‘What nonsense! You’re scarce in your twenties. You always strike me as a very dutiful and devoted wife and Charlotte could do no better than to emulate your capabilities. Are the children here with you?’
‘They are. Shall we fetch them to say hullo?’
‘Later perhaps. Small children, lovable or not, are generally tiresome.’
‘That’s very uncivil of you, Dillie. These are my children, you know. How could they possibly be tiresome!’ Ellie laughed as she spoke and Dillinger also smiled and made a little bow.
‘You are right to rebuke me. A mother must never be offended over her children. To the raven, her offspring is as lovely as that of the swan.’
‘Oh, now you have really offended me. Am I then the raven, sir!’
‘Now, Madam, you are twisting my remarks on purpose. What are you up to, teasing me like this?’
‘I tease you, Dillie, because you are unkind to Charlotte and make her miserable.’
‘Whatever do you mean? I am never unkind.’
‘You are. And why should a woman not be intelligent, might I ask? Would you prefer it if Lady Mary or I had been stupid?’
‘No, I would not. But you misunderstand, my dear. Charlotte is not too bright by nature, I’m afraid, and so she needs to take in as much as can be glued into that vacant little head of hers. However, I have no wish to overdo the matter, even if that was possible. Jack Pendleton is a good match and I know his tastes. He’s a sportsman and has no desire for a bluestocking as a wife.’
‘He wants someone ornamental, I suppose.’
‘Beauty, of course. What man doesn’t want a beauty for a
wife? And Charlotte is growing very attractive so she will certainly do well there. However, a good manager to help him when he inherits his house and estates is also a necessity. Lady Mary was a very good manager.’
His face clouded over when he mentioned his wife’s name and Ellie remained silent in sympathy.
After dinner that evening, Charlotte played for them in the drawing room. She played beautifully and the listeners remained silent for a little while after the last note had died away.
‘I think Charlotte could have joined an orchestra if she was a man; she could have been a famous pianist,’ Ellie said with enthusiasm after they listened to the young girl’s brilliant rendering of a Beethoven Piano sonata which she was able to play the whole way through without a pause or even looking at the music before her.
‘Thankfully, she isn’t a man,’ Dillinger replied coldly. ‘No relation of mine would be allowed to become a public performer, male or female. She needs no praises, Ellie. You flatter her too much.’
‘Oh, Dillie… how stern you are! I will praise Charlotte as much as I like for she deserves it. I think she is a marvel and I wish I had half her talent.’
Charlotte gathered together her music and blushed. Ellie’s easy banter with her father alarmed and fascinated her in equal measures. To talk to Dillinger so saucily and get away with it! She didn’t resent it. Rather she admired Ellie very much and looked upon her as a fearless Daniel who braved the lion in his very den. Ellie had a mind and will of her own and was not afraid to show it or challenge the men around her. Yet she was also so beautiful and charming that they never called her rude names or considered her to be unfeminine. High-spirited, they called it, when referring to someone as beautiful as Ellie.
Ellie had been the only person who had kept her wild and wayward brother Alfie in any sort of order, even her mother had said so. If only Ellie and Alfie had married and then she would be a sister as well as a friend. That would have been so wonderful. How stupid of Alfie to go and join the Army and go off to war and get himself killed. No amount of medals and glory were worth the sacrifice of his young life and dear Mama might still be alive and well and she, Charlotte, not having to try her best to take care of such a big household.
Chapter 20
‘I’m devastated, Fred. I swear I can’t go on living!’
Henry paced up and down the drawing room in an agitated, almost frenzied manner.
‘But Henry, I did warn you she was no good. You wouldn’t listen, you were so besotted—’
‘Shush, Fred,’ said Ellie, ‘saying that won’t make poor Henry feel better. He loved the girl.’
‘Humph!’ Fred retired to the window where he looked out feeling something akin to anger. Anger with Henry for being a fool and anger with Rosie Gamm who, as everyone but Henry had expected, had run off from her ladies’ academy and disappeared. She had stolen all Henry’s savings and few decent possessions and made off with some low-life lover to places unknown. There wasn’t even the dignity of running away with a Lord or someone. In the end she had reverted to type. Though why be angry? He had known all along she was a cheat.
‘Here, Henry, have a glass of whisky,’ Ellie said.
The artist accepted this gratefully and drained it back in a gulp. Ellie refilled the glass, which went the same way. Henry sat down at last and put his head in his hands.
‘I did, I did love her!’ he said mournfully, ‘Ellie, you understand. I loved Rosie. How could she treat me like this after all I have done for her? How could she be so ungrateful? I sacrificed for her, I wanted to marry her. Where did I go wrong?’
‘You went wrong when you trusted her,’ said Fred. ‘Set the police to find her and get your money and possessions back at least.’
‘I won’t do that. I won’t have her put in some foul prison. Let it be my lesson. Yes, you were right, damn you. God, who’s a man to trust? I’ll never love or trust another woman.’
‘Oh, Henry, you’ll be in love again in a fortnight.’
‘Never! I will never love again.’
‘Well, you’ll soon find another model and I’m sure she will help to console you.’
‘Damnation! You’re a cynic, Fred. And I always thought you a romantic. ‘
‘He’s not a bit romantic,’ said Ellie.
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Fred, stung by this comment.
‘It’s all in your head, that’s what she means,’ said Henry looking fierce, ‘not in your heart.’
‘I take exception to that remark. I’m a very feeling man. Come Ellie, you’ll agree with me!’
‘Oh, I agree you are a feeling man… but not a romantic.’
Henry was a cause for some concern. He did not rally round as swiftly as Fred had supposed or as he had done in the past after a failed love affair.
Fred called at his chambers a week or so later and was dismayed to see that the normal artistic chaos was downright slovenly. He saw no signs of any work in progress but found Henry slumped in a chair staring moodily into a dismal, sullen fire that smouldered in the grate. It was mid-morning but he clutched a glass of whisky in his hand already and looked set to spend the day in this forlorn manner.
Fred picked his way through mounds of rubbish and paper with a wrinkled nose that expressed his disgust.
‘For God’s sake, Henry! Let the housemaid in at least. It’s impossible to move in this place. Come, pull yourself together like a man!’
Henry looked up at him, his face mournful and eyes redrimmed with lack of sleep.
‘Nothing’s worth living for,’ he groaned, ‘you were right after all, Fred.
… Life’s just a sigh among the treetops
A little ripple on Life’s never ending stream…
… I thought you were being poetic and fashionably miserable but now I understand what you were saying. For you there’s Ellie and you’ve been saved. For me there’s nothing. I’m done for!’
‘Don’t be foolish, Henry. You’re a brilliant artist. There’s so much to live for and your work has always been important to you. There are a dozen commissions lined up and I could get you so many more if you would only stir yourself a little.’
‘I haven’t the heart or the energy, Fred.’
Fred lost patience now. ‘For Heaven’s sakes! How can you give up on life over a stupid girl like Rosie Gamm
? A common guttersnipe that couldn’t be saved from herself despite all your best efforts. Can’t you see that, Henry? Can’t you admit it? There’s plenty of other lovely girls for you to discover. Come on, old man, stir yourself up and get back to work and you’ll be fine in no time.’
Henry just sighed and picked up the whisky bottle and drank straight from the neck, not even troubling to refill the dirty glass at his side.
‘Give me a cigar, Fred,’ he pleaded.
‘I have none on me. I’ll send the boy for some if you’re that desperate.’
‘Don’t trouble.’ Henry sunk even further into his gloom.
Fred looked about him and shook his head. How could a man descend to such degradation? And over a woman?
‘Well, just try to finish Mrs Margoyle’s commission at least,’ he said. ‘She paid up front and you’ve likely spent the cash on whisky by now. Just get on with it, will you, Henry? You’ve got to earn something; you can’t keep living on handouts from your friends.’
‘I’ll finish her bloody commission, if that’s all you care about, though what it’ll be like I won’t answer for,’ said Henry, angry at last. ‘I’ll not be beholden to you or anyone, Fred. If you’re regretting helping me out, then take your damned money. There’s half a sovereign left in the drawer there. Take it!’
‘Oh, of course, I don’t regret helping you out, you fool! You know you can always ask me. But other people may not be so pleased and just at present you damn well need that half-sovereign. The creditors if not the bailiffs will be at your door if you don’t get a move on.’
Henry relapsed back into silence and Fred left in a state of extreme irritation. However, he slipped five guineas onto the hall table as he left. He had no wish to see his friend in poverty.
Later that evening he spoke of it to Ellie over dinner.
‘His work begins to suffer, damn it. He has so many commissions, too. He can’t seem to lift a paintbrush but huddles over a bottle of whisky day and night and won’t come out of it. He’ll end up in some debtor’s prison at this rate. What’s to be done with him, Ellie?’
She pondered the situation.
‘Poor Henry,’ she sighed. She was able to understand grief, something Fred in his comfortable and untroubled existence seemed unable to imagine. ‘Perhaps I shall go and visit him and see if I can talk him out of his sadness,’ she said.
‘Will you, Ellie? You’re such a kind, dear soul. I want to help him but have no idea what to say or do. I merely irritate him at the moment.’
‘I’m scarcely surprised about that. All you do is upbraid him, Fred. He needs some sympathy just now.’
‘But not too much! Or he will sink even lower into his depths of despondency. Come, Ellie, admit he’s being puerile.’
‘He is. But grief takes every man – or woman – in a different way, Fred. You’ve never known real grief and I pray you never will. But life throws surprises at us and if anything ever happened to you, who knows how you might react – so be sure to have some compassion now for your poor friend.’
Fred found it hard to imagine that he could ever get himself into the state into which Henry had fallen. He wasn’t like that, he told himself. He would always pull himself together and find a way out of any troubles.
Ellie went to see Henry in his chambers later that week. Like Fred, she was horrified to see the state their friend had descended into.
‘Why, Henry,’ she said, looking around at the litter and chaos, ‘we really must restore a little order. This will not do.’
‘What does it matter?’ he muttered. ‘Who is there to care?’
‘I care,’ she said briskly, ‘and so do all your friends. Sit there, my dear, let me make you a cup of strong coffee.’
She pulled the whisky bottle away from his feeble grasp and gently led him to a chair. Then she removed his cigars and set them out of reach.
‘While I am here at least, you will not drink or smoke. A rest from all this would be of great benefit to you. Some good food, some cheery company is your greater need.’
She now stirred up the miserable few coals in the grate, added some wood that she found flung aside in the storeroom and made a merry blaze that instantly lit up the room and drove away some of its gloom. The light fell on Henry’s face and he felt a corresponding uplift in his spirits. Then she sent for the maid to tidy his littered and chaotic rooms and the boy to fetch him some food from the chophouse.
‘We need some air in the place,’ she announced with a sweet smile and flung open a window. Later she told Fred, ‘I had to shut them again pretty quickly as the river was smelling most evilly that night and I’m not sure which smell was worst. Henry’s whisky fumes, the cigar smoke and stale sweat, or that old sewer, the Thames.’
When the food arrived, Ellie found some pretty dishes and served it to him on a small side table, bidding him to come over to eat.
‘I will allow you some wine,’ she smiled, pouring him out a glass of claret. ‘You see – the crimson, the ruby red. My favourite colour and one of yours too, Henry.’
He smiled faintly at this. ‘Crimson madder,’ he said, ‘yes, your beautiful dress, Ellie. Your portrait. My best work. I shall never paint like that again.’
‘Nonsense! Of course you will. You are in pain just now but believe me, you will find that your suffering will soften and refine your work. You will have even greater understanding and feeling to bring to it. I know this to be true.’
‘How can you, Ellie? You’re a young lass yet. You’ve led a charmed life. What could you possibly know of pain?’ said Henry.
She smiled enigmatically but said nothing.
Henry ate now and realised he was hungry. The wine mellowed him a little and the colour came back to his cheeks.
‘Do you think I shall ever love another woman, Ellie? What do you think? Rose dealt me a cruel blow. I trusted her.’
‘I know you did, Henry. But one fickle woman should not make you so unhappy. Of course you will love again.’
‘I was a fool,’ Henry stated glumly.
‘We’re all Love’s fools. It’s a strange state of being. The scales will fall from your eyes in time and then you will see clearly again and I truly believe you will meet another. Have faith, Henry, have faith. Meanwhile, don’t neglect yourself – for in this lies a lack of love for yourself and that is the first step to dissolution. Think of those who love you, not just yourself. We are made so unhappy to see your talent wasted. Will you not at least pick up a brush and try again?’
Ellie walked into his studio and surveyed the half-finished work. She picked up a small jar of colour from the table then looked back at the picture of yellow cornfields in the sunset.
‘This is already interesting,’ she said, ‘though frankly, I would have used a little less of this cadmium yellow. Is it likely to prove stable, do you think? It’s a rather new colour and I’ve been told it might fade in time.’
Henry came in on hearing this and regarded his painting.
‘I am trying it out,’ he said. ‘I agree, it’s a bit of a risk. But it does achieve a wonderful vivid shade. The yellows are always a problem. I’m using yellow madder as well which can be useful if I want a warm shade of brown in the end. It turns that way when used with oil binder. But in the end, only time will tell how well these colours will survive. Perhaps like the Old Masters we so abhor, our own bright efforts will be a dull and muddy chiaroscuro.’
‘You cannot worry about the future, Henry. It’s now that is important. It’s achieving the colour and brightness and beauty you want here, now. Creating should please its maker as well as the purchaser. None of us will be here in a hundred years time to care what has happened by then. My feeling is, however, that these paintings will shine for a long, long time. It would be a joy to me if I could paint as beautifully as this. May I come to you for lessons?’
‘That would give me immense pleasure,’ Henry said turning to her and lifting her hand to his lips. ‘I thank you, dearest Ellie
,’ he said, ‘I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my tender friend.’
Chapter 21
Later that summer Fred decided to take a trip to Paris. Some months before, he had met a Liverpool art dealer called Thomas Oldham at a gallery in the West End. This gentleman had taken to Fred and befriended him. He was a very useful contact and his knowledge of modern artists and the market in general was highly instructive for Fred, who still felt himself a bit of an amateur.
Thomas Oldham was a tall, thin man in his forties with a wispy reddish beard and moustache and penetrating pale blue eyes. He had a slight limp but otherwise bore himself well and dressed elegantly, a characteristic that appealed to Fred who was always a bit of a dandy. There was something knowing, something slightly mocking in Oldham’s expression that made Fred feel uneasy but he was also immensely charming and amusing. He seemed to have met everyone worth knowing, had copious adventures all over the world and survived the Battle of Alma.
‘I took to the art world after my discharge from the army,’ he said. ‘I have a wound in my right leg now which made me unsuitable for cannon fodder. Frankly, I’d had enough anyway. Life is not about getting shot as fast as one can. Pure necessity made me join the army and pure fear made me leave it.’
Fred laughed at his honesty and said, ‘You’ve certainly made this profession work well for you.’
‘Indeed so. I already had a great many contacts amongst the type of northern merchants who have now risen in the world and made their money. That’s the new sort of buyer, Mr Thorpe. I shall be delighted to introduce you in turn. There’s room for both of us.’
‘That’s very gentlemanly of you.’
‘My pleasure. I can see you are an up-and-coming young man yourself and I’m glad to be of service. I am sure we can make many a mutual arrangement to our satisfaction as we go along.’
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