Chapter 37
Mr. Bailey was in a bad mood. Caroline could not bring herself to care about it too much, for she still felt euphoric after the night she had spent in Gervaise’s bed. He had not resisted her at all, she thought giddily. Far from it, he had been flatteringly eager and receptive.
Initially, she had been so disappointed in herself when she had turned chicken-hearted and unable to bring up the “ventre a terre” thing. Then the ambrosia thought had occurred to her and she had redeemed herself. She smiled as she added more tiny stitches to the pink doll’s dress.
“You are looking smug, Ambrosia,” the artist grumbled. “Which is inconsiderate when I am harried on all corners about this wretched opening. Of what are you thinking? Hmmm?”
Caroline cleared her throat. “Maenads are supposed to have secrets, are they not?” she reminded him. “You told me that.”
“Indeed.” He scowled. “And women in general are overly fond of them, I find.”
She shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “Will you finish the painting in time, do you suppose?”
“Of course,” he snorted. “There can be no question of that.” He flung down his brush. “Where are your wretched familiars today?”
“Remus is currently sat under my chair. I am not sure about his brother.” Romulus had wandered off somewhere as was his habit.
“Which is Remus? Stripe or spot?”
“He is spotted.”
“Well, see if you can entice him out, will you? I need to add some texture to his likeness.”
Caroline pushed her sewing aside and leaned down to coax Remus out of his hiding place. She was forced to use one of the spools of thread from her new workbox as an enticement, rolling it across the floor to lure him out.
That did the trick, and after emerging, Remus batted the spool between his two front paws, enjoying himself thoroughly as the artist plied his paints.
Caroline let her thoughts wander back to Gervaise.
He had been so sweet again that morning, fetching her tea and treating her with such affection it had made her feel all aglow.
Last night he had brought her hot water to wash, quite regardless of the advanced hour, and had redressed her in one of his own nightshirts.
He had insisted on ministering to her as though he needed to soothe and appease her after some great ordeal rather than the pleasurable experience they had shared.
Apparently, he had felt rather guilty about it.
Her lips quirked into a smile. He was so strange sometimes.
She had been rather surprised at first that he had not wanted to play along and call her Miss Pomfrey, but when she thought about it, it was very rare he addressed her thus.
In the beginning, he had been happy enough to indulge in such pretense but somewhere along the way he had grown disenchanted with it.
When had that been? Now she came to think of it, it might have been after that day’s traveling with that mother and daughter, when she had told him he had blackened her name as thoroughly as her mother ever had.
That had seemed jarring to him, she remembered, recalling the look on his face when she had said it.
Since that point, he only seemed to use the device to obscure her identity here at The Citadel.
She was decidedly “my dear Miss Halperston” when he oh so politely asked to kiss her arse.
At that moment there was a bang at the door, disrupting her thoughts, and Effie rushed through to answer it. “You’ll need to carry all that lot in,” she instructed someone loudly. “I’m not a bleedin’ pack ’orse!”
“Right you are,” someone agreed cheerily and Caroline craned her neck to watch two delivery men struggle through the door with a pile of boxes made up with ribbon. What on earth had Gervaise been buying her now?
“This way, lads,” Effie sang out, directing them toward the painter’s tableau. “Oo’s a lucky girl, then?” she asked loudly. “Look at all these boxes. From ‘Madame Durand’s in Conduit Street,’” she said, reading one of the labels.
“Oh, the dressmaker,” Caroline said, sitting up. “Oh, I do hope it’s my new plaid walking gown!”
“It’s more likely to be your finery for the grand opening,” Effie opined. “His lordship is sure to have asked for that one to be the priority.”
Her face fell. “Oh, yes of course.” Then she remembered he had warned her he was ordering supposedly “flashy” gowns for the gin palace, and felt her excitement rise again. What would it be like? She jumped up from her seat. “Shall we take a look at it?”
“Hold on a tick,” Effie said. “I’ll go and fetch some scissors.”
“I have some here in my sewing box. Wait!” she said as the delivery men started to shuffle back out of the room.
“Your tip.” She was glad now that Gervaise had emptied the contents of his pockets into her purse that morning.
At the time she had wondered what he imagined she would ever spend it on. “There you are, have a good day.”
“Much obliged, miss.”
“New gown? Ooh, let’s have a look,” Gracie said, hitching her skirts and hurrying over, duster in hand. “Is it anything like that one?” she asked, nodding to the frilly little doll.
Imagining herself in such an elaborate pink gown, Caroline gave an involuntary spurt of laughter.
“I shouldn’t think so. Gervaise’s tastes seem to me much more elegant and refined than my own inclination.
I was only involved in the ordering of my day dresses.
He selected everything else.” Carefully, she cut the string and started unwrapping the uppermost of the boxes, which were cream and decorated with glossy ribbons.
“Ooh, fancy packaging!” Effie said excitedly. “Must have cost him a pretty penny.”
“I should say so,” Gracie agreed.
Caroline lifted the lid and gasped at the contents within. “Goodness!” she breathed, carefully lifting the scarlet bodice out of the tissue paper. Effie whistled as Caroline took in the elaborate pattern of the jet beads quivering all over the bodice. The dress must come in two parts.
“You was saying,” Gracie cackled. “I can’t see nuffink discreet about that!”
“It’s gorgeous!” Effie sighed enviously. “You’ll draw every eye in the place.”
Caroline turned the dress around, admiring the profusion of faceted black beads which hung artfully from the bodice where they would drape down over the skirts in an elegant fall.
Mr. Bailey peered around his canvas. “If his lordship wants you painted in that, tell him I’ll do it,” he offered generously.
“That would make a picture and a half!” Gracie leered. “You’ll be giving all and sundry an eyeful in that bodice.”
Caroline eyed the neckline nervously. It did seem rather low now that she came to look at it. Still, she had told him she looked forward to dressing “as a bird of paradise.” She could hardly complain now he had ordered her the appropriate plumage!
“These other boxes will be the skirts and petticoats, I expect,” Effie said, glancing at the remaining boxes.
“I think they must be. I won’t open them here. They can go straight up to that room Gervaise is using for his dressing room. He did say he would share it with me.”
“Right, I’ll get Reg to carry them up, so they’re safely out of the way,” Effie said, turning briskly on her heel. She was busy today organizing all the bottles behind the bar exactly how she wanted them for she started training her fleet of barmaids that afternoon and was fizzing with enthusiasm.
“Thank you, Effie.” Reverently, Caroline lay the bodice back down in its tissue and cardboard, replacing the lid.
Gracie drifted off again to ply her duster over the wooden panels, and Romulus returned to steal the bobbin off his brother and bat it under one of the booths, where it got wedged against a screen and Caroline had some trouble retrieving it.
“You must be almost finished now,” she said frankly as she returned to her spot sat opposite the artist. He grunted. “You only have three days left.”
“I stand in no need of a reminder,” he answered sourly, and Caroline reached for her book once more, happy to disappear among its pages.
When Gervaise and Ralph returned late afternoon from their social rounds, Caroline was still sat in the same spot, quietly sewing, the two cats draped over her legs and sleeping soundly.
“How was your day?” she asked, looking up. “Did you entice many customers for The Citadel’s opening?”
Ralph waxed lyrical about future patrons for a few minutes before Effie’s team behind the bar distracted him and he headed in that direction to see how they were getting on.
Gervaise dropped down into the seat opposite hers. “Where’s Bailey?” he asked looking around and no doubt noticing the missing easel and paraphernalia.
She set down the little doll’s dress and slipped her needle into the pincushion.
“He has left already. He no longer needs me and said he can add the finishing touches in his studio. My toga is now officially retired,” she said, gesturing to her sheet which could barely be seen bundled up as she now was in dressing robe and shawl.
“He will deliver the final piece on Friday morning.”
Gervaise nodded. “I see. Did he let you view it?”
“He did, finally.”
“And your verdict?”
She tipped her head to one side. “Well, it was highly flattering, but I do not think it really looks all that much like me.”
He smiled, slowly shaking his head. “You’re wrong about that.”
“Really?” she asked skeptically.
“I told you, Bailey has had to use his imagination, but I have seen you like that.”
“You mean that night on the terrace?”
“And twice now since then,” he said mysteriously.
Caroline frowned, but he did not elaborate.
“Shall we take supper with the others tonight?” he asked, glancing over at the noisy bar.
Barty Ewell and Ralph had now both joined the fray and there was a lot of lively conversation and laughter between them and the new barmaids.
“Effie seems in her element,” he commented, sinking down in his chair and resting his elbows on the armrests.
“Oh, yes she is.”
“Jeb perhaps less so,” was his rejoinder.
Caroline turned her head and saw Jeb’s back disappearing through the door to the passageway, leaving it to swing shut behind him.
The set of his shoulders looked tense. “Yes, he does seem subdued today,” she agreed.
“Effie introduced us all to the new staff and they seem a very capable bunch.” She lowered her voice.
“One of them, Freda, the petite one with the chestnut hair, seems determined to flirt with Reg.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, and he’s turned very bashful around her. Seems to be giving her a wide berth.”
Gervaise looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you should give her a hint or two as to what he likes.” Caroline flashed him a disapproving look but chose to rise above this barb. He smothered a yawn. “What were your thoughts about supper tonight?” he repeated.
Caroline scanned his face, trying to determine his own feelings on the matter, but it was impossible to tell. “Perhaps we could dine out,” she suggested. “I had a delivery from Madame Durand’s this afternoon.”
He perked up at this. “Oh, yes? Which of the gowns arrived?”
“The red silk with the jet beads.”
His smile broadened. “That one is for opening night, and not before,” he answered, confirming her suspicions.
“You would not take me out in such an outfit?” she asked lightly.
“Not unless I wished to vigorously defend your honor,” he replied. “Which might prove somewhat exhausting away from home. At least here I have reinforcements. I could depend on Reg’s bulk to dissuade some of their number.”
So surprised was she to hear him refer to The Citadel as home that she initially missed his meaning. When it sank in, she spluttered. “You surely jest, Gervaise. I cannot imagine you having to fight off hordes of admirers on my account!”
“Ah, but you have not yet seen yourself in your new gown,” he pointed out.
“Neither have you!” Caroline countered, shaking her head at this piece of gallantry. “Such nonsense,” she scoffed though she was secretly thrilled by the idea. Certainly, no one in Penarth would ever imagine her in such a scenario!