Vincent tilted his head, studying Jane’s sister as though he were going to draw her. Flexing his hands, he said, “We are not in such a hurry.”
“Thank you.” Jane entered the parlour as though to ascertain the weather. Pausing by her sister, she looked out at the snow drifting down. “What are you reading?”
Melody jumped, only now seeming conscious that Jane had approached. She picked up the book as though she did not know it. “St. Irvyne, by … oh. By a ‘Gentleman of the University of Oxford.’ How odd. At any rate, it is quite engrossing.”
“I have not had the pleasure yet. What is it about?”
“Oh…” Melody turned the pages, frowning. “A young woman. No. A man. Well, it starts with a violent storm and … la! I can barely do it justice. Perhaps you should read it when I am through.”
“On your recommendation, certainly.” Jane stared out at the snow, though she really watched Melody’s reflection in the window. “Are you well? Your eyes seem a bit reddened.”
“They are only tired.” Melody glanced across the room to where Vincent waited in the doorway. “You should go.”
Jane hesitated until Melody lifted her book again and began to read. Across the room, Vincent raised his eyebrows in question, clearly asking if she had any success with Melody. Jane shook her head, thankful that her husband could read her silent moods so well. He compressed his lips and nodded with understanding. With the snow, Melody had been cooped up, and any plans to go exploring had come to nothing. Perhaps Jane should have brought her mother to London after all, so that Melody would have some company while they worked. It seemed clear that they had left her too long alone.
Vincent tucked his chin in as he did when he was thinking. She tilted her head toward Melody, asking if it were all right to invite her, and he gave a bare nod. Jane suspected that if he were closer she might hear his little whine of protest, but he had not raised an objection.
“Would you like to come with us today?”
“Oh!” Melody sat up, almost dropping her book. “Truly? I will not be in the way, I promise, and if you need me to do anything or to run any errands, you have only to ask.”
“Yes, truly. It might be dull, but it will at least be a different sort of dull.”
“Let me get my pelisse and bonnet, then.” Melody bounded to her feet. She glanced again at Vincent standing in the door. Lowering her voice, she leaned closer to Jane. “Are you certain that Vincent will not mind? I know he prefers not to have spectators when he works.”
“It was his idea.” Or close to it, at any rate. This half-truth was enough to set Melody’s mind at ease, though she needed little persuasion.
In a matter of minutes Melody returned, pulling her warm pelisse over her dress to ward off the cold outside. Somehow she managed to make the long outer coat seem fluid and graceful as she skipped down the stairs and to the waiting hack that they had hired.
Jane would rather have walked to the Baron’s, but the snow formed a slushy blanket on the foot-paths. The streets had turned into grey quagmires of melted snow and other, less agreeable, liquids. Even with the carriage, the passage through the streets was slow and unpleasant as the horse started and stopped frequently to accommodate the uncertain foot traffic. Most of the walkers picked their way through the streets on tall metal pattens that clinked against the pavement. Those less fortunate had their mouths squeezed with distaste as they walked through the slush. Even the tradesmen looked annoyed by the weather. She kept an eye out for William, but saw no signs of him or any other coldmonger.
The walk in front of Stratton House had, thankfully, been swept clear of the ice and snow, but Jane still had to hold up the hem of her dress to keep it from dragging on the damp pavement as they went inside. Even the stout brown wool of her work dress would show this amount of dirt.
The butler only raised his eyebrows a fraction at the addition of a third member to their party, but that did not slow the readiness with which they were greeted and shown to the ballroom.
Vincent paused only long enough to remove his greatcoat and hat before setting to work. He strode to the far end of the ballroom, where the musicians’ gallery now stood fully revealed, and vanished up the stairs.
Jane set her basket on the floor by the entry and pulled off her gloves. She would leave her pelisse on until she had warmed up a bit with activity. “We shall spend most of our time neglecting you, I am afraid.” Jane pulled her apron on over the pelisse.
“Oh, I am not afraid of that.” Melody looked around the room and frowned. “Where shall I sit?”
Discomfited, Jane could only stare at the room. They had removed all the furniture so that it did not interfere with their work. Quite a few random pieces of glamour had been obscured by chairs, making Vincent’s mutterings change to swears every time they found another loose thread. She had forgotten that there was nowhere to sit in the ballroom. “I will ask if they can bring you a chair.”
Before she could do more than turn toward the door, Vincent reappeared from the stairs. He had a folding chair from the musicians’ gallery under one arm. “Will this do?”
“Thank you, yes.” Melody skipped down the length of the ballroom to meet him. “Where shall I sit so that I am not in the way?”
“Anywhere.” Vincent set the chair in the middle of the floor. “So long as you do not mind moving if we require it.”
“Not at all.” Melody sat in the chair and pulled a book from her reticule. Studiously, she opened it and began to read, as if to show that she intended to be no trouble.
Smiling to herself, Jane joined Vincent as he climbed the stairs to the musicians’ gallery. “That was very nice of you, love.”
He grunted in answer and Jane laughed outright at him. Vincent stopped on the stairs and turned in the narrow space. Even in the dim light filtering from the door, his eyes twinkled. “Muse, you must know that I would do anything to make you happy.”
“Anything?” She ran her finger along the ribbon of his pocket watch, coming dangerously close to other delicate areas.
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “Anything—after our work is finished.”
“Then let us work swiftly.”
* * *
When Melody sighed for the third time in as many minutes, Jane carefully tied off the fold of glamour that she was stretching along the wall. It would serve as an undercoat of pale gold to brighten the darker weaves she would place over it later.
“Is something the matter?”
“Oh, no.” Melody shifted in her seat. “I was merely thinking.”
She had long since laid her book aside, saying that it made her head ache. It was becoming clear that she regretted her decision to accompany them. At least at home, she could move from room to room when a sense of ennui struck her. Here, she was limited to the ballroom while the Vincents worked, and Jane had run out of activities for Melody.
“Would you like to draw?”
Melody rolled her eyes. “I am not a child that you need to amuse. I merely sighed.”
“All right.” Jane held up her hands in surrender and returned to work. Melody could suffer ennui if she liked. It was the affliction of the fashionable, after all.
At the other end of the room, Vincent had his feet spread wide in his operating stance. He had greater stamina and reach than she did, so he was placing the glamour along the ceiling. To someone whose eyes were only adjusted to the visible world, Vincent appeared to be waving his hands at random while washes of colour came into view overhead. When Jane let her vision expand to include the ether, his real work became apparent. Vincent pulled skeins of pure glamour and folded their light to his whims. Almost like a puppet showman working a marionette upside down, he wove a pattern on the ceiling with the folds.
Scholars of glamour found that it had properties resembling textile, water, and light. The nature of glamour caused it to want to sink toward the earth once it was brought out of the ether. A glamourist who wanted to work at a dist
ance had to think of it as a jet of water, diffusing and curling toward the earth. This made distance work doubly hard, due to the effort of supporting it while attempting to work with any degree of precision.
Though the room had the bite of winter still, Vincent had removed his coat and worked only in his waistcoat and shirt sleeves so he did not overheat with the effort of working across so great a distance. Jane paused to make certain that he was not breathing overquickly. Like any activity, glamour required energy to manage, and Vincent had been known to work past his limits.
Satisfied that he was not straining himself, Jane began to work again. Scarcely had she pulled a new fold from the ether when the door to the ballroom opened. Lord Stratton entered with a footman bearing a small tray of comestibles.
“I thought you might need some refreshments.”
Jane released her fold without troubling to tie it off. “Thank you, my lord.”
Likewise, Vincent stepped back from the work he was doing and rolled his shirt sleeves down. “That is very kind, sir.”
The Baron glanced at Melody and raised a brow in question. Jane stepped forward beckoning Melody, who rose. “May I present my sister, Miss Ellsworth.”
“Ah, they had mentioned you had a companion, but not how lovely.” He bowed very correctly over Melody’s hand. “Are you also a glamourist?”
Melody shook her head. “No, alas. I confess that I came to escape our house. The weather, you know.”
“Quite understandable.” He hesitated, then said, “If you would like to use our music room, you are more than welcome.”
“That would be very—” Melody broke off and glanced to Jane, seeming to recognise that this was not a social call. “That is, if it would not be any bother, I should be grateful.”
“None at all.” He bowed to Jane. “If it will not deprive Lady Vincent of your company, that is.”
Jane managed to reassure him that Melody was welcome to go, without making it sound like she was eager for her sister’s absence. But in truth, once Melody left the room with Lord Stratton, Jane was significantly more comfortable concentrating on her work.
It astonished her how distracting a sigh could be.
* * *
At the end of the day, Jane’s arms ached as she pulled her pelisse back on. They had managed to place much of the underlayer of the glamour, but they still needed to tackle the musicians’ gallery before they were ready to begin sketching the broad strokes of the forms they wanted to add. Vincent often added an underlayer of paint, but they did not want to disturb the ballroom’s panelled walls, so they had decided to create the whole of the glamural with illusion.
With Lord Stratton’s offering, they had not needed to eat the bread and cheese that Cook had packed for them. Vincent stooped to pick up their basket from where Jane had left it by the door. He groaned softly as he stood. Placing a hand behind his hips, Vincent leaned backwards and cracked his spine. “I am getting old, Muse.”
“You are younger than I am by a full year.” She took his arm, feeling every one of her thirty years, as they left the ballroom. “What must Melody think of us if you think yourself old?”
“We are ancient, infirm creatures on the edge of our graves.”
As they walked toward the front of the house, the sound of a pianoforte led them to the music room. The tune was a simple one, adequately played but without the authority of a true musician. Melody’s voice rose above it in a clear, sweet accompaniment.
Jane tilted her head, listening. “It sounds as though she has been practising.”
“She may not have had anything else to do this week.” Vincent grimaced and buttoned his coat. “I dislike neglecting her so much after inviting her to come to London, and yet…”
“And yet, we have our work to do.” Jane squeezed his arm. “She is my responsibility, not yours.”
Vincent stopped her in the hall and looked down with a serious cast to his features. “Do not think that I consider her less of a sister than if she were my own.”
“Like the one you were afraid to see?” Jane teased him, but regretted her words the moment they were out of her mouth, as Vincent winced, turning his face to the wall. “I am sorry, my love.”
He shook his head, staring at the bust of a cupid sculpted into a nook and traced a line down its nose with his finger. The muscles in his jaw bunched. Letting his breath out in a huff, Vincent said, “It is not Penny that I am afraid of. Or rather … not precisely her. I am afraid that my father sent her, and I do not know why.” He laughed rather desperately, gripping the cherub’s wing.
Jane stood on her toes to kiss Vincent on the cheek. “He has no hold over you.”
“No.” He let go of the statue. “So, shall we rescue your sister from ennui?”
A burst of laughter came out of the music room. Jane raised a brow. It was not only Melody, but a gentleman laughing. “I wonder if we need to.”
They walked down the hall and entered a sunny room, which contained not only a pianoforte, but also a harp and a cello. Melody sat at the keys with the sun shining behind her, making her hair fairly glow.
A young gentleman leaned against the pianoforte, resting his elbows upon the cloth thrown over it. He was a tall, slender man, with a riot of red hair, which sparkled in the sunlight like ruby to Melody’s gold. His blue eyes were a match for Lady Stratton’s, though a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles framed them. His clothes, which showed all the signs of an excellent tailor, were splashed with mud. There could be little doubt that this was Alastar O’Brien, eldest son of Lord Stratton.
As the Vincents entered, he straightened, the casual nature of his posture altering to something more formal, but none the less attractive for that. “Good afternoon?”
Vincent offered him a short bow and made the appropriate introductions. Jane could never get used to being introduced as Lady Vincent, but she smiled and curtsied. “I see you have already met my sister.”
“I was drawn to the music. It was quite improper, but when one hears a muse, one must follow.” He was quite the gallant.
Looking up through her eyelashes becomingly, Melody said, “I should say that the one who inspires the music is the muse, rather than the one who merely plays it.”
“It depends, I suppose, on where one finds inspiration,” Mr. O’Brien said.
“I have often felt the same way, sir.” Vincent suppressed a smile and almost winked at Jane.
Mr. O’Brien gestured at the dirt on his trousers. “Forgive my attire. I have only just arrived in town, and my parents did not tell me that we had guests.”
“Ah. That is because we are not guests.” Jane paused, seeing that he did not understand. “Your parents have hired us to adorn the ballroom. We are glamourists.”
“Oh.” He looked back at Melody, the open expression fading from his face. “I did not know. Forgive me for presuming on your time.”
“Not at all.” Melody rose from her place behind the pianoforte. “I was very glad to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise.” He bowed to her and to the Vincents. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to find my parents and let them know that I am here.”
As he left, Jane stifled the urge to call him back and tell him that Melody was the daughter of a gentleman, and not merely the sister of an artisan. Regardless of the Irish reputation for being wastrels, Jane could not stand to see her sister slighted.
Six
Hades and Persephone
The following day, Melody stayed at home, which Jane could not help but think had something to do with Mr. O’Brien. Now that Melody had the use of the music room, Stratton House should have offered more diversion than their own. She complained of a headache, so Jane did not press her, but left Melody to recline in the relative darkness of her bedchamber with a damp rag over her eyes.
Though concerned about her sister, Melody’s absence left Jane and Vincent free to attend to the glamural. The work absorbed them to such an extent that, when they finally left St
ratton House, Jane was surprised by the lateness of the hour. Dusk had fallen over the streets and painted deep shadows at the corners. It had begun to snow while they were inside and the walk home, while beautiful, was cold and damp.
When they arrived home, Melody met them in the foyer. She had a heavy cream envelope in her hands and was fairly dancing with excitement. Any sign of her prior affliction had vanished.
“Look! Oh, look! I never thought to see this.” Melody held it out so that the Prince Regent’s seal was visible on the paper. “Is it real? Is it really him?”
“It is.” Vincent exchanged a look of perplexity with Jane as he shed his coat, which made it clear that he had no more notion as to why the Prince Regent was writing to them than she did. “May I?” Melody passed him the envelope, but continued to describe an orbit about them, glowing as though she were lit by glamour. If Mr. O’Brien could see her now, he would not mind that she was the sister of an artisan.
Jane did not attempt to look over Vincent’s shoulder as he read the sheet inside the envelope. He would let her know soon enough what it contained, and at the moment, she was more interested in finding her way to her rooms and getting out of her wet clothes. “I am going up to dress for dinner.”
“Are you not curious, Jane?” Melody hugged herself. “La! I have been staring at it for most of the day. What Miss Baker at home will say when I tell her that we had a letter from His Royal Highness.”
“I am more damp than curious.” Jane displayed her dirty hem. “Mrs. Brackett will not approve of me dripping on her foyer, I think.”
Lifting his head, Vincent passed Melody the letter. “Allow me to relieve the curiosity, nevertheless. In light of the weather, we have been invited to a skating party on Monday.”
A squeak escaped from Melody as she regarded the letter. “All of us?”
“Yes.” Vincent tucked his chin in and compressed his lips. A faint whine escaped him as he stared at Melody. Taking a deeper breath, Vincent squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as though to brace himself. When he opened them, he said, “I shall write to accept.”
Without a Summer Page 5
