A Proper Education for Girls (31 page)

“You strumpet!” he cried.

Alice flinched, as though he had struck her, though her reflex was, in fact, due simply to the flecks of spittle landing on her cheeks and nose.

“Whatever do you mean, Father?” she said at last, resisting the urge to wipe a hand across her face.

“You were in his room. In Mr. Blake's room. Do not try to deny it! I saw you with my own eyes!”

Alice glanced casually at the binoculars. “You are mistaken, I assure you.”

“Mistaken? I don't think so. My study window is
directly
opposite Mr. Blake's. I saw you enter his bedchamber. I saw you … I saw you …
unclothed!
Why, it was only the fact that Mr. Blake is an honorable man, a man who refused your most lewd advances, that has prevented you from being as
dishonored
as your sister!”

Alice closed her eyes. Her father was bellowing now, his purple face inches from her own, so that she could smell the sour reek of stale brandy and cigars on his breath. From either side of her Alice heard the welcome sound of doors opening, though she did not take her eyes from her father's face to see which of her aunts had emerged.

“Alice?” said Aunt Lambert's imperious voice. “What's going on? Edwin! What brings you here at this time of night?”

“I saw Alice, my own daughter, entering a gentleman's room alone,” declared Mr. Talbot with a sweep of his binocular-holding hand. “As if such a transgression were not enough, she then proceeded to stand naked before him.
Offering
herself! Like a common prostitute!”

“Surely, you must be mistaken,” said Aunt Lambert.

“I am not in any way mistaken!” shouted Mr. Talbot. “How many times shall I be required to state this most disgraceful accusation?”

“How can you be sure?” said Aunt Rushton-Bell.

“Do you really think Alice would do such a thing?” said Aunt Statham.

“Did you actually see her?” said Aunt Pendleton. “With your own eyes?”

“Such a terrible charge,” murmured Old Mrs. Talbot. “Edwin, you cannot be correct, surely.”

“How can you accuse me of such behavior,” murmured Alice.
She put a hand to her eyes as though to keep tears of humiliation in check. “How can you think I would do such a thing?”

Mr. Talbot opened his mouth. He closed it again. His eyes bulged, as though his rage and impotence were suffocating him like a scarf tightly wound about his throat. A ring of disbelieving elderly faces crowded around him, their expressions accusing in the candlelight. Mr. Talbot took a step backward.

“Well?” said Aunt Lambert.

“Well what?” Mr. Talbot bellowed.

Corralled by his aged aunts, Mr. Talbot seemed suddenly to realize that this confrontation in the dead of night was a mistake. His gaze flickered from one wrinkled reproachful face to another, and he looked longingly over their shoulders into the darkness, as though hoping for the emergence of an unseen supporter or at least for the chance to break through their ranks, to head back to his own reassuringly tobacco-scented rooms—should he be able to remember in which direction lay the stairs.

“Did you actually see her?”

Mr. Talbot shoved his binoculars into Aunt Lambert's face. “What do you think these are?” he shouted, as though the possession of such an instrument were utterly decisive.

“I have no idea,” said Aunt Lambert.

“Binoculars!”

“And they do what, exactly?”

“They allow me to see in through the window of Mr. Blake's room.”

“But his curtains would surely be closed, especially on so cold a night,” said Aunt Pendleton gently.

“His curtains were open.”

“And was your view of this ‘event’ entirely unobstructed?” asked Aunt Lambert.

“There was no obstruction. I saw Alice standing in Mr. Blake's room. She was unclothed. Completely.”

“And she did—what?”

“Nothing.”

“She just stood there?”

“Like a statue.”

“Did she not move at all while she was, as you describe it,
exhibiting
herself?”

“She did not. What does it matter whether she moved or not?” He sounded exasperated. “She was there, and that is that. I did not see what happened next. I dropped my binoculars. They are, after all, rather unwieldy due to their length, and the quality of the materials used in their construction makes them rather heavy. I was also most perturbed … shocked …
enraged
by what I had just seen. They slipped from my fingers. I then made my way as quickly as I could through the house to confront her. I would have been here sooner, would have caught her out of her room, if I had not become confused in the darkness.”

“So your view of these proceedings was, in fact, no more than a glimpse?” persisted Aunt Lambert, who was not to be distracted from this point.

“I saw her in there!”

“But for only an instant, and she was not moving.”

“I saw her, I tell you. I know my own daughter.”

“Without her clothes on? I doubt you do, Edwin.”

“She was there,” shouted Mr. Talbot.

“And Mr. Blake,” said Aunt Lambert. “What did he do?”

“Mr. Blake is beyond reproach. He looked away from her and shook his head, from what I could see.”

“Which appears to be very little,” said Aunt Lambert irritably. She turned to her nephew with a flourish. “Edwin, is it not true that Mr. Blake's chamber contains a number of items of the Collection?”

“Yes, but—”

“Any number of which must surely have obstructed your view through the window from your own rooms on the other side of the house?”

“My dear aunt—”

“Is not the window partly obscured by a model of the Clifton Suspension Bridge?”

“A little.”

“And is not the adjacent wall furnished with an immense display case containing your most extensive collection of bird's eggs?”

“It is, but—”

“Could not this also have limited your view of the goings-on in Mr. Blake's room? Is not a rampant bear located there also?”

“That is the case—”

“And, most significantly,” cried Aunt Lambert, “does not Mr. Blake share his room with, among other things, a life-sized replica of Canova's
Venus
made entirely out of cement?”

“Yes!” roared Mr. Talbot.

“Well,” said Aunt Lambert calmly, “I merely suggest to you that in your enthusiasm for these newfangled ‘binoculars’ you mistook this most fine cement artifact for … something else.”

Mr. Talbot opened his mouth, but no words came out. He blinked and looked warily about him. His aunts and his mother had all assumed expressions of annoyance. Alice was looking at the ground, her face a picture of mortification.

“Such a terrible accusation, Edwin,” murmured Old Mrs. Talbot. She shook her head. “Dear boy.”

“Mrs. Lambert is correct, sir,” said a voice from the shadows. Mrs. Talbot jumped, and Alice turned to squint into the darkness. Mr. Talbot held up his candle. Mr. Blake himself stepped forward. “You may indeed have been a little too hasty in drawing your conclusions. I have shifted the cement statue nearer to the window in order to get the dressing room door open. I fear you glimpsed this
Venus
rather than any other.” He lowered his eyes discreetly. “I do hope this relocation of certain artifacts has not caused any offense. I can move them back again—”

Mr. Talbot grunted. He sounded unconvinced. “Alice, it seems that I may have been mistaken,” he said after a moment. “But I shall be watching you.” His voice became a whisper. “I shall be
watching.”

M
R.
T
ALBOT CONTINUED WITH HIS PREPARATIONS
for the evening of entertainments for the Society for the Propagation of Useful and Interesting Knowledge. He decided that the ballroom should be cleared and a new selection of artifacts reintroduced. A podium was to be erected beside a table for experiments, and a number of chairs set out for the audience. Mr. Blake was pressed into service as mover and repositioner, with Sluce as his assistant. Sluce wore his mnemonic coat, its pockets bulging with items to assist him in his recollection of tasks and responsibilities. Periodically, under the despairing gaze of Mr. Blake, he would retreat to a corner and spend an hour or so reorganizing the contents of his pockets according to some design known only to himself. Occasionally he would drift off, a look of perplexity on his face, rummaging among his clothing as though in search of a memory that told him he was needed elsewhere. As a result Sluce was of little or no help, and Mr. Blake found himself laboring among the Collection with only Mr. Talbot for company.

After much prevarication, and after Mr. Talbot had repeatedly changed his mind about which objects he wished to display, the task was completed.

“Excellent,” said Mr. Talbot, standing back to admire Mr. Blake's handiwork. “The thematic arrangement is similar to that of the Great Exhibition. Indeed, if we had more time we might have
emptied the conservatory and held our meeting in there. Still, perhaps next year.” He rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Now, all that is left to prepare is the artificial volcano—I have the necessary materials arriving any day now. And Cattermole returns at the end of the week. He will be quite delighted with what we have done so far. He is to exhibit some monstrosities from his work in the mortuary. He also intends to present a lecture on his latest work, and was hoping to use Alice as his assistant.”

“And has Alice been consulted?” ventured Mr. Blake. “She may not wish to be an assistant.”

“She is my daughter. She will do as I tell her. Besides, Alice herself has always embraced knowledge and learning. She will, no doubt, be fascinated to hear of her own fate in so auspicious a setting as a specially convened meeting of the Society for the Propagation of Useful and Interesting Knowledge.”

“Her fate?” Mr. Blake swallowed.

“Why yes. Her condition can be remedied. Cattermole is most definite about that.”

“What condition? What remedy? Sir, I am a medical man myself, and I see in her no medical condition that requires a remedy. She is an asset to you, to your household, and your Collection.”

“You are very kind, and indeed Alice has proved most useful to me in my work among the Collection, but there is much
amiss
with her.” Mr. Talbot lowered his voice to a more confidential tone. “Her sister was of a similar caliber. I allowed her too much license so that she swiftly moved beyond redemption, but Alice, why, Cattermole assures me that Alice can be saved.”

“And can you tell me what ‘remedy’ Dr. Cattermole is proposing?” Mr. Blake tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice. “Indeed, are you quite certain Alice needs to be ‘saved?’”

Mr. Talbot twinkled from beneath the bushy black caterpillars of his brows. “An inquiring spirit, that's what I like to see in a man!” He pounded Mr. Blake on the shoulder. “You, sir, will have to be patient. Even I do not know what Cattermole's plans are. We must wait, and see, and
learn!”

W
HILE
M
R.
B
LAKE
was engaged among the Collection with Mr. Talbot, Alice was given the task of sending out invitations to the various members of the Society. Once this minor chore had been completed, her father sent her away. At first, she wandered the corridors, hoping that she might come upon Mr. Blake about his duties. But Mr. Talbot was, for once, as good as his word, and wherever she found Mr. Blake, she found her father, directing the movement of artifacts in a booming voice, or informing Mr. Blake of the merits of individual pieces. Even in the evenings Mr. Talbot kept the photographer close at hand and fell to taking his meals in his study with only Mr. Blake for company. Days passed, and Alice found not one single opportunity to speak to the photographer alone. She began to wonder whether she might risk paying him a visit in his rooms, but she noticed Sluce skulking in the shadows. No doubt her father had instructed him to keep watch.

I
N THE END
, it was Mr. Blake who found Alice. She had retreated to the temperate house, to the darkroom in the shed, and was bent over the spirit lamp, moving a glass plate quickly from side to side to coat it with a mixture of ether and guncotton. She did not hear the door open, but felt a draft of air and saw a beam of shadowy daylight fall on her workbench.

“You are supposed to knock,” she said without looking up. “Imagine if I had been developing. The image could have been lost.”

“And you would simply have taken another.”

Alice dropped the glass plate in surprise. “Mr. Blake,” she whispered. “If my father catches you here—”

“I shall be brief,” he said, closing the door softly behind him. He seized her hands, trying not to let his gaze be distracted by the bottle of ether that stood on her workbench. Already the fumes in the darkroom were making him thirst for it, while the heat of the
place made his head swim. He blinked and swallowed. In the feeble light of the spirit lamp Alice looked more attractive than he remembered … But had he not sought her out in order to communicate some vital intelligence? A buzzing sound had filled his ears and his head seemed suddenly as heavy as lead.

“Alice,” he said, his tone urgent, “there are no longer any secrets between you and me. You are a woman and that's quite clear. To me, at least. I mean to say, when you came to me in my rooms the other night I was in some doubt. But now, having seen your … your … sex, if I might be so bold as to call it such, now, as I say, I am not. That is to say, I am not in any doubt. In fact, I am quite certain. You are a woman.” He put out a hand to steady himself. “There are, of course, aspects of my past behavior that I would rather change, things I have done, acts I have committed about which I would rather you did not know. But I cannot turn the clock back.” The fumes in the darkroom seemed to be addling his brains, his well-prepared speech turning to gibberish on his tongue. Even as he hesitated he felt his next sentence evaporating from his head before it had made it to his lips. Her expression told him nothing. “What I mean to say is that perhaps we are now equal. Would you be so kind as to return my photographs? Oh, and are we still to be married?” He lurched toward her. “I think we should.”