A Mad, Wicked Folly (28 page)

HE DAY AFTER
the exam, the verdict came in on
Lucy and the thirteen other women who had been
arrested for throwing stones the evening of the
June deputation. They were convicted and sent to
Holloway Prison in the second division, in with the prison

population, instead of in first division with the other political prisoners, who were allowed to wear their own clothes,
write letters, and live in less stringent conditions.

A week later, Sophie had bought a
Votes for Women
, and
the two of us hovered over it, reading about their ordeal.
The women, including Lucy, had protested by refusing to
eat. They hunger-struck for six days until they were too
unwell to continue their sentences. The prison officials
released them because they were concerned they would
die, and the government did not want the deaths of the
women on its hands.

In the same edition, Emmeline Pankhurst wrote an
article on hunger-striking. She said that the government
had closed the door on peaceful protest and she believed
the WSPU had now found a weapon with which to defeat
the government. Retaining control of one’s own body had
become a political statement. Hunger-striking was a way
to passively resist the injustices women endured because
they were not treated as equals to men. It was now WSPU
policy, and if any woman or man wanted to go to prison,
they were to hunger-strike or not go at all.

To endure six whole days without food in that noisome
prison. I shuddered to think of it. Lucy was the bravest
woman I knew.

WHILE I WAITED
for the exam results, I tried to take
my mind off of things. I attended several balls with Edmund and helped with the rest of the wedding details.
The work in the Chelsea house was completed, the new
furniture in place. Wedding gifts had begun to arrive.
The Wedgwood china, the Elkington silverware, and the
Waterford crystal took pride of place on the dining room
table, where they would be displayed to visitors during
my first at-home. Edmund and I organized our honeymoon, a week in Scotland, and met with the vicar at St.
George’s Hanover Square in Mayfair, where we would be
married.

I went to Clement’s Inn with Sophie to see Lucy in her
flat after she’d been released from prison. I brought her
some grapes and a book on jewelry I found in a shop on
Charing Cross Road. Lucy was in good spirits, and seemed
even more determined to fight after her ordeal.

Finally, at the end of July, the day of the exam results
arrived. I very nearly didn’t bother to go back to the RCA
for the results, but I had to see it through to the end. If Lucy
could endure hunger for so long in a horrid prison, then I
could face my disastrous exam results.

Again, with the excuse of a stroll, John took Sophie
and me to Kensington Gardens. Sophie waited in the RCA’s
vestibule while I went in to join the other prospective students. I found a place in the back.

The girl who’d gone in to meet the panel after me was
sitting on a bench. “How did you get on?” she asked as I sat
down beside her.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “The arithmetic section quite
eluded me. And I don’t think the examiners were much
impressed.”

She winced. “I found the same to be true. I couldn’t get
my head round those figures. I left them blank. I hope they
don’t grade too harshly on that. I need a scholarship to go
here; I can’t go without it. If I’m accepted,” she whispered
this last bit, as if she daren’t speak it out loud.

I realized then that if I hadn’t agreed to marry Edmund,
I’d be in the same place as the girl.
The clerk came out of his office and pinned a paper to
the notice board. He was nearly swallowed up as the students bustled about it, crying out in happiness or dismay.
I hung back, wanting to wait until they had all gone. The
girl waited at the back of the queue. When her turn came,
she stared at the list and then pushed her way out of the
crowd, I saw that her eyes were red and she was blinking
back tears. She said nothing to me. She hurried from the
hall, her arms crossed over her chest, staring at the floor.
I stood up and then sat back down. My life began or
ended now. If my name was on the list, then I would take
that as a sign that the path I had chosen for myself was
the right one. And if it wasn’t? I closed my eyes
. If it isn’t?
What will you do then?
the voices whispered.
That will prove
that you aren’t an artist after all. That you’re preposterous for
even trying
.
Finally the room emptied, and I approached the list for
the RCA School of Painting. The names were written neatly
on lines. First the scholarships. My name was not there.
The main class list followed. I found my name among
the
D
s and slid my finger over.
Victoria Darling. Accepted
.
I had to read it again.
Accepted
.
I ran my finger back to my name just to make sure I had
read the line correctly.
It was true. I was going to the RCA.
I had done it.
I stepped back from the list. My dream of attending
the RCA would become a reality. All of the hard work had
been worth it.
On the way home in the carriage, I held Sophie’s hand
tightly. I couldn’t keep myself from smiling. I must have
looked insane sitting there with a mad grin on my face. But
I couldn’t help it. I was in. I had made it into art school. I
was an artist. A real artist. I wanted to shout it to the whole
world. I wanted to tell Will, the one person I couldn’t tell.
And yet even this didn’t drown out my happiness. Today,
nothing could.

Y PARENTS WERE
getting ready to spend two
weeks of August in Europe, as they did every
year. This year, however, I would not be joining
them. Instead, I would stay home with Sophie
to finish preparing the house and my wardrobe, and see to

wedding details with Lady Carrick-Humphrey. My mother
wanted to stay, but felt a spa in Germany would be good
for my father.

Although I was busy with India and Lady CarrickHumphrey over the course of those two weeks, I didn’t see
much of Edmund. He had gone to Cowes Week on the Isle
of Wight in the beginning of August to crew on a friend’s
cutter. My parents were nearly due back when an invitation arrived for a Friday-to-Monday party at his family
manor house in Gloucestershire.

Sophie and I took the train to Gloucestershire, and
India and Edmund met us in his motorcar. The CarrickHumphrey country home was near the village of Dyrham
in an ancient deer park in a lovely old baroque-style mansion. Sir Henry had recently purchased it from a newly
impoverished earl. The house was a jewel in a setting of
acres of woodland and parkland. The inside was decorated
in the Dutch style with Delft pottery and tile. But no feeling of warmth lingered in the hushed rooms and hallways.
It felt like a museum: a place to visit and look at but never
to touch.

Luncheon was ready when we arrived. Jonty’s wife,
Millicent, spent most of the time in her room suffering
from “delicate nerves,” as Jonty put it. Jonty’s best friend,
Alfred, a balding man in his thirties, seemed glued to his
side. Edmund’s mother had left to take the waters in Bath,
but his father remained, hanging on Jonty’s every word
and virtually ignoring Edmund altogether.

I was bored beyond redemption. I had forgotten
how oppressing these noble country houses could be.
Snobbery was right under the surface, bleeding through
the shiny politeness like speckles on an antique looking
glass. We all sat through lunch as if enchanted, listening to Jonty and his father talk about shooting grouse as
though they were great white hunters bagging a man-eating lion in the Congo instead of Englishmen dressed in
Norfolk suits shooting at birds that were raised in a cage
and then enticed to fly by men whacking at the undergrowth with sticks.

The ladies withdrew for drinks on the veranda after
luncheon, leaving the men in the library to their brandies
and cigars. The day was growing chilly, and, remembering
I had left my wrap in the sitting room, I went to collect it.
Sir Henry was coming out of the library just then and he
saw me.

“Ah, Miss Darling. I was just coming to collect you. I’d
like a word,” he said. He held out his hand. “Shall we go
into my study?”

I was a little taken aback but I went with him. He gestured for me to sit in a large leather chair by the fire and sat
opposite me. He crossed one leg over the other and settled
back as if we were going to have a nice chat, future loving
father-in-law to future dutiful daughter-in-law.

“Well, my dear, the wedding day is getting close, only
a fortnight away. Most exciting for you, I should say. I’m
sure you will look charming in your wedding dress, most
charming.”

“Thank you, Sir Henry.”
“Now, no more of that ‘Sir Henry,’ my dear.” He smiled
broadly. I could not help but think again how his mustache
made him look like a walrus. Really, his valet should tell
him so. “You must call me Papa.”
“Thank you, Papa.” I felt ridiculous calling him Papa,
but if it pleased him, who was I to argue?
“Now, Edmund told me this morning of your request to
go to an art school in London.”
“It’s not a request, Sir Henry. I’m going. I’ve done the
work and I’ve been accepted.” I laughed a little. Nothing
could keep me from art school now. It was absurd of Sir
Henry to think he could put his paw over me like that, but I
wondered why Edmund had even mentioned art school to
him. I hadn’t told him I’d been accepted yet. Really, what
business was it of his father’s?
Sir Henry waved his hand as if my statement was nothing but an annoying gnat flying around him, something
that could be swatted down easily. “I don’t think so. It’s not
the done thing for women in our family to be so, well, shall
we say, present.”
The smile faded from my face. “Whatever do you
mean?”
“I mean the answer is no. You won’t be going to art
school,” Sir Henry said in a casual tone. He rose and
crossed to a side table and poured sherry in two glasses.
He handed one to me. I set it down on the table beside me.
I did not want to drink it. “Do not think that word of your
scandalous behavior in France passed me by. I am not stupid, nor am I willing to tolerate any similar behavior in the
future. I will not have a daughter-in-law going to college,
nor a bohemian one who keeps company with the great
unwashed. I suggest you spend your days as India and my
wife do, working with their charities and attending to their
social obligations. That should please you.”
I stood up. “I have made my decision, Sir Henry. I don’t
intend to flutter through life without leaving my mark. I’m
sorry if you don’t agree with my decision.”
“No. I’m sorry for you.” Sir Henry’s words held the
promise of a threat. “I have no intention of my daughter-inlaw ‘leaving her mark’ upon the world.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Oh, but I can!” Sir Henry spread his tailcoat out and
sat back down. “Who do you think holds the title to your
house? Who will pay your servants; buy your food, your
clothing? I loosen and tighten the purse strings, my dear.”
I had to stay calm. It wouldn’t do to get angry with him.
He was simply trying to control me, as my father had on
so many occasions. “I don’t wish to be rude, Sir Henry.”
His brows rose. “Forgive me—Papa. But I don’t need your
money. My father has settled an allowance upon me in the
wedding contract, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“He has, but it’s tied. He will release the funds after bills
are submitted for his approval. Do you think he’ll approve
of art school?”
My breath caught. I should have known. I should’ve
have known that Papa would tie my money up in such a
way. Freddy himself trod lightly when it came to his allowance, as he had attested that day when he said he was as
much of a lapdog as I was. But Papa had not counted on the
fact that Edmund was on my side. “Edmund will be working with my father and earning his own money. Edmund
can pay for my schooling, then.”
“Not so.” Sir Henry settled back and took another sip of
his sherry. “My son will only receive a small stipend until
he inherits the business fully when your father passes. Do
you think I’d let Edmund loose with money to gamble away
just as he has done in the past, causing this family further
shame and scandal? You will thank me for it later, my dear.
Money slips through that young man’s hands. Your father
and I are in complete agreement. What’s more, your father
will go to this
art college
and tell them you don’t have our
permission to attend. So it’s no good you trying to wheedle anything out of him. We will have no more talk of this
nonsense.”
I clenched my hands at my sides so hard that my nails
cut into my palms. It was pointless to argue with such an
irrational man.
As politely as I could, I left the study and I went in
search of Edmund. After searching around the enormous
house, I found him sitting in a leather chair, drinking
brandy, in the library.
“Do you know what your father just said to me?” I said.
“Haven’t a clue, but most likely he’s pulled you up,
judging from the look on your face.” Edmund watched me
carefully, almost warily.
“He said I’m not allowed to go to art college. As if he
has a say in my life! Edmund, you have to tell him that I’m
going. Make him see sense.”
I assumed Edmund would stand up immediately and go
and confront his father, but instead he shrugged as if I had
asked for something so inconsequential that he couldn’t be
bothered to even get up out of the chair.
“There’s nothing for it, old thing. Our fathers hold all
the aces. If he says you can’t go to college, then you can’t
go to college.”
At first I thought I hadn’t heard him correctly. I was
kneeling down in front of him and reaching out my arms
to embrace him when his words seeped into my mind. And
it was as if Edmund’s words had formed a fist that lashed
out and struck me in the stomach. I could actually feel the
breath leave my body.
Edmund was not going to stand up to his father for me.
He didn’t even have the courage to look at me. He sat there,
slumped in his chair, staring down into his blasted brandy,
running his finger round and round the rim of the glass. I
wanted to grab it out of his hand and dash it in his face. The
coward! The absolute and utter coward.
I stood up and backed away from him, shaking my
head. I couldn’t find any words to say. I turned and fled the
room.
“Victoria!” I heard him call, but I did not pause. I heard
his footsteps on the marble floor as he ran up behind me.
He grasped my elbow. “Will you stop!”
I glared at him. “Did you know he wasn’t going to let
me go to school?”
He glanced around. “I don’t want to talk about this
here.” He took my hand and led me up the stairs to his
rooms.
Edmund’s valet, Haskell, was stacking shirts in a
bureau drawer. Edmund waved his hand, dismissing him.
“I told him about your wishes and he said no, straightaway.
I was going to tell you, but he beat me to it, as it goes.”
“Why can’t you stand up to him?” I sat on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Victoria. You’ve seen what he’s
like. It would be like banging my head against a brick
wall.” He took the stopper off the brandy decanter on his
dresser and peered inside. “Blast! I’ve told Haskell to keep
this filled.” He grabbed the bottle by the neck, strode to
the door, and jerked it open. He called the valet back and
handed the bottle out to him.
“We don’t need him, Edmund. We can find another
place to live that’s less dear.”
“Victoria, consider what you’re saying. I won’t live in a
mean flat somewhere and have to scratch for every ha’penny.
My father doesn’t care if you paint, just as long as you keep it
to the house. You have that little shed in the garden to draw
your pictures and whatnot. Why can’t that content you?”
“Because I yearn to learn more. I’m not satisfied with
doing ‘little pictures,’ as you put it. I need to know more,
Edmund.”
“Why? For what? It’s not as though you will exhibit
your work.”
“That is my dream: to exhibit my work. Of course
it is. But I will never be able to show anything without
instruction.”
Edmund looked appalled. “It’s a bit thick, Victoria. I’m
not happy with you putting your work about in public. It’s
not the done thing in our circle, you know. Why not just
leave it alone?” He began to pace the room. “Where is that
damned Haskell with the brandy?”
“I won’t marry you, Edmund, if I can’t go to school.”
There was no point to my marriage with Edmund if I
couldn’t go to school. Mercenary though it might seem, both
Edmund and I had reasons of our own for this marriage.
He stopped his infernal pacing and turned to look at
me. He had an expression on his face as though I had told
him I had decided to become a lead miner.
“You’d give up a grand life with me just so you can put
paint on a bit of card?” He was outraged.
“Is that what you think I do? How would you like it if I
compared your rowing to punting on the Serpentine?”
Haskell came in with the brandy just then. Edmund
took it. I could see his hands shaking as he filled the glass
to the brim. He drank the brandy in one long gulp. “What
about
your
seven hundred pounds, eh? Why don’t you talk
to your own father? Why must I?”
“He won’t listen to me, Edmund,” I said, frustrated with
the way the conversation was proceeding. “I’m just a girl!”
A cold rush came over me.
What had just happened?
Those dreaded words tumbled out of my own mouth so
easily, as if I knew them to be true. Hearing myself speak
that phrase was worse than hearing it from anyone else.
Immediately, tears flooded my eyes.
Edmund came over to me. He took me in his arms, but
I was frozen in place and stood rigid as a marble statue.
“You’re right, of course. It’s my duty to speak for both of
us.” His face was tender as he looked at me. He brushed his
lips across mine. “Don’t cry. I’ll talk to my father, I promise.
I’ll talk him round. You’ll see.”
I went back to my room and sank down onto the floor
of my lavatory. I pressed my forehead against my knees
and cried. My dreams shattered one by one as my future
unfolded in my mind’s eye. I would bite my tongue, and
keep my opinions to myself. I would go along with plans
laid out for me. I would hide my work away. The little summerhouse meant as my refuge would be my prison. And
one day I would grow tired of pushing and shoving to take
the tiniest of steps forward, and just like my mother, I
would shut my sketchbook in the middle of a drawing and
hide it away. I would lock the door of the summerhouse
that held all my artwork inside, and leave it forever.
Because that’s what someone who was just a girl would
do.