Chapter 20
Disregarding Gervaise’s suggestion, Caroline did not stay in bed for long.
She and the kittens grew bored with their surroundings, and she decided to get up.
The only other gown she had with her was her burgundy day dress.
She dressed with care, donning her chemisette, corded petticoat, corset, and woolen stockings.
Despite the rigidly plain style of the bodice and skirt, she liked this particular gown, for she’d always believed dark colors suited her best and she felt its dropped sleeves with epaulettes added a certain something to its otherwise plain appearance.
Alas, she had no adornment to complete the look, for she had left her pearl brooch and silver locket behind in her rush to escape Penarth.
To compensate for this, she decided she would make a special effort with her hair.
Whilst traveling she had been wearing it very neatly pinned in a coil at her nape.
Today, she would be more adventurous and sweep her hair up into a loose, “artistic” chignon.
Mama was not here to call it slovenly and insist instead their maid Sophy pinned it high on her head or that she wore the sides tightly ringleted like some young miss, a thing Caroline detested and felt had not suited her since she passed one and twenty.
She would dispense with such missish styles altogether now.
She was far too old and jaded for such hairstyles in any case.
Feeling very daring, she eschewed the little sitting room and ventured downstairs with her new look.
The kittens scrambled and leaped about the staircase as Caroline made her way down, empty teacup and saucer in hand.
At the foot of the stairs, she hesitated, waiting for the cats to catch her up.
Then, ignoring the door to the scullery, she followed the hallway around until she reached the door leading out of the private quarters.
It was not locked. Pushing it open, she let the cats precede her and then walked through into the wide and airy public rooms of The Citadel.
They struck her as no less awe-inspiring today than they had the day before.
Gazing around her at the splendor, Caroline set her cup and saucer down on the bar and spent a good five minutes wandering around, inspecting the colored glass panels and etched glass.
Everywhere she looked, something new and gorgeously decorated caught her eye.
Remembering the wall tiles she had wanted to take a closer look at the day before, she started toward the corridor leading to the billiard room when she heard the scrape of a key in a lock and heard a door swing open.
“Ever so sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Bailey,” she heard Effie apologize profusely. “Only we’re all at sixes and sevens today. Mr. Carstairs would be ever so cross if he knew I’d left you waiting on the step like that out in the cold.”
“Yes, well, it wouldn’t be the first time I have received such infamous treatment,” Caroline heard a deep voice reply.
“I just hope you’ve brought along those models you promised.
Carstairs was devilishly unimpressed with the two I brought along last time.
Said they didn’t fit his blasted aesthetic. As if he had one! Jumped up little—”
“Ah there you are, Caroline luv!” Effie called out brightly.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down! Come over ’ere and let Mr. Bailey take a good look at you, then.
My—er—other friend Violet should be here soon.
” Effie turned and cast a desperate look out of one of the large bow windows.
“Dunno what the ’ell she’s playin’ at!” she muttered in an aside.
Realizing the newcomer must be the artist she had heard about, Caroline started forward but found Remus winding his way insistently about her legs.
Picking him up, she set him against her shoulder and took another two steps, only for Romulus to ambush her, tackling her ankles.
Stooping down, she scooped him up too and approached the artist with both cats draped about her person.
Mr. Bailey was carrying several bags which he sat down squarely, narrowing his eyes at Caroline. “Step into the light,” he said sharply. “Now turn your head to the left. Now the right. Hmmm.”
He looked nothing like Caroline had always imagined an artist would look. Instead of looking vague and undernourished, he was a good-looking fellow with luxuriant whiskers and a tendency to embonpoint. His smart three-piece suit already looked a little too snug in the waistcoat area.
“Wot do you fink?” Effie asked anxiously. “Will she do, in a pinch?”
“The gown’s all wrong,” Bailey replied in clipped tones. “And I’d need to see the hair unbound. But there are possibilities. Distinct possibilities.”
“You think I look like the titaness Themis?” Caroline asked with interest.
“Themis?” the artist repeated. “Themis?” He snorted. “Certainly not! Whoever told you that?”
“No one, but that is how Ralph pictures The Citadel personified,” she explained. “He told me so himself.”
“Man’s a fool. Especially if he thinks you look like a titan,” he responded scathingly.
“Well, no he never actually said that,” Caroline reiterated scrupulously. “Though someone did once tell me I looked rather like a maenad.”
That caught the artist’s attention. “A maenad, eh?” He gave her another grudging appraisal. “And just what were you doing to prompt such a remark?”
“I had been sleeping under a tree, so my hair was untidy and full of leaves. And then I made him dance with me out of doors.”
“Indeed?” He looked more intrigued than shocked by such behavior. Effie started to speak but he held up his hand. “No! Let me think.” She widened her eyes and sent a mystified look at Caroline, who shrugged by way of reply.
“A maenad with her leopard attendants…” he rumbled after a moment’s contemplation. “That could work.” He gave a decisive nod. “Let me set up my easel.” He looked about wildly. “Where am I supposed to work in this accursed place?” he roared.
“Wherever you like,” Effie hastened to assure him. “What about over ’ere behind these screens if you want a bit of privacy, or there’s the billiard room? You tell me, luv.”
“Show me!” Mr. Bailey ordered abruptly. “Lead the way! I need light. I need air. I need atmosphere!” Caroline remained where she was, fussing with the cats, as Effie led the artist around the first floor.
“No!” Caroline heard him boom as he viewed the booths. “Absolutely not!” he yelled again from somewhere else in the distance. Their footsteps retreated in the direction of the billiard room. It was some moments until she heard his upraised tones again.
“Dreadful. Execrable! Take me back. We will have to set up an area over by those gaudy screens. There’s nothing else for it.”
“You’re bleedin’ welcome,” Effie muttered under her breath as she led their way back into the saloon area. She rolled her eyes at Caroline. “’Elp me drape these sheets for ’im, will you, sweetheart?”
Caroline set down the cats and made haste to help Effie hang the sheets over one of the screens for a plain backdrop while Mr. Bailey set up his easel. “Do not let the beasts escape,” he intoned grandly.
“They won’t roam far,” Caroline assured him.
“She needs a chair,” the artist responded. “And a toga.”
“A toga?” Caroline and Effie echoed in unison.
“I don’t know about that,” Caroline continued nervously, for surely that would require the removal of her undergarments. Bell-shaped petticoats would hardly be conducive to the correct shape and as for a corset…
“You can use one of my sheets,” the artist said, picking one up and throwing it to Effie. She caught it and then looked hopelessly at Caroline. It was clear she had no idea what a toga even was.
“I’m afraid that neither Effie nor I have any experience of tying togas,” Caroline pointed out.
“I can tie it!” the artist said irritably. “Just please go and undress!”
Caroline beheld him speechlessly, then turned to Effie.
“Sorry about this, luv,” the other whispered to her.
“I was ’oping as my friend would sit for ’im, but she’s gorn and left me properly in the lurch!
” She gave Caroline a shrewd look. “Are you thinkin’ ’is lordship will cut up rough about you undressin’ for another gent? ”
Caroline swallowed. Was that what was she was worried about?
Not really, for Gervaise had a decidedly worldly wise air about him.
He probably would not bat an eyelid. No, it was her own sense of propriety that was the issue here.
She took a deep breath in, then breathed it out again slowly.
“Not at all,” she stated with dignity. “I was just wondering where I might—er—divest myself of my garments.”
“Follow me,” said Effie, taking her by the hand. “I’ll play the lady’s maid for you, never fear.” She led her toward a vestibule with a discreet sign stating Water Closet. “In here, darlin. We’ll soon ’ave you sorted out.”
When they emerged ten minutes later, Effie had an armful of petticoats and Caroline was swathed in a white sheet with her hair loose to her waist. She felt most scandalously on show and practically naked, though she had retained her chemisette, stockings, and drawers.
She was a kept woman, she reminded herself firmly, and soon to be artist’s model. Her alter ego, Miss Pomfrey, would not flinch in such situations. She would be queen of any given scenario. Lifting her chin, Caroline vowed to do the same and followed Effie around to the screened-off area.
“The cats have wandered off,” Mr. Bailey growled with dissatisfaction.
“They’ll be hungry and looking for something to eat,” Caroline replied, sitting herself down on a chair that had been placed in front of the white sheets.
“I can fetch them a bit of something,” Effie offered, “when I nip out to fetch us a spot of lunch. I’m behind my time today,” she added apologetically. “Has Mr. Carstairs shown ’is face yet?”
“No, I’ve not seen him.”