The Master & the Muses

by Amanda McIntyre

  “Thomas, don’t listen to him,” I said, struggling against his firm grasp.

  “She’s the only reason you’ve still got a roof over your head—or rather, I am. Who do you think has funded her private Rodin collection?”

  Thomas’s teal gaze swerved to mine.

  “Is this true, Grace?” he asked quietly.

  I tried to wrench free from Lord Hoffemeyer, but his hold was too tight. “Yes, but—”

  Thomas’s fist sailed past my face, colliding with Hoffemeyer’s nose. The impact sent the baron stumbling backward and he landed on his arse.

  “You’ll regret this, Rodin. Both of you will. I’ll see your name is the laughingstock of the art world.”

  “You’ve not been keeping up, Hoffemeyer. I’ve already managed to achieve that honor.”

  “Thomas,” I said, keeping an eye on Lord Hoffemeyer, who was nursing his nose. I hurried to Thomas’s embrace.

  Thomas smiled and took off his coat, placing it around my shoulders. “You’ve torn your dress,” he soothed, cupping my cheek. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded, but couldn’t stop shaking. “About those paintings. I cherish each one and thought perhaps one day you might have your own gallery….”

  “Those are my paintings. I bought every last one of them and I intend to destroy every one unless you change your mind,” Lord Hoffemeyer bellowed as he scrambled to his feet.

  “You actually talked this big oaf into buying my art at above-market price, so that you could keep my work?”

  “I’m sorry, Thomas. I know this comes as a severe blow to your ego.”

  He grabbed my face, kissing me hard.

  “You’re bloody brilliant, Grace.” He grinned and dissolved into laughter.

  I felt a tug and was yanked again from Thomas.

  Thomas released a tolerant sigh. “You are a stubborn man, Hoffemeyer.” He bent down and retrieved a fallen tree branch, raising it above his head.

  “No, Thomas, that’s enough,” I stated. “I won’t see you put away for this. He is not worth it.”

  “Listen to your wench, Thomas. She has amazing wisdom for a woman of her profession.”

  Thomas’s gaze slid to mine.

  I balled my fist and brought it back hard on Lord Hoffemeyer’s already injured nose. Blood spattered onto my glove, dotting my torn dress. I walked to Thomas, my head held high, as Lord Hoffemeyer nursed his likely broken nose.

  “I’ll have you brought up on charges, Rodin, and your whore will be out on the streets where I found her unless she agrees to go with me now.”

  I knew he meant what he said. Every ruthless word. Would one night of satisfying his request be worth not seeing Thomas thrown in jail? As for me, I knew how to live on the streets. I’d been doing that all my life. “If I go with him, it will be okay, Thomas.”

  Thomas rushed to my side. “No, Grace, I won’t let you go. I’ve been at that woman’s mercy and it is not pleasure.”

  I glanced at the baron. Blood showed on his teeth as he sneered at me. He knew what he was doing. He knew he could get what he wanted if he put Thomas at risk.

  “We have no choice, Thomas,” I said quietly.

  “We don’t?” He nodded toward the terrace, where a break in the dancing had brought several guests outside for air. He raised his voice loud enough to be heard by the crowd. “I’m afraid, Lord Hoffemeyer, you’ll first have to explain Grace’s torn dress to the ton.”

  I returned Thomas’s smile.

  “You think your pathetic low-life testimonials will stand up against my word? The truth is, I never wanted her, anyway,” He pointed at Thomas and his voice boomed, “It was you that I wanted back in my bed!”

  A collective gasp was emitted from the terrace.

  Lord Hoffemeyer turned in surprise as several men rushed down the steps and captured him by his arms. “I want you off my property, you vagrant…you whore,” he spit as they hauled him away.

  Thomas took me back to the studio that night, offering me one of his old dress shirts to wear to bed.

  He looked up at me as he poured us both a port. “Did you see Hoffemeyer’s face? I think you broke his nose.” He handed me a glass and settled into the chair across from me. I curled my feet under me and drew the afghan up around my lap. “We’re fortunate there were witnesses on the veranda,” I said, holding the glass between my hands.

  “You don’t think I could have taken him on?” He smiled.

  I wanted to ask Thomas about his relations with the Hoffemeyers, but suspected it was a life experience he would sooner forget. “You’re an artist, Thomas, not a fighter.” I raised my glass to him. “Nonetheless, I salute you, my brave knight.”

  He touched his hand to his chest and nodded. His smile teased me, tempting me to walk over and snuggle in his lap. I switched topics. “What will become of him?”

  Thomas sighed. “If they discover he’s engaged in relations with other men here in London, he will be imprisoned. But a man like Hoffemeyer has many affluent connections, I’m sure.”

  “Can they arrest you, based on what Lord Hoffemeyer said?”

  Thomas shook his head. “No, there is no proof and that was some time ago, in a different country. I was young, experimental, fearless. Hoffemeyer’s in for a long night. Our men in blue may not be the most expedient, but they are most thorough.”

  I had few possessions back at the apartment, but with Hoffemeyer’s threat to destroy Thomas’s paintings, I wondered whether to go collect them tonight. “Perhaps I should go see to collecting my things from the apartment?” Thomas shook his head.

  “It can wait until morning. I would rather know that you are here tonight, so I can keep my eye on you.”

  “I had no idea the penalty for buggery was so severe. What about Frank Woolner? Does anyone know his sexual preference?” I asked.

  “I’ve known Frank a very long time, Grace. He’s careful, and always has been, in his relations. We keep a close eye on each other.” He sipped his port and looked into the fire. “None of us has really thought twice about Frank’s preferences. That’s the beauty of the brotherhood—age, gender, sexual persuasion—they don’t matter. The brotherhood is only interested in a person’s artistic passion.”

  I thought about how true it was that the brotherhood always seemed to rally around one another when the need arose, and I wondered, being left now without a place to lay my head, if I, too, would be watched out for? I could not—rather, would not—stay at the studio, not under the present circumstances, but it hadn’t occurred to me that I might have help from the brothers.

  Thomas held his glass between his hands and stared at me, his eyes softening, and the intensity of his gaze caused my bones to dissolve. “What are you thinking, Thomas?”

  His mouth quirked. “I’d forgotten how utterly beautiful you are and how, if the circumstances were different right now, I would do my damnedest to get you into my bed.” He tipped back his port and drained the glass.

  I couldn’t let that happen, no matter how much I wanted it. “Always the rogue, my Thomas,” I said finally. “You can hardly take a breath without making a woman swoon, can you?”

  He gave me a wicked grin. “Did I make you swoon that day, Grace? Here? Do you remember?”

  I shifted in my chair, remembering the memory of his tongue and his head between my legs. I sighed and looked away.

  “Did I, Grace?” he asked quietly.

  He set his glass aside, dropped to the floor and came to me on his knees. He gently grabbed the collar of my shirt and drew my face to his, so close I could smell the port on his breath.

  I forced myself to look in his eyes. “Why are you doing this, Thomas?”

  “I just want you to remember when we were together. I want you to remember how good it was.”

  My lips burned to meet his, but I did not dare. I knew where it would lead.

  “Why, Thomas? Why do you want me to remember?”

  His eyes lowered to my mouth and back t
o meet my gaze.

  “Because I can’t forget,” he said softly.

  “Thomas?”

  Thomas leaped to his feet and turned toward the entrance.

  “Helen?”

  “Surprise.” She gave him a firm smile.

  I stood and placed my glass on the mantel. It was time I should go.

  “Oh, please don’t feel you must leave on my account.”

  She was staring at Thomas but speaking to me.

  The sound of the door slamming downstairs drew her attention away for a moment.

  William bounded through the door of the studio, stopping short when he saw Helen. “Thomas, there was a bag downstairs, I thought perhaps Helen—”

  “Hello, William,” she said with a polite tone.

  “Helen,” he responded, darting a glance at Thomas and then me with barely a stitch on.

  “Will, be a good man and go hold your carriage for me,” I said, slanting the none-too-pleased Helen a look. “Your husband came to my rescue tonight, Helen. Don’t be too hard on him.” I looked at Thomas. “I’ll get my clothes.”

  “Grace,” Thomas said, “there’s no need for you to leave, not after what you’ve been through.”

  “I’m fine, Thomas. I’m sure that you and Helen have a lot to discuss.”

  Helen followed me into the hallway and I was nearly run down by William flying up the stairs with Helen’s bags. I wasted no time retrieving my things from the guest room, aware that Helen was marking every minute I remained in her house. Much to her discomfiture, Thomas walked me down to the carriage.

  “You’ll be all right?” he asked.

  I leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Thomas. I think you’re about to face someone far tougher than Lord Hoffemeyer.”

  He stood by the carriage, looking as though he wanted to say something, and then slammed the door, causing the horses to bolt forward.

  Chapter 8

  I’D PURPOSELY WAITED A DAY OR TWO FOR HELEN and Thomas to have some time to clear the air, before heading back to clean the studio. I met Thomas rushing out the door, head down, in a great hurry.

  “Thomas?”

  “Don’t speak to me, Grace. Not now.” He climbed in his carriage and didn’t look back.

  I spotted the bags at the top of the stairs. It didn’t take much to figure out that Helen was leaving. I found her in the studio. She held a sketch of herself in her hand. “He won’t miss one,” I told her. “I have several that he doesn’t even know about.”

  “It was too much responsibility for me, I think…being his muse.” Helen looked at me. “May I ask you something?”

  I shrugged.

  “You’ve known Thomas for some time.”

  I shook my head. “Some days it seems like a lifetime, others, I am not sure I know him at all.”

  She nodded. “At what point did you know you loved him?”

  I looked at her and laughed. Love? How could she possibly understand what I felt? I tugged out my hat pin and dropped my hat on the table. “You have a misguided notion, Helen.”

  “Do I?”

  I regarded her, wondering if she blamed me for her and Thomas’s problems. I realized then that she didn’t understand him the way I did. “A man like Thomas has many models—many women he calls ‘muse.’ I was never your rival, nor were any of the other women who model for him. His mistress is the ever-changing, ever-demanding passionate affair he has with his art, his work.” I could see she did not believe me by the look in her eyes.

  “I have spent a lifetime in the company of men—many, many men. I see the same problem all over. Women struggle to compete with a man’s passion, instead of allowing him the freedom to explore his mistress. The secret is being available when he grows tired of her and turns his eye your way.”

  “Is that enough for you, Grace?” she asked. “Don’t you want more from someone than that?”

  “To be utterly worshipped, treated like a goddess for a few moments with no strings, no false promises? Who would want more than that?” What I couldn’t tell her is what it did to me to see someone I cared so deeply for become consumed by his notion of “the muse.” “His muses,” Thomas called them. They inspired him; he worshipped them entirely, believing that the mutual passion they shared somehow translated to his painting. I could have tried, but she wouldn’t have understood.

  William came in and kissed Helen on the temple. It surprised me that it took me so long to see how he felt for her. Still, knowing them for as long as I had, I knew the division this had to have caused and the pain both of them must be silently suffering. I could sense the tension in the house and hoped that time would heal them and allow them to be as close again.

  “The carriage is ready. How about you?” he said.

  “Yes, I’m ready. Goodbye, Grace.”

  He escorted her to the carriage and ran back upstairs for one last look around the studio.

  “I came to say goodbye, Grace.”

  “You’re all set, then?” I asked.

  “Tell Thomas goodbye for me.”

  I smiled. “I will.”

  He studied me a moment.

  “You knew, didn’t you? How I felt about Helen?”

  “I suspected it for some time, but I kept your confidence, William. Are the two of you going to be okay?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I’ve loved Helen from the first day I met her, Grace. I just didn’t know what to do about Thomas. I am his younger brother, but it seems I have spent my life taking care of him.”

  “I meant are you and Thomas going to be all right? I have no doubt that Helen is going to make you a fine wife. I just don’t want you to forget your brother is a—”

  “Yes, a good man. I know.” He smiled and hugged me. “When do you suppose he’ll wake up and see what a good woman you are?”

  I smiled and looked down at my hands. “Thank you for that, William.”

  After he left, I brought a rug to the balcony to shake out the dirt. Helen and William’s carriage was just pulling away. Down the road stood Thomas, dressed in his finest coat and top hat, talking to a dark-haired woman in a fancy black coach. A new muse.

  “When indeed, William?” I said softly.

  It was time for me to move on again. I suppose that by now I should have been more used to it. Perhaps the events of recent days had caused me to want to settle down more than ever, or perhaps Thomas had simply spoiled me for other men. I did not want to think that I would never find another man like him, and yet, part of me knew that to have a man like Thomas would be a constant bout of heartache. I was getting too old for such things. My body, not as youthful as it once was, longed for the security that came with having the same man’s arm around you every night, a man who understood and accepted all the subtle changes that came with age, and found you beautiful anyway.

  But I knew that it would not be long before Thomas had another muse in the studio, one more beautiful than the last, one that inspired his passion, would become smitten by his attention, perhaps entice him to marry again. I did not deceive myself into thinking that he and I had the type of relationship built to create a long-lasting commitment. We enjoyed each other’s company as much precisely because there were no ties.

  I’d spent the night back at the apartment, gathering my few belongings, and at dawn, the cook came to me with a note that had been delivered to the door.

  Dearest Grace,

  I heard through the rumor mill that you were looking for employment. I can’t say that I’m sad about that beast you were keeping company with. I had my thoughts, but I kept them to myself. I mean, if I couldn’t see any redeeming qualities in him, Grace, there weren’t any, trust me, I’m just that good. As it happens I have need of a housekeeper—my third one this month just walked out on me without even benefit of a notice! It’s a travesty, I tell you, finding good help these days! Can I help that I am perversely clean and demand more than an occasional shake of a rug to please me? I won’t pretend, darli
ng, to tell you that it would be easy to live with me, but I think we’d have a jolly good time getting on each other’s nerves. What say you, Grace? Shall we make Thomas green with envy thinking that you maybe had changed me?

  Awaiting your reply, Frank.

  I took a deep breath and released a sigh of relief. “I’ll have a note for Dobbs to deliver for me,” I said to my cook.

  The cook twisted her fingers as she looked at me. “Do you have something to say?”

  “If I may speak freely?”

  I nodded.

  “Mr. Dobbs told me that they plan to release Lord Hoffemeyer no later than tomorrow morning. He has requested Dobbs meet him at the station as he plans to come here before he leaves for Germany, mum.”

  “Has the messenger left?” I asked.

  “No, mum, he’s waiting for a response.”

  I gave the boy my response and, within the hour, Frank was helping me load my things in the carriage. I asked the cook to stay in the kitchen, hoping that her warning was a sign of her camaraderie. As it was, though, I paced Frank’s house both night and day for a full week. I never again heard from Lord Hoffemeyer and I hoped that Thomas hadn’t either.

  Frank and I fell into a comfortable arrangement, and we nurtured a friendship based on true companionship. Frank did most of the cooking, although he allowed me to do a thing or two in the kitchen. There was only one topic that we did not discuss and that was Thomas. Although he never spoke of it openly, I think he knew the feelings that I harbored deep inside for his friend.

  After several days of sequestering myself at Frank’s flat, I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. I needed to get out, so I went down to the gardens to check in on Deidre.

  It felt good to walk in the gardens again, although some things had changed. There didn’t seem to be as many familiar faces. The theater troupe that once performed daily had disbanded. Poverty and illness had taken its toll on the populace.

  There was a stiff breeze this evening along the river walk—a preview of colder weather to come. Men, women and children huddled near bonfires built along the old boardwalk, and tents made of blankets served as temporary shelter until the authorities moved the homeless along. I thought of how Deidre could have been among them by now, how it could have been me had Frank not taken me in. I knew Deidre wouldn’t have minded taking me if I had nowhere to go, but I knew, too, that her position at the pub was her meal ticket and I wasn’t going to take that from her.