Chapter 21
Caroline spent an interesting day; despite the fact she was immobile for the majority of it and draped in a sheet.
Mr. Bailey had her change her position a few times and took multiple sketches which he discarded into an untidy pile.
He generously allowed her to get up and stretch for five minutes every hour, though Effie had to prompt him a few times when it slipped his mind.
A villainous-looking old charwoman arrived for duty at around ten o’clock and circled them curiously as she maneuvered her broom around the floor, squinting at the tableau Caroline made with the two cats.
“Don’t mind her, luv, it’s just Gracie ’avin’ a butcher’s,” Effie explained in a loud whisper.
“A butcher’s?” Caroline repeated in confusion.
“A butcher’s hook,” Violet jumped in to explain. “It means ‘look.’ It’s rhyming cockney, innit.”
“Oh.”
Each time Gracie passed by, she got closer still, until finally she had elbowed her way into their little circle.
“Oo’s this then?” she asked, elbowing Effie in the ribs, and resting her arm against her broom. Up close she looked to be about sixty had very few teeth and wore a graying mop cap and apron. A laundress, she clearly was not.
“This is Caroline,” Effie said loudly as though speaking to someone who was hard of hearing. “She’s Lord Atherton’s chere amie, that’s what she is.”
“Oh, that’s what they’re callin’ it now, is it?
” Gracie enquired. “Had a different name for it in my day.” She looked Caroline up and down impartially.
“We just called ’em doxies.” Caroline maintained her pose but felt her face grow rather warm.
The old woman cackled. “Now don’t take on, dearie,” she recommended.
“I don’t mean no offence by it. Used to be one meself, didn’t I?
Back in my day I had many a fine buck courtin’ me for my favors. ”
Violet made a scoffing sound and Gracie wheeled around on her. “Dunno what you’re snorting about, my fine madam!” she seethed. “No one’s clamoring to sketch you in your drawers, are they? Nor would they, neither! Not wiv’ your face!”
“You rotten old cow!” Violet started hotly but Effie sprang up between them.
“Now, now, ladies!” she began, but Mr. Bailey straightened up behind the easel to roar “SILENCE!” startling them all considerably.
Fortunately, they heard the key turn in the door and Ralph’s cheerful tones drifted over as he chattered away to a companion he had brought in with him. Gracie sashayed away with a final contemptuous toss of her mob cap aimed in Violet’s direction.
“I reckon she’s put the evil eye on me, the old witch!” Violet muttered.
Ralph approached with a cocky-looking individual in a loud check suit, he introduced to them as one Bartholomew Ewell, the third shareholder in The Citadel. Effie clearly already knew him and greeted him effusively as “you rogue, you” and claimed he was the current toast of the boxing world.
Caroline was surprised to hear this, for he looked so sleek and nothing like her preconceived notions of a champion boxer.
She would have expected someone large and roughhewn like Reg.
But what Mr. Ewell lacked in bulk, he made up for in presence, for he exuded a brash confidence and swagger from every pore.
He was charm itself when introduced to Caroline, evinced no surprise to find her sat half-naked and draped in cats and seemed to understand perfectly when Ralph described her as Lord Atherton’s “particular friend.”
He bowed over her hand, holding it a trifle too long, and declared he looked forward to seeing her portrait grace their walls. Violet coughed loudly and Effie hurried to introduce her friend. Ralph carried him off shortly hereafter to tour the premises much to Violet’s lamentations.
“He didn’t hardly even glance at me,” she complained. “I declare I’m not getting a look in today and I can’t see why, it’s not as if—” She directed a resentful look in Caroline’s direction and pursed her lips.
Effie nipped out shortly after and fetched lunch for them all, which turned out to be a quantity of whelks seasoned with vinegar and pepper and surprisingly spicy pork sausages served alongside thick slices of cold pease pudding.
It was filling if not particularly sophisticated fare.
Mr. Bailey finished off any leftovers and Effie tidied it away and brought out another tray of tea for everyone.
“I wish you would have tried to make an impression on Mr. Carstairs, Vi,” Effie sighed as she settled back with her cup of tea. “Instead of making sheep’s eyes at Barty Ewell.”
“Which one was he?” Violet asked with a faint frown as she inspected her face in a small compact mirror.
“The one what owns a third of this place, you daft mare!” Effie scolded her. “If you want a position here, you should have tried making up to ’im, not the other.”
“Thought you said Mr. Ewell owned a third too,” her friend responded indignantly.
“Well, he does,” Effie conceded. “But ’e’s been a sight more hands-off than Mr. Carstairs, who’s done the lion’s share when it comes to settin’ this place up.” Caroline reflected that the same could probably be said of Gervaise.
“It’s not as Barty’s interested in the hiring of bar staff,” Effie continued, warming to her theme. “He’s more interested in what smart friends he’s bringing along to the opening night.”
Violet closed her compact with a snap. “I wonder if the other owner will be bringing along any of his smart set,” she said slyly, her eyes darting to Caroline. “Lord Atherton I think you said ’is name was.”
“I expect so,” Effie agreed, “though Caroline would know more about that than me.”
No, I would not, thought Caroline as the other two women turned to look at her.
“I was wondering what the particulars of your arrangement are wiv his lordship, if you don’t mind my asking,” Violet said boldly.
“Vi!” Effie hissed reproachfully but Caroline could see her own eyes were alight with interest as she turned back to face her.
“I am not remotely offended,” Caroline assured them. “Why should I be? I imagine you must have a pretty fair idea about the nature of our association already. And what you will have naturally surmised happens to be the truth.”
When Violet looked back at her blankly, Caroline cleared her throat. “I am a scarlet woman,” she explained gravely.
Effie gave a startled spurt of laughter, “Lord bless you!” she exclaimed but Violet still looked skeptical. “That’s what my Jeb said, though not in as many words,” Effie continued before hesitating. “But I have to say—well—I don’t quite know how to put this…” Her words trailed off.
Violet set down her teacup with a thud. “What Effie means is you just don’t seem the type,” she said forthrightly.
“I assure you that I am,” Caroline answered, feeling nettled. She supposed they meant she was not attractive enough and felt…irritated. Yes, decidedly she felt irritated. Was she not being sketched by an artist even as they spoke? Who were they to decide her attractions were lacking?
Violet opened her mouth, and Caroline just knew the impertinent blonde was about to ask if Lord Atherton was her first…
what? Lover? Protector? She was not entirely sure of the word they would use, but she knew if she confessed as much, they would decide she was some poor dupe his lordship had dragged to her ruin, rather than the experienced woman she wished to be viewed as.
Suddenly, she decided she would not allow their pity or their contempt.
“Why, before his lordship, I brought a whole battalion of soldiers to their knees for love of me,” she said breezily.
“A certain Captain Gerrard desired greatly to marry me, and would have done, despite my reputation and most disreputable family associations, but his lordship convinced me he was my better option.” She shrugged a casual shoulder, so her toga slipped down, and then, daringly she left it like that. After all, why not?
“Got a disreputable family, have you?” Effie echoed, looking intrigued.
“Oh yes, my brother, Private Pomfrey, is a terrible scoundrel,” Caroline answered, beginning to enjoy herself.
“He’s been up for court martial dozens of times and would have been dishonorably discharged if I had not convinced Captain Gerrard to falsify his evidence.
That was why I turned my womanly wiles on him in the first place. ”
For a moment she tried to imagine her virtuous brother in the guise of Teddy’s slipshod toy soldier and almost laughed aloud.
It was too good. Maybe this was how Mama felt when she made up such dreadful things all the time.
Caroline had never understood the appeal of telling untruths before, but it was proving surprisingly fun.
She would have to watch herself in future or she might go down the same path!
Violet snorted. “’Ow can his lordship be your better option when you ’ad some respectable man wanting to actually marry you, you daft mare!”
“Vi!” Effie snapped. “You mind your manners unless you want to be slung out on your ear!”
Caroline smiled and picked up her teacup and saucer.
“Because, my dear Violet,” she answered.
“Lord Atherton has settled four thousand pounds on me, for the privilege of my exclusive company and, to be perfectly frank, I wanted to come to London and see a bit of life. Not to be tied down in marriage to a dull man and confined to some provincial town.”
“Four thousand pounds?” Effie gasped, leaning forward, her eyes like saucers. “He never did!”
“He most certainly has.”
“I don’t believe it!” Violet blurted but the expression on her face was suddenly uncertain.
“You may believe whatever you want,” Caroline answered with a shrug.
“I have no reason to lie.” About that part at least, she added silently.
May saints preserve young Teddy Vance, she reflected fervently.
He had saved her once again from an awkward encounter by providing her with the persona of Miss Pomfrey and her “wild woman ways.”
She smiled to herself, and Mr. Bailey’s head popped around the side of his easel. “Yes, keep smiling like that, Ambrosia,” he encouraged her. “You look full of secrets as you should, for are you not a keeper of mysteries?”
“Oh yes, I have many secrets,” Caroline answered vaguely, holding her smile.
“Quite right,” the artist agreed staunchly.
At this point, the door hammered again and the first of several delivery boys arrived carrying a multitude of parcels tied up with string and addressed to Miss Pomfrey, c/o The Citadel.
“They’re from Gervaise, I mean Lord Atherton,” Caroline exclaimed, tearing the wrapper off the first one and finding a huge box of crystallized fondant creams.
Effie and Violet exchanged looks, and Mr. Bailey protested that she must open the rest of her gifts later or he would lose all the good light.
Violet’s manner was a good deal less contemptuous for the rest of the afternoon. The glances she directed her way still contained a hint of bafflement, but Caroline fancied they were tempered now with a certain measure of respect.