Jane Austen Mysteries 10 Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron (11 page)

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
Henry Austen began life as a banker when he was appointed regimental paymaster of the Oxfordshire Militia at the age of twenty-six--the year he married Eliza de Feuillide, his widowed cousin.--
Editor's note
.

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Regent's Reception

8 M
AY
1813
B
RIGHTON, CONT
.

"A
PLEASURE, TO BE SURE
," M
R
. S
MALLS 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.

General Twining placed his hand in the small of his daughter's back and thrust her ungently towards the clergyman. "Pray show your gratitude to Mr. Smalls, my dear, for that most eloquent tribute to your brother. Mr. Smalls, for my part, I can conceive of nothing more fitting to the martial nature of Richard's life--and the bitter waste of his end."

"Sacrifice," Mr. Smalls observed, with his small black eyes fixed upon Miss Twining's cheek, "is the highest purpose of man's existence on earth. You may be proud, General--if I may so express it--that Richard's life
was
wasted; for it is the death won without glory, the obscure and insignificant ending, that is most valued in the eyes of the Creator. We should not set ourselves up as rivals, I am sure, of that consummate sacrifice at Calgary."

I found this sentiment so revolting I had not a word to utter in response to it. Miss Twining's fixed regard for the paving-stones at her feet--she had ignored her father's injunction to effuse her thanks--suggested that the poor child was as little moved. Mr. Smalls's eloquence may perhaps have been marred by his manner of speaking--he was given to richly rolling consonants, as affected as though he had been trained up in the theatre in his youth, rather than the pulpit; one might suspect him of prating
Hamlet
when he had no babes to baptise. I wondered if he spoke thusly even in the breakfast parlour, crying out for his bread and butter; or if he was liable to declaim from the nether end of the table, when desperately in want of soup.

"I am sure you have much to say to one another," I murmured, "and must beg to leave you in peace. General, my condolences on your sad loss; and Mr. Smalls, I shall hope to have the pleasure of listening to your sermon on the morrow."

His round face flushed darkly; his head inclined. "That is not likely to be possible, Miss Austen. You may not perfectly comprehend my position in life. You will know, I am sure, that there is but one church in Brighton--so charming a town should hardly need more--and that is the venerable St. Nicholas's, which dates from the fourteenth century, tho' certain of the tower stones are decidedly Norman in origin. It falls under the authority of the Bishop of Chichester, and his chosen vicar is the most Reverend Mr. Michel, an excellent man. We have argued points of great doctrinal significance from time to time. I myself am attached, however, to Brighton Camp; I am chaplain to the 10th Royal Hussars, whose Colonel-in-Chief is no less a personage than the Regent himself. I owe everything in life to His Royal Highness. Such benevolence! Such condescension!"

"Such unexpected wisdom," General Twining interposed warmly, "in a Royal of indifferent morals."

Hendred Smalls positively swelled with pleasure at this speech; his round shoulders thrust back, and the hidden stays that bound his torso creaked ominously. "I should like to offer your party some refreshment, General, before your return to Brighton--a glass of brandy, the hour being already advanced, with perhaps a lemonade for the ladies!--if such an indulgence should not be adjudged improper, on the melancholy occasion. There is something," he added, with a particularly offensive smile at Catherine Twining, "that I should like to say to Miss Twining."

I hastened to reply for myself in the negative, and with a final nod to Catherine--whose countenance was compounded of indignation and dread--hurried off down the High Street in the direction of Buckingham House, hopeful of encountering Henry. My pulse had quickened under the influence of recent events; I could not quite contain my wrath, indeed--and had General Twining not grasped his ebony walking-stick so firmly, I might have soundly thrashed him with it.