Part 14 (2/2)

”Ye-es,” Mrs. Silchester said hesitantly, ”tho' with my knowledge of the General, I should be inclined to call it spite rather than sorrow. You will forgive me for speaking frankly, Miss Austen-the General is not not an amiable man. Dear Lydia was quite otherwise-possessed of perhaps an amiable man. Dear Lydia was quite otherwise-possessed of perhaps too too much sensibility, indeed-and a more ill-sorted pair I never hope to encounter again.” much sensibility, indeed-and a more ill-sorted pair I never hope to encounter again.”

”The marriage was unhappy?”

”She fell in love with a red coat, I fear-and never gave a thought to the nature of the gentleman who wore it.”

”Many ladies might say the same, to their infinite misfortune,” I offered piously.

”But few with poor Lydia's result.”

Poor Lydia. It might be a veritable quotation from my own pen.

And as we walked towards the King's Arms and my expected nuncheon, Mrs. Silchester shared her friend's sad history.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A Pa.s.sion for Publick Houses THURSDAY, 13 MAY 1813 1813.

BRIGHTON, CONT.

”IT IS QUITE A DISMAL TALE, HENRY,” I WARNED AS THE WARNED AS THE potboy set a tankard of ale, half a cold ham, some new-baked bread, and a Stilton cheese before us. I was drinking lemonade. We were seated in the King's Arms' coffee room among perhaps half-a-dozen other parties, with the horde of more common folk collected in the Ordinary beyond the communicating pa.s.sage, and the cheerful din made the perfect foil for intimate conversation. The Arms was a handsome-enough old publick house, broad-beamed and low-ceilinged, with smoke-darkened walls and ample hearths. Henry had already informed me that the Regent had been frequently revelling here in his salad days-before Mrs. Fitzherbert or the unfortunate marriage to his cousin Princess Caroline-and that the carousing of the 10th Hussars, whose preferred publick house it was, could be as nothing to the example His Royal Highness had once set. potboy set a tankard of ale, half a cold ham, some new-baked bread, and a Stilton cheese before us. I was drinking lemonade. We were seated in the King's Arms' coffee room among perhaps half-a-dozen other parties, with the horde of more common folk collected in the Ordinary beyond the communicating pa.s.sage, and the cheerful din made the perfect foil for intimate conversation. The Arms was a handsome-enough old publick house, broad-beamed and low-ceilinged, with smoke-darkened walls and ample hearths. Henry had already informed me that the Regent had been frequently revelling here in his salad days-before Mrs. Fitzherbert or the unfortunate marriage to his cousin Princess Caroline-and that the carousing of the 10th Hussars, whose preferred publick house it was, could be as nothing to the example His Royal Highness had once set.

”No local maiden was safe from his party,” Henry observed. ”And the gallons of wine and ale that were drunk! The publican, Mr. Tolliver-who has lived in the Arms, man and boy, his father being publican before him-says there was nothing to equal Prinny's l.u.s.t for life, in his youth. The reputation of the house grew so tarnished among the gentry, indeed, that Mr. Tolliver's father very nearly barred the Prince from the premises-but for the uncomfortable fact of his being being the Prince. But you were speaking of General Twining: Pray forgive my interruption.” the Prince. But you were speaking of General Twining: Pray forgive my interruption.”

”I fear that what I have to relate is less amusing.” I allowed my brother to serve me a cut of ham. ”General Twining was once himself a member of the 10th Hussars, as should not be unusual; and while in London a quarter-century ago, met and married a beautiful young heiress named Lydia Montescue-only then in her first Season. He was thirty; she was but seventeen, and wild for a red coat, as Mrs. Silchester would have it-the two ladies were together at school, and remained friends ever after. As is so often the case, poor Lydia discovered that she had married a stranger on the strength of three weeks' acquaintance, several b.a.l.l.s, and a drive or two in Hyde Park-who proved, as a life partner, harsh and incomprehensible: so strict a disciplinarian, that her frivolous pleasures were at an end; so parsimonious a master, that her ample purse was hers no longer; and so jealous a husband, that she might not stand up with one of his fellow officers at a garrison ball, without earning a blow from his hand. In short, she left the General-who was but Major Twining then-when her son was five and her daughter an infant still in arms.”

”Eloped with another?” Henry suggested.

”One of her husband's cavalry officers-Captain the Honourable Philip Barrett, Mrs. Silchester persisted in calling him, as tho' his courtesy t.i.tle lent greater glamour to his memory. Captain Barrett was the second son of the Earl of Derwent.w.a.ter, she tells me, and exquisitely expensive-being addicted to gambling. Poor Lydia appears to have possessed appalling taste in men.”

”Fellow ditched her?”

”I am sure his family would have preferred him to have done so. In the event, Twining pursued them, challenged the Honourable to a duel-and killed him at twenty paces.”

”Good Lord!” Henry almost choked on his ham. ”And having put his rival below ground, Twining did not feel obliged to flee to the Continent?”

”He stood his trial, and was acquitted the crime of murder on the plea of having defended his honour-the first duty of any soldier or gentleman. Mrs. Silchester, however, could not quite condone such violence. I believe she was as smitten as all the rest with the das.h.i.+ng Captain. A tragedy tragedy, she called it.”

”And Lydia?-She was hauled back to do penance, I suppose?”

I shook my head. ”Having killed her lover, Twining cast off his wife without a penny, Mrs. Silchester says. Lydia died in extreme poverty in a back slum of London when Catherine was but three years old, and lies in an unmarked pauper's grave. Mrs. Silchester knows this to be true, because she received a letter from the vicar of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, which parish had the burying of Mrs. Twining; Mrs. Silchester's direction was found among the unfortunate lady's effects, when she had died.”

”And the Montescues? They made no effort to support her? They allowed their Lydia to end in misery?”

”She was an orphan, I understand-which accounts for her considerable fortune, which fell entirely to General Twining's use.”

”Melancholy,” Henry observed. ”And do but consider, Jane, how little his course in life has availed him-only son killed in the Peninsula, and now his daughter snuffed out in violence.”

”Yes. One might almost call it a judgement-if one were possessed of a vindictive turn, in matters divine.”

”I am glad glad I disliked that fellow upon first meeting,” my brother persisted. ”I can only wonder that little Catherine did not fly to London with Byron when he asked-so eagerly must she have yearned for liberty.” I disliked that fellow upon first meeting,” my brother persisted. ”I can only wonder that little Catherine did not fly to London with Byron when he asked-so eagerly must she have yearned for liberty.”

”But that is exactly what she would not not do, Henry,” I countered. ”Recollect her sheer terror at being returned to her home in disgrace-the reliance she placed upon us bearing her company-and the blow she received for her courage in having outwitted Lord Byron! I had heard before this that the General is most anxious on the subject of his name, and family dignity; and now we may know the cause. He perceives the world to be laughing at him, for having a shameful wife-and therefore no taint of a similar disease should be allowed to mar Catherine. do, Henry,” I countered. ”Recollect her sheer terror at being returned to her home in disgrace-the reliance she placed upon us bearing her company-and the blow she received for her courage in having outwitted Lord Byron! I had heard before this that the General is most anxious on the subject of his name, and family dignity; and now we may know the cause. He perceives the world to be laughing at him, for having a shameful wife-and therefore no taint of a similar disease should be allowed to mar Catherine. She She must be perceived as purer than the driven snow. What a curse for the poor child, that she should draw so rakish an eye as Lord Byron's!” must be perceived as purer than the driven snow. What a curse for the poor child, that she should draw so rakish an eye as Lord Byron's!”

”It explains the General's determination to marry her off so early to Mr. Smalls,” Henry added. ”What better safeguard against calumny than an aged clergyman?”

”What better inducement to a second elopement!” I cried. ”No, Henry-the General understands nothing of women, and has been at every turn a fool. Did I not dislike him so thoroughly, I should be inclined to pity the man-so ham-fisted as he is. He even finds shame shame in Catherine's murder-as tho' she deserved it, through some moral lapse of her own. Could anything be more unjust?” in Catherine's murder-as tho' she deserved it, through some moral lapse of her own. Could anything be more unjust?”

”For my part,” my brother replied, ”I should like to strike strike General Twining.” General Twining.”

”And such are our ungenerous sentiments, on the very eve of his daughter's funeral!” I mused. ”Which puts me in mind of something-you must attend, as a representative of the family.”

Henry's brows rose. ”Indeed, Jane? I have this comfort: there can be no difficulty in procuring mourning.”

”I should not ask it of you,” I pleaded, ”but that I cannot attend myself; you know it to be most improper. And I should dearly like an observant pair of eyes upon Mr. Hendred Smalls-he is to conduct the service.”

”Ah,” Henry said knowledgeably. ”And at the cold collation that is certain to follow-not even the General could be so remiss in what is due to his daughter as to forgo the cold collation!-you would wish me to enquire as to the clergyman's movements in the small hours of Tuesday morning. Say, between one and three o'clock?”

”Henry,” I sighed as I took a bite of cheese, ”you are in every way a most excellent excellent brother.” brother.”

THE PUBLICAN, MR. TOLLIVER, PRESUMING SO FAR ON HIS PRESUMING SO FAR ON HIS earlier conversation with Henry to approach our table, and beam in a kindly way at me-enquiring whether the ham was cured to my liking, and whether I should not wish for a gla.s.s of ratafia, as an aid to my digestion-I seized upon chance and professed myself entirely delighted with every aspect of the meal and the establishment. However earlier conversation with Henry to approach our table, and beam in a kindly way at me-enquiring whether the ham was cured to my liking, and whether I should not wish for a gla.s.s of ratafia, as an aid to my digestion-I seized upon chance and professed myself entirely delighted with every aspect of the meal and the establishment. However modern modern the Castle's conveniences, I a.s.sured him, it could offer nothing so comfortable or sound as the King's Arms. the Castle's conveniences, I a.s.sured him, it could offer nothing so comfortable or sound as the King's Arms.

”Well, and it's a home-like place enough, which I allus think the traveller appreciates,” Tolliver observed, gratified. ”The lady has an appreciation, I take it, for fine old publick houses?”

”And posting-inns,” I added ingeniously. ”I have made a little habit, I confess, of looking into every one I find, upon the various roads of England. The White Hart in Bath, for example, is the very soul soul of a posting-inn; and my brother and I were recently treated to a fine example in Guildford.” of a posting-inn; and my brother and I were recently treated to a fine example in Guildford.”

”That'd be the White Lion, mebbe, or the Crown?”

”The Crown,” I agreed. ”Mr. Spraggs, the proprietor, was most generous in showing us about the place.”

Tolliver took the hint, and despite a swell of custom-the hour being close on two o'clock-invited Henry and me to follow him through the princ.i.p.al rooms of the place, so that we might admire a quant.i.ty of ancient iron pots, pewter tankards, copper taps, oak settles, and stout barrels-all but the last, dating from Elizabeth's time.

”For the Arms-it were called the s.h.i.+p and Bottle then, before the Royals descended on Brighthelmston and we were forced, in deference, to make the change-in my old dad's time, that were-has been the place for comfort and cheer, particularly along of the winter months, for time out of mind.”

”And you let rooms, I understand?”

Tolliver's countenance lost a little in animation. ”That we do-tho' I'm considering whether I shall in future. Only the four bedchambers have we above-stairs, most of the gentry preferring the Old s.h.i.+p or the Castle, if they're not already in lodgings; and I don't mind to say that with the goings-on of late, it's hurt my reputation as an honest publican. You'd think, from what has been said, that the Arms was no better than a bawdy house! I thought we'd recovered from that indignity once the Regent grew too fat to stir out-of-doors-but there, you can never hope to serve the publick without suffering an injustice now and again. But Mrs. Tolliver feels it most acutely, I don't mind saying-took to her bed these two days past, from a dislike of the gossip as is going around the town.”

”I am sure no impropriety can attach to your management of the house,” I said with sympathy, ”or Mrs. Tolliver's arrangements, either. It is not as tho' you invited invited a brigand to carry that poor child's body upstairs! And having seen Lord Byron quit the place-at such an unseasonable hour, too-you must have thought all business at an end for the evening.” a brigand to carry that poor child's body upstairs! And having seen Lord Byron quit the place-at such an unseasonable hour, too-you must have thought all business at an end for the evening.”

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