Risk of Ruin

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  She closed her eyes, the pain tearing through her. “I have always known that if I were to pursue my art, I would be giving up…so many things! I counted them all worthwhile, until Kirkaldy. Now I have an exact measure of what I have lost and I think…I suspect the price might be too high.”

  Peter did not answer.

  She made herself look at him.

  There was no judgment in his face. “You have always chosen your own path, no matter the cost. You chose, Anna. Why could you not choose that for yourself, too?”

  Her heart ached. “I cannot. Not while Tobias…not with him.” She put her face in her hands and wept bitter tears.

  Peter offered no comfort, for there was none to give.

  PETER DROVE HER BACK TO the train station. The silence between them was not strained, although there was a degree of tension which made Annalies reluctant to reach out to him. Had she repelled him with her self-pity?

  Even his goodbye kiss was perfunctory, his lips dry as they pressed against her cheek, as he glanced behind her for observers.

  Now she had identified the unhappiness in her soul, it stopped tearing at her with invisible fingers. Instead, she merely felt empty. Going home had lost all its allure.

  It was mid-afternoon as the train wound through the outer suburbs, with their greasy smoke stacks and dirty windows. Many of the houses were built alongside the railway line, so she could peer in windows as the train passed.

  The close-built walls flashed by, hypnotic in their steady beat of light-dark-light. Occasionally, a gap appeared, where a street or a yard pre-empted the space between the buildings.

  The next long yard was attached to one of the new day schools appearing all over London these days. They were called Ragged Schools, and they took in students of all classes. The yard was full of children playing—jump rope, hop scotch, throwing balls. The girls’ braids bounced, the boys’ sailor collars flapped, as they shouted and ran and jumped.

  Annalies sat up, to watch the yard disappear behind the train, peering until she could see no more, her heart hammering.

  The pain which had lodged in her chest since Farleigh shifted and eased a little. Instead, her heart thundered as she grasped the idea which had suddenly occurred to her.

  She sat back in her seat, the ideas coming faster and faster. After a moment, she fumbled for her sketchbook, flipped to the first clean page, and took up her pencil. Instead of drawing, she wrote.

  It was a shock when the train halted at King’s Cross station, sometime later. Annalies gathered together her things and waited for a porter, simmering with impatience.

  Now she longed to be home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mrs. Thistlethwaite burst into tears when Annalies arrived and buried her face in her apron.

  Then, with a great sniff, she wiped her face dry and fell to planning a great celebratory feast for dinner. Annalies left her to fuss about sending for supplies she would need, and whether the occasion called for champagne, and climbed the stairs. They squeaked as they always had, which was oddly comforting.

  It was still light outside, so no lamps burned in the studio. Annalies eased into the room and closed the glass door behind her, for Tobias was deeply asleep upon the chaise longue.

  She stood watching him for long minutes, her heart stirring.

  He was still a handsome man, and able to stir her sensibilities. Yet there was a bitter blue sadness shading those emotions now.

  His cheeks were thinner than she remembered.

  Annalies eased herself onto the narrow edge of the chaise longue, pressing herself up against Tobias. She kissed his cheek and settled her head on his shoulder. His arm came around her.

  In his sleep, he sighed.

  Her heart lurched. For this moment, for Tobias, she was glad she was here once more.

  SUPPER WAS A GRAND AFFAIR, for Mrs. Thistlethwaite had outdone herself. Duck soup, roasted pork, glazed carrots and a thick, flavorful gravy. A mint sherbet and trifle.

  Annalies ate only a few mouthfuls of everything.

  So did Tobias.

  Mrs. Thistlethwaite ate with them as usual. She left the teapot and cream for them to drink alone, while she hurried to the kitchen to deal with the small mountain of food which was left over.

  Tobias rested his thin fingers on Annalies’ wrist, then picked up his tea cup. “You look divine, Annalies. That gown is new, isn’t it?”

  “A man from the House of Worth visited the Newmans while I was there, with the new catalogue. I couldn’t resist this dress.” She touched the velvet roses sewn into the neckline of the claret-colored gown.

  “I wasn’t aware that Worth traveled to their customers,” Tobias observed.

  “Neither was I. I suspect that for families like the Newmans, they make an exception. Life among the industrial class is quite different in unexpected ways.”

  “It is,” Tobias said, with a small smile. “Despite many of them trying to ape the ways of society.” He put his cup down, and turned the handle around and around, watching it circle. “Will you be staying for a while, now, Annalies?”

  He had not called her Lisa once since he had woken earlier in the afternoon, she realized.

  “I will be staying for a while,” she assured him. “There is something I want to do while I am here, and I am not sure how long it will take.”

  He lifted a brow. “Oh?”

  Annalies put her chin on her hand. “Tobias, how would I go about finding a large house to rent? Or even a warehouse?”

  “This house is not large enough for you?” he asked. His tone was light, yet she heard the worried note.

  She touched his arm. “Not to live in,” she said gently. “I want to open a school.”

  Tobias’ eyes widened. “A school?”

  Annalies nodded. “Not for children…well, children would be welcome, I suppose—I must think about that. A school for children of the art world. People like me who have a calling for the work, but don’t have sponsors or any idea how to enter this world. I want to teach them how to paint, Tobias. Only, not how to paint what the Academy deems important. I want to show them how to discern what is in their hearts and minds, and how to paint that.”

  Tobias pushed his hand through his hair. “It could take a year or more to set up such a school,” he said, his voice rough. “You have just found success, Annalies. Why would you stop now?”

  “Because I found success,” she said. “Don’t you see? Without you, I would still be sitting in the house on Park Lane, dabbling and never getting anywhere. You pushed me into the art world and showed me how it worked. Then I struggled to go forward, because I was painting the wrong things. When I gave up and painted what spoke to me, then I found success.”

  “Which you will destroy within a week,” Tobias said harshly.

  Annalies rested her hand against his cheek, feeling the thinness of his skin beneath her fingertips, for she wore no gloves tonight. “Silly. You worry for me. You mustn’t, you know. I have turned away more commissions in the last two weeks, than I received in the two years before. Everyone wants me to paint their families and their homes. They see the Newman’s paintings, or the portraits in Scotland, and they write me letters, offering the most outrageous prices if I will only tell their story, too. That is what one gentleman said—that I must tell his story for the world to see.”

  Tobias’ mouth turned up in a reluctant smile. “How will you have time to paint if you are running a school?”

  He was listening to her. He had not closed down and retreated back to his beliefs.

  Annalies let out a shaky breath. “That is the glory of it, you see.” She reached for her sketchbook, which sat on the chair beside her, as usual. “While I was painting for the Newmans and the O’Connells and the Hamiltons in York, I found I could only get my subjects to relax into a natural pose if I prodded them into talking about a subject they liked. You could not guess what topics made them glow with enthusiasm.” She opened the sketchbook to the page
of notes she had hastily taken down on the train.

  “Oh, yes, I could,” Tobias said dryly. “Economics, finance, investments. Factory line efficiencies. Accounting. Everything the upper classes consider crude and disgusting. Everything I left behind with a deep sigh of relief.”

  Annalies smiled. “Yes, exactly!” she breathed. “Only, I listened to them, Tobias. Perhaps only with one ear, while I concentrated on painting. It all settled in here, though.” She touched her temple. “Bridget told me that if I was tired of living in one country estate after another, then I should insist upon them coming to me, and I shall. When I find a place for the school, one wing of it will be my private studio.”

  “And how will you teach?”

  “I will not teach,” Annalies said firmly. “It would be an inefficient use of my time. I make more money per hour painting than I could possibly charge for tuition. In fact, I will make much more, because I find I must raise my prices again.”

  “Again?” Tobias sounded breathless.

  “Yes. There are so many people who want me to paint for them, Tobias, that I must find a way to whittle them down or I will be still painting for those people when I am one hundred and three. Archibald Newman said something I remembered only this afternoon. He said that price is determined by the market, but if you turn that around, you can choose the market in which you wish to sell by setting your price accordingly. That is why I must raise my prices. It will put me in the market where only the people who truly, badly wish to have me paint for them will be willing to pay. It will rid me of the clients who only want to be fashionable, who have no real feeling for my paintings. And I will insist my clients come to me.”

  Tobias stared at her.

  She smiled at him. “No more weeks away from home, Tobias,” she added gently. “That is how I will, in turn, be able to hire the best painting tutors for my students. In all the styles, including the Academy’s beloved still lifes.”

  Tobias pushed his hand through his hair. His temples were damp. “I see,” he said at last. “You want a way to have everything.”

  Her heart squeezed painfully. “No, not everything,” she said softly. “There are some things I can never have. I know that. But this…I can have this.”

  Tobias licked his lips. His fingers tugged at his tie. “I am afraid…” he began, his voice strained. His eyes closed and he sagged.

  Annalies lunged to catch him. He was a heavy, still weight in her arms.

  “Mrs. Thistlethwaite!” she screamed.

  WHILE DOCTOR GREENBUSH EXAMINED TOBIAS, Annalies trod the carpet in the hallway outside their room. She told herself she should behave as a disinterested protégé would and return to her studio and let Mrs. Thistlethwaite listen to the doctors’ analysis when he emerged.

  Yet she could no more consider picking up a brush than she could fly. Both were impossible.

  So she walked and turned, walked and turned.

  The morning ticked on.

  When Doctor Greenbush emerged, he shut the door with a slow, quiet snick, while Annalies hurried up to him.

  He raised his finger to his full mustache and pointed toward the stairs.

  Annalies nodded and moved down to the front hall, the doctor treading heavily behind her. She took the doctor’s tall top hat off the stand, and his coat and held them toward him.

  Doctor Greenbush put his black bag down and shrugged into his coat. “It was a minor episode,” he said, doing up the buttons. “They will happen occasionally, although they will occur more frequently later on. In moments of overwhelming excitement, the brain and other organs cannot acquire the air they need, and the body simply shuts down for a moment or two.”

  “Minor!” Annalies repeated, winded. It had not felt minor at all.

  Greenbush picked up his bag and took his hat from her. “The disease is progressing much as I expected it would. I suggest laudanum to soothe his days if he is troubled.”

  Annalies swallowed. “That is all which can be done for him?” Her throat ached.

  “As long as Mr. Blackwood insists upon staying in London, then yes,” Greenbush said gruffly. He settled his hat upon his gray curls and considered her. “Do you think you have any influence over the man, miss?”

  “I…why do you ask?”

  Greenbush made a sound of irritation. “I realize it isn’t your place, but if he listens to you at all, then do what you can to convince him to leave the city. There are places for consumptives which know exactly what to do…” He sighed. “Even somewhere in the country, away from the filth and the stench here will do much to improve his condition.”

  Her pulse leapt. “How much will it improve?” she asked.

  Greenbush’s eyes narrowed. “There is no cure. I am sure you are aware of that.”

  Disappointment touched her. “Yes,” she admitted. “I know.”

  “The fresh outdoors, though, will be of enormous benefit,” Greenbush added. “It could extend his time by another year.” He gave her a smile she was sure he thought was reassuring and kindly. “Do what you can to change his mind, miss.” He glanced at his pocket watch and hurried out the door.

  ANNALIES PULLED THE DRESSING CHAIR over to the window. Behind her, Tobias slept under the power of the concoction Doctor Greenbush had given him.

  She peered through the window at the watercolor blue summer sky and the few wispy clouds. She didn’t know if it was a hot day out there. She felt nothing. The ground had shifted beneath her feet once more.

  Annalies rested on the flat, uncomfortable chair, feeling the ache in her bones that was more than simple tiredness.

  Would life always present her with such impossible choices?

  She let her thoughts drift as the clouds were doing, too lacking in energy to properly consider Dr. Greenbush’s prognosis.

  The boots tramping in the corridor outside the bedroom were too heavy for Mrs. Thistlethwaite. Annalies sat up, her heart thudding.

  When the door opened and Peter stepped into the room, her breath escaped her in a soft sigh. Even though Peter was the last person she would have expected to come in, it seemed right that he was here.

  Not for the first time, she remembered he had mentioned speaking with Tobias more than once, while she had been away.

  And now he was here, in the bedroom she shared with Tobias. She should have been appalled, or even embarrassed, except it felt inevitable that he was here.

  Peter glanced at the bed where Tobias slept, then at her. He raised his finger to his lips, before turning back to study Tobias. He gripped the brass rail, his knuckles whitening.

  Then he came over to where she stood in front of the chair. He took her hand and drew her closer to the window. “I am presuming you will not leave his side, not even to speak to me?” he asked, his voice very low.

  “No, I cannot. I’m sorry, Peter—”

  He touched her lips, halting her apology. “No, don’t do that. God, the two of us have torn you apart, haven’t we?”

  Her heart lurched. “I…don’t understand.”

  “I know.” Peter stroked his thumb over her cheekbone. “At least, I know that now,” he added, his voice low. “I’ve been utterly stupid, Anna.”

  Fear closed her throat down. She glanced at Tobias. He had not stirred. “Peter…”

  “Just listen. He will stir if you speak. He knows your voice.”

  She pressed her lips together. Reluctantly, she nodded.

  Peter sighed. “I’m not even sure where to begin. There really is no end to how much of a fool I have been.”

  Annalies pressed her hand to her belly, as everything tightened and turned in her middle.

  Peter touched her cheek once more. She was astonished to see his hand was shaking. “You’ve lived life on your terms, all along. I admire that, Anna, but I hated it, too, because I believed it meant you could never be mine.”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “What are you saying?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, strained and painful to use.
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br />   “It’s been staring me in the face all along,” Peter said. “Only, I couldn’t see it. Not until you stopped by Farleigh yesterday. When you left…” He let out a heavy, gusty sigh. “When you left to come back here, I wanted to tear down every stone in that damned house and toss each of them at the heavens and rail at fate. I even tried.” He held out his right hand. The knuckles were broken and scabbed over.

  Annalies touched them, bemused. She could see in her mind an image of Peter lashing out at anything with his fists, his body straining, until his hand met the wall.

  Peter shoved his hand back in his trouser pocket. “After I poured brandy over my hand, I couldn’t do anything else. Work has always been my escape, you see. Only, I couldn’t hold a shovel or a trowel. All I could do was sit and think. I should have done that a long time ago, but thinking has always made me so angry, I stopped doing it.”

  Annalies gripped her hands together. She was shaking, too, she realized. The ground was shifting again.

  “Tobias and I circled around this all summer,” Peter added. “This…impossible situation we’re in. Then, last night, I figured it out.”

  “What, Peter?” she breathed.

  “I wanted to have you on my terms. That’s where I went wrong. When I consider the matter on your terms it all became very clear and simple.”

  Hope was a beating drum in her chest and her head, muffling sound. Annalies squeezed her fingers.

  Peter withdrew his wounded hand and cupped her jaw. His thumb swept over her cheek. “Come to Farleigh, Anna. Come and live with me—you and Tobias.”

  Annalies drew in a sharp, gasping breath. Her heart stopped.

  Peter nodded. “Yes, both of you.”

  She wasn’t aware of reaching out for him, only that her fingers curled over the fronts of his jacket, and that she was holding herself up with her grip.