“Or a wheelbarrow,” said Effie through a mouth-full of scone.
Harriet looked at her sister with an arrested expression. “Or a wheelbarrow,” she repeated. “Why not? And, if a wheelbarrow, who would have access to the wheelbarrows, or at least know where they were kept?”
“The gardeners,” said Effie, and began to choke on a crumb.
“Drink a little tea,” said Harriet kindly. Effie nodded, rather red-faced.
* * *
“Look, Harry! I thought of taking this to wear for the photography session with Mrs. Ravilious, what do you think?” Effie held up a garment of palest pink satin, embellished with knots of ribbon around the neck and with ties of a deeper hue.
“Effie!,” cried Harriet, “I had quite forgot that cloak, you wore it - oh, how many years ago...?”
“At the Dorridges' ball,” sighed Effie, “how it takes one back, indeed...of course I wore it on other occasions - to Mrs. Fanshawe’s I believe, and...but it was at the Dorridges' that I met...that I danced with... well, with quite a few gentlemen of course, but...he said...I remember him putting the cloak around my shoulders, for of course we had bare arms in those days and...so kind of him, and he did it with such an air. He was a very fine dancer...”
“So were you, Effie dear,” said Harriet, “and you looked charmingly in that cloak. Such a pity that we cannot respectably blossom out in pink satin any more - but it is a splendid idea to wear it to Mrs. Ravilious, I am sure she will be delighted with its artistic possibilities!”
“Dare I wear it to go to Mrs. Ravilious?” said Effie cautiously.
“In the street, you mean?” Harriet hesitated.
“No,” Effie’s head drooped at little. “Maybe it is not quite the thing...”
“Perhaps later,” said Harriet encouragingly, “when the weather becomes truly warm - in the summer, perhaps.”
“Oh, it is really quite warm,” Effie brightened up, “look, the lining is not of silk, as one might think, but of a very fine wool - it is really quite a warm cloak...”
“In the summer,” said Harriet, a little more firmly.
Effie caught the implacable look in her sister’s eye and turned away to fold the garment carefully, lovingly stroking the pale sheen. What a pity is was that one’s most beautiful clothes could be enjoyed so seldom. And now, of course, beautiful clothes didn’t seem to happen at all, what with the terrible price of stuffs and the increasingly dim light of lamps - really, modern lamps were nothing compared with the one she had as a girl. The lamp she used in the evenings gave hardly enough light to see to thread a needle by!
* * *
Mrs. Ravilious was delighted with the satin cloak, when Effie kept her appointment the next morning. “It will be quite the thing for you in your character, for I have decided that you will impersonate the figure of Hera - wife of Jove, chief of the gods, as you know.”
“Hera,” said Effie, hesitantly; she had rather seen herself as Artemis - or Diana, was it? The splendid virgin huntress.
“And, I must say, Miss Effie, that was a wonderful suggestion of yours to use that maid at the Manor, Grace Albright. I went straight up to the Manor yesterday afternoon and arranged it all!”
“Lady Weston agreed?” said Effie in some surprise.
Mrs. Ravilious looked a little sheepish. “I was prepared to plead my case with Lady Weston, but thankfully I was spared the effort - she was out. And let no one tell you that I hid in the bushes until I saw her drive past, for I will stoutly deny any such thing,” she trilled. “No, I saw Master Gervais, and - such luck - not only did he say that he would arrange for Grace to spend an hour with me on Sunday, after church you understand, but that he would bring her himself and would also be most happy to pose for me! Now, wasn’t that splendid of him?”
“Splendid,” echoed Effie, wondering what Harriet would say to that.
“So if you, and dear Miss Harriet too of course, would care to drop in for tea on Monday afternoon, I should be able to show you the results of...I was going to say, the results of my labours, but I really do hope that they will also be the fruits of my inspiration! I feel sure that with young Grace - my dear, such a face and figure, and with Master Gervais as well, I shall be able to capture something really quite special. Something to rival, or, I might say, even to outdistance Julia Cameron!”
“Who is Julia Cameron?” asked Effie.
“One of the younger photographers, technically not quite up to Lady Hawarden, in my opinion - my necessarily humble opinion, of course, since I myself am a mere beginner, but I have to admit that she achieves a wonderful sense of atmosphere, of mood in her photographs. It is something of her style that I want to attempt with you, Miss Effie, so if you could just put the cloak on, there..., and your hair, perhaps...would you mind if we took it down, dear? Or... no... perhaps Hera would have her hair up... dear me, perhaps I should call in Bridges, my maid, to pin it up again...?” Mrs. Ravilious went to the door and called, while Effie lifted a tress of her hair that had fallen down. Normally she saw her hair only in the comparative shadow of her own, rather dark room, but now that she saw it clearly, with the light full on it - for although in her studio Mrs. Ravilious had special black-out curtains that she could close when attending to the chemical side of her art, they were pulled fully back for the actual process of capturing an image - now that the rather unkind light of day fell full upon her hair there did seem to be rather a lot of grey in it. Luckily it was naturally a light colour, somewhere between a blonde and a brown, so the grey did not stand out so strongly as Lady Weston’s iron grey did, but still, there was no denying...
“Here is Bridges, Miss Effie, she will put your hair up again, and in the meantime, let us see - something for you to hold in your hands, for - as we both agreed yesterday - hands are so beautiful, and you have really quite lovely hands, Miss Effie.”
“Oh,” said Effie, quite delighted with the compliment, “please do just call me Effie.”
“May I?” said Mrs. Ravilious, “then I beg you will say Margaret; I do feel that we are going to be firm friends; friends and Fellows in Art, I might say.” She gave her trilling little laugh again and Effie laughed too - goodness, all the fun of dressing up in beautiful things - not to mention the pleasure of having her hair put up by a professional lady’s maid - and showing off her beautiful hands in photographs that would be passed around amongst the friends and acquaintances of Mrs. Ravilious’ artistic circle - how exciting life had suddenly become!
Mrs. Ravilious was delving into a cupboard beside the door, leaving Effie sitting in front of the dressing table, its three-part mirror reflecting varying views of herself draped in pink satin. Effie squinted mistily at her triad of reflections. How fortunate it is - almost an example of Divine Providence - that the older one gets, the less clearly one is able to distinguish the marks of Time. Really, thought Effie, the reflections were quite reminiscent of the Three Graces, and she wondered if she should suggest it to Mrs. Ravilious, to Margaret.
“I can’t find anything here that really speaks Hera to me,” complained Mrs. Ravilious, emerging from her rummagings. “I will have to...I know!” her eyes lit up. “I will run to the kitchen and borrow Cook’s scales - you can be Justice!” She dashed out, but a moment later popped her head around the door to say “But I think as Justice, your hair should come down again.”
* * *
“Effie, dear, how did the photography session go?” said Harriet, who had been standing idly by the window, just happening to tidy the leaves of the geranium - really, the creature had got so enormous, it was one woman’s work just to keep the leaves in good order - when Effie appeared in the High Street, coming from the direction of the Rectory and looking rather dishevelled and fussed, Harriet thought - but whether from excitement or anxiety it was impossible to tell from this angle. As soon as she heard her Effie’s footsteps on the stairs she went out onto the landing and drew her into the room and undid the ribbons of her sis
ter’s bonnet with her own hands, and then while Effie sank exhausted into an easy chair, Harriet went and called down the stairs to Becky to bring up some tea “Unless you have not yet had any lunch, Effie dear?”
“Oh no,” said Effie, “Mrs. Ravilious was quite insistent... and I had to admit that I... well, actually it was hardly necessary to admit... since my... my insides, Harry dear, they positively... and quite out loud... well, you know, we are so regular in our habits here and my poor tummy... because of course it is quite used to a little something around eleven... and what with the dressing and undressing, and my hair... and the time it takes - Harry, you would not begin to credit how long each photograph took! I mean, not only the sitting still after the bulb had been depressed - that, I have to say, was almost a relief after the constant bustle... although terribly nerve-racking, as you can imagine... but the setting up, the plates, the chemicals... I have to say that I do not think I quite have it in me to be a photographic model... I felt I could hardly breathe with the air in the room - and it is quite a large room you know... the sink, and racks of chemicals and so on neatly arranged at one end, and a chest of drawers with the special papers, and all Mrs. Ravilious’s - oh, she has asked me to call her Margaret, and although at first I was quite pleased because I thought it would all be... but now I am not so sure and perhaps I have over-committed myself with such intimacy, not that it is so terribly... but perhaps when we see the photographs on Monday, it will be all worth it... oh, yes, Margaret, Mrs. Ravilious, has asked us both to go there Monday morning to see the photographs, and I must say I am curious, Harry dear, for who do you think she has got sitting for her tomorrow?”
Harriet raised her eyebrows. Grace Albright seemed a likely candidate, but that would not make Effie look so awed. Surely Elwin would not be rash enough to...
“Master Gervais!” whispered Effie.
“Master Gervais?” said Harriet, her mind whirling. Rather surprising, but then the boy was undeniably vain...
“Along with Grace!”
“Oh no!” said Harried, decidedly. “With that young man’s reputation, I do not think that is at all a good idea.
“No, poor Grace...not but that I expect Margaret, Mrs. Ravilious, will take good care...” Effie saw the look in Harriet’s eye. “No, you’re right, Harry, I don’t suppose she will take care at all. Oh dear, what are we to do about it?”
“We could go along to watch,” said Harriet slowly. “Just in case...”
“Could we, do you think?”
“Now that you are so intimate with Margaret, I don’t see any problem. You can just say you would love to watch her in action, or some such flummery.”
“I suppose if we went straight after church,” said Effie, “for I suppose neither Master Gervais nor Grace would be free before that time and for sure Mrs. Ravilious would not dream of missing her husband’s sermon...”
It is often to be noted that unmarried ladies have a quite erroneous idea of the conditions applying to the wedded state. If their minds are not irrevocably set against marriage for some reason - such as a total distrust of the male half of creation - then they frequently envision it in ideal terms: not only in the kindliness, consideration and romance of the gentleman, but of the willingness of the lady to 'honour and obey' her spouse - which surely includes sitting at his feet, if he be a clergyman, and listening to his sermons. However Mrs. Ravilious had already heard that particular sermon of her husband’s on several previous occasions (it was one from a bound book of suitable compositions to which Dr. Ravilious, who was not an adept at extempore speaking, frequently had recourse) and was only too happy to plead a sudden indisposition and stay at home to prepare the setting for her sitters.
Equally erroneous was Effie’s supposition for Master Gervais and Grace, for although Grace normally went to chapel, Gervais had promised to drive her to and from the photographic appointment, and had said he was dashed if he was going to set foot in Zion Chapel, nor did he at all fancy hanging around waiting for Grace to come out, so that if she wanted to ride with him then surely it was best for them both to give themselves an hour’s extra holiday on the Sunday morning, and then drive straight to the Rectory. Grace - thinking that in that way she could walk over to the pottery to see Elwy for half an hour before meeting Master Gervais at the Lodge Gates, had agreed.
CHAPTER 13
Elwin checks for newts, Grace becomes a wood nymph and Gervais plays the cad
As Grace hurried through the forest on Sunday morning, her heart seemed too big for her chest. It had been heavy enough when she woke, with Elwy still in hiding, still in danger of his life, and no hope for either of them. Not much hope for them apart, even, but even less for a life together. The dream she had had of their walking through a forest like this, hand in hand, on a spring morning... it was no more than a dream, and as insubstantial and tenuous as the mist that was even now rising as the sun began to warm the cold earth and draw out the dampness of the night.
But the mist did rise, and get caught in hazy beams of light that flickered through the forest, finding out the patches between the trees where hesitant spring flowers were pushing up; glancing on the white of windflowers and picking out the gold of celandines where a streamlet trickled on its way to the river that ran by the pottery. And Grace’s spirits rose also. She put out a hand to the fat leaf buds of the linden tree - pale green in a pink-tinged case - that the countryfolk called 'bread and cheese', picked one and put it in her mouth. The leaves were soft, and richly sweet, and somehow comforting.
As the trees thinned she could see the river bank and, on the other side, the pottery, doors wide open and - her heart rose in her throat - Elwy sitting on an old crate outside the doors, his long legs stretched in front of him, with naked feet - there were his boots, discarded by his side, next to his beloved antlers - his neck and arms and face open to the sunshine, his eyes under their heavy black brows closed. He looked as still as a forest creature, soaking up the morning sun. And - like a forest creature - he seemed to become aware of her presence even before he could have heard her, for as she paused and looked to admire her love, his eyes flew open and his body tensed for flight. One second later, though, and he knew what had alerted him, and ran lightly down the bank and splashed through the river, disdaining the stepping stones, and picked Grace up and held her tightly in his arms, his face buried in her neck, breathing in the soft, spring warmth of her. Her arms went round his neck and her head rested against his breast, hearing the rapid thuddings of his heart. He stroked her arm and the roundness of her shoulder, and she gazed at his dark hand, strong and certain against the smooth whiteness of her flesh, with a flutter of excitement and a warm conviction of homecoming.
It is very good that one should remember times like this: a 'perfect moment’, they say - because they do not last. Not half an hour later and Elwy was looking at her with sullen betrayal in his eyes - like a dog that has been kicked by its master and waits to be kicked again - as she explained that she could not stay any longer as she had to meet Master Gervais at the gate to go with him and have her photograph taken by the Rector’s wife.
Mr. Benjamin stood by Elwy’s side as they watched her pass out of sight, back into the forest, and take the trail that would eventually lead to the Lodge Gate. Mr. Benjamin was only admiring the slender length of her, clad in a simple white frock that formed a pedestal for the glory of her fine-boned head, russet-crowned. She might only be wrapped around in an old shawl, somewhat tufty in appearance, but she walked like a queen. Elwy could only see her with a dark shape in close attendance, and gave vent to a string of bitter syllables that the Miss Fotheringays would certainly not have approved of, but which only made Benjamin chuckle.
“Never mind, lad; she’s a beauty and a fine lass, but she’s only a lass for all that, and all lasses are a mite crazy for dressing up in fine feathers.”
Elwy turned away abruptly, annoyed by the potter’s words, but then gave a half shrug and came to hi
mself enough to say “'Taint the feathers as riles me, you knows that, Mr. Benjamin.” Benjamin nodded and patted the young man on the shoulder. “Although how she can go out play-acting and posing while I’m kept mewed up here, hunted for my life...!” The shoulder under Mr. Benjamin’s hand sagged. “I thought she had more heart.”
“Ay, she’s a terrible lass, cold-hearted as a stone, probably only walked all the way over here in order to see you looking miserable. You’re better of wi’out her, lad.”
Elwy looked suspiciously into the older man’s apparently guileless eyes, and then gave a shout. “You ol’ bastard!” he said, half laughing, and punched him on the shoulder.
“Ow!” cried Mr. Benjamin, “take it easy, lad. This is me you’re a-hittin’ of, not young Master Gervais.”
“Him!” Elwy spat on the ground. “Just let him lay one finger on her, and I’ll...”
“Put the kettle on to boil,” advised Mr. Benjamin, “and mind you picks the newts out of the water before you puts it on the flame.”
* * *
While Elwy was checking for newts, Gervais Weston was leaning down from the gig in order to give Grace a hand up onto the seat. He couldn’t, to be fair to him, do the gentlemanly thing and descend from the carriage in order to help her, since he had dispensed with his groom that day and there would have been no one to hold the horse. It wasn’t a particularly lively horse, it had to be said, since Master Gervais chose his horses more for their look than their action - that being the easier of the two criteria on which to base a decision - but Gervais had an instinctive distrust of horses, ever since, as a young boy, he had been encouraged by a stablehand to give one an apple and the wretched creature had drooled great lengths of green slime at him. Deliberately, he had always thought. However, a country gentleman had horses, so Gervais had some, which he normally left strictly to his groom to look after, but today he was rather hoping to be able to indulge in the sort of behaviour which would be severely hampered by a groom standing up behind him.
The Miss Fotheringays and the Faun (The Miss Fotheringays Investigate Book 1) Page 13
