Beauty in Thorns

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘Not at all. At least … there is someone I wish you to meet.’ He indicated the woman behind him, who had silently followed him into the hall. She wore an elegant morning dress of dark red silk, banded with black velvet, with a matching hat worn tilted over one eye. A black dotted veil had been lowered to conceal her face.

  Georgie was surprised, but far too well-mannered to do anything but show her unexpected guests into the drawing room. She took off her apron, laid it on a table, and tried to smooth back her hair, which the heat of the kitchen had frizzled. ‘May I offer you tea?’ she asked automatically, then looked up in surprise as Mr Howell stepped into the hall and shut the door behind him.

  The woman laid back her veil. It was Maria Zambaco.

  ‘You will think me very forward in coming to see you in this way, but I must talk to you,’ she said.

  Georgie stared at her in amazement.

  ‘Ned and I are in love. It is wrong of you to hold on to him like this. You must let him go.’

  Blood was roaring in Georgie’s ears. ‘He … he’s my husband,’ she managed to say.

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that? He says he cannot leave you, that it would break your heart. You must tell him that you do not want him anymore, that he is free to be with me.’

  Georgie had to sit down. Maria was pacing the carpet, words pouring out of her. Terrible hurtful words.

  ‘There’s no need for you to divorce him. My husband refuses to sunder our marriage anyway. We would not stay here. I know that would be unkind. We’d go to the Continent, to Italy, or Greece. He wants to see Mount Olympus and the home of the gods. You’d do well enough here, with your dear sweet children and your flower-arranging. It’s not as if you’d suffer without him in your bed. He tells me you haven’t an ounce of passion anywhere in your body. It’s cruel to tie him to your apron strings.’

  On and on Maria went, pacing the floor like a caged tigress, gesturing wildly with her hands. Georgie tried to defend herself, but all her words were trite and easily torn to shreds by Maria. ‘A grand passion should not be confined by stupid convention! It’s petty of you … small-minded … selfish.’

  ‘Selfish!’ Georgie gasped.

  ‘Yes, selfish. For you don’t love him and yet you want to keep him all to yourself.’

  Georgie could not help the hot tears that spilled down her face. She loved Ned with all her heart. She had loved him from the moment she had first met him, wearing a pinafore with her hair in a long plait. She had nursed him when he was sick, darned his socks, emptied his chamber-pot, comforted him when he was overcome with blue devils. She had borne his children, and put aside her own cherished dreams to support his.

  The door swung open. Ned stood in the doorway. He looked from Georgie to Maria, and the colour drained from his face. Charles Howell was just behind him, his face alight with malice. Georgie wondered wearily just how much Charles had heard.

  ‘Tell her!’ Maria cried. ‘Tell her that it’s me you love.’

  Ned stumbled into the room. ‘Maria … what are you doing here?’ he managed to say.

  ‘Telling her! Telling her the truth. It’s time that she knew.’

  Ned could not look at Georgie. He said her name in a broken voice. ‘I’m so sorry … I didn’t want you to find out this way.’

  ‘So it’s true?’ she whispered. Stupid words. She knew it was true.

  ‘He fell in love with me the moment he saw me,’ Maria said. ‘He practically tore the clothes from my body the first time I came to his studio. You were only a few rooms away, playing peek-a-boo with your sweet little baby.’

  ‘Maria, don’t be so cruel.’ Ned put out one hand, clinging to the mantelpiece for support.

  ‘How could you?’ Georgie said. ‘Oh, Ned, how could you?’

  ‘Love cannot be denied,’ Maria said magnificently.

  Georgie stood up. She had to stiffen her knees to stop her legs from shaking. ‘What of the children? You mean to abandon them? What will we do? How will we live?’

  ‘I … I’d support you, of course.’

  ‘How? The scandal will be terrible. You’ll never sell another painting.’

  Ned was ashen.

  ‘We’ll live a life of art!’ Maria cried. ‘What do we need of patrons and galleries? We’ll live on a Greek island and swim in the wine-dark sea every day and make love on the sand and paint what we like.’

  Georgie fixed her eyes on Ned’s face. In a low, husky voice, she said, ‘You know it’ll ruin our little girl. She’ll never be free of the scandal. Her life will be blighted.’

  Ned was swaying where he stood. Georgie’s heart was stricken with sudden pity. ‘Oh, Ned, darling,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t do this. You can’t.’

  ‘No …’ Ned’s voice was faint. His knees buckled under him. He pitched forward, striking his head hard against the marble fireplace, then crumpled to the floor.

  Georgie ran to him, falling to her knees beside him. There was blood running down his face. She drew out her handkerchief and pressed it to his temple. ‘Look what you’ve done!’ she cried. ‘Get out! Both of you. Don’t you dare come back.’

  Maria hesitated, obviously wanting to go to Ned. Georgie leapt to her feet and rushed at her, beside herself with fury. ‘Get out! Get out!’

  Maria retreated into the hallway, Charles Howell putting up both hands to fend Georgie off. Sukey, the little maid-of-all-work, raced up the passageway, a rolling-pin in her hand. Alice came to the foot of the stairs, Margot on her hip. ‘What is it? What’s happening? Who are these people?’

  ‘And so we gracefully beat a retreat,’ Charles said, taking Maria’s arm and leading her away.

  ‘It’s not over!’ Maria called back over her shoulder.

  ‘Yes, it is!’ Georgie slammed the door shut, then stood against it. Sobs shook her.

  ‘What’s happened? Who were those people?’ Alice demanded.

  Georgie took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. ‘Sukey, I need water. Smelling salts. Brandy.’

  ‘Brandy?’ Alice was shocked.

  ‘Ned has fainted. Please, can you help me lift him?’

  The skivvy took hold of Ned’s armpits and dragged him up on to the sofa. ‘Nice goings on,’ she remarked, then went back to the kitchen. Georgie knelt beside her husband, dabbing at the cut on his temple. He began to stir, groaning in pain.

  ‘Who was she?’ Alice asked. ‘That woman? Was she …’ Her voice trailed away.

  Georgie bent and kissed Ned’s cheek. ‘Nobody. She’s nobody.’

  7

  Gossip

  Winter 1868

  Janey sat up, reaching for her dress.

  ‘I must get ready. Topsy will be here soon.’

  Gabriel lifted away the great mass of her hair so he could kiss her naked back. ‘I wish you did not need to go.’

  ‘So do I.’ She was silent for a moment, shivering under the trail of kisses that Gabriel emblazoned up her spine. He slid one hand round to cup her breast. Her breath caught. ‘Gabriel, you mustn’t.’

  ‘But I have not seen you in so long. And I do not know when we can meet again.’ He kissed the long slope of her shoulder blade, then gently turned her so he could kiss the little dip between her collarbones. Janey sighed in longing.

  ‘I’ll be quick,’ Gabriel said, laying her down in the tumbled sheets. ‘And the weather outside is foul. Topsy will be held up.’

  ‘Unless he sets out early … Hoping to catch us …’

  Gabriel lifted his head. ‘You think he suspects?’

  ‘I don’t know … he saw me burning one of your letters … I made up some excuse …’

  Gabriel played with her hair, pulling one of her curls straight then watching it rebound into its tight ringlet. ‘What would he do? If he found out?’

  ‘I don’t know …’ Janey’s throat tightened at the very thought. She looked at Gabriel beseechingly. ‘We cannot risk him finding out. You mustn’t make him suspicious, or tell anyone. Promise
me.’

  Gabriel’s lips tightened. He sat up, thrusting a pillow behind his back. ‘It just makes me so angry … seeing the way he speaks to you …’

  ‘You know he doesn’t mean it.’ Janey rolled over on to her stomach, smiling up at Gabriel. ‘Are we going to spend our last few minutes together talking about my husband? I thought you had other plans …’ As she spoke, she slid both hands up his thighs, then cradled him gently, kissing where her fingers stroked. He groaned, writhing his hand through her hair. ‘Oh, Janey. Oh, God.’

  She loved the power she had over him. The way she could coax him from a fit of the sullens to passion in moments. She loved the feel of his skin against hers, the very smell of him. Her own body was quick to reignite. As Gabriel slid his hands down her hips, lifting her up to straddle him, Janey was ready and eager for him. They rocked together, each crying aloud, each working to bring the other to climax. Janey felt again that dizzy rush through her, blinding and deafening her, losing her to herself.

  ‘I love you so much,’ he whispered, as she collapsed into the bed beside him. He pressed his body into the curve of hers. ‘I feel so afraid … something bad is going to happen, Janey. I know it.’

  She laid her finger over his mouth. ‘Nothing bad will happen,’ she whispered, even though she felt the same disquiet within her. ‘You are feeling so much better …’

  Gabriel had submitted to the surgeon’s knife and had his swollen testicle successfully lanced, much to his relief. The doctor had prescribed a soporific for him, and told him to stop drinking too much whisky, advice which Gabriel ignored. The doctor had also recommended Gabriel exercise, and so every night he went out walking along the Thames, crossing Old Battersea Bridge to walk in the park beyond. He was sleeping better and seemed calmer. Janey liked to think it was because of her.

  She slid out of bed and began to dress. He lay, watching her.

  ‘I wish you would let me make you that bracelet. It irks me that Topsy has given you all you own.’

  Janey’s hands stilled. ‘You know I would love it. The design is so beautiful. But how could I explain it to Topsy?’

  ‘You could hide it.’

  ‘But what if he found it?’ Janey cried.

  The bracelet Gabriel had designed was a lovely thing of interlinked rosettes, engraved with the two dates of their coming together: September 1857 – April 14 1868. Janey would have loved to wear it. But it was too dangerous. Topsy was already hurt and suspicious. Janey was frightened of what he might do if he discovered the affair. She lay awake at night, fearing the divorce courts, the girls taken away from her, all her friends shunning her.

  ‘We have to be careful,’ she said again, pressing her hands against her hectic cheeks in an attempt to cool them. ‘Please, Gabriel.’ She hunted around for her hairpins.

  He was surly, his arms crossed over his chest. ‘I don’t know how you can bear it,’ he burst out. ‘Does he touch you, Janey? Does he sleep with you?’

  Janey hesitated. She did not want to admit that she sometimes let Topsy lie with her, to abate his suspicions and ease his hurt feelings. She turned away, looking in the mirror as she pinned up her hair. ‘No,’ she lied. ‘He knows that part of our marriage is over.’

  In November, Janey and Bessie and Topsy went to dinner at the new house William Bell Scott and his wife, Letitia, had taken in Cheyne Walk, just down the road from Gabriel’s home. Janey did not wish to go. She remembered all too vividly the way Letitia had drawn away from her when she had discovered Janey had been brought up in a stable yard.

  And Janey hated her husband and her lover to be in the same room. Topsy was wary and on guard, and Gabriel found it hard to hide his jealous possessiveness. Janey could do nothing, but pretend unconcern and hope that nothing triggered one of Topsy’s rages.

  ‘I feel I should warn you the Scotts have an interesting domestic arrangement,’ Topsy told her in the hansom cab.

  ‘In what way?’ Janey asked politely, staring out the window at the fog-bound streets.

  ‘Scott fell in love with one of his pupils. But he did not want the scandal of a divorce. It would have wrecked his career, you know. So he and Letitia came to an arrangement. He spends the winters in London with his wife, and the summers in Scotland with his … well, with Miss Boyd. She is the Laird of Penkill Castle, the most delightful old sixteenth-century place, with turrets and towers and whatnot. I’m sure Gabriel must have told you about it. He spent most of October staying there.’

  Topsy said the last few sentences with his eyes fixed on Janey’s face. But she was far too interested in what he was saying to start and blush guiltily, as Topsy had perhaps thought she would.

  ‘And Mrs Scott does not mind?’ she asked.

  ‘Apparently not. I’ve heard that she sometimes goes and stays at Penkill Castle too, and Miss Boyd comes up to London and stays with them.’

  ‘I wonder if they all share a bedroom,’ Bessie said with a giggle. ‘They’d want a big bed.’

  Topsy looked pained. He found Bessie’s vulgarity difficult to bear.

  ‘Will she be there tonight?’ Janey asked quickly. ‘Miss Boyd, I mean. I should like to meet a lady laird.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Topsy replied. ‘Though you’d think she’d want to escape the Scottish winter.’

  ‘Perhaps she doesn’t want to endure a London winter,’ Janey replied, with an edge to her voice.

  Topsy began a long-winded explanation for why they could not afford to go to Italy for winter, like the Howards, but Janey did not listen. Her mind had gone wandering away, imagining a life in which she could safely love Gabriel without tearing her family apart. If only, she thought, they had a castle in the country …

  William Bell Scott was rather stout, and had a mop of hair that did not sit quite right on his high domed forehead. Letitia was just as Janey remembered – short, dumpy, mousy, with a supercilious air. The other guests were interesting, however, including an architect who Topsy could talk to about old buildings – one of his favourite topics – a lady novelist, and some literary critics and journalists, including Mr Lewes who, Janey remembered, also lived in an interesting domestic arrangement with Marian Evans, the author who published under the name George Eliot. Miss Evans was not present, however, and Janey recollected that she never went out in society for fear of being snubbed or even openly abused. If Janey’s affair with Gabriel was discovered, she too would be ostracised and shunned. Gabriel and Topsy, however, would still be welcomed just as Mr Lewes was.

  It is not fair, Janey fumed silently. How she hated the humbug of the world they lived in.

  Gabriel was standing by the fireplace, his coat tails lifted so he could warm his behind. His face kindled at the sight of her. Janey nodded politely and murmured a greeting, then went to sit with Bessie on the far side of the drawing room. She was certain she saw the Scotts exchange a significant glance, and took care not to look Gabriel’s way.

  There was much back-slapping and congratulations of Topsy, whose first volume of The Earthly Paradise was already into its fourth printing, only seven months after first publication. Janey had heard it so many times she could have recited it herself. She sat quietly, her hands folded, her thoughts far away.

  When it was time to go for dinner, Gabriel automatically came to offer Janey his hand. She let him assist her to her feet, but said in a low voice, ‘I believe Mr Scott is my partner tonight.’

  Letitia tittered and said, far too loudly, ‘Dear me, but Gabriel is fond of dear Mrs Topsy, isn’t he?’

  Gabriel dropped her arm at once and turned to Bessie, sitting nearby. Janey was all too aware of Topsy’s frowning gaze upon them. She smiled at Mr Scott and took his arm, making polite conversation as he led her to the dining room. Topsy took down Letitia, but he made no attempt to converse with her, his eyes moving from Gabriel’s face to Janey’s and back again.

  ‘I say, Janey,’ Gabriel said as soon as they were seated, turning to face her. ‘I was telling Scott about how muc
h trouble I’ve been having with my eyesight and he suggested I try my hand at poetry again. I was a poet before I was a painter, you know, but I’ve not written a word since … well, you know. What do you think? Topsy and Algy have both had such success with their grinds … perhaps the time is right for me to look out all my old ravelled rags of verse.’

  ‘I think that’s a fine idea,’ she said softly.

  Gabriel would have liked to have kept on talking to her, but she gave him a reproving glance and turned to politely address the architect on her other side. She did her best to keep Gabriel at arm’s length, but he seemed impervious to hints and seemingly unaware of the interested and somewhat scandalised looks of the others around the table.

  Janey wanted no gossip.

  But she feared it was already too late.

  It rained nearly every day for the next two weeks, with Janey finding it difficult to keep her daughters busy and amused. They squabbled constantly, and she found the smell of damp in the drawing room gave her an intense headache that was not relieved by lying down.

  As soon as the rain blew over, she took the girls out marching around their square in mackintoshes and galoshes, trying to keep their umbrellas from blowing inside out. But the rain would begin again, cold and relentless with nasty spits of ice in it, and she would have to hurry the girls back inside, damp and chilled through. At the sound of their boots in the hallway, Topsy would shout out for some peace and quiet. He was now deeply immersed in the translation of some old Norse myths, having met an Icelandic scholar who shared his passionate interest. Janey hoped that was the only reason he was so surly and preoccupied. She feared, though, that he too had heard the gossip and suspected her. The thought frightened her.

  She did not know what to do. On the one hand, she longed for Gabriel and kept trying to think of ways she could go to him without arising any more suspicions. On the other, she dreaded a blow-up with Topsy, and the possible consequences.

  Gabriel was working on a new painting of her as Pandora, created by the gods to be the most beautiful of temptresses. Janey resumed her sittings at Tudor House, Topsy staying with her to preserve the niceties. It was strange and awkward to sit and eat her dinner in the company of the two men she knew the most intimately in the world, knowing that Topsy was watching every flicker of expression on their faces. It was too exhausting, so Janey said that she was too unwell to sit anymore and went home, to her daughters and her dusting and her sewing.