Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

T he tea could not be called anything other than a rousing success…until the moment that Lady Stanton burst into the parlour. She was in quite a state, fit to be tied even, when she found her missing daughter sitting calmly at tea. Eva tried not to wince, knowing that this would likely grow into quite a scene.

Fortunately for all involved, just as Lady Stanton was winding up to deliver a no-doubt scathing sermon, she caught sight of Mr. Galpin, sitting serenely and looking dapper. Instantly, her furious expression melted away, and instead became simpering.

"Oh! Why, Master Galpin, how good it is to see you again," she said, all smiles and good manners.

"Lady Stanton," he replied evenly, giving nothing away.

"Well then, if you are here, does this mean that you will be taking my darling Eva on as a student? Of course you will, she would be a boon to any master," Lady Stanton continued without waiting for an answer. "She may not be in the first flush of spring anymore, but I am certain that she will do you credit."

"Oh, Mother!" Eva cried, her cheeks growing hot.

"Don't take umbrage with me, my girl, we are among friends, and Mr. Galpin knows the way of the world." Lady Stanton, searching about for a chair, found one and dragged it closer to the table without preamble, attempting to wedge herself between Mr. Galpin and Patience.

Eva, quickly becoming mortified, put her forehead into her palm for a moment. She began to desperately try to come up with a way to get her mother out as quickly and painlessly as possible. In the meantime, it seemed that there was no way of stopping her mother's diatribe; indeed, she leaned in closer to Mr. Galpin, speaking conspiratorially.

"Now, we cannot pretend that things are as they aren't," she tutted. "Eva needs all the help that she can get this Season. She is in danger of being put on the shelf, and we cannot have that. I cannot countenance it myself, she had so many attractive offers when she debuted, and now…" Lady Stanton affected a great sigh. "Well, I am sure with your instruction, she will shine on the dancefloor all the more."

"I am sure that she will not need my help to shine anywhere," Mr. Galpin said mildly. Eva shot him a look, which he acknowledged with a twitch of his lips.

"Oh dear, it looks like it may be starting to rain, Lady Stanton," Patience said, her face perfectly creased with just the right amount of concern. "Shall I ring for the carriage? I wouldn't wish you to catch a chill on the way home."

"That would be most kind," Lady Stanton preened. "Our own carriage is being reupholstered, you know."

Patience did not know this, and neither did Eva, as they could not afford to keep one. They were forced to hire one out, much to Lady Stanton's consternation. Everyone let that pass without comment, but Patience did shake her head and tsk sympathetically.

"Oh, but look at the time!" Patience said, rising from the table. I had forgotten that Tom will require the carriage to pick him up from his club. Oh dear, I do hate to hurry you along, but I wouldn't wish you to be rained on…"

Lady Stanton was too busy feeling self-congratulatory to notice that she was being shuffled out in quick order. Again, Eva had to bow to Patience's superior social skills. She had handled the temperamental Lady Stanton with aplomb; even now, she had looped her arm through Lady Stanton's, and was nodding sympathetically as Lady Stanton poured all manner of rain-related complaints into her ears.

Eva was left to trail behind, walking more or less alongside Mr. Galpin. She studiously ignored him, not wishing to see him either mocking or pitying her. With precise motions, she slid her hands into her gloves, her arms into her spencer. The entire time, she could feel Mr. Galpin's eyes on her, dissecting her movements as if he were memorising them. When she craned her neck to tie the ribbon of her bonnet under her chin, he tilted his head too, mimicking and studying.

"Thank you, Mr. Galpin; I look forward to our lessons commencing," she said, not meeting his eye, bobbing a hurried curtsy. Patience had managed to steer Lady Stanton out of the house and to the kerb, where the carriage was just pulling up. She glanced back once over her shoulder to Eva, her violet eyes glancing between Eva and Mr. Galpin.

"I am sure that we shall both benefit," he replied, a slight lilt to his voice. "I like to fancy that I have an eye for talent, so I have no fears that you shall be great." He paused, and from the corner of her eye, Eva could see that he was again on the verge of smiling. "And I do like the dramatic, after all."

Eva had nothing to say to that, so she pulled her shoulders straight again and marched out to meet her mother. Her head was a swirl that refused to sit still. Automatically, she climbed into the carriage. Lady Stanton was all atwitter over the quality of the squabs in the carriage, running her hand over them covetously. Eva paid her only half-mind, watching London roll by slowly. So absorbed was she that she started a little when a fat raindrop splatted against the carriage window.

Blinking, she looked about, focusing on her mother, who was busy extolling the virtues of Lady Patience. As she had shown such consideration, and was so well-connected, Lady Stanton seemed inclined to forgive her for "stealing" Tom away, as she saw it.

"Mother," Eva interrupted, "must you really announce to everyone that I must find a husband this season? It's embarrassing."

"Embarrassing? Embarrassing? " Lady Stanton demanded. "Will it be any less embarrassing when we are turned out of our home and forced into debtor's prison?"

"We're not going to debtor's prison," Eva sighed. "Our friends wouldn't allow it."

"Pah! As if we have a great many of them anymore! When your father, rest his soul, died and left us with a pittance, you saw how quickly our ‘friends' abandoned us when we could no longer pay their way." The lines around Lady Stanton's mouth deepened, her hazel eyes going flinty. "No, we shall have to rely on ourselves, as we have always done. Better that we sell violets and salop on the street than to depend on them."

Eva sighed again, which only drew Lady Stanton's eye again. "Which we wouldn't have to do if you would simply get married !"

"I know, Mother," Eva replied quietly, without real feeling behind it. "I simply wish you would not be so transparent about it."

"No one can be in doubt about your intentions this Season," Lady Stanton countered.

"Mother," Eva said, meeting her mother's eye, her jaw tight. "You have implied that I am on the verge of becoming an old maid to half of London at this point."

"Well, that's not?—"

"It seems to me," Eva continued, changing tactics, "that if you really wished me to find a desirable husband, you wouldn't be announcing that I am perilously close to spinsterhood. I should think it would be more in your favour to tell them how desirable I still am. You wouldn't want to get bad terms in the marriage contract, after all."

That struck a nerve with Lady Stanton. Eva knew that she was relying on her potential son-in-law to be generous, hopefully providing a small allowance in the settlement. She was clearly also angling to live with them, but Eva was not sure that she could survive that. Regardless, it was satisfying to see the way in which Lady Stanton's mouth snapped shut.

Unfortunately, this new reticence did not last long; it was only a matter of moments before Lady Stanton was once again on a tirade about Eva needing new gowns for the Season. Eva only sighed, trying to reconcile herself to it. It seemed a foolish thing to be worried about when Eva wasn't sure how they would ever persuade a modiste to give them credit.

Absently, Eva began tracing the rivulets of rain that were coursing down the carriage window now. If she allowed her eyes to relax and go blurry, it was easy enough to imagine that they were graceful dancers. This one hesitated before leaping across the stage; that one swirled and swooped until colliding with a new partner, becoming something new altogether.

Once, when Josiah had been young and there had been a kind of temporary peace with France, he had gone on a tour to seek out the training of French and Italian dancing masters. A spring storm had collided with his ship full of wealthy tourists and young men on their Grand Tour on the Channel. What should have taken only a matter of hours dragged into nearly an entire day as they were battered about. When they finally made landfall, all of the passengers had looked at each other with a kind of grim happiness, dazed and temporarily bonded by the trying experience they had just endured.

Standing outside of Lady Patience's fashionable townhouse, watching the carriage depart, Josiah was reminded of that expression when he caught sight of Lady Patience's face. They did not say anything for several moments, merely sharing a Look that said plenty. At length, Patience gave a one-shouldered shrug that was incongruously casual for one of her standing. It's your circus now, the shrug seemed to say. Josiah bit back a bark of laughter.

Josiah tipped his hat to her and made his farewells, then set off back in the direction of the theatre. He had lingered longer than he had anticipated, and would need to get straight back in order to prepare for the evening. He had his own preparations, and he wished to see about changing the order of the performance, and then there were the younger dancers to supervise, and…

The rain, which had been a little reluctant, began to come down in earnest. Cold water was finding its way down the back of his collar. Grumbling a little, Josiah ducked into a doorway. He tried the handle to the shop, but it was locked firmly, and when he looked closer, it was clear that the windows were dark. Sighing, he pulled his greatcoat higher about his neck, settling in to see if the rain would abate.

Josiah did not frequently question the direction of his life—he simply wasn't that sort of man—as it seemed a fool's errand to do so when he was largely his own master. Still, huddled here in the freezing rain, it was hard not to take a hard accounting of things. His knee ached, as it always did during inclement weather, and he would have to take care that his ankles did not stiffen. He could be living a life of far greater luxury, if he wished; he was not a pauper, far from it in fact, but he had been selective about his performances, his patrons, his entire career. If he had less scruples about his art, he might be riding in a fine carriage, with servants of his own to look after him instead of one valet-come-butler-come-secretary that kept his small townhouse in order.

Maybe Beatrice is right , he groused inwardly, folding his arms about himself. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to imagine the life he might have, comfortable, warm, secure…restrained, cossetted, restricted. He shook his head to himself.

A gust of wind came whipping down the street, making the sign hanging above the doorway in which Josiah hid creak and drop some fat drops of rain onto him. Annoyed, he instinctively looked up to give a sour look to the sign, as if it had dripped on him intentionally, but his eye was caught by a flash of colour on it. Craning his neck, he attempted to see it better from his limited vantage. Though faded, it was clearly a golden butterfly on a green background. He couldn't begin to understand what would be advertised by such a sign, but he was intrigued.

The gold reminded him of the little sun charm that Lady Eva had worn about her neck at the theatre. Josiah had remembered it because it was such an unusual detail, something he had never seen any other young lady wear. It had struck a kind of nostalgia in him: The palace at Versailles had been full of golden sun emblems, stamped in nearly every free space. He couldn't remember much, but he remembered them clearly, and he remembered the stories about the Sun King, Louis XIV, the great dancer.

This naturally made him reflect on Lady Eva. His decision to accept her as a student had been an impulsive one, born out of nothing more than liking her bearing. She had a curious way of standing perfectly still, and he liked the way that her neck moved when she looked about. It was quite an unconscious grace, and he had caught sight of it when she had poured tea. The fact that her rich, dark eyes had looked at him with such naked hope and intrigue had been an unexpected bonus.

Another gust of wind came barrelling down the little street, bringing with it stray leaves and the remains of pamphlets. Josiah was inclined to burrow deep in his coat when the wind-swept leavings caught his eye. They were trapped in a kind of whirlwind, dancing playfully around each other. He was captivated by this dance of ordinary things, the ease with which they moved about each other in spite of the poor circumstances they found themselves in.

Josiah could not help but reflect on this: Was it not also his duty, a calling on his artful expertise, to take ordinary things and make them into something extraordinary? If he could show the ton that they could be more , that they could be beyond what they asked of him, then he might just be able to have the pure art that he craved, and the security that he needed.

And Lady Eva Stanton would be the perfect specimen to demonstrate his newfound ideology.