Chapter 3: Marlow

The Swan Inn turned out to be a flea infested midden of a place, so I swiftly returned downstream to Maidenhead and put up at The Bear, a well-known and hospitable coaching inn. I recalled that it was at Maidenhead that Susannah Procter had lost her maidenhead, and I wondered if she and Gethsemane Goosepath, her husband's Welsh curate, were still taking their 'nature walks'. I confess I felt envious of the curate, and would welcome being able to revisit Susannah's silken-smooth, soft, sweet-scented, seductive body.

Before decamping to The Bear I had called on Rebekah. She was surprised, but delighted, to see me, and invited me and Woodrow Allen, who had agreed to act as my 'manservant', to spend the Christmas period with her and Miss Teazle.

I gratefully accepted, and after spending a few days exploring the manifold delights of Maidenhead, Woody and I returned to Marlow and remained with Rebekah and Miss Teazle for most of the festive season.

So began my first essay into espionage. I suppose I should have felt guilty to have re-entered Rebekah's life merely to spy on her and her friends, but I didn't see it like that. If she was in danger of being influenced by radical thinkers then it was my duty, both as a brother, and as loyal subject of King George, to keep an eye on her and her circle of friends.

There were slight, but discernible, changes to Rebekah since I had last seen her. She was still the loveable and good-natured girl I remembered from home, but now she held a certain wariness about the eyes, as if she had learned things she wished she had not. By contrast Zinnia Teazle appeared exactly the same as I remembered; with that combative spirit, and cutting tongue of old, but still tempered by her warm smile.

We spent Christmas Day at the Shelleys'. It was my first experience of meeting famous poets, and I admit to feeling rather overawed by their fame, although I was not over impressed with Mister Shelley. He obviously thought much of himself. I suppose being surrounded by swooning young ladies, hanging on every word he uttered and obviously ready to embark on a romantic relationship with him, would make even the most level headed man conceited and egotistical.

However, Percy Bysshe Shelley was not the most level headed man by any means.

He was conspicuously emotional, weeping at the slightest provocation: a bird falling frozen from a tree, a dog with a lame leg. Practically anything would have the tears welling up in his soulful eyes, and of course the ladies were quick to embrace him and sooth his troubled brow. Mary Shelley I liked from first sighting, and I wondered how an even tempered and intelligent woman like her could be so enamoured of such a man. It was evident that she adored him, and I will say that he seemed equally captivated with her, when he wasn't being overly attentive to the females clamouring for his recognition.

There were many other writers and men of letters present at the gathering. Among them I took a liking to a small, pleasant fellow, by the name of John Keats. He at least was one poet who did not display those exaggerated emotional feelings of the like of Shelly, Wordsworth or Coleridge. In fact Keats was from a class of society more like my own, whereas the former were from much higher strata. Although Keats' poetry is a bit too cerebral for my taste I found him an engaging and personable companion.

Rebekah made sure I was introduced to all of the guests, and she made great play of the fact that I had been at Waterloo. The revelation I had been at that great battle soon had an interested crowd around me, putting Shelley's nose out of joint somewhat.

I spent a goodly time with those literary folk, as all wanted to know what the battle of Waterloo had been like from my perspective, and asked my opinion on the relative military skills of Napoleon and Wellington. I must say the attention I received was most enjoyable, as I recounted the battle as I had seen it, and gave my considered assessment on the tactics and stratagems deployed. It is no wonder that constant adulation by people, enthralled by your every word, will turn even the most modest of persons into a self-centred egoist, and I took back some of my dislike of Shelley.

Eventually my tales of cavalry charges and cannon fire palled, and the assemblage began to drift away to listen to Shelly reading his latest poem. I quickly made myself scarce, and went and sat quietly in the solarium attached to the house.

Although it was Christmas Day the winter sun still managed to warm the space, and I relaxed in a comfortable chair. Truth to tell I must have dozed off; the warmth, and the several glasses of punch I had consumed, adding to my drowsy state.

I awoke with a start when a female voice said.

"Well Elijah, I had hoped you would find the company here livelier than you obviously have."

Zinnia Teazle was looking at me with tender eyes, and I wondered how long she had watched me slumbering.

"Miss Teazle!" I quickly rose from my chair. "Please excuse my bad manners."

She replied, with some asperity. "I've known you since you were nobbut but a snotty nosed schoolboy in my father's office. I think you may address me as Zinnia, now that you are a major." She smiled sweetly, and continued. "For my part I shall address you as Jack, as I regard you as more of a brother than a former employee. Besides, as your sister seems to have neglected me, for more luminous society, it is comfortable to be with someone whose memories, and accent, are similar to my own."

Now, as I looked more carefully at Zinnia, I could see that her eyes were sad, and that the jaunty spirit she cultivated was but a sham. She was obviously unhappy, and I asked her what had happened to dampen the friendship between her and Rebekah, as I was sure that was the cause of her distress.

"Your sister is growing away from me; she is moving into a circle of acquaintances where I do not wish to follow."

"The Shelleys seem to be a decent enough family–they have children I believe?"

Zinnia gave a hollow laugh. "The Shelleys are not married. Percy was a married man when he met Mary Godwin, and then left his wife and children to run off with her. They have lived in sin for three years, and the children they have produced are bastards!"

She had spat that word out, and I was surprised at her vehemence, as I had thought her a liberally minded sort of person. When I said as much she made clear the reason for her outburst. "There is liberality, in the social aspect, of allowing women and men to compete equally in education and employment, and in allowing all women and men over twenty-one to vote."

I thought how Brigadier Stanhope would have a blue fit if he heard these views being expressed.

Zinnia continued with her denunciation of Percy Shelley and Mary Godwin.

"There is liberality in the arts, and all artistic people believe they have the freedom to write, say and paint what ever they wish, which I support. However, many artists also believe that they may live as they wish; they do not think themselves bound by the laws of society or morality, such as monogamy and marriage being the proper environment to bring up children. The numbers of illegitimate children being produced by that class of people, who should behave with more propriety, is growing."

She took a calming breath. "Unfortunately Shelley, Byron, and their adherents, think they can go through life making and breaking relationships, begetting children, without any consequences–but events are proving them wrong."

She went over to the door and made sure it was tightly closed.

"Only a few days ago Shelley's wife was found drowned in the Serpentine in Hyde Park. She was pregnant, and it appears that her lover had abandoned her. I'm not suggesting either Shelley or Byron were involved, but it just shows what untrammelled sexual license leads to. In fact Claire Claremont, Mary Godwin's step-sister, is pregnant with what is suspected to be Byron's child, and Mary's half-sister, Fanny Imlay, committed suicide when Shelley turned his back on her–the silly girl thought herself in love with him, and I expect that he took advantage of her infatuation."

It was clear that Zinnia was another person not greatly taken with Percy Shelley, and I warmed towards her, as I had seemed to be the only person at the gathering who did not think the sun shone from out of his Windward Passage.

Zinnia went on to give me her reasons for fearing that Rebekah was moving into a dangerous association with the Shelleys and their circle.

"Rebekah has fallen in love with Lord Byron, and I am concerned for her future. He is a known debaucher of women, and Rebekah is an innocent. She did not really want to leave Geneva with the rest of our party, and would have rather stayed, to be near Byron. However, she realised that staying, un-chaperoned, would cause her reputation to suffer, and she is well aware that her book sales would have followed suit."

Zinnia gave a rueful smile. "It is bizarre, is it not, that Byron's book sales, and his reputation as a writer, increase with every tale of his latest sexual conquest. However, the female, whose fate it is to be Byron's lover, finds her reputation shattered. I do not believe that Rebekah has yet succumbed to Byron, but it will only be a matter of time. When he fixes you with those languorous eyes and that noble face, his honeyed voice, and sheer presence, can make every female from fourteen to forty-four susceptible–including me."