Ceit shrugged, she didn’t care much about lunch either; but she was so thin that I deemed it necessary for her to eat something. I placed my hands on her shoulders and turned her so she was half-facing the staircase, half-facing me. The fragrance of pine hung in the air, mingled with the candle wax and it was divine.
‘You go. I insist. I will see you later,’ I said. Ceit hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She touched my hand, her eyes meeting mine. She was, it seemed, in agreement.
‘Indeed,’ I said and turned her fully towards the stairs. She began to run up them, gloriously uninhibited – unlike my sister and myself. Wherever Ceit came from, she had enjoyed freedom.
‘Until later, my love,’ I said to her retreating back. She hesitated, as if she’d heard me. Then she continued up the stairs until she disappeared at the top.
***
True to my word, I ordered a tray to be taken up to Ceit. The servant girl looked at me oddly, and I guessed that Bella had spoken to her first. The girl, however, knew better than to question me. She ducked her head and scurried off.
I had barely sat down at my desk when the door to the drawing room flung open. Bella filled the gap, her hands on her narrow hips. It seemed to be a favoured position of hers today – looming in doorways with the solitary purpose of scolding me.
And, dressed as she was in purple, her face still an angry shade of pink, her hair that odd strawberry blonde colour, my sister quite resembled a nasty bruise - albeit one that was healing a little.
‘You missed lunch,’ she accused.
‘I did,’ I replied. ‘I was otherwise engaged.’
‘I can see that,’ she said. ‘You’ve been busy in the hallway.’
‘I thought we needed a little decoration,’ I said. ‘Don’t you like it?’ Bella had sole responsibility for the Christmas tree in the formal sitting room. The tree stood in the bay window, sparkling with oddments of glass and candle stubs, drowning in clementines, gilded nuts and ropes of berries. I had never bothered with the tree much, even at home in Hampstead - I was happy to let Bella make the decisions. But now, I had the distinct impression that she was envious of the fact Ceit and I had decorated the hallway of Howard House together.
Bella sniffed. That meant, then, I guessed, that she liked our handiwork – she just could not admit it.
‘The decoration is beside the point,’ said Bella. I was right, then. ‘The point is that I sat in the dining room and waited for you and you did not come.’
‘I had a substantial breakfast,’ I lied. ‘I lost track of time.’ That, at least, was true. ‘I shall be there for dinner. Fret not.’ I took my pen up and looked back at my papers, hoping Bella would take the hint and leave me be. I was trying to catch certain words and phrases as they floated past me and it had, I must admit, been easier to capture these gems outside.
Bella hovered in the doorway, looking as if she wanted to speak.
‘Is there anything else? I asked. ‘Because if there’s not, I must do some work.’ I fixed her with a glare. ‘You are the one who is anxious for this project to be over so we can return to London and I cannot achieve that if you are hovering in the doorway distracting me.’
She said nothing, but twisted her fingers together as if there was some burning issue she needed to discuss. ‘Your inspiration, Charles. I don’t know what you mean by it?’
‘I’ve found it,’ I said. ‘And she is called Ceit. I would suggest you get to know her, but she doesn’t talk much. If you are interested, we manage perfectly well without words.’
‘You’re talking in riddles!’ hissed Bella, her temper finally snapping. ‘And if you were managing without words, for whatever reason, it’s only because you are so fond of spouting them yourself that you never listen to anybody else.’
‘Then Ceit and I are a perfect match’ I replied. ‘Close the door behind you, Bella. I’m busy.’
Bella did as she was bid, slamming the door rather than shutting it.
***
I worked for hours after that. The pen scratched mesmerizingly over the paper, my inkwell needed refilling twice and I wore the nib away to nothing. Afternoon tea came and went, the tray someone brought me with sandwiches and cakes on being removed, untouched, at some point in my work.
When the clock struck seven, I stretched my aching back and laid down my pen. I shuffled the papers together and was pleased to see how much I had written. I had left the work mid-way through a sentence - the best way to enable me to continue the next day.
My head was buzzing, however; words were still coming at me, and crying out to be written down. I resisted. I had promised myself that I would turn my attention to a picture of Ceit, had I not? That, then, was what I would do. I still had an hour before dinner. I could at least prepare the canvas.
I opened the desk drawer and removed the sketches that Ceit had hidden away last night. I laid them out over the desk and studied them. I picked my favourite – surprising myself with the fact it was one where she was awake and looking over her shoulder, directly at me. I thought I had simply drawn likenesses of her sleeping – but this one stood out. Clearly, my imagination had been very active last night for me to create this and instantly forget it.
And a reason, perhaps, for the nature of the fantasy I had enjoyed. Goodness knows how active my subconscious had been as I endeavoured to sleep.
I tucked the rest of the pictures away and placed my favourite in the centre of the desk. My art equipment was locked away in a cupboard to the right of the fireplace. I always left a selection of equipment at Howard House: I found myself more likely to paint when we came to Scotland. The drawing room was the place we tended to relax in, where I would write or draw and Bella would play the piano or read. It was usually quite companionable; and when the fire was lit there was, in my opinion, no better room anywhere. I could not ignore the urge to empty that cupboard and find the perfect piece of canvas any longer.
‘No. No it won’t be oil on canvas.’
I spoke aloud to the empty room. I was excited about painting Ceit. Excitement often made me garrulous and I followed the one-sided conversation through to its logical conclusion.
‘It will be watercolour. And in that case I need watercolour paper.’
Ceit’s beauty was ethereal. To record her in oils would be too permanent. With watercolour, her frailty and essence would shine through.
‘Yes. Watercolour is the very thing. And Bella,’ I muttered as I ranged through the cupboard looking for the equipment, ‘for once you are correct. I do talk a lot. I do use lot of words. And that, my dear sister, is why Ceit and I are perfect for one another. That, my dear sister, is—’
There was a knock at the door. I banged my head on a shelf as I pulled out of the cupboard to glare in the door’s general direction. I transferred my glare to the clock. I still had forty-five minutes or so before dinner. Bella had better not be hounding me already.
‘Come in,’ I shouted, sharply. I sensed a hesitation behind the door as the handle partially turned, then stopped. ‘Come in, I say!’ I called again. ‘But make it quick, whatever you want.’
The door creaked open a fraction and a head poked through the gap.
My heart leapt. It wasn’t Bella at all. It was Ceit.
‘Ceit!’ I stood up and beckoned her in. ‘Come here. You can help me. I’m searching for some watercolours. I decided I wanted to paint a picture and it simply must be in watercolour.’
She smiled, shyly, I thought, and stepped fully inside the room. She still sported the festive garland and the borrowed red dress. She closed the door softly behind her and I saw she was trying to hide something behind her back.
‘What’s that?’ I asked, nodding to the branches I could see sticking out at her waist.
She tilted her head quizzically on one side, then she drew out a sight so wonderful and intricate I could barely stop my jaw from sagging.
‘A kissing bough!’ I cried. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so astonishi
ng. You are so clever!’
Ceit had, I saw now, melded five hoops together to make the shape of a ball - four vertical ones to form the ball, and fifth which fitted snugly around the middle of it to keep it all together. I didn’t think to question where the hoops had come from. Who knew what was hidden in this house – embroidery hoops might well be stashed in drawers or bureaux. But wherever the hoops had come from, she had managed to adorn them with holly and ivy and intertwined other evergreens around them all.
A red apple hung from a red ribbon inside the ball, and a candle was sitting inside the creation, shining through the greenery and casting odd shadows that looked like spidery fingers. Ceit had also hung a large bunch of mistletoe from the bottom of the ball and she lifted her finger and touched it, ever so gently, making the little white berries twirl around on their green stalks.
‘More mistletoe?’ I asked, raising my eyebrows and trying not to smile. ‘Well I wonder what we can do with it?’
Then she stepped forward, very close to me and raised the kissing bough above my head.
So of course, I had to oblige her.
Afterwards, Ceit smiled and raised her forefinger. I understood she wanted me to wait.
She walked over to the bookcase where my Uncle had kept some volumes of local history and numerous collections of poetry by his literary heroes. Ceit leaned over and ran her fingers along the spines. She hovered over one book, then pulled it out.
She brought it over to me, blushing, a little embarrassed. I took it from her and my heart jumped.
The Sign Language of the Deaf and Dumb
‘Ruairí had this book?’ I asked, stunned.
Ceit nodded, still embarrassed, biting her lip. She indicated that I should open it. I did as I was bid - and saw, within the slim volume, many illustrations of the basic signs and finger-lettering one should learn in order to have a conversation with the hearing impaired or the mute.
‘Oh my love,’ I said. ‘Yes. Yes, I shall study this. Do not worry.’ I touched her arm. ‘Thank you. I had no idea my Uncle would have something like this. I know he was interested in many things, so it should not really surprise me, but then again – I am sure we all have books in our collections that do not serve a purpose until absolutely necessary. It is our good fortune that you saw this.’
I assumed she had seen it when she had been in the drawing room last night, when I was organising the sleeping arrangements. Strangely enough, it did not concern me that she had been moving around the room, examining the contents of the bookshelves as she was left unsupervised. In fact, I was glad she had done so.
I looked down at the book and back to her.
I hugged the book to me. ‘Thank you,’ I said again, most sincerely. ‘We shall manage. No more guesswork.’
She gratified me by laughing up at me, relieved, I think, that now we had a common goal to work towards.
***
Chapter Eight
I hung the kissing bough above my desk.
‘There now,’ I said. ‘It will be near me as I work all through the festive season and it will remind me of you.’ I sat down as if to prove it to her and she crept up behind me and wrapped her arms around my neck. I felt her drop a kiss, light as a feather, on the top of my head and I closed my eyes, stifling a groan of pleasure. How her touch could stir such emotions within me was inconceivable.
She loosened her hold and leaned forward, her body pressing against mine as she reached over to take the sketch from the desk. I let her pick it up and half-turned so I could watch her inspect it.
‘That’s what I want to paint,’ I said, pointing to it. ‘And you need to be painted in watercolour.’
It was her turn to smile and raise her eyebrows.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ I said, pretending to be offended. I pointed to the cupboard which we had left half-open. ‘I have the tools and it is a bad workman who blames his tools. I can do it, and do it well. Trust me.’
I caught her around the waist and pulled her down so she was sitting on my lap, her face inches from mine. ‘It won’t be as breathtaking as the real thing, of course, but I shall do my best,’ I told her. She cupped my face in her hands and pulled me towards her. I did not resist, but we were interrupted by the door slamming open yet again.
‘For God’s sake!’ I yelled, my mood changing instantly. I jerked my face towards the door and sure enough Bella had come crashing in once more. Ceit dropped her hands and slid off my lap. She melted into the corner, her eyes huge and terrified.
‘It’s dinner time,’ was all Bella said, her face pinched and angry. ‘I thought you might need reminding.’
‘I’ll be there shortly!’ I blasted. ‘And knock next time.’
‘I shouldn’t have to knock,’ she retorted. ‘And you don’t have time to change either. It’s just about to be served.’
We usually changed for dinner – even in Howard House where we relaxed many of the rules of society. I realised I was wearing the same clothes I had worn to the forest this morning. The only concession to being indoors was the fact that I had discarded my jacket and my sleeves were rolled up. I was still wearing my waistcoat and tie – although I had loosened the knot on the tie and unbuttoned the waistcoat.
‘Then we shan’t change,’ I said, including our guest in that comment. ‘One night is not going to make a difference.’ I stood up, taking a great, childish delight in scraping the legs of the chair backwards across the floorboards. I knew Bella hated that sound.
‘You’re so childish,’ Bella shrieked, stamping her foot. She stomped out of the room and I laughed at her retreating back.
Then I held my hand out to Ceit. ‘Come,’ I said. ‘It’s time for dinner. It won’t take long, then we can return to our work. I must get the outline drawn for your portrait. And you must assist.’
I wasn’t quite sure how she could assist – but I knew if I incorporated Ceit into my after-dinner activities, my sister would leave us alone.
***
There were only two places set for dinner. I raised my eyebrows at Bella who remained unmoved and ate her soup without looking at me or Ceit.
‘You are exceptionally rude,’ I muttered. I wasn’t that hungry, to be honest, so I crumbled some bread onto my side plate and pushed the soup bowl towards Ceit who had crept into the room with me and sat down, quiet as a mouse, next to me. She kept looking at Bella, as if wanting her permission to eat. Ignoring my sister, I placed the spoon next to Ceit’s bowl. Ceit did not need Bella’s permission to eat; but she ate very little indeed and the bowl went away almost full.
Sure enough, a maid materialised shortly after that and brought in the main course - sufficient for only two of us. It was an extremely formal dining room – I sat at one end of the huge oak table and Bella sat at the other. I waited to see if the maid would bring in an extra setting; and as she didn’t, and as I did not want to prolong the agony of sitting there in silence with my sister anyway, I excused myself as dessert was served. The atmosphere was dreadful and gloomy and I could not abide it any longer.
‘You shall have a tray with me in the drawing room later if you are hungry,’ I murmured to Ceit as I guided her out of the room without a backwards glance to my sister. Bella was scraping custard out of her bowl of stewed plums, and nothing ever came between Bella and her custard. I doubt she even realised we had left.
‘If you want, we can take our meals separately from now on. I don’t think Bella is a very good hostess,’ I said. ‘Anyway. I have work to do and that’s more important. I can easily get something later. Would you please sit for me, properly, whilst I draw you? I’ll lock the door so Bella can’t intrude.’
I said this as I showed Ceit into the drawing room. The firelight was catching off the kissing bough, glinting off the berries and the ghostly glow of the white candle was evident behind the greenery.
‘Look – it’s still up there,’ I said, half-surprised. I had never been very good with things of a practical nature and had
envisaged walking in and finding the thing had fallen down and broken.
Ceit walked over to it and reached up. With a slight touch, she sent it spinning in a slow circle while the flame within flickered. Then she steadied it. She was clearly very proud of her workmanship.
‘Almost as beautiful as its maker,’ I said. Ceit blushed, very prettily, and sat down on the chair which Bella generally used. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Just there. And I can drag my easel over and start. You must let me know when you get tired, though. We were late to sleep last night and early to rise and it must catch up with us sometime.’ I wasn’t speaking for myself, though. In Ceit’s company I felt as if I could continue for hours. Things were more vital, more intense and the world was just different. It was full of possibility and I knew, I just knew, that this book would be a best-seller and this painting would grace the wall of the Royal Academy.
How could it not? When would a more beautiful sitter and a more talented artist ever come together? Sir Frederic Leighton could keep his Flaming June. John Singer Sargent could go hang with his Lady Agnew of Lochnaw. I, Charles Howard, would create a masterpiece. Entitled simply Ceit, it would be lauded worldwide and—
Lost in my reverie, I was barely aware of starting the picture and even less aware of continuing with it, until the clock chimed eleven and I blinked. I’d only been working on the thing for two hours but already I had her face inked in perfectly and the first few washes of colour down.
‘How did that happen?’ I asked, realising I was holding a brush full of watercolour out to the side as I studied the picture. The water was dripping onto my foot and soaking through my sock. I must have been thinking about doing the background as my grey sock was now sporting a rich, forest green stain. I was annoyed that I had been thinking about the extraneous detail and not her. It was Ceit I wanted to paint, not a landscape. I could do a landscape any time. I could do trees and shrubs and God knows what when I didn’t have a model sitting there.
Upon the Solstice Page 4