I protested strongly at first to Rupert’s plan which meant that each Tuesday and Friday I would be taken to Truro in the chaise as before — and brought back again at a certain hour.
It was no use.
When I objected not only on personal grounds, but pointed out that the treasure room would be left unprotected, which was the primary reason that I’d stayed on following Dame Jenny’s departure, he smiled reasoningly and assured me I needn’t worry on such grounds. ‘Beth Johns, a capable housemaid, will arrive with the chaise on the days of your departure,’ he said, ‘and be taken back again when you return. She’s a sturdy character, quite capable of defending herself, if necessary, and she’ll have Brutus don’t forget.’
He paused. I was aggrieved, and when I didn’t speak, he said, ‘Please, my love. For me.’
I wheeled round with a flurry of skirts and a flame of hot colour in my cheeks.
‘Why for you? Is it your conscience pricking you or something? Why should my voice be suddenly so important again? Are you frightened, Rupert?’
His expression darkened. ‘What the devil do you mean?’ Both hands enclosed on my arms. I thought at first he was about to shake me, but he didn’t.
I stared at him defiantly and answered with a lurch of my heart, ‘What I said —frightened — of her, your wife? Is she at the bottom of this?’
He freed me then, and his voice was cold when he replied, ‘That is my business, Josephine. Some things must remain private to me — even from you.’
Misery engulfed me. ‘Yes, yes — I’m sorry. Oh, Rupert—’
I turned away. The next moment I felt his mouth brush the nape of my neck at the back. His voice was soft against my ear when he murmured, ‘Be patient. I love you. But unless you accept the situation as it is, it’s just no good, Josephine. Remember I have other things in my life as well.’
Hope stirred in me.
‘You mean the smuggling? But I thought—’
‘What you thought is neither here nor there. Just trust me and be co-operative.’ He swung me round. ‘Is that understood?’
I sighed. ‘All right. If you insist. But I can promise you I shan’t enjoy it — having to tra-la and solfa before that fussy little man.’
‘Oh I don’t think it will be too bad,’ he said ambiguously, obviously relieved. ‘And now, look at me, you witch! and smile, d’you hear?’
I did; I couldn’t help it. Against that certain warm look in his strange eyes I seemed to have no defence.
So the issue was settled, and the following week lessons recommenced with Signor Luigi in Truro.
They weren’t so onerous as I’d expected. He was unexpectedly pleasant to me, and assured me he’d never lost interest or faith in my voice.
‘Your patron though — my good friend, Mr Verne — has slightly different plans for its promotion,’ he said affably, ‘or shall we say its use.’
‘Oh?’
‘Opera, he told me, is not entirely to your fancy, at the moment, so we shall take a lighter approach in training — calculated for a more suitable role such as highly born ladies indulge in, at soirees and in drawing rooms.’
‘Drawing rooms?’ I gasped.
He smiled, stroking his little beard, with a calculating look in his bright eyes. ‘You have all the potential it takes to become the rage and toast — the reigning queen of fashionable gatherings,’ he stated. ‘That is the line we shall follow from now on. Movements and grace will also play an important part. I can assure you when your coaching is completed, no duchess in the land will compare.’
‘But I don’t want to be a duchess, or a — a warbling socialite creature,’ I exclaimed rashly. ‘I’m not like that. I’m me — Josephine Lebrun. Rupert — I mean Mr Verne — is wrong in trying to make me into something different. Oh I don’t think having lessons again is a good idea at all.’
‘Maybe not at the moment,’ the little man said acerbically, ‘but you will. It’s what you’re here for, and I trust you’re not going to be difficult. Under the circumstances such an attitude would be most unfair — to me.’
Realising there was no point in arguing I gave in with as good a grace as possible and decided piquantly that if I was destined to become a drawingroom party-piece and dainty triller of ballads, then I should dress in a manner befitting the character. I would write a note to Rupert telling him my wardrobe needed refurbishing, had I his permission to order a new cloak and bonnet, and if it was not asking too much two new gowns also from the costumier’s in Truro, as I did not now care to appear in Signor Luigi’s presence dressed in anything but the best. Yes, I would do that, and send the note by Jan, or the coachman. Either Rupert would have to reply, or call in person at Tregonnis to give an answer. The mischievous impulse stimulated and lifted my spirits considerably, and after making the decision I had the note ready for the man to take on the next day when I returned by chaise from Truro.
The following morning Jan was due to call at Kerrysmoor with some farm produce, and I waited hopefully for his return, and a message. It was twelve o’clock before the youth got back.
‘The Master sent this for you,’ he said, handing me a gilt-edged envelope. ‘Tell Miss Lebrun to give et to the place marked in Truro, and everythin’ should be all right, he said.’
‘Very well, thank you, Jan.’
When he’d gone I looked at the name on the envelope. It was addressed to the most select costumiers in the City, and was unsealed. So obviously I had permission to read what was inside:
Madam, I should be obliged if you would equip Miss Josephine Lebrun with any select feminine garments she fancies. I am sure your advice would be of great help to her as she is likely to be launched socially at a suitable time in the future. Expense in this case is of no consideration. If you let me know what is owed I will see you have the sum at the nearest possible date.
Yours truly,
Rupert Verne.
‘Launched into society’ I thought. How very ridiculous when at the moment all that Rupert appeared to wish — except for my sessions with Luigi — was to keep me pushed away at Tregonnis. Still, I would certainly take advantage of his offer and acquire the most elegant and flattering gowns in the fashionable establishment — if only for his benefit, so that his desire would be intensified and he would be stimulated somehow to decide what future we could have together.
Madame Juliette’s salon was situated in the vicinity of Lemon Street. It was richly carpeted, with tall mirrors placed conveniently at every angle for viewing the figure, and curtained wardrobes intriguingly parted to display clothing of a tempting variety — luxurious more than of a utility type. Flowery and be-feathered headgear rested daintily on tall stands; gilt furniture of a French style was arranged so that it allowed a wide space for clients to wander to and fro studying their reflections under cunningly contrived lighting. Tall-stemmed flowers in crystal vases added an exotic, yet delicate, atmosphere and the air was fragrant with subtle perfume. Everything, in fact, induced an expensive sense of luxury that was both stimulating and relaxing.
Feeling free to choose, and mildly mischievous, I wandered about for some time trying this and that, while Madame Juliette obsequiously ‘modomed’ and flattered me. As time passed a faint irritation sounded in her voice. I wasn’t surprised — no high-born lady in the land could have appeared more demanding and critical than the creature I was pretending to be for that intriguing half-hour.
However, at last my choice was made: a deep lilac satin gown, having an over-mantle of olive green velvet trimmed with violet braid; and a cream heavy silk costume consisting of a short-waisted coatee and full skirt gathered from the hips to the back forming the suggestion of a bustle. The hem of the skirt was heavily embroidered in gold thread, and there were tiny gold buttons down the front of the coat. To go with it I discovered a cream boat-shaped hat to be worn saucily tilted forward; it was trimmed with osprey and had chiffon veiling behind.
Then there were accessories of fine kid glov
es, and a feather boa — a gilt chain handbag also, and cream boots with pointed toes. Oh, I was very rash, stimulated not only by vanity but a touch of defiance to make Rupert once more aware of my presence in his life. I doubted that he could grudge the expense, although I was sure that her ladyship would, if she ever found out.
Lady Verne!
As usual, whenever the thought of her crossed my mind a vague shadow of resentment fell on me. Rupert might not love her — I was sure he didn’t. But she was always there, in the background, his wife, and therefore the one with legal power. There were two of them really who stood as obstacles to my love, I thought that day when I left Madame Juliette’s: Lady Alicia, and that girl in the portrait, the elusive beauty whose claim at Tregonnis remained a mystery, and haunted my imagination every time I caught her wistful stare from its heavy frame.
Two days following my second new singing session with Signor Luigi, Rupert called to tell me that my famous tutor was pleased with my voice and my acceptance of his new plans for me. The girl from Kerrysmoor who came for a few hours daily, had already left and I was chagrined that I was not wearing one of my new gowns for his attention.
‘You mean your new plans,’ I corrected him.
‘Ah well! let us say mutual,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘You should be pleased — it’s a guarantee, isn’t it, that I intend our life together to be far closer after certain obstacles have been worked out.’ He took my hand, drew me close and embraced me warmly.
‘It would be more helpful if you could tell me how — explain just a little,’ I pointed out. ‘Signor Luigi speaks a lot about drawingrooms and social occasions, but I’m not really a drawingroom kind of person. Is that what you’re looking for? Someone to entertain at your grand parties warbling away while some stuffy accompanist pounds ballads on a piano. Is that what she was — the girl in the portrait?’
The moment the question was out I could have cut my tongue out. Rupert’s face darkened. In a strange way it seemed to close up — shutting me out. ‘I’m sorry,’ I added quickly, ‘I didn’t mean to — to pry, but—’
‘You’re too curious by half,’ he said shortly, ‘and I don’t like it. Impertinence, even from you, is extremely distasteful. Remember that in the future, Josephine. When I wish to confide in you I will. Do you understand?’
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’
He softened a little. ‘Forget it. You’re very young still, and have a lot to learn. Maybe—’ he shrugged, ‘— we both have. It’s so long since—’ He broke off aggravatingly and made to leave. ‘Well, I must be off now, I’ve much to do. Take care of yourself — I felt I had to drop in and tell you how pleased I was about the lessons, and also, by the way, that you’d assembled a new wardrobe in Truro.’
He kissed me before he left. But more gently than usual; it was as though his mind was on other things. A little disappointed I turned away and went through the kitchen into the garden. The clippety-clop of his horse’s hooves gradually died away into the distance. I felt alone, and resentful of the secret places in his heart and life that I could not share.
Sunlight was only fitful that day, but towards evening the clouds broke up leaving clear skies lit with dying gold over the moors. My spirits lifted. I would have gone for a stroll, but Jan had taken Brutus for a ‘good ole gallop’ as he put it, because the dog had been left on his own a good deal lately, and needed ‘a bit o’ fun like’.
The air was heady with the scents and soft murmurings of summertime. I walked down the garden path to the wilderness covering the passage used by Rupert on the night of his escape from the Revenue. Once more the weeds and briars had crawled across the entrance leaving only a glimmer of darkness through the tangled branches. I returned to the site of Dame Jenny’s roses and broke one idly from its stem, holding it to my nose and drawing the sweetness into my lungs. Then I wandered to the pool, thinking dreamily and longingly of the treasured hours when Rupert and I had lain and loved together through that never-to-be-forgotten night.
Frail reflections and shadows of early evening already patterned the surface of the water. A kind of enchantment enfolded me, inducing me to sing in a low tone — a sweet-sad melody in a minor key that I’d heard in far-away childhood. I was aware of no other sound — of no other human being invading the solitude, so my senses froze when a ripple of strange laughter broke the peace. The song died on my lips.
At the same moment, as I started to turn my head, the touch of hands brushed the back of my neck, gradually tightening until I could hardly breathe. At first I didn’t attempt to move, sensing that my resistance might mean danger. Then there was a further laugh, deeper this time, holding a subtle obscene triumph. I managed to strain round briefly to catch a glimpse of the intruder. What I saw shocked me — a pale malicious face staring from glassy mad eyes. A trickle of saliva coursed down the long chin from twisted lips.
I was terrified. The grip on my body seemed to have super-human strength.
‘Don’t move,’ whispered a thick harsh voice, while thumbs pressed deeper into my neck. ‘Like the other one, aren’t you? Trollop — staring down from her great frame. And where did it get her — where—?’ The voice became a hiss. ‘In the pool. Drowned like a rat.’
I was propelled round and pushed forwards so I thought I must surely tumble in. But the hard arms still held me. Shadows drifted and faded in the cool water. ‘There she is — there!’ the malignant tones continued. ‘Watch her eyes where the fish swim. Holes now in an empty skull. And she was his once — his dream. He loved her. Love!’ Wild laughter momentarily shrieked through the air. ‘And she still is. So — leave here you fool — or you’ll end up like her and the Three Maidens. The Three Maidens, do you hear?’ I was shaken wildly and forced to face the creature again.
There was no smile now on the macabre lips. Only hate.
Then suddenly it was as though all force left the wild figure. The arms dropped from my shoulder and neck, and like some grotesque great bird from a nightmare, the shape in its black cloak turned and fled flapping crazily to the lane where it disappeared into the shadow of the trees. I sank on to the ground with my head bowed to ward off faintness. How long I stayed there I don’t know. But presently I heard Jan’s whistle from the fields followed by the happy barking of a dog. The youth and Brutus appeared minutes later. By then I had got up and was already in the kitchen.
‘Why, missie,’ the youth said, after one glance at my face, ‘Whatever’s the matter with ee? Anythin’ wrong? You do look frit to death—’
I tried to speak, but it was difficult to be coherent. My throat hurt so. ‘Someone — attacked me,’ I managed to say at last. ‘It was — I don’t know — who. You’d better tell the Master—’
‘But I can’t do that, Miss Jo — I’ve heard tell he took himself off on business ’bout an hour ’go — Truro or somewhere, maybe Plymouth, I doan’ know. But I could get a message to her ladyship—’
I lifted a hand in negation. ‘No.’ Even in my own ears my voice was a mere rasp. ‘Don’t tell her, whatever you do. It’s all right—’ I swallowed painfully. ‘I’ve Brutus now. And — and the girl comes in the morning.’
He looked dubious. ‘Ef the Master did know he’d get the p’lice mebbe—’
I shook my head. ‘It’s all over now. With the dog and the doors locked there’ll be no danger. I shall — I shall be all right.’
He looked doubtful but in the end agreed. ‘S’long as you keep Brutus with ee when th’ girl edn’ here,’ he said. ‘It’s my fault p’raps f’r leavin’ y’ alone — although it wasn’ f’r long. But if Master Verne knew, I’d get the push from Farmer Carne sure ’nuff.’
I managed to smile.
‘Farmer Carne won’t know,’ I promised, ‘and neither will Master Verne. You’re a good lad, Jan, I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.’
He scratched one ear thoughtfully. ‘Thank ’ee, Miss. I hope I’m doin’ right.’
‘I’m sure you are. And it’s
best not to worry the Master anyway.’
‘Yes. That’s right. He does have plenty to worry him without any more shoved on him. I’ll say goodnight to ee then.’ And still shaking his head thoughtfully he left Tregonnis for the farm.
Later I wondered what his reference to Rupert’s worries meant. But I was still too bewildered and upset to think clearly. I had Brutus sleeping by my bed that night, with the pistol on my side table, but it was a long time before I got any rest. I recalled the harsh voice’s reference to ‘the Three Maidens’, and to the girl in the portrait, and when at last I slept my dreams were of a witch-like face glaring down on me, and of a fair face upturned — a floating image in the pool — the face of the girl in the portrait.
When I woke in the morning my neck was still swollen. The next day I was due for my lesson with Signor Luigi, but I knew there would be no point in going to Truro. Although I could speak, somewhat gruffly, I couldn’t sing. When I tried nothing came from my throat but a rasping cough. My voice had gone. How permanently I didn’t know. It was a terrible feeling thinking I might never sing again.
Chapter Nine
For the next few days following the assault my neck was still swollen, and dark bruises showed at the throat. None of my dresses could be buttoned near the chin, so I swathed chiffon round the neck to hide the marks, fastened with a cameo brooch. The effect was not perfect, but to any casual observer would give, hopefully, no sign of injury. To the daily girl I simply made excuses of having caught ‘some kind of a cold in my throat’ and Jan did not give me away. When the chaise arrived to take me to Truro I asked the man if he would be kind enough to drive there and inform the maestro that I was unwell and not likely to be able to attend the theatre for a little while. At the same time I concocted an excuse for needing cough mixture from the apothecary’s and told the man I’d be grateful if the mixture could be picked up and delivered to me at Tregonnis.
Portrait of a Girl Page 12