Illusion

by Stephanie Elmas

  At about five o’clock, Tamara decided to make a concerned visit to Daniel’s bedside. His room was on the ground floor, close to the stairs of the north tower. It was a small, dreary place with little adornment (in order to maintain cleanliness) apart from a large seascape painting on one wall. He lay with his eyes half closed, a wet strip of muslin draped across his forehead.

  Cecil was sitting in a chair by his side, speaking to him in a low voice. When she entered, he stopped abruptly and turned to her. His eyes narrowed.

  ‘What are you doing here Tamara?’

  ‘I was concerned about Daniel. He certainly looks very unwell. I came to see if I could be of any assistance. Would you like me to send for a doctor?’

  Cecil looked away. His jaw was clenched. She noticed that the tips of his fingers were digging into his knees.

  ‘I don’t want a doctor,’ Daniel whispered, huskily. ‘I want Walter Balanchine.’

  ‘Well you can’t have him!’ spat Cecil in reply.

  Daniel closed his eyes defiantly.

  Tamara felt her heart surge. Never would she have imagined that poor, pathetic Daniel Hearst could be capable of such a show.

  ‘Has Mr Balanchine helped Daniel in the past?’ she asked timidly, trying to sound convincingly surprised.

  ‘Yes,’ murmured Daniel. ‘He is the only one who has ever been able to help me.’

  Cecil sprang to his feet. ‘Damn you boy! Am I not the one who has nursed you for most of your life?’ He drew his hand across his head and paced the length of the room.

  ‘Of course, Daniel knows that,’ interjected Tamara. Her body felt taught; her mouth dry. She carried on, trying not to let her words shake, ‘But there cannot be any harm in seeking Mr Balanchine’s assistance, surely? He is of no threat to you now Cecil. Now that …,’

  The expression in Cecil’s eyes made her stop short. He came up to her, close. His face was pinched and pale.

  ‘You will leave us now,’ he said in a quiet tone. ‘I see that you have strong opinions on this subject and naturally, as your husband, I would like to hear them. Why don’t we discuss them in your room then, tonight?’

  She clenched fistfuls of her skirts into her hands as a sparkle of triumph glimmered across his face.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she replied.

  *

  ‘Dear Daniel needs a good tonic,’ Mama announced over dinner.

  ‘I would be extremely grateful if you could find me one that actually worked,’ Cecil replied.

  He was completely calm now, eating neatly and methodically as he always did and intermittently sipping at his wine.

  ‘Well, you’ll be delighted to know that I’ve discovered just the thing,’ she said, looking pleased. ‘My own excellent physician recommended it and it should be arriving shortly. I was going to leave it as a surprise, but considering the circumstances I thought it might cheer you up a little.’

  Tamara peered at her wine, wondering how much it would take to numb the effects of the rest of the evening. She barely had the stomach to eat anything at all.

  ‘How thoughtful of you,’ remarked Cecil, dryly. ‘And as we are clearly in the mood for revelations, you should probably both know that we have guests arriving on Saturday. The Lakefields: a local couple of considerable fortune. Mr Lakefield is a business partner. I’m sure you’ll find them pleasant and entertaining.’

  ‘How charming,’ said Mama, raising her eyebrows. ‘I trust that Tamara will arrange menus with the cook?’

  Tamara took a large gulp of wine, savouring the way that it coated and pinched at her tongue.

  Mama eyed her and gave a shrill little laugh. ‘I’m afraid my daughter has no idea how to entertain guests yet. Perhaps I can be of assistance? I’ll meet with your cook tomorrow.’

  Letting the wine trickle luxuriously down her throat, she ignored her mother’s vacuous chatter and felt herself transported back to Madame Pansy’s brothel. How funny and wonderful and utterly inappropriate that meeting had been. It was everything she might have imagined of Walter Balanchine. She remembered Tom’s awkwardness; the embarrassment etched in his lovely face. Just one kiss. That was all they had ever shared. How hideously robbed they had been.

  She clutched at her wine and took another gulp. And then another. She caught her mother’s face staring at her from above the rim of the glass: pained and astonished. She took a third gulp and Mama instantly turned away.

  When it was time to retire for the evening, Tamara felt as if she were floating across the room. Her face was hot and her skin clammy. As soon as Cecil had disappeared to check on Daniel, she sneaked to a back door and slipped out. The fresh evening air felt delightful on her skin. It had finally stopped raining and the sky was black and velvety. She stretched out her arms to it and lifted up her face to its caress. Her feet carried her onwards, away from the house and into the blackness.

  Mud and puddles sloshed beneath her feet. It felt like a game of dare; plunging into the void. A leap of faith that could suddenly cast her anywhere. She imagined herself falling into a deep cave or over the edge of a waterfall, or slipping between the trees of an ancient forest. And just as these thoughts were spinning through her mind, something caught at her foot and she suddenly found herself plunging to the reality of the muddy earth beneath her.

  She gave a small shriek as she landed heavily into a puddle. A sharp pain tore through her hip and her skirts were immediately drenched in bitingly cold water. The shock of the fall seemed to have an instant sobering effect on her. That lovely, floaty feeling that had brought her out here melted away. She looked back at the house, its windows simmering with light, and a feeling of dread crawled up her spine.

  She limped slowly back and climbed the stairs to her room, where she was able to assess the full extent of damage to her clothes. One side of her dress was completely caked in thick, slimy mud. From the smell of it, it seemed that some sort of animal excrement was also mixed in. A spray of brown grime was rapidly drying over her left cheek.

  The door opened and Stella entered. The maid saw her and gasped.

  ‘Mrs Hearst, we must get you out of these things, quickly.’

  Tamara bowed her head and let the maid approach.

  ‘What did you do?’ she berated her, wrinkling up her snub little nose in disgust and gingerly undoing the buttons of her dress.

  ‘I fell in the mud.’

  ‘Well you can’t be going around behaving like that. Mr Hearst will be most displeased.’

  The words sent a sharp shock of outrage through Tamara. She unleashed herself from Stella’s hands and turned to face her.

  ‘Who are you to tell me about what would please or displease my husband? How dare you speak to me in such a way!’

  Stella’s face went hard.

  ‘Now leave this room at once, I will attend to myself. Mr Hearst will hear of this in the morning.’

  ‘Of course,’ replied the maid with a surly nod. ‘But remember, Mrs Hearst, I am in your husband’s employment, not yours.’

  Tamara watched the woman glide out of her room and then she sank onto a stool, her body trembling. She needed to act quickly, she knew that. A terrifying urgency buzzed through her. First she must remove these filthy clothes and hide them. Then she would deal with her face, scrub it clean if necessary, and throw open the windows to dispel the stench. On no account could Cecil discover her in such a state.

  And yet…,

  Another feeling, bold and curiously enticing, seemed to be keeping her exactly where she was. Her legs felt sluggish, her shoulders heavy. It was almost as if her body was telling her not to move.

  When at last he entered her room, and digested the vision of his filthy, stinking wife, the expression of revulsion on Cecil’s face was almost comic. Tamara did her best to maintain her composure as he grasped a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over his nose. His skin turned sickly pale.

  ‘My apologies,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I lost my footing outside.’


  He inched towards her, as if she positively reeked of some sort of vile infection. A look of disgust clouded his eyes.

  ‘All my good work, undone,’ he murmured, before raising his hand and slapping it, savagely, across her clean cheek.

  But although Tamara had a distant concept of the blow sizzling on her skin, she barely seemed to notice it at all. The rush of something else: fascination, pleasure, elation, whatever thrill it was, barred the way. She devoured Cecil’s revulsion; the clumsiness of his actions as he flinched away from her; the now greening pallor of his skin. He coughed and retched behind his handkerchief, all the while looking at her as if he wanted to say something more but could barely bring himself to speak. He backed away, drawing his hand over his head as he left the room.

  ‘Clean yourself,’ he grunted, slamming the door behind him.

  A broad smile fell across her face.

  ‘I win,’ she whispered.

  Chapter 16

  The slap left long, finger-shaped streaks across her cheek. This meant that, once again, Tamara was confined to her room. Stella arrived with raw steak for the wound, her lips pursed and her eyes disapproving.

  In the afternoon a quiet knock came at her door, followed by Mama.

  ‘My goodness, what have you done to your face?’ she enquired with mock surprise.

  ‘I have done nothing to it.’

  Her mother tilted Tamara’s chin up with a finger and cast her eye across Cecil’s handiwork.

  ‘Alcohol does not suit you,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Alcohol did not thrash my face.’

  Mama closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply. ‘You must learn to be less direct, my dear,’ she murmured.

  Tamara studied her mother’s face. Again she noticed the change in her: the sunken, lined mouth and a worn, papery look to her skin. She seemed tired.

  ‘Is this everything that you had hoped for, Mama? Is this what you dreamed of for me?’

  Her mother flinched away from her to the window. Her shoulders seemed a little hunched.

  ‘Why of course it is,’ she replied, frustration ringing in her words. ‘Look what you have here: a beautiful house, wonderful land.’

  ‘I live in nothing more than a swamp. It could flood, did you know that?’

  ‘Nonsense. You have a marvellous estate, the envy of many. And now that Cecil controls Father’s business we shall all prosper hugely from it, I’m sure.’

  ‘Controls? What do you mean? I thought that Cecil only had part of it?’

  Her mother paused. Her mouth quivered a little and then she spoke.

  ‘How else could I convince him to marry you after your little dalliance with Mr Winter, my dear? Do you think it was easy for me to assuage Cecil’s anger?’

  Tamara felt her mouth drop open as the horror of the words swept through her.

  ‘Oh Mama,’ she said at last. ‘What have you done to make us pay such a heavy price? What hold has he over you?’

  ‘Don’t speak of this,’ she replied, her voice crisp and biting. ‘I have given you the best of everything. I have given you a start in life that I never had and at the moment you are ruining it. Learn to take control of yourself Tamara, learn to manage those around you.’

  ‘My marriage is…,’

  ‘Private.’

  Her mother glared at her with unbreachable force. Her back was straight now, her body an unconquerable battlement.

  ‘Your marriage is private,’ she continued. ‘I have no desire to learn the details of your relations with Cecil. My only hope is that you learn to do better. As far as I am concerned you are a deeply fortunate girl. There are many who would wish for such a position as yours. Now take some rest. These guests arrive in two days; plenty of time for the swelling to go down and for us all to become quite normal again.’

  *

  The Lakefields arrived in a splendid carriage. Mrs Lakefield, a thick-set fluffy-haired woman, was closely followed into the house by an entourage of small, rat-like dogs. Tamara watched Cecil try to hide his displeasure as they trotted into the house on grubby paws. Mr Lakefield was an even larger, red-cheeked man with a broad smile and a hint of roguishness in his eye.

  ‘So, this is your beautiful young wife,’ he boomed, taking Tamara’s hand and giving Cecil a smirk that made her face burn.

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Cecil, steering the man away. ‘And this is my mother-in-law, Mrs Huntingdon.’

  Mr Lakefield paused when he took Mama’s hand, as if he’d had a sudden recollection.

  ‘A pleasure to meet you.’

  They went through to the drawing room, although Mama briefly excused herself to harangue cook about the tea and cakes.

  ‘Please forgive me, Mrs Hearst,’ said Mr Lakefield as they sat down. ‘But have I not met your mother somewhere before?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I have no idea!’

  He gave a confused shake of the jowls. ‘Her face is extremely familiar to me.’

  ‘My husband has a marvellous memory for faces,’ his wife chimed in. The fluffiness of her hair was such that it was impossible not to notice the strong resemblance it bore to her dogs. This, along with a sharp little nose in the middle of her perfectly round face, completed the image quite remarkably. ‘Remember the De Vines, or was it the De Veres?’

  ‘De Vanes.’

  ‘Ah yes, the De Vanes! We met them in Italy more than ten years ago. The plainest looking couple you’ve ever seen. She was very meek, really quite grey in her complexion. I think there had been illness there, but never mind. Now, more than ten years ago we met them and it wasn’t for long either. Then who should we bump into in Bath, in the middle of a storm just before Christmas? The woman nearly stamped on one of my babies!’ She scooped up one of her small dogs and nuzzled her face deeply into its neck. ‘Well it was Mrs De Vere!’

  ‘De Vane.’

  ‘Yes, George recognised her at once! Although she’s not called that anymore. Her husband died. What’s her name now dear?’

  ‘Sanderson.’

  ‘Ah yes!’

  Mrs Lakefield smiled triumphantly as she almost smothered her unfortunate dog with her great, bejewelled hands.

  ‘Clearly you have a marvellous talent for faces and names Mr Lakefield,’ said Tamara, feeling that she should probably add something to the conversation.

  ‘Hmm, although your mother has quite flummoxed me,’ he pondered. ‘Don’t say a thing to her. I’ll get it in the end, surprise her with it!’

  *

  After tea Mama and Mrs Lakefield went to their rooms and the men retired to smoke and discuss business. Tamara decided to visit Briar. She had barely left her room since the incident with Cecil and her mother had not visited her again. Instead she sent Stella up with a small bowl, smeared inside with a beige coloured paste.

  ‘It’s for your face,’ said the maid, with a dour little glance. The swelling had gone quite quickly but it had left an ugly, yellowing bruise in its wake.

  ‘Hello Briar,’ she whispered when she entered the stables.

  The horse heard her voice and trotted forwards.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been rather inattentive lately. I’ve had to hide away you see.’

  The horse sniffed her cheek and nuzzled it, taking some of the make-up off with her nose. Tamara laughed as she wiped the pasty stuff off the horse’s pink nostril.

  ‘I’ve learnt a lot of things that I must tell you about. One of them is that my mother appears to be an expert at covering bruises. Shall we go for a ride?’

  The horse seemed to nod her head, which made Tamara laugh even more. Never would she have imagined that a terrifying horse was fast becoming her only friend.

  *

  Cecil was late for afternoon tea. When he did finally appear, he looked grim and downtrodden.

  ‘Something the matter?’ asked Mr Lakefield.

  ‘Yes indeed, although I apologise for alarming you,’ he replied. ‘My brother appears to have taken a turn for the worse.�
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  With perfect theatrical timing, the sound of an agonised whimper floated down the corridor. Cecil closed the door behind him and put his back to it.

  ‘Well you simply can’t block it out dear,’ said Mrs Lakefield, jumping to her feet in alarm. ‘We must see how we can help the dear man.’

  Despite his objections, she pushed passed Cecil and charged towards Daniel’s room, her small dogs at her heels. Cecil followed, fists clenched, and Tamara and Mr Lakefield brought up the rear. Mama had yet to come down from her room.

  Daniel was a sorry sight. He lay on his back and, apart from the occasional subtle movement of his chest, barely seemed to be alive. His cheeks were sallow. They hung off his face like an old man.

  ‘I’m afraid that my brother hasn’t been eating, which is the main part of the problem,’ said Cecil. ‘Boy, do you remember Mr and Mrs Lakefield? They’ve come to visit you.’

  Daniel’s eyelids fluttered open. He glanced at Tamara for a brief moment. His lips, although horribly cracked, began to move. A soft whisper emanated from them; it was too quiet to hear, although she could guess at what he might be trying to say.

  ‘What’s that dear?’ said Mrs Lakefield, craning forward and putting her ear down to Daniel’s mouth.

  ‘Gibberish I’m sure,’ interjected Cecil, ‘Please, I don’t think…,’

  ‘Walter Ba… What’s he saying George?’

  Her husband joined her now and bent down even closer.

  ‘Walter Balanchine!’ he exclaimed. ‘Now, that’s a person quite impossible to forget. We saw him perform recently in London. Made a gorilla disappear. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Well Mr Hearst, what would you want with him then, eh?’

  But Daniel could do nothing more than mouth the name over and over again.

  Tamara cleared her throat. She didn’t dare look at Cecil. ‘Mr Balanchine has tended to Daniel before. He believes that this man can help him again.’

  ‘Good gracious me!’ exclaimed Mrs Lakefield, puffing out her chest with the excitement of the idea. ‘Then this man must be sent for!’

  ‘That is out of the question,’ said Cecil.