Silver, p.28
Silver, page 28
“It must have been Giles. That night after we met. It was late when she left.”
“Giles?” Kate asked.
“Bateman.”
“And if it was Bateman who was caught bringing her back late,” she continued.
“Then he will be persona non grata!” Avery finished.
“So we should stay. If you stay here at the house, he can’t discover you?”
He was about to add something else when a voice called to them. It was Georgina. She was closer than they had realised and the sound of her voice made both of them jump.
“There you are.” Her tone expressed irritation and she flashed a scowling smile in the fading light across Avery and Kate in turn. ‘Both of you.’
Avery’s skin crawled as he wondered how much she had heard. He recalled glancing at the house a few moments before and the route had looked clear. How had she managed to creep up upon them so suddenly and so soundlessly. A heavy set woman, she could hardly have kept from making a noise across the gravel path at least.
“I can’t imagine what you can both be thinking of to remain outside a moment longer. Elizabeth has informed me of your accident by the river. I expect you wish to have a bath and get changed?”
She stepped aside and indicated for Avery to precede her back to the house. Avery bent to collect the equipment, which he had dropped to talk to Kate. Georgina snapped at him. “Leave that. She said she could manage. If she needs help, I will send Cribbs back down.”
Avery ignored Georgina and scooped up his bags and indicated to Kate for her to follow him. Seeing the steely glare with which the old woman fixed them both with Kate didn’t hesitate.
~o~
The following day was just as searing and, along with dry heat, the air was oppressive with tension. Elizabeth had acted quickly to return to her aunt’s good books and had taken great delight in elaborating over the details of their ‘day out’. Georgina’s ill humour had been dismantled entirely when Elizabeth had produced Kate’s ‘effort’, attributed entirely to Avery. After the laughter had died down and Georgina’s face had returned to its usual dour expression, she lauded.
“There is no doubt in my mind, Miss Silver, that your father has dealt you a great handicap in neglecting your education. There is certainly nothing in your artistic palette that warrants pursuing.” She almost looked sympathetically upon Avery, as if such a creature should deserve pity rather than piety. She considered Avery, sat sullenly before her, and saw for a moment the child that had lost its mother. Avery glanced up and glared. He reached behind his head and stroked his neck. With that simple gesture, Georgina almost put her finger on what made her uneasy around Avery. He had a masculine presence and it unnerved her. The sympathy had been a brief interruption in her austere façade and instead a grim flash of malice flickered across her narrowed eyes. “I still hold firm that your talents must lie somewhere Miss Silver. Perhaps a spell indoors working on a frame or two?”
Avery’s face fell hard and the old woman was well satisfied that this new chore would diminish some of the spirit which she was beginning to see, and disapprove of.
“You do know how to embroider?” she added incredulously.
After Avery had been set to the task of working on some childish sampler, Georgina grew bored of watching and retreated to her study where a cooling breeze swiftly lulled her to sleep. The opportunity to throw the task aside was taken up and Elizabeth scorned from the corner in which she had been observing his efforts.
“Come now Avery, how do you imagine you will ever be married if you cannot offer your husband any of these ‘charming’ skills?”
“How on earth do you think any of ‘this’, would impress a man?” he lifted the sampler and indicated to the watercolours around him which Georgina had shown him to inspire. “All of it. What does a man want with it? What is it for?” He grinned at the absurdity of it and began to undo the stitches he had so carelessly been working on for the last hour. Elizabeth laughed out loud.
“And so what do you imagine a man would want from a lady if not her needlework?”
She picked up a ball of thread and cupped it in her hands.
‘If you were in want of man, what do you think you would wish for?” she asked.
Avery’s face twitched as he considered the comment. He knew that he would never be in want of a man. It was as inconceivable as a hen falling in love with a fox. Without warning, he imagined himself like Connie, on his hands and knees, being forcibly rocked by a man thrusting at him and he felt violated by the thought but smiled despite himself. He felt sure that Connie had no great talent for turning a pious scene to a sampler or committing a still life to canvas but he knew that she was far more in demand than many women he had impressed upon. He ignored her question and answered his own.
“Any man in want of a wife would surely know that such facile tasks must surely dull the mind. I am sure such women are in high demand for exactly that reason.”
Elizabeth sported a wide smile as she welcomed the return of some of Avery’s former wit.
“However,” he added quickly, interrupting a ready retort. “any man in want of a woman would do well to remember that ladies who make such light work of such fiddly tasks would surely be deft in other areas.”
Elizabeth watched Avery with rising interest as she took in his awkward form. Stood behind the armchair, the odd skirt which he was wearing was disguised and he only looked slightly incongruous in his laced blouse. His hair had worked loose from a shabbily tied ponytail and he looked slightly wild and out of place. He seemed too big for the room.
As she watched him, she became aware of a familiar feeling and she closed her eyes until she could feel his hand upon her thighs that day in Hyde Park. She took a breath before she spoke again.
“What makes you think that any woman would wish to be wanted in any way but as a wife?”
He smiled at her with a curious sidelong look.
“There are many ways to be hungry Elizabeth but sating one’s appetite is not always enough to staunch the craving.”
Avery made to step out from behind the armchair but the sudden glimpse of his skirt broke the fragile illusion which Elizabeth had been sheltering within.
“Stay where you are!” Her tone was more stern than she had intended and some of the atmosphere was torn from the room and Avery too seemed to become aware of his dress and he grew awkward again. She wanted to retrieve the moment and cast around for something to draw him back to her.
“And what about you Avery? What is it that you desire?”
She was earnest and her voice lacked the slight mocking tone with which she usually seasoned her enquiries. Avery was taken aback both by her direct question but also the sincere way in which she seemed to wait for his response. As he looked at her standing before him, he could think only of the recurring dreams he had which night by night took different forms. From one day to the next he could wake from the same dream buoyant with pleasure at the shivering form of Kate or Elizabeth as he dominated either one. The scene is the same each time, the warm summer day beside the lake. Each time he starts with a caress so fragile that each of the women dares not breathe lest he disappear. In his dreams, he grows to such a state of arousal that he begins to grow breathless with desire, he becomes more urgent and with Kate, she pushes him from her, rolling him to one side. The rejection seems insurmountable and it takes his breath and ardour away. The exquisite feeling when she then leans across him and begins to dominate him is nothing short of ambrosial. On the other hand, when he and Elizabeth are beside the lake, she is alluring but impenetrable and just as it seems he cannot seduce her, she submits and he has her pinned by her wrists, beneath him as he explores her breasts with his hot breath. He of course cannot tell her either of these things and instead he asks her a question.
“What of you Elizabeth? What do you crave in a husband? What is it you want from a man?”
She snorted and, feeling free of the conversation, she put a hand to her head and looked beyond Avery to the window behind.
“I do not crave a husband, Avery but I do need one. You may object if you like,” she added noticing his look of incredulity. “Oh, I am sure this will not surprise you and do not try to hide your distaste but what I want from a husband is money.”
She stood and walked to the window without passing Avery.
“I want a large house, bigger than this one and I want status. I want my sister to envy me. I want her to want my life. I want a husband who will give me all of these things. I want a husband who bends to my will.”
It was Avery’s turn to snort derisively. “Well, I can tell you now that Bateman will be none of the things you desire.”
“Of course not,” she agreed. “My father has someone in mind for me, that much is clear.”
She turned to see Avery’s reaction. He was silent and looked stunned. She turned back to stare out of the window.
“He is a very high ranking and promising politician. Not so young as you or I but not so old as you might think. It seems he has a need of me, like I have a need for him, and it has been agreed that he and I will be married in time for my 19th birthday. He has one more tour of Europe he wishes to conclude before we make it official. I am quite sure that the places he will visit will not be somewhere he wishes to share with a new bride on our honeymoon.” She turned to Avery again. “That should not sound so odd as it does but I am afraid it is as it is.”
She waited but Avery had not yet found his voice. “Needless to say, this is not something which I wish to be repeated. To anyone,” she added.
Avery’s pulse began to quicken as the old frustration within him was wakened. Whilst much of the recent ground he had gained had allowed him the freedom to explore a life outside of the one he was born to, he knew also that he was not able to fully complete any such transition. As Elizabeth spoke, he felt removed from her and he imagined how he could ever fool a woman completely enough to make a life like the one, or unlike the one she was describing. It was one thing to fool a woman for a night but what about a lifetime.
Elizabeth stared from the window and considered what she had said already before adding. “I need a husband who will give me a position. I need a husband that will give me a family.”
He would of course never be able to be a father a child and Avery felt his freedom being taken away.
“You are a woman many men would find difficult to please Elizabeth. I should say that such a man would find you cold. I hope this gentleman you are betrothed to may find warmth at someone else’s hearth for I do not envy him.”
Elizabeth did not turn around. She did not want to see Avery dressed as a woman whilst he spoke to her like this. She enjoyed the tone of desire that he could not help but infuse his words with when he spoke. The words were not meant to be encouraging, nevertheless she found herself drawn to him.
“I am sure my husband to be has given this as much thought as I have. I consider him a man of the world and he will be under no illusion as to exactly what I am bringing to this bargain. He craves a trophy to bring respectability under the guise of a happy home and in return he will provide me with the status I require.”
“And how can you be sure he will not bend you to his will in time?”
Elizabeth laughed a little crudely and pressed her hands to her lips to stifle the abrupt change in tension.
“I am sure it won’t be any great shock, once you have met him, to understand that I shall not be the only one in our relationship in want of a good man!”
Avery was stunned but he too wanted to laugh.
“And so, after you have married your respectable man, you will be happy?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Of course not. Who is ever happy, Avery? Show me anyone who is content with their life and I will show you a liar.”
Avery considered Connie and Sarah. He was sure they were not content with their squalid life. Would they choose a steady and proper income over the dangerous and dirty work that came with such high rewards? What of Kate? Didn’t she seem happy? Wasn’t she at peace with her lot in life? He thought so but considered how jumpy she had been recently and wondered whether she was truly content with the dangerous game he was playing. And what about Bateman? Yes, Bateman. Wasn’t he content with his circumstance? He was young and he was wealthy. The years had not yet eroded the youthful looks and slight but firm figure. No doubt in time, he would begin to resemble his father and his cheeks and stomach would begin to fill out, his face crumple under the weight of years. For now though, wasn’t he content? Perhaps not. Didn’t he want Elizabeth and hadn’t she denied him, in favour of Avery? At least, she had done as far as he was concerned.
“I crave a man who will deny me everything, who will fight with me all day and love me passionately whilst still furious with me. I want a man. A real man.”
There was a silence in the room and Elizabeth wondered whether Avery was still there. She thought perhaps she had gone too far. She was about to turn around when a creak close beside her indicated Avery was directly behind her.
“Do you hate me?” she asked.
Avery lowered his face to her shoulder where she could feel his breath upon her skin. She began to turn around but he gripped the base of her neck and held her firmly facing forward. He slipped his hand forcefully around her waist and pressed his lips to her ear.
“Yes,” he said.
Chapter Twenty Three - Imogen, 1911
The house was larger than I had imagined. By no means did I consider myself to be an aristocrat or gentry but I was aware that along with my husband’s wealth and business there also came great privilege. It was therefore a surprise to find that Mrs. Evesham’s home was considerably larger than our own. She had given no impression of being so wealthy. Her clothes had been no finer than my own, in fact they were old fashioned and perhaps a little shabbier. She had arrived in an ordinary horse drawn carriage. She had been austere but by no means plain. I checked the calling card again to ensure I had the address right. 4 Brown Square, Mayfair. The house was right. I was about to call up to the cab driver to check when one of the large doors to Number 4 opened and a liveried man nimbly approached the carriage door. He called to the cabbie and swung the door open in a flash.
“Mrs. Evesham is expecting you madam,” he flashed me a well-practiced, shallow bow and I accepted his hand as I stepped down from the cab. I walked slowly up the steps wondering for the tenth time that morning whether I was doing the right thing. Should I have told John where I was going? It suddenly seemed absurd that I was out at all given my state of mourning. Yet strange things were happening in the city. I can remember as a girl when a death in a friend’s family heralded new wardrobes and routines. Black crepe abounded. The lack of any family, distant or otherwise meant I watched most of these routines from afar. The first taste of any of it was when my mother died. I was of course living in my own home by then and so I continued to watch the arrangements at a distance. My father was a close follower of the old etiquettes but since the death of the Queen, there seemed to be a change in attitudes. I had not seen so many modes of mourning. I reflected that these last few days had been the strangest yet and could not be made stranger by my not adhering to some outmoded code of conduct (of which I was probably unaware anyway!). I was feeling more resolved by the time I had handed my outer clothes to the maid in the entrance hall and I was satisfied that Number 4, Brown Square was not a dangerous place. To ease my conscience, I remembered that Stokes of course had taken the address.
After being advised that Mrs. Evesham was engaged on a telephone call, I was shown to a very plain but smart drawing room. The decor was very a la mode and I noticed at once that the room had been freshly decorated, the smell of turpentine and fresh paint lingered behind the mask of dried roses. The floor was laid with parquet and was well lacquered, electric lights hung from the modern pendant reflected in the sheen. The walls were a pale green, upon which were hung a few simple pictures framed in ebony. At first glance, they appeared to be drawings but on closer inspection they proved to be photographs. I kept my hands clasped together as I gazed around the rest of the room taking in the simplicity of the space. It had been discussed at Christmas with John’s family that the display of knick knacks was becoming rather outdated and that the current fashion was for simple art; statement pieces, sculptures and so forth. Whilst I had made a mental note at the time of the change in fashion, my preference was always to surround oneself in the clutter from holidays, gifts from friends and pictures of the familiar. Just as paintings were being replaced with photographs so too was character with convenience. My eyes lit upon some photographs which were on display including a rather informal shot of a slightly younger Mrs. Evesham stood beside a motor car. She was wearing a light coloured dress and her unpinned hair was blurred as if lifted by a wind which the camera could not capture. She was stood formally waiting for the camera to expose her image yet she remained relaxed. She was smiling, a captivating expression which made me mirror it almost immediately.
“Gosh don’t look at that frightful picture,” came a voice from behind me.
Startled, I turned to find Mrs. Evesham bustling forward to take the photo from me. She wore a well fitting dress and moved with a practiced ease but with an awkward tension. I sensed that she had indeed been expecting me. As she swept past me to take the photograph, the scent of jasmine was rich. As she took the frame from me, there followed a silence. The carefully placed conversation starter was clearly not serving its purpose. She didn’t expand on the photo and I did not ask any more about it. After a brief pause where she considered the image herself, she replaced it on the sideboard and walked around the settee playing with her wedding ring nervously as she did so.
