by Michael Cox
I sat down for a moment in a gilded chair with a high back, like a throne, the better to drink in the atmosphere of unbounded and unrestrained luxury that the room gave out.
As a child, I had thought that Madames house in the Avenue dUhrich was as large and grand as any house could be; but it was nothing less than nothing to Evenwood.
To wake up every morning, knowing that these great rooms, and the treasures they contained, were yours to occupy and savour! What a thing that would be! I amused myself for a moment by trying to fancy what it would be like to experience the daily and absolute possession of such a place. It seemed extraordinary to me that one family, distinguished only by their common blood, could lay perpetual claim to inhabit this faery splendour more super-abundantly opulent, more ravishing to the senses, it seemed to me, than any sultans palace that I had read of in the stories told by Scheherazade.
In preparation for my coming to Evenwood, Madame had asked Mr Thornhaugh to tell me something of the ancient Duport family. He had shown me what was written of them in Burkes Heraldic Dictionary, from which I learned that the 1st Baron Tansor had borne the name Maldwin, and had been summoned to Parliament by the King in the year 1264. I learned also that the barony was of a peculiar type, known as a Barony by Writ, which allowed inheritance through females as well as males.
The late Lord Tansor had died in 1863. Having no direct heirs, either male or female, his title and property had passed to my mistress, his nearest collateral relative, who had then taken his name. Everything I could see and touch was now hers, to do with as she pleased; one day all this would belong to her eldest son, Mr Perseus Duport. Then he would marry, and a child would be born who would also walk through these very rooms, knowing them as their own.
Thus the great river of successive privilege would continue to flow, carrying the Duports on its calm and glittering waters through this life to the next, from generation unto generation.
BEYOND THE STATE Saloon, a narrow corridor brought me to a huge wooden screen, black with age and festooned with lifelike carvings of birds and animals, with an arcaded gallery high above. Through the screen, a pair of double doors opened into the Crimson-and-Gold Dining-Room that I have earlier described.
Here I paused, eager to continue my journey of discovery, but feeling that I had gone far enough for the moment, and fearful of being even a second late to dress my Lady.
I quickly retraced my steps, room by room, meeting no one on the way, until I emerged once more into the great echoing vestibule.
My foot was upon the first step of the staircase when I heard a door open behind me.
A tall young gentleman black-bearded, with long dark hair stood looking at me intently. He said nothing for several seconds; then he greeted me, although without any hint of a smile.
Miss Gorst, I think. My mother informed me of your engagement. Good-morning to you.
These were the first words that ever I heard from the lips of Mr Perseus Duport, my Ladys eldest son and heir.
His voice was deep and strong for such a young man, and resonated through the lofty space of the marble-paved vestibule. I dropped a little curtsey and returned his greeting.
Where did you come from? he asked. Are you going up to Mother?
The voice was softer now, but the handsome face remained fixedly expressionless.
Hesitantly, I explained that I had risen early, in order to acquaint myself a little with the house before attending Lady Tansor at eight oclock.
Eight oclock, eh? Shell expect you promptly, you know, he said, taking out his pocket-watch. She places great store on punctuality. The last girl couldnt oblige; but you can, Im sure. Five minutes to the hour. Youd better hurry.
Yes, sir.
I curtseyed again and turned to go, but he called me back.
When youre released, Miss Gorst, you must seek me out. I shall be your guide to the great labyrinth.
He paused, tilting his head quizzically on one side.
Do you know what the first Labyrinth was?
Yes, sir. It was the lair of the Minotaur, constructed by King Minos of Crete.
Splendid! Quite right! Well, well, youd better run along now. Youll find me in the Library, which can be reached by the little flight of stairs outside Mothers apartments. I often spend my mornings there, when I can. Im a great reader. Are you a great reader, Miss Gorst?
Yes, sir. I believe I am.
Splendid again! Well, off you go, or youll start off badly with Mother, and that would never do, you know.
He gave me a barely perceptible smile, but his magnetic eyes had a kindly intent about them, which made me feel greatly honoured, and not a little surprised, that the Duport heir had condescended to pay such attention to his mothers new maid. I confess, too, that to my further confusion my heart was beating a little faster, as if I had just undertaken some physical exertion, and I could feel my colour beginning to rise under his steady gaze. I was sure at least, I could in no way allow myself to hope otherwise that he was only being agreeable to me out of well-bred courtesy, and for no other reason; but I could not account for the way this simple demonstration of good manners had affected me. I would have gladly continued the conversation; but time was pressing and so, bobbing once more, I ran off up the wide curving staircase, arriving at last before my Ladys door on the first stroke of eight oclock.
Sharp.
III
Ladys-Maid
LADY TANSOR WAS seated at her dressing-table, her back towards me, swathed in a fantastically embroidered Chinese robe of blood-red and emerald-green silk.
You will brush my hair first, Alice, before you arrange it, she said, reaching back towards me, a silver hair-brush in her hand.
I began to pass the brush slowly through the thick black tresses, gently pulling out the nights tangles, until all was smooth and to her liking. Then I was instructed on how she wished her hair to be arranged, and in what manner it should be pinned up into the style of knot that she preferred, for she was averse to the use of false hair (her own being so finely textured and abundant), and refused to countenance a chignon.
When I had finished, she took me over to a massive oak wardrobe, where I was shown her many day-gowns; then she opened an adjacent press of similar size containing dozens of dazzling evening-gowns. A third cabinet, with sliding drawers, was packed with Japanese silk shawls from the Great Shawl Emporium, and with other expensive accoutrements.
Moving from these, she began to open other drawers and cupboards for my inspection. Scores of hats and bonnets; trays of pins, buttons, and brooches; shoes and belts of every description; buckles and bows, fans and reticules; dressing-cases containing crystal scent-bottles; and box after box full to bursting with exquisite jewellery all were laid before my astonished gaze.
You may dress me now, Alice, she said at last, pointing to the wardrobe containing her day-gowns. The dark-violet velvet, I think.
At last, my Lady stood before her cheval-glass and pronounced herself satisfied.
Excellent, Alice, she said. You have nimble fingers, and my hair looks very well, very well indeed. And this brooch matches far better than the other one, as you said it would. You have an eye for these things, I see. Yes, excellent.
She repeated the compliment, gazing at her reflection in the looking-glass in a quiet, absent way, almost as if she were alone, fingering the brooch distractedly as she did so.
Oh! she suddenly exclaimed. I have forgotten the locket! How could I have done!
Her voice had taken on a tone of acute distress. She turned towards me, white-faced with sudden anxiety, and pointed frantically towards a small wooden box on the dressing-table, which I quickly understood she meant me to open.
Inside was the most beautiful tear-shaped silver locket, attached to a black velvet band, very like the one worn by the late Lord Tansors first wife in the po
rtrait that had so entranced me.
Here bring it here! she snapped. But do not touch the locket!
Snatching the box from my hand, she took out the locket, and went over to the window, where she stood for a moment, breathing hard. Then she began to thread the velvet band around her throat, yet could not secure the clasp.
Do you wish me to assist you, my Lady? I asked.
No! You must not help me. This is the one duty I must perform myself. Never help me, do you understand?
She was now facing me once more, a fierce emotion in her blazing eyes. But in a moment she had turned away again, to make a second attempt at securing the clasp. At last she succeeded, whereupon she reached forward to open the window, letting a welcome draught of cool air into the stuffy chamber.
She remained by the window, a slight breeze ruffling her hair, her eyes directed towards the distant line of the western woods, now becoming clear to view as the curtain of early-morning mist gradually lifted.
At length, her spirits apparently calmed, she sat down in the window-seat and took up a small leather-bound book.
You may go now, Alice, she said quietly. I shall not need you until dinner-time. But tomorrow I shall have some work for you to do, and you will bathe me. Please to be here at eight.
So I left her, with little dabs of watery sunshine illuminating her face and hair, as she placed her spectacles on her nose, opened the book, and began to read.
2
In Which a Friend is Made
I
Introducing Sukie Prout
EVER SINCE I was a little girl, something in my nature has made me try constantly to improve myself. Words, especially, have always been a passion of mine. From an early age, encouraged by Mr Thornhaugh, I developed the habit of writing down new ones that I had learned from my reading, and would then say them over to myself before I went to bed, until I was sure of their sound and meaning.
Sometimes they would be words that I had heard spoken by others; or I would simply open the copy of Mr Walkers Pronouncing Dictionary, which my tutor had given to me, to see what greeted my serendipitous (one of my favourite words) eye.
Mr Thornhaugh had once told me that if we are insensible to the higher powers of language, then we are but crawling things upon the earth, mutely struggling towards the day of our extinction; but with the proper acquisition and use of language, in all its plenitude, we can contend with angels. (I immediately wrote these words down: the piece of paper serves me still as a bookmark.)
I am also an avid collector of facts another predilection encouraged by Mr Thornhaugh. It is a kind of curse, I confess, to be so disposed, but an agreeable one at the same time, or at least I think it to be so.
When I looked at something, I longed to know the one incontrovertible fact about it that made it what it was. I had then to find two or three ancillary facts (I used to call them my Little Maids in a Row, attending on the great Queen Fact), that would give greater substance to the first. Then I felt that I had gained some knowledge worth having, and was happy.
Mr Thornhaugh regularly urged me to combine these individual facts, and to rise above the particular to a broader understanding of the whole. I tried hard to do so, but found it impossible. The particular would always draw me to it, leading me on to another fascinating particularity, and then to another. I would be so contented, plucking my knowledge bloom by bloom, and storing each one away separately, that all thought of any higher synoptical or synthetic (two more excellent words) ambition would be put quite out of mind.
Despite this failing, which even Mr Thornhaugh could not correct, the acquirement of factual knowledge was ever delightful to me throughout my childhood, and the habit has remained with me. When I was young, it was another kind of game for me to play, and I did not think it at all strange that a little girl could derive as much pleasure from it as from playing with dolls, or skipping with a rope about the garden.
It might be inferred from these brief remarks that I spent a lonely and sequestered childhood in the Maison de lOrme, with only my books for company; but I was not without playmates, although they were always carefully selected by Madame.
My especial friend was a girl of about my own age, Amélie Verron, whose father, a government official, was our nearest neighbour in the Avenue dUhrich. Monsieur Verron was a widower, and I think Madame felt obliged to demonstrate neighbourly concern with respect to his only child. Every weekday morning, Amélie and I would be taken for walks together in the Bois by my nurse, whilst on Sunday afternoons she and her father would take tea with us.
Amélie was a quiet, nervous child, of a delicate constitution, always content for me to take the lead in our games. When she died, at the age of fourteen, she left a void in my young life that no one else was able to fill. One of our favourite games was to set out a little school-room in the salon or, on fine days, under the chestnut-tree in the garden. Amélie, wearing an expression of the most serious concentration, would sit on a little stool, surrounded by her fellow pupils a mute company of assorted rag-dolls and stuffed animals and write slowly and solemnly on a slate, like the obedient little disciple that she was, as I marched up and down in front of her swathed in a trailing black table-cloth, to mimic a scholars gown loudly dictating the names of the Merovingian kings (very much, I am sure, in the manner of Mr Thornhaugh), or some item of knowledge recently gleaned, either from my tutor or from my own reading. I blush now to think how insufferable I must have been; but dear Amélie never complained.
From this school-room game I soon discovered that I had a great liking and, I think I may claim, a distinct talent for public declamation, and began to conceive the notion (much to Mr Thornhaughs amusement) that I might grow up to be an actress. To indulge this predilection, a little stage, complete with a gaily painted pasteboard proscenium arch and red plush curtains, was erected for me in one of the upstairs rooms. Here before an appreciative audience of Madame, Mr Thornhaugh, and Amélie I would recite long passages from Paradise Lost (a particular favourite of Mr Thornhaughs), which I had learned by heart, or act out whole scenes from Moličre or Shakespeare, taking each part, and giving each one an individual voice. I could not imagine then how these childhood performances, and my ability to hide my true self behind an assumed character, would eventually stand me in good stead for playing the part of maid to Lady Tansor.
I do not wish to give the impression that I was a precocious child, for I am sure that I was not. I was, however, given every opportunity, as well as the means, particularly by Mr Thornhaugh, to use the abilities that God had given me to the full, and I took them.
I was often disobedient and naughty sometimes so naughty that it exhausted even Madames patience. Then I would be exiled to a bare attic room, containing only a bed, a chair, and a three-legged table with a jug of water on it, where I had to spend the term of my sentence without books, pen or paper, or any other diversion, until I was released.
I always regretted my transgressions indeed, would often hate myself for them. The truth was that I could not bear to see Madame or Mr Thornhaugh angered by my bad behaviour. Consequently, when discovered in my misdeeds, I would display a certain inventiveness (I will not say deviousness) in my excuses not so that I might escape the punishment I knew I deserved, but to avoid causing Madame or Mr Thornhaugh to think ill of me. Afterwards I would resolve and swear never to be bad again. This, of course, despite my best intentions, would always prove impossible; but, gradually, discovering in myself a strong sense of duty, as well as an active conscience, I began to mend my ways somewhat, although even in later years Madame and I would sometimes fall out after some instance of waywardness on my part. Whilst I could no longer be sent up to my former place of correction, guilt for my ungrateful trespasses became an effective substitute.
Now I had heard the governing voice of Duty once more. Madame had set me this task this Great Task to perform. Whatever it was, whatever sh
e asked of me, I was determined not to fail her.
BACK IN MY room, after dressing my Lady, I was thinking of Amélie as I took out my note-book to write down the second (the first being the date and artist of the Corsair portrait in the vestibule) of what was soon to become a store-house of facts concerning the great house of Evenwood and its contents:
Lady Ts sitting-room. Small oval portrait. Young Cavalier boy in blue silk breeches. Beautiful long hair. Inscribed by Sir Godfrey Kneller.
Mem. Kneller a German.
My Lady having no need of me until dinner, I sat for a while wondering what I might do with myself for the remainder of the day. I must make myself known to the housekeeper, Mrs Battersby, and I had undertaken to write to Madame as soon as I could after my arrival. I also wished to resume my exploration of the house. With that final thought, I remembered that Mr Perseus Duport had offered to act as my guide. His even noticing me, let alone his engaging me in conversation, had taken me by surprise. Had he truly meant what he had said? Perhaps he had been teasing the new ladys-maid, to see whether she would be foolish enough to believe him. Yet although his face had retained a severe and inscrutable expression, his voice had sounded sincere. Very well, then; I would go and seek him out in the Library, and be seen as a fool if I must.
As I closed my door, I heard the sound of someone coming up the stairs. In a moment, a small, panting figure, carrying a mop and a large bucket of slopping water, appeared on the landing below.
It was a freckle-faced girl of perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three, wearing a long striped apron and a strange species of domed cap, a little like a bakers, pulled tightly down over her forehead, from which a few corkscrew curls of light chestnut hair had succeeded in escaping.
