The Storms of War (12 page)

Celia was awake before she even realised she had fallen asleep. After two hours of Henry VII, she had run upstairs and thrown herself on her bed, tired out by holding her tongue at Lady Redroad’s. She had been dreaming about a horse galloping towards her on a racecourse, everyone shouting in the stands. She was crying out, but no one could hear her. She sat up, tears running down her face. She reached to her table and the tin of emergency boiled sweets that Verena did not know she had. Something to eat would make her feel better, surely. She took a red sweet, but it tasted of tin and did not improve her headache. She wiped the tears from her eyes, reached for another sweet. She was just taking a third one to cram in her mouth when she heard footsteps clattering past her, and a sobbing sound.

She hurried to the door and pulled it open. Her sister was at the end of the corridor. ‘Emmeline! Where are you going?’

Emmeline didn’t turn; she ran around the corner and Celia could not see her. ‘Emmeline. Come back!’ She set off in her stockings, running after her. Around the corner and then into the second corridor. Emmeline reached the ladder that led on to the roof and started up it. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ cried Celia to the back of her sister’s head. Emmeline did not reply, continued clambering up the ladder.

Celia followed her, struggling to keep her footing on the wood, cursing herself for not wearing shoes. Emmeline hauled herself through the door on to the roof and Celia followed her. She had not been on the roof since she had been a child. Michael used to bring her up as a game. Then, she had thought it fun to chase about. Now her feet were slipping and she was afraid. She clasped a turret. ‘Where are you going, Emmeline? Wait for me. Please.’
Emmeline, still wearing her nightgown, was stumbling over the roof, weaving between the chimneys and the turrets. ‘Stop, please! Please!’ Celia looked at the expanse of garden beneath them, the hills rolling further away. The wind was swallowing her words. ‘Emmeline,’ she cried. ‘I’m frightened.’

Emmeline was still picking her way forward. She fell against a chimney, carried on. Celia felt a flash of pain as she cut her foot on a tile. She knew then, in a moment of terrifying clarity, what Emmeline was doing. She was walking to the edge. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Emmeline, come back.’ She gripped a chimney, pulled herself to the next one.
Go to the edge,
she was telling herself.
You have to help.

Emmeline was nearly at the lip of the roof. ‘Wait for me!’ Celia cried. ‘Please.’ She was scrambling now, trying to catch up. She dropped to her knees and began crawling.

‘Go away, Celia,’ Emmeline shouted over her shoulder. ‘Just go away.’

‘I’m staying.’

‘Go away. You’re a baby.’

‘You’re my sister. Please come down with me.’ Celia was crying now. ‘I love you, Emmeline.’

‘Be quiet.’

‘He’s only one person. Someone better will ask you to marry him.’

‘A girl who is jilted once is never asked again. That’s it now. Everyone’s laughing at me. I’ll never marry.’

‘Emmeline, that’s not true.’

‘Stop talking!’

Emmeline wouldn’t turn around. Celia was afraid to touch her, in case she moved. Only half a foot or so and Emmeline would be falling through the sky. Celia crawled to the edge. The drop was dizzying. Sickness lurched in her. If she spoke, Emmeline might be angry and pitch herself forward. But she might do that even if she didn’t speak. Emmeline’s white nightdress was tangled around her legs. Her feet looked unbearably tiny. ‘Please,’ Celia said. But the wind swallowed up her voice.

Celia looked out, feeling as if her whole body was shaking. Then
her heart jumped. Walking past the rose bed below them, only a little way away, was Mr Janus, hands in his pockets. She had to catch his attention. If she shouted, Emmeline might react badly. She lifted her hand and waved. He was gazing at the roses. She begged him in her mind.
Mr Janus. Please.

Emmeline was still standing, clutching the chimney. She wasn’t looking at Celia. The wind was probably in her ears. That gave Celia an idea. She reached out for a loose tile, lying on the roof next to her after being blown off in a winter storm, she assumed. She clutched it in her hand and then threw it towards Mr Janus, as hard as she could. It landed on the grass just by his feet. He looked up at the roof. She gestured frantically, waving and putting her finger to her lips. But he was hardly looking at her. He was staring at Emmeline. Celia waved at him again and beckoned, mouthed,
Please help us! Send Thompson and Smithson and Jennie, help us!
He put up his hand and dashed into the house.

Emmeline had noticed none of it. Celia put her head against the chimney. Mr Janus would go and tell Smithson, Thompson and Jennie, and they would all be up in a moment. She just had to try to speak to Emmeline, keep her from moving off the edge. She supposed she should give her something to look forward to. Instead, she found herself talking about Emmeline’s dresses.

‘I saw your gowns on the floor.’ Emmeline did not move. ‘My favourite’s the blue one; I think it very pretty. You really do look beautiful in it.’ She cast around vainly in her memory. ‘You’ve a blue hat that goes with it, I think? That’s very pretty too. Although sometimes you wear the yellow, and that one with the lace can be really splendid.’

Emmeline was not turning around, but she was not moving closer to the edge either, so perhaps it was working. If only Celia had paid more attention to gowns before. ‘I should take your advice on dresses now that I am growing older. I tell you which other one I really like – the pale peach.’ She was getting desperate now, didn’t even know if Emmeline had a pale peach dress or not. But she had to keep talking.

Then a noise came from behind her. She turned and saw Mr
Janus stumbling over the tiles.
No,
she wanted to say.
Not you! We need Smithson and Jennie.

‘Miss de Witt!’ She heard his voice, reedy and high over the wind. ‘Miss de Witt!’ She stared at him. He would have to do.

Come closer,
she mouthed.
Can’t you get Smithson?
He didn’t seem to notice.

She watched him clamber over the tiles, ungainly and uncoordinated. Even in shoes, he was slower than she had been. He came closer and stood behind Emmeline.

‘Miss de Witt. I don’t mean to scare you. It is Mr Janus here.’

Celia saw her sister’s shoulder twitch. Her own stomach lurched. But Emmeline did not move forward.

‘I came to talk to you, Miss de Witt,’ said Mr Janus. ‘I thought we could speak.’

Again, Emmeline did not move her body. But she turned her head, very slightly. Celia knew she was listening.

‘You’re very beautiful, Miss de Witt. Forgive me for saying it, but it’s true. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. If you had grown up differently, you could have been on the stage, mesmerising the audience with your handsome eyes.’

A strand of hair blew over Emmeline’s ear. She reached up to brush it back. Celia knew from that that she must be listening. Why had she not thought of saying such words about her sister’s looks? She knew it was ludicrous to be annoyed with Mr Janus, since Emmeline seemed to be listening, but still, she was. From the way he was speaking, it was clear that he had guessed that Sir Hugh had broken things off. Perhaps it had been easy enough, since the wait for the letter had consumed the whole house.

‘Miss de Witt, you live in a country village, where you see few people. If you were in London on a regular basis, I promise you that people would not be able to countenance your beauty. They’d be thrilled, they would follow you, they’d talk of you. You could wear a sack and still people would adore you. Forgive me once more for speaking so boldly, but the truth is that hundreds of men would be captivated by you and wish to marry you.’

Celia could see a little colour spreading up to her sister’s cheek. She wanted to reach out for her, but she held back.

‘When you marry, which you will soon, you will go through life meeting thousands of men who will wish you had married them. There are only a few women in every hundred years who look like you. I don’t doubt you could marry the Prince of Wales if you were interested in being a princess.’

Celia’s mouth dropped open as Emmeline shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t want the Prince of Wales.’ Her voice was quiet, but still, she had spoken.

‘So he would dream of you and never earn you. Like thousands of other men. Miss de Witt, I speak God’s truth. You are the most beautiful woman anyone has ever seen. You have a gift. You must show people your beauty. It is practically a duty.’

She still did not turn, but Celia noticed she gripped the chimney next to her harder. ‘I was told I was beautiful before, but I think he was lying. If I am so handsome, why did he not want to marry me?’

‘Because he is wrong – stupid. Because he will spend the rest of his life regretting losing you. He will end up in a loveless marriage with a woman he cannot endure. And then he will see you, beautiful, adored, happy, surrounded by children, and he will be ashamed for what he has done. A man such as that is not worthy of you.’

‘I don’t feel so very beautiful at the moment. Miss Wilton has not styled my hair for days. My face is a mess.’

‘That is just wrong. Looks like yours cannot be undermined. They shine through. Do you know, Miss de Witt, if you were to turn your face towards me, I would be quite stunned by your beauty, as I always am.’

Emmeline’s shoulder was moving. Celia’s heart was beating so loudly that she thought the other two could surely hear it. What if Emmeline turned too quickly and fell? She wanted to reach out and grasp her sister. She could see that Mr Janus wanted to do the same. ‘Come now,’ he was saying. ‘That’s it. Turn around to look at me. That’s it.’

Emmeline manoeuvred herself around, clutching the chimney.

‘See!’ he said, staring at her. ‘You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The most beautiful anyone has ever seen.’ He held out a hand. ‘May I come a little closer?’

She nodded.

He edged nearer. ‘Anyone who has lost you is a fool, knows nothing. He will regret it. Truly.’

She began to cry, great round tears dropping on to her cheeks.

He smiled. ‘Only you, Miss de Witt, could look handsome when you cry. May I come closer?’

She nodded again, and he worked his way forward. He gave Celia a quick nod and a gesture, and she realised that he meant her to go to where Emmeline had been, so that she could not run to the edge. Celia hesitated. If she moved to stand there and Emmeline panicked or barrelled back, she would fall. Mr Janus nodded again, and she knew she had to do it. She made her way gingerly over the tiles, afraid of making a noise that might startle her sister.

‘Your beauty is wasted on me, you know, Miss de Witt,’ the tutor was saying. ‘You should be showing it in London. You should be at the theatre and the opera, dancing. You would be discussed in the magazines; other ladies would wish to copy your dress.’ He paused, and then, emboldened, carried on. ‘We should make a plan so that this will be the case, so that you will be launched truly upon the world.’ He nodded, repeated the words that were like a chorus. ‘You are so very beautiful.’ He looked entranced. Celia could make a good guess that he was acting, pretending at how he would have been if they were not balanced on a roof, for she knew he was full of fear. ‘Could you move closer to me, Miss Emmeline? So I can see your eyes? Did you know they have tiny flecks of amber in the blue? They are like spots of gold under the sea.’

Emmeline shook her head.

‘No? Well, you must go to the mirror and look. They are like jewels, lapis lazuli showing a little of their gold.’

Celia could see Emmeline was intrigued. It would be wrong to kill oneself if one did not know exactly the nature of one’s eyes.

‘Flecks of gold?’ she asked.

‘The most divine you can imagine. Your eyes are magnificent. And yet they are assisted in this by their setting, you see. Your skin is the finest one can imagine. Can you come closer to me so that I can regard it better?’

She nodded.

‘There is the most wonderful curve from cheekbone to ear. Did you know that? It is perfectly symmetrical on each side.’

Emmeline reached up her hand to touch her cheek.

‘And then did you know that the side of your mouth matches perfectly with that line? It is really incredible. You should be painted, over and over again. A portrait of you in the Summer Exhibition would be the most popular piece. You would be part of history. Like the greatest female models. I would be honoured to have you sit for me.’

‘Can you paint?’ asked Emmeline, fingers still on her face.

‘I try a little. But I’m not so talented. I have friends who do, though, in London. Mrs de Witt would never permit you to visit them, of course. But perhaps they could come here.’

Celia blushed uncomfortably. Mr Janus was correct, of course he was. But he was saying rather a lot. She was so used to him droning about history that she found his words oddly intimate, as if she had seen him coming out of the bath. And she knew that Verena would not have allowed them.

‘They could come here and paint you,’ he was continuing. ‘And then – imagine – their portraits would take their place in the Summer Exhibition. One day, in the National Gallery. You will be celebrated, Miss de Witt, take my word for it.’ At this, he stretched out his hand. ‘Come, Miss de Witt, come. Let us prepare. Let us begin on our plan.’

Emmeline reached out her hand and Mr Janus grasped it. ‘Will you come down?’ he said. ‘Will you come down with me?’

Emmeline nodded. He called over to Celia. ‘Come, Miss de
Witt, we are going to go down now. Can you take your sister’s other arm?’

Celia clasped Emmeline’s arm and felt the warmth of her body. ‘Let us go forward,’ Mr Janus said. ‘Come.’ And so they did, tripping over tiles and the chimneys, bumping each other and muddling their feet. Celia fell more than the other two, even over the turret, blushing, although neither of them seemed to notice. ‘Come on now,’ he said, lifting Emmeline through the entrance. He left Celia to clamber down on her own. When she reached the bottom of the ladder, hot and irritated with him for not helping her, Mr Janus was still holding Emmeline, her head resting on his chest. Neither of them was looking at her. Celia knew she should not be there, none of them should, but now how could things be the same again?