The Crimson Bed (14 page)

    'No sir, I am not at all sure I want my daughter to marry someone in your profession. Not at all, sir. I admire and respect the art world but I have no desire for my daughter, my only daughter, to be married into that world.'

    Frederic looked at Joshua Farnham with something akin to despair. The older gentleman regarded him with an unrelenting eye. The whippersnapper! Already plotting and planning and turning his daughter's head. It was not to be countenanced. Joshua felt very angry.

    'I know you to be a young man from a genteel background. I know you have good connections. I know all these things you have advanced in your favour. All that is very fine but there are many such gentlemen who are interested in my daughter, gentlemen with far better antecedents than your own.'

    Frederic paled visibly but Joshua was not inclined to feel sympathy. 'My especial objection,' he continued, 'is that you tend to mix with dubious people. Artists are generally dubious people, are they not, sir?'

    'Well, not really– '

    Joshua cut short the young man's protest.

    'I say they are, sir. Millais, and Ruskin perhaps, can be considered an exception. They do come from good families and are respected men but there is gossip even about them.'

    'Mr Farnham, sir, I also come from a good family and so does Mr Winstone, my good friend.'

    'Understand this, Mr Thorpe – I like Mr Winstone a great deal, I admire his art – but Mr Winstone lives with a lady who is decidedly not his wife.'

    'Well, um... '

    'Is that not the case?'

    Frederic hung his head damned by his best friend's misbehaviour.

    'What is more, I cannot be sure that you could keep a family and a comfortable establishment if you persist in this profession. I have not heard that you show great promise at it.'

    'Oh, but I
can k
eep a good establishment, I assure you of that, sir!' Frederic protested warmly. 'My father pays me a handsome allowance and I am earning quite well with my painting. I confess I shall never be a genius but I manage as I can.'

    Joshua relented a little. He rather liked the young man's candour and humility. 'Well, Mr Thorpe, on the whole, despite my own strong objections to you as a prospective husband for my daughter, it seems she wants you.
She
says she wishes to marry you. As I have said, I know you to be a gentleman and that you have good prospects. Nevertheless, I still insist that your desired profession is not one that is considered remunerative or even useful unless one is very lucky indeed. You have I assume studied Art and Design?'

    'Indeed, sir, under the auspices of the Royal Academy, no less. They accepted me after I left Oxford. I felt then that I preferred this creative way of life to all other. I'm not cut out to be a man in the City, I'm afraid. And I have many very fine teachers who are helping my progress along.'

    'You are serious about this way of life?'

    'I am indeed, sir,' said Fred warmly. 'I feel it's time we brought back Art and Beauty and Goodness. My axiom is that of Keats, "Beauty is Truth, Truth Beauty." The age we live in is taken over by ugliness, industrialism, materialism and meanness of spirit. I want to create a finer environment, something rich, lovely, warm, and beautiful that the eye might look on in detail, seeing something new in it every time. Gabriel Rossetti is one of the modern exponents of colour and beauty and I was proud to be his pupil for a brief while. I don't profess to have his talent or even that of my friend, Henry Winstone. I also appreciate that so far I have procrastinated a good deal. Now I have a purpose and an aim. I want to marry and make Eleanor happy. This is my spur and I mean to learn as much as I can and do my utmost best.'

    Joshua Farnham was pleased with this response and smiled a little at the young man's enthusiasm.

    'Your sentiments are heartfelt and admirable. I am totally in accord with them myself. Well, my daughter seems determined to take you. My suggestion is that you both wait for a few years till you can prove to me that you are doing well in your chosen profession.'

    This obviously did not suit the young man at all.

    'I
will
take care of Eleanor, sir,' he pleaded, 'I assure you she will live as comfortably as she always has done.
Must
we wait? We can even now nicely afford to rent a small but pleasing house and I know Eleanor wishes to have a short engagement as much as I do.'

    'I do not care for short engagements,' said Joshua firmly. 'Rushing into marriage is very foolish. As you well know, it is a lifetime commitment and needs serious thought and certainty.'

    'No-one could be more certain than I am, sir,' said Frederic.

    Joshua tapped the desk with a pencil and fell deep in thought while the young man waited in respectful silence. After some time the older man raised his head and said, 'An engagement then. But not marriage. Not for some years. I need to be sure you can keep my daughter in comfort.'

When Joshua spoke to his daughter, her reaction astonished him. Normally dutiful and obedient, faced with her father's opposition, she became adamant that she wanted to marry soon.

    'Oh, Papa,' she wailed, 'I really want, y
earn
, to run my own home, however small it might be to begin with. It would be so delightful. Please, Papa, I don't want to wait years and years and become old and miserable like some women I know who are still waiting for their fathers to acquiesce that their fiancés are sufficiently wealthy for marriage.'

    When her father looked as if he was going to be unyielding and difficult, she wavered between stamping her foot and bursting into tears. She was not the crying type so she went for the former. Her father sat back and regarded her in some alarm, unused to such a rebellious attitude on her part.

    'I will marry Fred!' she stormed. 'I will, Papa, even if I have to run away with him. Yes, I mean it! I don't care a fig if it's dishonourable... Papa, darling,
do
have faith. Fred is going to manage very well, I feel sure of it. I shall make sure he does,' she added with a little laugh.

    'Really child, what a drama you are making of it all. There is no need to be so extreme. I am surprised at you.' Joshua looked startled now rather than angry.

    Ellie hung her head a little and subsided, 'I apologise, Papa, but my feelings in the matter are so strong. I hate all this waiting. I hate it. I've – waited long enough,' she added, her mind returning to Alfie and all the pain of keeping that love affair secret and all for nothing.

    'You really love this fellow then, Eleanor?' asked her father.

    For a moment, Ellie wavered. Her father watched her keenly but what he did not know was that unbidden, Alfie's strong, dark features had risen before her eye. However, she looked up and spoke firmly.

    'I do love Fred, Papa. He is gentle, kind and a good man. He loves all the things I do; art, music, books. I know we will be very happy together.'

    'I suspect you will rule him with an iron hand in a velvet glove,' said Joshua ruefully, 'he has no chance, poor fellow.'

    So Joshua Farnham relented and agreed – somewhat against his better judgement – that a short engagement might after all be best. It was never easy for him to refuse his dear Eleanor anything she desired.

Chapter 11

The maid took Fred's hat and gloves from him.

    'No, my good woman, lay the hat down on its brim,' he told her, vexed at her carelessness.

    Obediently she did so and set it down on the hall table next to another well-brushed hat with elegant, black kid gloves lying beside it. Some other gentleman was calling, it seemed. Full of curiosity and filled with an over-riding sense of possessive jealousy unknown to him till now, Fred wondered who the visitor might be. He entered the drawing room with a frown on his face.

    Here he found his beloved Ellie looking very at ease with what appeared to be an old acquaintance. She was seated on the sofa in animated conversation with a middle-aged gentleman who had his back to Fred.

    She looked up as he came in and rose, smiling with happiness and looking full of girlish delight. Going over to Fred, she took his arm and drew him forward.

    'Come and be introduced to my beloved godfather, Lord Percival Dillinger. My Lord, this is my fiancé, my darling Fred. Mr Frederic Ashton Thorpe.'

    Lord Dillinger had also risen and stood a tall and imposing figure. There was a stern, autocratic look on his face and his dark eyes narrowed as he looked at Fred with a sense of summing up the young man and finding him subtly wanting.

    Fred felt him to be a cold man and for some reason felt a sense of immediate dislike pass between them.

    The two men bowed a little stiffly and Fred drew Ellie's arm close into his own for a few moments as if to state his ownership over her. She however laughed and blew a little kiss at him whilst withdrawing herself from his controlling grasp. She then went back to her seat on the sofa, urging the two gentlemen to be seated. He was now obliged to take another seat and this annoyed him even more for Dillinger resumed both his seat beside her and his conversation as if he, Fred, had never come into the room or was of little consequence. Fred fumed quietly in the background.

    There was a slight pause as the maid brought in the tea tray and Ellie sat and poured it out for the gentlemen. Fred thought she looked lovely as she did this, a slight flush of pleasure on her cheek and a little smile playing about her lips. A simple, light green afternoon tea-gown set off her ebony-dark hair and green eyes. He noticed that Dillinger was equally enraptured by the sight and kept his eyes fastened on the girl, watching her slender fingers ply the teaspoon, stirring in sugar and milk, before handing the pretty, flowered porcelain cups to her guests.

    'And how is my dear Charlotte?' she asked Lord Dillinger when this was done.

    She turned to Fred and explained, 'Charlotte is his lordship's youngest daughter. We were more or less brought up together. I spent a lot of my childhood at Oreton Hall.' Here she paused suddenly and Fred looked at her enquiringly, wondering at the sudden flush that came to her cheek. Dillinger continued to regard her with his narrow-eyed, unchanging gaze and after a moment she continued

    'Yes, I've known her and her brothers since childhood. She's a sweet shy quiet girl, quite different to her madcap older brothers. Poor Charlotte was always left behind whenever they went on any of their childhood expeditions about the Dillinger estate, her little feet and short legs incapable of keeping up with the boys. I used to stay behind and wait for her, pick her up and carry her around. We have developed a deep affection for one another over the years. She is like a sister to me. Is that not so, my lord?'

    'It
is
so,' said Dillinger with a little smile. 'Yes, Charlotte is very well, thank you, Eleanor. She neglects her studies somewhat but I lay the blame for that at Lady Mary's feet, I'm afraid. Her ladyship always encourages Charlotte to play and sing to the detriment of her reading.'

    'Charlotte does play and sing so well. She has the voice of an angel.'

    'My dear, it's merely a useful accomplishment.'

    'I wish it was my accomplishment.'

    'You have a beautiful soprano voice, Eleanor. You could, however, improve your playing.'

    'Oh, I know that well, sir, but I don't have Charlotte's dedication. I'd far rather read or paint my silly little watercolours. And you know how I love poetry. Frederic is a poet too. Aren't you Fred?'

    'I try to be,' he said diffidently.

    Lord Dillinger looked at him in some disdain for a moment or two before advising, 'Try reading Mr Browning. He is an admirable new poet.'

    'My friend Rossetti admires him too,' said Fred. 'I cannot say he appeals to me quite so much. I think I prefer Mrs Browning's poetry.'

    'I don't like him, either,' declared Ellie, 'I don't understand a half of what he says; it's too abstruse and clever. I too prefer Mrs Browning but nothing could be better than my beloved Lord Tennyson and
Le Morte D'Arthur
.'

    'Romantic rubbish!' said Dillinger. 'You have far more intelligence than that, Eleanor. You should be reading Virgil or Plato or something to improve your mind, not all this nonsense about King Arthur and his Lady Fayre, etcetera.'

    'Oh, Dillie, what a killjoy you are!... I
have
read Virgil and all those other boring people when I learnt Latin and I hated it. I'm sorry to tell you, romance appeals far more... so there!' Laughing, she tapped him on his cheek with a playful finger.

    Lord Dillinger took that little admonishing hand and kissed her fingers, smiling at her with a foolish, indulgent look.

    'Ah well, you are young yet, my dear.'

    Fred thought,
this old fool is in love with Ellie! And she is so
familiar with him, she calls him Dillie!... she calls Lord Dillinger,
who knows the Prince Consort, Dillie. How intimate that seems!
Damn the fellow. He is taking advantage of their long-standing
acquaintance and somehow Ellie doesn't see it. In fact, I swear she
likes flirting with the old man. I don't like the idea of a flirt for a
wife. Damn it, does she love me or doesn't she?

    They all sipped their tea and a slight awkward silence now fell as if Fred's angry thoughts had become written in the air in dark red smoke.

    'Dillie hasn't called for such a long time, have you?' Ellie said, turning to her godfather again. 'Where have you been for so long and why haven't you called, you naughty man? Even Father was complaining he seldom sees you these days.'

    'My dear child, you know how hectic things have been of late! I have so much business to which I must attend and meetings with various cabinet members. In addition, His Highness is in a constant state of worry over the problems of training up our armies and insists we need to reconstitute our militia. I speak between us here; there is a war brewing up with the Russians and Turks and we shall have no option but to support the Sultan. The Prince is convinced that matters will go badly for us and we need to take steps to calm things down. He is such a melancholic fellow you have no idea. Full of German pessimism.'