Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron

“You made no mention of it at the inquest,” I observed.

“Nobody asked,” Tolliver said simply.

It was true; not a word had been said about the means of placing a dead girl in a bed at the Arms. Both coroner and magistrate appeared indifferent to the matter.

Henry met my gaze. “Where does the tunnel lead, Tolliver?”

“Why, to the Pavilion, of course!” He beamed. [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.

THURSDAY, 13 MAY 1813

BRIGHTON, CONT.

“TOLLIVER,” MY BROTHER SAID, “YOU HAVE BEEN MOST generous with your time already, and I am loath to demand any more of it; but I do believe, in the interests of justice, that we ought to explore this tunnel—to ascertain, if nothing else, that it is indeed as yet unblocked for its entire length. The magistrate’s pursuit of Miss Twining’s murderer may depend upon it.”

I could have wished Henry had left Sir Harding Cross well out of our prospective adventure, for at the mention of the magistrate , the publican’s countenance underwent a change.

“I don’t know as the Regent will like to have all his little arrangements laid before the publick, like,” he said doubtfully. “It should not be seemly, to publish all that old business to the world.”

“Then say nothing of His Royal Highness’s use of the tunnel,” I suggested, “and make out that it was for the purpose of providing the publick house with access to the shingle … for … the ready unloading of goods brought round by the sea. Fish or …” I did not like to say smuggled brandy and claret , although that is what I was certainly thinking, having encountered such tunnels in coastal villages before. “The Pavilion was once a simple farmhouse, was it not?”

“Aye—belonged to Mr. Thomas Kemp, as is a great landowner hereabouts. But the tunnel was built well after his time.”

“That is a point that need not arise.”

“I don’t know,” Tolliver temporised. “I’m all of a flutter—the gentleman and lady having taken me by surprize, as it were, and caught me up in the spirit of the hunt; but I did ought to consult with Mrs. Tolliver, perhaps, and consider what should be done.”

The result, I little doubted, should be the suppression of all evidence, from a desire to avoid any dispute with the Regent. Very well—if I must pay a call upon Sir Harding Cross and lay the information before him myself, I should do so—but nothing could induce me to turn my back on that tunnel, unexplored, while it yawned so tantalisingly before me now.

There was a quantity of tapers standing ready in a spill box on the mantel; I reached for several, and said to the publican, in as commanding a tone as I could muster, “Pray fetch a light, Mr. Tolliver, if you would be so good. I must and shall explore the cunning little tunnel—it shall add immeasurably to my collection of ancient publick houses!”

“To be sure!” Henry cried, all decided animation; and before two such ardent hearts, Tolliver’s better sense gave way. He fetched a candle from the hall, lit our tapers, and then took a step backwards. “I’ll ask you to wait for Young Bob,” he said firmly. “Dear as I’d love to trot down those steps along of you both, I hear the missus calling, and we’re that full to the gills with custom, on account of the race-meeting and the murder, that I’m wanted in the Ordinary. Bob’ll see you come to no harm; he’s a good fellow, and a rare one for rats.”

With which obscure and daunting remark, he went to the head of the main stairs and halloed, “You there! Young Bob! Up with ye this instant! Aye, Polly, I’m just coming—”

Young Bob appeared within moments, and having received his duty, glanced at the pair of us doubtfully, as if to say that there was no end to the oddities of London folk. He was anything but the boy I had expected—being grizzled and bent with years of labour in the publick house, hauling barrels and cans of hot water to the bath; he was called Young Bob, he explained, “on account of my grandfer, Old Bob, who’s that spritely at ninety-two, and may be found having his pint on the Steyne any morning in fair weather or foul.”

Having received this confidence, we prepared to follow Young Bob into the black depths of the tunnel—which was, at the outset, a winding staircase fashioned of stone. I swept my skirts close about my legs, thanked Heaven I had seen fit to wear stout boots against the morning’s rain, and lit my taper at Young Bob’s candle.

Tolliver bowed his way to the door and left us, no doubt relieved to be rid of so persistent a charge.

“I say, Jane,” Henry put in as we hunched our backs and squeezed after Young Bob through the opening in the panel, “you don’t think this ends in the Regent’s bedchamber , or … anywhere else, actually, inside the Pavilion?”

“I cannot think it likely. Recollect that Tolliver and his brother, Sam, were wont to don sheets and chains, and startle the unfortunate guests—and they cannot have done so if the far entrance to the tunnel was within the Regent’s dwelling,” I said with more confidence than I felt. Given the Regent’s predilection for constant renovation of his residence—the expansion of the original farmhouse, and the repeated pulling down and setting up of new walls—Tolliver’s tunnel might have undergone a decided change; but I had no wish to further alarm my companions. “I am sure this debouches within the grounds—but in a manner that must preclude its being obvious to the general eye.”

Henry appeared mollified, but Young Bob merely grunted. This may have been because he had stepped without warning from the last stair to hard-packed earth; but in any case he said, “Never thought to live this day.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“—When I should see the Prince’s tunnel with my own eyes! Fair pother of rumours there was, year out of mind, but none as paid no real heed to ’em—thought it was the wine-fed tales of maids no better than they should be. There was Sal Norton, who claimed she was carried off to the Pavilion by night and ravished there three days; and old Jenny Feather bright, who put on such airs when Sir John Lade gave her a bauble as a token of esteem—not but what she came to a bad end on the streets of Lunnon not long after. Ended in Covent Garden, she did, walking the lobby of an evening.”

“Ah,” Henry said wisely. “Many’s the girl as has found her ruin in the lobbies of Covent Garden.” [22] In Austen’s day, prostitutes strolled through the crowds of theatergoers during intermission at Covent Garden, plying their trade. — Editor’s note.

“I daresay, sir, but never having been to foreign parts, I couldn’t speak to it.”

We were walking steadily along a hardened passage, quite sandy underfoot and lined in stone, that was remarkably fresh in its air tho’ not free of damp. So close to the sea, moisture is constant; and I reminded myself that above ground, it must still be raining.

“This tunnel’s existence, then, is generally known?” I persisted. “Mr. Tolliver seemed to think it was a great secret, shared only among his family.”

“Not known , if you’re meaning known, ” Young Bob said. “My old grandfer recollected the digging of it, years since; but most folk thought as it was just a bit o’ nonsense. So much ill was said of the Prince, ye ken, in his salad days—it were just another faradiddle, him spiriting away the maids with a passage underground. But Lord! Here am I, a-pacing of it!”