enquired, rather puzzled. “I had thought it to be in St. James’s.”
“To be sure,” Eliza amended, her gaze fixed on the Turkey carpet. “I am forever confusing the two. Come along, Jane.”
My brother opened his mouth in bewilderment, but I silenced him with a look. Eliza’s eyes were feverish and her nose quite red, but I knew her determination of old. Had the heavy box not already apprised me of the nature of our errand, her slip of the tongue confirmed it: We were bound for the elegant premises of Rundell & Bridge, jewellers to His Majesty the Regent and other sordid characters—to haggle over an opera singer’s baubles.
L UDGATE H ILL WAS USED TO BE THE SITE OF ONE of the City’s ancient gates, before these were demolished to ease the passage between the tradesmen’s square mile of London and the gentry’s fashionable quarter. Here the ways are narrower than in the neighbourhood of Hyde Park, and the hired hack that served as our conveyance was jostled by carters and draught horses. The City, as it is known, is not a part of Town the Comtesse de Feuillide is accustomed to frequent; but the pollution necessarily derived from such quarters is as nothing to the privilege of entering Mr. Rundell’s select establishment.
“He is a spare little man,” Eliza said as we jostled over the cobbles in our coach, “much ridiculed as a miser, who rose from the merest silversmith’s apprentice to the foremost goldsmith of our day. Do not expect a gentleman’s manners, Jane—but pray treat him with absolute courtesy. He has the Regent’s ear. I have it on excellent authority that Rundell provides His Majesty with the diamond settings for the Royal portraits—which you must know Prinny bestows upon each of his mistresses, at the outset of an affaire.”
“Does His Majesty consider his image a form of payment?” I enquired drily.
Eliza’s nose wrinkled. “His flirts are always gently-born, Jane, and possessed of husbands capable of franking their households. I should not call it payment. The Regent himself refers to Rundell’s confections as trinkets—and is forever showering his female acquaintance with jewels, even those among them who are entirely respectable. It is his way, you see. He is rather like an overgrown child, delighting in the distribution of presents.”
Overgrown is a kindness in Eliza; for the Regent is immensely fat, so gross indeed that he may no longer mount his horses. But something in her tone—half-awed, half-indulgent—brought to mind James Tilson’s confidences of last evening, and his anxiety at Henry’s reckless loans.
“Are you intimate with the Regent, Eliza? I cannot like the connexion. His way of life—indeed, that of the circle he supports—is utterly dissolute.”
My sister gave a shrill little laugh. “Now you are the country cousin, Jane! To be sure the Prince is wont to gamble, as are all the members of the Carlton House Set, and their morals are not too nice; but where the hand is lavish and the taste of the very best, there will always be a need for funds. Funds are precisely what a banker provides, my dear. Old Thomas Coutts made a fortune in backing the highest names in the land—and I have advised Henry to take Coutts for his model.”
“But Henry cannot command a particle of Coutts’s resources,” I exclaimed. “To urge him to lend to Coutts’s extent is to goad Henry to ruin!”
“One must start somewhere,” Eliza observed reasonably. “Coutts was not born to an easy competence, of that you may be sure—and no more was Henry. Indeed, none of you Austens have a farthing between you—else you would not be making such a push for independence, Jane, in the publication of your novel! Are we all of us to settle for uneasy penury, when with a bit of speculation we might be comfortable?”
“My brother Edward does not live in penury,” I objected, “nor does he speculate.”
“No. Edward lives on a fortune he could never have looked to
“To be sure,” Eliza amended, her gaze fixed on the Turkey carpet. “I am forever confusing the two. Come along, Jane.”
My brother opened his mouth in bewilderment, but I silenced him with a look. Eliza’s eyes were feverish and her nose quite red, but I knew her determination of old. Had the heavy box not already apprised me of the nature of our errand, her slip of the tongue confirmed it: We were bound for the elegant premises of Rundell & Bridge, jewellers to His Majesty the Regent and other sordid characters—to haggle over an opera singer’s baubles.
L UDGATE H ILL WAS USED TO BE THE SITE OF ONE of the City’s ancient gates, before these were demolished to ease the passage between the tradesmen’s square mile of London and the gentry’s fashionable quarter. Here the ways are narrower than in the neighbourhood of Hyde Park, and the hired hack that served as our conveyance was jostled by carters and draught horses. The City, as it is known, is not a part of Town the Comtesse de Feuillide is accustomed to frequent; but the pollution necessarily derived from such quarters is as nothing to the privilege of entering Mr. Rundell’s select establishment.
“He is a spare little man,” Eliza said as we jostled over the cobbles in our coach, “much ridiculed as a miser, who rose from the merest silversmith’s apprentice to the foremost goldsmith of our day. Do not expect a gentleman’s manners, Jane—but pray treat him with absolute courtesy. He has the Regent’s ear. I have it on excellent authority that Rundell provides His Majesty with the diamond settings for the Royal portraits—which you must know Prinny bestows upon each of his mistresses, at the outset of an affaire.”
“Does His Majesty consider his image a form of payment?” I enquired drily.
Eliza’s nose wrinkled. “His flirts are always gently-born, Jane, and possessed of husbands capable of franking their households. I should not call it payment. The Regent himself refers to Rundell’s confections as trinkets—and is forever showering his female acquaintance with jewels, even those among them who are entirely respectable. It is his way, you see. He is rather like an overgrown child, delighting in the distribution of presents.”
Overgrown is a kindness in Eliza; for the Regent is immensely fat, so gross indeed that he may no longer mount his horses. But something in her tone—half-awed, half-indulgent—brought to mind James Tilson’s confidences of last evening, and his anxiety at Henry’s reckless loans.
“Are you intimate with the Regent, Eliza? I cannot like the connexion. His way of life—indeed, that of the circle he supports—is utterly dissolute.”
My sister gave a shrill little laugh. “Now you are the country cousin, Jane! To be sure the Prince is wont to gamble, as are all the members of the Carlton House Set, and their morals are not too nice; but where the hand is lavish and the taste of the very best, there will always be a need for funds. Funds are precisely what a banker provides, my dear. Old Thomas Coutts made a fortune in backing the highest names in the land—and I have advised Henry to take Coutts for his model.”
“But Henry cannot command a particle of Coutts’s resources,” I exclaimed. “To urge him to lend to Coutts’s extent is to goad Henry to ruin!”
“One must start somewhere,” Eliza observed reasonably. “Coutts was not born to an easy competence, of that you may be sure—and no more was Henry. Indeed, none of you Austens have a farthing between you—else you would not be making such a push for independence, Jane, in the publication of your novel! Are we all of us to settle for uneasy penury, when with a bit of speculation we might be comfortable?”
“My brother Edward does not live in penury,” I objected, “nor does he speculate.”
“No. Edward lives on a fortune he could never have looked to
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