Feast and Flatulence

FEAST AND FLATULENCE

Spencer

Crow Street, overgrown with hedges and ancient trees, sent a shiver down my spine. The houses were old, casting weird shadows as torchlight flickered in the darkness. Fallen branches crackled underfoot while a scattering of leaves whished under our boots.

The late Tudor features of the Beauvillier house impressed. Having studied architecture in London with Sir John Soane at the Royal Academy, before switching my interest to the stars, was one of the principal reasons my father had delegated me to repair to Rochester. I would be able to advise the commission on plans for rebuilding after the fire.

While I mused over the exterior of Beauvillier House, Ralph had run up the steps and banged the handsome bronze lion's head knocker gracing the black-painted door. He nearly fell forward into the butler as the door swung back.

"Gentlemen," that forbidding figure intoned. "Are you expected?"

While Ralph regained his balance and composure, I answered, " Viscount Kintleford and Mr. Ralph Hodgson. Mr. Beauvillier invited us to dinner."

Just as he motioned us to enter, running footsteps and heavy breathing could be heard behind us. "Townsend," was emitted on a wheeze.

The butler's composure cracked slightly as he stared at the breathless figure, who was the sullen man we had met on the bridge. Stiffening slightly, he said, "Follow me, gentlemen."

He turned into the hall and led us to the drawing room, where nine occupants posed on chairs and sofas.

Beauvillier, with an expansive gesture, introduced us to the company. "My friends, I would like you to meet Viscount Kintleford and his cousin, Mr. Hodgson. They have recently arrived in Rochester to stand in the stead of the Earl of Altheney on the Chatham Aid Commission." Jacob Townsend was not introduced but seemed to be known to the company.

A small hubbub erupted as the company greeted us.

On a small table stood a decanter of sherry and several glasses on a silver tray. A footman hefted the salver and offered the cordial to us.

My eye lit on the Countess of Claremont, elegantly dressed in a layered gown of Pomona green silk with an underdress of primrose that perfectly set off her dark hair and pale complexion. Miss Dashwood, also in silk, stood at her side and resembled a delicate spring flower in a confection comprised of an ivory overdress and an underdress of blossom that underscored her bright yellow hair and rosy skin.

From his intake of breath, I could tell Ralph was drinking in the loveliness of the ladies.

Empty glasses collected, we proceeded to the dining room. I escorted the countess while Ralph partnered Miss Dashwood.

Seated between the Bishop of Rochester and the countess, Townsend glared at me across the table. Ralph, seated between Townsend and Dr. Payne, sent me a wry glance. I ignored Townsend's fierce expression .

"Are you a reader, Countess?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. I am reading the novels of Miss Jane Austen. I began before her name as author was revealed, and now I am reading them all again. They are delightful, although perhaps because I am older, I have been particularly drawn to Persuasion. Anne Elliot is such a poignant heroine. Do you read much, Lord Kintleford?"

"Very few novels. I studied the stars with John Herschel, the son of the great William Herschel, the King's astronomer and discoverer of Uranus. Just last year, l was elected to the Royal Society."

Having overheard us, the bishop said, "Congratulations, my lord. It is indeed a singular honor."

The countess leaned forward, seeming to drink in my words. Her eyes, the color of emeralds, sparkled wickedly and I could not look away. Her words were honey. "I was much impressed by the eclipse earlier this month. Do you only spend your time looking through telescopes or do you read about the subject as well?"

"The usual. Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo, Newton, Halley, and others, as well as perusing the engraved plates of the constellations by the sixteenth-century, German celestial cartographer and astronomer, Johann Bayer."

"What would you suggest for a novice? Is there a book I should read? Or perhaps I should invest in a telescope?"

As I tried to come up with an appropriate suggestion, I stumbled over my words, finally managing to say, "Most of the books are in Greek or Latin, but there are some papers from the Royal Society I might procure for you. And I could introduce you to William Herschel's sister, Caroline, who is an astronomer in her own right, if you come up to London."

I began to pull out my pocket telescope to demonstrate a few points, when I realized she had stiffened, her words sharp as diamonds.

"Do not underestimate a woman's education, my lord. My father taught me both Latin and Greek, and I might be challenged to read something in either. I hope to visit my aunt in London next season, and the prospect of meeting Miss Herschel would add to my enjoyment."

Dumbstruck, I hoped she could carry the conversation until I regained my equanimity. But at that moment, halfway through the meal, the cloth was removed, a new one placed, and we turned to the person on our other side, in my case the bishop, who waxed enthusiastic on my father's charity for the rest of the meal. When the countess signaled for the ladies to retire, I began to look forward to returning to our hostelry after a surfeit of conviviality.

But first, we had port and cigars. Publisher John Murray, visiting from London, entertained us with stories of authors and the business of publishing. The bishop waxed poetic on the glories of the cathedral. The doctor recommended several herbal remedies he had created.

The decanter empty and the cigars but a smoky memory, I wondered if Ralph and I could gracefully leave, as I had no taste for the inevitable card tables. In any event, I was anxious to take up the invitation of one of Mr. Beauvillier's neighbors, who had an observatory in his garden. But Jacob Townsend had other ideas, confronting me as we left the dining room.

"Pardon my effrontery, Lord Kintleford, but may I beg a word?" He motioned me into a hallway off the drawing room. Ralph, noticing the diversion, gave me a commiserating grimace.

His emollient tone at odds with his words, Townsend said, "Just a word of advice, your lordship. The countess is recently bereaved. And when she has completed mourning, I am sure she will look favorably upon my suit. Indeed, before she married, we had hoped for an engagement, but her father would not permit it."

"She does not wear mourning, so her bereavement must not be so recent."

Townsend shook his head mournfully. "For some women, a loss is so difficult to bear that they take longer to recover. The Earl died a year ago, and yet the sadness enveloping her seems as fresh as if it were only yesterday."

While I had been drawn to her fine eyes earlier, I had felt no particularity toward the lady and irritation arose at the man's officious warning. Yet his words aroused an unwanted curiosity in me, and I thought I might like to know her better. Ralph would likely have winkled out information about visiting hours. Perhaps we would call before a week was out.