“Stay where you are!” Her tone was more stern than she had intended and some of the atmosphere was torn from the room and Avery too seemed to become aware of his dress and he grew awkward again. She wanted to retrieve the moment and cast around for something to draw him back to her.
“And what about you Avery? What is it that you desire?”
She was earnest and her voice lacked the slight mocking tone with which she usually seasoned her enquiries. Avery was taken aback both by her direct question but also the sincere way in which she seemed to wait for his response. As he looked at her standing before him, he could think only of the recurring dreams he had which night by night took different forms. From one day to the next he could wake from the same dream buoyant with pleasure at the shivering form of Kate or Elizabeth as he dominated either one. The scene is the same each time, the warm summer day beside the lake. Each time he starts with a caress so fragile that each of the women dares not breathe lest he disappear. In his dreams, he grows to such a state of arousal that he begins to grow breathless with desire, he becomes more urgent and with Kate, she pushes him from her, rolling him to one side. The rejection seems insurmountable and it takes his breath and ardour away. The exquisite feeling when she then leans across him and begins to dominate him is nothing short of ambrosial. On the other hand, when he and Elizabeth are beside the lake, she is alluring but impenetrable and just as it seems he cannot seduce her, she submits and he has her pinned by her wrists, beneath him as he explores her breasts with his hot breath. He of course cannot tell her either of these things and instead he asks her a question.
“What of you Elizabeth? What do you crave in a husband? What is it you want from a man?”
She snorted and, feeling free of the conversation, she put a hand to her head and looked beyond Avery to the window behind.
“I do not crave a husband, Avery but I do need one. You may object if you like,” she added noticing his look of incredulity. “Oh, I am sure this will not surprise you and do not try to hide your distaste but what I want from a husband is money.”
She stood and walked to the window without passing Avery.
“I want a large house, bigger than this one and I want status. I want my sister to envy me. I want her to want my life. I want a husband who will give me all of these things. I want a husband who bends to my will.”
It was Avery’s turn to snort derisively. “Well, I can tell you now that Bateman will be none of the things you desire.”
“
Of course not,” she agreed. “My father has someone in mind for me, that much is clear.”
She turned to see Avery’s reaction. He was silent and looked stunned. She turned back to stare out of the window.
“He is a very high ranking and promising politician. Not so young as you or I but not so old as you might think. It seems he has a need of me, like I have a need for him, and it has been agreed that he and I will be married in time for my 19
th
birthday. He has one more tour of Europe he wishes to conclude before we make it official. I am quite sure that the places he will visit will not be somewhere he wishes to share with a new bride on our honeymoon.” She turned to Avery again. “That should not sound so odd as it does but I am afraid it is as it is.”
She waited but Avery had not yet found his voice. “Needless to say, this is not something which I wish to be repeated. To anyone,” she added.
Avery’s pulse began to quicken as the old frustration within him was wakened. Whilst much of the recent ground he had gained had allowed him the freedom to explore a life outside of the one he was born to, he knew also that he was not able to fully complete any such transition. As Elizabeth spoke, he felt removed from her and he imagined how he could ever fool a woman completely enough to make a life like the one, or unlike the one she was describing. It was one thing to fool a woman for a night but what about a lifetime.
Elizabeth stared from the window and considered what she had said already before adding. “I need a husband who will give me a position. I need a husband that will give me a family.”
He would of course never be able to be a father a child and Avery felt his freedom being taken away.
“You are a woman many men would find difficult to please Elizabeth. I should say that such a man would find you cold. I hope this gentleman you are betrothed to may find warmth at someone else’s hearth for I do not envy him.”
Elizabeth did not turn around. She did not want to see Avery dressed as a woman whilst he spoke to her like this. She enjoyed the tone of desire that he could not help but infuse his words with when he spoke. The words were not meant to be encouraging, nevertheless she found herself drawn to him.
“I am sure my husband to be has given this as much thought as I have. I consider him a man of the world and he will be under no illusion as to exactly what I am bringing to this bargain. He craves a trophy to bring respectability under the guise of a happy home and in return he will provide me with the status I require.”
“
And how can you be sure he will not bend you to his will in time?”
Elizabeth laughed a little crudely and pressed her hands to her lips to stifle the abrupt change in tension.
“I am sure it won’t be any great shock, once you have met him, to understand that I shall not be the only one in our relationship in want of a good man!”
Avery was stunned but he too wanted to laugh.
“And so, after you have married your
respectable
man, you will be happy?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Of course not. Who is ever happy, Avery? Show me anyone who is content with their life and I will show you a liar.”
Avery considered Connie and Sarah. He was sure they were not content with their squalid life. Would they choose a steady and proper income over the dangerous and dirty work that came with such high rewards? What of Kate? Didn’t she seem happy? Wasn’t she at peace with her lot in life? He thought so but considered how jumpy she had been recently and wondered whether she was truly content with the dangerous game he was playing. And what about Bateman? Yes, Bateman. Wasn’t he content with his circumstance? He was young and he was wealthy. The years had not yet eroded the youthful looks and slight but firm figure. No doubt in time, he would begin to resemble his father and his cheeks and stomach would begin to fill out, his face crumple under the weight of years. For now though, wasn’t he content? Perhaps not. Didn’t he want Elizabeth and hadn’t she denied him, in favour of Avery? At least, she had done as far as he was concerned.
“I crave a man who will deny me everything, who will fight with me all day and love me passionately whilst still furious with me. I want a man. A real man.”
There was a silence in the room and Elizabeth wondered whether Avery was still there. She thought perhaps she had gone too far. She was about to turn around when a creak close beside her indicated Avery was directly behind her.
“Do you hate me?” she asked.
Avery lowered his face to her shoulder where she could feel his breath upon her skin. She began to turn around but he gripped the base of her neck and held her firmly facing forward. He slipped his hand forcefully around her waist and pressed his lips to her ear.
“Yes,” he said.
The house was larger than I had imagined. By no means did I consider myself to be an aristocrat or gentry but I was aware that along with my husband’s wealth and business there also came great privilege. It was therefore a surprise to find that Mrs. Evesham’s home was considerably larger than our own. She had given no impression of being so wealthy. Her clothes had been no finer than my own, in fact they were old fashioned and perhaps a little shabbier. She had arrived in an ordinary horse drawn carriage. She had been austere but by no means plain. I checked the calling card again to ensure I had the address right. 4 Brown Square, Mayfair. The house was right. I was about to call up to the cab driver to check when one of the large doors to Number 4 opened and a liveried man nimbly approached the carriage door. He called to the cabbie and swung the door open in a flash.
“
Mrs. Evesham is expecting you madam,” he flashed me a well-practiced, shallow bow and I accepted his hand as I stepped down from the cab. I walked slowly up the steps wondering for the tenth time that morning whether I was doing the right thing. Should I have told John where I was going? It suddenly seemed absurd that I was out at all given my state of mourning. Yet strange things were happening in the city. I can remember as a girl when a death in a friend’s family heralded new wardrobes and routines. Black crepe abounded. The lack of any family, distant or otherwise meant I watched most of these routines from afar. The first taste of any of it was when my mother died. I was of course living in my own home by then and so I continued to watch the arrangements at a distance. My father was a close follower of the old etiquettes but since the death of the Queen, there seemed to be a change in attitudes. I had not seen so many modes of mourning. I reflected that these last few days had been the strangest yet and could not be made stranger by my not adhering to some outmoded code of conduct (of which I was probably unaware anyway!). I was feeling more resolved by the time I had handed my outer clothes to the maid in the entrance hall and I was satisfied that Number 4, Brown Square was not a dangerous place. To ease my conscience, I remembered that Stokes of course had taken the address.
After being advised that Mrs. Evesham was engaged on a telephone call, I was shown to a very plain but smart drawing room. The decor was very
a la mode
and I noticed at once that the room had been freshly decorated, the smell of turpentine and fresh paint lingered behind the mask of dried roses. The floor was laid with parquet and was well lacquered, electric lights hung from the modern pendant reflected in the sheen. The walls were a pale green, upon which were hung a few simple pictures framed in ebony. At first glance, they appeared to be drawings but on closer inspection they proved to be photographs. I kept my hands clasped together as I gazed around the rest of the room taking in the simplicity of the space. It had been discussed at Christmas with John’s family that the display of knick knacks was becoming rather outdated and that the current fashion was for simple art; statement pieces, sculptures and so forth. Whilst I had made a mental note at the time of the change in fashion, my preference was always to surround oneself in the clutter from holidays, gifts from friends and pictures of the familiar. Just as paintings were being replaced with photographs so too was character with convenience. My eyes lit upon some photographs which were on display including a rather informal shot of a slightly younger Mrs. Evesham stood beside a motor car. She was wearing a light coloured dress and her unpinned hair was blurred as if lifted by a wind which the camera could not capture. She was stood formally waiting for the camera to expose her image yet she remained relaxed. She was smiling, a captivating expression which made me mirror it almost immediately.
“
Gosh don’t look at that frightful picture,” came a voice from behind me.
Startled, I turned to find Mrs. Evesham bustling forward to take the photo from me. She wore a well fitting dress and moved with a practiced ease but with an awkward tension. I sensed that she had indeed been expecting me. As she swept past me to take the photograph, the scent of jasmine was rich. As she took the frame from me, there followed a silence. The carefully placed conversation starter was clearly not serving its purpose. She didn’t expand on the photo and I did not ask any more about it. After a brief pause where she considered the image herself, she replaced it on the sideboard and walked around the settee playing with her wedding ring nervously as she did so.
“
Won’t you have a seat?” she offered, indicating a choice of several. “I’ve ordered some tea.”
She glanced at the door, a nervous smile ready on her lips.
“
Gemma won’t be long,” she said.
As if rehearsed, a young girl appeared at the door, dressed in a similar livery to the footman, a deep jet black shot with emerald stripes. Her uniform was as stark against her pale skin as the surrounds of the room. I suspected the clothes were also new.
“Ah, here she is.”
Mrs. Evesham settled a little as the young maid busied herself with a tea tray. The diversion allowed me a brief interlude in which to study Mrs. Evesham again. She was not a tall woman but she held herself proudly which added an inch or so to her average frame. It was difficult to put an age to her. In my mind, I had rather settled on her being around fifty but on closer inspection there was more evidence of aging at the corners of her eyes. Her neck too was lined and I imagined she was more likely to be around my father’s age. As was. The thought of him brought me back to my reason for business and I shuffled forward on my seat, both anxious to interrogate this woman but also to be gone from her pristine new home. The gesture was enough to nudge Mrs. Evesham from her own reveries and she looked at me and then the maid.
“
Thank you, Gemma, that will be all.”
The young girl retreated from the room, pausing only to acknowledge her mistresses last order with a nod.
“
Ensure we are not disturbed please.”
I watched with a growing sense of unease as the door slowly closed to leave the two of us alone. I was suddenly afraid of what I may learn from this woman.
“
Forgive Gemma she has brought the old service. It is rather fine but it does not match the new decor.”
Mrs. Evesham picked up her cup, examining the perfectly acceptable floral pattern carefully before replacing it on its saucer.
“
I would like to say she is new and didn’t know any better but alas she is simply a careless girl.”
She smiled and pulled a face as if to say, such is life and she shrugged.
“
She is however the daughter of the woman who makes the finest pastries this side of Paris,” she looked at me conspiratorially, her eyes twinkled and she gestured towards a strand of fancies. I noticed her hand shaking slightly as she spooned a sugar in to her tea. She lifted a cup and saucer and began to pour.
“Not for me, thank you’,
” I said.
She looked a little disheartened and it was as much for her benefit as mine that I added, ‘perhaps in a moment’.
“
Mrs. Evesham...”
“Please, do call me Elizabeth.”
“Mrs. Evesham,” I tried to plough on but she fixed me with a pleading look. “Elizabeth...” I conceded. “You knew my father.” All of my well practised words seemed useless and I cast around searching for the phrases upon which I had decided.
She didn’t seem to have heard me or else she had her own version of how this conversation should begin. She set her cup and saucer down upon the table and sat forward on the edge of the chair seat. She looked at me searchingly.
“
I had thought perhaps that if we ever met, you would remember me.”
She had caught me off guard and I was at once aware that I was gaping. I narrowed my eyes and looked at her again. I tried to cast around in my mind for any memory of the woman but there was none. I rested my head on one side and considered her. As I did so, she looked at me regarding her and, with an amused tone, she added.
“
Ha! There is no reason you should Imogen. I thought I would have recognised you, even after all these years but of course I don’t.” Her eyes searched over my face. “Do you know........I can see Avery in you.” Her eyes narrowed and my skin crawled with the intimacy of her tone.
“Tell me the rest?”
I uttered slowly.
She rose and stepped behind the chair upon which she has just been sitting. It was a series of movements
that she made fluid and my heart leapt at the suddenness of it. She braced her hands on the back of the chair, her head down.
“Mrs. Evesham?” I asked but she held out her hand to quiet me.
“
If I don’t get this out, I am afraid I never will.” She looked me straight in the eye and I nodded.
“I don’t know what your relationship with your father was like,” she continued. “or what you know of his past. I don’t know how valuable you will find what I have to tell you but for my own part I feel a great injustice on his part being done to him. Imogen, your father was a wonderful man and there is no doubt in my mind, none whatsoever, that he was a man. There is nothing any Coroner, Newspaper or Doctor could say to convince me otherwise. I have no intention of being base about this Imogen but we are each more than the sum of our bodily parts. There are men I have met who had been born blind but could see things more clearly than any sighted man, crippled men who stood taller than my own husband ever could and your father who was twice the man than many believe themselves to be.
“
In the years since I last met your father, I have met and regarded many men with interest and respect. I have known eminent actors, skilled surgeons, doctors, lawyers and politicians. I have even met with Royalty.’ She gave a flourish with her hand. ‘I have met this country’s finest minds…and some of the not so fine.” she added with a smile.
“
In all those men, I have never come across such a paradox as your father. That he was born a woman, I suppose, is the crudest and most obvious but more than that, he was a truly intriguing person. Forgive me Imogen but you look like a woman of the new century so I will speak plainly with you. There are very few people in this world that are truly original, who can provoke within others genuine fascination. Most people have access to a great quantity of words which they can organise into a modicum of intelligent conversation but having listened to them you realise they are saying very little.
“
When I first met Avery in the sweeping halls of Cleveland Street, I was drawn to him instantly. True, there was something unusual about him but, more than that, he looked at me as if he had the answer to a question I hadn’t even posed. I hope I do not embarrass or upset you but I am not ashamed to admit that there was an instant attraction. He had such a beautiful face, which was a paradox in itself, of strong jaw but soft skin. He had a quiet confidence that normally attractive men exert in an unattractive conceit. As we talked, it became obvious that he had much more to offer than just a fine looking face. He surprised and intrigued me. That night and the next day, when I met him in Hyde park, I will admit I was excited at the prospect of his being in my life. By the time I had left him a second time, I felt truly alight.”
Elizabeth cast a glance at me to see how I was taking the story. Ordinarily, I might have felt uncomfortable at this acknowledgement of my father’s private life, particularly from a woman that was not my mother, but I found I was pleased. I found I was desperate to hear more. She went on.
“Meeting him was doubly difficult as I was due to be married the following year. It was not a match for love but one that I wholeheartedly advocated for position and wealth. I was a cynic about love and of affection and had not met a man who had made me question that. I wanted to spend more time getting to know Avery but of course my family had different ideas. My father thought the city was a bad influence on me and was concerned that my reputation would become tainted and jeopardise my marriage prospects. My aunt offered to take me under her wing for some ‘
guidance
’. If that wasn’t the worst of it, they had decided to couple me with the daughter of her fiancé who herself was in need of tutelage. When I found out that I was to be sent to the country for the rest of the summer, I was furious, but there was little I could do to send word to Avery. We had arranged to meet in a few days time but I did not know where he lived. So I sent word by the only way I could think of; via a mutual acquaintance, a man by the name Giles Bateman. The following week went terribly slowly. The seclusion, the silence of the country and the company of my miserable aunt could have been borne under normal circumstances but I couldn’t help but think of Avery. You know what it is like when you are young and you find someone who is rare, you cannot help but think of them. By day and by night I thought of him, hardly giving a moments thought to the young charge who was arriving for my help.”