by Jo Beverley
The guide cleared his throat and they turned to pay attention.
“We see before us the monument to Captain James Cornewall, a noble sea captain killed at Toulon. . . .”
Perhaps the abbey wouldn’t be a poor substitute for the wild beasts at the Tower. The twins were transfixed by the huge work of marble, which was carved with fossils, shells, and sea plants, but also with cannons, anchors, and flags.
As the abbey seemed to be encrusted with tombs and memorials, they should be well satisfied. Certainly the one of an old knight who’d cut off a Moor’s head—the head being depicted—was a success. For her own part, she enjoyed the magnificence and beauty of the building. In such a place, prayer came easily, so she offered sincere thanks.
“And here we have the most recent addition to the wonders of the abbey,” the guide said.
Claris glanced and was fixed in place. Though the life-sized figures were adult, the monument strongly reminded her of the smothered babes. A man was supporting his dying wife while trying to fend off a spear launched at her by a lower figure.
“Here we see the work of the late Monsieur Roubiliac, whose genius graces the abbey in many places, but this is held to be his supreme achievement. Behold Sir Joseph Nightingale and his wife, Lady Elizabeth, come to term too early through a strike of lightning, and killed thereby. In vain the devoted husband tries to defend her from the fatal dart.”
As with the memorials at Perriam Manor, the marble figures seemed so real, their garments flowing like real cloth.
“Does it distress you?”
She turned to Perry. “What? Oh, you mean another wife dying young. It happens too often, but then, we’ve passed many memorials to men killed young in battle.”
“My practical wife. But still . . . Never mind. It is very well executed.”
“Did the guide say he was dead? The sculptor.”
“Yes, I think so.” Perry asked the man, who confirmed it.
Claris asked, “Was he considered the best sculptor to work here?”
The guide pursed his mouth. “Not quite, ma’am. Sir Henry Cheere holds that palm, as is shown by his being knighted for his talents. In fact he trained Monsieur Roubiliac at one time.”
Claris thanked him. Perry said, “You have another memorial in mind?”
“I was only curious.” That wasn’t strictly true, but she hadn’t yet thought through her plan. “We’d better catch up, or I’ll miss more anecdotes.”
The tour was long and tiring, so when they eventually emerged, she was ready for home and dinner. Even Peter and Tom were showing signs of needing a rest before new adventures.
All the same, Peter said, “That was splendid, Perry. Thank you for bringing us.”
“I’ve enjoyed your appreciation. I assume you’re now ready for a test on the kings and queens of England and their memorials?” At their expressions, he laughed. “I leave that to Lovell. Behold a hackney stand. Wheels can carry us home.”
Home, Claris thought, smiling.
Anywhere where they were together was home.
* * *
Perry had hoped to spend the whole day with Claris, but on his return he found a note from Rothgar asking for his attendance at three. At least he could enjoy dinner with his family. Yes, his family. Didn’t the Bible command a husband to leave the family of his birth and cleave only to his wife, and she to him?
With pleasure, especially as Claris’s grandmother was out again. He rather liked Ellie, but in his estimation Athena was selfish to the bone. She’d served Claris well for a while, but he feared she’d serve her ill if it suited her purpose. She’d alerted him to the usefulness of the twins when she couldn’t have been sure he’d be a good husband.
Claris had a letter too. “Perry, it’s from Genova. She and Ashart are in Town, and she asks if we can visit them this evening for a small salon. She warns the talk will probably be dominated by astronomy.”
“Ashart’s passion. You want to attend?”
“I want to see Genova again.”
“Then we will.” He drew her to him and kissed her lips. “Until later, my dear.”
After he’d left, Tom said, “You’re becoming soppy, Claris.”
“Then Perry is too.” When he looked appalled, she laughed. “I’m afraid it’s sometimes to be expected from husbands and wives. You may enjoy that one day. Now, however, I believe Lovell has an educational exploit for you.”
It was a tribute to their tutor that the announcement didn’t cast them into gloom. They went off cheerfully enough, and Claris found herself alone for a while.
It felt very strange.
Alone in a strange place where she knew no one.
Except Genova. It would be delightful to see her again.
She and Alice must choose a gown for the evening, but first she asked Mistress Crowbury to find out where Sir Henry Cheere did his work. She soon reported that Cheere was retired but still had workshops—one at Hyde Park Corner and another hard by Westminster Abbey. “I’m told that’s where they do the marble work, ma’am.”
So near to where she’d been! At least that meant she knew where to go. Tomorrow, if possible.
For now, she decided on the lilac silk gown for the evening because all her other fine gowns were made over from Genova’s. She should purchase more, but her frugal side rebelled. Most of her time would be spent at Perriam Manor, where she had little need of silken finery.
She had her hair dressed in plaits so it wouldn’t slither free, and then Alice fixed in hairpins topped with flowers made from the silk of the dress. Ellie had made those, and she’d stitched silver beads at the heart of each.
The jewels that Parminter had given her included an amethyst necklace. The ones Perry had provided, oh so long ago so she’d have suitable possessions on arrival at the manor, contained pretty amethyst and silver earrings.
One day she must get her ears pierced, but for now, the wire clips worked.
When Perry returned she asked for his assessment.
“You’re lovely.”
Claris blushed at the implication. “I mean of my clothes.”
“You look very grand, which is doubtless the effect you want, but it’s only the Asharts.”
“A marquis and marchioness, and whatever guests they’ve invited?”
“A great many will be scientists, mathematicians, and such.”
Claris didn’t entirely believe him, especially when they arrived at the marquess’s town house. It was also in a terrace, but it was double fronted, and they entered a spacious hall from which an elegant staircase took them up to a series of rooms that had been opened up to make the evening’s salon. It was already half-full, and Genova was by the door to greet them.
“Claris, my dear!” she exclaimed, kissing her cheek. “How magnificent you look. And happy too.” She allowed Perry to kiss her hand. “Perhaps you’re treating her well enough, sir. I shall have all the details soon. The Raymores are here, and Lady Raymore particularly wants to meet Claris.”
As they walked into the room, Claris asked, “Raymores?”
“Lord Raymore’s a friend of mine. He’s perhaps told his wife about you. He’s the youngest brother of the Marquess of Rothgar and she’s the youngest sister of the Earl of Walgrave. ’Struth, Walgrave’s here too. Quite a family gathering. His wife is Raymore’s twin sister.”
“That makes me feel a complete outsider.”
“Then I’d better take you inside.” He led her over to a slender man in regimentals beside a very pretty woman with a mass of honey-colored hair. They were talking to an older couple and a singleton officer. The talk was about Canada, where the Raymores had been stationed until recently. Claris thought she’d dislike dense forests, bears, and wolves, but she enjoyed hearing about them.
The older couple moved away. Their place was taken by another couple—the Earl and Countess of Walgrave. She couldn’t help thinking how delighted her mother would have been to see her in such grand company.
&n
bsp; The earl was tall and dark, with a touch of the same haughtiness that marked Ashart, but the countess sparkled. She had reddish hair, and her resemblance to her brother, Lord Raymore, was striking. Twins, she remembered. Their easy fondness touched her, and she hoped for the same for Peter and Tom as adults.
The company was soon commanded to the chairs set out. Claris braced herself for a lecture on stars and planets, but a string quartet came out to play a piece specially commissioned by Ashart on the subject of Venus.
Claris became lost in the beautiful music, and when it ended, she sighed and whispered to Perry, “That was the most magical thing I’ve ever heard.”
He traced a kiss by her ear. “I must feed you magic morn to night. We could have musicians at the manor.”
“That would be a wild extravagance.”
“For magic? Then perhaps we should become musicians and encourage the servants to the art.” Claris wondered about that “we,” but before she could comment, he said, “Ah, the lecture.”
Claris turned to pay attention, fearing she would be bored.
Lord Ashart stepped forward, and she thought he was to give the lecture, but he introduced a gentleman called James Ferguson, and in admiring terms. The long-faced, gray-haired Scot had apparently been born to a simple family and received only three months of formal education in his life, and that at the age of seven.
“When he was set to shepherding at the age of ten, he very naturally studied the stars, but he also passed the time in making ingenious machines. When taken ill, he amused himself by making a clock, and in time he became one of our most skillful inventors of devices and most excellent speakers on the subject. You will, I am sure, enjoy his explanation of the upcoming transit of Venus, especially as it is accompanied by illustrations in two and three dimensions.”
Servants carried out large charts and diagrams and propped them up in the places provided. Then they wheeled out a complex machine made of gleaming brass, touched with copper, silver, and gold.
Another form of entrancement. Claris was bewildered at times, but she began to understand the movements of the planets and principal stars, especially when Mr. Ferguson turned handles on his machine and the beautiful representations of the planets moved around the lamp that took the place of the sun.
In August there’d been a partial eclipse of the sun, but she’d not really understood what that meant. Now she did. How ignorant she’d been, and how much learning was available here, in London Town.
She remembered Farmer Barnett arguing with Perry about the idle rich. This was another aspect—the intelligently curious rich who were active in the natural philosophies and appreciative patrons of all ranks.
“You’re looking dazzled again,” Perry said when Ashart put an end to the questions and supper was announced.
“I am. I want to look more closely at that machine.”
“Because it glitters prettily?”
“Because it fascinates me. I wish the boys had been here.”
“Ferguson often gives public lectures. I’ll let you know when one is scheduled and you can bring them to Town.”
Another excuse to be together.
He led her to the machine and deftly cleared a way for her to go close. A tall, dark-haired man stepped back to make way.
Perry said, “Allow me to introduce my wife, sir. My dear, this is the Marquess of Rothgar.”
Claris curtsied but blurted out, “I’m surrounded by peers.”
“To which you are equal,” said the marquess, smiling.
Peers. Equals. All the same she was mortified. “I do apologize, my lord.”
“Unnecessarily. We are all truly equal before knowledge. You are interested in Mr. Ferguson’s machine?”
There was nothing for it but honesty. “Fascinated.”
“Then turn it,” he said, guiding her around to one of the handles.
“It won’t break?”
“No.”
She gently turned the handle and the parts began to move with silent ease. “How wonderfully it’s made.”
“Ah,” said Lord Rothgar. “People rarely appreciate that. Perriam, I would enjoy showing your wife my toys.”
He moved away, and Claris stepped back, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. “Toys?”
“Automata and other clockwork devices. A particular interest of his.”
As they walked toward the supper, she said, “Are all these grand people mechanics at heart?”
He laughed. “Definitely not, though Ashart will have invited those who’d appreciate Ferguson. The beau monde has its share of fools and wastrels, but it also has many with the time and money to explore the universe. Or who make money that way. That gentleman in pale green is the Duke of Bridgwater. He’s repairing his fortunes by building canals and shipping coal cheaply.”
“A poor duke?”
“Not reduced to a Lavender Cottage, but yes. Lady Walgrave takes an active interest in silk manufacture here in Britain. Sir Barton Crowe over there has twelve ships trading on the high seas.”
“I think I have the tapestry of the world fixed, and then someone—usually you, sir—unravels parts of it and remakes it in a different design.”
“How boring if it were otherwise. I see Genova directing us to our seats.” He settled her in hers and went to select food. Genova took a chair at the same table. “I think all is in order, so I can demand details of your adventures at your manor house.”
Claris laughed. “Adventures? Most of my days have involved the exploration of forgotten cupboards and the correction of neglect.”
Genova wrinkled her nose at that, but she couldn’t ask more questions, for the Raymores joined them, bringing along a man in sober, dark dress. Claris thought he must be a clergyman, but he was introduced as Mr. Ryder, of Horse Guards. She knew that was the army administration.
He seemed a fish out of water here, but he had an interest in astronomy and mechanics and made some sensible remarks on the subjects. Everyone else at the table was lively and interesting, and soon Claris was relaxed enough to take part in the fast-moving talk. She realized only later that the food had been delicious. She also realized that Ryder had left, unnoticed.
As they rose to return to the performances, she turned to Perry to comment, “I felt sorry for that man. He seemed out of place.”
“He’s a dull dog. Almost a Puritan.”
“That must be it, I suppose. But he seemed . . . I have it. He reminded me of my father. Weighed down by something, even to the edge of reason.”
“Mad? I didn’t see that.”
“I probably imagined it, but my father could appear normal—if it is normal to be sullen and morose—even when the demons churned inside. Then they would explode.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “All that is past.”
“Yes, thank God.”
For the new entertainment, a couple performed some pieces from opera and then a man did clever tricks, making items appear and disappear, even animals at times.
Claris whispered to Perry. “Does magic truly exist?”
“Only clever tricks, love.”
“But I don’t see how it’s done.”
“That’s his genius. Are you worrying about the curse again? Such things don’t exist.”
At the end of the performance, Ashart asked the man to reveal the secret of one of his tricks and he did so. His skill was magical in its own right.
As they traveled home in a carriage, Claris thanked Perry again. “Though now I’m not sure what’s real or not.”
“A good thing to remember, and often the key to uncovering truth. As are kisses.”
He began to kiss her, there in the carriage, as it rolled through the night streets, doing nothing more than kiss if she didn’t count his fingers on her shoulders and neck, and teasing at the edges of her hair.
Only kisses, but when the carriage halted in Godwin Street, she wasn’t sure she could walk. She managed, with his help, and when she arrive
d in their bedchamber, Alice was waiting.
Nothing for it. She must undress. She must have her hair undressed and brushed out. As soon as possible she sent her maid to bed, and then she considered her options. This time she slid naked into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.
Then, breathing deeply with anticipation, she lowered them so they only just covered her nipples. Her tingling nipples.
He came in and smiled. A lusty, hungry smile that made her laugh with pleasure. She seemed to have no restraint left in her. She stretched her arms wide and said, “Come bed me, husband.”
“You deliciously wicked wench.”
He extinguished the candles, all except one, which he moved to his side of the bed. Then he undressed quickly and joined her, and loved her just as she’d wanted and more.
They lay together afterward.
“This is almost as lovely. Not as fierce, but longer lasting.”
“Sometime we truly must find an excuse to spend a day in bed.”
“A whole day?”
“And a whole night. Loving, teasing, embracing, talking . . .”
“It sounds magical—and impossible.”
“We’ll see.” He kissed her hair. “I’ve enjoyed today.”
“So have I. And we have a lifetime of them.” She instantly regretted that, for they didn’t. “Whenever we want,” she added.
“Encounters are made more wondrous by separations.”
“Yes.” She stroked his chest. “I’ve arranged to go to some shops with Genova tomorrow. Lady Walgrave will probably come. Is she really called Elf?”
“Short for Elfled, the Lady of Mercia.”
“You said she was interested in silk, and she wants to take me to silk works and warehouses.”
“Beware of the obsessed, but buy all you want, love.”
She poked him with her nail. “I don’t need your permission.”
“True enough. But if you beggar yourself, by our agreement, I can’t save you.”
“So be it. I am independent.”
“Except for this,” he said, and kissed her, his clever hands already stirring her passions.
Except for that.