Of Noble Family (14 page)

“Dat ah your first trouble. Folds. Weaves. I do not use those.”

“Pardon?” It had clearly been a glamour. “May I ask, then, how you created it?”

“Is different where I come from. We don't try an' mek glamour behave like cloth.”

“Oh—oh, well, neither do I. It is only that the language of fabric is so useful for discussing what is an otherwise intangible art.”

“An' it set what de English can do.”

Jane thought of the detailed glamurals that she and Vincent had created for the Prince Regent. Months of care had gone into creating a representation of an undersea kingdom that could be mistaken for real. Even Vincent's pranks when studying with Herr Scholes had apparently looked quite real. Nkiruka's spider was impressive only because of the distance involved. The illusion itself was quite crude. “I think, perhaps, you have not had the opportunity to see what a professional glamourist can do.”

Nkiruka snorted and gave Jane a look that made her feel quite small.

“I—yes, my apologies.” Jane clasped her hands in her lap, but undid them when she noticed the fabric of her dress smoothing over her stomach. “How … how do you approach glamour, then?”

“Glamour is it own thing. Why mek it subben else?”

Jane considered this, recalling a conversation she had once had when attempting to explain glamour to a little girl. The child had wanted to know why glamour used borrowed words. “Do you not think that a metaphor makes it easier to understand?”

“Babies understand glamour.” She gestured with her chin at the children. “You ha fu teach dem fu see dis world. Fold? Weave? Stitch? Wrong words.”

“I confess that I have spent my whole life thinking of glamour in these terms, so it is hard to think of it any other way.”

“Ha! See? Dat ah de trouble. Look.” She drew a fold of yellow glamour out of the ether and fanned it out so that a sunrise seemed to be in her hand. “Now. You do this with a fold?” She slid her other hand across the length of the glamour and … Jane bit her lip in frustration. She could see the sunrise change smoothly from yellow to red to blue, but not how.

“No. Can you describe what you just did? I am afraid I did not see it.”

“Yes,
m na-eke ya ka a na-eke
ị
s
ị
aka
, and then
ị
d
ọ
ya-ad
ọ
ka
ị
wedata ugwu d
ị
na ya ka hancha d
ị
na-ala.
” The woman stared a challenge at her.

Jane took her point and sighed. “Would you show me again, please?”

Maybe Jane could hazard a guess from watching only the visible parts. She would not chance even peeping into the ether, as much as she was tempted. It likely would not hurt, but before, when she had first been with child, even looking had made her dreadfully ill. Concentrating, she watched Nkiruka's hands, trying to match the movement with techniques that she knew, but was confounded completely. “Did you stretch it?”

“See? T'inking 'bout fabric stop you.” She raised her hands. “Again.”

Jane shook her head. “Thank you, no. I am afraid I cannot see what you are doing.”

Nkiruka looked at her as though she were stupid. Jane ducked her head, irritated that she could not explain that she was prohibited from working glamour, because to do so would be to tell Louisa and then Lord Verbury that she was with child. A little of her old distress returned. She was accustomed to being good at glamour—and not merely
good
. Jane would never admit it aloud, but she knew that her work could be accounted brilliant. So to be suddenly too stupid to even see a fold vexed her. Crying about it would be nonsensical, especially when sitting here surrounded by people who barely even had clothes enough, yet Jane's eyes began to burn. She picked up her bonnet to go.

As she lifted it, she saw Nkiruka look down at her stomach and make a small, “Ah.”

Jane's heart staggered, and, as if in response to her agitation, the baby kicked hard against her side. Only the fact that she was holding the bonnet kept Jane from touching the spot. She could not even weave a sphere of silence around them so she could beg Nkiruka to hold her tongue.

Turning her back to Zeus and Louisa, Jane mouthed, “Please,” and put her finger to her lips. Tears wet her cheeks, which vexed her. Crying would only make things worse: they would ask why, and what could Jane say then?

“Glamour interesting, nuh?” Watching her for a moment, Nkiruka's eyes narrowed. Her gaze darted behind Jane to where Louisa and Zeus talked with the children. Nkiruka's hand moved, slightly, and the conversation became muddied, as if she had done something to the sound. “Me tell you de truth. You can at least watch glamour.”

Jane remembered her prior sickness with such distinctness that she thought she would be ill right there.

“Perhaps … perhaps you might come to the great house to discuss glamour? My husband would be very interested to hear about your approach.” Jane's voice came out too high and breathless.

“Maybe. They not goin' want me there.”

Jane wiped at her cheeks, trying to get her breathing under control again. “Well. I will make it clear that
I
want you.”

“Den we talk bout if you can do glamour.”

Nkiruka knew. She did not merely suspect that Jane might be with child. She
knew
. Nkiruka's hand slid through the air and the conversation behind Jane became clear again. Nkiruka raised her voice. “It too warm out here fu you. Zeus! Take her home out of this sun. Get her a coldmonger.”

In other circumstances, Jane might have protested that she wanted to stay to talk about glamour, but she put her bonnet on and hid in the shadow at its depth. If Nkiruka wished for her to go, then she would go and do nothing to upset the woman. “I trust we will see you at the great house soon.”

“Madam!” Louisa's voice sounded indignant. “She cannot come to the great house.”

“Why not? I want her to speak with Mr. Hamilton about glamour, and he hardly has time to come down here.” A moment of inspiration struck Jane. “Besides, I need help correcting the ledgers, and Frank had suggested that I ask one of the older women for help. If Nkiruka is willing, that is.”

“I willing.” She shrugged. “But, I tell you, they not goin' want me there.”

“But
I
do.” The fact that Louisa found the older woman an improper choice made Jane only more determined to have her for an assistant.

 

Ten

A Theory of Glamour

Jane stared at the page before her. She had already crossed out three different attempts to explain what she had seen the giant spider do that afternoon. Whatever she had thought about writing a book was clearly mistaken. Attempting to describe a visual medium in words proved much harder than she had anticipated.

Hearing Vincent's footsteps in the long gallery recalled her to herself. He paused in the door. “Muse, you have ink on your nose.”

“Do I?” Jane set her pen down and wiped at her nose. When had it grown dark outside?

“Indeed. More, now, I think.” He produced a pocket handkerchief and knelt in front of her. Catching her chin with one hand, Vincent applied the handkerchief to her nose. “What are you working on?”

“There is a folk glamourist in the slave quarters who used the most interesting technique to create a giant spider. She constructed it outside the visible spectrum and then shifted the colours. At least, I think that is what she did.”

Vincent pulled the handkerchief away from her nose, his brows contracting a bit. “You were not working glamour, were you?”

“No.” She gave him a sharp look to signify that she was not simple. “It was quite provoking, actually, because I am afraid to look into the ether. Even that much made me sick—before.”

He looked down, folding the handkerchief so that the ink spot was inside. “It will not be much longer.”

“I know.” Jane bit the inside of her lip. They were already skirting too close to the issue. “Shall we retire to our bedchamber? It is nearly time to dress for dinner.”

The skin around his eyes tightened with concern, but he held his question until they reached their room. Once inside, Vincent shut the door, without taking his eyes from Jane.

“What happened?”

“Am I that transparent?” Jane loosened her fichu and pulled the lace shawl from around her neck. “Do not answer that, I know that I am.”

“Not to others. Except sometimes your cheeks betray you.” He grimaced. “And I was far worse today.”

She wrapped her hands in the lace, pulling it tight. “My concern … and please understand that it is only a concern, not a rebuke … my concern is that we have been here only three days, and the effects on your sensibilities already seem severe.”

“I know. It troubles me as well.” Turning a little away, he walked to the balcony door and stared out. He reached back to clasp his hands behind him, and then stopped himself. His hands hung at his side for a moment, as if he did not know what to do with them beyond that posture. With a little sigh, Vincent crossed his arms over his chest. “When I shouted at Louisa … that is never appropriate, and given her circumstances—” He shrugged further into himself. “I left the room, and all I could hear was how much I sounded like my father.”

“You are nothing like him.”

“But I was, was I not?” He dared a glance up at her and away. Jane's heart ached at that brief glimpse of pain, and yet she was grateful that he was able to overcome his training to show her even that much. He cleared his throat, again looking out the window. “You were going to tell me what happened to you today.”

Jane had to swallow twice before finding her voice. “The glamourist I mentioned, Nkiruka. She guessed. About me. We were talking about glamour, but she does not know the formal terms for what she does, so she was trying to show it to me. I said I could not see it and—and she guessed.”

He turned his head, almost looking at her. “Do you think she will tell?”

“I do not think so. I hope. It was so stupid of me.”

“Truly, it does not sound as though you were anything but curious.”

“Yes, but so many women hint that they are in a delicate condition by first announcing that they cannot work glamour.” Jane walked away from him to sit on the bed. “Though according to Nkiruka, that is only European women.”

Now he looked at her, head cocked to the side with the curiosity and interest that discussions of glamour always provoked. “What do you mean?”

“According to her, working glamour holds no innate danger for a woman while with child.”

“Jane … I would not put much stock in what a field slave tells you about glamour.”

She rubbed her forehead, feeling a little like her husband as she did so. “I did not at first. But she pointed out that if it regularly caused miscarriages, then no slave would willingly carry a child to term.”

He frowned at that. “Mr. Pridmore did say that birthrates were low here.”

“Yes, but I have spent the past day looking at the records. Births are low, but not completely absent. On top of that, many of the infant deaths are due to failure to thrive after delivery.” Her voice had become strange, too high and too rapid. She tried to slow down and sound calm so that Vincent would not be alarmed. “So what I keep coming around to is that if she is correct, then perhaps my miscarriage was not because I worked glamour, but because of other factors. The carriage, the running … or simply me. That last is the one I cannot shake, because it is the one I cannot guard against. I can avoid glamour. I can avoid running. But what if I have inherited my mother's troubles? What if I cannot carry a child to term?”

Vincent crossed to her. He sat, pulling her into his arms. That undid all of her resolve to present a placid countenance. She buried her face in his coat and inhaled the salt and horse scent from his day's activities.

“There, now.” He kissed the top of her head. “There, now. Hush.”

She gave a fragile chuckle. “You sound like Papa.”

“I was doing my best impression. Did you like it?”

“Very much.” She was making a mess of his coat. Jane wiped her eyes with her fichu. “I was wondering if anyone has done a comparative study of the language of glamour. That was one of our chief difficulties today.”

“I can think of papers that describe the effects, but nothing, off the top of my head, that gets into how the African system of glamour is described and the structure of its use.” He stared into the distance, considering. “It would be interesting to talk to her.”

“We might invite her to the house.” Jane knew that she had changed the subject from her fears, which they both seemed to be doing too much of late. Still, she was grateful to Vincent for letting her. “I also thought.… She has a daughter who is very near her term. What if we brought Amey to the great house for her lying-in?”

“As a kindness, you mean. That it might be something to bind Nkiruka to us?”

“That, and it would allow us to bring in a doctor to examine me as well.”

“That strikes me as making excellent sense, and I will own that it would provide a great deal of relief. I have been worried that we have not had anyone to consult with.”

“Then we are agreed? I shall make the offer tomorrow?”

“Yes. By all means.” He raised her hand and kissed the back of it. “That will be one trouble resolved, which is a blessing.”

“And how are we doing with our other difficulties?”

Groaning, Vincent fell backwards on the bed and covered his face with both hands. “I have been staring at record books and examining buildings until my eyes cross and have yet to find anything to make my father weaken his hold on Frank's family.”