Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron

SUNDAY MORNING BROUGHT FITFUL SUNSHINE, AND OUR dutiful attendance at St. Nicholas’s Church. There was such a squeeze to obtain seats among the congregation that Henry chose to stand at the rear, and thus had a prime view of the Regent and his brother, the Duke of Clarence, as they made their ponderous way up the main aisle and took their places in the Royal pew. I was better employed over my prayer book, and in listening to the sermon of the Reverend Mr. Michel, who taught the Marquis of Wellington his letters as an ignorant schoolboy — or attempted to do so, for there are those, including the Marquis’s mother, who insist the soldier’s understanding was never powerful. Mr. Michel spoke on vanity and the Way of All Flesh, which brought the old roué Hanger uncomfortably to mind; these seemed to be pertinent topics for the collected ton , tho’ from the expressions of virtue on every countenance, the clergyman’s words fell on deaf ears. I gave up attending to poor Mr. Michel, whose voice is decidedly thin, and studied my neighbours’ fashions instead.

At the close of Divine Service, Henry proclaimed himself anxious to seize the sea air in a stroll along the Marine Parade, a pleasant promenade that borders the shingle and the sea; and as little other amusement offered on the Sabbath for two raised by such observant parents, I readily agreed.

We had progressed some distance along the sea-front, in the direction of a local wonder known as Black Rock, when my name was called in a cheerful accent, and I confronted once more Lady Swithin. Beside her, elegant in figure and dress, was her lord: visibly older than when we last met eight years since, when the Earl of Swithin was a buck of the first stare, a celebrated parti on the Marriage Mart, and Desdemona’s infuriated slave. As he doffed his silk hat, I saw that Swithin’s forehead was a little lined, his hair beginning to thin; such are the wages of a vigourous career among the Opposition.

“My lord, my lady — how delightful to meet again.” I dropped a curtsey. “May I recall my brother, Mr. Henry Austen, to your acquaintance?”

Henry had been presented to Lady Swithin when she was but a girl in Bath and the object of our sedulous researches, on the occasion of her brother’s being taken up for murder; but he was unlikely to pursue the acquaintance once she exchanged the station of Duke’s daughter for that of Countess. Her husband, Henry knew not at all. But he bowed; the Earl returned the courtesy; and at Lady Swithin’s suggestion, Henry and I retraced our steps towards the Steyne.

“And what did you make of the Marine Pavilion, Miss Austen?” the Countess enquired, drawing a fine Paisley shawl about her shoulders against the brisk sea wind. “You will shock Swithin, I am sure, for I know your pert opinions of old.”

“I thought the place very grand, and befitting the honour of the Regent,” I returned sedately; “but the heat and crush were intolerable.”

“Not to mention the better part of the company,” Swithin observed carelessly. “The Carlton House Set are never good ton in London, to be sure, but by the seaside the freedom of their manners is shocking. I’ve a mind to take a house in Worthing, Mona, for the rest of the summer; the children should be happier there, without all this bustle, and I should never fear my wife’s receiving an insult. That blackguard Hanger was mincing about the passages last night like an unholy imp, itching to snatch at any passing female. I very nearly tossed him out on his ear.”

Lady Swithin smiled, and rapped her husband’s arm with one gloved hand. “Pay Swithin no mind, Miss Austen. You will recall he has a shocking temper. It would not do to be absent from Brighton when all the world is present — that excites comment, you know, and speculation, which should fuel the Tories’ vile projects: they should say that Swithin was ailing in the country, and that the moment was ripe to strike against the Whigs. We cannot have that on any account. But I think I should like to remove to Italy in June, as Lady Oxford intends: a change of scene entire should suit me, and the children may by all means go to Worthing, with Nurse.”

She glanced sidelong at the Earl from under her lashes, a ploy I remembered from her girlhood. “You, Charles, may do as you please — accompany me or stay behind; but I should find June sadly flat without you.”

Her husband smiled wistfully; his plans did not include Italy, I suspected; but he remained as enchanted by his Mona’s wiles as ever. “I do not like Lady Oxford.”

“I am well aware of it.” Desdemona dimpled.

“She is a pernicious influence.”

“Piffle. You are simply jealous, Charles. She’s far more clever than any man in London.”

“A powerful understanding, I grant you, well supported by judicious study — but I cannot like her morals, Mona,” Swithin said warningly.

“Oh, pooh — such stuff! She conducts her affaires quite discreetly; and were I chained to such a dead bore as old Harley, I should be forced to similar expedients — tho’ fortunately I am not, ” she amended hastily.

I was amused to observe that eight years of marriage had not dulled the wits of either husband or wife; prone to argue vociferously as young people, they remained as testy in their affection as ever.

“What part of Italy does Lady Oxford intend?” Swithin demanded.

“Sardinia. Or was it Sicily? I am forever confusing the two.”

“Then we shall be forced to descend upon the Lakes,” he replied. “Have you yet been on the Continent since Napoleon retired to Paris, Miss Austen?”

It was like his good manners to recollect his acquaintance, and turn the conversation.

“I have not,” I answered, with some dignity — never having been on the Continent at all.

“My late wife,” Henry interjected, “was so unhappy as to be deprived of extensive estates in France, bequeathed to her by her murdered husband — the Comte de Feuillide, guillotined by the mob at the height of the Terror — and it has been in my mind for some years to attempt their recovery; indeed, we once ventured together to France to push our claim, during the Peace of Amiens — but now that my wife is gone, all such efforts must be futile.”

The two men walked ahead a little, discussing Kutusov’s rout of Buonaparte; and I seized the opportunity to mine the Countess for intelligence. Lord Byron had tossed Catherine Twining out of Lady Oxford’s chaise; and Desdemona was intimate with Lady Oxford. I know nothing of the woman at all — except for her scandalous reputation, which I liked as little as did the Earl. [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.

“You have known the Countess of Oxford some years, I apprehend?”

“Indeed. We have been friends this age — tho’ she is considerably my elder. I believe she may be as old as forty,” Desdemona observed.

I winced, but forbore to announce my own decrepitude. “I did not see the Countess at the Pavilion last evening.”

“No — she cannot abide the Regent, you know; she is all for the Princess’s party, and remains in London to support her.” [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.

“I commend Lady Oxford’s loyalty,” I said warmly. “I pity the Princess exceedingly; and must believe that however imperfect her conduct has been , had her husband’s been above reproach, she should not have erred. His was the poor example; his the duty to guide; and his negligence the more to be deplored, in exposing his wife to contempt and ridicule.”