CHAPTER12
The Saturday edition of theIllustrated London Newsboldly predicted that the Royal Academy’s Annual Exhibition would sell over ten thousand tickets in the first week.
Julia eyed the crowds in the East Room and believed it. She studied the throng, knowing Inspector Tennant had assigned constables to police the Academy’s galleries, and she thought she’d spotted one. A man had his eyes on the spectators and his back to the paintings. Sergeant O’Malley, on the other hand, seemed intent on the art. He circled the room, inspected each painting, and stopped near the entrance to the Middle Room, joining Inspector Tennant at Mary Allingham’sRepose.
Julia and her grandfather caught up with them. She asked, “What do you think, Sergeant? If you could take a picture home, which would it be?”
O’Malley smoothed his bushy mustache and considered. “This one by Miss Allingham is Margot Miller to the life, but as for hanging it on my wall . . .”
A man behind him said, “Come now, Sergeant, show a little fellow feeling. We Irishmen should stick together.”
“Well, now, if it isn’t Mister Quain.”
The artist pointed up. “One row down from heaven is catalog number 249,Galway Pastoralby that budding genius, William Quain.”
O’Malley eyed Quain in his rumpled tweeds. “They’ll be letting the likes of you into the Royal Academy?”
“Not usually, Sergeant, not usually.” He made a two-fingered salute and strolled away.
Julia watched the artist head straight for Mary Allingham and her sister-in-law. When Quain offered his arm, Mary took it, smiling.
A line of Byron’s poetry came to Julia. “‘All that’s best of dark and bright.’”
Dr. Lewis followed her gaze. “The fair Mary ‘walks in beauty,’ indeed.”
“As for the dark,” Julia said, “I was thinking of him. I’ve framed them in my mind’s eye. His dark good looks are a foil to her golden loveliness.”
Her grandfather raised his eyebrow. “Matchmaking, my dear?”
Julia laughed. “Miss Allingham invited me to tea tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll steer the conversation around to him.”
When Mary and Quain walked off arm in arm, Tennant said, “I believe you’re on to something.”
Mrs. Allingham remained where she was, flanked by two attentive gentlemen. One took Louisa’s arm and directed her eye to a painting’s detail.
Julia said, “I wonder if this is Mrs. Allingham’s first social outing since her husband’s death.”
Louisa looked around and caught Julia’s eye. She said something to the gentleman on her arm, and he withdrew his support, bowing.
Julia crossed to Louisa, meeting her halfway. “Mrs. Allingham, it’s a pleasure to see you here.”
“My first foray into society. I thought it would be difficult, but now . . .” She looked over her shoulder, then leaned in. “Now, I find it’s merely tedious. I’ve just had a lesson in glazing. . . until my eyes glazed over.”
There’s no denying it, Julia thought.Louisa Allingham is charming.“Miss Allingham never mentioned that process, but she told me all aboutRepose. It’s wonderful to see it on display.”
Louisa waved around the room. “But so crammed among the multitudes—viewers and canvases alike.”
“Yes, I’ve always found it difficult to see any single work.”
“You’ve come before?”
Julia nodded. “But not lately.”
“I never did—until I married Charles, of course. My father had no interest in art, and I’m afraid it rubbed off. Yet here I am, every year for the past ten.” Louisa looked away. “It’s strange. A father’s indifference, a husband’s career . . . odd, how circumstance hands us our lives. Had I married someone else, it would be altogether different.”
“Yes. That’s true.”
“Ah, but it’s not true of you, Doctor. You made your life. How I admire that.” She roused herself and smiled. “I must go. My guide is waiting to resume my tutorial. Will I see you tomorrow for tea?”
