Shades of Milk and Honey (8 page)

As Mrs. Ellsworth remarked later to Mr. Ellsworth, there was no way to tell if he was related to Vincent the haberdasher or Vincent the M.P. She was quite vexed, and resolved to appeal to Lady FitzCameron for more intelligence at the first opportunity.

She next turned to the subject of art. “Have you seen our landscapes? Our eldest daughter did these.”

Jane wanted to sink through the floor. Instead, she kept her attention outwardly fixed on Miss Dunkirk, who was describing the delicate pearls of clouds she had seen on her ride.

Mr. Vincent turned to the nearest, raised an eyebrow, and said, “Indeed.”

Neither compliment nor condemnation, but simply a recognition of fact. Jane supposed she should be grateful for that.

Failing in her attempts to draw him out, Mrs. Ellsworth was relieved beyond expression when her especial friends Mr. and Mrs. Marchand arrived, sparing her the necessity of further conversation with Mr. Vincent. Jane was, if possible, more relieved than her mother.

With the party thus assembled, bonnets were donned and baskets picked up so that a sizable collection of wicker paraded through the drawing room and out to the shrubbery. Mr. Ellsworth was justly proud of the shrubbery on the south side of Long Parkmead and so led the party through there, though it was not the fastest route to the strawberry patch. Jane walked with Miss Dunkirk, which of necessity meant conversation with Mr. Dunkirk, an effect that Jane did not in the least regret. Melody walked with Captain Livingston and Miss FitzCameron, the three of them laughing and trying to outdo one another with wit.

Ahead of them strode Mr. Vincent, with his folding easel slung over his back. He soon left the party, disappearing around the bend of the shrubbery. By the time the larger
party rounded the bend at their more sedate pace, he was halfway across the lawn between the shrubbery and a copse of trees, on the opposite side of which stood the strawberry patch, in a spot best situated to take advantage of the sun. His carriage was easy, and the stiffness which he had displayed in the drawing room had relaxed into the long stride of a man most comfortable out-of-doors.

“Mr. Vincent seems anxious to reach the strawberries,” Jane remarked.

“He is often ill at ease in the drawing rooms, which is not a surprize considering his history,” Mr. Dunkirk said.

“Oh. Do you know his history then? Do not let my mother know, or she will be quizzing you for half an hour or more. She is overcome with curiosity about him.”

“Thank you for the warning.” He affected a grave countenance, but his lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “I do. I researched his history before engaging him.”

“Edmund! You said you wouldn’t tell.”

He arched an eyebrow at his sister. “Nor have I, Beth. Though you are very nearly compelling me to do so, since it is rude to Miss Ellsworth to have a conversation from which she is excluded.”

Abashed, Miss Dunkirk looked down. Jane tugged at her bonnet and looked at Mr. Dunkirk with an overly innocent expression. “I am sorry. I heard my name, but I am afraid my bonnet kept me from hearing anything else. Did you address me?”

He laughed, a clean, pure laugh that came up from his
belly. Jane wanted above all else to make him laugh again, and to look at her always with such delight. Miss Dunkirk laughed with him, and for a moment, Jane felt a part of their family.

“Miss Ellsworth, I had asked Edmund not to tell you because I wanted it to be a surprize, but I will confess. He has engaged Mr. Vincent to tutor me in glamour. Is that not the most exciting thing you have ever heard?” Miss Dunkirk slipped her arm through Jane’s and leaned close to confide. “Edmund has such an admiration of your skills, and I envied them, so I pestered him for lessons until he agreed.”

Jane glanced at Mr. Dunkirk, but he was studying the landscape around them, having already lost interest in the conversation. Surely he could not admire her skills overmuch if he had engaged Mr. Vincent rather than letting Jane continue to help Miss Dunkirk discover her talents. Though, truly, to be tutored by a man of Mr. Vincent’s skills was enviable, and surely the best for the girl no matter what her feelings about the man’s manners might be. “Mr. Vincent is supremely talented.”

Miss Dunkirk wrinkled her nose. “He is so odd, though. You wouldn’t believe how droll he can be. He seems to love the visual arts to the exclusion of language. Outside of lessons, I do not think he has said more than five words at a time to me. Though when he is speaking of art and glamour, he can wax poetic.” She shook her head, laughing. “Really, he is very droll.”

They passed beneath the dappled shade that the copse
of trees provided before they came upon the strawberry mounds. The sudden cool was such a relief that conversation ceased for a moment, only to begin again when they emerged from the trees. Each group exclaimed as they saw the strawberry patches, which even from a distance shewed the heavy red berries nestled among the glossy leaves.

When Mr. Ellsworth had had the strawberries planted, he had instructed his gardener to make them seem a natural part of the landscape. They meandered along low hills and a cunningly contrived stone wall that seemed to be a picturesque ruin, yet raised the strawberry plants so that one did not have to stoop to pluck them.

On the hill above them, Mr. Vincent was unpacking his easel and his paints under the shelter of an ancient arching laurel.

Mr. Ellsworth stopped short and turned in some astonishment. “Where are the servants? I expressly told them to set the nuncheon under the laurel tree. Virginia”—he turned to Mrs. Ellsworth—“did you tell them to go elsewhere?”

“No, Charles, I did not.” She peered up the hill, and her brow furrowed. “I do not see them on the hill. They must be somewhere else.”

“Clearly they are somewhere else, if they are not here. The question is where.”

Mr. Dunkirk said, “Perhaps they are on the other side of the hill?”

“Ah. An excellent thought. I will check on just that.
Meanwhile, I urge you all to avail yourself of the strawberries.” Mr. Ellsworth started up the hill while the rest of the company fell to the strawberries with a will.

The conversations were simple and inconsequential, as all were distracted by the sweet succulent berries. It seemed that Lady FitzCameron had spoken with her nephew about his conduct at the ball, for Captain Livingston paid all the ladies equal attention, even going so far as to compliment Mrs. Ellsworth’s parasol. Without the monopoly on Captain Livingston’s attentions that she had no doubt expected after the ball, Melody turned to Mr. Dunkirk, and soon had him carrying her basket for her as she plucked strawberries from the mounds.

Mrs. Marchand was quite taken with the strawberries. She kept exclaiming over each one she found as if it were the largest she had ever seen—“Never have I seen the like!”—then devoured the berry before anyone else could ascertain the veracity of her claims. Her husband joked, “I declare, I wonder if you are even touching them, or if you are eating them straight from the plant.”

Mrs. Marchand laughed at that, and colored prettily, but her husband’s comment did not slow her enthusiasm for the strawberries.

In short order, Mr. Ellsworth returned, face as red as a strawberry from his climb up the hill and back down. He was laughing, his eyes wrinkled small with merriment. “You would not believe what clever Mr. Vincent has done.”

Jane looked up the hill, but Mr. Vincent was not there. “Has he finished his painting so soon?”

Mr. Ellsworth chuckled and shook his head. “He is still painting, I daresay. Shall I tell you, or shall you guess?”

Captain Livingston said, “He has received an appointment to the King.”

“No. Nor the Prince.” Mr. Ellsworth placed his hands on his waistcoat. “He made the servants and himself disappear, because they marred the view.”

“What?” “Did he?” “How clever!” The crowd quite forgot the berries. Each stared up the hill, declaring that they could see this sign or that of the servants’ location. Jane studied the hill, stunned both that he could have created such a complex and large fold of glamour in so short a time and that the folds themselves could be invisible, even with her vision attuned to the ether. Of course, many great halls used glamour folds to mask musicians at a ball, but they required constant attention, and were enormously detailed to create an exact duplicate of the room as it would have appeared were it empty. Mr. Ellsworth shook his head, laughing. “Not a one of you is looking in the right place. Come, I will shew you.”

As a group, they trooped up the hill, the strawberries quite forgotten, exclaiming all the while about the cleverness of Mr. Vincent and his faculty with glamour. As they neared the top of the hill with still no manifest sign of either Mr. Vincent or the servants, Captain Livingston remarked, “The Admiralty could use skills such as these.”

“Not at sea,” a rough voice proclaimed, and suddenly Mr. Vincent was before them, with easel and the first faint sketches of the scene below. His jacket was off and the top of his shirt was undone, but he gave no notice of the impropriety of either as he continued to paint, all but ignoring the gathered party. His countenance was easy and confident, with no trace of the strain upon it which one would expect from working so large an illusion. Jane turned away from his canvas, involuntarily looking for signs of the glamour that he had dropped in order to ascertain what folds he had used.

“But why not use this to hide our fleets from Napoleon?” Captain Livingston said. “It cannot take so much energy, or you would not be able to keep it up while painting.”

Mr. Vincent’s face shewed no expression, but he briefly glanced at Miss Dunkirk. Jane sensed that he was challenging her to remember her lessons.

Jane kept silent, watching the girl as she pieced the answer together. “It cannot be done because he tied the fold off. A fold tied off is stationary, but the sea is in motion.”

“Correct.” Mr. Vincent turned back to the easel and lifted his brush again.

Melody said, “But where are the servants?”

He pointed with the tip of the brush and gave no other answer.

Jane looked, but still did not see the folds masking the servants. Exasperated, she walked past Mr. Vincent, and then gasped as the servants appeared.

“Jane!” Melody cried, behind her.

The servants looked up, as startled by her sudden appearance, and yet, she could see the landscape around them clearly though she had expected it to be obscured by the glamour with which Mr. Vincent had hidden them. Certainly, all her prior experience with masking glamours indicated that the illusion would be visible even from the center. Jane turned to look back, but Mr. Vincent and the rest of the party had vanished again. It was most perplexing, for she could hear them exclaiming in wonder, but could not see them.

And then Miss Dunkirk was there, without even a ripple in the landscape; she simply appeared between one moment and the next. She, too, gasped in astonishment. The illusion was so seamless that Miss Dunkirk’s passage made no disruption in the ether. She had thought that Mr. Vincent had dropped the glamour when they saw him, but the truth seemed to be more interesting than that.

“Do you know how he is doing this, Miss Dunkirk?”

The girl shook her head. “I am afraid that we are still working on basic colours and shapes. I had hoped you could tell me.”

“I do not know either. Every vanishing charm I know is more cumbersome than this, and leaves traces in the ether. I am most curious.” Jane sank onto the nearest blanket and studied the place where Miss Dunkirk had appeared. She let her view of the physical world dissipate and concentrated on the glamour. At first, she saw nothing, and then, as Miss
FitzCameron and Captain Livingston stepped through, she saw a slight shimmer. Focusing on that, she let her vision go deeper as the rest of the party entered. Each entrance gave her a clue about the nature of the glamour, but the fold was so thin that it was almost invisible.

The last to appear was Mr. Vincent.

He instantly saw what she was doing and smirked, as if certain that she could not discern his craft. Jane would not tolerate that and, in a rare moment of pride, was determined to prove herself the equal of this haughty, silent man. She saw now the fold; a single gossamer cloth of glamour creating a canopy that stretched to the ground, covering the group.

He was manipulating light itself.

Jane began to work backwards to understand how it had begun. It twisted just so. When she thought that she understood Mr. Vincent’s methodology, Jane cupped her hand around a glamour of pure light, tied off a fold of it, and attempted to create a tiny bauble which sunbeams skittered around. Then, working carefully, she stretched the light out to a fine thin weave until it enveloped her. Most remarkably, by tying the fold off before she began stretching it, it took no more effort than working with a minuscule fold. The sunbeam continued on its happy journey, detouring around her so that no one observing her would be able to discern that it had veered from its course. It was a monstrously clever illusion.

“Oh, well done, Miss Ellsworth, well done!” Miss
Dunkirk clapped. “I knew you could understand it. I was certain you could.”

In the protection of her bubble, Jane allowed herself the luxury of a smile of pride. That man thought she was incapable of following his trick, did he? But as her vision returned to the physical world, and she saw the others clapping for her, and the look of illness on Mr. Vincent’s face, she lost some of her pleasure in her accomplishment. What purpose had assaying to match his feat in front of the others served beyond stroking her own vanity? It would have been better if she had let him have his triumph, rather than making it seem as if anyone could do this pattern by simply sitting down and copying him. She had played a churlish trick.

Jane released the ties on her bubble and feigned breathlessness as though it took more effort than it had. “I do not think I have the right of it, Mr. Vincent.”

If anything, her subterfuge made his sneer deepen. “You did.” Without a word more, he strode out of the group and into his own bubble, vanishing back to his paints. As the others continued their exclamations, Jane stared after him, perplexed beyond all measure.