The Demon Lover (3 page)

You have it. But th . blindness . Oh, don’t you see. It’s everything . “

I was overwhelmed by the tragedy of it. His life was h work and it was to be denied him. It was the most trag thing that could have happened to him. i’:

I did not know how to comfort him, but somehow I did;

At least he had told me. I chided him gently for not tell it me before, “I don’t want anyone to know yet, Kate,” he insisted.

“R our secret, eh?” i “Yes,” I said, ‘if that is what you wish. It is our secret. ” |

Then I put my arm round him and held him against me. I heard him whisper: “You comfort me, Kate.”

One cannot remain in a state of shock indefinitely. At first I had been overwhelmed by the news and it seemed as though disaster stared us in the face; but after some reflection my natural optimism came to myaid^and I began to see that this was not yet the end. For one thing the process was gradual. At the moment my father simply could not see as well as he once had. He would not be able to do his finest work.

But he could still paint. He would just have to change his style. It seemed impossible that a Collison should not be able to paint miniatures, but why shouldn’t he work on a bigger scale? Why shouldn’t a canvas take the place of painting on ivory and metals?

On consideration his burden seemed to have lightened. We talked a great deal up there in the studio.

“You must be my eyes, Kate,” he said.

“You must watch me. Sometimes I think I can see well enough… but I am not sure. You know how one false stroke can be disastrous.”

I said: “You have told me now. You should never have kept it to yourself. It isn’t as though you are suddenly smitten with blindness.

You have had a long warning. and time to prepare yourself. “

He listened to me almost like a child, hanging on my words. I felt very tender towards him.

“Don’t forget,” he reminded me.

“For the time being… not a word to anyone.”

I agreed with that. I had a ridiculous hope, which I know to be groundless, that he might recover and the obstruction go away.

“Bless you, Kate’ he said.

“I thank God for you. Your work is as good as anything I ever did … and it’s getting better. It would not surprise me if you surpassed every Collison. That would be my consolation if you did.”

So we talked and worked together and I made sure that I did the finest work on those manuscripts so that he should not have to put his eyes to the test. There was no doubt that all this had given me an added spur and I really believed that my touch was more sure than it had been previously.

A few days passed. It was wonderful what time did, and I believed that his nature was such that in time he would become reconciled. He would always see everything through an artist’s eyes and he would always paint. The work he had particularly loved would be denied him . but he was not going to lose everything. not yet, at least. That was what I told him.

It was a week or so after when I heard the news.

We had returned from a dinner-party at the doctor’s house. Evie was always included in these invitations for she was regarded, throughout the neighbourhood, as a member of the family. Even the socially minded Lady Farringdon invited her, for after all Evie was a connection of that family which contained an Earl!

It had been an evening like any other. The vicarage family had been at the doctor’s house. There was the Reverend John Meadows with his two grown-up children, Dick and Frances. Dick was studying for the Church and Frances, since her mother had died, had kept house for her father.

I knew the family well. Before I had a governess I had been to the vicarage every day to be taught by the curate not Evie’s but his predecessor, a middle-aged serious old gentleman who bore witness to the fact that curates could sometimes remain in that lowly state during their entire careers.

We had been warmly greeted by Dr. and Mrs. Camborne and their twin daughters. The twins looked so much alike that I could only on rare occasions tell the difference. They interested me. When I was with them I always wondered what one would feel to have another person who looked almost exactly the same and was so close. They had been named with a certain irony, I thought, Faith and Hope. My father said:

“What a pity they were not triplets, then Charity could have been included.”

Hope was the bolder of the two; she was the one who spoke up when they were addressed. Faith relied on her completely. She always looked to her sister for support before she spoke, even. She was of a nervous temperament but there was a degree of boldness about Hope. It often seemed to me as though the human virtues and failings had been neatly divided and distributed between those two.

Hope was clever at her lessons and always helped Faith, who was much slower and found great difficulty in learning. Faith was neat and tidy and always cleared up after Hope, so their mother told me. Faith was good working with her hands; Hope was clumsy in that respect.

“I am so glad they are fond of each other,” their mother told my father.

There was no doubt that there was some mystic bond between them, which is often found in identical twins. They looked alike and yet were so different. I thought it would be interesting to paint them and see what came out, for often when one was engaged on a miniature facets of a sitter’s character would be revealed as if by some miracle.

Dick Meadows talked a great deal about himself. He had nearly finished his training and would be looking for a living soon. A bright young man, I thought, he would surely be chosen before Evie’s James.

Frances Meadows was her usual sensible self-content, it seemed, to devote her life to church matters and the careful running of the vicarage household.

It was just one of those evenings of which there had been so many. As we walked home I was thinking how conventional my life was . and the life of all of us. I could imagine Frances keeping house at the vicarage until she was a middle-aged woman. That was her life—already mapped out for her. And myself? Was I going to spend mine in a little

village my social life more or less confined to dinners suchi as this one tonight? Pleasant enough, of course, and sharedJ with people of whom I was fond-but would it go on and on| until I was middle-aged? | I was very pensive considering it. Sometimes, lookingi back, I wonder whether even then I was subconsciously| aware of the events which were about to break over me-| disrupting my peaceful life forever. :j I was certainly already becoming restive. When my father^ came home from his visits abroad, I questioned him avidlyl about what he had seen. He had been to the Courts of Prussia] and Denmark and most grand of all, that of Napoleon the;

Third and his fascinating wife the Empress Eugenic. He described the grandeurs of those Courts and the manners. and customs of the people who inhabited them. He talked in colours and made me see the rich purple and gold of royal vestments, the soft pastel shades of the French houses and the less subtle ones of the German Courts.

I had always felt a longing to see these things for myself, and one of my secret dreams was that I should be recognized as a great painter as my father was and that these invitations would come to me. If only I had been born a man I could look. forward to that. But here I was shut in imprisoned in my sex, really-in a world which men had created for themselves. Women had their uses in that world. They were necessary for the reproduction of the race and they could do this most important of all tasks while providing a very agreeable diversion;

they could grace a man’s household and table; they could even help him on his way, stand beside him but always a little in the background, always being careful to make sure that the limelight fell on him.

It was for Art that I cared, but when I realized that my miniatures could bring as great a reward as those of my father-but only because they were believed to be his1 was maddened by the unfairness and stupidity of the world; and I

could understand why some women were refusing to toe the line and accept the assumption of masculine superiority.

When we arrived back at the house on that night it was to find James Callum there.

“You must forgive me for calling at such an hour, Mr. Collison,” he said.

“But I had to see Evie.”

He was so excited that he could scarcely speak. Evie went to him and laid a calming hand on his arm.

“What is it, James. Not… a living!”

“Well, hardly that. It’s a … a proposition. It depends on what Evie says …”

“It might be a good idea to ask me and find out,” Evie pointed out in that practical way others.

“It’s this, Evie I’ve been asked to go to Africa … as a missionary.”

“James!”

“Yes, and they think I should have a wife to take with me.”

I saw the joy in Evie’s face but I did not look at my father. I knew he would be battling with his emotions.

I heard him say: “Evie … That’s wonderful. You’ll be superb … and keep them all in order.”

“Evie,” faltered James.

“You haven’t said.”

Evie was smiling.

“When do we leave?” she asked.

“There’s not much time, I’m afraid. They’ve suggested in a month if that’s possible.”

“You’ll have to get the banns up right away,” put in my father.

“I

think that takes three weeks. “

I went to Evie and embraced her.

“It’s going to be awful for us without you, but you’ll be wonderfully happy. It’s just right for you.

Oh Evie, you deserve everything of the best. “

We clung together. It was one of those rare moments when Evie allowed herself to show the depth other feelings.

Being Evie, she made our problem hers, and in the midst of all her happiness and the bustle of getting ready at such short notice she did not forget us.

I had never seen her as excited as she was at this time. She read a great deal about Africa and was determined to make a success of this job for James and herself.

“You see, he’s taking someone else’s place. The previous one came home on holiday and developed chest trouble. He can’t go back. That has given James his chance.”

“He deserves it-and so do you.”

“It’s all worked out very well in many ways. Jack Meadows can give his father a hand until something is settled. Isn’t it miraculous? The only thing that worries me is you … but I’ve been thinking and Clare came into my mind.”

“Who’s Clare?”

“Clare Massie. Would you like me to write to her? Do you know, I believe she is the answer. I haven’t seen her for some years but she has kept in touch. We write to each other every Christmas.”

“Do tell me about her.”

“Well, I thought she might come here. Last Christmas she wrote that her mother had died. She’d been looking after her for years. You know the sort of thing … the younger daughter … it’s expected of her. The others all have their own lives to lead and there’s nothing for her but to look after ageing parents. There was a sister. She married and went abroad. Clare rarely hears from her. But she was saying last Christmas that she might have to find some post…”

“If she’s a friend of yours …”

“She’s a distant connection … cousin so many times removed that we’ve lost count. She must have been about fourteen when I last saw her. It was at the funeral of a great-aunt. She seemed to be such a good-natured girl and already she was looking after her mother. Shall I write?”

“Oh yes, please do.”

“If I could get her to come before I left I could show her a few things.”

“Evie, you’re a wonder. In the midst of all this excitement you can think of others. Please write. If she is related to you I am sure we shall love her.”

“I will… immediately. Of course, it may be that she has found something by now …”

“We’ll hope,” I said.

It was only two weeks after that conversation that Clare Massie arrived. She had accepted the offer with alacrity and Evie was delighted.

“It is just right for you and just right for Clare,” she said;

and she was in a state of bliss. Not only was she marrying her dear James but she had settled us and her distant relative Clare at the same time.

I went with Evie in the dog-cart to the station to meet Clare and my first glimpse other was on the platform with her bags around her. She had looked quite forlorn and I felt an immediate sympathy for her.

What should
feel, facing a new life among people I had never met before with only a distant cousin to help me over the first days and that prop soon to be removed?p>

Evie swept down on Clare. They embraced.

“Kate, this is Clare Massie. Clare, Kate Collison.”

We shook hands and I looked into a pair of large brown eyes in a rather pale, heart-shaped face. The light brown hair was smoothed down on either side of her head to end in a neat knob. Her straw hat was brown with one yellow daisy in it and her coat was brown too. She looked nervous . fearful of giving offence. She must have been about twenty-eight or thirty.

I tried to reassure her and told her how glad we were that she had come. Evie had told us so much about her.

“Oh yes,” she said.

“Evie has been very good.”

“We could have the luggage sent on,” said Evie, practical as ever.

“Then we could all go in the dog-cart quite comfortably. Bring a small bag. Have you got one? Oh yes, just the things you’ll need immediately.”

“I hope you are going to be happy here,” I said.

“Of course she will,” said Evie.

“I only hope I shall be able to …”

Evie silenced her.

“Everything will be just right,” she said firmly.

We talked about Evie’s marriage and imminent departure.

“I’m glad you’ll be here for it,” I said.

Thus we brought Clare home, and soon after that Evie was married. My father gave her away, the vicar performed the ceremony and afterwards we had a reception for her at Collison House with just a few friends and neighbours. Later that day the bride and bridegroom left on the first lap of their journey to Africa.

Clare quickly fitted into the household. She devoted herself to us with such assiduous care and determination to please that if she were not quite Evie and we had convinced ourselves that nobody could be that-she was undoubtedly the next best thing.