The Fraud (46 page)

With some difficulty the sister of the triumphant buyer of
Girl Reading
was half-carried, half-pulled through the crowds of people to a small room down two steps at the back of the auction-rooms.

It was clear that Signore Filipo di Vecellio was exasperated at his sister’s turn, and his son’s disappearance, just as the moment of his triumph was sealed by the fall of the hammer. But the ever-present Lady Dorothea Bray tapped his arm with her fan in a manner that conveyed that she would take charge of this little matter, and so the
signore
turned back to all the people who were congratulating him, slapping him upon the back and shouting general huzzahs - especially after the rumour flew about that the lady in the front row (who had disappeared) was most likely bidding for the Prince of Wales. This auction would be reported in the newspapers, that was a certain thing, and the Italian Portraitist’s name would again be upon people’s lips. He could not contain his triumph, called for champagne. The envoy for the Duke of Portland looked once more upon the Painting in a longing manner, visibly moved to have lost it for his gracious employer. The mud and the rain did not matter, in fact the rain had suddenly stopped as if it too could not believe what had happened; there was a general air of great celebration inside the auction-rooms and nobody thought of leaving.

In the small back room, Lady Dorothea Bray wafted
sal volatile
under the nose of the poor woman; the poor woman was, in any case, completely conscious and brushed the smelling salts away (although politely of course). She understood it was her red-faced, breathless nephew who had brought her hence, and thanked him as she sat up; the kindly wife of Mr Valiant brought brandy in a small green glass, the Duke of Portland’s disappointed envoy nevertheless sent good wishes, Mr John Palmer looked in to make sure all was well. As he left he passed Mr James Burke the dealer, come to ascertain the same. As his Aunt Francesca stood palely, it was to Mr James Burke that Claudio di Vecellio directed his attention. His agitation was so great that although his face had lost some of its alarming puce colour he had difficulty breathing and speaking. But he literally put both his arms round James Burke in a most peculiar manner and almost it seemed that he pushed the dealer against the wall. This action would have caused much more attention had not the auction-rooms been still in such an uproar.

James Burke had known Claudio since he was a child, so was surprised, but not unduly alarmed, at finding himself pressed flat. At that very moment, luckily for all, Lady Dorothea, laughing gaily, tripped down the little steps and took Claudio firmly by the arm.

‘Your Father wishes you to share this Triumphant Moment, dear boy,’ she cried, and Claudio was unceremoniously pulled back up into the auction-rooms and the celebrations, so that the odd little moment was over almost as it began, and for a brief moment Francesca and James Burke were almost alone. There was the smell of brandy and
sal volatile
and perspiration and mud as their eyes met.

‘Congratulations,’ he murmured, and the kindly Mrs Valiant who was hovering in the background thought he was congratulating the family on their acquisition.

‘
Dio mio
, never, never again!’ she answered him, and the kindly Mrs Valiant thought she was commenting on the large amount of family money spent. Then Signorina Francesca di Vecellio moved past Mr Burke the art dealer, her skirt brushing him as she moved up the little steps, and she was back among the crowds, pale but contained. James Burke moved back also into the swirling mass of people. Neither of them saw Claudio di Vecellio, his requirement by Lady Dorothea and his father concluded, standing alone, staring at the painting that his father had acquired with his mouth still opening and closing, rather as a fish’s mouth opens and closes, when it is trying to survive.

Such delight, such a crowd, at Pall Mall for dinner later that afternoon. The Rembrandt portrait had at once, after various financial activities between the auctioneer and the dealer and the purchaser, been brought home in the carriage to Pall Mall and was already hanging in the large hallway; the old battered parrot squawked loudly at such intrusion but nobody cared; the informal guests crowded round to stare and admire, returned to the dinner-table and poured more celebratory wine, went back to the painting and the voices rose—

 

—holding inside me a wild feeling of mounting hysteria I had had to hurry to the
piazza
after the Auction, after my ridiculous fainting, to buy more food, hurrying in the pouring rain back to the house, bustling about before guests arrived, telling the cook to expect many people for dinner that afternoon, arranging for wine and I hurried into the dining-room and then I - the housekeeper - suddenly stopped quite still in the middle of the room.

And at last that long thin slither of steel that had entered my heart laughed aloud: for this was my extraordinary revenge over Philip Marshall of Bristol, who had torn my precious Pictures into pieces so long ago. And I stood then so still in the empty dining-room - I heard the carriages passing along outside, and the voices of the servants urgently calling to each other downstairs, and the crackle of the fire in the grate - and I had the most peculiar feeling as I stood there that I was possessed of great wings that lifted me, that held me aloft, even as I stood there.

And - if I can describe it - all the stones of anger that had sat for so long upon my shoulders and inside my head were gone. There was no doubt in the world any more:
I am a Painter
- I had come so naively from Bristol clutching my Drawings and my Drawings had been destroyed, but I was one of the lucky ones, I had been helped over and over: I could not have progressed in my sewing-room without living in my brother’s house and being so much in the company of Artists, and James Burke had sustained me, had - I allowed the word to float there -
loved
me and I had grown into an Artist.

I did not want to paint as Rembrandt van Rijn ever again - I did not think I
could
do something like that again: in my heart I felt it had been a momentary miracle that had taken hold of me and caught the eyes and finished the painting.—Now I would paint my own way, I could be Grace Marshall again at last, I would have money, and the knowledge of my success, to sustain me.

Euphemia brought in great high jugs of red, red wine.

 

There were so many people at our table that afternoon of the acquiring of
Girl Reading
, there was so much eating and in particular drinking as Philip celebrated his Purchase; I do not think I ever saw such drinking in that dining-room as that day, and Lady Dorothea sat opposite Philip with very bright eyes and she laughed, and teased guests a very great deal, and Isabella also sparkled and chattered because the highly-coiffeured Mr Georgie Bounds was somehow present, swept along that day with the crowd of well-wishers and hangers-on, and I saw how Isabella looked at him, and he seemed to look fondly back and I smiled, and she smiled back at me, my niece Isabella, and the news of the Auction raced like wildfire across London, the knocker sounded again and again on the door and I wished Miss Ffoulks might appear once more and it was said that Filipo di Vecellio could have sold Rembrandt’s
Girl Reading
that very afternoon and added a further fifty guineas to the price, and my Picture hanging there on the wall for all to see - the voices got louder and louder as the afternoon wore on, the room was hot and smelled of wet clothes and beef and fish and smoke and wine - and Claudio seemed to me to have slightly gone out of his mind; his odd behaviour with Mr James Burke was not repeated with anybody else but he still looked almost apoplectic: his dark face kept changing colour, from red to pale and back again - had he been threatened once more? and then suddenly Claudio pushed back his chair and staggered out of the room and I heard the bang of the big front door (the boy who would not leave the house) but his Father was too busy with other matters that day, and indeed so was I, his Aunt.

I
revelled
in the conversation, which came back all the time to
Girl Reading
-
The Exquisite Painting
, I heard someone call it - they kept getting up to look at it again; they talked about its light and its shadows, the way the light fell across the girl and her red-brown gown, and her eyes, the light in her eyes as she looked up from the book; they compared the rich, luxuriant sleeve that I had spent so much time on to the sleeve in one of the paintings by Rembrandt that the Duke of Portland already owned; they talked about the
look
in the eyes of my girl:
Memory
, someone said, the painting should have been called
Memory
and they asked Philip where it might permanently be displayed and he answered that he had not decided whether it should be in his Studio, beside the other Rembrandt, or on the stairs somewhere near to the Portrait of Angelica, and the wine flowed.—I watched old John Palmer, he studied the Painting for a long, long time, smiling slightly, and finally late-afternoon sun appeared and tried to shine and dry the filth and the mud of the morning, as the wine flowed in the celebrating house.—But at last although this might sound strange, the more they praised Mr Rembrandt the more it made me want desperately to start out at last on my own as my
own
person as an Artist - I kept thinking
I must not die now - before I have been myself
: as if I had just been prescribed a deadly disease rather than just defrauded the art world of London - something about the waste of years and years locked in my sewing-room: suddenly everything was very urgent to me: I was one of them now, one of the Artists that sat around our table (Mr Gainsborough was there that afternoon, leaning back in his chair the way he did when he had drunk a great deal and the chair balanced, but only just).—I felt as the afternoon wore on a kind of real panic: I did not want to have to pretend for another day longer: I must leave Pall Mall
now;
I must take the room in Compton-street
now;
most of all, I must acquire my money from James Burke
now -
I would talk to Philip about my decision to live alone: I knew now I would not say it in anger, I would not speak of Tobias; Philip would make of it what he would: I was not angry, only urgent.

So somehow, as the dinner crowd broke up at last, many leaving for
soirees
or clubs or cards or a walk in the Park in the late afternoon sunshine, I managed to send two notes: the first was to Mr Thomas Towers in Frith Street, I asked Mr Towers to immediately ascertain for me, if he would be so kind, that the lease on the room in Compton-street was still available: I would take it: I would have the means at my disposal to pay for it in twenty-four hours.

The second note was to James Burke, despite his admonitions that I should not contact him at his home: my note to him simply said,
Immediate Payment Required
, and was unsigned.

 

I had been, publicly, acclaimed as an Artist: what I had thought of so naively as a girl had come to pass after all: my Destiny.

When Claudio di Vecellio left the house in Pall Mall he looked neither to the left nor to the right nor behind himself, as he had been doing most anxiously for days. He simply called for a carriage and required to be taken to the house of Mr James Burke, in Mayfair. It was clear to the driver of the carriage that the young man was extremely inebriated.

 

When Mr James Burke came later to the house in Pall Mall, to give his further congratulations and good wishes to Filipo di Vecellio, people were taking their summer evening strolls in St James’s Park, for the sun shone bright now, the rain was quite gone, and if mud caught at boots and shoes and at the hems of ladies’ gowns it was no matter for there was always mud and dirt in the streets and the parks but there was not always evening sunshine. When he heard that Filipo di Vecellio had gone he asked to see the Signorina Francesca. He waited for her in the formal first floor drawing-room.

Her dark face was pale when she entered but her eyes, her whole body, seemed alive and full of energy. She entered swiftly, smiled at him as she formally held out her hand, and her hand was warm and glowing.

Euphemia hovered, wishing to give them tea, or a small cake.

‘Signorina Francesca, you expressed a wish to see the Eidophusikon once more,’ said James Burke. ‘I thought this day of your brother’s Celebration might perhaps be a suitable time.’ And almost at once they had left the house - and Euphemia thought wryly,
Do they think I am idiotic? They want to be alone these two
- and they walked, not to Lisle Street where the Eidophusikon might be found, but along towards the edges of St James’s Park. A beautiful pair of high-stepping horses trotted past in Pall Mall, white and elegant, pulling a small landau, and as it passed they heard laughter and voices on the air. It was warm now after the ravages of the morning; the evening sky was pale red through the London mist, and streaked with gold. He guided her to the side of the Park where fewer people promenaded so that they could walk, in company but alone.

She spoke unguardedly, as soon as she was sure they could not be overheard. And such was her freedom of mind she did not notice his face. ‘James, I have heard them, all afternoon, speak of my work with Great Reverence,’ and she laughed the way he remembered her laughing long ago in her room with him, in their private world, and her black eyes danced. ‘James, if I had not seen it all and heard it all with my own eyes and ears I would never have believed it possible! Imagine it selling for such a sum - it is extraordinary!’

‘Some extraordinary events need a little Assistance,’ he said dryly. She looked puzzled and he walked in silence for a moment casting little sideways glances at her, as if wondering what, and what not, to say. ‘The Woman in the front row who kept up the bidding was a Friend of mine.’