The Earl Plays With Fire. Isabelle Goddard
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even now negotiating a difficult manoeuvre to bring the carriage exactly to the bottom of the flight of steps which led up to the impressive panelled entrance.
A steep staircase, a spacious entrance hall and they were upon the Marbles almost before they realised. Two long whitewashed galleries had been constructed for the purpose with exhibits laid out on either side. The monumental size of many of the statues was staggering and both ladies paused on the threshold to adjust their perspective. Then they began a slow inspection of the initial gallery, first down one side and then the other, with Lady Russell insisting on reading aloud every handwritten label the curators had provided.
During this prolonged examination, the room had been gradually filling up and by the time Christabel was ready to tackle the second gallery a considerable crowd had gathered. She looked across at Lady Russell, who appeared weary and a trifle disenchanted, and was not surprised to hear her excuse herself, saying that she would await Christabel in the spacious hall beyond. The carriage, she reminded her severely, would leave promptly at one o’clock.
Christabel nodded assent, happy to be rid of the older woman’s irksome presence. With a new sense of purpose she crossed into the adjoining room; almost immediately her attention was caught by the statue of a woman, a large sculpture of Iris which had once decorated the west pediment of the Parthenon.
She stood enthralled, marvelling at the precision with which the intricate folds of the goddess’s dress had been carved—the marble seemed to sing out life. The harmony of the carving and the sheer exuberance of the goddess was a joy. Lost in thought as she was, the voice at her elbow startled her.
‘It’s so sad, isn’t it, that she has lost her legs and her arms?’
She turned to her questioner. It was Domino, looking freshly minted in primrose-figured muslin and carrying a matching frilled parasol.
‘She may not be complete,’ Christabel agreed, ‘but it doesn’t seem to matter. She possesses such enormous vitality, don’t you think?’
Domino gave a small laugh. ‘What must she have been like as a whole woman, Miss Tallis!’
‘Very powerful, I imagine, particularly as she enjoyed such a prominent position on the top of the Parthenon.’
‘Poor thing, she must find it very cold in London.’
‘No doubt.’ Christabel gave an answering smile. ‘But if she’d been left to bask in her native sun, we wouldn’t have been able to see her today in all her glory.’
‘I don’t think I would have minded too much,’ the younger girl divulged. ‘There are so many statues to see and some of them are just fragments. I don’t find them particularly inspiring.’
‘You didn’t wish to come to the exhibition?’
‘Not really, but Aunt Loretta said I should as all of London is talking about it. She said that if I’d seen the statues I would be able to join in conversations and not sound too silly.’
‘Aunt Loretta has a point.’
‘I know, but to be honest I would much rather have gone to Astley’s,’ she confided naïvely. ‘I’ve heard they keep troops of horses there who can re-enact scenes of war and that there are daring equestriennes who perform the most amazing acrobatics on horseback!’
‘I believe so,’ Christabel answered her seriously, though she was amused by the young girl’s enthusiasm for the less-than-refined pleasure. ‘The equestrian ballet of Astley’s is famous.’
‘A ballet on horseback?’ Domino’s eyes grew round with amazement. ‘I must see that.’
‘What must you see?’
A man’s voice broke through the female weavings of their conversation. It was Richard. He bowed unsmilingly at Christabel. He was looking exceedingly handsome in a claret-coloured waistcoat and light grey pantaloons, which fitted to perfection. The folds of his snow-white cravat were precisely arranged and held in place by a single small diamond stud.
‘Miss Tallis says there’s an equestrian ballet performed at Astley’s. Can we go, Richard?’ In her eagerness Domino tugged hard at her companion’s immaculate coat sleeve.
‘You must ask your aunt to take you. In the meantime, where is your taste for higher culture?’ and he waved his hand carelessly towards the statues on either side of them.
‘Aunt Loretta will never agree to go to Astley’s. It will be much too vulgar for her. Now she is even saying that she doubts we will go to the fireworks at Vauxhall.’
‘Then you must be content with more refined pastimes, child.’
Christabel was disconcerted by his tone. He sounded almost like a parent. The surprise she felt must have shown on her face because almost immediately he sounded a softer, even caressing note.
‘By all means put Astley’s on your list, Domino, and we will make every endeavour to get there.’
She clapped her hands in pleasure watched by Richard, an indulgent expression on his face, but his words were for Christabel.
‘Books yesterday, statues today, Miss Tallis. You appear to be an avid follower of cultural pursuits.’
‘I partake in them only as much as any other rational woman, Lord Veryan.’
‘But then how many women are as rational as you?’
She made no answer, but his eyes remained fixed on her. ‘Very few, I make sure,’ he continued sleekly.
‘I bow to your vast experience, my lord.’
‘Hardly vast, but enough—sufficient to suggest that logic and reasoning are not always becoming to a woman.’
She felt herself being forced into another confrontation and when she spoke, her tone was cold but measured. ‘I cannot imagine why you should find fault with rationality. My sex is usually criticised for precisely the opposite.’
‘In general it’s an excellent quality for a female to possess, I agree, but taken to extremes rationality can destroy a woman’s natural affections.’
‘I think that unlikely,’ she retorted.
‘Do you? Then consider the case of a woman who decides “rationally” to prefer one man to another on the grounds that he is likely to be a bigger matrimonial prize. When logic leads, a woman’s heart is prone to wither.’
Fire began to simmer within the green depths of her eyes and her whole body tensed for combat.
‘By that reasoning, sir, only women who are witless can know affection.’
‘That’s a trifle crude, but the sentiment is not entirely without merit. I think it likely that many men, including Sir Julian Edgerton, would agree with me. By the way, does he accompany you this morning?’
‘He is still out of town.’
‘Dear me, he appears to spend an inordinate amount of time away from London.’
Christabel took a deep breath and replied as levelly as she could, ‘Rosings is a large estate and takes a good deal of his time.’
‘Of course, he would have to have a large estate.’ His expression was sardonic, a trace of a sneer on his unyielding mouth.
Domino looked from one to the other, aware of the tension which crackled between them, but bewildered as to its cause.
‘As you appear interested in the trivialities of my life, sir, you may wish to know that I am accompanied this morning by Sir Julian’s sister.’ Christabel’s perfectly sculpted cheeks were flushed an angry pink. ‘She is waiting close by so I must beg you to excuse me.’
And with a hasty bow to them both, she walked briskly towards the entrance hall, her mind seething and her form one of unexpressed anger. The frills on her muslin gown tossed as though caught in a tempest