Fragile Blossoms

by Dodie Hamilton

  ‘You can break my heart.’

  ‘Break your heart...?’

  It came then that tight feeling in the chest, the sense of being drawn into a situation she could not manage. Julia knew what Evelyn was saying, she understood the implication and that it had always been there.

  Blue-veined and paper thin Evie’s left hand lies on Julia’s breast. During the day the hand is heavy with rings and the wrist covered by a knitted bracelet. This morning fresh from slumber the hand is free of rings and knitted bracelet. Evie’s wrist is a crisscross pattern of scars. Her right wrist too bears similar scars not as deep but as shocking. Julia had never enquired. They are too deep and too recent for anyone to ask.

  Such a tiny hand, it opens and closes as though clutching air. There is such a need in that hand, such fierce hunger it terrifies Julia. She sat up. ‘I wonder what time it is. It must be late. People will be wondering where you are.’

  ‘This is my house,’ said Evie. ‘No one here questions my whereabouts. None asks my intention. I am mistress of my house. Servants and guests alike wait upon me. I tell them where I am and what I’m doing. That’s how it works.’

  ‘Even so I think I should get up.’

  Evie shrugged. ‘Then get up. No one is stopping you.’

  Oh, she should’ve stayed silent, should have bitten back the words, but unable to lie the denial burst from Julia’s lips. ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘Can’t do what?’

  ‘I can’t do whatever it is you want of me. I can’t give in that way.’

  Evie leaned away. ‘I don’t know that I have asked anything of you.’

  Julia was silent.

  ‘Have I asked anything of you?’

  Still Julia was silent.

  ‘Tell me!’ Face tight Evie sat up. ‘Have I ever asked anything of you?’ When still there was no reply she got out of the bed and left the bedroom.

  Julia didn’t see her again until after lunch. Time ticked away and silence descended over the house. Then around three Evie poked her head round the library door. ‘Can you give me a moment? I need to finish the portrait.’

  They walked through to the garden room where the easel was set up. There might have been a wall between them.

  ‘How is your head?’ Julia ventured a question.

  ‘Monstrous. I can’t think beyond it. In that you might do me a service. I have a box this evening for the opera. Will you go in my place? It’s not a big party, John Sergant, his bon ami Paul Hellue and the news chappie, Masson. There’s Stefan, of course, Freddie, and Robert and Mamie Scholtz. Robert is on the board of the Museum of Fine Arts and thus important to me. It’s their last night in England. He’s here scooping up hotels. Tomorrow they leave for Southampton and Boston. I promised them Puccini while they were here and Puccini I’d like them to have.’

  ‘I’d be glad to help.’

  ‘Glad to help!’ Evelyn mimicked. ‘You are so mealy-mouthed, Julianna.’

  They sat Evie working and Julia wishing she wasn’t there. She tried making conversation. ‘I’ve never been to the opera.’

  ‘You’ll love it. ‘Evie wiped the brushes. ‘It’s the place to see and be seen, people promenading up and down in their best togs, everyone looking to see who’s there and who’s not. It is an opera in itself.’

  ‘So it’s not just about music.’

  ‘Lord no! It’s Cats looking at Kings! The majority of concert-goers could care less what’s happening on the stage. They’ve come to gape at their betters. It’s a circus, a Grandstand view of a flesh-market, and tonight being the new and most beautiful face you’re the main dish.’

  Julia grimaced. ‘If you really mean me to go, Evie, I suggest you stop there.’

  ‘God’s sake! As usual you’re flapping at the thought of being seen though why I don’t know since you’re every day on display at the National. A woman should have her portrait painted when she’s young and beautiful. It’s to look back on when old and furious. And none of your chocolate box Lady of Shallot portraits either, a John Sargent beauty, silent and silky.’ She rang the bell. ‘I’ll have Bella fish out Mama’s diamond hair clip and the lemon Poiret gown.’

  ‘As this is a very public place don’t you think I should wear a darker colour?’

  ‘I do not. This is Covent Garden not Hackney Town Hall. You go glorious or not at all. I don’t believe in mourning. Why should a woman shut herself away when a man dies? It’s one step from burning on the bier. Only a man would think of it. Sidney died and I was sorry. But it didn’t mean I need put a pistol to my head. The dead are not sad. Why weep when they do not.’

  Evie believes the dead communicate with the living. She invites mediums to Langora. Lamps shaded and voices lowered they gather in the small salon and speak of spirits and of reincarnation and parallel lives. Owen held similar beliefs. ‘The ancient Egyptians believed death to be a gateway to a new life. Do not morn for me when I die. I want to walk through that Gate remembering you smiling and not green and sad.’

  Two hours into the sitting and Julia is tired. Artists work in different ways; those at the Grosvenor were hushed just the slide of brush on canvas. John Sargent was amiable. Usually Evie talks when painting. Today she works in silence, Julia appearing an angel astride a Unicorn.

  ‘Why a Unicorn?’

  ‘It is a mythical being.’

  ‘And why an angel?’

  ‘An angel is a mythical being. Now ask me who and what you are, Ju-ju!’

  ‘You’re angry with me. I hurt you. I’m sorry. It wasn’t meant.’

  Evie shook her head. ‘No apologies. I don’t want apologies.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want not to used.’

  ‘Do I use you?’

  ‘Not you particularly but someone always wants something and preferably gratis. And please keep still! This was meant as a gift for Freddie. Twitch about like that and the only gift he’ll get is a bare canvas.’

  Twenty minutes later she laid down the brush. ‘That’s it. I had thought to have you in blue kneeling at a manger but see you now a Pagan goddess, Persephone, or that other bovine creature Freddie’s always waffling about, the one without arms.’

  ‘The Venus de Milo? Yes, Owen always found her amusing.’

  Julia left and Evelyn sat gazing at the painting, and then dipping the brush into scarlet paint streaked the angel’s wings with blood. ‘You and your Owen!’ she muttered. ‘I dare say he did find Venus amusing. Naked and minus paws and claws is how most men see the ideal.’

  Julia is desperate to leave. It’s not only Evie being difficult it’s Freddie. He was at the station yesterday to meet her. Doffing his hat he’d leaned down. ‘Close your eyes! You’ve a smut on your cheek.’ She closed her eyes and what did he do but kiss her lips. ‘I’ve been an age kicking my heels in this hell-hole,’ he’d whispered against her mouth. ‘I deserve a reward.’

  They then travelled to Russell Square in silence, Julia’s lips afire and Freddie pale and troubled. Evie is fabulously wealthy. Widow of the Rhode Island railroad man, Sidney Bevington-Smythe, she makes money, she says, just by being. The Honourable Frederick is heir to a name but no fortune. When his parents Lord and Lady Baines Carrington sent him into the world it was not to return with the hand of an impoverished widow. Evie says he’s meant for the American market. ‘Those girls come with the best calling cards money and might. What hope for impecunious children like Freddie when all he has to recommend him is a pedigree.’

  Nan was another keen to point out the dangers of fortune-hunters. Last week they stood in the terraced garden watching carriages arrive at the Lansdowne House, or Greenfields, as it is now known. ‘Why Greenfields?’

  Nan had shrugged. ‘I don’t know but whoever they are they’re not gentry.’

  ‘Is that not promising for Bakers End?’

 
‘It’s not promising for anyone. The newly rich don’t know how to spend. They buy up old houses and hang dead animals on the walls. And they won’t use local trade. They’ll pay exorbitant prices ordering from the Army and Navy Stores thinking it makes them gentry.’

  ‘At least the house is in use.’

  ‘Not for long.’ Nan was determinedly downcast. ‘Folks like that are always looking for bigger and better. Gentry stay till the walls fall down. No ready cash they huddle in one room eating sardines off silver plate. What’s the use of a title if your walls are porous and you can’t pay the baker’s lad?’

  Julia was not inclined to judge. ‘People must survive the best way they can.’

  ‘Aye and there’s plenty men as likes a bit of fun while surviving so mind you keep your treasure under lock and key.’

  ‘I doubt I’m in danger.’

  ‘You think not?’ Nan had smiled grimly. ‘Greenfields leans against your property. One look at you and the boss will come runnin’. Keep the doors locked. You don’t want a fly-by-night playing fast-and-loose with your heart.’

  ‘And Lady Carrington says I am to wear this?’ Julia and Bella, the maid, gaze into the mirror. Bright scarlet with black satin ribbons the corset is Evie’s sly rebuttal to a plea for a sober gown. ‘A little bright, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Milady says if you’re dull on the outside you must glow from within.’ Bella sighed. ‘I think it’s pretty, madam.’

  ‘You’re tired.’ Julia regarded the maid in the mirror. ‘Sit while I do my hair.’

  Frock stretched across a swelling stomach Bella perched on a stool. ‘You’re quick with your hair, madam.’

  ‘There’s a trick to it. I’ll show you if you like and you can do the same for Lady Carrington.’

  ‘I don’t do Milady’s hair now. My hands won’t let me.’

  ‘They do look rather swollen.’

  Bella hid her hands behind her back. ‘It’s the baby. It goes to my ankles too.’

  Julia’s heart went out to the girl. This is a large household and she’s but a child bearing another child. ‘How old are you, Bella?

  ‘Sixteen come August.’

  ‘That’s young for a lady’s maid.’

  ‘I was learnin’ to be a dresser. I can’t now.’ Bella scowled. ‘I hate this baby. It’s ruined my life.’

  ‘You mustn’t say that. You must look to the future. See how I loop my hair low back of my neck? Practice and you could do it next time I’m here.’

  ‘I’ll not bother, thank you. I’ll not be seein’ you again. I leave tomorrow.’

  ‘Will you go to your mother’s?’

  ‘I can’t. She won’t want me this way.’

  ‘She doesn’t know about the baby?’

  ‘I daresn’t tell her.’

  ‘Forgive me for asking. The father, can he help?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So where will you go?’

  ‘There is a place.’

  ‘What kind of a place?’

  A tear slid down Bella’s cheek. ‘A place where girls like me go.’

  Julia snapped the last pin in her hair. Then she turned. ‘I leave for Norfolk on Sunday. Would you like to come with me?’

  Bella sat up. ‘Come with you?’

  ‘You’d have to share a room and I couldn’t pay much, probably only food and board at first. Best you think about it.’

  ‘Must I think?’ said the girl wearily. ‘Can’t I just come with you?’

  ‘Let me speak with Lady Carrington first.’

  ‘Do you think Milady will mind?’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be pleased for you.’

  Julia called the Nelson enquiring of Matty. Nan answered, or rather shouted. ‘Hello then, Anna, can you hear me!’

  ‘Yes I can hear you.’

  ‘Are you sure? It’s a long way!’

  ‘It is a long way even so I can hear you. How is Matthew?’

  ‘Oh don’t worry ‘bout him! He’s been out with Luke fishin’.’

  ’Did they have fun?’

  ‘I don’t know about fun! They didn’t catch anythin’ but judging’ the racket they made comin’ in they had a grand old time.’

  ‘That is so kind of your son.’

  ‘Luke loves the lad as do we all.’ There was silence then as though Nan were meditating on her comment. Then she was back and shouting even louder. ‘I’m off! I’ve things to do! Be careful! London is a big place. I’m goin’. Did you hear what I said... Anna? I am puttin’ the thing down now...!’

  Julia was in the conservatory feeding caged Love-birds. Her gown is beautiful. Blue silk overlaid with a skim of darker tulle, the bodice low across the bosom, it is stark in simplicity, the only touch of light the diamond clip in her hair.

  Owen would say fine feathers make fine birds. Heavy silk with many underskirts the gown weighs heavy and yet with every minute that passes this particular bird feels as though she is stripped naked.

  ‘I say, Ju-ju, remind me to look at you next time I mix my colour palette!’

  A fairy between giants Evie is coming through the loggia. She strips paint-splashed cuffs away and talks in a lisping drawl that accompanies too much wine. ‘John, you remember your strawberry milkmaid? Well, today she’s a River Maiden, her soul wrapped in ice. Beware all who fall beneath her spell.’

  John Singer Sargent bowed. ‘Good evening, Mrs Dryden.’

  ‘Good evening, Mr Sargent.’

  Evelyn gestured. ‘Julia was keen to proclaim her widow status tonight and wear black but was persuaded to wear blue and as you see it works well with such glorious copper hair.’

  John Sargent smiled. ‘I believe this lady beautiful whatever the colour of her gown. Mrs Dryden, may I introduce my friend, Daniel Masson?’

  ‘How do you do, Mr Masson?’

  ‘Your servant, ma’m.’

  ‘What kind of introduction is that?’ Evelyn dragged Daniel forward as though producing a gorgeous buck-rabbit from a top hat. ‘This is Daniel Greville Masson, American cousin of Lord and Lady Brooke, the Warwick Grevilles. No doubt you’ve heard of him, Ju-ju. Prize-winning writer and journalist, hero and fighter of wars, he is a man in the mould of Livingstone and Stanley!’

  Daniel Masson visibly winced. ‘I don’t know that I regard myself as any such being. I am a newsman and writer but beyond that a complete nobody.’

  ‘You’re too modest!’ Evie patted his arm. ‘I envy you, happy male that you are free to travel the globe from one end to the next without ever needing to put down roots. It must be so exciting.’

  ‘Don’t envy me, Lady Carrington. A news-man’s life can be exciting but more likely downright tedious. As for travelling there’s been many a place I wanted to put down roots but always found the present incumbent preferring his.’

  Evie laughed. ‘We do like to hold onto our own. Be it ee’r so humble, as the dear Queen would have it. Are you drawn to one country more than the next?’

  ‘I’m drawn to many but lethargic by nature I’d sooner it not beset by war.’

  ‘That limits your choices somewhat, Daniel,’ said John Sargent.

  ‘Yes, John, as I have found.’

  ‘And your stay here?’ Evie took his arm. ‘It is of peaceful intent?’

  He bowed. ‘Peace, Puccini, and the pleasure and privilege of an hour in Mrs Dryden’s company.’

  Julia looked up. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Ah mia culpa!’ Evelyn bit her thumb. ‘In all the rushing about I forgot to say it was Daniel who asked you to sit not John. Do you mind terribly, Julianna?’

  ‘Not if it has been arranged.’

  Red faced, Daniel Masson stepped forward. ‘Excuse me, but that’s not right. Pushed at you like this it is an imposition.’

  ‘It’s alright,’ said Julia.
‘I am happy to sit for you.’

  ‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you uncomfortable.’

  ‘Ju-ju can’t be uncomfortable.’ Evelyn put her arm about Julia’s waist. ‘She is a statue, cool and quiet as marble and thus never at odds with the world.’

  The silence was broken by a shout. Freddie has arrived.

  Charles Dickens maintains every house has its secrets, London houses especially: ‘an ancient city in an ancient land every footfall rattles somebody’s bones.’ Friday evening the bones in Russell Square were surely rattling. Evelyn was a tipsy butterfly flitting from one guest to another and leaving them dazzled. Everyone was ill at ease. The most obvious tension was between Freddie and Daniel Masson. Tall, fair, and with natural grace both men were alike in looks. Tail-coats and white weskits, their apparel was similar, the only difference in the boutonnières, Freddie sporting a pink rose and Daniel white frangipani. That they had met before was apparent. They clipped hands and stepped back with such cold disdain one might’ve thought Evie’s drawing room a forest glade at dawn and a Second drawing attention to a brace of pistols.

  Uncomfortable, Julia retreated to the Hall and stood gazing at a mural, a representation of the Last Supper where the Lord Jesus Christ was depicted as a lion and the apostles grouped about him other animals.

  Daniel Masson joined her. ‘What do you think of this, Mrs Dryden?’

  ‘I think it rather splendid. A lion seems right for the Lord and St John as a deer. I always imagined him a gentle sort of fellow.’

  ‘And Judas, a Billy-goat?’

  ‘I’m not sure about that. My father had another view of Judas, a heretical view, I might add. His congregation was small and very conservative. If aired his opinion on many things would have sent him, and us, packing.’

  ‘I guess he knew when to draw a line.’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘My father was a business man. He saw everything through the mighty dollar. He knew one animal from another. In Judas Iscariot he would have seen a snake. What was it your father saw that sets his view apart?’

  ‘He saw a man more loyal than we are taught to believe.’

  ‘Ah well, I do see how that opinion might be seen heretical.’