Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron

“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?”

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, this 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.