Chapter 28
Caroline was not sure how it was arranged, but Gervaise managed to insinuate himself into proceedings so thoroughly that by six o’clock, she had her feet, swathed once again in ugly woolen socks, resting on his lap while she read The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon clad in a toga, her warm woolen shawl wrapped about her and her hair loose.
As for Mr. Bailey, he seemed perfectly content to converse with Gervaise as he painted.
The sketches had been discarded now he was past the early stages and he was working with a huge canvas and a mess of untidy oil paints.
He and Gervaise passed through a wide range of subjects including, though not confined to, mythology, public schooling, horse racing, appreciation of the arts, and capital punishment.
“If you could turn your head a little more to the left, Ambros—I mean, Miss Pomeroy, I would be very appreciative.” At some point along the way, the artist had picked up on the fact Gervaise did not care for the pet name he had bestowed upon her, and he now tried and failed to address her more respectfully.
So far, she had been hailed as Miss Pumphrey, Miss Pomeroid, and Miss Murgatroyd in quick succession.
Mr. Bailey, it seemed, really was extraordinarily bad at remembering people’s names.
He did not even try to recall the cats’ names.
He hailed them respectively as Spot and Stripe, while they, perhaps justifiably, ignored him, pouncing and rolling around on the floor together nearby.
Caroline lowered her book with a satisfied sigh. She had ploughed through two stories, “The Wife” a short and touching tale about a spouse improving the lot of her new husband, and then “Rip Van Winkle,” an extraordinary tale of a man sleeping for twenty years after consorting with ghosts.
“Enjoying your book?” Gervaise murmured.
“I am!” She proceeded to tell him about both tales in detail. “Oh, but you’ve read it,” she suddenly remembered, her face falling. “And I’ve been going on and on!”
“It was a long time ago. I enjoyed the refresher.”
Mr. Bailey snorted. “Sounds like a volume of fairy tales,” he said scornfully. “Anyone I know foolhardy enough to take such a step, sorely regrets taking a wife soon after!”
Seeing Gervaise’s sudden frown, Caroline cleared her throat. “So, it is not the existence of ghosts or enchanted sleep you doubt, Mr. Bailey, but that of a valuable helpmeet.”
He shook his head. “In my experience, such a thing is rare indeed. Whereas I’ve met several fellows who’ve had creditable ghostly encounters. Friend of mine called Danvers came across a spectral hound once in Stepney. Damned thing chased him half a mile before he managed to give it the slip.”
“I expect he was drunk,” Gervaise interjected scathingly.
“Oh, you know him, then?” Bailey said casually, not taking the least offense.
Gervaise ignored him, turning to Caroline. “Wait until you reach ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,’” he recommended. “I will be interested to hear your thoughts on that tale.”
Caroline brightened. “Is it another ghost story?”
“Wait and see.” They shared a conspiratorial smile and Mr. Bailey peered over the top of his canvas at them. Gervaise cleared his throat. “How much longer is my—is Caroline—to be expected to sit here?” he asked pointedly. “It is growing late, and she will want her supper.”
Mr. Bailey huffed and threw down his brush with ill grace.
“Oh, very well, I will pack away, if I must.” A key scraped in the lock, and turning her head, Caroline saw Ralph and Mr. Ewell enter the premises.
“Ah, there you are, Gervaise,” his friend hailed him heartily.
“We were hoping we might catch you and share a few thoughts about the grand opening next week.”
Caroline did not think Gervaise looked particularly enthusiastic at the prospect, but he nodded all the same and she sat up, withdrawing her feet from his lap. “Go and put some clothes on,” he said, getting to his feet.
“Yes, I will,” she said, standing up and wincing. She had been holding her pose for overlong.
Suddenly, he seized hold of her, surprising her. “Where does it hurt?” he asked, running his palms up and down her arms.
“My sides,” she admitted.
He hesitated, then cast a quick look around.
“I’ll have to give them some attention later,” he said regretfully.
Ralph and Barty Ewell were helping themselves to drinks over at the bar, and Caroline wondered if he did not want them to see him manhandle her.
She was a little surprised by his attitude, truth be told.
They must know what she was to him after all!
“And will you come up to the room after your discussion, or shall I come back down to you?” she asked hopefully.
Again, he hesitated, his gaze traveling back over to the bar. “Wait for me upstairs,” he answered at last. “I may be a while.”
Caroline swallowed down her disappointment. She would have liked to have listened to their plans for The Citadel’s grand opening. Instead, she nodded. Mr. Bailey was watching them curiously as he packed away his supplies.
Gervaise reached out and caught her hand. “In truth, I should have given over some more time earlier to discuss business with them,” he confessed in a low voice, “but I had other priorities.”
“Me?” she asked. He nodded, lacing his fingers through hers, bringing them to his lips and bestowing a kiss upon her knuckles. “I’ll speak to Reg about lighting the fires upstairs and fetching you some supper.”
“No,” she said impulsively. “I can speak to Reg about the fires. I’m not even hungry after our late lunch.
Go to them,” she said, glancing over at his business partners.
“I’ll be fine. I can read more of my book.
” It was his turn to nod, though he seemed reluctant to let go of her hand.
She bade him a cheery farewell and scooped up both cats.
Mr. Bailey reminded her he would be over “first thing” in the morning, and Caroline promised to be ready. The twins meowed at her as she carried them through the passageway to the staff quarters. It was their suppertime too.
Absently, she pushed open the door to the scullery and found herself interrupting a heated discussion in full flow between Effie and Jeb.
“It’s not my bleeding fault, Eff!” Jeb roared. “What d’you want me to do? I can’t dictate who she invites to her table on a Sunday!”
Effie froze, then turned slowly to look at Caroline before turning back to Jeb.
“No, Jeb,” she answered in a voice that set the hairs prickling on the back of Caroline’s neck.
Dangerously calm, that was how she would describe it later to Gervaise.
“But you can decide whether or not to park yourself at that table, can’t you?
Next to whatever prospect your mother’s picked out for you.
” Jeb flinched. “You made your choice and now I’m making mine. ”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he blustered but her words had extinguished his fire, and he looked strangely pale and shaken.
Effie turned her back on him. “Come in, darlin’,” she said to Caroline, gesturing.
“Don’t let us stop you. There’s catsmeat in that basin over there.
Got it fresh today, I did. Let me get you a cuppa.
” She started bustling around and Caroline entered the room, setting down the cats.
“How’s the paintin’ comin’ along?” she continued with forced brightness.
“Mr. Bailey seems pleased with it,” Caroline answered in measured tones.
“I am now reclining in the chariot among a pile of tasseled cushions.” She started spooning the meat into two bowls and the door slammed shut behind Jeb.
Effie’s shoulders drooped and she clasped the edge of the table, breathing hard.
“Effie?” Caroline asked gently. “Is there anything I can do?”
The other woman gave a forced smile. “No darlin’,” she said sadly. “There’s nothing anyone can do but me.”
Caroline set the bowls down on the floor for the cats and then hesitated.
After a moment, she crossed the kitchen and placed a hand on the redhead’s shoulder.
Effie’s brash confidence wavered as she swallowed convulsively.
“Don’t make me cry,” she said, firming her lips and patting Caroline’s fingers.
“I’ve shed enough tears over ’im, believe me. ”
“I do,” Caroline said gravely. “Come upstairs and eat chocolates with me. They are having a meeting down here about The Citadel, so we girls can make merry. We could help ourselves to some wine,” she offered by way of temptation.
Effie gave a watery laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m tempted,” she said regretfully. “But Vi said she would come by at seven and we could go to The Dog and Duck.”
“Vi could come up too,” Caroline offered generously. “Why not?”
“You really mean it?” Effie wavered. “Only she was a bit of a cow to you the other day, you do realize?”
Caroline pulled a face. “I know, but I like her all the same.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d noticed,” Effie confessed, making Caroline give a spurt of laughter.
“I noticed but…well…”
“A proper lady don’t let on?” Effie suggested.
“Perhaps, but also…I’m used to far worse than anything little Violet could dish out,” Caroline admitted.
Effie looked lowered the teapot, blinking.
“My mother is pure poison,” Caroline said softly, “and has always viewed me as her enemy.” It was the first time she’d ever said such a thing aloud. It felt strangely liberating.
“Bloody ’ell!” breathed Effie. “Well, you’ve been holdin’ out on us and no mistake. Sod the tea. I’ll go and ask ’is lordship if we can have a bottle on the house. Two bottles,” she amended. “Vi drinks like a fish, bless her.”
Half an hour later, Caroline, Effie, and Violet were sat on a rug in front of the roaring fire in the upstairs sitting room, sipping champagne from crystal glasses. An open box of chocolates lay on the floor beside them and two recumbent, dozing cats.