Chapter 11

eleven

T HE POETS HAD lied to Perry. All of them.

He’d thought that sending a bunch of flowers to Edith with an apology would have brought her to him in a matter of hours. They would hug, apologise to each other, and start over. Instead, she’d sent a nice, polite, and rather impersonal letter to thank him for the flowers and tell him she was sorry too for the way she’d behaved, promising she’d talk to him soon.

That was it. End of.

Maybe she’d thought he’d sounded too annoyed last night. Maybe she hadn’t liked how he’d pressed her to talk. They knew each other, but their sudden meeting after five years must have shocked her as well.

Hopefully, the beauty of art would give him an answer. His mother had firmly believed that art was the best source of inspiration and calm in troubled times, and that beauty would save the world.

The beautiful painting of a horse running through a green pasture surely gave him calm. Going to the latest art exhibition at the National Gallery had been Oliver’s idea. Naturally. Perry had reluctantly followed, but he had to admit there were some extraordinary paintings worth buying.

“You needn’t worry,” Oliver said, keeping his voice down, even though the gallery wasn’t particularly crowded. “No one is going to talk about your attack in the Scarlet Room. Besides, half of the people in the club were convulsing on their own for one reason or another. Your seizure could have easily been mistaken for the aftershock of a drug.”

Perry’s concern wasn’t about who had witnessed his last seizure, at least not entirely. He didn’t want to be branded as an unhinged person, who needed to be locked up in an asylum, but his situation with Edith concerned him more than anything else.

Although her resilience was proof of her inner strength. Damn, he loved her strength so much; it gave him strength as well.

“I’m not worried,” he said, tilting his head to admire a dramatic depiction of the sea. “Well, a bit. But I haven’t had seizures in almost a year. Why now? The cause can’t be strong emotions. When Albert announced he was leaving for Brazil, I was utterly shocked. Yet no seizure.”

“If only I could understand what triggers your attacks.” Oliver scribbled on his inseparable notepad. “It’s not anger. You’re angry all the time.”

“I’m not.” He moved on to the next painting, a floral composition with delicate colours he approved of. “I get angry only when you tell me I’m angry.”

“See, there are people who have suffered from seizures since childhood. They’re born that way. Your seizures are the result of a head trauma. The key is to find what triggers them. It has to be an emotion, an event, or maybe a particular combination of different types of food. Or something else.” Oliver went through the pages of his notepad. “Do you remember I told you about that young, promising doctor of medicine I met in Vienna during a conference?”

Perry shrugged, moving on to the next painting—a still life. “Not really.”

Oliver released a long breath. “Do you ever pay attention to what I say?”

“Reach your point.”

“I’m talking about Dr. Sigmund Freud. Does the name ring a bell?”

Perry arched his brow. “I’m aFreud not.”

“Ha-ha. Yes, funny. Mock me.” Oliver shot his gaze skywards. “Mock the work I do for you.”

“I very much appreciate everything you do for me, and I believe I show my appreciation with the generous salary you receive from me.”

Oliver waved a dismissive hand. “Talking about money is vulgar.”

“You didn’t think that when we discussed your salary. I remember you being very vocal about how much you wanted a raise.”

“Anyway, Dr. Freud has some fascinating theories about the human brain and about how people can overcome traumas with time and mental exercises. He also thinks that traumas change the way we make decisions deeply and affect our soul or psyche.”

Perry paused, intrigued by the theory. “What about Edith? Obviously, the Princess Alice incident changed the way she behaved.”

“I’ll be honest with you. I think you’re overreacting. She’s simply a young woman, wanting to try new things. She graduated recently after years of hard work. Now she wants a moment of freedom before she starts a demanding job in a hospital wing.”

“Maybe you’re right. It’s that she didn’t seem unfamiliar with excess and wildness.”

Oliver shook his head. “Trust me. Once she starts working, she won’t have time for extravagances. Of course, the incident changed her, but she’s a doctor now. As a doctor, her life is going to be too busy for nonsense like the Scarlet Room.”

“You’re a doctor, and your life isn’t busy enough if you have time for the Scarlet Room.”

Oliver narrowed his gaze. “The excursion was part of your therapy. Purely scientific interest.”

Perry stepped aside when a lady strode past him in a great hurry to reach the exit. He followed her with his gaze. He could swear she was Marianne, Edith’s sister, or rather, she was Lady Lancaster now. The two sisters were nearly identical.

“Lady Lancaster,” he said.

The woman and her maid came to a stop. Yes, it was Edith’s sister, wrapped in fine velvet and silk. Her large eyes grew larger when she saw him.

“Lord Ravenscroft.” She bowed her head.

The maid curtsied.

“I’m happy to see you again, my lady, and to offer my congratulations on your marriage with Viscount Lancaster.”

“Thank you. I’m happy to see you as well, Ravenscroft.” She twisted her reticule.

“Lady Lancaster, this is my friend, Dr. Oliver York,” Perry said.

Oliver bowed. “My lady.”

She gave him a nervous nod before turning to Perry. “Ravenscroft, I hope your health is…” Whatever she meant to say was cut short by her muffled sob. She blinked, clearly making an effort not to make a scene.

“My lady, is something the matter?” he asked in a low tone.

“I must apologise.” Her voice broke. “But I need to leave in a hurry. It’s an urgent matter. I promise I’ll send an invitation for tea soon, so we’ll have the chance to talk properly, but I can’t stay now.”

“By all means. Can I help?”

She shook her head, wiping her tears with a handkerchief.

“I wish you all the best.” Perry had barely time to bow before she gave a quick nod and hurried away.

“What an odd encounter,” Oliver said. “She must have received bad news.”

“In a gallery?”

Perry resumed his stroll until he arrived at the end of the hall where a rope barrier blocked the path.

A uniformed attendant stood in front of a closed curtain behind the rope stand. “Do you gentlemen wish to visit the exclusive collection in this section of the gallery?”

Perry wasn’t sure. Lady Lancaster’s behaviour worried him. Perhaps he should find Edith and ask her if he could help.

“It depends. What’s in there?” Oliver asked.

“Some of the paintings behind this curtain might offend your sensibilities,” the attendant said. “Also, the entrance requires a one-pound fee.”

Offend his sensibilities. Perry took it as a challenge. His sensibilities were quite low, as Edith had pointed out years ago.

“I’m curious. I wish to see the collection.” He handed the man two pounds.

The attendant unhooked the rope barrier and held the curtain open for them. “I shall remind you that, should you wish to buy any piece, you need to take note of the lot number or title before claiming it at the reception area and place your order as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.” Not that Perry meant to buy anything. Albert had a passion for paintings, but Perry wasn’t obsessed with them.

“Goodness.” Oliver turned the colour of strawberries as they stood in front of a nude painting.

The woman in the painting wore only a flimsy tunic that played over her curves as if disturbed by a gust of wind. Excellent technique. Even Perry could see that. The painting had been sold for one hundred and fifty pounds. Absurd.

“Why are you blushing?” Perry asked. “You’re a physician. You should be used to seeing the human body.”

“Not like this.” Oliver patted his forehead with a handkerchief.

“You were in the Scarlet Room with me,” he whispered. “There were naked people everywhere.”

“That was different.” Oliver averted his gaze from the painting. “Those people got naked because they were in their cups, and if you wanted to watch them, it was your choice, but they didn’t explicitly ask to be looked at. This painted lady is here because she wants you to look at her, but I don’t want to.”

Perry frowned. “That’s the most twisted thought I’ve ever heard, and it doesn’t make sense. Also, the lady is a goddess, Artemis, which explains the moon and the lack of clothes. A goddess doesn’t wear clothes and doesn’t care if you stare at her.”

“Now, that doesn’t make sense.”

The next painting depicted another Greek goddess, Hera. Sold as well. She sat naked on a throne, wearing nothing but a tiara of sorts and holding a sceptre. A fan made of peacock feathers opened behind her.

Perry craned his neck to read the name of the artist. Mr. Valentine Carter. The man had talent, as far as Perry could tell. Talent and an obsession with Greek goddesses. The models were stunning as well.

“Mr. Carter is going to make a fortune today.”

“Hardly.” Oliver kept his gaze low. “I heard he’s up to his neck in debt. Gambling, apparently. He owes money to the coal magnate, Sir Andrew Ferguson as well. He’ll be lucky to get a penny after he pays his creditors.”

“Pity. He’s a great artist.” Perry admired Artemis one last time before moving on.

“Oh, goodness.” Oliver lowered his gaze again when it was Aphrodite’s turn. “I can’t, for the love of me.”

Hmm . Yes, Perry had to admit that Aphrodite was rather bold. She stared directly at him with eyes hooded by pleasure, daring him to say she couldn’t enjoy herself. Oliver kept his head down, conceding Aphrodite her victory. Needless to say, the goddess of love and beauty had been sold as well for five hundred pounds. These paintings wouldn’t be there in a matter of hours.

“Let’s move on,” Oliver whispered.

The next painting was—all the breath was punched out of Perry’s lungs.

He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision. The words ‘not possible’ echoed in his mind. The goddess Astrea stood with her arms spread against the backdrop of a dark-blue night sky. Only silver starlight dressed her. Her strawberry-blonde hair formed a halo around her in stark contrast with the night sky. Her forest-green eyes held both shyness and boldness—a combination that made her absolutely stunning. Her curves were one enticing swell after the other. He could spend the whole day tracing them with a finger or his gaze. She looked so real he felt he would touch her if he reached out.

“Tup me blind,” he whispered.

“I’d rather not.” Oliver stared at the tips of his shoes.

“Look.” Perry shook his arm. “You must see this.”

“I’m not sure I’m made for this sort of art. I’d rather stare at still life paintings.”

“Oliver, please, just take a look at this. I need your opinion.”

Scoffing, Oliver raised his head. “Ah! It’s… Dr. Wink—” he hissed before lowering his gaze again.

“As I thought. It’s her. Unequivocally.” Perry ran a hand through his hair.

If he and Oliver had recognised her, anyone could. Hell, her reputation would be ruined forever. She would be mocked and shunned. Her family would suffer, too.

Now Lady Lancaster’s hurry acquired a new meaning. She’d been terrified of someone seeing the painting. In fact, Lady Lancaster could be easily mistaken for Astrea. A disaster. Not that he’d care what a lady chose to do with her body, but he didn’t make the rules. Edith and her sister would be ruined, scorned, and ridiculed. Edith would lose her job as a doctor. She would never find employment.

The price tag read the offers for the painting started at three hundred pounds. Not cheap, but he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t leave her painting there where everyone could buy it.

He nudged Oliver. “Take note of the lot and title. I’m going to buy this damn painting.”