Portrait of a Girl (6 page)

The
festive season approached, and Dame Jenny and I were invited up to the big house for Christmas Day. This was the one occasion in the year I was told, when servants, tenants and family joined in a dinner at night, followed by dancing in the large hall.

‘
Because you are being trained for life in a larger world,’ the old lady said, unable to check disapproval in her voice, ‘you will be allowed to eat with her ladyship and the master at midday as well. At first the idea seemed odd to me — very odd — Lady Verne is usually so particular ‘bout who’s allowed such intimacy. But thinking it over I saw sense in it. After months of training with the music man you should’ve learned certain manners. You’ll have to watch yourself and show fitting modesty so Master Verne won’t be ashamed of thee.’

‘
You can rely on me,’ I said shortly. ‘Will you be there too?’

Colour
rose in the old bird-like face. ‘
Me
? There’s no need to ask that. Who do you think I am, girl? An ordinary servant?’

‘
Of course not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked such a stupid question.’

‘
It’s as I said — you’ve still a deal to learn ‘bout what to say and what not. In my opinion the less you speak in the comp’ny of her ladyship the better. Then there’ll be your dress to think of. The brown silk made from the material bought last time we visited Truro should be suitable, providing you wear the lace shoulder shawl to cover you decently.’

‘
That
dark thing?’ I exclaimed, ‘but it’s so drab — almost
black
— and black and brown don’t go together. The yellow fringed one would look so much more attractive — and why should I wear the brown dress anyway? There’s that violet velvet. I could —’

‘
Tut tut! hold your tongue,’ Dame Jenny said sharply. ‘In her ladyship’s comp’ny taste counts above everything. Remember, too—’ she wagged a finger in admonishment ‘— you’ve no fame yet; just a pupil to do the master’s bidding, and
I’m
responsible for your behaviour.’

‘
I don’t remember Mr Verne saying so,’ I couldn’t help replying coldly.

‘
There’s a lot you haven’t heard or know anything about,’ came the tart reply. ‘So have done now and no more arguments, if you please.’

I
let the matter drop, resigning myself to the fact I’d have to wear the brown silk to save unpleasantness, but determined to produce a few additions and alterations at the appointed time.

In
my own chest of clothes used in the past for my appearances at the Golden Bird I had a number of artificial flowers and lengths of braid in striking colours of the shades that were fashionable at that period — royal blue, emerald green, magenta, plum and vivid cerise. Cerise, I thought, would be striking decoration for my hair which I should wear up-coiled for the festive occasion and could be fixed at the last minute so that it would not be noticed under the hood of my cape. I would be tactful in wearing the brown gown and shawl but would arrange it so it could easily slip down after arriving at Kerrysmoor, revealing my shoulders. The effect would be attractive but not immodest. At my breast a velvet blossom would be pinned, and providing I could get down to a stitching session unknown to Dame Jenny, I’d sew stripes of cerise braid at the dress hem, with also a brightening touch to the corsage.

The
effect, after I’d removed my cloak at the big house might irritate and shock the guardian of Tregonnis, even bring a glance of distaste from Lady Verne’s cold face. This didn’t worry me at all; the thought of making any impression — whether good or ill, only added stimulus and a mischievous sense of excitement.

Rupert,
I knew, wouldn’t wish me to appear drab and dull as a humble sparrow among the Christmas throng. His eyes would be searching for me — hopefully — from the first moment of my arrival. How did I know, or guess this? Intuition, I suppose — that electrical awareness there had been between us when our eyes had first met at the Golden Bird those months ago. Although he’d not appeared at Tregonnis for some time, I couldn’t believe he didn’t think of me. Deep emotion which could so easily become love was not merely a visual thing, but a joy and a pain retained in the mind, and the very air of hills, sea and driven clouds sweeping the winter skies.

There
was no sense of guilt in what I felt for him, however excessive and impractical the reality might be. At the moment it would have been senseless to plan. A few hours in his company had to suffice. After all, that marble-cold barrier of a wife stood between us; he had married her, she must mean something, and he was obviously disciplined and a man of principle. If he hadn’t been I wouldn’t have cared for him. So trying to think things out was hopeless.

There
was no answer, except that I knew without any doubt at all that no man — ever — could take his place in my heart, just as I recognised that however much he tried to deny it, he felt the same. Facing the truth released certain tensions and restraint placed on me during my weeks of tuition under Signor Luigi. As Christmas drew close, I sang about the cottage, and put more and more energy into helping Dame Jenny, running up and down stairs, lifting, cleaning, dusting, only properly containing myself when I was confined, under the enigmatic gaze of the girl in the portrait, in the treasure room.

‘
Don’t know what’s got into you,’ the old lady said speculatively on one occasion. ‘Like lightning you are these days — a real wild one. Still, you’re a help I must say, even though your voice shakes these old walls sometimes.’

‘
Yes,’ I thought, ‘I
am
wild. Wild with happiness, and just because I’m going to spend a few hours in Rupert Verne’s company.’

I
sighed to myself, knowing I was stupid, but revelling in my stupidity.

The
day came.

Fine
sleet was blown on a wind from the sea on Christmas morning when the chaise arrived to take us to Kerrysmoor. I had been successful in hiding the flower and ribbons in my hair under the hood of the cape, and Dame Jenny was too concerned with her own fripperies of jewels — brooches, necklaces, bracelets and glittering embellishments placed at every possible angle, to take undue notice of me. However, when the time came to have my cape removed with the assistance of a servant in the hall of the great house she was at first speechless to see me standing there, shawl already half fallen, leaving my skin feeling deliciously cool and soft.

Then
she said in shocked tones from almost under her breath:

‘
Cover theeself. ’Tisn’t decent—’

One
old hand came up to assist me in obeying, but she was defeated by the unexpected appearance of Rupert through a door on the left. He was elegantly attired in a dark olive green-coloured velvet suit, with a satin waistcoat and white frilled shirt. Such details registered only vaguely after the first startled impact of us seeing each other. For a second he was taken off his guard. His strange amber eyes glowed with a warmer fire — their narrow long lids widened and he actually smiled. In a daze, with my heart quickening painfully I allowed him to touch my hand, then heard him order the servant to show Dame Jenny and myself to the ladies’ retiring room where my cloak was removed and hung on a peg.

The
decor was pink and gold — unexpectedly bright and frivolous looking compared with the sombre hall we’d just left. Through a long mirror I adjusted the flower at my corsage, tidied my hair and saw the artificial bloom was still secure in my curls. Then I placed the lace shawl over my arm and turned to face an outraged Dame Jenny.

‘’
Tisn’ decent,’ she said in a dark undertone, almost a whisper. ‘Remember who you are—’

I
smiled defiantly. ‘That’s just what I’m doing. I’m sorry if it offends you.’ She said something else and attempted to push the lace to my neck, but she was too short, and I was too quick for her. The next moment I was at the door of the ante-room and out again in the big hall, followed by the old lady making clucking sounds like an ancient ruffled hen.

I
shall never forget the midday meal, which was taken in the great dining room; Rupert sat at the head of the table, Lady Verne at the other end. Dame Jenny and myself faced each other on either side, and I was grateful for the large bowl of holly and greenery interlaced with scarlet satin ribbon and tiny silver bells which prevented her having a direct look at me. The fare was lavish and sumptuous, including roasted pig’s head, turkey, numerous entrées and Christmas pudding heavily laced with brandy sauce.

In
spite of my spinning head made dizzy with wine, I was aware at brief ecstatic moments of Mr Verne’s eyes on me. I think his wife must have noticed. At one point when I glanced at her, her lips were tightly set, her black eyes smouldering with dislike. I knew very well how much she resented me.

If
she’d shown one gesture of welcome or friendliness, the future might have been very different, although I don’t think anything in the world could have changed my feelings for Rupert. As it was, an equal cold hostility rose in me. It was clear to me that there was little warmth between her and her husband. So I put any feelings of remorse or guilt behind me, knowing that if Rupert ever needed or wanted me I would go to him, oh so willingly.

The
day passed, under a veneer of goodwill, including the usual revelry, dancing and wassailing.

When
the time came to leave I said a polite farewell dutifully to her ladyship, with thanks for her hospitality. She did not smile or take my hand, merely bowed her proud head, features cold and enigmatic, under the jewels winking in her black piled hair, and remarked:

‘
The event is a traditional one which Mr Verne chooses to retain.’

I
said nothing, but must have glanced briefly at Rupert who was standing at her side. He nodded slightly, and made a point of enclosing my gloved fingers in his palm. Through the fine material I could feel his warm blood pulsing rapidly, and as the pressure momentarily increased knew everything was well between us. During the whole evening no intimate word had been said; personal contact under the severe gaze of her ladyship and watchful beady eyes of Dame Jenny, had been impossible.

But
one day, sometime, I told myself, as we walked down the terrace steps to the chaise, it would be different. Awareness of the developing emotional relationship between us could not be stilled forever. Just as snowdrops and primroses pierced the cold earth in their time, so must the strength and beauty of passion come to natural flowering.

I
loved him. I was still very young, but what I felt was the oldest, richest human experience in the world. Something would happen eventually that would release tension and longing, bringing natural fulfilment. It must — it was inevitable. How, and when, was impossible even to imagine; but I was impatient, and hoped it would not be too long.

The
fine sleet had turned to snow as the chaise left for Tregonnis. Quite large flakes feathered the windows in a ghostly ballet of blurred movement brought to life against the swaying light of the coach’s lamps. Moors, undergrowth, and stunted trees were obscured into fitful nonentity. Dame Jenny was tense and nervous, too nervous to upbraid me then for my rebellious behaviour, though I guessed she would scold me later. One claw-like old hand was clenched on her knee. The rings flashed occasionally on the ivory knuckles when a sudden beam of light caught their brilliance. In the darkness, the jolting of wheels over the cobbles and rough ground seemed accentuated — merely imagination of course, but somehow exciting — an excitement intensified by my own heightened emotions.

Rupert
— Rupert! the name was magic! The meaning of his last glance at me before we left — of my hand in his, made me want to sing and cry ridiculous lovely things to the soughing wind and snow-swept sky. He must know, I thought — he might not admit the truth yet, but soon he would, because our recognition had been mutual. In spirit we already belonged.

It
was only after we entered Tregonnis and made the usual nightly inspection of the treasure room that my elation faded, subduing me to normality.

The
glow of the oil lamp held by Dame Jenny suddenly brought the face of the girl in the portrait into full focus. The silver-gold hair and exquisite features seemed to assume uncanny life, and I remembered, against my will, Rupert Verne’s reluctance to talk of her. Doubt clouded my happiness. I tried to dispel it, but it was no use. There was a mystery somewhere involved concerning his possession of the painting — a mystery from which I was completely excluded. My mind played this way and that in search of a possible explanation until tired from the events and activities of the day, I went to bed and fell soon into a deep sleep.’

When
I woke it was to find the frozen weather had turned into a thaw. Grey mist hugged the landscape through which only fading drifts of white still lingered. Enchantment had gone; Dame Jenny also seemed depressed and more uncommunicative than usual. She made no attempt to chide me, as I’d expected, but went about household tasks muttering to herself on a low key. I longed for the spring, and change in the weather, and found myself looking forward to visiting Signor Luigi again early in the New Year. He had gone to Italy for a brief respite before starting once more on my tuition.