A Mad, Wicked Folly (25 page)

THE NEXT EVENING
was our engagement ball at the Savoy Hotel on the Strand. The ballroom was lit by glittery
electric lights and filled to bursting with friends, family,
and business acquaintances. I finally met Jonty, Edmund’s
older brother, who would inherit the Carrick-Humphrey
estates. He couldn’t be more different from Edmund. He
was tall, like Edmund, but with a more slender build. His
eyes were a lighter color blue and he held himself slightly
aloof, as if he really couldn’t be bothered with the engagement ball. Unlike Edmund, there wasn’t a whiff of charm
about him. His wife, Millicent, a tall woman with dark hair,
clung to his arm.

Several of Edmund’s friends from Oxford were there,
including a boy called Kenneth, who was to be Edmund’s
best man. I recognized him as one of the teammates from
the rowing crew. Edmund seemed to hang on his every
word and defer to him much of the time. Like Edmund,
Kenneth was dressed in the latest style and wore his
clothes as if they were a second skin.

I had arrived with my parents, and Edmund came to
greet me. He was dressed in tails, a waistcoat, and a high
collar, a white bow tie knotted around it. His hair was carefully combed and oiled back as usual. He resembled the
hero I saw once at a bioscope at a Chelsea music hall with
Freddy. The clothes looked natural on Edmund, as though
he had been born to such riches, and his personality shone
a bit brighter in them.

“You look very beautiful, Victoria,” he said, and held out
his arm for me to take. I slid my arm through his, and we
walked into the wedgwood-blue Lancaster Ballroom for the
first dance of the evening. I was wearing the ball gown that
Sophie had made for me. I couldn’t help but notice Georgette
Plimpton and a few of India’s friends looking my way with
envious expressions. No one else was wearing anything
like it. Although it had been featured in
La Mode Illustrée
,
Sophie had made it my own, adding a Pre-Raphaelite flair. I
had drawn the gown from Waterhouse’s
Lady of Shalott
for
Sophie, and she’d replicated the sleeves’ checkered decoration with silver embroidery thread on my bodice.
“So . . . how was the king last night?”
“Going a bit doolally. I think it was from the hoards of

women coming at him from all angles. At least that’s what
he told me.”
Edmund looked shocked. “He spoke to you?”
“I nearly fell over when I curtsied. He had to help me
up.”
Edmund burst out laughing. “Well, I never. It had to be
you. I hope India has as much luck when she has her presentation with the king next year.”
The orchestra struck up the music for the quadrille.
Sophie’s dance lessons held me in good stead and I did not
disgrace myself. Edmund and I danced the quadrille and
then the mazurka and the polonaise successfully. And not
once did I tread on his feet or mine. I had several balls to
get through in the next few months, and at least I wouldn’t
disgrace myself.
After an hour’s dancing, Edmund persuaded me to go
off with him and a few of his friends to visit the American
Bar in the hotel for a cocktail.
I pretended to enjoy my drink, but really I was just gathering my courage to talk to him about art school. Finally,
when we had finished our cocktails and headed back to
the ballroom, I paused in the foyer and tugged Edmund’s
hand, letting the others go on ahead.
“Edmund, just before we go back, I wanted to talk to
you. I wondered. Do you have a desire . . . a dream to be
something or do something?”
Edmund looked confused. “How so?”
“I mean . . . do you wish to pursue your rowing? You did
ever so well in the Boat Race, so perhaps you’d like to keep
on with it . . . perhaps the Olympics. Shouldn’t you like to
row for England?”
He hunched his shoulders a bit and then leaned against
the wall. “What extraordinary ideas you have, Victoria.
Why would I want to do such a thing?”
I was slightly taken aback. I thought Edmund would
have agreed with me immediately. “I don’t know. . . . I
expect for the glory. For personal satisfaction. Everyone
has a dream they want to come true, don’t they?”
Edmund lifted his hands and then let them drop.
“Maybe. I’ve never given it any thought. Rowing was fun for
the Boat Race but jolly hard work just for that one day. Not
sure I’d like to spend the next three years getting shouted
at by a coxswain. Say, let’s go back to the ballroom. They’ll
be turning out the brandy soon. Cakes as well.” He pushed
himself away from the wall and took my arm. But I held
back. Edmund crinkled his brow. “What’s all this about,
old thing? All this talk about Olympics and such. You do
take on about the oddest.”
This wasn’t going at all to plan. I would just have to
wade in and have done with it. “I . . . I have to tell you
something. I know my brother told you I wanted to go to
college.”
He nodded.
“Well, you see I’ve been preparing to go to art college. I
didn’t tell you because I didn’t want our fathers to get wind
of it. You know what they are like. I wish art to be my life
and so I shan’t have much time for parties and such, you
know?” Edmund looked at me blankly. I went on. “An artist
has to focus. If I’m to be any good, I’ll be spending quite a
lot of time on my work.”
“But your father said you were done with all that,” he
said.
“I . . . no. He may have thought I was, but I assure you
I am not.”
“Well, if you’re set on it, then you’re set on it. So you’ll
go to art college—if you get accepted, mind. Maybe you
won’t. But if you want to spend your time shut away in a
dreary classroom listening to some fusty old boy blather
on about art, then that’s your funeral.”
“You don’t mind if I miss parties and luncheons and
such?”
“Go to parties; don’t go to parties. I don’t mind a whit.”
Edmund pulled the sleeves of his jacket down and brushed
a bit of lint away.
“I . . . all right.” I wondered if I should mention the tuition. “There’s just one more thing.”
An irritated sound left Edmund. “What now?”
“I’ll need you to pay for it.”
“Oh, let’s talk about money now, do!” Edmund shifted
from foot to foot. He was truly irked. “Oh, jolly good!
Sometimes, Victoria, you are so middle-class! You’ll have
the money, and let’s say no more about it. Now, let’s go back
or else we’ll miss the refreshments.” Edmund held out his
arm and I hesitated and then slid my hand through the
crook of his elbow.
I should have been glad that Edmund didn’t care what I
did. After all, this was what I had wanted when I agreed to
marry him. But I thought he might have shown more happiness for me. Instead he just seemed resigned, as though
agreeing reluctantly with the design of our new wallpaper
or furniture.
Why couldn’t Edmund be more like Will, who supported me in my endeavors fully and whole-heartedly?
Sometimes I felt like Will believed in me more than I
believed in myself. Without Will’s support, Edmund’s
indifference to my dream was even more painful.
But truly, I’d spent more time with Will than with
Edmund. Will and I were always alone; Edmund and I
were always chaperoned. We’d only been alone for a few
minutes here and there; surely never enough time to let
understanding—or passion—grow between us.
I pulled Edmund behind one of the pillars, out of sight
of anyone who might be walking past. A scowl twisted his
face. “Victoria, honestly—”
“Will you kiss me?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said in a distracted manner. He leaned
down and fixed a quick kiss on my lips.
Who could tell anything from such a chaste kiss? I
tightened my fingers on his elbow to prevent him from
leaving. “No, Edmund, really kiss me!”
I could tell that my request took him off guard. He
hesitated for a moment, and then darted a look over his
shoulder. Finally he made up his mind, and forgetting
the cursed brandy, he backed me against the pillar, tilted
my chin up with his fingertips, and kissed me with more
passion. His mouth was soft; the kiss was tidy and efficient; his hands, now clasping my waist, were sure and
strong.
Nothing.
I felt nothing. I didn’t even feel the urge to
close my eyes.
There was too much space between us. Maybe I needed
to be closer to him, like Will and I had been that day in his
flat. I slid one palm up Edmund’s back and rested it against
the bare nape of his neck, just above the starched cotton of
his collar. I took a step forward and pressed against him.
Immediately Edmund twisted sideways, breaking the
kiss. “Victoria,” he said, laughing. He held me away from
him, his arms braced, as though fending me off. His fingers
were cold on the bare skin of my shoulders. “Steady on.
Someone might come by. What’s gotten into you?”
“Can’t a girl kiss her fiancé at her own engagement
ball?” I said faintly. I was embarrassed, humiliated even.
Even though I was fully dressed in layers of silk, cotton,
and mousseline, I felt naked—more exposed than when I’d
posed nude in front of a group of male artists. I crossed my
arms over my bodice.
“There’s a time and a place for everything Victoria, and
this is neither the time nor the place.” He tapped my nose
with his forefinger and then held out his hand toward the
ballroom. “Shall we make a move? At long last? Everyone
will think we’ve eloped.”
So we returned to the ballroom.
Earlier in the evening, my father had marked my dance
card for a waltz, and he came to claim me from Edmund
after the buffet. I had never danced with Papa before, and
to say that I felt awkward would be an understatement. I
didn’t know where to look, so I fixed my gaze on his tie.
His valet had shaped the piqué fabric into an even batwing
shape and aligned it directly under his chin. His pearl
dress studs marched in an unbroken line down his shirt,
and his tailcoat had been brushed until the nap stood up.
Everything was perfect; nothing could be faulted. Unlike
Edmund, my father wore no cologne, as he believed such
fripperies unseemly.
“My dear, you were a smashing success with the king,”
Papa said, staring over my shoulder as he carefully maneuvered me across the dance floor. He moved through the
stationary box step carefully and methodically. But he
didn’t dance along with the music like Edmund did. If the
musicians suddenly stopped playing, Papa would most
likely continue marching around the floor until the allotted
time was up. “Most remarkable. You’re to be commended.”
“Thank you, Papa,” I said, counting the steps in my
head.
One, two, three; two, two, three.
I was terrified I was
going to tread on his feet. I checked to make sure I wasn’t
clutching his hand or clinging too hard to his shoulder.
What had Miss Winthrop said?
Light as a butterfly, girls!
Don’t clutch your partner like grim death!
“You’ve done everything your mother and I have asked
of you, and you’ve done it perfectly. Your mother has told
me that you’ve even volunteered for extra duties with your
church charity.”
My slipper grazed the patent leather toe of Papa’s shoe,
narrowly missing treading on it fully. “Yes,” I said. “I enjoy
my time there.”
“Sir Henry is pleased with you as well. You’ll make a
lovely wife and mother. I must say I was most astounded
with your performance with the telephone. I had no idea
you possessed such skills. You’ll be a credit to Edmund,
which is a great asset to a businessman, as your mother
will attest. Since all is going as planned, I see no reason to
keep it from you any longer.”
Over Papa’s shoulder I saw Edmund dancing with his
mother. She was talking and nodding; the feathers in her
hair bobbed emphatically. He caught me watching and
grinned at me, rolling his eyes. Apparently we were both
being subjected to parental conversations. I smiled at him,
as though nothing was amiss, but another wave of embarrassment crashed over me as I thought about how he’d held
me away from him with stick-straight arms, like some odious thing in need of discarding.
“Victoria, are you listening?”
I jerked my attention back to my father’s bow tie. “I’m
sorry, Papa. Keep what from me?”
“Now, the marriage contract has been drawn up, and
there is a jointure included for your care if you should
become widowed, but I have not settled a sum upon you.
However, in light of your recent behavior, I have decided
to give you a yearly allowance to the sum of seven hundred pounds.”
Mercifully the music stopped, because if it hadn’t, I’m
sure I would have stepped completely upon Papa’s foot, I
was so startled. “Seven hundred pounds?” My voice rose.
“A year?” Seven hundred pounds was a small fortune. And
it would give me a measure of independence in my marriage. I wouldn’t have to go to Edmund for every little thing
I wanted. I wouldn’t have to charge my purchases to his
account. I could pay my own college tuition. The money
more than made up for Edmund’s indifference.
I kissed Papa’s cheek. “Thank you!”
Papa squeezed my hand. “You’re quite welcome, my
dear.”
I danced every dance the rest of the night perfectly, not
putting a foot out of place, propelled by the giddy promise
of seven hundred pounds a year. I’d made the right decision when I severed ties with Will. Of course I had.

EARY OF BALLS,
fidgeting with boredom,
and lonely for the company of other artists, I decided to investigate the Suffrage
Atelier. Sophie made inquiries at the WSPU
headquarters and got the address for me. It was located

in a garden studio at the home of Laurence and Clemence
Housman, a brother and sister who resided at Broadhurst
Gardens in South Hampstead. I worked out how to get
there on the Underground, and went there on the Thursday
after our engagement ball.

The Housman siblings lived in a quiet neighborhood
on a tree-lined street. A wooden sign on the gate pointed
the way to a little building behind the house in the garden. There were a few women inside who were sketching,
painting pottery, and the like. I saw Lucy sitting at a small
table underneath a window, working with wire and small,
colorful stones.