The Crystal Cage Page 16

  ‘Why naturally? Did you know him that well?’

  She did not answer his question directly. ‘I could see that he had energy and enthusiasm and with more capital he would make his company a success.’

  ‘And you provided him with the capital.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I wondered if that was how it was,’ he returned mildly.

  ‘Isn’t it always? Women have little say in these arrangements, even now in the middle of the nineteenth century.’ For the first time in their acquaintance, he heard a note of resentment in her voice.

  ‘But your father—was he happy with the “arrangement”?’

  ‘More than happy.’ The resentment had been replaced with bitterness. ‘He wished very much for me to leave the family home. A small legacy from my mother was useful in persuading someone to take me off his hands.’

  ‘How can you say that? You are a prize men would risk all to win.’

  ‘You are a romantic, Lucas. That is not the way of the world. But you must not think I was coerced. I was very happy to leave my father’s home.’

  ‘Your stepmother?’

  ‘Indeed. She was jealous of the affection my father showed me and made my life unendurable.’

  ‘So Edward Renville rescued you—for a price. Somehow I cannot see him as a knight errant.’

  ‘He has done his best. I am probably not the most useful spouse he could have chosen.’

  ‘He got your money.’

  ‘That is very crude.’

  ‘It was a crude agreement.’

  ‘You are not kind.’

  Her voice was a gentle reproof, and he was desperate to wrap her round with his love. ‘I cannot bear to think of your having to submit to a man like Renville.’

  ‘I cannot complain. My husband is devoted to his business and I have a comfortable home. I am permitted to shop alone and to visit museums and galleries whenever I wish. Many husbands, you know, insist that their wives stay at home. It is not Edward’s fault that we share little understanding of each other’s lives.’

  ‘Why did he suggest that you become involved with the Exhibition?’

  ‘I think he is conscious that I need occupation now that the girls are older. I should be grateful for that.’

  And so should I, Lucas thought. When Renville decided that his wife should oversee the pavilion design, he could not have considered the possibility that she would find occupation of a very different kind. A young man without status, a mere junior employee, would not merit a moment’s serious concern.

  She went on talking, seeming eager to defend her absent husband. ‘Edward can be kind—he is very kind to the girls.’

  ‘So you have said, but to you?’

  ‘He is not unkind. He rarely bothers me.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Her blush this time was fiery.

  ‘I think you must know.’

  ‘And me?’ he asked, his hand coaxing her lips to his.

  ‘You, Lucas? I would like you to bother me until eternity!’

  * * *

  Two evenings later they were lying together, exhausted from passion, when footsteps sounded outside the pavilion. She made to jump to her feet, but Lucas restrained her with one hand and put the other to his lips to signal silence. It was very dark and with luck the intruder would see nothing if he or she came farther into the room. For a few terrifying moments, the steps shuffled here and there and then slowly retreated towards the staircase.

  A man’s rough voice shouted to someone on the floor below. ‘If we are to do anything useful, we need a light up here. It’s as black as pitch.’

  The response was inaudible, but the footsteps going down the staircase were clear enough. The man had gone to fetch a light. They sprung to their feet and hastily dressed. Then very cautiously they emerged from the pavilion and made their way to the staircase, hearts jumping, in case the man or his companion had found the light they sought and were about to return. But fortune favoured them and they were down the stairway and out through the entrance, meeting no one other than a lone workman loading surplus glass on to a rickety wagon.

  They walked swiftly to Park Lane and managed to find a hansom almost immediately. Neither had spoken since that dreadful instant of near discovery, and they continued the journey in silence, hands held fast. The cab swung round into Prospect Place, and they saw that the windows of number eight were brightly lit. For once the master was home and Lucas felt his lover tremble beside him.

  Her voice was hardly steady when she spoke. ‘I will tell Edward that some of the draping has not been as successful as we hoped and that you asked me to accompany you in order to approve a different arrangement.’

  He wondered if her husband would be deceived by something so patently flimsy. When she grasped the cab door and made to dismount, he stayed her hand, bringing her face to his and kissing her long and deeply. She emerged from his embrace gasping.

  ‘What are you thinking! Here of all places.’

  ‘I am thinking that I love you. We belong together, Alessia, and should not have to adopt such subterfuge.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No “buts.” Only let the Exhibition open, and we will be together, I promise.’

  ‘How can that be?’

  ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘Tell me.’ The fear had left her face.

  ‘You must go now but trust me. We will soon be together for good.’

  She kissed his cheek and the smell of jasmine stayed with him as he walked the short distance to Red Lion Square.

  Once in his room, he divested himself of outdoor coat and shoes and lay down on the bed to think. His surroundings seemed to him less appealing than ever. During the day the room attracted the best light in the house, having a skylight to the chimney tops of Holborn as well as a small window on to the street, but at this time of the evening its dark brown paint was gloomy enough to corrode even the most sanguine of souls. He had pushed the small bed tightly against the wall in order to clear space for a desk and his drawing equipment. But apart from a chair and a narrow stand on which perched a tin basin for washing, the room was devoid of furniture. There was no wardrobe and what clothes he possessed remained folded in his trunk. It was not a place to which he could bring Alessia.

  He had high hopes of the Southerham commission, but he would need to redouble his efforts. The recent interview with Lord Carlyon had been instructive. The man was good natured but essentially ignorant of architecture. He had seemed to like Lucas, to enjoy his company, and had insisted that when the young man returned for a second consultation, he was to eat his meat with him and not with the servants. Lucas was determined to use this proximity to his advantage. The earl’s help would be essential if he were to provide a home for the woman he loved. Divorce was impossible—at least for the moment—though once he became a wealthy man, the situation would be different. But divorce, marriage, none of it meant a jot. All that mattered was to be with her.

  He slept little that night, his mind busying itself with visions of a shared future and with the more pressing problem of where in the meantime they could meet. It was clear that the Crystal Palace was no longer an option. Tonight they had escaped discovery, but the next time they would not be so fortunate. From now until the Exhibition opened, there would be increased activity in the galleries above: workmen, contractors, exhibitors would be swarming. There could be no next time, but he had to see her. He spent much of the night considering alternatives, finally settling on Vauxhall Gardens. Although little of its illustrious past remained, the gardens were still a place where the sexes could meet freely without social constraint. Vauxhall itself had become tawdry, but the neighbourhood of Kennington was newly respectable and he had few qualms in asking Alessia to meet him there. The gardens’ greatest advantage was that they were large and in parts very dark, large and dark enough for them to lose themselves among the crowd and meet in complete secrecy.

  * * *

&nb
sp; He met her there on his return from a second brief visit to Southerham Hall. For once Alessia’s time was unrestricted. Edward Renville had left for Southampton that morning for contract meetings with his carriers, their two daughters remained at St Albans and the impertinent Martha had been given leave of absence to visit her sick mother. They would have the time to talk; only talk, he reminded himself, after their recent alarm. He had much to tell her, for he had returned from Norfolk in jubilant mood. Lord Carlyon had given his verbal agreement to very considerable modifications to the chapel’s design and it was now most definitely a delicate Italianate building, all vestige of the Gothic disappeared. Further encouragement followed when he broached the topic of a private contract and found the earl ready to listen. Nothing was agreed definitely, but it was sufficient for Lucas that Lord Carlyon had not rejected outright the idea of employing him on a purely personal basis. He had been careful to intimate that after the grand opening of the Great Exhibition when the Renville commission would be finally completed, he would be free to walk from de Vere’s unencumbered. He was sure that he could negotiate a substantial fee for the work at Southerham, which would allow him to set up on his own for the very first time, albeit in a small way. Best of all it would enable him to provide Alessia with a worthy home.

  He met her by the main gates of Vauxhall. She was heavily cloaked despite the gentleness of the April evening, and he could see immediately that she was unusually nervous. He wondered if it was the unaccustomed meeting place that was disturbing her and whether his choice had been apt. A glimpse of the gardens ahead showed them uninviting, the lamps on the main walk burning dingily amid scrubby trees and the company going in and out of the gates decidedly raffish. But he had important news to tell and he quickly paid their admission.

  ‘You are very quiet, my love,’ he remarked as they strolled down the South Walk. ‘Does this place perturb you? Vauxhall is hardly the Crystal Palace, I grant.’

  She looked vaguely around as though she hardly registered her surroundings. ‘I am well, Lucas, thank you.’ Her voice had lost its rich music.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, it is really nothing.’

  ‘Which means that you are bothered by something. Tell me,’ he urged.

  She hesitated for some minutes before saying diffidently, ‘I thought that I recognised someone as I approached the gates. But I must have been mistaken.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A woman. She looked like a visitor who once came to tea with my mother-in-law. But I must be mistaken,’ she repeated.

  ‘I think you must. I cannot imagine a friend of the elder Mrs Renville frequenting Vauxhall!’

  He was cajoling her, quite sure that her nervous state had precipitated these qualms. ‘But just in case, we will hide ourselves completely,’ and he steered her towards one of the small paths that led away from the main promenade towards what he knew was the Dark Walk. Here the lamps were absent and the company very thin. It was not long before he found a small wooden shelter half way up the Walk where they could be entirely alone amid thick darkness.

  ‘I have news,’ he said, trying to not to betray his excitement. ‘The plans I have been pursuing are now almost certain. I hope to be designing the Carlyon chapel as an architect in my own right.’

  She looked at him blankly. Her mind still seemed far away and he had to reiterate, ‘I will be leaving de Vere’s.’

  This startled her into words. ‘But without a salary, how will you manage? How will you afford your lodgings?’

  ‘Once I am working for the earl, I will be able to afford far superior lodgings. So superior they will be good enough to accommodate you.’

  ‘I will be able to visit you there?’

  He clasped her hands tightly between his. ‘You will be able to live with me there.’

  ‘You are suggesting that I leave my home?’

  He could not understand her reluctance but said patiently, ‘We cannot continue to meet like this, Alessia. You must know that. We must have a place to call our own.’

  ‘But I cannot leave Edward. I am his wife.’

  Why did she cling so tenaciously to a life that she despised? ‘Are you not more my wife than his?’ he asked urgently.

  ‘But in the eyes of the church…’ Her voice trailed off, disappearing into the night mist.

  ‘What matters most—our eyes or those of a distant church?’ He was almost fierce in his denunciation.

  ‘Ours,’ she agreed unhappily.

  ‘So?’

  ‘But you cannot have thought—my daughters—’

  ‘The proceeds of the Carlyon commission will allow me to rent a substantial house. We will have them to live with us.’

  ‘Edward would never agree.’

  ‘But surely he would not separate them from their mother.’

  ‘They are his children and he will wish to keep them. The law is on his side.’

  ‘I accept that, but if he knows what it means to you to have them?’

  ‘Can you not understand? They are his children, I am his wife. We belong to him. If I should dare to leave, he will do everything in his power to hurt me.’

  The eagerness slowly drained from Lucas and he slumped back against the shelter’s rough wooden wall. She turned to him in anguish, desperately gripping his shoulders. ‘I cannot relinquish my daughters, Lucas. You cannot ask it of me.’

  When he responded, his voice held the note of defeat. ‘What you are saying is that you will never come to me.’

  A long and painful silence descended between them while Alessia slowly twisted into mangled leather the gloves she held. At length, in a voice hardly above a whisper, she said, ‘I did not say that.’

  The words appeared wrenched from her, but they galvanised Lucas. He leant forward again, all his eagerness returned. ‘Then say you will come. Say that you love me enough to do this.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ she said slowly, ‘I think you do not know just how much I love you.’

  ‘Then come to me, my darling.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘As soon as the Great Exhibition has opened, I will be free to work for Lord Carlyon. I will make all the necessary plans.’

  ‘And my children?’

  ‘Once we are settled in our new home, I will request an interview with your husband. I will tell him your need for your daughters and say that everything will be done discreetly. You are not a part of his social world, so who is to know that you no longer live at Wisteria Lodge?’

  She shook her head and a look of near despair flooded her lovely face.

  ‘Alessia!’ he said urgently. ‘It cannot truly matter to Edward Renville whether you live with him or not. It is only his business that he cares for. And as for the children, he will see them whenever he wishes.’

  Her continued silence moved him to desperation. ‘If you love me, you will come.’

  ‘I do, I do,’ she said sobbing into his shoulder.

  And he put his arms around her and drew her close. Gentle caresses slowly soothed her, but soon his kisses became harder and more insistent. She was like a drug to him; he could not bear to be without her. He needed to feel her body, her heart, her soul, ever close to him. Beneath his touch she was beginning to burn. Her arms embraced him; her lips were on his neck. Then she was undoing his cravat, unbuttoning his shirt. Her kisses were heightening his passion unendurably and crushing all his good intentions into very small pieces. He took her hand and plunged them into the darkness of the gardens. The soft grass beneath their feet provided all the bed they would need. Slowly and thoroughly his hands began to move over her body, undressing her as he went, his mouth following where his hands led. The warm night air caressed their bare skin and together they took fire until every fibre of Lucas’s being sang with hot pleasure. His body ablaze, the world around him vanished into nothingness—the soft grass, the distant lights, the white rags of mist trailing the night sky. His world was contained only in this instant and he gave himself up to i
t. It was as though this was the last moment of true love that he would ever know. But that was stupid. In a few weeks she would be his forever and tonight they were free to love until dawn.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nick ran his fingers down my spine in an exploratory gesture. The metallic tick of the ancient alarm filled my ear, and I raised myself onto one elbow to squint at its dial. In the harsh sodium light that penetrated the room’s thin curtains, I made out the hands. They showed ten minutes to four, well before dawn. I gave a small sigh of protest, but it did nothing to deflect him, so I turned over and made ready to enjoy what was on offer. I hadn’t known what to expect after our night in Dorchester, but he’d turned out to be a surprisingly expert and considerate lover. Fun, too, and we had spent most of the three days since our return in bed. It made a happy change from Oliver’s careful schedule, but it was playing hell with my sleep patterns. Not that I really cared; I’d begun to embrace Nick’s chaotic lifestyle with worrying ease.

  When we’d arrived back at Waterloo, he had accompanied me to Lyndhurst Villas. I hadn’t expected that, but I was glad to have him with me. The house was empty and echoing, and for the first time in years I didn’t feel at home.

  ‘I can’t stay here,’ I said.

  ‘Why do you think I came back with you? Pack a bag and stay at my place.’

  I hadn’t been at all sure. If I went to his flat, I would be burning my boats, opting for one man over another. Or would I? I could stay with Nick as a friend, as long as I made that clear. Oliver was in Newcastle and would be there for at least another two or three days. Perhaps all I needed to clear my mind was a change of scene. I grabbed clean clothes from one of the capacious wardrobes that Oliver favoured and then went into the small room that functioned as my office. My laptop, books, my copy of Kelly, a few papers—even to me it seemed as though I were planning to stay away a little longer than a few days.

  Nick’s flat turned out to be every bit as grim as he’d described. It was in a small, grubby side street a few minutes from Kings Cross. In daylight the area was hardly salubrious, but by the time we passed the station, the ladies of the night were already doing good business. His rooms, all two of them, were in the basement of a dreary Victorian terrace. Even on a fine June evening they were entirely lacking in natural light, and the very few pieces of furniture Nick possessed were lit by a harsh neon glow. Their air of moth-eaten dilapidation suggested they might well have fallen from a passing skip. I tried not to advertise my sinking spirits, but the contrast with Lyndhurst Villas was too stark to ignore.