Upon the Solstice

by Cathryn Ramsay

  And speaking of which: ‘God, Ceit, I’m sorry. It’s been two hours. Are you quite all right?’

  I dropped the brush into the palette and stood up to go over to her. The poor thing must have been exhausted.

  She was looking out of the window, lost in a reverie of her own. She jumped a little as I approached her and touched her arm.

  ‘I got carried away. I do apologise.’ I stroked her hair away from her face and tilted her chin towards me. ‘But you are a perfect subject. It’s working splendidly.’

  She nodded, regally, as if giving me permission to continue.

  It was like a command to my subconscious. She fixed me with a glint in those dark eyes that I couldn’t fathom. I knew that to resist her would be impossible. She was enjoying this as much as I was. The fire, dying now, had put roses in her cheeks and she seemed more self-assured, more confident, sitting with her hands folded in her lap, still in the red dress which looked even more becoming in the fading light.

  This was a mutually beneficial agreement. She had probably never experienced this before – being the subject of someone’s sole attention and that someone being someone who wanted to spend time with her. I loved her for it.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ I said. ‘I don’t feel tired. I wouldn’t mind working a little longer.’

  Ceit smiled at me and lowered her eyelashes, then peeked back out from under them.

  ‘It would, indeed, be my pleasure,’ I said, bowing slightly.

  Again, that glorious laugh: it inspired me to go on.

  ***

  Chapter Nine

  It was two o’clock in the morning again when I surfaced from the next session. I stood back from the easel and studied the picture. It was almost perfect.

  The secret of watercolour for me was to add layers to my paintings. I started with the basics then added shadows and depths to make the subjects stand out. I was reasonably happy with this one, but I thought it might need a little extra work on the highlights. I was surprised by how many tones I had worked into her hair. Black was normally the most difficult colour to work with – too much and I had sludge on my paper. Too little and it was not rich enough. But this picture, this portrait of Ceit, had captured the colour of her hair and the subtleties therein. I was very happy with it.

  I knew I had to leave it for tonight though. Ceit, if not I, would need to sleep. And she had sat there, stoically, silently, uncomplaining, all that time.

  ‘Ceit, may I escort you to your room?’ I asked, putting the brush down firmly and stepping away from the easel. ‘I’ve kept you up too long as it is.’

  She looked up at me dreamily, a half-smile on her lips. Then she stood and stretched; yawned; rubbed her eyes.

  ‘I thought so,’ I said. ‘Come. Let us retire. And I’ll tell you what. I’m locking the door behind us so nobody can disturb my work. I can set a fire tomorrow myself if I have to – but I don’t want anyone else in here.’

  I particularly didn’t want Bella snooping around. If she saw the picture, she was liable to destroy it…

  I checked myself. That, Charles, I thought, is a little over-dramatic. But, at two o’clock in the morning, fuelled by adrenalin and inspiration, it seemed quite a sensible thing to think.

  ***

  As had happened the previous evening, I escorted Ceit to the blue bedroom. I choked back the desire to tell her about the interconnecting room, and simply bowed again; kissed her hand; bade her goodnight.

  ‘Or perhaps it is “good morning”?’ I suggested. ‘We are well after midnight.’

  Ceit dropped a little curtsey, and I thought it the daintiest thing I had witnessed. She slipped into her room and disappeared into the shadows and I made my way along the corridor to my own room. Would she come to me again tonight as she had yesterday? The ache of desire for her was almost physical and I undressed as I walked to my bed, discarding my clothes where they landed.

  I was light-headed through lack of sleep and sustenance, and yet my brain was buzzing with activity. I could hardly bear to lie down and rest. There was so much I could be doing; but I forced myself to climb between the cold, smooth sheets and close my eyes.

  Sleep would not come, so instead, I read and studied the book Ceit had given me earlier. For quite some time, I shaped words and letters with my hands, mimicking what the book presented to me. The time passed quickly, and before I knew it, the clock chimed four. Reluctantly, my eyes gritty, my head pounding, I closed the book and dropped it onto the floor.

  ‘Forgive me, but I must try to sleep,’ I murmured. I think I may have been apologising to Ceit, but I wasn’t quite sure.

  I may have dozed off. I may not have done. But I opened my eyes with a start and she was beside me – naked and vital.

  ‘Ceit,’ I whispered as I leaned up on my elbow and stared down at her.

  ‘Who else would it be?’ she answered and my heart almost burst. Her voice!

  ‘Are you real? Am I dreaming?’ I murmured, lowering my face into her hair so I could inhale her scent and feel the dark strands tickle my cheeks.

  ‘Do you think you are dreaming?’ she teased. ‘Does this feel like a dream to you?’

  She turned slightly and the bed creaked. She touched me, dragging her fingertips down my chest towards my stomach.

  ‘If this is a dream,’ I said, barely able to speak, ‘I never want to wake up.’

  ‘But we still have so much to accomplish,’ she said, her breath soft and warm in my ear. ‘You still have so much to accomplish.’ She punctuated the words with kisses to my forehead, my cheeks, my neck.

  ‘Please Ceit – stay with me.’ I wanted her to stay in the bed with me. I wanted her to stay at Howard House with me. I never wanted to be parted from her.

  ‘I’m not leaving you,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here.’

  She was unlike any lover I had had before. She made me come alive. She did things that made me thrash and groan and buck against her naked body, begging her to let me in …

  And then she was gone. Vanished.

  My eyes flew open – I do not know how I realised she had gone. Perhaps it was the cold space beside me or the sudden feeling of loneliness that swept over me. Perhaps it was simply the silence; the absence of her voice and the absence of her words and the absence of her.

  ‘Ceit?’ I threw the covers off me and jumped out of bed, stumbling over the sign language book. ‘Ceit? Ceit!’ I ran over to the secret door and tugged on it with all my might. It was locked, firmly, as always.

  I fumbled with the key and threw it open. Storming into the velvety red depths I retraced my steps of yesterday, straight to her doorway.

  ‘Ceit!’ I rattled the door, but there was no sound from within.

  I reasoned that of course there was no sign from within, because she was not in the room. She had drifted out of my room the conventional way, to the corridor and would be walking down there now – God forbid my sister should see her, naked and unashamed - perhaps singing to herself or trailing her fingers along the walls as she found her way back to the blue bedroom.

  Or maybe she had gone downstairs to have another look at the portrait. But I had the key. Nobody could get in without the key—

  The key. The key was still in the lock of the blue bedroom door. I could easily open it, just to see if she was there.

  So I did.

  And again, I saw her lying in the bed, her face smooth and relaxed in the guttering candlelight. She had every appearance of sleeping.

  Again, I walked over to her bedside and watched her. Her arm was flung out of the blankets, and I could tell she was wearing a long-sleeved nightgown. She had plaited her hair and the plait coiled upon the pillow, undisturbed. This was not the way I would have expected her to look, if we had truly just shared those hours in my bedroom.

  Confused, exhausted now, I stumbled away from her bed back through the governess’s room and back through the wardrobe into my own. I glanced at my pocket watch, unclipped and tossed upon th
e dressing table beside my own candle. Six o’clock. The maids would be stirring, the fires would be lit. I would have to arise for breakfast at some point.

  I sat on the edge of my bed and looked out of the window onto the balcony. I must have stared into the darkness for some time as the door creaked open. I turned my head eagerly, hoping it was Ceit; but it was a maid, scurrying in with a coal scuttle.

  I startled the poor girl by speaking to her. ‘I shall have my breakfast in here this morning,’ I told her.

  ‘Very well, Mr Howard, sir,’ she said, keeping her eyes averted from me. It was only as she left that I realised I was still unclothed.

  ***

  Chapter Ten

  Just as I bid, my breakfast was delivered to me on a tray. It was the usual porridge, and rather lumpy and unappealing today.

  I pushed the bowl to one side distastefully and instead drained the coffee cup. I had been presented with a full pot of coffee and it was as I was halfway through the second cup that I remembered poor Ceit. She would be waiting for me downstairs, no doubt. She would have to face Bella over the lumpy porridge and my, what a scintillating conversation that would be.

  I had to rescue her.

  First of all, ensuring that I was wearing a robe this time, I hurried back to the blue bedroom through the governess’s room and knocked loudly on the door. It may have been useless, she may not have been able to hear me; but at least I knew I had announced myself in some way.

  After an appropriate amount of time, I unlocked the door and stepped inside. My first reaction was relief, as Ceit was still in the room. My second was of embarrassment – she was clothed only in her undergarments, holding an emerald green frock of Amy’s in front of her. She was looking in the mirror, turning this way and that to see, I assumed, if the gown would look acceptable.

  She looked up and caught the finale of my entrance in the mirror. I opened my mouth to apologise, but she smiled and turned to face me. She held the dress out to me, as if asking me if she should choose that gown today.

  Wrong-footed a little, for I had expected screams or the hiding of her body behind the green frock or a handy bed-sheet, I stepped forwards again. ‘Yes, yes I think that suits you,’ I said.

  A little gesture, a touch of her fingertips to her chin, moving her hand down and away from herself.

  Thank you.

  I understood it from my studies last night. Thank you.

  So unselfconscious, so elegant. She turned back to the mirror and held the frock up again.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said. I moved into her field of vision and met her eyes in the mirror. She smiled, thanking me for understanding her strange language.

  ‘I shall have your breakfast brought upstairs,’ I told her. ‘I won’t be going down to the dining room for it today – there is no need for you to either.’

  She nodded, perfectly amenable. I nodded back. That was settled then.

  She frowned and caught my arm as I turned away, nodded towards the door then back to me. I could see we still had some guesswork to do, but I understood this meaning at least. She was asking me how I had entered her chambers.

  ‘Ah,’ I said. I felt the colour flood my cheeks. ‘There is a room that connects the suites. I came through there.’

  She nodded and turned back to the mirror, but it was my turn to hesitate. Blue bedroom or my bedroom? Where would she prefer to eat?

  It was a moot question. If I rang from here, they would want to know why I was in this room. If she rang, she couldn’t make them understand. Realistically, the order had to come from me. Then I made the decision, and even I thought it was inspired.

  Neutral territory. The governess’s room. I would have the tray brought to my room, then I would carry it through to her.

  ‘I shall order the tray,’ I said, ‘then come back and get you when it has been delivered. Just wait here.’

  It was, I admit, rather an insane plan. What was the issue of asking for a tray to be sent to a guest’s suite?

  I could not answer myself. I think I just wanted to keep our relationship private. It was Ceit and I, in our secret, silent world. I did not want anyone breaking through our barriers.

  But the question still burned in the back of my mind – had she been in my room last night or not? I cast a quick glance at her, and she did not look much different. Healthier, maybe. Happier, certainly. But she did not look like a woman who had spent hours making love to me.

  Perplexed, I left her to get dressed, and thus returned to my room.

  ***

  The second tray was delivered – but it was delivered by my sister.

  I was horrified to open the door and see Bella holding the tray awkwardly and frowning at the contents. There was yet another bowl of the vile porridge and another pot of coffee. Another jug of cream and another bowl of sugar. But all the cream and sugar in the world could not make that porridge palatable. I felt rather ashamed at intending to present that to Ceit, but my feelings in this matter were not something I could share with Bella.

  ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ I asked her, but I fear the irony was lost on her.

  ‘I intercepted the maid,’ she told me. ‘I wanted to ask you if you had the key to the drawing room. It’s locked and we can’t get in. The maid couldn’t set the fire and she’s fretting that it will be too cold for us later.’ Bella looked past me at the window. ‘Although there does seem to be a thaw today. Still, it will be cold if we can’t have a fire lit.’

  ‘Yes, I have the key, but I’m afraid I can’t let anyone in,’ I said. I stood at the door, holding it open, hoping Bella would take the hint and leave. Instead, she placed the tray on a table, sat down on the edge of the bed and folded her hands on her lap.

  The gesture and her very presence annoyed me. I wanted to get back to Ceit. She would be sitting in that Blue Bedroom, all alone, friendless and hungry, while my sister made herself a nuisance in my room. I looked at Bella, despising her and not concentrating on much else apart from the violent temper she had put me in.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Bella. It took me a moment to realise she was asking why nobody could go in the drawing room.

  ‘Because I am working in there,’ I said. ‘I’m at a crucial point and my work cannot be disturbed. I can’t have the likes of you or the staff parading around that room and talking to me.’

  Bella stared at me. ‘A crucial point?’ she asked. She shook her head. ‘I can’t see how crucial it must be, that I can’t even sit in the same room as you!’

  ‘It’s very crucial,’ I replied. ‘I’m not about to explore the details with you. You just have to take my word for it. You wouldn’t understand anyway.’ I indicated the breakfast tray with disgust. ‘You’re just a silly little girl, playing at being a maidservant.’ I shook the door a little to try and encourage her yet again to leave, but it was lost on her.

  ‘Charles!’ Tears sprang to Bella’s eyes. I hated to see such a sign of weakness and I curled my hand into a fist. She had better leave me alone or I wouldn’t be responsible for what I did. ‘That comment was entirely uncalled for! Were you always such a tyrant?’ Bella asked. ‘I’m sure you’ve never been so cruel to me before. And we’ve spent no time together, we’ve done nothing to prepare for Christmas together—’

  ‘Wait!’ I said, uncurling my fist and holding up my hand, stopping her annoying, incessant chatter. ‘Christmas. When is Christmas Day?’

  ‘Why, it’s on Wednesday!’ Bella said. ‘It’s the twenty third today and today is Monday. So the twenty fifth is Wednes—’

  ‘I’m not stupid. I can work it out,’ I snapped. I raked my fingers through my hair, my gaze darting all over the room. I think if I had not been holding onto the edge of the door I might have collapsed – I had a sudden, wonderful idea and I had to put it into place.

  ‘You’re going back to London,’ I said. ‘Today. Then you can do whatever you want to do for Christmas and prepare whatever you want to prepare and I shall stay here. I’m wo
rking and I can’t be disturbed – not even for Christmas.’

  There – I had put such a perfect spin on it, Bella could not fail to see that she was better off away from Howard House. She would enjoy herself in Hampstead and see all her friends. She could not fail to see the logic in the suggestion.

  ‘I shall make the arrangements immediately,’ I said, looking around for some clothing. The shirt I had discarded yesterday was still on the floor and I picked it up. ‘Go. Start packing. I’ll have the carriage ready by ten.’

  Bella leapt to her feet. Her cheeks were flushed that awful shade of puce again, but behind that the rest of her complexion was pale, as if the blood had suddenly drained out of it.

  ‘Whatever do you mean? I don’t understand. We’ve always spent Christmas together. I don’t have a tree at Hampstead. Your gifts are all here, at Howard House. I don’t know what anyone is doing in London. We’ve—’

  ‘Shut up!’ I yelled. I slapped her face, hard. It was the only way to deal with female hysterics and she was nothing less than certifiable. The way she was ranting and raving – God! I’d be pleased to get rid of her. I really would.

  ‘Get packed. If you aren’t packed by ten, then the carriage will just take you as you are, in the clothes you stand up in. I shall have them take you to the Arrochar and Tarbert railway station, and from there you can travel back to London.’ I could not see how she could protest. The station was relatively new, having just been opened last year and had good connections to London.

  ‘You can’t send me on my own!’ she shrieked. She was like a banshee - a crying, simpering, pathetic banshee. She held the side of her face where the red imprint of my fingers stood out, and sobbed like a ridiculous little girl.

  ‘You’re an adult,’ I hissed, putting my face very close to hers. ‘You are twenty-one. I’m sure you can manage. Most women are married and mothered by your age. The least you can do is take a train home.