Page 29

Chapter 28

Emily marched along the corridor at Blake-Fletchley, her steps purposeful and her head held high. She was thoroughly ready to impress her drawing master with the artwork she had created during the academy’s summer break. Currently stowed in the flat leather case under her arm, its subject was a little daring for a female artist, but she was determined to prove that she could produce compositions just as bold and skilful as her male peers. Eager to show it to Jane as well, she looked forward to seeing what her friend had worked on since the end of the previous term.

There was no sign of Jane in the corridor, so Emily pressed on towards the drawing master’s domain in Room Eight, skirting the clusters of smoke-shrouded young men milling about and ignoring their customary glares. She anticipated even more blatant disapproval from them this term, now that the news of her mother’s divorce hearing had spread far and wide in the papers. No matter – she could handle their contempt, for it signified nothing to her; she was here to hone her craft, not to ingratiate herself with others. She hoped Jack’s new academic environment would be more forgiving, however, so that he could make friends without prejudice.

Her father and Jack had departed from Bewley Hall the same day that she and Rory had headed for Yorkshire. Rory had stayed one night at Louise’s home in Bilton, before accompanying Emily to the academy this morning. She could still feel the whisper of his sweet kiss against her cheek as he left her at the door to commence his journey back to Bedfordshire.

His kindness, too, lingered with her. He was such a remarkable man the way he had comforted her in the depths of her despair over their continued lack of a child. From that day to this, he’d made her feel like they had enough love to wholly fill their lives, even if there would only ever be the pair of them to share it. She’d taken his advice to heart and no longer allowed herself to dwell on the potential outcome whenever they lay together. A baby would come if their bodies were ready.

In the meantime, she had kept herself very busy, both with her studies in Harrogate and once she returned to Bewley Hall for the summer. She’d helped her mother make the arrangements for the charity lecture delivered by Reverend Hartley. She’d begun paying regular visits to Maud Jones, who still twitched at every unexpected movement but who had gained full hours at the lacemaking factory and finally seemed to be settling into her new situation – in the midst of this, she tried not to feel guilty for befriending Maud, and hoped Derval Carey would understand. And, of course, she’d spent countless hours labouring over the piece of art that she was bursting to present to Mr Parrish. When he saw it, he would not be able to deny that her demonstrable abilities entitled her to an equal education.

Arriving at Room Eight, she entered and spotted Jane sitting at an easel in the back row. There were two empty spots on either side of her, as though the male students feared she carried some contagion and didn’t dare get too near. Snorting under her breath at the absurdity of it, Emily wove her way towards the back of the room to claim the easel on Jane’s right.

‘Good day to you, Jane!’ she exclaimed as she reached her. ‘Did you have a pleasant summer? I cannot wait to show y-you—’

She stuttered to a halt at the expression of horror on the other woman’s face; Jane had reared back as if Emily were the one with the contagious disease.

‘Don’t speak to me!’ she hissed through clenched teeth.

Emily goggled at her. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Jane cast a fretful glance at the students in their vicinity whose collective attention was converging avidly upon the two females.

‘I have no desire to associate with you any longer,’ she snapped at Emily and shot to her feet with the clear intention of relocating to another easel.

‘But whyever not?’ Emily said, bewildered. ‘Surely not because of my mother—’

‘Of course because of your mother!’ Jane gave her an incredulous look. ‘How could you imagine it to be otherwise? It’s hard enough being a woman in these surroundings, without also having to contend with the affliction of your family’s scandal. Pray, do not have any further contact with me.’

Emily stared as Jane gathered up her drawing materials and flounced away, selecting a vacant easel at the end of the row – as she settled herself, the young man next to her unsubtly picked up his own things and abandoned his spot. Emily stood rooted in shock. She had expected scorn from the men in this institution, yes, but not from her only female companion. Did Jane not have any appreciation of her mother’s difficult circumstances? How baffling that she could not show compassion for a member of her own sex.

Pressing her lips together, Emily decided to occupy Jane’s vacated seat, in no doubt that the two places on either side of her would remain empty. As she sat and rested her leather case in her lap, Mr Parrish swept into the room. His gaze found Emily’s at once.

He crooked his finger at her and inclined his head towards the door. ‘Mrs Carey, if you please.’

She withered. Was she to be banished yet again from the lesson? Picturing Room Twelve as her site of exile once more, she began to suspect that she would be confined there for the whole term and not just when the subject matter was unsuitable for ladies. No, that simply would not do. She would need to make a strong argument in her defence, but she didn’t wish to do so with an audience, so she rose meekly with her leather case and followed the drawing master out of the room.

As she trailed after him along the corridor, she envisioned their imminent confrontation – he would gesture to the dusty environs of Room Twelve and declare it to be an excellent spot for an uninterrupted devotion to her craft, and she would counter with an assertion that her skills merited greater respect than that, at which point she would display her artwork to him with a flourish. She wasn’t na?ve enough to presume that he would immediately shower her with praise, but she was certain that the quality of it would give him pause and that he would be obliged to rethink his attitude towards her, or else run the risk of neglecting a most promising talent. That last thought was quite vain, but she had to believe in herself and fight for the esteem she deserved, because no one else here would.

To her surprise, however, he strode past the doorway to Room Twelve and proceeded to the stairs at the end of the corridor, which he ascended with rapid, clipped steps. She hastened to keep up, wondering where they were going. On the next floor, he halted outside a stately panelled door bearing a brass plate engraved with the words ‘Mr Blake, Director’.

‘He wishes to speak to you,’ Mr Parrish said grimly.

Her stomach dropped.

He rapped on the door, waited for a response from within, and then opened it, practically pushing her through ahead of him. They entered an antechamber where a sour-faced clerk glared down his nose at Emily before pointing to a door on the opposite side of the room. Once again shunted forwards and across the threshold by Mr Parrish, she found herself in an enormous office filled with luxurious couches and boasting massive, gilt-framed paintings on every wall. There was no desk, but an older man sat primly on one of the couches, as if posing for a portrait. He had a thick head of hair with one curl falling over his forehead in a manner that seemed far too deliberate to be accidental. His cravat was tied in a fussy knot and there were paint stains on the fingers of his right hand, although the room showed no evidence of a canvas in progress nor painting supplies of any kind.

‘Be civil,’ Mr Parrish warned Emily and withdrew from the room, shutting the door after him.

‘Mrs Carey,’ the man on the couch said, elongating each syllable. ‘How full of regret I am that the moment of our first meeting is also the moment of our final parting.’

Her skin crawled in distaste at both his pompous voice and the implication behind his words. While her heart sank as she guessed what was coming next, she managed to say brightly, ‘Good day, Mr Blake. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. To what do I owe the honour?’

He waved his hand as though to suggest he was only too delighted to bestow such an honour. ‘Oh, I merely wanted to express my sincere thanks for your brief but, ah, memorable attendance at the academy, and to wish you all the best in your future studies wherever they take you next.’

She adopted an air of exaggerated puzzlement. ‘That is very kind of you, but I have not yet completed my course of study here at Blake-Fletchley. When Miss Lyndon and I initially enrolled, it was agreed that we would continue as students until the conclusion of next year’s Easter term.’

‘That is true,’ he said, nodding vigorously and making the curl on his forehead quiver in what he no doubt hoped was a debonair way. ‘Which is why it grieves me to see you leave before you have achieved your full potential. But I do understand why you are unable to commence this term with us and very much appreciate you coming in person to inform us of that regrettable, yet unavoidable, fact.’

‘On the contrary, I have no intention nor desire to leave,’ she said innocently. She would not make this easy for him.

‘Indeed, that’s what makes this so distressing to bear,’ he said, his tone dripping with sorrow. ‘Nevertheless, bear it we must.’

He arched a well-groomed eyebrow at her, daring her to contradict him again.

She sighed. ‘So you are expelling me then?’

‘Good gracious, no!’ he exclaimed, pressing his palm over his chest in horror. ‘However, we comprehend your complicated situation and agree that it is best for all concerned that you choose to withdraw from the academy.’

She gripped her leather case tightly. ‘What if I refuse to do so?’

He gave an oily chuckle. ‘Well, that is not an option, my dear girl. You must see that this is for your own good. It will protect you from further humiliation, while also preserving the standards of our respected institution.’

‘And do you believe that your respected institution, which is so earnestly dedicated to the noble arts, ought to stoop to the level of contemptible society gossip?’ she demanded tartly.

His eyes widened. ‘That is a bold insinuation, Mrs Carey, and not one becoming of a lady pursuing those same noble arts. We seek grace in our students, not brash defiance. I’m afraid it is by your own crude words that you demonstrate how unfit you are to remain under our tutelage.’ He shook his head sadly.

She regarded him in silence, her shoulders sagging under the crushing weight of inevitability. Rubbing the pad of her thumb over the leather case, she knew that nobody in this building would ever lay eyes upon the artwork it contained. What a shame, for she had been so very proud of it.

Having been denied access to Mr Parrish’s series of lessons on the human figure in motion, she had become fixated upon acquiring that knowledge some other way. Consequently, she had stolen out to the fields on the Bewley Estate over the summer and spent hours sketching the tenants at work, observing the tightening of their muscles, the arch of their backs, the sweat gleaming on their skin under the relentless sun. Her final composition, over which she had toiled for so long in her parlour, had become the greatest triumph of her portfolio to date: she had depicted two labourers during the height of the harvest, their shirts discarded in the summer heat as one of them wielded a scythe in a sweeping arc and the other tossed hay into a wagon with a pitchfork. She had captured them mid-movement, their masculine strength evident in every line of their bodies. Her choice to focus on the men rather than the idyllic landscape in the background would have dismayed the more conservative minds at the academy, but she had been certain that it would also have earned her admiration. She knew it was proof that she wholly deserved her place at Blake-Fletchley.

Except it was now being snatched away from her by this pretentious ignoramus, whose only concern was the fact that her mother’s disgrace would undermine his academy’s reputation. Emily had known there would be a price that she herself would have to pay when the divorce proceedings became public knowledge, but she had not expected it to be quite this steep. Her personal prospects had once again been eclipsed by her parents’ love affair.

Her thoughts drifted back to her impetuous flight from Boston at fifteen, driven by the belief that her parents’ choices had robbed her of the life of luxury that Garrett had so tantalisingly dangled before her instead. Well, she wouldn’t be so foolish again. This time, she had the wisdom to accept the limitations of her situation, no matter how unjust it felt.

Furthermore, she resolved then and there not to divulge to her mother and father how she had been cast out of the academy. That was a burden of guilt which they did not need to bear. Instead, she would invent a plausible lie to justify her sudden return home.

It was too late to catch Rory, who was probably already preparing to board his first train, so she would stay a little longer with Louise and then make her way back to Bedfordshire in her own time, armed with a story good enough to convince her parents. After that, she would need to yet again re-imagine her future. It seemed like she had been knocked back so many times in her artistic endeavours that she had lost count at this stage.

Well, fine. It only made her all the more determined to succeed.

Mr Blake said something and she blinked to refocus on him. ‘Pardon?’ she asked, not much caring how he replied.

‘I said,’ he answered with an ugly smile, ‘that your crudeness leads me to believe a less ladylike version of you exists beneath your dainty exterior.’ He patted the couch next to his thigh. ‘If you are receptive to a compromise of sorts, perhaps we could negotiate an arrangement for private lessons?’

She shuddered with revulsion. ‘Nothing on this earth would induce me to make such an arrangement with you,’ she said bluntly. His eyes bulged, but she carried on, ‘Before I gladly take my leave, I want to assure you that Miss Lyndon is untarnished by her association with me. She made it quite clear that she wishes to sever all ties between us. Hence, her continued attendance at the academy will not threaten its prestige.’

Mr Blake’s lip curled. ‘Oh, we’ll find some other reason to get rid of her. She won’t last long either.’

Emily glowered at him, mentally adding him to the list of men she utterly despised. Her schoolmaster, Mr Miller, featured high on the list, of course, as did Mr Grover, the cad who had tried to trap her in a compromising position in the gardens of the Hutchville Estate before Rory showed up to rescue her. Mr Blake had now gained his own place of prominence.

And one day, she would prove her worth to them all.