Of Noble Family (28 page)

“Mrs. Whitten, may I introduce…” Jane hesitated before she said his name. Mrs. Whitten was thoroughly familiar with his career, so it would come as no surprise, and it might help restore Vincent to himself. “My husband, Sir David Vincent.”

Vincent had shown no surprise that Mrs. Whitten was a mulatto, but his brow rose a fraction at the sound of his own name. He covered any further surprise with a bow. “Madam.”

“I am happy to hear you introduced thus, since, as you see, we have need of a glamourist.” She looked at the antlered hounds and gave a little wince, then she turned to Jane. “Shall I call you Lady Vincent, or would you prefer Mrs. Hamilton?”

Before Jane could answer, Mrs. Pridmore settled the question by rushing across the room with her hands outstretched. “My dear, dear Mrs. Hamilton! Mr. Hamilton! You have my most sincere congratulations. When Mr. Pridmore told me about your impending joy, I was so delighted for you, but of course I was not surprised. I had wondered, you see, though one never likes to ask, as sometimes the subject of one's curiosity is merely stout. But you had such a glow about you that I was fairly certain, was I not, Mrs. Ransford?”

Mrs. Ransford said, “I am such an admirer of your work, Sir David.”

This caused Vincent's brow to go up. “That is kind. What have you had the occasion to view?”

“Oh … I am afraid I have not yet had the privilege, but I have read about it. Indeed, being a fellow glamourist, I have made it my business to stay current in the fashions in London, and everyone there is full of praise for your work. I have it on the highest authority that your glamural of a Midsummer Night for the Prince Regent was absolutely thrilling.”

Vincent gave a short bow of thanks.

Mrs. Whitten indicated the table that had been set up at the far end of the ballroom. “May I invite you to sit? We have some drawings I should like to show you.” As they walked, she said, “The reason we are particularly glad to see you is that we are having some difficulty deciding upon a motif. The opinion of a professional glamourist would be most welcome.”

Vincent's gaze slid a little sideways to Jane. This was familiar ground for both of them. All too often, when they took a commission, the gentleman and lady of the house had differing views of what constituted an appropriate glamural for a dining room or parlour. One might want hunters and hounds, the other would perhaps favour roses in a folly. Having three opinions to contend with would be a challenge, but so petty after the trials of the last weeks as to seem almost welcome.

Jane smiled at Mrs. Whitten. “What are the motifs you are considering?”

“We have narrowed it to two.” She gestured to the drawings on the table. Some of them showed talent, while others showed merely that someone possessed a set of pastels.

“Hm.” Vincent slid a paper to the side and exposed another, which was drawn with some competence. “The Arabian Nights, I believe?”

Mrs. Ransford nodded, straightening in her chair. “I thought a touch of the exotic would be welcomed by our guests. Then, during the course of the evening, we could have a few
tableaux vivants
of different stories. We could also dress some of the mulatto slaves as Indians to make the scheme more fully realised. Some mulattos can be exceedingly handsome in the right clothes and the right setting.”

No one looked at Mrs. Whitten, keeping their attention firmly fixed upon the drawing, but Jane felt her own face flush on the gentlewoman's account. Clearing her throat, she picked up one of the pastels, which held an awkward view of a canal. “And this?”

“Oh, Venice!” Mrs. Pridmore clapped her hands together and gave a little shrug of delight. “Your recent visit inspired me. I thought we could do the ballroom in the Italianate style and have glamour in the windows so that it appeared we were at a palazzo looking out over the Grand Canal. It would be so cunning to see a gondola go past, do you not think? I am so enchanted with Venice.”

The Venice idea had some merit, but the gondolas would be rather more difficult than Mrs. Pridmore thought, simply because it would involve either multiple illusions to create the effect of a ship passing from one window to the next, or a single enormous fold that stretched the length of the exterior of the building. And of course it would then need to be masked so it was not visible on the approach to the building. It was not impossible, but it was more complicated than it sounded. Then, too, Jane was not entirely certain she wanted to relive Venice quite so soon.

She glanced at Vincent, who was tapping his finger upon the drawing of the canals with his eyes a little narrowed, as though he were playing out possibilities. He then turned to the Arabian Nights. It would be much simpler to achieve, and it had some merit, but Jane felt ill at ease on Mrs. Whitten's account. Though perhaps she was being too quick to guess at the other woman's feelings on the matter. Jane tilted her head, considering, then looked up. “Mrs. Whitten, did you have an idea as well?”

“Oh, no. I am happy to provide the ballroom. I feel no need to do more when we are already so well supplied with ideas.” Her manner was tranquil and she gave an easy smile.

Vincent rubbed his chin, still considering. He turned from the table to regard the ballroom as a whole. Jane rose to stand beside him, considering the prospect.

Behind them, Mrs. Pridmore said, “Oh, I do so love to see a gentleman at work. Do not keep us in suspense, Mr. Hamilton. Which one do you think we should do?”

“If you will give us a moment of privacy.” He and Jane walked a little away from the group, then Vincent brought his hand up, swiftly weaving a small sphere of silence around them. With their backs to the women, it would be obvious that they were conversing, but their subject would at least be obscured. “This is truly awful.”

“It is not so bad as that. The cherry tree is quite nicely done.”

“And wildly out of proportion to the hill upon which it is supposed to rest.” Vincent shook his head, grimacing. “Muse, do you recall when we met and I said that I expected your glamour to be like that of any accomplished young lady? This … this is what I had come to expect from the accomplished ladies of the fashionable set.”

“But you had seen the glamural in our parlour by then.”

“I … I thought a professional had done it.” Vincent blushed charmingly and shrugged. “Allow me to apologise again for undervaluing your skills.”

“You were forgiven long ago.” She very much wanted to take his hand, but with their assembled audience, it seemed best not to. “As for the task at hand…”

“Ah. Yes … which awkward choice interests you?”

“It seems to me that if we pick either of them, there will be difficulties and more than a little enmity. The points they have in common are a desire for the exotic, though achieved in different ways.”

“So perhaps we can guide them to a different kind of place. Russia? That is cold, which surely must be a rarity here.”

“Oh!” Jane recalled something she had read in the paper about Britain mounting an expedition to seek a path to China through the Arctic Circle. “The Northwest Passage Expedition.”

“Ah … glaciers. Icebergs. An ice palace?” He nodded. “That might do. There is a Scottish fellow in charge of the expedition, if I remember correctly, so that should please Mrs. Ransford. We can suggest that it represents the superiority of the empire in an exotic locale.”

“Shall we?”

“You lead, please. I am still … irritable.”

“Oh, love. You are always irritable with clients.”

He gave her the smallest of smiles. “More so than usual, then.” He undid the threads keeping their conversation private.

Dropping those threads returned them to a room in which a heated conversation was taking place. Mrs. Pridmore was in the midst of saying, “… no use at the estate, so I am certain he will not be missed.”

“Even so, if she cannot work … and in her condition, I hardly see how she…” Mrs. Ransford's voice trailed away and she coloured, with some degree of consciousness. “Oh. Have you decided? We are most particularly keen to know what your opinions are.”

Jane had doubt on that score. There could be little question as to what the women had been discussing, or of Mrs. Pridmore's opinions of Vincent's efforts at managing the estate. He had grown still and grave again at her side. Jane chanced a smile. “We were discussing your disparate schemes. My husband and I found that there were motifs among them that suggested they had more in common than at first blush.”

“Yes, but which does he prefer?”

She had long since become accustomed to clients using “he” and “him” when they were working together, yet she still sighed. Before she could form a response, Vincent said, “My wife is my equal partner in our work. On this matter, we agree.”

“If you wish to help your guests escape from the fatigues of running their estates, then you must provide novelty. In truth, we think that Venice and the Arabian Nights both express a desire for novelty and the exotic, but they share a common flaw. You are too much in the English habit of thinking of warmer climes as exotic.” She nodded to the window. “But that is hardly the case for the patrons you most seek to impress. They spend the day in the hot sun and want nothing more than to forget it.”

Mrs. Whitten said, “What do you recommend?”

Jane answered her, “In honour of Captain John Ross's expedition to find a Northwest Passage, we thought to suggest an ice palace.”

“Ooooo!” Mrs. Pridmore clapped her hands again and bounced in her chair, apparently delighted by any novel idea. “And our estate has ever so many coldmongers. It is my husband's especial project, and I am certain he will be willing to loan them to the ball for the occasion.”

“Your estate?” Vincent only smiled, and yet the room grew colder by degrees. “I was unaware that you and Mr. Pridmore had purchased any land. I must congratulate him.”

“I—oh. That is to say—”

He turned from her to address Mrs. Whitten. “Since it is your ballroom, may I assume that questions about our working hours should be directed to you?”

Mrs. Ransford replied instead, “No, those should be directed to me, since the coordination of the glamural has been my charge in previous years.”

“Ah … did I misunderstand?” Vincent offered a little bow. “I had thought you wished us to create the glamural.”

“Well, yes, but Mrs. Hamilton can hardly work glamour in her state.”

Jane stepped in before Vincent could reply. While he was often irritable with their clients, there was a difference between an eccentric curmudgeonly artist and an arrogant nobleman. His manner in that moment tended towards the latter and made Jane uneasy. “Mrs. Ransford, I am so glad to hear you offer your help. We shall certainly need it, although in truth I had been looking forward to continuing my involvement. I am half mad from want of activity.”

Mrs. Ransford looked frankly at Jane's stomach. “But you cannot work glamour.”

“I can still do drawings and paint. My husband can work some of the glamour, and when he is occupied, I have found a glamourist of some talent who can assist.”

“Oh?” The pale woman raised her eyebrows. “I thought I knew all of the glamourists of any skill on the island.”

“Her name is Nkiruka. She is a retired field hand.”

Laughing, Mrs. Ransford shook her head. “I quite misunderstood you. When you said you had found a glamourist, I thought you meant someone with training.”

“She does have training, although I will grant that it is not in the European tradition.”

“To be certain.” Though her manner said she was anything but certain. “Still, you must understand my confusion when I thought you were comparing the work of a folk glamourist—and a slave, at that—to what a lady of refinement might produce.”

Vincent looked around the ballroom. “Is this your work?”

“Indeed it is.”

“Good. I am glad to have a measure of your abilities. It is everything I would expect from an accomplished and fashionable lady.”

Jane had to cover her mouth as Mrs. Ransford gloried at the supposed compliment. It was enough to conciliate her and allow them to settle a plan that would allow Jane to oversee the glamural through the use of drawing, which would make coordination easier. Vincent would do the finer, detailed work, and they would have the aid of a number of assistants. Privately, Jane expected that he would also wind up laying some of the larger folds, which required more stamina than she expected Mrs. Ransford was capable. All in all, this endeavour was as much like their lives in London had been as they could expect from Antigua.

 

Twenty

Drawings and Measurements

The next morning Jane settled in her accustomed spot at the round table in the blue parlour to do some drawings of their proposed ice palace. They had taken measurements of the ballroom, which would allow her to make a scale plan that several glamourists could execute in concert. For clients, they ordinarily did a rendering of what the finished glamural would look like. As much as Jane wished that they could create that representation in glamour, the fact that glamour could not be transported made working on paper rather more practical.

What differed in this instance was a consciousness that having drawings alone of the finished effect would not suffice, since she would not be doing the work. Jane would need to also show the foundations, since those were the most easily assigned to the less accomplished glamourists. Over the course of the next several hours, Jane worked on her rendering of the full effect as it would be seen from the entrance to the ballroom. The curtain of snow across the musicians' gallery would need to be woven from several extraordinarily long threads. She thought that they were well within Vincent's abilities but would feel better if she could show it to him before Nkiruka and Amey arrived.