Part 13 (1/2)

The pack was long since gone, but Caro paid no heed-throwing herself flat along the black colt's neck, the reins loosed as tho' she wished to be run away with, she gave the horse its head-and galloped straight at the first stile.

”She'll break her neck,” Lady Oxford said grimly; and I was surprized to find no hint of satisfaction in her voice.

”Not Caro,” Mona replied. ”She has hunted her whole life with the Duke of Devons.h.i.+re-I am sure there is nothing she will not throw her heart over.”

And indeed, the black colt had carried her safely beyond the first three obstacles in the course; to my amazement, the gap between Caro and the rest of the field was shortening.

”That's a devilish fine horse,” I heard Sir John call out from beside Mrs. Alleyn's curricle; ”what do you say, Hodge, to a side bet on the black colt?”

”Ten pounds on Lady Caroline to place!” Hodge replied.

And all around us, a feverish spate of betting commenced, with gentlemen hastening towards the little knot of men whose employment it was to record such wagers, and tally the winnings.

Fragments of intelligence drifted over our heads...one horse was down on the far side of the course, beyond our view; Lord Wyncourt's had refused a hedge. There was no word of China Trade.

”How much to see the lady thrown?” a random voice called from the crowd; and a guffaw went up amidst the more vulgar members.

Three horses were rounding the final curve in the course. A last fence remained, with a broken trunk beyond it-as deadly and as frightening a jump as any I had ever witnessed. One head rose up, shoulders bunched and forelegs dangling-the neat little mare with the long neck. Her mount was clinging like a monkey to her back, a diminutive fellow in the Earl of Swithin's colours. As I watched, her body seemed to extend-to soar-and both fence and twisted mesh of fallen tree branches were behind her. A cheer went up as the mare laid back her ears, extended her head, and flew for home.

And behind her- The black colt, with Lady Caroline's Prussian blue train lying like a flag along its back.

She was perfectly positioned as her mount took the final fence, her frail figure aligned with the horse's as it leapt; and there was no doubt of the heedless courage in every fibre of both creatures' beings. I had no doubt they moved, in that instant, as one; which made the horrendous destruction that followed almost incomprehensible. The colt cleared the fence, but sailed just short of the vicious trunk; his hind legs caught in a tree limb; the horse staggered, fell forward on its knees, and somersaulted-with Caro Lamb going straight over its neck.

A moan of horror went up from our a.s.sembled crowd; and for an instant, all breath and movement was suspended. I saw, as in a dream, China Trade swirl across the finish; saw her jockey pull up his heaving mount in expectation of universal acclaim-and watched, as horror freed its grip, the first of the gentlemen bolt past the victorious mare in the direction of the insensible lady lying p.r.o.ne on the ground.

”As I observed,” Lady Oxford said drily, ”the wretched fool has broken her neck. How in G.o.d's name are we to explain it to William Lamb?”

Desdemona made as if to descend from her carriage, but her husband's hand on her wrist stopped her.

”Stay,” he said. ”I shall go. You can do nothing there.”

The black colt had scrambled to its feet but stood all of a huddle, head hanging, one back leg pulled up as tho' in agony. Several gentlemen had reached Lady Caroline, and knelt about her; one of them called, in an agitated accent, ”She breathes!”

”Praise G.o.d,” Lady Oxford murmured; and again, I was startled at her charity.

A crack, as of a pistol shot, rang out-and I saw to my horror the beautiful black colt crumple to the ground, with a shudder as profound as thunder-a ruin to Lady Caroline's whims. It was the starter's pistol that had done it; and a gentleman stood a moment over the pitiable creature, staring at its n.o.ble head, pistol dangling, before turning away.

”I suppose the hind leg was broken in the tree,” Lady Oxford said with a slight catch in her voice. ”I cannot bear to see it-a hunter of mine went in just such a way, some years since, when I rode with the Quorn.20 G.o.d forgive us for the way we use our beasts.” G.o.d forgive us for the way we use our beasts.”

”I hope He may find it in His heart to forgive Lady Caroline, at least,” I murmured. ”She drove that colt to its destruction.”

Lady Oxford was silent a moment. ”I have often thought it is herself herself she wishes to destroy. But until that day-Caro will be content to smash everything near her,” she said. she wishes to destroy. But until that day-Caro will be content to smash everything near her,” she said.

20 The Quorn Hunt, founded in 1696 by Mr. Thomas Boothby of Tooley Park, Leicesters.h.i.+re, is still in existence today. It was considered one of the most rigorous, demanding, and exciting of the hunts of Jane Austen's time, and to be invited to ride with its members conferred considerable prestige. It takes its name from the village of Quorn, where the pack was kenneled from 1753 to 1904.- The Quorn Hunt, founded in 1696 by Mr. Thomas Boothby of Tooley Park, Leicesters.h.i.+re, is still in existence today. It was considered one of the most rigorous, demanding, and exciting of the hunts of Jane Austen's time, and to be invited to ride with its members conferred considerable prestige. It takes its name from the village of Quorn, where the pack was kenneled from 1753 to 1904.-Editor's note.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Green-Eyed Monster WEDNESDAY, 12 MAY 1813 1813.

BRIGHTON, CONT.

I MAY BE FORGIVEN IF MAY BE FORGIVEN IF I I CONFESS THAT AFTER SO EXHAUSTING CONFESS THAT AFTER SO EXHAUSTING a day, replete with inquests, seductive poets, duelling a day, replete with inquests, seductive poets, duelling inamoratas inamoratas, and suicidal races, I looked for nothing more engaging than an early dinner and an inviting bed. First, however, I was required to witness Lady Caroline Lamb's retirement from the field-sensible at last, and carried aloft on a hurdle, with her riding habit trailing to the ground like a heroine out of Shakespeare.

I must observe, as an aside, that I am forever put in mind of the stage stage when I am treated to one of Caro Lamb's scenes; and I am hardly alone in this. Her life is lived on so dramatic a plane that the theatre cannot be far from one's thoughts. This reflection leads me inevitably to another: Does the air of High Tragedy persist, even when the lady is entirely alone, and playing only to her mirror? when I am treated to one of Caro Lamb's scenes; and I am hardly alone in this. Her life is lived on so dramatic a plane that the theatre cannot be far from one's thoughts. This reflection leads me inevitably to another: Does the air of High Tragedy persist, even when the lady is entirely alone, and playing only to her mirror?

I should like a private interview with Lady Caroline-she betrayed herself as so completely in possession of the history of Catherine Twining, when she chose to spar with Lady Oxford, that I imagine she gained rather more of the child's confidence than she admitted at the inquest. It is even possible she might say more of her parting parting from Catherine-the exact hour and circ.u.mstance that left the poor girl without escort home to Church Street-if properly managed. from Catherine-the exact hour and circ.u.mstance that left the poor girl without escort home to Church Street-if properly managed.

And what, I wonder, is the significance of the name Leila Leila? We two shall have much to discuss, once Caro's shattered frame is on the mend.

I say shattered, but in truth she broke no bones, being but shaken to her core. The ground dealt a shocking blow to the head; she took leave of her senses; and was less than coherent for several hours after, according to general report. Lord Wyncourt-whose horse had come to grief without the necessity of being shot-was kind enough to bear Caro Lamb back to the Pavilion in his laudaulet; and it was from his words the intelligence soon emanated the length and breadth of Brighton, which had seen nothing to equal her ladys.h.i.+p's display since the Regent had grown too fat to gallop over the Downs.

I shudder to think what must have been Caro's reception, once the news of the black colt's end was received at the Pavilion. The Regent's love for his horses is everywhere known-and is said to exceed even his love of women. His Royal Highness cannot, in good conscience, despatch an injured lady post-haste back to London, even were the magistrate to allow it; but it is certain that Caro Lamb is in disgrace, and shall be barred from the stables so long as she remains in the town.

”What a race, eh, Jane?” my brother crowed as Mona backed and turned her phaeton in preparation for quitting the meeting-ground. Henry was standing with deceptive insouciance beside China Trade, as tho' he had been an intimate of Lord Swithin's this age, a privileged friend and sporting companion.

How Eliza should have loved the picturesque! I thought with a pang. And almost forgave her betrayal.

The sprightly mare's bay coat was darkened with sweat, but she appeared to regard the exertion so little, as to be ready to try a second round of the course. The Earl's countenance had regained its colour, and he met a hail of felicitations from the gentlemen whose wagers he had justified, with becoming relish.

The ladies of the party, I may disclose, accomplished the return to Brighton in subdued spirits. Desdemona was disposed to exclaim about Caro Lamb and her mad behaviour, and I might have seconded her observations with praise of the Earl's game little jumper, had not Lady Oxford's demeanour silenced us both. Her ladys.h.i.+p was lost in distraction, and that the tendency of her thoughts ran to Lord Byron, and all that Lady Caroline had disclosed, was revealed by her asking abruptly, ”Does George truly truly mean to dine with you tonight, Mona, or is that but a falsehood as well?” mean to dine with you tonight, Mona, or is that but a falsehood as well?”

Desdemona shot me a sidelong look-I was wedged between the two Countesses-and said diffidently, ”I depend upon his appearance, as he accepted the invitation with alacrity only this afternoon. He was most solicitous for your welfare, Jane, I a.s.sure you-being well aware that the Regent is no great favourite of yours, and that it is His Royal Highness who sets the tone of Society in Brighton. Byron had no wish to see you come to hammer-and-tongs with Prinny over Princess Caroline.”

”-He did not wish to see me snubbed snubbed, you mean,” Lady Oxford returned. ”It would never do for the acknowledged maitresse maitresse of so celebrated a poet, to receive the cut direct from all Brighton. Pray speak plainly, Mona. Does he dread my coming?” of so celebrated a poet, to receive the cut direct from all Brighton. Pray speak plainly, Mona. Does he dread my coming?”

”What?” her ladys.h.i.+p exclaimed, as tho' outraged. ”George, dread dread to see the lady nearest his heart? Do not be a goosecap, my dear! You cut your Wisdoms too long ago!” to see the lady nearest his heart? Do not be a goosecap, my dear! You cut your Wisdoms too long ago!”

It was perhaps unfortunate that Mona should have invoked Lady Oxford's age age, at such a moment, when her friend required only rea.s.surance; it was done entirely without malice, however, as the unfortunate adoption of cant expressions usually is-with frequent disastrous effect.

”Yes, I'm rather more than seven,” her ladys.h.i.+p observed acidly; and to my horror, she began to weep. Mona, on my left hand, was entirely unaware of the distress she had caused. Tears streamed silently down Lady Oxford's cheeks, trailing through the powder and rouge her ladys.h.i.+p employed-which can only have served as salt in her wounds. I drew a clean handkerchief from my reticule and wordlessly offered it. Lady Oxford mopped delicately at her face.

”I have known Caroline Lamb long enough to declare that while she is an accomplished little liar, she rarely tries it on in publick,” she told us. ”Every word she uttered today, whether in a whisper or a screech, was potently true, was it not, Mona?”

”I could not undertake to say,” stammered the Countess of Swithin. ”Certainly as regards the more intimate intimate of her barbs, I cannot be allowed to have an opinion.” of her barbs, I cannot be allowed to have an opinion.”

Lady Oxford made a dismissive gesture with her hand; my black-hemmed square of lawn fluttered away behind the das.h.i.+ng phaeton. ”But the gist of it, Mona: Byron was in love with the girl?-This Twining chit? And has been deceiving me liberally the whole spring long? When I believed him besotted- besotted-”

The Countess of Swithin was silent an instant, as tho' marshalling her arguments. I may say that despite the necessity of preserving her wits and temper in the face of her friend's turbulent spirits, she continued to drive her demanding team to the very inch inch, for which I was no end grateful.

”Who can tell what George Gordon truly feels in that place he claims for a heart?” she declared at last. ”Never having penetrated it, my dear, I should not attempt to say. Certainly he conceived a pa.s.sion for Catherine Twining-but whether as a man man, or a poet inspired by a particular muse muse, who knows? The girl was the merest child! And he has always always been enslaved by ladies of more...experience...and...and been enslaved by ladies of more...experience...and...and maturity maturity...as you know. Such innocence as Catherine displayed could not have captivated him long.”

Lady Oxford drew a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. She ought to have been rea.s.sured by her friend's words, but her face was become a mask, distracted and anxious; Desdemona had only increased her misery.

”With those of Byron's stamp,” her ladys.h.i.+p persisted, ”it must be enough to figure in his imagination; one can never hope to possess it solely, as one might with a lesser Genius. You have been Aspasia, your little daughter has been Ianthe-must you strive to be his Leila too?”

There it was, again: that haunting name, so evocative of climes far from England's sh.o.r.es. Caro Lamb had caught it; from Byron himself-or Catherine Twining?