The Veil of Virtue

by Karen Joyce

  “And has it been a fruitful exercise?”

  “We don’t want to put any unnecessary pressure upon you, Lincoln.”

  “Please, it’s okay. I want to help.”

  “We were hoping if you spent some time with Lady Madeline, the Willoughby’s would see we are making every effort to improve her situation, and this may cause them reconsider their decision. ”

  “I see. You must know it was always my intention to make some introductions to Lady Madeline. It was only because of my unexpected appointment in Gravesham. However, it just so happens that I’ve accepted an invitation from the Montague’s to attend the Opera at the week’s end.

  “This week’s end, you say.”

  “That is correct and of course, that will be only one of many such occasions I intend on spending with the Montague’s over the coming weeks.”

  “Well darling, isn’t that splendid news,” said Lady Winchester. “Perhaps, there will be a happy ending to this tragedy after all.”

  They discussed the Opera then and other events his aunt and uncle would be attending over the season, extending, as always, an invitation to join them, the political state of affairs within England and his own in Gravesham. Finally, they spoke again of his cousin Felicity and Fortescue and once he had assured them he would do everything within his power to unite the young lovers once more, he departed their home.

  Upon entering his carriage, Lincoln was concerned over the predicament he now found himself in, but, he reasoned, there was no reason why he wouldn’t be able to carry out this task. Lady Madeline was after all a desirable, young woman, and the beauty she possessed was undeniable. He considered now the man that would equal her in these respects. The character traits of such a man would, without a doubt, have to be those of an equally proud and sophisticated character. With sound breeding and education. Such a man flashed before Lincoln’s eyes. The man to whom he called a friend. To whom he trusted like no other and whose very image evoked a feeling of confidence. His very presence causing those in his company to feel at ease. And when he imagined him sitting within the confines of his office, studious and severe within his occupation, he saw that this was also missing in his life and he felt honoured to be doing him this favour. He was so certain that they would be suited to one another. Each of them so similar in temperament, so alike in character. Perhaps this is what drew him to Lady Madeline that she was so alike his friend, yet why his heart did not call to her the way it did to Lady Delphinia. He thought about the Opera now. Convinced that she would be there. For he felt her near. He imagined his attendance at the Opera, approaching Lady Madeline and announcing his friend to her: Lady Madeline, may I introduce my dear friend, Mr Percival Horatio Fox. Their eyes meeting, unaware of the significance of that moment and the evening that would slowly lower the walls they had built around themselves, until they stood exposed to one another. Bringing them together would free him from her attentions and allow his to be given to Lady Delphinia, for she had been one of the obstacles that stood between them. All the pieces were falling into place and soon his destiny would seal the intertwining of their fate. To dream of that other to whom we are torn apart from birth. To whom we search all our days to find. To whom no matter how our faith is tested, we never waver in our belief that they exist. That they live and breathe just as we do and walk among this earth, as sure as the sun will rise at dawn. For it is written in the stars and with the unfolding of time, their story would be told. Lincoln was besieged by the emotions within his heart, for they awoke all the love and promise of all that he had dreamed would live within her and the life they would share when the time finally came for them to be together. He wanted to fall to the ground under the weight of it all. Could it be so? This love he had yearned for, desired from his youth. This other that would unlock his heart and share the secrets he kept hidden within his mind. That other to whom a smile could speak a thousand words. To whom a touch could calm the endless raging sea that stormed within his lonely heart. That other to whom no matter where he roamed he would always find a home. A place where he could rest. Where he could feel safe at last. She was not just a lover to hold, nor a friend to confide. She was that only place in which his mortal soul could find peace upon this earth. How he longed to be rid of everything that he knew within this world, until there was nothing but her. How his heart ached only for her. Could he have finally at long last found that love to which he had only heard spoken of in the stories of the ancient world; in the pages of a Shakespearean play; in the hearts of angels who sang in the heavens above? A drop of water fell upon his hand. Tears had been falling from his eyes. She had brought him to tears and he welcomed this pain. For only someone as beautiful as she could cause such love and pain to coexist all at once. In knowing her he had felt all of life the way he had never experienced it before. He felt he could die.

  XIII

  The anticipation was drawing him in as he waited for that first note to strike. The first step of that seductive dance to begin. Living in between the limbo of that moment’s arrival and the longing that foreshadows its realisation. The day that Lincoln had been waiting for. For what seemed an eternity, now hovered before him, beckoning him to go to her. She is waiting, it whispered in every sound, in every move he made. It is time, said the chime of the grandfather clock, as it’s swinging pendulum guided the rhythm of time, ushering him to her with the motion of its hands. Lincoln had dressed too early and the time that remained before his departure left him in a state of agony as he adjusted, then readjusted his new double breasted frock coat, played with the loose strands of his black hair and compulsively looked out upon the avenue at periodic intervals during his nervous pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth within the suffocating solitude of his parlour. He was expecting the arrival of Percival at any moment where they would journey together to the West End of Haymarket in the City of Westminster to attend the London opera premiere of Robert Le Diable at Her Majesty’s Theatre. Though he had prepared for this moment for longer than his days upon the earth, he felt now that he would never be ready for it to come. Wishing instead that he could stay forever in that place of expectation. Afraid that it wouldn’t bring to life the dream he had been carrying within his heart and afraid of its passing, if it did come to bear. There was a faint hope within him that the torture of her memory and the fear of never seeing her again would be eased. Not aware that once he did have her. Once she became his in name, in word, in feeling that another fear would replace the other: the fear of losing her. As long as she lived within this world, his tortured heart and tormented mind would never be free. He remarked upon this now, this love he felt for her when he had allowed it to rise from the hidden depths of his subconscious. All at once it released him and held him captive, but it was a prison that he walked into willingly. The kind that binds us to our fate like an artist enslaved within his art; like the child within its mother’s womb; like the morning sound of nature heralding the dawn. There was a calm and a rage. Darkness and light. An endless harmony of sound and an eternal silence. Everything was moving and yet, everything remained still. It was like seeing the celestial arc of a rainbow’s touch upon the sky but never reaching the end. Finally he heard the sound of horse’s hooves and he exhaled in relief as he hurried toward the door to don his coat and top hat before departing his home and climbing into Percival’s carriage.

  “Well, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes,” said Percival, as he moved to the opposite seat to allow Lincoln room to enter the carriage.

  “I could say the same to you, old friend,” replied Lincoln, as he reached out his hand to him before making himself comfortable. Lincoln saw his friend attired in an opened coat that displayed beneath its heavy layer a black, three piece, tailcoat suit and dark, red, silken brocade, pocket vest with a black top hat sitting upon his knee. He looked every bit the part of a dashing gentleman, but it was his face that Lincoln perceived as his greatest asset. For there was mellowness in his countenance and an unaba
shed appearance within the dark hue of his hazel-green eyes. Lincoln hoped this would be perceptible on Lady Madeline’s first impression of him.

  “It’s about time you came out of that rock you’ve been hiding under. I was about to call the guards on you,” said Percival, as he fingered the cigar hidden within his coat pocket.

  “You speak as if you haven’t seen me in an age.”

  “I do believe I was beginning to forget what you looked like but, now that my eyes have been refreshed, I can see you are as unsightly as my mind would not permit me to recall.”

  “As your friend, it would be remiss of me to prevent you of such self-deceit, seeing how it must tear you up being acquainted with one of such magnificence as myself.”

  “Will there be any guests joining us at the Opera this evening?”

  “Yes, tonight we will be joined by the Montague’s and…” Lincoln paused now, unsure of whether to reveal Lady Delphinia’s name. Still unsure whether she would be there or even if she was real and he more than that he wanted to keep the secret of her all to himself.

  “Tell me Lincoln, is it true what they say of Lady Madeline?”

  “Well, that all depends on what it is they say.”

  “Don’t play coy with me, old friend. They say Lady Madeline’s beauty is surpassed by no other.” Lincoln didn’t want to give any credence to their claims, for then Percival may not be as impressed by her.

  “It’s hard to say for sure, knowing her for as long as I have. I only see her as one sees a distant cousin or an old friend. You will have to wait and see, but as they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

  “Well then, I am anxious to see what my eyes shall behold.”

  “The way you wear your heart upon your sleeve, I believe you are apt to fall in love with her upon first sight.”

  “There appears to be a marked change in you for the better since we last met.”

  “Time is the healer of all wounds and I find keeping busy has been the best medicine and besides, what is done cannot be undone. It is only the future that we can change and that has been my saving grace.”

  “Wise words, my friend, we must always learn from our mistakes and the mistakes of others.” Lincoln wanted to confide in his friend of his alliance with the Chartists, but he had made a promise to them. One that couldn’t be broken.

  “How are you adapting to the administrative changes at Oxford?”

  “Quite well, but the proposed reforms to the curriculum and examinations have been a trying time for the students. We won’t know until the end of the academic year how well they’ve been implemented, but you know how it is. As soon as they walk through those doors it’s difficult to keep their minds engaged. Thankfully, there are a few bright sparks who make it worth my while.”

  “I can only imagine. There are so many competing interests now with the advances in printing. It wasn’t like when we were young.”

  “It’s a changing world, but I’m doing my best to prepare them as well as I can.”

  “Not everyone can do what you do. The patience it takes. The time you spend with them. They’re lucky to have you. I’m not surprised they call you Papa Fox.”

  “A nickname I do not encourage.”

  “You are like a father to them. Have you ever thought about it?”

  “About the name?”

  “Well, no, not the name exactly, but about being a father.”

  “I don’t know, Lincoln. If I ever met the right woman, but when I think about bringing a child into this world. I don’t know…”

  “A child of yours wouldn’t be doing so bad with you as his or her father, and you never know when that woman might come along.”

  “It sounds like you’ve been giving it a lot of thought.”

  “Not really, Percy, my thoughts get bored pretty quickly if they’re not focused on something more interesting, but, anyone can see how good you are with your student’s, so I just wondered if it was something that was missing in your life.”

  “You know how I am. Every time I meet someone special, someone better comes along, and it always happens too fast for there to be any children.”

  “If you keep moving on from one to another, you might miss out altogether.”

  “I’ll know I’ve met the right one, because I won’t want anyone else that comes along, and maybe then, with my passion for arithmetic, we can multiply.”

  “You’re a rogue dog, Percy,” laughed Lincoln. “If only people knew the real you.”

  “I don’t believe they’d be all that surprised. Though I’m sure they’d be shocked to know that you’re even more innocent and virtuous then you appear. I can’t even recall the last time you walked a lady home.”

  “That’s because every time they see me with you, they run for the hills.”

  “If they saw me with you, they’d run right into my arms.”

  “You really have been spending too much time in your office. I recommend you get some more sun. It will do wonders for your mental health.”

  “And I recommend you spend some more time indoors entertaining female guests. It will do wonders for your physical health.”

  Their playful banter carried them the final length of their journey, until they finally arrived at Her Majesty’s Theatre and it was for any man or woman a spectacle to behold. The endless sea of carriages. Streams of people emerging from within, attired in the most fashionable suits and stunning gowns of their time made from the most luxurious fabrics and designed in the most beautiful patterns and styles. All of them flowing like the tide upon the shore of the entrance into the theatre. The imposing four story, stone theatre was built in three parts in the style of the Renaissance in the late 18th century. Each with nine bays and Corinthian colonnades rising from the first floor Juliet balustrade balcony to the second floor, forming a loggia in front of the circle foyer with attic floors above surrounded by large squared domes. Lincoln and Percival were caught in the current that carried them into the theatre. Lincoln’s momentum ebbing away from time to time as he looked upon the myriad of faces, searching for the delicate curve of her chin, the fringe of lashes descending upon those dark pools of pain that enhanced her subtle beauty and the soft fullness of her lips. His heart rising and falling each time he recognised a shade of her and then the realisation when he saw that it was another’s face and she was yet to be found by his ravenous heart. They moved through the crowds loitering around and ordering refreshments at the bar, and heard the hushed sound of whispers discussing the particulars of the opera and the rumours that Queen Victoria would be attending that evening’s performance. Lincoln was impatient to be seated, so he persuaded Percival to forgo an early refreshment, suggesting that they wait for the interval, as it would be wiser for them to be seated as early as possible, lest they should have to struggle through the crowds. Quickly purchasing two Opera Pamphlets, they signalled to one of the ushers who led them down a narrow hall and through a dark, velvet curtain revealing their box seats situated on the upper circle of the auditorium to the left of the stage; where they were met by two silhouettes sitting before them: Duchess Montague and Lady Madeline.

  “Gentleman, welcome,” said Duchess Montague, lowering the pamphlet onto her lap and offering her limp hand to Lincoln. Lincoln approached the Duchess who was dressed in a cream, satin floor length gown with a ruched bodice covered in an opened rich, deep, plum Opera coat with a leg of mutton sleeves; an elaborate Medieval pearl and filigree necklace with an oval shaped, gold plated Jade stone pendant hanging from its centre. The folds of her silver streaked, blonde ash hair was piled high upon her head in the pouf style of Marie Antoinette: an homage to her enduring support of the late Queen.

  “Duchess Montague, it is a pleasure to join you and your lovely daughter on this splendid evening,” he said, as he took her hand and bowed down to her and Lady Madeline. “May I introduce my guest, a dear friend of mine, Mr Percival Horatio Fox.” Percival joined Lincoln’s side and bowed down to them.

>   “It is an honour,” said Percival to the Duchess and Lady Madeline whose face was partially covered behind her binoculars. Lowering them, Percival saw that the evening coiffure and twisted waterfall plait of her dark, red curls pinned with a plumage of yellow ochre dyed ostrich feathers and mother of pearls framed a beauty that he had only glimpsed in the brush strokes of an artist’s vision and it unarmed him, leaving him speechless. Unable to maintain contact with the childlike, innocent expression of her round, ashen-grey eyes, they travelled over the delicate features of her heart-shaped face down to the shallow nape of her neck that led to the barely adorned naked skin with a thin, gold chain and light orange-brown citrine stone laying upon her décolletage; vulnerable to his sight in an off-the-shoulder silk and lace evening gown with dark orange velvet trim on the bodice and orange brocade flowers on the skirt.

  “Good evening, Lincoln, Mr Fox,” said Lady Madeline, extending her floral embroidered, white leather gloved hand to them as a slight smile played upon her mouth. Gathering his wits about him, Percival took her hand and laid a kiss upon it.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Percival.

  “Gentleman, please be seated,” commanded Duchess Montague. “We have some minutes to spare before the Opera begins. Perhaps it will give us some time to familiarise ourselves with Mr Fox.” Lincoln looked around at the empty seats behind them, but it was the empty seat beside Lady Madeline that caught his attention.

  “Will anyone else be joining us this evening?” he asked.

  “I don’t believe so,” replied Duchess Montague, “was there anyone else you were expecting?” Before he knew what he was saying, the words fell from Lincoln’s mouth.

  “In all truthfulness, I was expecting Lady Delphinia.”

  “Lady Delphinia? Is it possible for you to remember her after all of these years? In any case, I cannot begin to imagine what would have given you that impression. I mean to suggest such impropriety.”