And Only to Deceive (9 page)

“I know better than anyone how happy you made him. He told me daily.” His eyes met mine again. “I suppose I am disappointed that you have shattered the myth of the perfect marriage for me.”

“Really, Colin,” I said.

“I am truly sorry for you that you could fail to see such love when it was in front of you.” I found the intensity with which he looked at me irritating.

“Thank you. You’re an excellent confidant, Colin,” I snapped. “I feel much better now.”

“You were right. You never should have told me any of this. I am at a loss for what to say.”

“Perhaps you could change the subject. When you came in, you thought I wanted to talk about something else. What was it?”

“Nothing, really. I thought it concerned business Ashton conducted on your wedding trip. Clearly I was mistaken.”

“Clearly.” Evidently I would have to change the subject. “I do have a matter of business of my own with which I could use your assistance. I would like to set up some sort of memorial to Philip, maybe something at the British Museum, I’m not really certain.”

“I believe it would be best if you took it up with your solicitor, Emily.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he raised his hand and continued before I could form a single word. “Do not imagine I am angry with you. I think, though, that I should like the remainder of my involvement with you to be completely severed from your involvement with Ashton.”

“What precisely should I take that to mean?”

“I have a difficult time reconciling the woman before me with the naïve girl my best friend married, and I fancy I should like to keep the two images separate.”

“You have completely confused me.”

“Then perhaps the two are not as different as I had hoped.” I said nothing in response. “Please do not imagine I think less of you after hearing your confession. On the contrary, I admire your honesty.” He put his hand lightly on my cheek and left.

I remained standing for a moment after he departed, and placed my hand where his had rested on my cheek; it was as if I could still feel his touch. I dropped onto the nearest chair, wondering why I had spoken to him about such things. Why had I not written a tearful letter to Cécile instead? She would chastise me for falling in love with Philip. If only Ivy weren’t so newly married, she might have been a good audience for my
grievances. Funny that before her wedding I never minded telling her that I didn’t love Philip. Now that she was happily settled, I must have feared she would judge me more harshly than she had as a single woman. I sighed. What Colin Hargreaves thought of me really did not matter in the least, and I did feel better for having told someone the truth.

Soon after Colin’s departure, I went to the British Museum; I wanted to look at the Judgment of Paris vase. On my way through the Greco-Roman collection, I saw something that seemed familiar. When I stood before the case, I recognized it as the Praxiteles bust of Apollo. Philip must have succeeded in finding it, a realization that brought me no small measure of satisfaction. I looked at the card next to the object, expecting to see my husband’s name listed as the donor. Instead a Thomas Barrett was given credit for the gift. Obviously this was not the bust to which Monsieur Fournier had referred; I must have been confused by the Frenchman’s description.

I continued on to my favorite vase and stared at it for a considerable length of time, wishing that my husband were at my side. How I longed to hear his expert opinions on the artifacts surrounding me in the gallery. I vacillated between sorrow and a bittersweet joy at the thought that studying the things he loved could make me know him better than I did before his death. At the same time, I felt a terrible guilt for never having opened my heart to a man so deserving of my love. As I was contemplating my morose situation, Mr. Murray approached me.

“Lady Ashton! I am delighted to see that you have returned from France. Did you enjoy the City of Light?”

“Immensely, thank you. I’m so glad to see you, Mr. Murray.”

“You look melancholy today,” he said, hesitating slightly.

“I’m feeling rather sorry for poor Paris. I don’t think that marrying Helen turned out to be much of a reward.”

“I don’t think he would have agreed. ‘But let the business of our life be love: / These softer moments let delights employ, / And kind embraces snatch the hasty joy.’”

I continued for him. “‘Not thus I loved thee, when from Sparta’s shore / My forced, my willing heavenly prize I bore, / When first entranced in Cranae’s isle I lay, Mix’d with thy soul, and all dissolved away!’” I smiled.

“Most impressive, Lady Ashton. You have embraced Pope.”

“I have begun a study of several translations of Homer. Are you familiar with Matthew Arnold’s lectures on the topic?”

“I was there when he delivered them at Oxford. Brilliant man.”

“While I think it must be true that Homer can never be completely captured in translation, I am quite interested in whether an English poet can bring to us an experience—emotionally, that is—similar to that felt by the ancient Greeks upon hearing the poem in their native tongue.”

“A question that, unfortunately, can never be adequately answered.”

“Perhaps, but marvelous to contemplate, don’t you think?” I stood silently for a moment, imagining an evening at home with Philip, discussing the topic. Could he have recited some of the poem for me in Greek? That would have been spectacular, although I would not have understood what he was saying. The thought of him doing so, particularly some of the more touching scenes between Hector and Andromache, was surprisingly titillating, and I had to willfully force my attention back to the present.

“Mr. Murray, I have been considering for some time making a significant donation to the museum in memory of my husband. How would I go about arranging the details?”

“I would be honored to assist you in any way I could. Perhaps I could set up a meeting with the director of the museum? You could share with us your ideas and let the solicitors handle the rest.”

“Excellent. I shall look at my calendar and send you a note.”

“And, Lady Ashton, if you are as interested in Homer as you appear to be, you might want to attend a lecture being given at University College next week by a young scholar, Mr. Jeremy Pratt. I believe he plans to address the differences in translations of the
Iliad
.”

“Thank you, Mr. Murray. In fact, I am planning to go with a friend of mine. Perhaps I will see you there.”

Back at home that evening, I found that a decanter filled with port had replaced the sherry in the library. Davis, it seemed, had decided to accept my new eccentricities. I rang the bell, and he entered the room almost immediately.

“Thank you, Davis. I appreciate your consideration.”

He smiled at me. “I draw the line at the viscount’s cigars, madam. Ask for them and I shall give my notice.”

31 M
AY
1887
B
ERKELEY
S
QUARE,
L
ONDON

I
ALLOWED MYSELF THE LUXURY OF BEING THE DISTRAUGHT
widow for several more days before returning to the realities of life. As I made the requisite round of calls, I realized that I had begun to look forward to my friends’ mentioning Philip; talking about him brought me great pleasure now that I genuinely mourned him. I went so far as to invite his sister, Anne, to stay with me for a few days, and I found her a great comfort. She regaled me with stories of their childhood and his years at university, uncovering another facet of him to me. Philip had confided in her and wrote to her frequently when he was not at home. After hearing her stories and continuing to read his journal, I felt that I had a nearly complete knowledge of my late husband’s character.

Eventually I decided the time had come to go through the rest of Philip’s possessions. Soon after his death, my mother, in a rare moment of helpfulness, had assisted me in selecting those things he possessed of sentimental value and setting them aside. Now I needed to remove his clothing and toiletries from his dressing room. I asked Davis to coordinate this, telling him to dispose of the items in any way he felt appropriate. Before he set Baines and one of the other footmen to their task, I went into the dressing room myself.

I don’t think I had ever gone into that room before. On our wedding night, Philip and I had entered the bedroom together, and Meg had immediately ushered me into my own dressing room. As she had shut the door behind me, Philip had pulled it open.

“Take your time, Lady Ashton. I shall be in my dressing room and will not leave it until you call for me. I only ask that you don’t keep me
waiting all night.” He smiled. “Please make yourself as comfortable as you can in our room and try to relax.” I remember that his use of the phrase “our room” had horrified me, not because of what I knew must transpire between husband and wife but because I realized that I would have no privacy, even when sleeping. I had always loved lounging in my bed, reading the morning post, having breakfast sent up to me; it was one of the rare places I could escape my mother and enjoy solitude. Now was I to have no escape?

Meg had misunderstood my look of panic and offered me a glass of sherry, which I’d blindly accepted and drunk despite my dislike for the stuff. It took her a considerable length of time to undo the nearly endless row of tiny pearl buttons that fastened my dress, and I was thankful for the respite. She unlaced my corset and removed the pins from my hair. Once the lace-covered nightgown was over my head, she left me alone. I sat for a while longer brushing my hair and then went back to the bedroom, where I leapt into the large bed. I tried the pillows on each side before deciding where I would sleep, then sat bolt upright, my skirt billowing around me, put a pillow on my lap, and called for my husband.

I can still recall the sight of Philip in his nightshirt, his hair slightly disheveled, climbing into the bed. He sat next to me and took my face in his hands.

“I am the happiest man in the world.” He brushed the hair away from my face and began gently kissing my lips. “You taste like sherry,” he murmured.

I remembered my response. “I don’t know what you taste like.”

“Port” was his reply. I smiled as I thought of this, wondering if it had something to do with my opinion of the drink itself.

Now, standing in his dressing room, surrounded by his clothes, I imagined that I could almost smell him. I closed my eyes as I remembered his soft touch on my body, then took a last look around and went back downstairs, passing Davis in the hall.

“Please try to have them finish quickly,” I admonished him, heading
for the library; I wanted to read Philip’s account of our wedding night and hoped that he had been indelicate enough to write about such a thing. Before my curiosity could be satisfied, the parlormaid interrupted me, informing me that my parents awaited me in the drawing room.

“Good morning, Mother,” I said, and kissed my father. “I’m surprised to see you out this early in the day.”

“I was so pleased to receive your invitation to dine that I asked your father to bring me here immediately to accept. Besides, we haven’t seen much of you since your return from Paris, and I do so want to hear more about your trip.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” I replied skeptically. “We shall have a lively party Wednesday. I’ve invited Lord Palmer and his younger son, Arthur. Robert and Ivy will be there, as well as Arabella Dunleigh and her mother.”

“How thoughtful of you to invite the Dunleighs.”

“I never really liked Arabella, but I think that was perhaps due to her close connection with Emma Callum. Now that Emma is getting married, it seems that she has quite thrown over poor Arabella.”

“Arabella has been out two seasons without receiving a single proposal.”

“Yes, and Emma is marrying a younger son. At any rate, I think Arabella could be rescued from the influence of Emma.”

“She might do nicely for Arthur Palmer. But what about the older brother?”

“Andrew is still in Paris.”

“I understand you saw quite a bit of him while you were there.” Now I understood the reason for her kindness; she had already decided that I should marry Andrew. The rank of his family ensured she would overlook his lack of money.

“Yes, he’s quite charming.”

“I saw Lord Palmer yesterday, and he informed me that Andrew is besotted with you.”

“Be that as it may, Mother, I have no intention of entering into any sort of understanding at this time.”

“No, of course not.” She beamed. “You would want to wait until you’re out of mourning.”

“Catherine, stop meddling,” my father interrupted. “Leave the girl alone.”

“I count only nine guests, child. You need one more gentleman,” my mother continued. “I think you are wise not to limit your options. Have you considered Lady Easton’s son, Charles? His prospects are spectacular. He’s already made quite a name for himself in the House. There’s talk he may get a cabinet position in the next government. Perhaps you should include him in the party.”

“I’ve already asked Colin Hargreaves.”

“Excellent man, Hargreaves,” my father said. “Best man at your wedding, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. He was Philip’s dearest friend.”

“Well, I don’t see the point in inviting him.” My mother paused. “Unless you were thinking of him for Arabella. What is his income? His family is very well off, I believe. Have you seen his house on Park Lane?”

“Mother! This dinner party is not meant to be an exercise in matchmaking. I am trying to provide an evening of good conversation for my friends. Behave, or I shall drop you from the guest list and have Davis turn you away at the door.”

“I never thought I should live to hear my own daughter speak to me in such a manner. Samuel, where are my smelling salts? I think I’m ill.” My father, humoring her, put the smelling salts under her nose.

“Go easy on your mother, my dear. She’s not as young as she once was,” he said. “Why don’t we get her some tea?”

I rang the bell. Davis brought the tea quickly.

“How are things progressing upstairs, Davis?”

“We are nearly finished, madam.”

“Good work.”

“Thank you.”

“Find anything interesting?” I asked.

“Yes, in fact, we did. One of Lord Ashton’s antiquities.”

“Is it a good piece?”

“In my untutored estimation, I would have to say that it is one of his finest. Would you like to see it, madam?”

“Please. Bring it at once.”

When he left the room my mother reprimanded me. “You really must keep interactions with your servants to a minimum. It will not do to converse with them, especially in front of guests.”

“Really, Mother, Davis’s opinions are invaluable to me. Not long ago he recommended an excellent port to me, for which I shall be eternally grateful to him.”

“Samuel! We are leaving. I will not sit here listening to this kind of talk.”

“It probably is best that you go now, Mother. I’m attending a lecture at University College today and will need to leave soon.”

“I don’t know what has happened to you, Emily, but I hope you regain your manners before the Palmers dine in this house.” She rushed out of the room. My father paused before he followed her.

“I’d like to try that port Wednesday, if you don’t mind.”

I kissed him and told him I would send him a whole bottle before then. I heard Davis coming down the stairs and went to the door, where I gasped with delight when I saw what he was carrying.

“Apollo!” I cried. “Excellent, excellent. I love this statue. Bring it into the drawing room so I shall have something interesting to look at when I receive boring callers, Davis.”

He placed it on a pedestal near one of the windows, and I stood there admiring it. It was a perfect copy of the Praxiteles in the British Museum. The features were so exquisite that I could understand why Philip had searched until he found it and why I could locate no record of the
purchase. Its being a reproduction, he most likely spent very little money to acquire it, certainly not enough to merit recording the transaction.

I had no time to give the subject further consideration; if I did not want to miss the beginning of Mr. Pratt’s lecture, I needed to leave the house immediately.

Thrilled though I was at attending my first academic address, I am forced to admit that much of what our esteemed speaker said was beyond my comprehension. This did not frustrate me in the least; I had not expected that the experience would be much different. Familiarizing myself with Mr. Arnold’s views on various translations of Homer had enabled me to adequately follow Mr. Pratt’s lecture, even if I missed some of his finer points. Margaret ably filled in many of the gaps, and I found the entire experience most beneficial. If anything, it inspired me to delve deeper into Homer. Afterward Margaret, who looked a model of sophistication in a smartly tailored suit, introduced me to several members of the Department of Greek and Latin. Those who knew my husband all expressed surprise at seeing his wife attending a lecture, making me wonder what Philip’s own thoughts on the matter would have been. I had scant opportunity to contemplate the subject, however, as Margaret was bent on a mission of her own.

“We need to find you a tutor so that you can learn Greek,” she said, taking me by the arm and walking me across the hall. “I see several promising candidates.” Within half an hour, my friend had bullied an unsuspecting postgraduate student into agreeing to instruct me.

“I’m surprised there were so many ladies at the lecture,” I said as we left. “Although I need not tell you that none of my current acquaintances could be counted among them.”

“University College is remarkably enlightened. They admitted women to degree courses more than a decade ago. You should consider enrolling.”

“I don’t know that a university education is what I want,” I said. “I think I would rather work on my own than follow someone else’s program.”

“That’s fine, too, I suppose. Just be careful not to lose focus.”

“I don’t think there’s any danger of that happening.” We stood outside the lecture hall watching the crowd dissipate. I couldn’t help but take note of the fact that no one stood in the shadows watching me. The man with the scar seemed to have abandoned me in Paris.