
A: You had to go on, in those days. People died left and right. In the course of her life, Jane would lose four sisters-in-law, most in childbirth. She lost her father, of course, and her close friend Madame Lefroy. And eventually the Austen family would lose Jane herself, far too young. To be a citizen of the world in 1813 was to be intimate with death.
Q: You make use of a very convenient tunnel in this book. Is that an invention too?
A: Actually, no. The Prince Regent liked to get around Brighton without being seen—particularly in his later years, when he was obese and somewhat crippled by his size. He had a number of tunnels built to and from the Pavilion, and three of them survive in the present-day Royal Pavilion complex, connecting modern concert and public performance venues erected in the former stable block.
Q: What’s ahead for Jane Austen?
A: She’s going to travel to Kent in the autumn of 1813, for a protracted visit to her wealthy brother Edward. At this point in her life she’s publishing her third novel, Mansfield Park, and gathering material for Emma, which she’s forced to dedicate to the Regent! Kent is another secure and comfortable world full of rich and famous families; but the Pilgrim’s Way to Canterbury Cathedral also runs through Edward’s estate, Godmersham Park. A mysterious stranger will find his end there, in Jane and the Canterbury Tale.
Примечания
1
The Hog’s-back is a narrow ridge that runs between Farnham and Guildford; the road traveled by the Austens on their journey to London ran along the summit and offered excellent views of some six counties. — Editor’s note.
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2
Women generally did not attend funerals in Austen’s day. — Editor’s note.
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3
Jane probably refers, here, to her entanglement with a notorious Lyme smuggler known as The Reverend, previously related in Jane and the Man of the Cloth(Bantam Books, 1997). — Editor’s note.
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4
The exotic reconstruction of the Royal Pavilion, as it is now called, with its fantastic spires, onion domes, and quasi-Indian style of architecture devised by John Nash, was not begun until 1815, two years after this account. — Editor’s note.
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5
Jane recalls events recorded earlier in the journal account subsequently published as Jane and the Ghosts of Netley. — Editor’s note.
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6
Jane refers here to one of the principal thwarted romances in her first novel, Sense and Sensibility, published in 1811. — Editor’s note.
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7
The first edition of Pride and Prejudice, published by Thomas Egerton in January 1813, was acknowledged as having been written “by the Author of Sense and Sensibility” — which had been written anonymously “by a Lady.” Later newspaper advertisements transposed these words as: “by Lady A —.,” which gave rise to much speculation regarding the identity of the supposedly noble authoress. — Editor’s note.
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8
Henry Austen began life as a banker when he was appointed regimental paymaster of the Oxfordshire Militia at the age of twenty-six—the year he married Eliza de Feuillide, his widowed cousin. — Editor’s note.
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9
Thomas Kemp owned most of the land in Brighton at the end of the eighteenth century; his son, Thomas Read Kemp (1782–1844), built Kemp Town in 1823, a significant Regency-style architectural neighborhood between the Royal Crescent and the racecourse on the Downs. The project eventually bankrupted him, and he died on the Continent, unable to meet his creditors’ demands. — Editor’s note.
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10
Although the Prince of Wales underwent a ceremony of marriage with the devoutly Roman Catholic commoner Maria Fitzherbert in 1786, he did so without the royal consent of his father, George III, and the marriage was thus regarded as illegal — by all but Maria Fitzherbert, presumably. The Prince’s subsequent arranged marriage to his royal cousin, Caroline of Brunswick, was regarded as the legitimate union. The Prince’s detractors continued to refer to him as a bigamist, however. — Editor’s note.
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11
Jane’s description of the Marine Pavilion appears almost quaint to a present-day reader, reflecting as it does a simpler palace long since razed. The Chinese wallpaper she mentions, however, is credited with having inspired the Regent’s subsequent renovation of the Pavilion into the present exotic folly. — Editor’s note.
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12
Francis Rawdon, then the second Earl Moira, had been appointed governor-general of Bengal in 1812, and left England later in 1813 without repaying the loans he had drawn on Henry Austen’s bank. — Editor’s note.
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13
Jane confirms here an opinion of Lady Oxford already expressed to her friend Martha Lloyd in a letter dated 16 February 1813. See Jane Austen, Jane Austen’s Letters, Deirdre Le Faye, ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), Letter No. 82.
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14
By this, the Countess of Swithin refers to Princess Caroline, the Regent’s estranged wife, who maintained a separate residence and household. Such a degree of hatred subsisted between the two royals that one could not be a friend to both. — Editor’s note.
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15
Raggett’s was a gentleman’s club opened by the proprietor of the exclusive (and Tory-affiliated) White’s Club in London. At Raggett’s the aristocratic Regency gentleman might secure all the comforts of Pall Mall while exiled in Brighton—gaming, privacy, and a neat dinner free of women. — Editor’s note.
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16
Part of Brighton’s attraction was the belief that sea-bathing was a healthful practice; and for those who could not swim, wooden bathhouses on wheels—drawn to the water by horses—were employed, particularly by women, who were deemed too modest to be seen in wet clothing. The dippers were persons of the serving class who helped bathers descend a ladder into the safe enclosure of the bathhouse once it was immersed in the sea. Having bathed, the lady would once more ascend the ladder with her muslin shift clinging to her body. It was said to be a common practice for idle gentlemen to train telescopes upon the bathing houses, in the hope of seeing various women of their acquaintance in the Regency equivalent of a wet T-shirt contest. — Editor’s note.
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17
“To cut Wisdoms” refers to the emergence of wisdom teeth—a phrase suggesting age, experience, and knowledge of the world. — Editor’s note.
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18
The Countess refers here to events set down in Austen’s third journal of her detective adventures, Jane and the Wandering Eye. — Editor’s note.
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19
Jane would appear to be describing what we should term a steeplechase; a race derived from the gentlemanly habit of riding to hounds at a punishing pace, rather than a flat course designed solely for speed. — Editor’s note.
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20
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21
In 1822, the Regent had a tunnel dug from the Pavilion to his riding school and stables, which is still in existence today. He had long been rumored, however, to possess a similar tunnel leading to Mrs. Fitzherbert’s villa, as well as this one leading to the King’s Arms. As the original pub no longer exists, the existence of a tunnel leading from it to the Pavilion is impossible to verify. — Editor’s note.
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