Chapter 22
Gervaise arrived back at The Citadel about five o’clock.
It had taken a good deal longer to procure a special marriage license than he had anticipated.
He had not realized it would be such a tiresome process with quite so many questions asked.
After that he had decided to do a little shopping, starting with a confectioner.
This too had taken up more of his time than he had expected. He kept getting distracted by items that might amuse or tickle Caroline’s fancy. He hoped the steady stream of packages he had sent her way had kept her amused throughout the day.
Still, she was likely to be both bored and feeling hard done by, stashed away in those attic rooms as she was.
He would take her out to dinner to make it up to her, he decided as he alighted from his cab.
Somewhere decent but discreet. He needed to keep things quiet until he had got everything straightened out, he thought, wincing slightly.
It was a pity he had not realized his feelings until this late in the day but there it was. No matter, he thought, tapping his breast pocket and feeling the reassuring rustle of the papers there. Things could soon be rectified and set to rights without too much disruption.
Unsurprisingly at this hour, all was quiet as he entered The Citadel using the key Ralph had given him the previous day.
He breezed through the bar and made his way toward the backstairs carrying the last of his packages.
He had just mounted the bottom step when he heard a burst of laughter coming from the scullery.
He paused, a cold sensation running down his spine.
Was that Caroline? He had heard her laugh before.
She had a pleasant laugh, but this sounded like three or four women and the laughter had a decidedly raucous edge.
Slowly, he turned to the face the door, pushing it slightly open with the toe of his boot.
“Used to tell me to sit on ’is face and ride him like I was ventin’ a tear. That’s what he used to call it,” announced a raspy voice. Gervaise blinked as he heard gusty laughter by way of reply.
“Ventin’ a tear?” repeated another voice in mystified tones. It sounded like the redhead, Effie, who had fetched their supper the previous night. “Wonder what ’e meant by that, bless ’im.”
“Dunno,” the first admitted. “I fort it must be a racing term. Like ‘off to the races.’ Leastways, that’s wot I used to take ’is meanin’ as.”
Someone else cleared their throat. “I expect he said ‘ventre a terre,’” they suggested. This was Caroline’s voice, he realized at once. Instead of reeling in horror from such discourse, it seemed she was an enthusiastic participant.
“Wot’s that?” another voice asked, sounding like she was chewing on something at the same time. “Never ’eard of it.”
“It means ‘at full gallop,’” Caroline explained helpfully.
“So, I was right, then,” the first voice said cheerily. “Only ’e always seemed pretty pleased wiv’ my interpretation.”
“I expect he was,” Caroline agreed solemnly, and he immediately wanted to see her face. He could already picture her serious expression, while her eyes danced with mirth. She always showed her real feeling in her eyes.
The disreputable voice chortled. “Given you sumfink to think about, ain’t I, girls?”
“Jeb’s not really into perversions,” the second voice confessed. “E’s pretty straightforward in bed, truth to tell.” It was Effie then, he had been right.
“Oh, yes? Dunno wot she’s missing out on, does she, darlin?” the first said jocularly. “Bet ’is lordship’s a bit more adventurous!”
Gervaise pushed the door wide open at this point, and four women sat at the table swung around to look at him, their faces displaying a whole range of expressions.
They varied from a downright guilty Caroline, to a distinctly unbothered old woman who looked him up and down with lively interest. Remus yawned widely in her lap as Romulus sat squarely in the middle of the table, cleaning his paws.
“That you, your lordship?” Effie said, recovering first. “Only we was just lettin’ down our back hair and havin’ a cuppa and a catch up, us girls together.”
“So, I see,” he remarked, taking in the open chocolate box and the half-empty teacups. He would not have been surprised to see an open bottle of gin at this point, but things did not seem to have progressed that far.
Entering the room, he dropped his most recent packages onto the unopened pile that stood in the corner and sauntered over to the table, holding out a hand to Caroline.
When she took it, he hauled her up out of her chair and stood a moment, his eyes roaming over her loose dark hair and the fact she was wearing her dressing robe belowstairs.
Her hand was as ice. Seizing her other, he found it just as cold and frowned. “Did I get the right ones?” he asked, his eyes flickering from her face to the chocolates.
“Oh yes,” she said, suddenly smiling and catching him off guard. That smile. Had he thought it was only her eyes that were expressive? He had been wrong. “They are wonderful. The squire’s box only had orange centers. These have orange, lemon, strawberry, lime and…”
“Raspberry,” the old char finished off. “Those ones is my favorite.”
“This is Gracie,” Caroline hurried to explain. “She does the cleaning around here and will be doing our laundry.”
“S’right, your lordship,” said Gracie complacently.
“How do you do?” He reached across to shake hands with the dreadful old woman. After all, she could not perform a curtsey sat in her chair and she could hardly leap up, not when Remus lay snoozing in her lap.
“And this is Violet, Effie’s friend,” Caroline said, indicating a well-built blonde. Gervaise gave her a cursory greeting to before turning back to his true quarry.
“Why are you wearing your dressing gown belowstairs?” he enquired pointedly.
“Oh, because I found it quite cold in a toga,” she replied, as though that made perfect sense.
“I see,” Gervaise said slowly. Perhaps there had been gin involved after all.
“Poor little ’fing was turning blue wiv’ cold before that nasty brute let her put it on,” Gracie tutted. “Summit cruel it was, and so I told ’im!”
“I daresay a toga was perfectly adequate in ancient Greece,” Caroline put in swiftly, “but here in present day London it leaves a lot to be desired.” She gave a little shiver.
“They did not wear togas in ancient Greece,” Gervaise corrected her. “What have you been up to, I wonder?”
“Didn’t they?” She seemed surprised by this news. “Mr. Bailey seemed to think it the correct attire for a maenad.”
“Mr.…?”
“Would you care for a cup of tea, milord?” Effie asked brightly. “Or sumfink a bit stronger ’praps?”
“What about a chair, milord?” Violet suggested. “You want to ’ave a nice sit down. Do you a power of good it would.”
He waved these offers aside, seeing them as the distractions they were. Only Caroline seemed ignorant of the fact he was a little put out.
“Thank you for all my gifts,” she said in a low voice, sounding for the first time a little shy.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. “You have not even opened them all.” He nodded toward the pile of brown paper parcels.
“Well, no, but there were ever so many, and I couldn’t really move much.”
“I only ’ope to goodness one of your parcels is a new dressing robe,” Violet piped up. “’Cos that brown one is shockin’. My old mum wouldn’t even wear it, and she’s been dead these past ten years.”
Caroline lifted her eyes to meet his, and he saw the twinkle lurking in their depths. “Did you get me a new dressing robe?” she asked.
“I did, but you’re not to ever wear it down here,” he added direly.
“Oh-ho, like that, is it?” Gracie hooted. “Nuffink to it, I’ll bet.”
Gervaise ignored this ribaldry. “Mr. Bailey was the artist you were looking forward to meeting,” he said slowly as realization set in. “You could not move because you were posing for him.”
“Yes.” Caroline beamed. “He means to paint me with the twins pulling me along in a chariot.”
“A chariot?” Gervaise echoed. “But this sounds nothing like the image Carstairs described.”
“Well, no…” she admitted, biting her lip. “You see, Mr. Bailey did not think I looked much like a Themis. I told him you thought I resembled a maenad, and he sort of took that as his inspiration.”
Gervaise felt a definite twinge of annoyance. Why the hell had she seen fit to repeat that particular piece of information?
“I think the cats decided him personally,” she continued blithely. “Apparently, Dionysus is associated with large cats. He means to make Remus a leopard and Romulus a tiger in the painting.”
“Very fitting.” His eyes scanned hers. Something was different about her, he realized, uneasily. There was a sort of soft glow about her that disquieted him. What was it? “You have…enjoyed yourself today?” he asked.
“Oh yes, very much so,” she enthused, her eyes flitting fondly over the other occupants of the scullery. “It’s been a truly wonderful day.”
Suddenly it struck him what it was. Happiness. Caroline was happy. Perhaps for the first time in her miserable existence. Her hands were cold, but her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were sparkling.
He hoped to God it was not the artist who had affected her like this.
He did not quite know what he would do if it was.