Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron

BETSY WAS AS GOOD AS HER WORD, AND ARRIVED A FULL ten minutes in advance of six o’clock, in order to dress my hair. She brought with her — God knows where she found them — a set of curling tongs, which she proceeded to heat by the bedchamber fire. This had died down during the course of the day, which I had spent in dutifully writing such news as obtained to Cassandra, and in scribbling bits of dialogue as came to my mind — truly delightful badinage, if I do say so myself, on the subject of the ha-ha , as both landscape feature and metaphor of female bondage. I cannot get out , Maria Bertram cries, as she rattles the iron gate in frustration. At which Henry Crawford must smile knowingly — such delightful creatures being always possessed of the instruments of licence, when ladies desperate for freedom appeal to them — and show the foolish girl how to escape her betrothed.

My own Henry had spent an unobjectionable day in perusing the sporting papers at Donaldson’s; met with me for a hearty nuncheon; declared himself determined to attend both tomorrow’s cricket match and race-meeting, weather permitting; and, having rubbed up against Lord Moira during his interval at the library, was carried off by the Earl to Raggett’s Club, for a debauch of silver-loo during the afternoon. [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.

I did not enquire whether Henry’s luck was in; it mattered more whether Lord Moira’s was out — for as the Earl’s banker, Henry was doubly his surety for anything in the gambling line.

“Aye, ma’am, and you do look fine,” Betsy offered in a kindly tone; she was patronising me, I am sure, for there was nothing very extraordinary in my black silk, it being the same gown I had worn Saturday evening. I had clipped my topaz cross on its fine gold chain around my neck, however — no gift from such a brother as Charles should ever disgrace me — and I was determined to leave off my matronly cap. My chestnut hair, tho’ shot with grey, is nearly long enough to stand upon. I had already brushed it, and plaited it into four tight braids, which I suggested Betsy should arrange about my head in a becoming fashion. This she managed to do with surprising aplomb, looping two strands first into a chignon at the crown of my head, and the remaining two at the nape, with a profusion of short curls about my ears and brow. Through all this, she wove a gold ribbon — just the touch required to relieve my inky black, and pick out the note of the topaz cross. I was quite pleased with the result; and tho’ my looks are no longer blooming, I believe my appearance would do justice to the Earl of Swithin’s table.

“They do say, ma’am, as you were on the shingle when the poor lady from London was saved of the sea yesterday,” Betsy observed as she plied her curling tongs. “Blue as Death they do say she was, until the Earl tore off her clothes, and rubbed her body all over. A sight it was to make a Christian blush! But perhaps you know better, being intimate with the Earl and his lady.”

I was astounded to learn that Caro Lamb’s disguise had already been penetrated, and turned — the tongs searing my scalp — to stare at Betsy. “I assure you the victim was a local cabin boy! A fisherman’s lad!”

She suppressed a smile. “Aye, and I’m your grandma’s old tabby! The Earl’s scullery maid — she’s a Brighton girl, Lucy is, and goes with the house whoever takes it of a season — is my cousin. She said as how the lady was brought in, wearing a boy’s breeches and all of a swoon, and carried directly upstairs. Hot milk and bread she was given, tho’ precious little she ate. Lucy says the trays all came back, and the sops went to the house cat.”

“Lucy is likely to lose her place, if her taste for gossip outstrips her good sense,” I said calmly. “The Earl should not like his servants to spread his business to the world; and as I am dining on the Marine Parade this evening, I may feel it my duty to inform his lordship how his confidence is betrayed.”

“Oh, no, ma’am, please to say you wouldn’t do that !” Betsy’s hands were suspended over my head, her horror writ upon her simple countenance. “I won’t breathe a word of Lucy’s tales to anyone, I promise. She’s forever telling ’em — it goes with her place, you see, she’s privy to monstrous goings-on, every season, for the house is let only to those as is that high in the instep — ”

“Naturally. But she shall never be more than a scullery maid if she does not guard her employer’s secrets. You, Betsy, I know, are anxious for advancement.”

“I am that, ma’am,” the chambermaid said, her tone subdued.

“I am very pleased with the dressing of my hair,” I told her. “And I thank you. Now, be a good girl — and do not spread this malicious gossip among the Castle’s servants. The poor creature the Earl saved from drowning shall no doubt be despatched to London tomorrow, and once gone, there is nothing more need be said. It will be as tho’ the incident never occurred.”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” Betsy countered, “but the lady’s not bound for London. Lucy says as how she took herself off this morning to the Pavilion, her being a special friend of the Regent’s. Perhaps it was in longing for Prinny that she threw herself into the sea! Only fancy! One of the Regent’s light-o’-loves, naked on the shingle, with the Earl of Swithin caressing her body — and everybody certain it ’twere a boy! There’s been nothing like it since Maria Fitzherbert turned respectable!”

“IT IS TRUE,” DESDEMONA TOLD ME AS WE STOOD IN HER drawing-room before a great pier glass, sipping ratafia, “Caro would be gone — and has begged a room in the Pavilion itself. Her mother, Lady Bessborough, is forever staying there, you know — having been an intimate of the Prince these thirty years at least — but I had not thought Caro capable of such effrontery as to invite herself to become one of the Royal party. The Lambs are Whigs, as are all the Bessboroughs — as indeed we are ourselves, not to put too fine a point upon it — and the Regent is heartily turned against his old Whig cronies, now he has the reins of power in his hands. Such ingratitude! When it was we alone who championed his cause, when the King was run mad!”

I chose to sidestep this swamp of politics, being country-bred and of Tory stock myself; I should leave the navigation of Whig waters to Henry, who was adept at playing every side to advantage. “But what can be Lady Caroline’s purpose in remaining in Brighton?”

“She intends to plague poor Byron — so much is certain. He will not meet her in London if he can help it — deliberately avoids every rout or ball that Caro is pleased to attend — and is forever in Lady Oxford’s keeping. Caro employs an army of pages deployed upon the streets, expressly for divining other people’s business; from one she learnt that Byron quitted London on horseback late Saturday, intending to do a bit of sailing in Brighton. He has come down from Town some once or twice in recent weeks, drawn by the lure of the sea, and keeps a room at the King’s Arms, I believe, against just such whimsical excursions.”

Or drawn , I thought, by the ingenuous charms of Catherine Twining, of whom neither Lady Oxford nor Caro Lamb has yet an inkling of .

“Learning of his departure,” Mona persisted, “nothing must suit Caro then but that she should rattle down the New Road in her perch phaeton, with only her tyger up behind her, on Sunday ! There has never been a propriety she feared to flaunt; and this is the result of it. She must have set out while it was yet dark, to achieve the shingle at the hour she did. But that is Caro Lamb all over — careless of opinion and sense.”