six
EDITH’S HEAD FELT light after last night’s debaucheries and a morning spent cataloguing bottles of drugs in the hospital’s dispensary.
She’d been up all night, dancing, drinking champagne, and singing out of tune with other people. Then they’d played cricket at midnight in someone’s garden while wearing only their undergarments until a couple of police constables arrived, and she and her companions had to flee, barely escaping capture. What a shame…the fact that they had to flee, not the narrowly accomplished escape; that had been exhilarating. For a brief second. Her work at the dispensary instead sucked all the excitement out of her.
That was why she was out again with her friend, Daphne. She needed a new thrill.
That afternoon, the rocking of the carriage didn’t help her stomach still upset from the champagne, or her headache throbbing from the lack of sleep.
There was another reason for her to be upset. Perry had returned to London and had sent her a message inviting her to his home. She hadn’t answered yet. She didn’t have the courageto. Just thinking about seeing him again made her want to cast up her accounts.
“Where are we going?” she asked, hoping her friend wasn’t dragging her to another party.
“Bloomsbury. An atelier. I’m so excited to introduce you to Mr. Carter,” Daphne said, applying a generous layer of rouge to her full lips.
“The famous painter?” That caught her interest.
“The very same. We became friends recently, but we grew close in a short time. He’s the most delightfully intriguing man you’ll ever know.”
No, Edith doubted that. Perry was the most intriguing man she’d ever known, so intriguing that she didn’t have the courage to disappoint him and confess she’d told him a huge, stinking pile of lies in her letters. She wasn’t a doctor nor had she studied at the London School of Medicine for Women.
She hadn’t touched an anatomy book in years, or any other book. The only activity remotely close to medicine was her voluntary job at the dispensary. Far from being a surgeon. She was a fraud, and lying in a letter was too easy.
Perhaps the only reason she was so restless that day was because a meeting with Perry was unavoidable. Sooner or later, he’d learn the truth, and she’d face the consequences of her lies.
Daphne leant closer and whispered, “Valentine wants you to pose for him, for a painting.”
“What?”
Despite the headache, that news got Edith’s attention. One of the most acclaimed painters of the moment wanted to paint her. For what possible reason?
“You probably don’t remember him, but Valentine saw you last night when we were playing cricket. He was so impressed by your fierce character that he wants you for his next painting.”
If by ‘fierce character’ Valentine meant running away from the police in her undergarments, then she had plenty. “Is that why we’re going to see him now?”
“It is. Please, say yes. He’s such a wonderful gentleman and a great painter.”
“Oh.” Posing for the most admired painter of the moment. Being painted into an immortal masterpiece.
The painting could be the change and the new beginning she needed. Something that marked her turning over a new leaf, and she would have a beautiful painting to remind her of that. How powerful and extraordinary that would be.
Ten minutes later, they were in Bloomsbury, and Edith’s focus was all on the paintings. She had to admit that Mr. Valentine Carter’s face was a piece of art itself. His perfect features defined the face of an angel. His piercing eyes changed colour every time he moved, catching the light. The wicked smile ruined the heavenly illusion, but in a good way; it made him more human.
His atelier in Bloomsbury was a chaos of half-finished canvases, cloths stained with a dozen different types of paint, and mismatched sofas and armchairs. Discarded shirts were scattered everywhere. The smell of turpentine teased her nostrils and her sensibility, shocking her back to reality.
Perhaps this whole idea was a mistake. The more she chased pleasure, the more difficult it became for her to understand what was right and what was wrong. The more lost she became.
She shouldn’t be in a painter’s atelier. Daphne was with her, but having a companion wasn’t the point. The point was that she couldn’t stop thinking about Perry’s invitation.
“Edith, my new muse.” Valentine kissed her hands with just enough passion to be polite. “I was desperate to see you again. That quick, fleeting encounter wasn’t enough.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember it.”
“Never mind.” He kissed her hands again and tilted his head right and left while staring at her. “The colour of your eyes is extraordinary in the sunlight. It’ll be a challenge to get it exactly right.”
“Actually, I’m not sure I want to pose,” Edith said, but Daphne nudged her with her elbow.
“Wait before making a decision,” Daphne said. “He truly wants you to pose for him.”
