Byron's Child

by Carola Dunn

  “It would not be fair to take part in the next hand as I am so much more experienced,” she said. “I shall sit it out and you can consult me at need.”

  Not waiting for Roland’s inevitable expostulation she stood up, scattering the pile of surplus cards with her foot so that it would look as if they had been dropped accidentally. She moved to a nearby wing chair, pulled off her borrowed slippers, and curled up comfortably with her legs under her.

  Giles was playing from memory, something that she thought must be Chopin. She had not known he was a pianist. Of course, she had only known him a couple of days, even if it seemed like forever. He was utterly intent on the music, as unaware of the world as when he was absorbed in his calculations. Jodie listened entranced, watching his long fingers dancing on the ivory keys.

  She shivered as she remembered his touch on her back when he buttoned the now-vanished blouse.

  “Cousin Judith, how many points are four knaves worth?”

  “Knaves? Oh, jacks. Forty.” Her mood was broken, and as if he guessed it Giles swung into a Scott Joplin rag.

  Joplin! Jodie was not sure of the composer’s dates but he was most certainly anachronistic, and she had a feeling Chopin was too. How could Giles be so careless? Luckily, only she and Emily had been paying any attention—but the syncopated rhythm of the rag was changing that.

  Roland’s foot tapped in time to the beat; Charlotte looked round in surprised dismay, relaxing when she saw it was not Emily playing; Lord Thorncrest raised his damning eyebrows.

  “What interesting talents your cousin has, Faringdale,” he observed. “One might almost suppose oneself in the street being annoy—entertained by a hurdy-gurdy.”

  Roland’s enjoyment faded. He put down his cards and went over to the piano. Jodie could not hear what he said, but in any case his remonstrance had precisely no effect. Giles, throwing himself into a particularly tricky bit of the Maple Leaf Rag, did not even notice him. Roland turned away with a disconsolate shrug and stalked back towards the card table.

  On the way, his outraged gaze fell on Jodie. He leaned down and hissed in her ear, “Ladies do not sit thus!”

  Hastily she uncurled her legs and put on her slippers. There was no sense in giving the poor man an apoplexy.

  Chapter Five

  As if repenting of his overreaction the night before, Roland graciously granted Jodie’s request to have Emily accompany herself and Giles into Oxford. They set off shortly after breakfast in the viscount’s comfortable but unostentatious carriage, driven by his coachman and with Frederick up behind.

  “Giles, much as I enjoyed it you must not play Scott Joplin,” Jodie said at once.

  He looked guilty. “I know. Sorry, I got carried away. What about Chopin? Emily, have you ever heard of Frédéric Chopin?”

  Emily shook her head.

  “I’m not much into Mozart and Haydn. What about Mendelssohn? Schubert?”

  “Schubert sounds familiar, though I have not heard his music. I know, the Austrian boy-genius. Some call him a second Mozart.”

  “You’re probably safe sticking to Schubert then,” said Jodie.

  “Forgive me,” Emily said hesitantly, “but it might be better if Cousin Giles does not play at all in company. It is not quite the thing for gentlemen, unless perhaps in a private concert, or just for the family.”

  “Why on earth not?” Giles was indignant.

  “She’s right,” Jodie agreed reluctantly. “It was okay in Georgian and Victorian times, but for a period in between it was considered odd for any man not a professional musician to play.”

  Giles sighed. “If you say so. I suppose I ought to concentrate on getting us home anyway.”

  “Writing poetry is much the same, is it not, Emily? It was—is not considered normal for a gentleman, though if you were a genius you might be lionized, like Lord Byron.”

  “Lord Byron is in disgrace,” Emily reminded her. “Lady Byron has run home to her parents with her baby.”

  “I was reading about Ada Byron, the daughter, last night. I picked up a biography by chance in that used-book store on Broad Street. I expect you know it, Giles?”

  “If you mean the second-hand book shop, yes,” he teased. “But what were you doing reading a book about the future, when Roland has a whole library of contemporary books?”

  “I was writing up my notes on the day until quite late, and as I was in my nightgown I thought I’d better not go down to the library so I read what I had to hand. Ada sounds like a pretty smart kid, but Annabella—Lady Byron—is altogether another kettle of fish. Self-righteous, tyrannical, determined to have her own way. She even fired Ada’s nanny because Ada was getting too fond of her. Will fire her, rather.”

  “Fire?” queried Emily.

  “Dismiss. She did encourage Ada to study math, but only because she thought it would squelch any tendency for her to be like her father. Lady Byron’s a real hypochondriac, too, always thinking she’s at death’s door, while Ada really was sick a lot. The poor kid’s heading for a pretty miserable childhood.”

  “Calm down, Jodie,” said Giles. “Despite your muddled tenses you sound quite upset. Do you always take everything you read so personally?”

  Jodie had to laugh at herself. “No, of course not. I guess it’s because here we are at the beginning of the story and it seems a pity that it’s sort of all happened once already and it’s going to happen again the same way. If you see what I mean. Also, I can’t help being sorry for Lord Byron, whatever he did. He wants desperately to see his daughter before he goes into exile, and Annabella won’t let him. And that’s happening right now.”

  “You are a very kind person,” said Emily seriously. “I can see why you sympathize with Lord Byron. Do you like his poetry? Roland says it is too shocking for me to read, but I know you are not so easily shocked.”

  Jodie laughed again. “Not easily shocked, but easily bored. To tell the truth, I have never managed to read more than a few lines of his epics, though some of the shorter poems are wonderful:

  “‘She walks in beauty, like the night

  “‘Of cloudless climes and starry skies,

  “‘And all that’s best of dark and bright

  “‘Meets in her aspect and her eyes.’”

  She leaned forward, peering out of the window. “Oh, Emily, can we stop and talk to that ploughman? I must have the perspective of an agricultural labourer for my thesis.”

  “Perspective?” Emily wrinkled her forehead in puzzlement. “You want to sketch him?”

  “Interview him,” Giles explained, leaving Emily only somewhat enlightened. “Not now, Jodie. He’ll likely lose his wits at being hailed by a beautiful young lady in an elegant carriage. You’d do better to visit one of the local farmers. Besides, we have a lot to do in Oxford.”

  “Okay.” Jodie sat back with a sigh that was not as heavy as it might have been had he not called her a beautiful young lady. She hoped he meant it.

  They accomplished all their errands in Oxford, though Giles was disappointed with the slide rule he bought. Apparently no one had yet got around to inventing a cursor for it, so the types of calculation it would help with were limited. Nonetheless, he retired to the library with it as soon as they reached Waterstock Manor.

  Charlotte was busy about some household task. Roland and Lord Thorncrest were still out shooting—at what Jodie squeamishly did not ask. Joining Giles in the library, she settled at a small writing table to put down her impressions of Oxford in 1816 before they faded from her mind. Emily came in, took a book from the shelves, and curled up in the corner of a large sofa.

  It was growing dark. Frederick came to make up the fire, lit several branches of candles and went out again. For some time there was no sound but the scratching of quill pens, the rustle of paper and the crackling of the fire.

  Candle flames wavered as the door opened. Lord Thorncrest entered. His colour heightened by fresh air and exercise, he looked particularly handsome and seemed fo
r once to be satisfied with the world.

  Emily gasped and hurriedly uncurled, dropping her book on the floor in the process. Jodie saw her move her skirt to cover it and wondered what reprehensible work she was reading now.

  “We had a splendid day’s sport,” the earl announced. “Your brother is to be congratulated on his coverts, Miss Faringdale. Do you shoot, Giles?”

  Giles looked up vaguely. “Did someone say something?”

  “I asked if you shoot.”

  “Oh yes, occasionally. Excuse me, Charles, I’m right in the middle of rather a complex equation.” Before he finished his sentence his attention had returned to his numbers.

  Lord Thorncrest grinned at Jodie. “I see you are hard at work, too, Miss Judith, writing your journal, no doubt. What frightful things do you have to say about us feudal English?”

  “Nothing kind,” she retorted. “No, as a matter of fact, I am simply describing Oxford at present. I drew your character last night.”

  “Alas, I fear I should be quite set down were I to read it. What think you, Miss Emily?” He moved to join her on the sofa. “Ah, you have dropped your book.”

  She bent to pick it up, but he stooped swiftly and reached it first. He read the title and his eyebrows rose, but in surprise rather than disapproval, Jodie thought. She eavesdropped unrepentantly.

  “Jean Jacques Rousseau, and in French. A curious choice for a lady of your years. What is your opinion of Monsieur Rousseau’s works?”

  “He writes beautifully,” said Emily defiantly, “and his ideas are interesting, though not as well thought out as Voltaire’s.”

  “Voltaire too! You have intellectual tastes. I daresay there is no room in your life for the novels of the Minerva Press?”

  “I have read some,” she admitted, pink-cheeked. “Charlotte likes them.” She glanced round as the door opened and Roland came in. Dismayed, she blurted in an undertone, “Pray give me the book, sir!”

  His look was understanding. “Better that I keep it,” he said softly. “I shall not give you away.”

  Roland beamed his approval on seeing his sister sitting with the earl. “A good day, hey, Thorncrest? Giles, you must come out with us tomorrow. The partridge will start nesting soon and I don’t shoot after that.”

  Jodie glared at Giles. She couldn’t believe he would go out there and slaughter innocent birds for fun. Her glare had no more effect than Roland’s words; Giles noticed neither. Roland chuckled indulgently and pulled up a chair beside Jodie.

  “You are as diligent with your journal, cousin, as Giles with his studies.”

  For a moment Jodie thought he was going to exercise his authority and insist on reading her papers. She was glad she had foreseen the possibility and written in a style appropriate to the period. However, he decided against it. Perhaps he was learning caution in his dealings with her.

  “I see your shopping expedition was successful,” he went on, nodding towards Giles, who was now clad in swallowtail coat and pantaloons and wielding a slide rule.

  “Thanks to you, Cousin Roland. We cannot be sufficiently grateful for your generosity.”

  His chest puffed visibly. “As head of the family, I consider it my responsibility to see that all are provided for, from replacing your lost belongings to planning a superior match for my sister.”

  “Even if she cannot like it?”

  “A young girl cannot be expected to understand how to choose a husband who will make her happy.”

  “Did not Charlotte choose to marry you?”

  “Dear me, no. What odd notions you Americans have! My dear Charlotte’s father and I arranged the matter between us, and see how splendidly it has turned out.”

  To that, Jodie had no response.

  Satisfied to have gained his point, as he thought, Roland left her to her journal and went to take a seat near Emily and Lord Thorncrest. Jodie resumed her eavesdropping.

  “You have an excellent library here, Faringdale,” observed the earl. “I discovered some volumes of Rousseau on the shelves and I have just now been recommending his works to Miss Emily.”

  “Rousseau! Emily!” Roland’s face was such a picture of horror that Jodie found it difficult not to laugh.

  “His writing is a model of clarity in the French language, do you not agree? And it cannot but be instructive to compare his philosophy with that of his arch-enemy, Voltaire. I trust you possess a set of Voltaire’s works also?”

  “Yes, I believe so, that is… It cannot be right to expose an innocent girl to the seditious ideas of Voltaire and Rousseau.”

  “You think not? What is your opinion, Miss Emily?”

  Emily cast a timid glance from her brother to her suitor and back. There was no way out, she must disagree with one of them.

  “Since Lord Thorncrest is so good as to advise me, Roland, I feel I ought to accept his advice.”

  As his lordship handed over the book, Jodie just managed not to clap and cry “Bravo!” She was surprised that the earl had taken the trouble to do so much for Emily.

  A moment’s reflection suggested that he was animated by a malicious desire to bait the brother rather than any wish to please the sister. Still, he had taken some notice of her for once. Perhaps if Emily learned to face up to him he might learn to appreciate her for more than her looks, her money, and her distinguished family tree.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jodie watched them that evening and the next morning. Though Lord Thorncrest did not use his cutting tongue on Emily, nor did he evince any interest in her beyond the most formal courtesy. According to Charlotte, he and Roland were determined upon the match, but he made no apparent attempt to woo his prospective bride. Too sure of himself by half, Jodie decided.

  She saw little of Giles that day. He went riding with Lord Thorncrest while Roland was busy about some urgent estate business, and Jodie went with Emily to visit a local farm. Later, after changing for dinner, she ran Giles to earth in the usual place.

  “I hope you did not shoot anything,” she said severely.

  Giles looked up from his papers and said with forced cheerfulness, “No, one does not shoot while riding, and in any case I prefer target shooting. Was your expedition successful?”

  “Excessively successful. The farm people were celebrating a christening—Emily took the baby a silver mug—and I have a vast quantity of information about partying down on the farm. I believe I shall narrow my topic to leisure activities in town and country. Emily is a great help to me. She is such a dear, and highly intelligent. Do you not think that Thorncrest might come to realize what a treasure she is?”

  “I’d like to think so, but I’m afraid he was telling me only this afternoon that all he is looking for is a complaisant wife. His father died eighteen months ago and he is prepared to do his duty by marrying and begetting an heir but his wife means so little to him that he doesn’t care if she is a bluestocking—his words, not mine! There’s no need to look daggers at me. He doesn’t believe Emily actually understands what she’s reading anyway.”

  “Are you serious? Okay, if you ever decide to do some shooting, you have my permission to use the earl as a target. I’m surprised he told you all this.”

  “I have gone up vastly in his estimation since he saw me on horseback. I’m quite a good rider.”

  “Knowing your talent for understatement, I assume that means you’re a champion steeplechaser. I hope this means that he will stop treating you in that odiously mocking way. How can you let him get away with it?” Jodie was indignant at the memory.

  Giles reached for her hand. “Calm down. Would you rather I reacted to every jibe by trying to prove my worth? I don’t need to, Jodie. His opinion of me is unimportant. Wasn’t it your home state, California, that set up a commission on self-esteem?” He smiled teasingly. “Well, my self-esteem is in very good shape, thank you.”

  She clung to his hand, suddenly grateful for his assurance, his belief in himself. Depending on him absolutely, she needed his confidence in
his own dependability. Her faith was not shaken even when he laughed ruefully and admitted that he had reached point non plus in his calculations.

  “At the moment I’m working on reinventing the slide rule. I can’t do much more without a more advanced version. It’s going to take a while.”

  “You’ll do it. And besides, I am enjoying myself prodigiously and I’m in no hurry to go home.”

  “Beware, you’re going native. I wonder if that’s what happened to Dr. Brown. I would not have come here deliberately without bringing all the calculations necessary to return home, and a calculator for last minute adjustments.”

  “She might not be here at all, or she might have come by accident like us, or she might have got into some sort of trouble here, not having obliging relatives waiting.”

  “Or she might have chosen to stay. How long does the postal service take these days?”

  “Better than in our time. Kent’s the other side of London, isn’t it? Two days max to get there, allowing for sorting in London, and two days back. Of course, she might not be at Font House or she might decide not to answer.”

  “I think she would answer. I only met her once and I can’t say I know her well, but though she was rather reserved she didn’t strike me as the sort to refuse to help us. Keep your fingers crossed, Jodie. We badly need her help.”

  Chapter Six

  “There’s a letter for you, Miss Judith.” Potter proffered a silver salver as Jodie and Emily entered the hall.

  Jodie was tempted to leave it until later. They had been into Thame, to the Tuesday market. Her head was full of the bustling little town, its broad main street lined with houses and shops and inns, thatched, half-timbered, brick, stone, and stucco. Though the business of the day was the buying and selling of cattle and agricultural products, the weekly gathering served as an excuse for merrymaking. Jodie wanted to capture on paper the puppet show, the ballad singer, the boys with hoops, and the gossiping women.

  But the letter could only be from one person. It was too important to be postponed.