by Vanessa Tait
‘How picturesque.’ The orange of Rebecca’s paper-hangings was the colour of a foreign sunset. Her own honeymoon had been spent on the Isle of Skye. Not too far away, at Alexander’s suggestion. They didn’t want to spend the whole time travelling.
‘Only there were no bathing machines – did I say that? And as we came down the path, my slippers seemed to have grease on their soles; I had to hold on very tight to Henry to get down. I was looking forward to bathing: my bathing dress was so light compared to the ones we wear here. But we turned the corner and, well, you’ll never guess—’ Violet broke off. The door opened.
‘Can I bring you anything, madam?’ said Jenny.
‘Thank you – the tea is running low, could you bring us some more?’
‘Should I wash out your cups first, madam, for the leaves?’
‘No need – here, just take the pot.’
But on her way to the door Jenny, perhaps catching the press of Violet’s mouth, caught her shoe on the leg of the chair. A spot of tea leapt from one of the cups onto a pale silk cushion and spread quickly outwards to become a stain.
‘Oh, madam, I am so sorry!’ Jenny blinked. ‘Shall I scrub it?’
‘I’ve heard gasoline is the right thing for taking stains off silk,’ said Violet. ‘Have you any?’
‘Gasoline? What is that?’ said Jenny.
‘I am sure it will come out without the use of gasoline. The stain is not so big; just wash it in the usual way. And if it doesn’t, there are plenty of other cushions.’
‘Yes, madam,’ said Jenny, clasping the cushion under one arm, balancing the tray and the pot with the other.
Violet sat forward, as if poised on a ledge.
‘I am worried about Jenny,’ said Rebecca. ‘I think she may be homesick. She has grown so sickly in the past few days.’
‘Girls like that are always homesick. My maid was terrible when she first came to me. They get over it. But what was I saying?’
‘Your bathing trip,’ said Rebecca. ‘With Henry.’
‘Ah yes!’ Violet’s eyes darted from side to side. ‘You’ll never guess.’ She swallowed. ‘Three men, Portuguese, bathing in the sea, at just the spot we were aiming for. But they had no clothes on. At all!’ A blush rose up her cheeks but Violet seemed compelled to carry on. ‘And as we came down they all got out of the sea, and ran towards their clothes, which they had discarded, in a heap.’
Rebecca saw the naked young men wriggling out of their clothes, laughing. She put her knuckles to her chest and rubbed her skin.
‘And one of the men,’ Violet caught her lips between her teeth, ‘one of their, their man’s parts, was quite the biggest thing … like a horse’s, if you have ever seen that! I mean to say, it slapped at his thighs as he ran.’ She clapped her hands to show how.
‘Oh Violet!’ Rebecca turned. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I don’t know!’ The blush stained deeper and spread down towards Violet’s neck. ‘Because, well, as I said, you are married. We are both married. It might amuse you. And,’ she went on, ‘I thought you might know, I mean …’ She swallowed. ‘Is it normal? Because Henry … well, Henry tried to turn me away, of course, from the sight of it. I think he may have put a ’kerchief over my eyes, but I could see through it quite well. But I wish I had not seen it now after all.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I cannot help but remember it! And it is wrong to remember such a thing, especially, you know, in the night, and Henry knows I am thinking of it sometimes, when we …’ Violet swallowed again. ‘And he becomes angry. I mean to say, for several nights afterwards he would not undress in front of me, even though it was our honeymoon.’
Rebecca leaned over to put her hand on Violet’s knee. All these things gathered from every civilization, and underneath it all there were quims and cockstands and parts of animals. The silk curtains made by worms, the heart-shaped ivory boxes carved from an elephant’s tusk, even the ashtray was made from the outside of a horse’s hoof.
‘Oh Violet, I don’t think it can be wrong to think. Perhaps you ought to push it from your mind when you are with Henry, that is all.’ Rebecca bit the inside of her mouth. ‘As I ought to, with Alexander.’
‘Do you, with him? I can’t imagine it!’
Rebecca looked through the window; a mother was dandling her baby in the window of the opposite house. Violet must have seen it too.
‘When we have children time will not weigh so heavy as it does now. I will forget all about this and I dare say I will look back and think how stupid I have been.’
‘But should you like to see the house?’ Rebecca asked her. ‘It is why you came, after all.’
‘Oh yes, I should love to. I have some space that needs filling in my own parlour – though I’m sure I don’t know how, with all the shopping I have done!’
When they got to the hall the long windows spattered with a sudden squall. Violet had to raise her voice over the tick-tack of the rain hitting the glass.
‘This beautiful gasolier; where did you get it? I have long wanted one just the same! And I do so like this Turkey carpet! They can be gloomy, but this one here has bright reds in it.’
‘Oh, a shop on Princes Street, I think, just by the drapers …’
And then Violet had a number of other queries: why had she decided upon the Worcester dinner service rather than the Spode, and where had she found the puzzleballs there on the sideboard, and who had sewn her dining-room curtains?
Before she could answer, Violet had another question. ‘What distinguished paintings. Who are they?’
Rebecca pinked. She had bought them at auction: men sitting wide-legged on the back of horses or leaning purposefully on sticks. Alexander’s father, she understood, had been a kind of street-seller when he had been alive. Though superior to the usual kind, for he sold his own inventions, he was still not the kind of person to pose for an oil painting. He had had a little success with a liquid that promised to clean everything: laundry, hair and carpets, with just a few drops. His mother was alive but Rebecca had never met her – she had not come to the wedding, nor written to congratulate her. Alexander had told her she was too old to travel.
‘The man and the horse I bought at auction,’ said Rebecca in a spirit of penance, hating herself for being a fraud. ‘And the rest of them—’
But Violet caught sight of a room that they had not seen, with its door shut. ‘What’s in here?’
‘Mr Palmer’s study. I have done it in a dark green the colour of pine trees. For his concentration: he spends a great deal of time working in there.’
‘But cannot I see where your husband spends his time? How lucky you are to be married to him.’ Violet flushed a little. ‘I think he is very mysterious. Oh, but look! The door is ajar, not closed altogether. I am sure I would never go in, but couldn’t we peek around? If I am to get the full tour I want to see the masculine side of the décor.’ Violet had her hand on the doorknob and gently with the other hand began to prod at the door.
‘I don’t think we ought,’ said Rebecca. ‘He forbids me to go in. Women have no place in his study, it is for intellectual rigour.’
‘Oh, I’d just like a peek!’ Violet pouted. ‘Couldn’t I?’
‘We ought not, he forbids it!’
But Violet was pushing open the door with her finger and inching her head round, just enough to—
‘Violet, do not go in! If Alexander finds out you have been in there …’ Rebecca tried to pull her back. ‘He will find out and then he will …’ He would hit her, with an open hand. He would say prying was a regrettable side to the feminine character, but that was no reason why she could take liberties, and Mr Badcock would nod and they would both look sad and pitying but behind it their eyes would be hard.
But Violet had given the door a last push and with a sigh it swung open. Heavy brown curtains. Green walls. A tapestry hung on them: a hunting scene, a deer being pursued by hounds, which Alexander must have chosen
for himself. Everything neatly and sharply angled: the rug to the window, the pen to the pile of papers, the chair to the desk.
But there was something else – what was it? That pale shadow there, on the desk? It did not fit. No, it was something like a misshapen animal, silver, red and panting.
‘What on earth is a shoe doing on the desk?’ Violet laughed, a high-pitched kind of laugh, and then Rebecca saw – it was a shoe but still, the animal feeling persisted. For it was a shoe distorted by bad dreams. The heel, the red thing, rose up and up at an impossible angle – how it would hurt to wear it! Only the tip of the toe had room enough to touch the ground. A hoof. And then, as she went in towards it – she was drawn in, they both were – she saw the number of straps, gaping open like tongues.
‘I say, Rebecca!’ Violet’s blue eyes flew open like a doll’s. ‘Oughtn’t that to be in your closet?’
Before she could stop herself Rebecca said: ‘But it isn’t mine!’
‘Not yours?’ said Violet in a voice that even though it was shocked, still held some excitement. ‘But why does Alexander have it in his study?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Rebecca.
‘P’raps Mr Palmer was planning to surprise you. Is it your birthday soon?’
Rebecca shook her head. She could not take her eyes from the shoe. Whomsoever wore it must be turned into a goat. It was Eva’s, of course! But that her husband should bring it back to the house afterwards, and put it in his study … How could Eva walk about in it? Nobody could walk in such a thing? The pain would cripple her after a few steps. Her father had begun to make higher heels at the end it was true, but that … It was like something very old, from China, or medieval times, an instrument of torture, not to be walked in, to keep women indoors.
Not meant to be walked in.
And if not walked in, was it only for tupping?
Were there such shoes, just for tupping? She had not known of it. But the thing that she had not known existed had just now been wrenched into being, and there it was, on Alexander’s desk.
Rebecca’s stomach sunk. It was for tupping Eva, of course. Eva who was beautiful, who held herself in check, who was not shameful.
Violet’s voice skittered away again in a rush. ‘I think Alexander must be planning to surprise you. How exotic! I think dear Henry might never recover if I brought it home.’
Rebecca backed towards the door. Was there any sign that they had been in? A crease in the carpet, the heaviness of the air disturbed? It was disturbed, but surely the air would redistribute itself and settle back down by the time Alexander came home.
Jenny’s voice at her shoulder made her jump. Her coming must’ve been muffled by the carpet runner.
‘Madam, I think the tea is growing cold in the parlour. Should I bring it up?’ Rebecca saw Jenny’s gaze go past her and to the desk and her hand come up to her mouth.
‘Why would you bring up the tea? It should only spill. And I don’t know if it was you who left this door open but it ought to be kept shut at all times,’ said Rebecca, pulling it closed with a bang.
CHAPTER 7
Rebecca found her maid in the parlour, picking up the china teacups with her swollen fingers and clattering them onto the tray.
‘I am sorry I was short with you. Perhaps you can guess why.’ Rebecca tried to smile but her stomach would not come back up.
‘The shoe do you mean, madam?’
‘I was angry, but I ought not to have spoken to you in that way. It must be Evangeline’s, of course.’ Her failure as a wife was one of imagination, Rebecca saw that now. P’raps all husbands had such things on their desks! Although dear Henry seemed not to.
‘I don’t know whose it is, but it looks very uncomfortable,’ said Jenny, her lashes lowered over the saucers.
‘Aye! I wore shoes one quarter as high to the opening and my blisters are still not healed.’ She thought of Evangeline’s card, under her hairpins in a box on her dressing table. ‘You look tired, Jenny. Should you like to sit a while? I have time for another lesson if you should like.’
Jenny looked doubtfully at the green velvet chair; it still held the imprint of Violet’s behind. ‘Oh, a lesson! I don’t know. I don’t think I feel right for it today.’
‘Come on, it may help us to forget our own worries.’ Rebecca opened the paper.
‘Very well, then, thank you, madam.’
‘Well then, let us see. Where is the a here?
‘It was expected that as a result of Western Education the Hindoo would of necessity cease to believe in the extravagancies of Hindooism and that he would, as a general rule, be brought to believe in and embrace Christianity.’
Jenny hesitated over the word and, finally pointing to the d.
‘Almost, but the a has no stalk above it.’
‘But I don’t see why one squiggle should mean one thing, and another squiggle, another. There is no plan behind it.’
‘No, there is no plan. It is just agreed upon, that is all. And it is harder to learn now you are fifteen. But let us continue, I think it is only through repetition that it will go in.
‘Experience now, however, has most plainly shown that although an educated Hindoo does cease to believe in the absurdities of Hindooism, yet he does not, in general become a Christian—’
Rebecca broke off. Jenny held her head in her hands. ‘But what is the matter? Is it for the plight of the Hindoos?’
Jenny shook her head. ‘Come!’ Rebecca drew the younger girl towards her.
After a moment’s resistance Jenny rested her forehead on her shoulder. She spoke quietly. ‘I am afraid if I tell you, you will send me away.’
‘I would never send you home, not unless you wanted to go.’
‘It is Mr Badcock.’
The answer was so unexpected that Rebecca could not, at first, take it in. ‘Mr Badcock?’
‘Oh, it is no matter! I shouldn’t tell you.’ Jenny struggled and attempted to rise.
‘Where are you going?’ said Rebecca, pulling her arm.
‘Do not hold me!’ cried out Jenny.
‘I am sorry, Jenny, I only meant—’
Jenny leapt up and ran to the window. ‘’Tis only that I was taken back for a moment – to him.’
‘To Mr Badcock?’ With his eyes that were glints of granite in the folds of his face, that roamed around as if they were seeing under her clothes. ‘Oh! To Mr Badcock! I begin to understand.’
‘He said I provoked him. And then he came to the blue room, and he tried to give me a sovereign …’
‘Oh dear! Did he did he manage to …’
But Jenny shook her head.
‘Thank God! Then there is no danger of a child. But, oh! I will speak to my husband.’
‘No, madam, you must not! Mr Palmer will tell Mr Badcock and I shall be blamed for it.’ The skin at the base of Jenny’s neck grew mottled. ‘They will agree with each other, and then they will agree to send me away. Then I will not find other work, and will be turned out on the street.’
Rebecca stared at Jenny and then across the ottomans and hard-backed chairs she had placed around the room. ‘You are right,’ she said finally. ‘My word will count for nothing. But there must be something I can do!’
‘There is not. I think it happens often.’
‘Oh Jenny, but it is not right! How sorry I am to have brought you here.’
Outside a couple walked by, they were discussing whether it would rain or not as if it were an argument.
‘Lionel stopped it,’ said Jenny. ‘He saw Mr Badcock and would have fought him, I think. I hope it does not cost him his job!’
‘For that, Mr Badcock would have to tell Alexander why he ought to lose it. And I don’t think he will.’
Outside, the woman had won the day. It would not rain. Their voices were fading off.
‘Will you go and rest? I will talk to Mrs Bunclarke on my way out, about the tea things,’ said Rebecca.
They had almost reached the door when Rebec
ca added: ‘Oh, there is one other thing. I am going to visit Evangeline now – I must do it. Only, Mr Palmer likes me to be in the house at this time of the month. Not to exert myself. He is very particular on the matter.’
Jenny nodded and pulled on her ear.
‘I ought to be in my bedroom, lying down. I will be home before him, but if for any reason he comes home, as he sometimes does, and asks after me, could you tell him I am sleeping?’
‘But I am going out myself, ’tis my afternoon off – you said I might.’
‘Oh yes, yes, of course. No matter, I will be home. I will make sure of it.’
‘We are only going to Arthur’s Seat.’
‘Lionel is taking you to Arthur’s Seat?’
‘Aye, for a walk.’
‘I am glad of it! You must – promise me that you will – you must enjoy yourself!’
Rebecca looked so determined on the matter that Jenny faltered. But, ‘Aye,’ she said obediently, ‘I will.’
And so the two women left the house, walking together down Albany Street until they reached Leith Street. It was windy and the breath was swept out of Jenny’s mouth as soon as she opened it. As she rounded the corner of Calton Road her heart was thumping uncomfortably, though she could not tell if it was the weather or the sight of Lionel, standing at the corner, his hands pushed deep in his pockets, that did it.
They greeted each other with a nod. Jenny’s cheeks were flaming and she turned away from him so that he would not see it, and they walked on together. It seemed an age until they got to the slopes of Arthur’s Seat, and all the way the only words spoken between them were about the wind and if Lionel’s cap would blow off or no.
But when they started the climb Jenny’s heart lifted a little. It reminded her of the hills of Argyll: there was a wildness to the springy grass and the bare rocky outcrops, though it was just next to the city. At each step more of Edinburgh was revealed, until they were looking down at the pointed spires and then the Water of Leith and finally beyond that to the mountains.
At last they reached a hillock that made a natural resting place, and there was nothing to do but stop.
