Part 22 (1/2)
She held the reins of a showy pair whose coats exactly matched the tint of her own cropped curls; her landaulet was piled high with baggage. A diminutive tyger was mounted behind-no more than a child-in the chocolate and maroon livery the Lambs favoured. Her ladys.h.i.+p pulled up at the sight of us, and inclined her head; and Mona-when put to the test of acknowledging the reprobate, or offering the cut direct-deeply curtseyed.
”Bound for London, Lady Caroline?”
”Naturally-for Byron has already gone, you know.” The Sprite's mobile countenance-so often captured in dreaming or fury-was woebegone today. Byron had escaped her toils again; her pallor was extreme, her glance feverish, her eyes encircled with darkness. She had not slept from the moment the wild plan of impersonating the Regent's page had overtaken her, I judged; and now that her G.o.d was freed, her costume thrown off, her drama run-she was cast off, by Regent and poet both. Poor Sprite! So like a child in her pa.s.sions and tantrums, and a lost child now in her misery, lips trembling and fingers clutching at the reins. The smouldering fire of life was doused-Byron, in all his intensity and chaos, had fled. ”There is nothing else in Brighton I should stay for,” she said petulantly. ”I quite despise the sea, and this town is grown impossibly stuffy-all quizzes and dowds! Besides, my poor William will be wondering where I have got to.”
Poor William, I thought, should more likely be enjoying the first peaceful interlude he had known in nearly ten years of tempestuous marriage; but it should not do to say so aloud.
”I almost forgot!” Caro cried. ”I have thought of the most cunning thing-only look at the b.u.t.tons of my tyger's livery! I mean to have all all my servants sport the same!” my servants sport the same!”
We approached the carriage at her ladys.h.i.+p's behest, and leaned closer to study the boy's b.u.t.tons. Engraved on their face was the Latin inscription Ne crede Byron Ne crede Byron.
Do not believe Byron.
”The Regent's silversmith engraved them for me,” Caro confided, ”and is not the phrase apt?-For you cannot believe a word word his lords.h.i.+p says. It is all poetry. George a.s.sured me, when I rescued him from that horrid gaol, that he meant to remain in England all the summer; and now I find he intends to sail to Sardinia, in pursuit of that tiresome Jane Harley. Byron, of course, insists it is to gather impressions for his verses-having done with his lords.h.i.+p says. It is all poetry. George a.s.sured me, when I rescued him from that horrid gaol, that he meant to remain in England all the summer; and now I find he intends to sail to Sardinia, in pursuit of that tiresome Jane Harley. Byron, of course, insists it is to gather impressions for his verses-having done with The Giaour The Giaour, he means now to embark upon a long narrative ent.i.tled The Corsair The Corsair, and must therefore put to sea at once. I am sure it will be vastly vastly exciting, but I dread the effort of persuading poor William to embark. I may be forced to abandon my home. Do you think,” she enquired dreamily, ”that I should look well in the garb of a pirate? Or perhaps a pirate's jade?” exciting, but I dread the effort of persuading poor William to embark. I may be forced to abandon my home. Do you think,” she enquired dreamily, ”that I should look well in the garb of a pirate? Or perhaps a pirate's jade?”
Mona and I exchanged glances, then stepped back from the landaulet.
”Walk on,” Caro commanded her pair; and with a flick of her whip and a nod of her head, moved briskly up the New Road.
”Jane,” Mona said faintly, ”I stand in need of a good, stout nuncheon; and then I must look into Donaldson's. I have had enough of poetry. I require a dose of prose. I shall spend my remaining hours in Brighton established on the sopha, with a volume of Pride and Prejudice Pride and Prejudice in my hands. Do you think it at all likely the auth.o.r.ess has commenced a third novel?” in my hands. Do you think it at all likely the auth.o.r.ess has commenced a third novel?”