Truth and Beauty
Page 13
“I don’t know. Some of my friends think I’m a damn fool, letting my wife do whatever she pleases.”
She caught her breath. “Do they really? You never mentioned it.”
He smiled and shrugged. “Why should I bother you with foolish gossip?”
“What sort of gossip?” She sat up, her brows pulled together.
“It’s nothing at all. Just gossip from bored men who have nothing better to do than sit in stuffy clubs, prattling like old women.” He hugged her tightly. “I think my wife is the most remarkable woman in London. Whatever pleases her is fine with me.” He shook his head. “As long as this sort of adventure is only once in a lifetime.”
“Oh, pray God, yes.”
“Looking at Elly, just now -- she looked so young.”
“She is young.”
“You weren’t much older when I married you.”
“A few months older. Lucy came soon after.”
“Your mother was against us.”
“She thought I was too young.”
“You were too young, but I couldn’t wait. I knew you loved me, but I was terrified that you’d wake up one day, take a good look at me, change your mind, and go off with a more dashing chap. There were enough of them sniffing around you.”
“I didn’t care for any of them.”
“Well, I couldn’t be sure. That’s why I pushed you. I was so afraid of losing you.” He was silent for a moment. “Then, after we were married,” he sighed. “Was it awful? Did you hate me?”
“Bill, don’t.” She smiled fondly. “We had growing pains, that was all. We grew up very well, together. We have three redheaded terrors in the nursery to prove it.”
He laughed. “Yes we do. And now, my lovely witch,” he stood up and walked towards his dresser. “I shall brew you a cup of your Wild Opium Lettuce tea so you can sleep as soundly as your patients.”
“Thanks, darling, but I don’t need it.”
“It won’t hurt.”
“No, really, I don’t want any.”
“I don’t want you getting up, checking on them every hour. I can do that.”
She laughed, “I’ll sleep fine without it, I promise.”
“I’m serious, I want you out cold. You’re overtired.”
“And I’m serious that I don’t want it.”
“It’s doing well for Sam and Elly.”
“They’re injured, I’m not.”
“I know you.” He took out a large snuffbox and a tea mug. “This is the only way to insure that you sleep.”
“No, darling, thank you.”
“This brew is wonderful. You’ve even given light doses to the children.”
“Not before they were born.”
He stopped dead. “What did you say?”
She put her hands over her eyes, waiting for his moment of wrath, which would fizzle as soon as it had begun.
He spun around and glared at her. “You went off, on a wild chase across the country, knowing that you’re expecting a child?”
She nodded, keeping her head down.
He bellowed, “Of all the damn, stupid, pig-headed things you’ve ever done,” he threw the tea mug across the room, smashing it against the wall.
She kept her head down. There was no sound. She slowly raised her eyes.
He glared at her, feet spread apart, hands on hips.
She spoke softly. “I wasn’t sure until just now.”
He stayed still.
“It’ll be September, I think.”
His features softened. “Was it Christmas night?”
She smiled, “I think so.”
He looked down and laughed. She lay back into the soft pillows.
He asked, “You’re all right?”
“I’m fine. Just tired. The child is fine.” She laughed. “Just tired.”
Smiling, he pulled the covers around her, kissed her, put on his boots and jacket, pulled the curtains closed and walked from the room. He stopped at the door, turned back, and looked at his wife. “My God, you’re marvellous. Don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He glanced towards heaven. “Thanks!” He left the room.
Chapter Seventeen
Robert Dennison was bursting with excitement. Three commissions all but assured his remaining in London.
It was near 7:00 p.m. when he arrived at 140 Piccadilly. The cabby assured him that it was the correct house. It was four stories of ornately carved white stone, and took up the entire corner of Hamilton Place. He stood outside, peering into the windows, and could see crystal chandeliers, parquet floors, huge mirrors, gold wall ornaments, and velvet curtains.
He took a deep breath, walked up to the magnificent mahogany door, raised the glistening brass bell pull, and laughed to himself. “If it’s the wrong house, I’ll pretend I’m a tradesman.”
A maid answered the door. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, I’m Robert Dennison.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Dennison, Miss Fielding is expecting you.”
His jaw dropped.
The maid took his coat and hat and asked a footman to show him upstairs. Robert’s heart pounded as he followed the servant over polished marble floors, past beautiful wall friezes and very good paintings. Up the grand staircase and down a plush hall, the footman stopped at an open door. He knocked. “Miss Fielding, Mr. Dennison to see you.”
“Robert!” Elly sat up in bed, reading. She was wrapped in a blue satin dressing gown. Her hair was tied with a matching satin bow and she looked like a child. She quickly put her book on the bedside table and held out her arms. The right side of her face was badly bruised but her eyes were bright, and her smile inviting.
He lunged at the bed. “Oh, my darling girl.” Careful not to squeeze her too tightly, he held her arms and covered the undamaged side of her face with soft kisses. She giggled with pleasure. He kissed her lips very gently and sighed with relief. “I was so worried about you.”
“I’m fine.” Her smile was radiant.
“I’m sure you are.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Except for that,” he looked at the bruise on her forehead, “and your ankle,” he grimaced, “and your shoulder. Oh dear.”
“They’re healing fast.”
“Lady Richfield told me you have terrible nightmares.”
“All gone.” Her smile was forced.
“Really?”
“I’ve been asleep all day and I didn’t have even one.”
“She told me she’d drugged you, so you couldn’t have any.”
“Well it worked.” She clenched her jaw.
“Were they very frightening?”
She lowered her eyes. “Yes. They were horrible.”
“What were they about?”
Her cheeks flushed. “I thought you wanted to make me feel better?”
“I’m sorry, darling. I’m concerned, that’s all.”
“I know you are.” She patted the bed.
He sat next to her and took a deep breath. “I have some very good news.”
“Tell me.”
“In less than forty-eight hours, I’ll know if I’m staying in London.”
She sat up, excited. “What happened?”
“Well, three clients have commissioned portraits, all because of Autumn Lady. Mr. Gildstein insists they pay a deposit within forty-eight hours, so we’ll know just before the school term starts. Once school is in session, I’ll be locked in until spring. The commissions will have to go to another artist, and…” He shook his head and put his hands together. “Just pray that by noon on Saturday…”
“Oh, please God! This is so exciting.”
A woman’s mellow voice asked, “Are we invoking a deity this evening?”
“Isabelle.” Elly giggled and held out her hand.
Robert leapt off the bed, nearly tripping over his feet.
Isabelle laughed, “You looked so comfortable, I’m sorry to disturb you.”
Robert’s eyes bulged at a vision in the doorway.
“Of course you are. I’m Robert Dennison.” He kissed her hand and held it. “Lady Richfield, how can I ever thank you, for all you’ve done for Elly?”
“You just did,” she smiled. “Do sit down.” Perching on the edge of the bed, she took a moment to study Robert Dennison. He was tall, slim, and absolutely stunning. She turned back to Elly. “You look better.”
Elly smiled. “I feel much better. Dr. Cummings was surprised.”
“He’s been here already?” Isabelle took Elly’s book from the bedside table. It was a beautifully bound volume of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnets From The Portuguese.
Elly nodded. “The doctor said the oddest thing.”
“Oh, what was that?” Isabelle read a hand-written note in the front of the book.
“He said, ‘I don’t approve of Lady Richfield’s administrations, but they do seem effective.’” Isabelle raised an eyebrow, so Elly continued. “Why doesn’t he approve of them?”
“He is a man, darling. That is all. Most men are vain and arrogant.” She looked at Robert. “Present company excluded, of course.” He laughed without the slightest embarrassment, and Isabelle was pleased. “Most men believe that the stupidest among them is more capable that the most brilliant of women.” She looked back at Robert. “Am I wrong, Mr. Dennison?”
“No, Lady Richfield.” He smiled and shook his head. “I am ashamed to say that you understand my sex very well.”
Liking him even more, Isabelle smiled and thumbed through the book. “It was sweet of Simon Camden to send this poetry book. It’s terribly romantic stuff.”
Elly bit her lip. “It’s a get well gift. I suppose Miss Stewart told him I’d been injured.”
Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you and he were so well acquainted.” Elly looked shocked and Isabelle wanted to laugh out loud. Instead, she changed the subject. “So, why were you two invoking the gods?”
Elly clapped her hands. “Robert has three commissions. If they pay their deposits by Saturday, he can stay in London.”
“Oh, I am pleased. Congratulations!”
He held up his hands. “It’s a bit early for that.”
“I wonder who your clients are. If I know them, I could… No, better I don’t interfere.”
Elly lay back and bit her lip. “This makes it all worthwhile.”
Robert’s smile vanished. “Makes what, all worthwhile?”
“All the fear. All the pain.” The girl was deep in thought.
Robert and Isabelle exchanged worried glances.
Elly sat up. “I was afraid someone would see Autumn Lady and find me. They did find me, but if the painting hadn’t been shown, you might not have won those commissions.” She smiled joyously. “You’ll be a success and I’ll soon be well, so it was all worth it.”
Robert looked serious. “What about Sam Smelling? Does he think it was worth it?”
“Of course! He’ll serialize his story.”
Isabelle asked quietly, “How can he do that, if you won’t tell him about your abduction?”
Elly froze. She looked at Isabelle, then at Robert, then back again. Both faces were like stone. She fell back into the pillows. No one spoke. Slowly, tears filled her eyes. “Telling the story will be like living it all over again. I’m not sure I can.”
Isabelle held her hand. “Not telling it is like swallowing a bomb. It’s already exploding into nightmares.”
“I may not have any more nightmares.”
“Maybe not. But what about Sam? Don’t you owe him something?”
“I owe him everything. He saved my life.”
“Well then?” Isabelle raised a questioning eyebrow and waited.
Elly looked to Robert. He looked back, concerned. She bit her lip. “Is Sam all right? Can I see him?”
Isabelle stood and stretched. “I’ll go see if he’s awake.” She smiled a goodbye, and glided down the hall. Sam’s door was open, so she walked in.
“Isabelle! Finally! Come in, I want to show you something.”
She was horrified to see her beautiful guest room a mess of filthy newspapers. They were scattered over the bed and piled on the floor.
Sam awkwardly held a huge page with his one good hand. “I’ve never seen you with your hair down. You look like an angel.”
“Thank you.” She took the paper from his hand. “You look very well. You’ve had a wash.”
“And a shave. I love having servants.”
She laughed. “They even washed your hair.” She pushed the soft brown mass back off his forehead. “You need to cut it.”
“Never! It’s the only way I get beautiful women to pay attention to me.”
She sent him a crooked smile, sat on the edge of the bed, and read down the page. “You made the midday edition, then?”
“Yeah.” He stared at her.
“Good. If we’d suffered that hideous journey, and you hadn’t made it, I would have killed you.”
He laughed and looked ashamed. “I’m sorry, but it was worth it.”
“I hope so.” She read further. “What did Dr. Cummings say?”
“He’s surprised how quickly I’m healing.”
“Good.”
“He wants to cut off the rib bindings tomorrow.”
“So soon?” She looked at him. “You must be healing fast.”
“I don’t know. He poked around my chest and it hurt, a lot.”
“Would you rather he left them on?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know how much more pain I can take.”
“Are you in pain now?”
“Only when I breathe.”
“Why didn’t you say so? I’ll get you something.” She stood up.
“Like Opium Lettuce tea? That stuff’s powerful. It’s amazing I woke up without a headache.”
“It never leaves aftereffects. That’s why I prefer it to laudanum, the doctor’s choice. I’ll brew you some Nettle Tree and Hounds Tooth for the pain.”
He grimaced. “Sounds delicious.”
She laughed. “It’s very pleasant actually.” She started to leave, and he held out his hand.
“Don’t go. I’ll drink any bizarre brew you give me, I promise, but don’t go yet. You just got here.”
She smiled, walked back, and sat down.
“Read the story.”
She picked up the paper, found the story, and read silently. He reached with his good hand and ran his fingers through her hair. As she read, her eyes grew large. At the end, she gasped and lowered the page onto her lap. “John Garingham really did engineer Charles Roundtree’s murder?”
“That came from the mouth of a dying man.”
“So Charles Roundtree’s daughter unwittingly avenged her father’s death.” She took a deep breath. “That’s the stuff of Greek tragedy. Does Elly know all this?”
“I don’t know how much she knows.”
“My God. I wonder how she’ll take it.”
“It may help. She still feels guilty about pushing that bastard out the window. I think she deserves a medal.”
“Just remember -- officially, it was an accident. The man fell. She ran to his aid and was pulled out after him, ‘Death by Misadventure’.”
“Right.” Sam’s hair fell over his eyes. She pushed it back and kept her hand on his cheek. He gazed up, adoringly.
“It’s a marvellous story, Sam.” She sat back. “I’m sure your readers will line up to buy the next episode. What will that be about?”
“Elly’s, or rather Elisa’s growing up in the Dales, and going off to school. If Dennison will let me, I’ll write about his painting Autumn Lady.”
“Robert Dennison’s with her now. It looks like he’ll be staying in London, so he should welcome the publicity.”
“Dennison’s here, now? Great!”
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Good, so am I. I doubt those two have eaten. I’ll ask them to come here, and I’ll have some food brought.” She stood up and he pulled her back by the hair.
“Ouch! That hurts.” She sat down.
“Sorry.” He put her hair against his face, inhaled its perfume, and sighed. “I think I hate Bill Richfield.”
“For heaven sake, why?”
“He gets to do this every day.”
She chuckled. “For thirteen years.”
“If you were married to me, I’d never let you out of my sight.”
“My, then I’m certainly glad I’m not married to you.”
“I’d kill every guy who looked at you the way I’m looking at you, right now.”
“The bodies would be piled very high.”
He leaned forward, reaching for her face. She easily evaded his kiss. He groaned and lay back. “I hate having only one good arm.”
“If you had two, I wouldn’t have gotten so close to you.”
“Why not? You’ve got a gaggle of lovers. Why not one more?”
“A gaggle?” She glared at him. “You’re got a lot of cheek. What a thing to say.”
“Are you flattered or insulted?”
“Honestly, Sam.” Her back arched and she crossed her arms. The hint of a smile tickled her lips.
He dropped the end of her hair and lay back. His face contorted in pain.
“Oh dear, let me get you that tea.”
“Wait.” Exhausted, he closed his eyes. “You know I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I saw you.”
“I doubt that. We met at a party, in New York.”
“We saw each other before that, at the racetrack.”
“Ah, yes. Bill brought two lovely horses all the way to America. I thought he’d lost his mind.”
“They were good horses. He knew what he was doing. They did all right. I was working undercover, investigating a crime syndicate." He touched his chest. “I still have a scar from that knife wound.”