‘Is he your London butler?’ Marianna whispered, when she and William were inside and mounting the staircase.
‘No, Foster is the senior footman. I merely keep a few servants here during the summer months, and the remainder come down to Hampshire to augment the staff at High-mount. When I need to stay in town myself for the odd night or two, I use my club.’
At the head of the second flight, her husband opened a door and ushered her through with a flourish of his hand.
‘Well now, here is your second pretty little nest, dearest one. I trust that you like it?’
‘Oh, how lovely, William! How truly charming!’
‘I want you to rest for a little while, my angel, and when you are quite refreshed you will find me awaiting you in the drawing room on the floor below, and we shall take tea together.’
The bedroom was almost as large as the one at Highmount. It was not furnished in pink, though, but prettily done in tones of blue and ivory, with forget-me-knot wallpaper and cascades of pale lilac muslin about the bed. Two tall windows gave on to the square. Stepping nearer, Marianna looked down at the leafy central garden that was railed off from the pavement and deserted now except for a uniformed nursemaid walking her two young charges.
Hilda appeared almost at once and relieved Marianna of her mantle and hat — a Hilda who, just like her mistress, was quite overcome by London.
‘It’s ever so exciting, ain’t it, ma’am?’ she exclaimed. ‘I wish I could be properly your maid and come here with you in the winter and all!’
Marianna, who had paused to study a large allegorical painting of wood nymphs hanging above the white alabaster mantel, replied absently, ‘We shall have to see about that, Hilda.’ Then, because she was in the mood to spread her own happiness to others, she turned and added with a bright smile, ‘I don’t see any reason why not.’
‘Ooh, ma’am!’ said Hilda, round-eyed. ‘I’ll try ever so hard to do me best for you, honest I will.’
Half an hour later, in the drawing room on the first floor, William watched with indulgent amusement while Marianna scoffed two toasted muffins and a slice of marzipan cake. He took keen delight in teasing her about his plans for the evening, and she played up to him by begging to be told. But he would not be coaxed this time, insisting that it should remain a surprise.
It turned out to be a visit to Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks in Baker Street. Marianna gazed in wonder at the lifelike effigies of famous personages, living and dead, and she gazed in almost equal wonder at the blazing gaslights which illuminated each and every room with such dazzling brilliance, excepting only the Chamber of Horrors where it was dark and eerie. Here Marianna clung to her husband’s hand in fright that was only half pretended as they viewed the gory exhibits.
When eventually they emerged from the Waxworks, William took her to dine at a restaurant where he promised her they served the most delicious ice-pudding in all the world.’
‘It’s just the thing for my little girl’s sweet tooth,’ he chuckled.
During their meal Marianna chattered away about all that they had seen during that evening, giving little bounces of excitement in her chair.
‘Remember the man in uniform at the foot of the staircase, William? I wanted you to inquire the way of him and he turned out to be one of the waxworks. And then that huge black man in the crimson robes. I was looking at him closely, examining him minutely, and all of a sudden he moved. It gave me such a fright.’
It was not until she was dipping her spoon into the famous ice-pudding, a delicious concoction of sponge-cake and peaches and white and pink and green ice cream, all topped with a generous sprinkling of cherries and nuts, that her husband introduced a less happy note into the conversation.
‘By the way, my angel, I have engaged a personal maid for you. She’s French. A widow by the name of Guyot.’
Marianna stared at him in dismay.
‘But William, I would much prefer to keep Hilda, I think.’
‘That country skivvy! Nonsense, child — she won’t do at all. We need an experienced woman for you, one who knows what she’s about.’
‘But Hilda is learning very quickly, William, and she has quite a knack with my hair. I believe she will do me very nicely. In fact, well, I half promised her — more than half promised, really — that I would keep her on permanently.’
‘Then you’d no right to! In future, you will consult me before you make any rash promises to a servant. Luckily there’s no harm done this time.’
‘But I am sure that Hilda would prove satisfactory. She is very keen, you know, to be a proper lady’s maid.’
Anger flared in her husband’s eyes, though his indulgent smile remained.
‘I hope, Marianna, you are not in one of your silly; defiant moods. You must allow me to know what is best for you. The Frenchwoman will be arriving in Hampshire at the end of next week, and that’s an end to the matter.’
In her new-found prudence, Marianna decided to bury her feelings of resentment. She returned her attention to the ice-pudding. It was certainly very good. She had never tasted anything quite like it before.
Afterwards, it was back home and straight to bed. And later, the comforting, enveloping warmth of her husband’s arms, his whispered loving words. William was right, of course, about the French maid. Poor Hilda could never give her all the help she would need to take her place in society as his wife, to become a lady of elegance and distinction. High-mount and the hostility of William’s family seemed infinitely far away as she drifted into sleep.
* * * *
In the morning, brighter than the previous day with the sun showing thinly through veils of cloud, William took her to the Zoological Gardens just as he had promised. Marianna clung to his arm when from behind the bars of its cage, a ferocious-looking Bengal tiger opened its huge mouth and let out a mighty roar. She gasped in only slightly exaggerated astonishment at the long-necked giraffes, the daintily-striped zebras, the entertaining chimpanzees. It seemed that she had been good enough for an elephant ride, and she held William’s hand as they swayed in a howdah, perched fifteen feet above the ground. Afterwards, the keeper touched his shiny-peaked cap to William.
‘P’raps your daughter would like to feed the hanimal a bun, sir. Tuppence a bag.’
‘Oh, but I’m not...’ Marianna began, flushing deeply, then stopped in confusion. William, it appeared, was not in the least put out of countenance by the mistake and forthwith handed over a couple of pennies. Then he looked on smilingly while Marianna, somewhat timidly at first but with growing confidence, held out the little buns which the huge creature accepted with the sensitive feelers at the end of its trunk, before delicately transferring the tidbits to its capacious mouth.
By the sea lions’ pool, William felt in his watch pocket for his gold hunter, and consulted it.
‘We must return home for luncheon quite soon, my angel. You will need to prepare for this afternoon’s little adventure.’
‘What is it to be, William?’
He touched a finger to her nose. ‘Such an inquisitive little person! You must wait and see, my pet, wait and see.’
‘Do tell me,’ she coaxed, gazing up at him and making her blue eyes wide with pleading.
‘Ah, you sly little minx, you have such a winning way with you. Very well then, I won’t keep you in suspense. Remember that I said I would have your portrait done, beloved, so as to preserve you for always just as you are now?’
‘You mean that I am to sit for an artist? A famous London painter?’
William shook his head. ‘Later on, perhaps. But today I am going to have you photographed. Mr Carstairs is far superior to the man I took you to in Funchal. Many of London’s most famous beauties have sat for him.’
Marianna made a rueful little face. ‘Oh dear, I hope that he won’t think me unworthy of his skill.’
‘Never fear, my darling child. You have the beauty of youth and innocence, something which is uniquely precious.’
>
On their way home, Marianna’s mind revolved around what clothes to wear for her photographic sitting. She was still undecided at luncheon, and in the end she asked her husband’s advice.
‘Should it be this outfit I have on, do you think? Or perhaps the gown I wore last evening?’
‘Neither, my angel. Everything has been arranged. When you go upstairs to get ready, your maid will have unpacked a pretty new dress I have had made especially for the occasion.’
‘How exciting, William! But however did you know my measurements?’
‘Aha! That’s a secret.’
‘You are such a dreadful tease.’
Her husband relented. ‘I purloined one of your other dresses before I came to London on Monday.’
‘You are a very wicked man,’ she laughed. ‘And I did not even notice anything was missing. Oh, I cannot wait to see it! I’m going upstairs this very minute to put it on.’
In the bedroom, Hilda had taken the dress from its nest of tissue paper. She was holding it up to herself before the cheval glass when Marianna burst in.
‘Ooh, ma’am, ain’t it lovely? All them pretty little pleats.’
But Marianna’s bubble of excitement was pricked. Although the dress was of superb quality, in style it was much the sort of thing that would have been made for her in Funchal for the party season — had not Papa’s finances been too straitened this past year or so for new clothes. In a fine white voile, it had a yoked neck with delicate embroidery, and was loose fitting, the profusion of tiny pleats to be gathered at the waist with a sash of pale blue satin. She had felt confident that the dress William had chosen for her would be something altogether more mature and modish, befitting her new status of married woman.
Concealing her deep disappointment, she washed her face and hands and let Hilda help her into the dress, donning the stockings and white kid pumps which William had also provided. Then she sat before the looking glass to have her hair arranged.
‘You had better twist it into a pile on the crown of my head, with a few curls lying across the brow,’ she said, judging the most becoming effect.
‘Oh no, ma’am, it’s to be worn down. The master was most particler in his instructions — loose about your shoulders, he told me very definite.’
‘But I really don’t want —’ Marianna checked herself. It was unthinkable to allow a servant to see that she disagreed with her husband. ‘Yes, of course. Well then, get on with it, Hilda.’
Chapter 8
As they set out from Belgravia, William observed with satisfaction that the sunshine was strengthening, since the brighter light would improve the quality of the photography.
Her husband’s delight at seeing her in the new dress had made up in some degree for Marianna’s own disappointment. ‘Oh, my dear beloved girl,’ he had exclaimed, clapping his hands together. ‘How utterly charming you look, how pure and lovely. I want always to remember you as you are at this moment. If ever I need a reminder, I shall have one in your sweet photographs.’
He ordered the cabby to drive by way of Buckingham Palace, and they paused there awhile for Marianna to gaze in awestruck wonder at the splendid facade of the royal residence. Then down the Mall to Trafalgar Square, with Landseer’s four great sculpted lions, and Lord Nelson perched so dizzyingly high up on his column.
In a quiet residential street behind the Strand, they stopped before a house with smart white paintwork and colourful window boxes. The maidservant who answered the bell conducted them through an oak-panelled hall to an open door at the rear. Here, in a pretty secluded garden so warm and sheltered and tangled with flowers and climbing plants that it might well have been in Funchal and not London at all, stood a large greenhouse structure like a conservatory.
Inside, she found it far more elaborate than Senhor Vicente’s studio in Rua da Carreira. The light beneath the glass roof was dazzlingly bright, with several large mirrors placed so as to reflect the sunshine. In the centre, a small fountain had its silver jet of water emerging from the mouth of a fat little marble cherub, and splashing down into a shallow stone basin where waterlilies grew. Dotted all around were pieces of white statuary set amidst a profusion of flowers in urns, with greenery trailing everywhere. The camera was a large oblong box on three spindly legs, and at that moment the photographer was emerging from under its black cloth hood.
‘Mr Penfold! And your delightful young consort. Welcome to my little studio, sir.’
Mr Carstairs was extremely short of stature, with quick, dainty movements. His hair curled quite long about his ears, but not untidily, for he was a dapper little personage, despite his affectedly bohemian garb. He wore a short black velvet jacket and a floppy satin bow at the neck, with pearl-grey trousers in a fine pinstripe. Taking Marianna’s hand, he swept it up to his lips, then stood back appraising her, his pale eyes scarcely above the level of her own.
‘Aha! So I am set a unique challenge to my artistry! How am I to capture such rare and unsullied loveliness through my lens? But with your assistance, my dear young lady, with your ready and willing co-operation, we shall achieve a result which will surpass the fondest hopes of your excellent husband. Together, you and I will create for his delight a vision of beauty and innocence. Oui, c’est vrai!’
It all sounded exceedingly high-flown to Marianna. But when she glanced at William, he seemed fully approving.
‘I’ll just take your wrap, my love, and then deliver you into Mr Carstairs’ capable hands. Do precisely as he tells you.’
‘Very well, William.’
With an extravagant sigh, the photographer remarked, ‘Now there, I venture to suggest, sir, lies the secret of marital harmony. A sweet, obedient wife whose most ardent desire is to please her spouse. Come, Mrs Penfold, and let us create the first pose.’
He took her by the hand and led her to a sculpted seat, where he arranged her sitting sideways and leaning back a little against its scrolled end.
‘But my hair... ,’ Marianna gasped, realizing that she had not so much as glanced into a looking-glass.
‘Quite perfect as it is, my dear young lady. Or perhaps we will just draw out one or two more of these wayward tresses. There ... how utterly captivating! You see your husband signifying his approbation?’
Mr Carstairs continued to chatter away while his fingers were busy at work arranging the pose with precision, and it came to Marianna that perhaps his flowery outpourings were designed to put her at her ease. Finally he stood back a little, making a frame to gauge the result. She was sitting now with her head slightly bowed, gazing pensively at the dewy rosebud he had placed between her two hands, which in turn rested in her lap. Her feet he had demurely crossed at the ankles.
‘Parfait, parfait! Perhaps just the weeniest tilt of your chin to the left, so ... so! Now you must remain entirely still... you must not even breathe, when I give the word. But not for very long, my dear young lady, such are the wonders of modern science. An exposure time of a mere two seconds is all I shall ask of you, and everything is so convenient now with these new gelatin plates I use.’ Out of the corner of her eye Marianna saw him duck his head beneath the black cloth that hooded the camera, and his voice was muffled. ‘Now, all is ready. You must be as still as a statue, if you please.’
Marianna held her breath with deep concentration, and she was greatly relieved to hear him say, ‘All over! And quite painless, n’est-ce pas?’ With a clacking sound he changed the photographic plate, then approached her again.
For the next pose he required both her feet lifted up on to the stone seat, with her hands clasped around her knees and her skirt draped softly about her calves.
‘But the shoes ... no, no, we shall dispense with shoes and stockings to reveal your pretty toes. Remove them, if you will be so good! There is a screen over there.’
Once more Marianna glanced at her husband, doubtful if this could be what he wished of her. But William nodded and smiled encouragingly, so she retired behind the Japanese screen and
did as she was bid.
The new pose was acclaimed a great success, calling forth a rapturous ‘Bravo!’ from William. This led to another arrangement in which she sat on the rim of the cherub fountain, dangling her fingers in the little pool.
Next, though, the demand was for something in a more classical vein. Much against her will, Marianna was persuaded to retire behind the screen a second time, where William helped her to remove every garment she had on and swathe herself in a long length of filmy white muslin which the photographer produced from a cupboard. When she emerged, Mr Carstairs sat her facing a truncated Doric column with her arms raised above her head and palms pressed to the cold stone in supplication; while her eyes were turned heavenwards and her hair fell softly about her shoulders. He spent several minutes tweaking and tugging the drapery into folds that satisfied him. Then he tripped off to his camera, chattering away the entire time.
When he returned to Marianna once more, he pulled aside the muslin to leave her left shoulder completely bare.
‘No’ she protested, jerking the stuff back into place.
‘We must allow Mr Carstairs to be the best judge, my love,’ William intervened. ‘So do as he wishes. He is the artist, and I am sure it will look very beautiful.’
‘It will look divine,’ the little man concurred, unbaring her shoulder once more. ‘A nymph in a sylvan glade.’
Feeling very unhappy, Marianna allowed herself to be manipulated. But she could not withhold another protest when he attempted to draw the flimsy fabric even further aside to reveal most of her breast.
Mr Carstairs clucked his tongue reprovingly. ‘If you do not co-operate, my dear young lady, how can we achieve the result so desired by your husband?’
Marianna Page 11
