Jane Austen Mysteries 10 Jane and the Madness of Lord Byron (44 page)

"We ought to beg permission of the Camp Commandant to visit the gaol," she said conversationally as we strolled along the muddy lane that served as main thoroughfare, surrounded on every side by red coats. "But I could not say where he is to be found. At Catherine Twining's funeral, possibly--or about some military business."

"I should not like to violate the Hussars' principles," I replied, "but I think it should prove more efficient if we simply suborn Byron's guards--and beg ignorance of convention later."

"I feel sure that is what Uncle would have done," Mona agreed. "Let us enquire the way to the gaol."

She approached the first young officer we encountered, with remarkable boldness; but as she carried a hamper of provisions over her arm, and had changed her straw-coloured gown for a bottle-green carriage dress and matching high-poke bonnet, she looked suitably demure. I, in my mourning clothes, hovered on the fringe of the conversation; and as the officer raised his hat, and strode on, Mona turned to me with satisfaction.

"Only think--that is young Norton, Lord Raleigh's second son. I am a little acquainted with the family; what a lucky chance I should meet with him, first off! They are cousins eight times removed."

If there was a well-placed family in England to which Mona was
not
related, I should be very much surprized. "But does he know where Byron is to be found?"

"His lordship is being held in the cells reserved for the drunk and disorderly. Young Norton says Byron's arrival in the Camp last night was all that was extraordinary--once the constabulary were gone, several of the officers of the 10th gathered outside his lordship's cell to toast his health, and Byron consented to declaim a number of lines of poetry. There is nothing like the Hussars, after all, for knowing how to live."

We hastened in the direction young Norton had indicated, passing in our way the chapel where Catherine Twining's funeral had been held. It appeared emptied of life at this present, and I concluded the cold collation so essential to every passing must be laid out in Mr. Smalls's quarters--or perhaps, as general interest in the family was so great--in the Officers' Mess. There was no sign of Henry.

Mona hesitated at a crossing of the way, then turned left. The cells for the drunk and disorderly were housed in a low-slung brick-and-stone building set apart from the barracks themselves, with a set of stocks raised before them. Two sentries stood at attention on either side of the sole door; narrow slits served for windows, placed high up in the walls, and they were barred. It must be airless and uncomfortable; but perhaps Lord Byron took consolation from his verse.

"Jane," the Countess murmured as we paused before the stocks, eyeing the sentries, "did your acquaintance with my uncle ever run to the penetration of gaols?"

"On several occasions," I admitted.

"Excellent. You shall know, then, how to go on."

I might have informed her ladyship that I had never breached a
military
gaol, but that seemed mere pettifogging at this point. So I drew breath and walked forward to attack the sentries. Mona followed with her hamper of food and wine.

"Good afternoon, sirs," I attempted.

Both sentries continued to stare straight ahead. Neither returned my greeting.

"This'll be another of 'em," the sentry on the right muttered to his fellow on the left.

"Sure enough. Like flies to cream, ain't it? I think I'll be takin' up poetry, I do. Nothing beats it for the ladies."

I glanced in consternation at Mona. She fluttered her hand, as tho' encouraging a bashful bride to the altar.

"I am Miss Austen, and this is the Countess of Swithin, whose husband is attempting to free Lord Byron. We have come this afternoon with food and ... a quantity of writing paper ... to succor him during imprisonment."

"A quantity of writin' paper!" the sentry on the right spat out, and at last his eyes met mine. "Aye, his-prating-lordship has
that
enough. Whole rolls of the stuff've been sent through the wicket in that door, ma'am, with the compliments of near every lady in Brighton--in the 'ope as a sonnet'll come back out, inscribed to
Louisa
or
Elizabeth
or
Airy-bell
. 'Nuff to turn a man's stomach, it is."

"The paper is merely by-the-way," Mona said indifferently. "If his lordship does not require it, of course I shall take it back again. But the provisions must be useful, I am sure. May we present them to his lordship?"

"Present them?" The sentry on the left turned his head indignantly and glared at Mona. "The gentleman is wanted on a charge of murder, your la'ship! He is
not
a lion-tamer out of Astley's Amphitheatre, nor yet the darling of the London stage! If you wish to see 'im, you cannot buy tickets--but by all means
do
attend 'is 'anging!"

At those words, to my astonishment, Desdemona abruptly began to sob. So overcome was she, that the hamper was nearly dropped from her nerveless hands; she swiftly covered her face and cried her heart out. I moved to comfort her, my arm about her shoulders, and looked to the sentries in reproach. "Heartless! How can you speak so, to a lady that has known his lordship from the cradle!"

The two men looked uncomfortable enough at the sight of Mona's weeping; my words only increased their chagrin. "Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, but you've no notion how many young ladies--shameless camp followers, most of 'em--'ave dallied by this sentry post and offered any amount of money or favours to be admitted to his lordship, private-like," one said.

"Some o' the things they're promising would tempt St. Peter, they would," the other echoed.

"That is not our object," I said sternly--there is some benefit to being an aging spinster dressed in black; the sentries quailed as tho' I had been their mamma--"our sole concern is Lord Byron's health. He possesses a most delicate constitution. If you intend to hang him, you had better ensure that he lives long enough to stand his trial. Now, be sensible--and convey that hamper into his lordship with the compliments of the Earl and Countess of Swithin."

The sentry on the right--who could be no more, I guessed, than eighteen--saluted me as tho' I had been an officer, and scurried to retrieve the basket from the ground where it lay. Carrying it gingerly, he first unlatched the wicket, and peered within Lord Byron's cell; then said, in an aside to his fellow, "Writin' again. 'E's all over ink. And 'e'll be askin' to 'ave 'is pen mended again, just you wait an' see. No pen-knives allowed the prisoners," he added, for my benefit.

"Naturally not," I agreed with quelling coldness.

The sentry unbarred the door, and carried the hamper within. After an interval of several moments, he reemerged with a packet of paper in his hands.

"The prisoner thanks ye kindly fer yer consideration," he said, as tho' having got the words by rote, "and asks that you convey these pages to Lady Oxford. If he is to hang, Lord Byron says, it would be something to know as his verses is published."

I held out my hand for the pages; they had been enclosed in a cover, and sealed clumsily with the wax from Byron's tallow candle. A letter? Or more lines from
The Giaour
?

Mona subdued her sobbing to a few dying sniffles.

"You have my gratitude, dear sirs, for your exceptional kindness," she breathed with trembling sincerity. "You will be blessed, I am sure, in Heaven!"

Such a picture as she made, with her tear-stained cheeks delicately overlaid with rose, that she might almost have been another Sarah Siddons--and I recollected, for the first time, that her grandmother had tread the boards of the Comedie-Francaise.

"Lord, Jane," she said as we walked with dignity back towards the barracks, "I was all of a quake lest they look inside the hamper. For beneath the roast chicken, the Gloucester cheese, and the lemon tart, is of course a pen-knife--for how could I neglect to send Byron one?"

23
Hazard was a form of gambling with dice that led eventually to the present game of shooting craps.--
Editor's note
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Viscount's Tale

F
RIDAY
, 14 M
AY
1813
B
RIGHTON, CONT
.

W
E HAD NOT ACHIEVED OUR OBJECT--TO CORROBORATE
Caro Lamb's tale, and enquire of Lord Byron why he had failed to follow Catherine Twining from the Pavilion on that fatal night--but we had in our possession a packet that might prove a love letter for Lady Oxford; and this was no end cheering to Desdemona, whose heart was softer than mine. Lady Oxford, she informed me, had taken to her bed on the strength of Byron's imprisonment--and must be cheered by some word from him.

"Tho', do you know, Jane, that he had the presumption to charge her with
unfaithfulness
at the Assembly last evening! Was there ever anything more unjust?--When she has sacrificed so much for Byron's sake--and even now remains in Brighton solely out of consideration for him!"

"Lady Oxford had better consider of her children," I retorted, "for I assume her husband has long since been forgot."

"The Earl is not very memorable, that is true," Mona said doubtfully, "but whatever Jane Harley's sins may be, neglect is not one of them. I am sure that has all been on the
other
side, for Oxford is very well cared for, and never troubles himself about Jane's
affaires
--as he has had countless High Flyers in keeping!"

On such a point of mutual disagreement, as to the nature of marital happiness, it was as well to keep silent. I could only be thankful that Mona's domestic arrangements were not patterned along Harleian lines.

We emerged into the main thoroughfare of the Camp, and espied the Countess's groom walking her team and phaeton to an admiring audience of common foot soldiers. Among them, however, I noticed a glossy charger commanded by a captain with a familiar face--Captain Viscount Morley. The blond god who had danced his last with Catherine Twining at her fatal Assembly looked haggard this afternoon; a riband of black crape was tied about his right arm. Had he attended Catherine's obsequies that morning?