CHAPTER 18
I was in my room, standing before the mirror, debating how to wear my hair. Down was too informal, but having it up in a style I was capable of mastering on my own was far too commonplace for the company of a Duke. I bundled a few handfuls up into something resembling a bun and draped the rest over my right shoulder. It didn’t look too bad, but I wasn’t sure how I’d secure it with pins rather than fingers. I hummed over it, twisting my neck this way and that to try and see how it looked at the back. I was interrupted, rudely, by a cough.
I jumped and pulled my dressing robe more tightly around myself. I was conscious that in spite of our previous intimacy, Michael had never seen me so little dressed. The robe covered only my stays, which were a very thin cotton and did little to hide the contours of my figure.
‘What on earth are you doing in my bedroom?’
Michael smiled.
‘Your mother was in your study. I managed to avoid her, though.’
My heart sank.
‘She’s waiting for me?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long ago was that? And what time is it now?’
‘Just now. I haven’t been watching you for very long, you know. Moments. Seconds. I like it half up, like you had it then.’
‘Oh.’
I was aware of how vulnerable I was. I hated him for his threats, but part of me still struggled to reconcile the smiling country boy with this grim, threatening stranger. I might have lost my heart to the smiling country boy.
‘I prefer it down, though.’
I turned back to my reflection and watched in disbelief as he made himself comfortable on my bed.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
He smiled.
‘You’re surprisingly coy, aren’t you? And I’m only sitting down. You have such improper thoughts for a young lady.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘There now, you can’t convince me you’re a shy virgin.’
‘I wouldn’t wish to.’ Perhaps flirting wasn’t the best idea, but it seemed like all the defence I had. ‘Is this about the painting?’
Michael lay back down on the sheets, his arms tucked behind his head and his boots, mercifully, hanging over the edge of the bed. He was pretending his lack of care, though. He was rigid and tense, and his movements were stiff and unnatural.
‘Of course. You haven’t told me if you’ve seen it yet. Have you?’
I shrugged, and began attempting to style my hair. Lifting my arms pulled the fabric of my chemise taut beneath my bosom, lifting it. I caught Michael’s eye in the mirror, and he didn’t look away.
‘Annie found me, then it was time to get ready. Besides, you’re early. We said before ten. I’ve still got – goodness, it’s half past seven. I’ve only half an hour to get ready.’
‘Go like that,’ Michael said with a tight smile. ‘The Duke will forgive any problems with the play then.’
‘I find that I don’t really care anymore.’
‘No? That’s not the impression I got the other day. You haven’t seen it, then?’
‘No, and I don’t think I’ll be able to.’
He sat up, swiftly, all pretence at being relaxed forgotten.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that the room is guarded and those officers are not susceptible to my wiles – or Annie’s.’
‘Does she know?’ Alert, snapping, like a dog. I took a step back.
‘No. But she likes flirting and she was there so I saw no harm in her trying. They were immovable. And if they can’t be moved by Annie, they can’t be moved at all.’
‘You should try like that.’
‘I’m not walking the halls in such a state of... dishabille. Have you got a hundred pounds? Perhaps you could bribe them to let you in if you’re so bothered about it.’
‘I can’t believe you failed. I must be so easily seduced.’
‘I shall choose to ignore that.’
Michael rose and sidled up behind me as I struggled with pins, running his hands down my sides. I stiffened.
‘Will you try again?’
‘Like this? No.’
He kissed my neck where it was uncovered by the hair, still stroking my waist through my chemise.
‘Then in your evening dress? Will you try,’- he kissed me again, then bit my earlobe gently so I gasped. ‘Will you try at all?’
‘Someone will find you here,’ I said in a shaking voice. ‘You won’t seduce me into doing this.’
He kissed my neck again.
‘I said I’d take a look if I could, and I will.’ My voice shook.
‘I can seduce you, though. And God knows, I want to.’
My eyes met his in the mirror, and I saw that he was quite delirious. That realisation made me stronger. A little of the power was back with me.
My doorknob rattled, and we froze.
He had locked it. Thank heaven he’d locked it.
‘Evelyn!’ Mother shouted, still rattling the doorknob, as though it would have suddenly become unlocked. ‘What are you doing in there? I thought I heard voices. Why have you locked the door?’
She paused, then rattled it again.
‘I don’t like having locked doors in this house, you know that. What are you doing? Is somebody in there with you?’
Michael didn’t move.
‘I’m just getting ready,’ I called back, irritated. I was twenty-four. I was entitled to privacy.
‘Why have you locked the door?’
‘Perhaps to stop people walking in while I’m dressing?’
Michael smiled at that, and I glared at him in the mirror.
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘I’m busy. I need to get ready and so should you be.’
‘I am ready,’ she shouted back, her voice thick and nasal. She gave a loud sniff. ‘You used to be so helpful to your mother, but now look. You’re just rude.’
‘And you are a saint to put up with me,’ I said, making no attempt to hide my sarcasm.
‘Let me in.’ She rattled the knob again as she said it, but it was such a high-pitched wail that I had no trouble hearing her. She’d clearly worked herself up into a state. I’d have to see her. I glared at Michael again.
‘Fine, I’m nearly ready. Meet me in the study in ten minutes, won’t you?’
‘But I need to speak to you now.’
‘Ten minutes,’ I shouted back firmly. There was silence for a long moment, then I heard her footsteps retreating down the corridor.
‘That was uncomfortable,’ Michael said. ‘And am I right to assume that your ten minute window does not include me?’
‘Quite right,’ I said with a nod. ‘Now I need you to help me into my dress, then get out of my bedroom before she comes back.’
He helped me into my dress, his fingers blundering over the tiny buttons a few times, and then adjusted his breeches.
‘Fine I shall leave - with great unwillingness and enormous discomfort, I assure you. And you’ll try and look at the painting again, if you can?’
‘Yes, I said I would. Now go.’
‘I will see you again later. And take that off you.’
He kissed my neck again, and then left.
I did not feel half as calm as I had only minutes earlier. My hair was barely dressed, and I stuck a few pins in here and there as best I could. It looked passable, I supposed, although of course I couldn’t see the back. I ought to have hired somebody to help me today, and I daresay I would have if I were doing it properly – if I’d have still cared. It was almost eight o’clock. Almost time for the guests to begin arriving. I hurried along to the study, but Mother wasn’t there.
The doors to the gallery were opened now, and although I could hear the clock in the hall chiming eight as I passed through them, there were still ten or fifteen people milling around. I fixed a smile on my face and stepped in, nodding this way and that as I passed people. None of them were regulars and I had no idea who they were. Old, mainly, with fine silk gowns and well-fitting dinner jackets, and expressions of slight distaste. It seemed likely that it wasn’t that they were disapproving of the surroundings, most likely they always looked like that. I felt a pin slip from my hair and fall down the back of my dress. Even more likely was that I looked a fright.
Augustine’s painting was flanked by officers, and a different pair to those Annie and I had flirted with so unsuccessfully. I wondered if they had been there all along. I wandered by as nonchalantly as I was able, taking as long a look as I dared at the sheet which still covered the frame. It looked straight – Parker would be relieved. But still, not a speck of paint was visible. The officers on either side looked just as implacable as the other two. Still, Michael could wait until ten o’clock, surely. Once he’d seen it, he surely wouldn’t follow through with the bad review.
I made my way to the corner where Father’s painting now hung. It was finished, then. A little rough in places, perhaps – there were a few reflections in the water which weren’t as refined as his usual work, but I daresay it would pass muster in society. Saved by its striking composition, the eye was more drawn to the delicate pattern of muscle in Jackson’s neck and shoulders. All in all – and I consider myself a more than fair judge of Father’s work – it would do. But it could have been masterful, had he had more time.
It was also slightly askew – clearly Parker hadn’t been allowed any further dealings with any paintings once he and I had been evicted from the gallery earlier. I reached up and straightened it slightly, looking guiltily over my shoulder as I heard one of the officers cough in my ear. They were capable of movement, then. With any luck there would be an incident of civil unrest, or someone would faint or attempt a robbery of their own, which would distract them long enough for me to take a peek at the painting. Oh yes, I would cross my fingers for a robbery now, I thought with a wry smile. But it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t going to risk being embarrassed or brought into disrepute by being caught with my hand on Augustine’s last masterpiece. Not when Michael could simply wait for two hours. Probably.
I dallied in the corners of the room, exchanging nods with Parker every so often. Nobody was talking to either of us, and we didn’t have a clue what to say.
There were a few members of Leeds’ society here and there, but once they had nodded in acknowledgement in Parker’s direction – and completely ignored me – they let us both alone. Annie would be so disappointed – there was hardly a young man among them. What few there were glanced my way once or twice, even smiled a little, but none approached. All seemed to be there with their wives or mothers.
Most of them didn’t seem very interested in the paintings, and instead concentrated on chatting and gossiping about this and that. Only one or two had broken away and were weaving around groups and peering forward – under the watchful eyes of the officers of course – to take a closer look at the brushwork on the paintings. I supposed they must be the critics from the newspapers. One paused before Father’s and spent what seemed like a very long time frowning and stroking his chin. The frame still wasn’t perfectly straight. I wondered if Parker had noticed yet.
I was surprised that Michael hadn’t come in, not least because he would need to write about the event for the next edition of The Advocate. I found myself scanning the crowds for him, or watching the door to see if he would arrive. At the very least he could try to take a look at the painting himself.
After I had made three circuits of the room, alternating between looking closely at the paintings and looking for Michael, I decided to make my way to the study, to tell him that it was hopeless, and plead my case. It was half past eight, and the light outside the windows was beginning to dim. More implacable-looking officers brought in candlesticks – large silver-coloured ones, at least five feet high and with branches holding about twenty candles. They stood these at intervals between each painting, unlit as yet. Then two even larger candlesticks were brought in and stood one either side of Augustine’s covered painting. They made the quite small painting look even smaller. I could only hope it was good, after all of this fanfare.
I began to make my way towards the doors, weaving through the clusters of people and squeezing past groups. It was turning into quite the crush. Then Brendan Fitzroy appeared at the door, with an older lady on his arm, who I recognised as Julia, his wife.
She had changed little since I had seen her last, even though that was over ten years previous, and I had only been a child. Her round face had gained few wrinkles, although her jaw sagged more heavily. The corners of her mouth were pulled down by the weight in her cheeks, giving her a constant expression of glumness, and she looked like little more than an old, sulky child. Her hair was crimped and ironed into improbable curls which were tinted an even more improbable reddish brown colour. There was a blotch on her forehead, which looked as though a drop of the colour had stained her skin before being rubbed vigorously. Her broad expanse of bosom heaved with jewellery, which draped over her dress, a pale, rose pink more suited to a debutante than a lady in her late forties. The tiny puffed sleeves which were trimmed with wisps of lace looked far too delicate and unsubstantial atop her broad, red arms.
It’s fair to say that I took a dislike to her. If she hadn’t been so unattractive then her husband would have been less likely to sleep with my Mother. I ducked into the corner as Mr and Mrs Fitzroy made their way into the room, followed by a small lady with dark skin and a regal bearing, who wore all black. I could barely see her above the crowd of people, and she soon disappeared into their midst. Then there was a surge backwards, as two pairs of officers strode forward, forcing a gap in the crowd. I was quite squashed in my corner, and almost knocked a very small picture from the wall with my hair. Yet even through the crush I could still make out the tall figure who entered, and paused as the crowd began to applaud.
The Duke’s face, for that was all I could see of him, was precisely what one would imagine of a hero in the war, the defeater of Napoleon. High cheekbones were accentuated by sharply angled sideburns. His broad chin was clean of facial hair and his lips were full and wide, but it was his nose which really arrested one’s eyes. Wide and roman, it gave him a profile worthy of a coin, and although his eyes could have objectively been described as being a little soulless, I was quite in awe of him. He limped slightly, but still held his back straight and head high.
The applause lasted well over a minute, as the Duke nodded in acknowledgement. Once he began to make his way around the room to greet acquaintances, I slipped through the door. It was almost nine.
My active roles in the play were few. All that was required of me was to light the candles on the stage and, once all the audience were seated, open the curtains. We had used little scenery, and aside from Andrew’s shadow box which remained unlit at the back of the stage until needed, there were only the hanging columns and they were on throughout as well.
All was quiet in the theatre. My footsteps echoed as I hurried down to the stage. The curtains were already closed and the footlights were lit, although we had four large branches of candles, one on either side of the stage and two closer to the back which had not been lit yet. These would be extinguished before the shadow box was lit. The whole affair would be a dark one, and I slipped between the curtains into the semi darkness.
‘There you are,’ Annie said as she came forward out of the shadows. ‘How is it going upstairs?’
‘I don’t see why she gets to mingle with the great and good while we have to wait down here,’ Mother sniffed huffily.
‘Did you see the Duke?’ Andrew asked, but I could barely hear him as Jackie was bellowing about having once seen the Duke a few years earlier, over a hill in Portugal.
I was saved from the barrage of questions and any more bitter outbursts by the arrival of Parker, who slipped through the curtains in a sweat.
‘They’re coming down, they’re coming down. Everybody get to your places. I haven’t even changed yet.’ He flapped across the stage, pushing the actors back into the wings.
I stayed on stage to light the candles, before peeping through the gap in the curtains as the seats began to fill. Our usual clientele did not wear so many jewels to the theatre, and every bosom seemed to gleam, even in the dim light. There was less shouting, and a good deal less coarse language uttered. Oh, we had played to the local dignitaries before, and that was all very well, but it was nothing to our matinee shows. Slowly the gaps filled and then, lastly, the Duke entered, once again to a long and sustained applause.
Once he was seated, I called Mother to her place. She wouldn’t look at me, but I didn’t have time to worry about that. I was a little surprised she had brought her petty attitude to the stage – it wasn’t like her to do so. Usually she would have been in character by now. Yet here we were, and we would have to make the best of it. I gave her a nod, before exiting stage right to where the pulley was, and then I opened the curtains.
It wasn’t perfect, but our exalted guests didn’t really seem to notice. If I had still cared, really, then I should have been annoyed that they talked through most of it. It was tradition, I supposed, and happened at a lot of our performances, but most of those weren’t special performances for Dukes, and they usually quietened down once the action really got going. I would have been hurt that I had put in so much time and effort, and that our work was ignored for the most part. I was a little annoyed, as it was. How lucky that I didn’t really care. I watched Mother from the wings, to see if she had noticed. Happily, she had drifted into character and was entirely involved with the story telling. I peeped out at the Duke once or twice, too, but he merely looked bored. Now it was happening, I can see that I should have expected it. What were we, but a sideshow to Augustine’s work? Less important still now he was dead. Nothing increases an artist’s popularity as much as being dead – Father had mentioned that often enough.
They quietened down though, when the shadow box was lit. That was what did it. If fame was what we were after, then the shadow box would secure it. I heard gasps and mutterings as the puppets moved behind the screen and Jackie rattled cans and beat drums to simulate the sounds of a heavenly battle. And it was beautiful. Even from the side of the stage, where I could see Andrew working, crouched down behind the back of the box, the movement on the screen was mesmerising.
When it was over, all of the audience applauded, even the Duke. They rose and clapped, but I knew they weren’t clapping our troupe, and they weren’t really clapping Andrew, for all that it was his handiwork. They were clapping the shadow box, and their own suspension of disbelief.
The players took their bows, but just once so as not to lose the crowd’s interest. Better to leave on a high, and Annie and I exchanged looks as she made her curtsey, knowing that we both hoped this would be our last time. As the applause began to die, I ran to the side and closed the curtains. The rest of the players stepped out with Parker, to stand in front of them as he made a brief toast to the Duke before the painting was revealed. I wasn’t going to join them, but as it was my hand was grasped tightly and I was pulled from the side of the stage, deep into the darkness of the wings and the firm softness of Michael’s arms.
He kissed me, and I was so buoyed by the thrill of it being over, of not having to worry any more, that I kissed him back with all of the excess energy I had bubbling over me. I didn’t care about the painting and if he was kissing me like that, perhaps he didn’t either. I didn’t care about my family or The Liberty Troupe. I desired nothing more than to lose myself in desire, and Michael was perfectly adept at that.
In the back of my mind I thought that this might help soften the blow of his being unable to see the painting, but sadly, that wasn’t my motivation. I wanted to be desired, I wanted to recapture the power of my sex.
Another round of applause signalled the end of Parker’s toast and I pulled Michael through the door from the stage, and hand in hand we hurried through the halls. I was going to take him to my bedroom, but he stopped at my study.
I was about to protest at being taken on a desk again, but he covered my mouth with kisses to the point that I was almost unable to speak.
‘Did you see it?’ he asked as we paused for breath.
‘The painting? No.’
‘Did you try?’
He held me away from him then, and looked me in the eye. I could hardly focus, my head was swimming with feeling.
‘I couldn’t get to it. And then I had to do the play. I tried as much as I could,’ I said, although I suppose I could easily have snuck away during the play. In the euphoria of it all being over, I didn’t see why I had to, though. Annie and Andrew would do well regardless of their association with our troupe. They always landed on their feet. It was the same with Parker. I didn’t have to try and save everybody.
‘We should go now, then,’ Michael said, taking his arms from my shoulders, dropping me. ‘Otherwise we’ll miss the unveiling.’
‘Then?’
He smiled.
‘Then I am going to your room.’
‘I might join you,’ I said coyly. He smiled, and I decided to humour him, even though it took every shred of self-restraint not to just leap on him then. It was the sunlight smile that did it.
I straightened my hair and he adjusted himself slightly before we left the room, hurrying back down the hall. We joined the throng of guests as they streamed towards the gallery. Then there came a scream, and like a many headed beast the crowd turned as one and began to run back towards the doors. Michael dropped my hand and hurried through the crowd to the stairs, where I could see smoke billowing through the doors to the gallery. He pushed through the fleeing, screaming masses and ran to the doors, shouting at me to stay back, to leave. I turned this way and that, unsure of what to do. And then I thought about Father’s work, and about how I had not seen him all day.
I ran down the hall and sprinted up the stairs to the studio. The door was open and I ran straight in. It was empty.
My throat restricted, my stomach dropped and with a hollow feeling of dread, I believed with all my heart that he was in the gallery. I ran back down the hallway as I screamed out for him, and took the stairs up to the gallery two at a time, holding my hair over my mouth as the smoke became thicker. The two officers who had stood guard, who I had ineffectually flirted with only a few hours previously, lay face down at the door, their heads dusty and bloody messes. I retched, and stepped over their bodies, following Michael into the room.
Arms grabbed for me, officers I think, trying to dampen the fire and rescue the paintings, but I shook them off, dropping to my knees and crawling across the floor where the smoke was slightly less dense.
I heard someone shout my name, but I went on, because Father was in there, he had to be, and I needed to get him out because he had been so afraid, and I hadn’t been nice to him for days. The heat was oppressive and my skirts slowed me down, slipping on the freshly polished wood as I struggled to get further into the room. Smoke clawed at my throat. My eyes, streaming uncontrollably, felt as though they were rolling in sand. I scrabbled on across the floor, but I couldn’t gain any traction against the boards. Coughing as though my throat wanted to be free of my body, I stumbled to my feet again, but was grabbed again, by strong arms around my waist, and pulled from the room as I cried out for my Father.
Michael carried me down the stairs, for all that I weakly struggled, and out onto the street, where I was vaguely aware of a chorus of squawks at my appearance. I was wrapped in a blanket, and the rough wool scraped my skin. My throat burned and I coughed and sobbed and coughed some more, as they tried to force water down my throat. My nose and eyes streamed and I could barely see or breathe but I kept trying to ask, had anybody seen my father?
I was vaguely conscious of a scream and Annie appeared before me, still in costume, her makeup half removed and her hair falling from its pins. I just looked at her hair, on the spot where it fell over her shoulder in that one, fat curl that remained from when Jackie had cut the other off in the play. I stared at it, at the wisps that strayed free, and though how Father would love to paint that and he could paint it, when he was here, but where was he? She held me tightly and kissed my face, and Jackie was there too, lifting me and taking me away to somewhere quieter, away from the smoke which still billowed from the upstairs window. Andrew held my hand and wiped my face with his handkerchief, and I cried and cried and called out for Father, but nobody answered.