Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron

7 MAY 1813, CONT.

THE CASTLE INN, BRIGHTON

I FIND PROXIMITY TO THE SEA A DELIGHT ABOVE ALL others — one that is especially dear, in being the more generally denied. Some two years’ residence in Southampton, and the example of my Naval brother Frank, taught me a degree of comfort with quays and small boats, the bustle to be found on every sort of waterfront, and I sometimes yearn for the vigour of that life in my present, quieter abode at Chawton. The desire for fresh salt air and the constant tumult of the tides overwhelms me, some once or twice, of a hot Hampshire noon. My acquaintance with watering places, however, is not great — on two occasions I have been at Lyme, so sweet in its autumnal association with vanished romance, that I wish still for another glimpse of the Cobb and the bathing machines at Charmouth. [3] Jane probably refers, here, to her entanglement with a notorious Lyme smuggler known as The Reverend, previously related in Jane and the Man of the Cloth (Bantam Books, 1997). — Editor’s note. Of Teignmouth and Sidmouth I have seen a little, and Ramsgate in Kent, and Worthing but twelve miles west on this same Sussex coast. Yet I have never braved the mettle of Brighton, at once the most breathtaking and outrageous resort of the present age.

Breathtaking, indeed, from the moment our curricle began its descent from the sweep of untenanted Downs, a rolling country of grassland that affords a magnificent view of the well-ordered town at its foot, and the sea beyond, dotted with shipping and pleasure-craft. The sun, just past its zenith, glinted on the stately white buildings as we approached; on a welter of Corinthian columns and Adam-esque façades, and the classical purity of the Marine Pavilion, the Regent’s residence. [4] The exotic reconstruction of the Royal Pavilion, as it is now called, with its fantastic spires, onion domes, and quasi-Indian style of architecture devised by John Nash, was not begun until 1815, two years after this account. — Editor’s note. The New Road swung directly past its western lawns, so that a splendid view of the edifice — all but dwarfed by its massive new stable block, constructed in the Indian stile — was obtained directly upon entering Brighton.

We turned into Church Street, and the direction of Miss Twining’s home.

She was deathly pale as the curricle pulled to a halt, and had to be lifted to the paving by my brother. We each supported her up the steps, and waited for some response to Miss Twining’s pull of the bell. During the short interval from Cuckfield, she had informed me that Lord Byron took her up in his chaise at a few minutes past eleven o’clock; it was now nearly half-past four. Her poor Papa must be frantic with worry.

The heavy oak was pulled back; a bent form in livery stared impassively out at us. “Miss Cathy,” it said. “You have been wanted these two hours and more.”

“Oh, Suddley!” she cried, and stumbled across the threshold. “Indeed I did not mean to run away!”

“Miss Twining has met with a sad accident,” I said as I followed my charge within doors, “and requires rest and refreshment. She was so good as to permit us to escort her home. My name is Austen; if Miss Twining’s father should care for an explanation, we should be happy to offer it.”

“That will do, Suddley,” said a voice from the far end of the hall.

He was a soldierly-looking man, endowed with Miss Twining’s dark hair, but scowling in a manner assured to quell a more ardent spirit than his daughter’s. “Well, miss? And what have you to say for yourself? Gadding about in hoydenish pleasures — making a sport of my name throughout Brighton, I’ve no doubt, and not yet returned from school a month! I do not know what is to become of you — I declare that I do not! A disgrace to your name, and your sainted mother’s memory — Good God, Catherine, have you no conduct? Have you no shame?”

“Sir — ” Henry started forward, part anxiety and part indignation.

“Father, may I present Mr. Henry Austen, and his sister, Miss Austen, to your acquaintance? Mr. and Miss Austen, my father — General Twining.”

“And who are they , pray?” this personage demanded, as tho’ we were absent from the room entirely. “It is unusual, is it not, to force one’s notice upon young ladies entirely unknown to one? And in mourning too! I cannot think it becoming.”

“It was I who forced acquaintance upon the Austens, Papa,” Miss Twining returned tremblingly. “Indeed, they have been my salvation this day, and are deserving of considerable gratitude — but I should prefer to tell you all in greater privacy. May we not go into the drawing-room?”

“Very well,” he said grudgingly. “But I shall offer no refreshment. It is not my policy to reward impudence. Encroaching manners! Town bronze!”

He eyed my brother dubiously as he swung past Henry towards the drawing-room; a tall, spare man of advancing years — perhaps in his middle fifties — but still powerfully built, with a breadth of shoulder and a strength of limb that suggested the seasoned campaigner. His forehead jutted over deeply-set eyes of an indeterminate brown; his thin lips appeared permanently compressed, and his chin protruded pugnaciously. A man of ill-managed temper, I concluded, and frequent periods of oppression; an uneasy man to endure. He was dressed in dusky black rather than regimentals, and swung an ebony walking cane.

“It is a pleasure, sir, to meet any member of Miss Twining’s family,” I managed, hoping to spare our acquaintance further mortification; but her father was not inclined to tact.

“—Having assumed, no doubt, that such a forward young woman had no relations at all.” He eyed her with disfavour as he ushered us through the doorway. “I understand you were taken up in Lord Byron’s carriage, miss — oh, yes, you need not look so startled, the maidservant has been your Judas! Thought to elope with the Rage of the Ton, did you? And when did you discover your mistake? When the fellow achieved his object — then wanted no part of you?”

I thought it probable Henry would so far forget himself as to strike the General; his fist was certainly clenching at his side. I placed a restraining hand upon his arm.

“Your daughter was abducted, sir, by his lordship. She was discovered by my brother and myself at the stable yard in Cuckfield — bound and gagged and imprisoned in his lordship’s carriage against her will. It is to her credit that despite her pitiable state, she was capable of crying out for succor; which plea we heard, and came to her immediate assistance. Miss Twining cannot be held to blame; she is entirely innocent of the affair; and we must all congratulate ourselves that she escaped with no greater injury than a swoon, and considerable chafing to her wrists.”

The General’s eyes bulged in his head; his countenance empurpled; and with a snort he reached roughly for Miss Twining’s right hand — staring at the red weals on her arm.

“Disgraceful.” His head snapped up to meet his daughter’s shrinking gaze. “Did you connive in this outrage? Did you hope to run like a harlot from your old father?”

“Never, sir,” she whispered. Her pallor was so extreme, I feared she might faint again — and observed my brother take a step closer, in the event she slipped to the floor.

“Little liar,” the General said through his teeth, and struck Miss Twining with his open hand against her cheek.

She did not cry out, nor did she faint; she simply swayed as she stood, her face averted and her hand shielding the spot where her parent’s hand had fallen.

“General!” Henry burst out. “You forget yourself!”