Chapter Seven
The following afternoon, there came a point where Phillippe laid down his sketchpad and pencils and said, “Enough.”
Sibyl looked up from her perch on a stool. “Sir?”
“Phillippe, please, Miss Clifton. I say enough. I am done. You are free to go.” He rose from his seat where he had been sketching her. “I will paint through the night, but I no longer need you to pose for me. I have enough.”
She rose from her stool and met him. “Thank you. It has been a pleasure.”
His gaze was full of warmth, even if his eyes bore shadows beneath them. She rather thought he would give her an affectionate hug were it not for her mother sitting a few feet away.
As it was, he bowed and said, “The pleasure is all mine. Now, in a week’s time, it is the day of the grand reveal at the Royal Exhibition. You and your family are to be my honored guests. You be there for eleven-thirty, and the reveal will be at noon. You know what to expect?”
Sibyl shook her head. “Not at all.”
His smile was kind. “You and your family will be there, and part of the crowd. I will have the exhibition people open the doors, and we have our own special room, where I will have the biggest paintings and sketches on display. There will be a number of prints and even a miniature portrait of you to buy. I have another artist friend who is exceptionally skilled at that. It is a gift. In any case, I will announce my inspiration and then introduce you as my muse. The new source of my inspiration for expressing my artistic vision.”
Sibyl nodded but felt slightly anxious, rubbing her sweaty palms on the sides of her dress. “What will become of me?”
“In honest truth, not a lot. You will receive attention and many people will want to talk to you, but you smile, and say only nice, complimentary things about how we worked together. I will handle any difficult questions. I have already had enquiries from journalists and they know not to reveal anything until later that day. You will receive invitations, to concerts, plays, gallery openings, dinners, and parties, and the gifts you will receive… Mon dieu. It will be wonderful. Your name and mine will be on everyone’s tongue for at least a week, maybe more.
And better, the men. You will have many suitors. ”
“Thank you, Phillippe. It is so much. I don’t know how we could ever repay your kindness,” Mrs. Clifton said.
His face took on a faraway look for a moment, and he grew solemn.
“It is the least I can do. Honestly.” He clapped his hands, and his cheer returned.
“Now, let us part ways, and I will see you both at eleven-thirty at the exhibition. Come in the back way, and I will have the guards know to let you in.” He shook their hands and bowed.
“It will be a delight. Good day, my dear Mrs. and Miss Clifton.”
Mrs. Clifton went to go, entering the corridor. But as she went to follow her mother out, Sibyl stopped. Doubt ate at her. “Thank you, Phillippe. I know you said before about why you chose me, but I have to ask. Why?”
He paused for a second. “Would you believe me if I said that you had a beautiful name? That I knew anyone given such a name at birth could be nothing but beautiful, inside and out?”
She wanted to believe him. “No. I don’t believe a name dictates a person’s physical beauty or inner character.”
He nodded. “In that case, I make you a promise. After the exhibition, once the attention has died down a bit, I will explain everything. Until then, rest and enjoy the time. You will be society’s darling, Miss Clifton. Enjoy it for as long as it lasts.”
There was a knock at the front door. It was opened, and to Sibyl’s surprise, Kate walked into the studio, her tan walking coat swirling around her.
The straw bonnet on her head fairly bristled like an angry cat.
The young woman’s head lifted, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted at the sight of Sibyl.
“Ha, I should have known you would be here.”
“Miss Harvey. I was not receiving callers,” Phillippe said.
Sibyl coughed delicately. “I should go.”
“Yes, you should. This doesn’t concern you,” Kate said.
Sibyl stared at her. While she didn’t particularly like the young woman, there was no reason for such rudeness.
“Miss Harvey, please leave. I haven’t the time for this,” Phillippe told her.
“Oh, I think you’ll make the time.” Miss Harvey strode forward and said, “I’m giving you one last opportunity. Paint me. Tell the world that I am your muse.”
Phillippe laughed. “I already have my muse. She stands before you.” He gestured to Sibyl.
“Her? She’s nothing but a charity case. A plain, dull woman you felt sorry for. I’m telling you now, you should change your mind. I have kept your little rendezvous secret, in order to make you see sense. Will you not cast her aside? Choose me, instead.”
Sibyl’s mouth dropped open. All this time, Kate wanted to take her place. Of course. Her words to Mrs. Jones at that dinner, saying it was like looking into a mirror. She wanted to convince Phillippe to paint her as his muse. What jealousy!
“Absolutely not. I have chosen her. My mind is made up. And I do not respond kindly to threats.” Phillippe’s voice was firm. “Miss Clifton, I will see you at the gallery opening.” He nodded to her.
Sibyl quit the room. She found her mother nearby, listening, and stepped loudly away.
Kate’s voice carried. “I’m telling you, you need to change your mind. Do you know who my father is?”
Phillippe retorted, “No, I do not care. Unless he is the Prince of Wales, I do not care who he is. And even then, I care not. Why do you threaten me?”
“Because you need to understand who you are dealing with. My father is the editor of The Daily Tattler. Do you know what that is?”
“A ladies’ periodical? Please, Miss Harvey, you have already proven yourself rude to my guest. Your presence was neither invited, nor wanted. Please leave.”
Sibyl hurried her mother out of the door and to their awaiting carriage. She held up a finger for silence. But the windows of the studio were open, and their voices carried clearly.
Kate said, “You think you can shoo me like a dog? You’ll see. I’ll ruin you. My father will write a scathing review of your little pictures so horrible, they won’t be worth wiping your arse on. Then see how popular you are. This is your last warning. I’m telling you.”
Sibyl and her mother were climbing into their carriage when Kate threw open the studio door and stalked out angrily, her bonnet trembling on her pretty, blonde head. “Just you wait and see what happens. Then you’ll be begging to paint my portrait.”
Her response was the slamming of the front door, so loudly, it made Sibyl jump.
Mrs. Clifton tapped the carriage room to go, and they began to pull away into the London streets.
But Sibyl locked eyes with Kate, and her face…
The young woman’s expression was terrible.
Her eyes were like black pools of night, and her mouth fixed in a grimace, worthy of a skeleton’s head on a gravestone. It made Sibyl shiver.
Sibyl and her mother returned home, to where Lucy came up to them as they removed their bonnets and coats in the foyer. “This arrived for you, Sibyl.”
“Oh, what is it? A parcel?” Her mother took it from her younger sister and looked at it. “Why, did you order a book, Sibyl? It feels like one.”
“No, I didn’t.” Sibyl untied her bonnet strings from her chin and hung it up on a peg, along with her cloak.
“Well, never mind.” Her mother slipped the brown paper parcel into her hands.
Sibyl took it up to her room and unwrapped it. Suddenly, the clean scent of Mr. Heyter’s cologne hit her nose. Was it from him? She delicately tore open the paper.
Inside was a slim, leatherbound book, and a note. It read:
Dear Miss Clifton,
It has taken me some time to find an English translation of this book, but I hope you read it and enjoy its tale as much as I do. I still mean to hold you to our wager, even if you are too fearful to play me in chess again.
I look forward to our next conversation.
Yours,
N.H.
It was from Mr. Heyter. She looked at the book.
The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang Goethe.
She smiled. Because she did not know German, he’d taken the time to purchase a translation for her.
She did not know how much it had cost, but it would not have been cheap.
She hugged it to her chest. Just feeling it made her feel close to him.
The book was bound in a dark-black leather volume and was simple.
But she appreciated the gesture, and flopped on her bed on her stomach and began to read.
The day before the grand opening of Phillippe’s exhibit at the Royal Exhibition, Sibyl awoke, her stomach full of nerves.
Tomorrow afternoon, her name and face would be shown to the world.
Hundreds of people would know her. It was a daunting thought, and if she were being honest with herself, a bit terrifying.
She rose, stretched, and dressed. That morning, Sibyl wore a faded, slate-blue dress that reminded her of the rocks and the sea crashing against the shore, a sight she’d not seen for some time, since holiday trips to the English coast as a child with her father.
She missed him still. The news they had received that fateful day five years ago had rocked her world and shocked her family to the core. She used to love to read the newspaper and keep abreast of all of the things happening in the world.
But the morning she’d learned the news of her father’s death was fixed in her memory like a scab, and the barest scratch threatened to open it up into a wound.
Sibyl remembered it like it was yesterday. She’d gone downstairs to collect the morning paper and read it with toast and jam over breakfast when she’d seen the headline.
HMS Baccus Sinks, No Survivors
Her hands had given a flutter, making the newspaper tremble as she read the tragic news. She’d learned her father’s fate listed on paper and black ink.