And Only to Deceive (2 page)

I examined the note closely. The paper was heavy, the type that an artist might use in his sketchbook, but it bore no indication of the identity of either sender or recipient. Very odd. I sighed, unsure of what to do. After rereading it I placed it in Philip’s desk, where I sat, suddenly overcome by a feeling of ominous unease. I rang for tea, hoping the genial beverage (without my mother’s too-liberal use of sugar) would soothe my nerves. It was some time before I was able to turn my attention back to the book from which the note had fallen, but eventually I found myself engrossed in its descriptions of the museum’s magnificent artifacts. Suddenly, on a whim, I summoned my carriage. I wanted to see them myself.

Naturally I had not mentioned Greece or the villa to my parents, and I smiled as I approached Great Russell Street, Wondering what my mother would think if I were to set up house in Santorini for the rest of my years. How long would I have to wear half mourning there? I fluffed my black striped skirts and entered the museum, immediately
asking if someone could show me the Greek antiquities. A wealthy widow quickly learns that great institutions long for her money; knowing this, I anticipated a thorough and enjoyable tour.

As I waited for what I hoped would be a knowledgeable guide, I looked around the hall, wondering why I hadn’t visited the museum in so long. My father had taken me periodically when I was a girl, but once my education transferred to the hands of my mother and a legion of governesses, I was limited to pursuing those things considered essential by society matrons. Consequently I became fluent in French and Italian and able to speak passably in German. I could sing and play the pianoforte, though not well. In the visual arts, I excelled at drawing, though I never moved to watercolors, preferring the feel of pencils to that of the artist’s brushes. Embroidery, etiquette, and household management became second nature, but my mother did not want me to receive anything that could be construed as a classical education. A good wife, she believed, should not think too much for herself. Before I could mull further on the shortcomings of my schooling, a distinguished-looking middle-aged gentleman interrupted my reverie.

“Lady Ashton, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Alexander Murray, Keeper of Greek and Roman Antiquities. My colleagues inform me that you are interested in viewing our collection.” I gave him my hand and murmured something appropriate.

“Please allow me to express my condolences on the death of your excellent husband,” he continued. “He visited us frequently; the entire department was shocked to learn of his demise. We are immeasurably grateful for the artifacts he donated to us during his lifetime. I presume you would like to see those pieces first?”

I hardly knew what to say. I had never known Philip to set foot in the museum, but I realized that fact in itself to be meaningless. Clearly I knew even less about the man than I suspected. As Mr. Murray led me through gallery after gallery, my thoughts divided between my husband and the wondrous objects I viewed. Philip had given the museum several
stunning Greek vases. One in particular struck me: a large vase showing three women standing before a young man who held an apple.

“That is a calyx-krater, so called because the shape of the handles brings to mind a flower’s calyx,” Mr. Murray told me. “It would have been used in antiquity as a vessel in which one would mix water with wine. I believe it was Lord Ashton’s favorite. He had a difficult time parting with it but felt strongly that it belonged where others could study it. It is a fine example of red-figure vase painting.”

“The detail is exquisite,” I exclaimed, leaning closer to the object. “Even the eyelashes are visible on the man’s profile.”

“The red-figure technique allows for more realism than black-figure because the details are painted onto the unglazed figures. This artist is known for his attention to such things. Note how he shows individual strands of hair and the way he has shaded the folds of fabric on each cloak.”

“There is something in it that brings to mind the Parthenon friezes.”

“A keen observation, Lady Ashton. The style is very similar to those figures found at the Parthenon. This vase painter is credited with being the most classical of all his colleagues.”

“Who was he?”

“I’m afraid we do not know his name, but his work is recognized on hundreds of vases.”

“All red-figure?”

“No. Black-figure and white-ground lekythoi, too. If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you one of the lekythoi. They are the ones for which he is best known.”

I did not respond immediately to Mr. Murray but continued to examine the piece before me. “Look how graceful his hand is holding the apple. Whom do the figures represent?” I asked.

Mr. Murray moved closer to the case. “Those are the goddesses Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite. They have just attended a wedding ruined by Eris, or Discord. Furious not to have been invited to the celebration,
she determined to cause a scene and dropped a golden apple among the guests.”

“They argued over who would keep the gold?”

“In a sense, yes.
Tê kallistê
—‘To the fairest’ was engraved on the apple. The goddesses each argued that she was the most beautiful and should have the apple. Zeus realized that no judgment would be acceptable to all three and decided it would be best to stay out of the mix.”

“Wise,” I said, smiling.

“He gave the task of choosing who would receive the apple to Paris, an unfortunate shepherd.” He pointed to one of the figures on the vase.

“Whom did he choose?”

“I’m afraid he found Aphrodite most irresistible, especially when she promised that he would have for a wife the most beautiful of all mortal women.”

“Hera and Athena were not pleased, I imagine.”

“Far from it. They were his sworn enemies from that day forward.”

“And Paris’s wife?”

“A lovely girl called Helen, unfortunately already married to the king of Sparta, Menelaus. With Aphrodite’s help, Paris convinced Helen to leave Menelaus and come with him to Troy, giving rise, of course, to the great Trojan War.”

I remained silent for a moment, certain that I should know more of this story than I did, and resolved to read about it that very evening. Something Mr. Murray said had caught my attention, and I had to inquire further.

“Could you tell me again what was written on the apple?”

“
Tê kallistê
. Kallista in Greek means ‘most beautiful.’”

And thus I learned that Philip had considered me beautiful. I blushed uncontrollably and allowed Mr. Murray to continue his tour, although I must confess that my attention to his thoughtful commentary was less than it ought to have been.

2 M
ARCH
1887
E
AST
A
FRICA

“S
O, YOU SEE,
I
AM ACTUALLY QUITE IMPORTANT,”
I
SAID
in mock seriousness to my dear friend Ivy as we took tea in my well-appointed drawing room the next afternoon. “They sent the head of the entire department to speak to me. Obviously word of my fortune has spread even to the hallowed halls of the British Museum.”

“You give yourself too much credit,” she retorted with a smile. “Clearly they decided to extend their good opinion of Philip to your humble self. But really, aren’t you a bit shocked to learn about Philip’s passion for Greece? It’s rather interesting of him, I think.”

“I hardly know what to make of it,” I said, pouring more tea. “He never mentioned anything about it to me.”

“I suppose the conversation on your wedding trip focused on very different topics,” Ivy said.

“I can’t remember that we talked about anything in particular. He wrote in his journal, I suppose cataloging where we were each day, and I read a lot. He was very nice about buying me books.”

“Beastly of him to die before you realized he might be fascinating.”

“Yes, and terrible of him to settle such a large amount of money on me.” I laughed. “Of course, I won’t be able to enjoy it at all until I get out of this ghastly mourning.” Even as the words came out of my mouth, the color drained from my face. “I don’t mean that.”

Ivy took my hand. “I know you don’t, dear.”

“I certainly never thought things would turn out like this. Barely out in society and already a widow.”

“Mourning won’t last forever.”

“I’m not sure that I even mind, Ivy. Consider my life: I live on my own, with my own servants, and have control over my own money. I can do virtually whatever I want.”

“Except move about in society just yet.”

“No, of course not, but I’m not certain that I really miss any of that. It was vastly diverting for a while, of course, and I had a lovely time making as many men as possible fall in love with me, but think where I would be if I hadn’t married Philip.”

“You would still be living with your mother and having your waist measured daily.”

“Precisely. A fate not to be borne. But now I have a freedom unprecedented in my life. If Philip were still alive, would my life be much different than it was when I lived with my parents?”

“As an unmarried woman, I would hardly dare to comment on married life,” Ivy said wickedly.

“Yes, but you’ll know soon enough. Two more weeks and we’ll be at your own wedding.”

“Yes,” Ivy said with a sigh. “I don’t know what to think.”

Davis came into the room and announced two more callers.

“My dear, I am delighted to see you again,” Emma Callum said as she crossed toward me, reaching out with both her hands. “It hardly seems that a year has passed since your dear husband’s passing. But here we are.”

“Yes, here we are,” I said, answering her simpering smile with one of my own as I took her hands. “It’s kind of you to come. How are you, Arabella?”

“Very well, thank you.” The newcomers sat, and Arabella Dunleigh accepted the muffin I offered her.

“I am desperately excited for your wedding,” Emma said to Ivy. “Mother tells me Worth made your dress.”

“Yes, it’s lovely. I’m looking forward to wearing it,” Ivy answered, considerably less lively now than she had been before we’d been interrupted.

“I don’t know what I shall wear,” Emma continued. I didn’t believe her; she spent a large portion of her waking hours thinking and talking about her extensive wardrobe. Unfortunately, despite the large expense her father went to in order to dress his only daughter well, her clothing perfectly reflected Emma’s own tastes and whims; the result was not attractive. Without fail, she chose garish colors and unflattering styles. Her face, I admit, was lovely, but it was easy to overlook when blinded by the bright yellow of the gown she was wearing. The brown parasol she carried added to the total effect by making her look something like a spindly sunflower. “I’m certain that it won’t be long until we’re planning my own wedding, and I do want to enjoy myself in the meantime.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I said, knowing full well Emma was beginning another of her assaults on me.

“You know better than the rest of us the perils of married life, Emily. The role of matron is not nearly as enjoyable as that of belle of the ball. Although I suppose you never really had a chance to settle into being a married woman, did you?”

“No. Philip was kind enough to die before I got really bored,” I snapped back. Arabella gasped. “I’m joking, of course, Arabella. Try not to choke on your muffin.”

“I’m horrified to hear you speak of your husband that way,” Emma said coldly. “Lord Ashton was one of the best men with whom I’ve been acquainted.”

“The noblest man I ever met,” Arabella agreed.

“I should think you would take more care to honor his memory,” Emma continued, fingering her hideous brown gloves as she spoke.

“I must confess that I am a trifle nervous about my wedding,” Ivy interrupted, valiantly changing the subject. “I don’t know what to expect as a wife. Robert has always been very kind to me, and my parents are delighted with the match. I’m sure we’ll be happy, but I cannot imagine what my life will be like.”

“He has a wonderful house,” Arabella said, taking another cake off the tea table. “And you’re sure to have a generous allowance.”

“Ivy’s father will ensure that,” I said.

“You must listen carefully to everything your mother tells you before the wedding, my dear,” Emma said, her tone all seriousness. “There are things about marriage you will find immensely shocking. She will be able to tell you what you need in order to cope and to bear what you must.”

“I’m certain it’s terrible,” Arabella said, her cowlike eyes wide open. “My sister locked herself in her room and refused to come out for three days after her wedding.”

“You should never speak of it, Arabella,” Emma said, looking at her friend sharply. “It is enough that she be alerted to the situation so that her mother can prepare her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped. I knew Emma well enough to expect that she would try to insult me whenever the opportunity presented itself; it did not bother me in the least. Ivy, however, being much more sensitive than I am, would not be able to hold her own against Emma’s malicious talk.

“We are only trying to help our friend on her way to becoming a good wife,” Emma said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I expect it’s difficult for you to think of happy things like love and weddings when you know there will never be joy in your own life again.”

“Quite the contrary, I assure you. And, Ivy, I will share with you a piece of advice Philip gave me on our wedding night: Relax. If you manage to, you’ll find the entire experience not at all unpleasant.” I watched my audience and savored the horrified looks on their faces. Arabella dropped her cake, and Emma rose from her seat.

“I never thought I would hear you speak so crudely, Emily. You are fortunate that Philip is not here to see your disgrace.”

“Lord Ashton to you, Emma. I don’t believe your acquaintance with the viscount ever reached the point of familiarity.”

“I see that despite your wearing half mourning, you really are not ready to receive visitors,” Emma said, trying in vain to regain her composure. “We will not trespass any longer on your time.” She led Arabella, who was still unable to speak, out of the room. I noticed that she took the last tea cake with her.

Ivy stared at me, shocked. “What have you done?”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever had such fun in my life. I never could stand either of those beasts. Emma always threw herself at Philip before we were married and couldn’t bear the fact that he never noticed her. She tormented me in every way she could once our engagement was announced.”

“But, darling, you never cared for Philip. Surely you weren’t jealous?”

“Of course not. But now that he is gone, I am gaining a better appreciation for the man and his tastes. And as for those two, they came here to congratulate themselves on their own good luck at not being widowed at such a young age and to terrify you at the prospect of your wedding.”

“I don’t think they meant to be cruel.”

“Believe what you will, but I know Emma well enough to see her game. She doesn’t like being one of the last of us to marry. But she’ll be engaged before long, and woe to the poor man she accepts. He’ll find no happiness in his bride.”

“You really aren’t yourself, Emily. Do you need more tea?”

“No, Ivy, I’m fine. I have just realized that I am now in a position to voice opinions that would have been outrageous for an unmarried woman. Don’t worry, I’ll send perfect notes apologizing for my behavior and beg them both to forgive me. No one can resist a grief-stricken widow.”

“You are awful.”

“I think I’m going to rather enjoy sitting with the other widows at balls, machinating the futures of young ladies and gossiping excessively.”

“When you return fully to society, I don’t imagine you’ll stay with the other widows.”

“Perhaps you are right, but I do not intend to relinquish my newfound freedom in the foreseeable future. What were we discussing before those harpies interrupted us? I’m sure it was much more pleasant than our present topic of conversation. Did I tell you that I’ve started to read the
Iliad
?”

“No, you hadn’t. How terribly clever you’re becoming,” Ivy said, laughing. “But in all seriousness, Em, is what you said true?”

“Everything I say is true.”

“I mean about what Philip told you,” she pressed, unable to meet my eyes.

“It is true, Ivy. Now that I think about it, I should perhaps have listened better when Philip talked to me. He gave very good advice.”

T
HAT NIGHT
I
DREAMED
about Philip for the first time. He looked very lovely, right off a Greek vase. He was storming the walls of Troy, his sandy hair blowing in the wind as he called out, “Kallista! Kallista!”

The next morning I decided that I would definitely continue reading Homer.