The Virtuous Cyprian. Nicola Cornick
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the lips, kohl for the eyes…The effect was spectacular and could only serve to underline the differences between them.
It was three years since Lucille had seen her sister, and she felt that Susanna had not changed in either appearance or attitude. It was typical of Susanna to arrive without warning, demanding that her sister embark on some harebrained escapade just to oblige her. Lucille, forever cast in the role of the sensible twin, had tried to restrain her sister’s wilder schemes in their youth, but to little avail. Susanna was headstrong and obstinate, and had not improved with age. Lucille could still remember the horror she had felt when Susanna had announced defiantly that, their adoptive father’s death having left them destitute, she would try her luck among the demi-monde in London. She had been quite determined and neither her sister’s reasoned arguments nor the shocked disgust of their remaining family had swayed her. That had been nine years ago, and who was to say that she had been wrong? Lucille thought, with faint irony. Susanna had never been troubled by the moral dimension of her choice and materialistically she had done very well for herself.
Susanna got to her feet with the fluid grace that was one of her trademarks, and crossed to her sister’s side, pulling her to her feet. They regarded their reflections in the parlour mirror, one a pale shadow of the rich colour of the other.
‘You could be made to look like me,’ Susanna said, slowly. ‘’Tis only a matter of clothes and cosmetics, and no one at Dillingham has seen me properly—why, I’ve told you, no one but Seagrave’s agents have called in a week! So you see…’ she gave Lucille a calculating sideways look ‘…you need consult nothing but your own inclination! It would not be for long, and I daresay you could do with a holiday from this prison!’
Lucille jumped, shaken, for her sister had hit upon the one truth which Lucille did not wish to acknowledge. Over the past few months, Lucille had been aware of an increasing need to escape the claustrophobic confines and predictable routines of the school. She needed time to read, study, walk and be on her own, but she had had nowhere to go. In some ways the genteel world of the school, the endless classes of little girls, the restricted horizons of all the teachers, was indeed the prison Susanna described.
Susanna was virtually all the family Lucille possessed and Susanna had made it clear long ago that her antecedents were not an asset in her chosen course in life, and she would be obliged to her twin if she did not broadcast their relationship. This suited Lucille, who could see that it would not be to her advantage to claim sistership with one of the most infamous Cyprians in London. The parents of her pupils would be outraged—or believe that she was cast in the same mould. It was a strange twist of fate that had cast two sisters adrift in the world for one to turn into a bluestocking and the other a courtesan.
Lucille sighed. She had no illusions that Susanna wanted to use her, but more than half of her was crying out to her to seize the chance Susanna was offering. The prospect of spending some time in the house where their father had lived and worked held a curious appeal for her. But an impersonation was both foolhardy and immoral, the voice of her conscience told her severely. But it would not be for long, temptation countered defensively, and she would not really be doing anything wrong…
‘How long do you think you would be away for?’ she asked cautiously, and was rewarded by a vivid smile from Susanna, who sensed that her battle was already won.
‘No more than a week or two,’ she said carelessly, resuming her languid pose on the sofa. ‘And you would need to do no more than occupy the house. I do not imagine that anyone will call—doubtless it will all be a dead bore, but then you must be accustomed to such tedium far more than I!’ Her disparaging look encompassed the faded respectability of the school parlour. ‘Lud, how I detest this shabby-genteel place!’ With a chameleon change of mood, she smiled on her sister once more. ‘Oh, say you will do it, Lucille! You would so enjoy a change of scene!’
Lucille bit her lip at her sister’s shamelessness. Unfortunately Susanna was right. Whilst the idea of the impersonation appalled her, the lure of Cookes definitely held a strange charm.
‘All right, Susanna,’ she said wryly. ‘No doubt I shall live to regret it, but I will help you.’
Susanna glanced at the ugly clock on the parlour mantelpiece. Now that she had got what she wanted she did not wish to linger. ‘Lord, I must be going or that old gorgon will be turning me out of doors!’ She turned eagerly to her sister and clasped her hands. ‘Oh, thank you, Luce! I’ll send for you soon!’
She let her sister go and scooped up her fur stole and jewelled reticule. ‘You must not worry that you will have to deal with anyone I know,’ she added carelessly, with one hand on the doorknob. ‘No one of my acquaintance would be seen dead in the country!’
‘And the Earl of Seagrave?’ Lucille asked suddenly. ‘He is the owner of Cookes, is he not? There is no likelihood of him coming down to Suffolk?’
Susanna stared. ‘Seagrave? Upon my word, what an extraordinary idea! He has no interest in the case, I assure you! Why, Seagrave employs an army of agents and lawyers in order to avoid having to involve himself in his estates!’
Lucille turned away so that her sister could not see her face, and made a business of collecting up the cups and saucers. ‘Do you know him, Susanna? What manner of man is he?’
Had Susanna had more interest in the motivation and feelings of others, this enquiry might have struck her as odd coming from her bookish sister. However, she seldom thought beyond her own wishes and needs. She wrinkled up her nose, frowning with the unaccustomed mental effort of trying to sum up someone’s character.
‘He is a charming man,’ she said, at length, ‘handsome, rich, generous…Lud, I don’t know! He does not belong to my set—he is too high in the instep for me! But you need have no fears, Lucille—as I said, Seagrave don’t care a fig about Cookes!’
Lucille stood by the window, watching as her sister ascended elegantly into the waiting carriage. Her thoughts were elsewhere. In her mind’s eye she could see another June morning, a year previously, when the bright, fresh day had lured her early from her bed. Lucille’s bedroom was at the back of the school, overlooking a quiet lane and the courtyard of the local coaching inn, The Bell. Lucille had thrown her casement window wide, relishing the light breeze on her face, the quiet before the routine of the school day began. She had been leaning on the sill when there was a commotion in the inn yard and a spanking new curricle had driven in, its driver calling for fresh horses.
Lucille had stared transfixed as he had jumped lightly down and engaged the landlord in conversation whilst the grooms ran to change his team. He was tall, with the broad-shouldered and muscular physique of a sportsman; a figure which showed to advantage in the tight buckskins visible beneath his driving coat as he swung round to view the progress of the grooms. The early morning sun burnished his thick dark hair to a rich chestnut and illuminated the hard planes of his face. Lucille had caught her breath and suddenly, as though disturbed by her scrutiny, the man had looked up directly at her. It had been an extraordinary moment. Lucille had stood frozen, the breeze flattening the transparent linen of her nightdress against her body and stirring the tendrils of silver blond hair that were for once loose about her face. It was as though they were only feet apart as the man very deliberately held her gaze for what seemed like forever. Then he grinned, his teeth showing very white in his tanned face, and raised a casual hand in greeting before turning away, and Lucille slammed the casement shut, her face aflame with embarrassment. And it was only later, whilst out in the town, that she had heard that their illustrious visitor had been none other than the Earl of Seagrave…
Lucille found that she was staring blankly out into the empty street. A wave of heat washed over her at the memory of the encounter. Never had the even tempo of her life at the school been so disrupted! Accustomed to seeking a rational explanation to everything that happened to her, Lucille was completely at a loss to explain the startling compulsion that had drawn her eyes to Seagrave in the first place and then held her captive staring in such a shameless manner! And then for him to notice her standing there immodestly in her shift! Well, Lucille thought, tearing her mind away, there was no danger of the experience recurring. Susanna had reassured her of that.