Ten

Elisabeth went out early the next day to call on her banker. She had a pleasant conference with this distinguished gentleman and had started home when a noise in the street ahead attracted her attention. She leaned out the carriage window to see what was the matter. Several vehicles were stopped, obstructed by a group of men standing in the middle of the street, shouting. They paid no heed to the objections of the drivers; indeed, they didn’t seem to hear them at all. Three of the men had their backs to Elisabeth, but the other two faced her, and she stared at them curiously, for their appearance was unusual. Both were dark-skinned, very tall and strong-looking. They wore loose shirts and trousers of white cloth fastened by belts of black leather. Though they contributed little to the argument in progress, their presence attracted most attention.

Suddenly, one of the more conventionally dressed gentlemen began to shout very clearly. “You’ll not get away with this,” he cried. “Perhaps you don’t believe the law will touch you, but some means will be found. I swear it.” There was more unintelligible conversation, then this man shouted again. “You blackguard! You care nothing that her heart was broken. The money is not the half of it.” One of the other men murmured something that seemed to fan the speaker’s rage. He clenched his fists and swung wildly, but the others restrained him gently. After further inaudible talk, they took their still raging companion over to the side of the street and remonstrated with him quietly; the fifth man started off along the opposite pavement away from them.

The carriages were able to move once more, and when Elisabeth’s vehicle passed the solitary man walking down the sidewalk, she turned curiously to look at him, wondering idly whose heart he was supposed to have broken so cruelly. To her astonishment, she recognized him. It was Mr. Jarrett. He was strolling casually now, his hands in his pockets. Elisabeth watched him, amazed, until he was lost in the crowd behind the chaise. Then she leaned back in her seat. Whatever had that been about, she wondered? It seemed that Mr. Jarrett had a more interesting past than he had let on.

When she reached home again, she found that Mr. Wincannon had called and was being entertained by Belinda and Lavinia in the drawing room. Upstairs, she removed her hat and tidied her hair, then started down to join them, smiling wickedly at the thought of him in that company.

Entering the room, she found her amusement justified, and her smile broadened. Mr. Wincannon did indeed look exceedingly bored as he listened to Lavinia’s description of their expedition to Vauxhall. He rose with alacrity when he saw Elisabeth and greeted her with what she could only call relief. Her eyes were dancing as she returned his salute and inquired about his health, causing him to shrug and say, “Yes, I’m quite well.” They all sat down, and the conversation faltered for a moment. Then Mr. Wincannon ventured, “You’ve been trying out your new carriage, I’m told. How did the team do? Tony chose very well for you, I must say.”

“He did indeed,” answered Elisabeth warmly. “They are beautiful steppers and good-tempered into the bargain. I’m very pleased with them.”

“I considered buying them myself, when Barton put them on the market,” said Derek. “But I have several young colts coming along now in my own stables, so I decided not to bid.”

“It is fortunate for us you didn’t. You might have run the price up quite beyond our touch.”

Mr. Wincannon laughed. “Oh, no,” he replied. There was a short pause, then he added, “I came by today to see if you would care to go for a drive. However, since you’ve just come in, I imagine you not. Perhaps another time?”

Elisabeth inclined her head. “I should like that.”

He nodded briskly. “I shall take my leave, then. I have kept Miss Ottley and Miss Brinmore too long already waiting for you to come in.” He rose.

Elisabeth went down with him, and they stood for a moment in the hall.

“Thank God you came in,” he said. “I should have done something rash otherwise.”

“What?” asked Elisabeth. “I could see you were bored. What is your method in such cases?”

He shook his head at her. “Not something you would care to see in your drawing room, I assure you. I shan’t call again when you’re not at home.”

“Actually, I was about to leave. That would have been my only revenge.”

“Very tame,” mocked Elisabeth.

“Alas. My bark belies my bite. I’m really the meekest of men.” His eyes twinkled.

“Indeed,” she replied in the same spirit, “I’m glad to know it.” Her smile faded. “But as it happens, I wished to speak to you. I’m glad you didn’t go.”

He looked at her inquiringly. “Is anything amiss?”

“No, at least, I hope not. It’s just that we see nothing of Tony these days. Or only rarely see him, I should say. I’ve been a bit worried. He almost never says where he’s been or with whom. I know I can’t keep him in leading strings, but you were kind enough to say that you would watch over him, and so I thought…” She stopped and looked up at him.

“Watch over him,” repeated Derek with distaste. “He would object if he heard you say that. And I didn’t promise to do it, either. I said I’d keep an eye out.” He went on before she could reply, raising a hand to forestall her. “And I have done so. Somehow I felt you’d hold me to it.” He smiled to take the sting out of this remark. “You needn’t worry. Tony is indulging in some of the usual amusements of a young man thrown on the town, but he’s done nothing beyond the line. I should imagine he’s completely happy.”

“Oh, yes,” replied Elisabeth. “He seems so. But I was thinking the other night…that is, I am afraid he has been to a…a gaming house.”

Mr. Wincannon laughed. “I imagine he’s been to several by this time.” Elisabeth’s shocked expression appeared to amuse him. “My dear Miss Elham, all young men of fashion in London go at one time or another to Watier’s or one of the other reputable gambling houses. That doesn’t mean they become addicted to gaming. These are not hells where a green youth is fleeced, you know.”

“I know nothing about it,” she answered a little impatiently. “Is it also accepted practice for a young gentleman to drink too much and attempt to…to ‘mill someone down’ at a boxing parlor and stay out half the night doing heaven knows what?”

Her companion nodded. “Young Tony is simply trying his wings. You have nothing to be concerned about.” Seeing that she didn’t look particularly reassured, he continued, “I’ll tell you if he gives you cause for worry. Will that satisfy you?”

Elisabeth brightened. “Oh, it would make me feel immeasurably better to know that you are overseeing him. I know I’m taking monstrous advantage of your kindness. But I have no one else to consult, you see.” She hesitated for a moment. “And somehow, I feel that you’re exactly the sort of man…that is, I believe that you can be trusted to…” She foundered to a stop. “I do thank you for taking the trouble to help me.”

“It’s a pleasure,” he said. His eyes were dancing, but his smile was warm. “I can think of few things I’d rather do.”

Elisabeth almost thought he meant to take her hand. She moved toward the stairs a bit nervously. “Thank you,” she said again.

He bowed slightly. “I shall call again to take you driving. I hope to be more fortunate in finding you in. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” answered Elisabeth. He went out the door, but she stood motionless on the first stair for some time, her expression unsettled. There was a slight frown showing about her eyes, but a smile played across the corners of her mouth. Finally, she shook her head slightly and turned to go back to the drawing room.

The next morning, Elisabeth set out to call on Jane Taunton. Warned that Jane lived “quite out of the world” in lodgings in Kensington, Elisabeth was prepared to find herself in an unfashionable neighborhood, but looking around Jane’s two cramped and shabby rooms, she was a little shocked. Clearly, Jane had not yet succeeded in making her own way as a writer.

The parlor was set up as a study, with tall bookshelves covering most of the walls. They were crammed with books, piles of which overflowed onto the worn carpet. Two long windows looked out onto some straggling flower beds, and Jane sat at a large but tidy desk in front of one of them. She wore an old gown of pale green, which did not become her, and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. These she removed when Elisabeth came in, rising to greet her with a mixture of gladness and unease. She indicated an armchair near the desk, and Elisabeth sat down facing her.

“How comfortable this is,” said Elisabeth kindly. “I wish I had made myself such a room.” She surveyed the amber curtains, noticing a large gray cat on the windowsill, who returned her scrutiny from under lowered lids. “I haven’t nearly so many books, of course.” She smiled. “You look very much at home here.”

“I am,” answered Jane. “You needn’t praise it overmuch. I know it isn’t smart or conventional, but it’s worth living so to maintain my freedom.” She looked around. “I am most often happy here.”

“I’m certain you are,” replied Elisabeth, trying to show that she meant it. Jane’s tone had been both defensive and a bit embarrassed. She looked over the books nearest her on the shelves. “Pope, Dryden, Shakespeare. You have an enviable collection. But don’t you read the modern poets?”

“Oh, yes,” said Jane. “They are there.” She pointed to another shelf.

“Ah. Cowper, Scott, even Byron. Yes, I see. Which is your favorite?”

Jane smiled. “Actually, I’m much taken with two other modern poets. I was rereading this when you came in. Do you know it?” She held up a slim leather-bound volume.

Elisabeth read the title on the spine. “Lyrical Ballads. No, I haven’t heard of it. Is it very new?”

“It’s been out more than fifteen years. Relatively new, I suppose.” Her tone became didactic. “Mr. Wordsworth and Mr. Coleridge are trying to do something quite fresh. They wish to bring poetry closer to the common man’s experience and also infuse a sort of mystery into it.”

Elisabeth frowned. “That seems a contradiction to me. Pardon me, I know nothing about it, of course.”

“No,” responded Jane eagerly. “You’ve hit upon a very important point. It is very difficult to do. But there is a sort of mystery, I think, that has nothing to do with the intellect. To put it into words, that’s the thing.” She clenched a fist and looked off through the window.

“Do these two succeed?” asked Elisabeth.

“What? Oh, it’s hard to say. Some of the poems I like very much, but others are failures, I think.” She paused and smiled again. “You mustn’t allow me to run on about my particular hobbyhorse.”

“You weren’t. And I’m very interested. I was a teacher of literature for several years, you know.”

“I didn’t.” Jane looked interested. “I’ve thought of teaching myself.”

Elisabeth made a wry face. “You wouldn’t like it. The students are rarely interested in literature. In fact, most see it as a form of punishment from which they will be released only upon achieving a certain age.”

Jane laughed. “A lowering reflection. I was always fascinated by what I read.”

“You must have been a model pupil.”

“Oh, no, you should talk with my old governess. She thought me quite hopeless. I was incapable of learning geography or arithmetic, and I only endured languages because they allowed me to read more works of fiction. She finally gave up in despair.”

Elisabeth laughed. “I was nearly the same, though I doubt my dedication to my studies was so strong.” She looked up at the shelves again. “Are you fond of Byron? I have read only a little myself. Miss Creedy, the mistress of the school where I was, didn’t approve of him, so it was difficult to keep a copy about.”

“I’m not really,” said the other girl, “though I know it’s an unfashionable attitude. I find him affected.” She shrugged. “But perhaps I’m too much influenced by his absurd antics about town. I’m not a good judge of living writers, I fear. It may be that I envy them too much to see their value.”

“Oh, dear,” replied Elisabeth, “I suppose then you wouldn’t like to hear about a Byronic hero I’ve discovered among my acquaintance.”

Jane raised her eyebrows and laughed. “Another? I’d have thought that one Lord Byron was enough for any society.”

Elisabeth frowned. “Well, actually, Mr. Jarrett isn’t much like Lord Byron. His manners are a bit abrupt, but I can’t see him sitting down to vinegar and potatoes for dinner, as Lord Byron is said to do. But he appears to have a mysterious past, full of unnamed crimes.”

Jane leaned back in her chair. “Jarrett,” she repeated meditatively. “The name is not familiar.”

Elisabeth described the incident she’d witnessed the day before. “So you see,” she finished, “he’s haunted by a broken heart.”

“It does indeed fit,” agreed Jane. “A spotted past, an irate pursuer, a stoic exterior, the romantic West Indies. It might be out of The Corsair. Have you seen this Mr. Jarrett since you observed this?”

Elisabeth shook her head. “He’s only a distant acquaintance. I’ve talked to him just once, really.”

“We must find out more about him,” said Jane.

“Do you think so? It was my first wish, I admit.”

“Oh, there’s no question. One cannot leave such a mystery unsolved. I shall make some inquiries. I have certain rather unconventional friends, shall we say.”

“He is not much known in London, however,” put in Elisabeth.

“Nonetheless.” Jane smiled mischievously.

“Ah. Well, I wouldn’t want to cause him any trouble.”

“I’m not a gudgeon. I will be most circumspect. It will remain our conspiracy.” Jane smiled.

Elisabeth returned her smile. “I admit I’m curious.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Oh, I must go. I promised Belinda I’d help her with some sewing this afternoon. She’s making a gown for the duchess’s ball, and she’s nearly frantic over it.”

“Ah,” replied Jane, rising. “You may see me there, after all. The duchess is very insistent. She refuses to give up the idea that I may yet marry and cease to worry my mother by living in such a scandalous way.”

Elisabeth smiled. “I’ll be glad to see you.”

“Well, since there will be someone sensible to talk to, I may give in.” Elisabeth started toward the door. “Wait a moment,” continued Jane. She walked over to one of the farther shelves and pulled out three slender volumes. “Here’s something you might like,” she said, holding them out to Elisabeth. “You seem to be fond of the modern writers, and this is scarcely two years old.”

Elisabeth took it. “Pride and Prejudice,” she read. “What is it? A volume of essays?”

“It’s a novel. And a most unusual one, at that. It reminds me much more of Rasselas than of the silly works popular today. Try it and tell me what you think. By the by, the heroines are namesakes of ours.”

“I shall,” replied Elisabeth, tucking it under her arm. “Thank you.”

Jane escorted her to the stairs. “I am glad you came,” she said. “I see very few people. By choice, you understand. But you’re welcome to call again. I enjoyed our talk.” She smiled wryly. “Something I seldom say, I should tell you.”

“Thank you. I enjoyed it also. I will certainly come again soon.” She paused in the doorway. “Oh, dear, you were to show me some of your poetry; I quite forgot to ask.”

Jane flushed. “It’s not terribly good, you know.”

“Indeed I do not. I’m eager to read it. But it must wait until another time now. I’m sorry.”