Chapter Twenty #4
‘I showed them to somebody.’
A little frown creased between her brows. ‘Who?’
‘Henry Mawes Morris, the cartoonist. You know Lord Wigston introduced him to Aunt Caroline, so I see him there from time to time.’
‘I don’t understand. Why did he want them?’
‘He showed them to some publishers. One of them – Hardacre and Cass – is interested in you.’ He smiled at her bewildered look. ‘We have to make an appointment for you in the new year to show them a portfolio, and they might – might, I emphasise – use you to illustrate a book for them.’
‘Richard! Truly?’ she gasped.
‘Is it something you’d like to do?’
‘More than anything!’ she cried. ‘What book, did they say?’
‘Hans Andersen fairy tales, a new edition.’
‘Oh, Richard! I can’t believe it.’
‘Don’t get too excited too soon,’ he said. ‘It might come to nothing.’
‘I have to be excited! Someone professional likes my drawings! Even if nothing comes of it, it’s—’
‘Affirmation? But I’m always telling you you’re talented.’
‘It doesn’t count when it’s family.’ She hugged herself with pleasure. ‘And Mr Morris – he must have thought they were good or he wouldn’t have shown them?’
‘He did.’
Wentworth had thought she was good. But not good enough. But this – this was something real and solid, something to say she existed, her work existed, it mattered. She had a value that did not depend on being an earl’s daughter. ‘You can’t imagine what this means to me,’ she said.
‘I can try,’ Richard said. ‘I’ve never had the least talent at anything. But I must say it feels good that I’m making a go of the dairy scheme. Not just the Spare and a frivolous man-about-town, but capable of doing something of my own.’
‘You do understand,’ she said, giving him an adoring look.
‘Let’s hope Giles will.’
Her face fell. ‘Do we have to tell him?’
‘He’s the head of the family. And we live under his roof. Besides, I believe you should always tell if it’s something they’re bound to find out anyway.’
‘But he’s sure to disapprove. He’ll forbid me.’
‘He might not. If we find the right way to tell him.’
‘Can’t we wait until there’s something to tell him? Until after I’ve seen the publisher. Then if they don’t want me, there’ll have been no harm done.’
‘But if they do want you, and we tell him then, he’ll know we’ve gone behind his back. Much better to get it out in the open from the start.’ He examined her frown. ‘He let you go to art school, didn’t he?’
‘But this is different,’ she said. ‘This is public. In books, they put in the front “Illustrations by” and the name.’ She smiled despite herself. ‘Oh, imagine it saying “Illustrations by Alice Tallant”! That would be…the best thing in my life!’’
‘So let’s not spoil it. Look here, Morris said to wait until after Christmas to make an appointment with Hardacre’s, so that gives you time to do some new pictures and get a portfolio together.
And we won’t say anything to Giles until after Christmas.
Let’s have a happy season without any upset or arguments, and then before we make the appointment we’ll tell him everything and show him your pictures.
They’ll be so marvellous he won’t even think of saying no. ’
‘You’ll come with me to the publisher?’
‘You couldn’t possibly keep me away,’ he said.
Giles was almost last down, having lingered in his bath.
Only Rachel and Angus hadn’t yet appeared, and he supposed the young lovebirds were billing and cooing upstairs and forgetting the time.
Kitty had had the boys brought down so that they could enjoy the company and the tree.
He took Louis up in his arms, marvelling at the solid weight of him, and thinking only for one fleeting moment of tiny Amelia Cowling.
The Wigstons were coming tomorrow, with the child.
He caught Kitty’s eye and smiled, and she drifted across to him, holding the now steadily walking Alexander by the hand.
‘I was just thinking,’ he said, ‘that we ought to consider buying a certain person a pony of his own. We could have done it for a Christmas present.’
‘I’m sure a certain person will be delighted whether it’s a Chrismas present or not,’ Kitty said. ‘But do you think he’s old enough?’
‘He’ll be four in May.’
‘Birthday present, then,’ Kitty said. ‘A few more months to grow.’
Louis had been listening after all. ‘I’m going to be four next year. Is it me?’
‘Long ears belong on a donkey,’ Giles said.
‘I like donkeys,’ Louis said. ‘Will I have a donkey when I’m four?’
‘You’ll be a donkey,’ Giles said, and Louis giggled, distracted, and wriggled to get down so that he could play being a donkey with his brother.
Giles marvelled at himself for being able to be silly with his son.
He couldn’t imagine his own father ever saying anything approaching fun to him or Richard. How times were changing!
Barnes appeared in the hall, seeming to want to catch his eye as well as Kitty’s. It couldn’t be to announce dinner – it was not time yet, and it would be Kitty he would tell, anyway. It must be some crisis. ‘What does Barnes want?’ he murmured to her.
She nodded to the butler to approach, and he stayed at her side. Barnes divided a look between them.
‘A visitor has arrived, my lady,’ he said.
‘We aren’t expecting anyone today,’ Kitty said. She looked at Giles. ‘Could it be Lord and Lady Wigston arriving early? Why didn’t they send a telegram?’
‘It’s a child, my lady, with an attendant. I was given this letter.’
He handed an envelope to Kitty, but she looked at it and gave it to Giles. ‘It’s addressed to you.’ She frowned. ‘A child?’
In a Victorian melodrama, it would be a bastard child arriving to disrupt the household and explode the plot, but Giles had never bedded a woman before Kitty, so there could be no unexpected sprigs.
He looked first at the signature. ‘It’s from Linda,’ he said in dismay, beginning to see where this might be going.
He turned away from Barnes for privacy, and Kitty turned with him as he read.
‘Oh, good God!’ he said. ‘She’s sent us Arabella. She says she hasn’t settled in with her step-brood, and grew hysterical when it was suggested she went back to Usingen. Asked where she wanted to live, she said Ashmore Castle, so Linda sees no other solution than to send her back here.’
‘Poor little girl,’ Kitty said. ‘How horrible for her.’ She turned back. ‘Bring them here at once, Barnes. And tell Mrs Webster to prepare rooms for them.’
‘Why does this keep happening at Christmas!’ Giles exclaimed.
‘It’s never happened before,’ Kitty said.
‘Have you forgotten Tullamore and Uncle Fergus appearing on our doorstep on Christmas Eve? Does everyone and his dog think they can invite themselves here?’
‘Giles, please don’t exaggerate,’ Kitty said. ‘And do smile. The poor child must be feeling dreadful.’
Arabella did look as though she felt dreadful – an expression that combined misery and defiance. Giles’s eyes went over her head to her attendant, and widened as he recognised her. ‘Good grief, it’s Miss Taylor,’ he exclaimed. ‘Now what on earth is going on?’
Miss Taylor was as unhappy as Arabella, though Arabella was more easily comforted. Kitty had only to tell her that she was welcome and would not be sent away against her will, and quite a lot of her misery lifted.
Miss Taylor’s story was told through gritted teeth under Kitty’s questioning in the ante-room away from ears and eyes. She had been dismissed, and given the choice of being turned off in Germany, or having her passage paid back to England as travelling companion to Arabella.
‘But why were you dismissed?’ Kitty asked anxiously, hoping it was not something delinquent.
‘I could not say, my lady,’ Taylor said, grey-faced and mauve-lipped. ‘I have always endeavoured to give satisfaction.’ It went against the grain to criticise her employer, but she continued, ‘Her highness can be capricious, my lady.’ Then she shut her mouth tight to indicate she would say no more.
‘We have to let them stay, Giles,’ Kitty said, alone with him in her bedchamber.
‘Damnit, Linda ought to shoulder her own responsibilities. But I suppose we set a precedent when we took her children in before.’
‘And the poor child is obviously very unhappy.’
‘Arabella is one thing, but I don’t see why we should be responsible for Miss Taylor.’
‘We can’t just turn her out to fend for herself, like a stray dog,’ Kitty said.
‘I believe we can do exactly that,’ said Giles.
‘This place was her home for all those years when your mother was mistress here. She has no other.’
‘You’re too soft-hearted, Kitty. We’re not running an asylum for waifs and strays.’
Kitty had a scalding moment of thinking about High Beeches, the lost and lonely creatures there, and the old earl, Giles’s father, using it to ‘tidy up after him’.
She had sent money since her visit, and wished she could do more.
She wasn’t sure why, but taking in Miss Taylor helped to ease her feeling that she was letting them down.