“Oh, it is that exactly,” rejoined her companion. “That melancholy of his, it calls to me, in such a way.”
Both women burst out in giggles.
Well, then.
Jane wasn’t sure how much information they were going to get about Anne Seward at this tea, after all. Surely, they didn’t want to delve into the woman’s secrets amongst so many, because these women would all go and repeat everything that was said here, to anyone and everyone. On the other hand, perhaps it would be better to get the aggregate of everyone’s knowledge on Miss Seward, and if there were so many people here, they would be more likely to get all the rumors.
How to steer the conversation away from Lord Byron and his poem, however?
She was not sure.
Byron arrived only moments later, wearing a pale blue cravat unlike anything that Jane had ever seen, and he barely limped when he sat down next to Mrs. Ditterswith. If he noticed that he was the only man present in the room, he didn’t comment on it.
He must notice,thought Jane.However, he doesn’t seem to be a jot displeased over it.
“We were wondering if we could talk about your poetry,” said one of the women.
Byron grinned at her. “Oh, of course. I would be honored.” He looked out at the room. “You are not all here because of me, are you? How positively flattering.” He gave the entire a room a smile that was not unlike the way he had been smiling at Jane yesterday when he had saidthat, Miss Austen, that,and she decided, right then and there, that she must remember that a part of her despised this man.
It was not all of her. No, overall, she liked him. He was, on the whole, a good and pleasant companion. But there was an element of him, a very awful element, and that element she did despise. She would need to keep that in mind, no matter how much of the time he charmed her.
All of the women began talking at once, and Byron laughed, and waved them down and said they must go more slowly, andhe urged Mrs. Ditterswith to pour the tea, and that was quite a task for poor Mrs. Ditterswith, because there were so many people here.
As the hostess, it was Mrs. Ditterswith’s job to pour everyone’s tea and to ask how they liked it, and to dollop in the right amount of milk and sugar before handing it off. But then, usually, tea did not consist of fifteen people. It was usually a much smaller affair.
Mrs. Ditterswith, however, was not one to stand on ceremony, and so employed Byron’s assistance in getting tea out, and this became quite the spectacle, for all of the women wanted Byron to pour their tea and to put their sugar into it. All of them were simply beside themselves when he handed the cup and saucer over.
Jane took hers from him with a tight-lipped smile, and he seemed to notice she was out of sorts and he found it amusing, which made her despise him even more.
Then, the conversation did turn to Byron’s dreadful poem.
“Who is Inez?” asked one of the women.
“It’s not an autobiography,” said Byron, laughing into his tea.
“But you must have felt something like that for a real woman to have written that,” exclaimed the asker.
“I have felt a number of things, oh, yes, over my short life,” said Byron, smiling at the woman.
Jane rolled her eyes.
“Is it hard to come up with such rhymes?” said one of the women.
Jane let out a guffaw. Truly? Really?
“Oh, no, it’s not hard at all,” said Byron.
“But there are so many of them, and the whole poem rhymes, every single stanza, and it goes on and on. There must be a thousand lines in the poem,” said the woman, effusive.
“It is just what one does when one writes poetry,” said Byron. “It might be difficult at first, but you get quite used to the process. You begin to think in rhyme, really.”
Jane rolled her eyes again.
This sort of thing went on for some time. The women pulled out various quotes from the poem and breathlessly talked about how well it was that Byron had turned the phrase, and Byron ate it all up, laughing and winking and drinking his tea.
And Jane was so annoyed by it all that she forgot all about steering the subject to Anne Seward, and instead sat there and seethed until Byron did it himself.
“You know, ladies, I could spend all day here listening to you sing my praises,” he said, “but I’m sure you’re aware that I tarry here in this town for a reason?”
