The Education of Portia (17 page)

"How kind of you. But I must tell you, we have our own traditions here, and have had
since we began the school. We celebrate the holidays together with those of our staff who wish
to join us and who have no other family to claim their time. We are a family more than
employers and employees. Indeed, my brother and I have celebrated the day alone on more than
one occasion and find that our family connection is strengthened by the holy day." Her words
were full of apology and affection.

Stadbroke sensed that her regret was not completely sincere however. He had warned
his daughters that their invitation might be declined, and he was pleased now when they did not
press their suit. He had told them what he would do if they were refused.

He said, "Then would you join me and my guests for a dinner party on Boxing Day,
Miss Crossmichael? You and Mr. Dent. It is a small party--perhaps a dozen guests. Mrs.
Perrington, my aunt, is acting as my hostess."

He caught the agonized glance Portia shot Caldwell and the imperceptible shake of the
head with which he answered her. "It is my intention to introduce Mr. Dent to certain people I
think might be able to advance his career," he added persuasively.

Miss Crossmichael seemed immediately to lose her hesitation. "That would be very
nice," she said.

Caldwell Dent reinforced her response. "We should be delighted."

Despite his words, and Portia's forced enthusiasm, Ingram still doubted their sincerity.
He allowed his daughters to wax lyrical over the projected visit and closely considered brother
and sister.
I don't think either of you are pleased
.
And I want to know why
.

* * * *

Caldwell managed to schedule two more sittings for the portrait before the Christmas
holidays were upon them. Portia regarded each one as a penance for her sins, and tried to avoid
Lord Stadbroke if she possibly could. The pleasure she experienced on the mere sight of his
laughing countenance and well-knit frame was mixed with distress, and the urgency to keep the
secrets of the extortion cost her dearly.

She welcomed the bustle of departures for Christmas as it caught up Mansion House
School. All the young ladies this year were to go to their homes; occasionally over the years
Portia had been required to entertain one or two girls unable to go home for one reason or
another, but this year all was well. She was glad of it.

Harold Dent had begun as she prophesied, to make untenable demands. He had asked
for a little extra to tide him over Christmas. Caldwell had obliged with a twenty pound
banknote.

When the school was silent at last the day before Christmas Eve, she allowed herself the
luxury of a few tears in the privacy of her bedchamber. Each of the Perrington girls had pressed a
small package upon her before departing with their father and they were now arrayed on her
dressing table. Penelope had fashioned her a pen wiper, Melicent a blank journal of costly
hot-pressed paper. Sabina had evidently had pin money to spare and had purchased her a diaphanous
scarf in a silvery blue-grey silk. The tears welled up anew as she touched the gifts in turn with a
gentle finger. She hoped they would have a happy Christmas, Stadbroke as well as his daughters.
The girls had come to mean a great deal to her.

Portia wished she might have accepted their invitation to Christmas dinner, but she
knew that it would have been one of the greatest errors of her life to have done so. Their family
circle was not hers; to join it and then to relinquish its warmth and tenderness would have
undone her. She had now more than ever to stand firm upon her independence and
self-sufficiency. Nevertheless the look of concern and inquiry in the viscount's dark eyes when he
had come for his daughters three hours previously had disconcerted her. His impatience with her
she could endure, his kindness she could not. And she had to be so careful, for there was no
doubt that he had overheard her talking to Cal about payments. He knew something was amiss,
and though his solicitude seemed genuine, she could only think that his disgust at her duplicity
would destroy any sympathy he experienced.

Her Christmas was a jumbled mass of emotion, vastly different from her usual tranquil
enjoyment of the festive and holy season. Heloise and Gavrielle joined them for the celebrations.
They all attended midnight mass conducted by Mr. Sainsthorpe, they exchanged small gifts on
Christmas morning, and they enjoyed a Christmas dinner shared with Miss Gosberton, Mrs.
Yaxham, Mr. Billockby and Mrs. Shap. By the time Portia retired on Christmas Day her face felt
frozen in a false smile, and her head ached with the effort of appearing carefree.

A night's sleep--though not sound--revived her. She and Caldwell presented their
servants with their Christmas boxes and then it was time to enter the coach for the drive to
London and the dinner party at Lord Stadbroke's establishment. It was very cold and the moon,
rising in the east, tangled in the bare branches of the great trees that edged the lane.

Portia shivered within her fur-lined cloak, sought the hot brick at her feet with some
urgency, and twined together her gloved hands within her rabbit-skin muff. She was happy to be
in the privacy of the coach with her brother so that they might discuss their affairs.

"I wish you will tell Heloise of your father's duplicity," she said to Caldwell, watching
the moon struggle free of the trees. "I cannot like to keep anything from her; she is such a good
friend to us."

Caldwell was frowning at the opposite wall in the dim carriage. The new muffler that
Gavrielle had knitted for him was wound warmly about his throat but his ears, revealed by his
low crowned beaver, looked cold. "I will not tell her anything that may colour her decision
regarding my suit," he said.

"Have you reason to think she is considering your suit?"

"I have hope--she seems just a little more easy, a little more inclined to believe that I
know my mind and have proved my constancy." He turned to her, lost in his expectations.

Portia put a gloved hand on his arm. "I do hope you are right. I long to see you settled
and happy, both of you, and Gavrielle. And this party of Lord Stadbroke's may well set the seal
on your acceptance as portraitist to the ton."

"Shall we tell him of my father's threats?" Caldwell returned to practicality.

"No! Why on earth should we do that? It can be none of his affair."

"So vehement, Port! Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. He...he rubs me the wrong way, catches me wrong-footed. I always
feel gawky and gauche in his company."

"You don't look it. You are one of those women who improves with years, relaxing into
elegance, supported by taste and intelligence. And you look particularly nice in that costume."
He gestured at her, indicating that he meant the fine mulberry hued merino crepe evening gown
now concealed by her fur-lined Nicholas blue cloak.

"Yes, well, it may be the last new gown I can afford, if Dent keeps up his demands. I
knew how it would be. We should have refused to cooperate--bow to his demands--when he first
began this. I cannot see how we can go on. First one hundred pounds, then another one. He has
three times asked for small amounts like that twenty pound note. In the new year, I think we
must tell him to do his worst."

Caldwell was silent for long minutes. The only sounds were the coachman's tuneless
whistle from his cold lips, and the horses' hooves racketing briskly on the frozen road. "The
scandal will destroy the school."

"But we have done nothing wrong. How can people believe such wickedness? We have
lived exemplary lives. We are brother and sister in all but blood. We have witnesses to our
innocence."

"People love a juicy scandal, whether it is true or not."

"Well, at least if we defy him, we shall have money to retire in comfort. If we go on in
this way, we shall be without money, he will still do his worst, and we will lose the school
anyway." Portia felt tears threaten her carefully created façade of elegance. "And possibly
your clients--your career..."

"Oh, everyone expects an artist to be scandalous." He was determinedly cheerful. "I
expect it will add a fillip of excitement to my commissions."

She sniffed, and searched her reticule for her handkerchief. "But...Heloise...she must
not be surprised by the scandal."

"Come along, Port. It will not do to give way to the dismals. I will tell Heloise when I
think the time is right."

"Very well. But I shall have to tell Miss Gosberton if the payments go on, and she may
tell Mrs. Yaxham. We must preserve their positions at all costs."

His grunt was impatient. "No more, for here we are."

The coachman drew the horses to a halt before a handsome establishment, ablaze with
flambeaux and lighted windows.

"Pin on a smile, Portia. Time enough to worry after the seasonal festivities are
over."

Portia did as he bid as her groom handed down from the coach. She and Caldwell
hurried up the steps and out of the cold. They were greeted by the viscount's austere butler and
their cloaks and appurtenances were tenderly born away by a footman. The austerity of their
welcome diminished as the three Perrington sisters scurried down the staircase to stand before
her.

"Oh, Mith Crothmichael, you do look beautiful." Penelope's greeting was sincere if,
Portia thought, excessive.

Melicent was eyeing her gown, and Sabina her hair, free of a cap and handsomely
dressed.

"You do ma'am," Sabina reiterated.

Portia was conscious of a blush heating her cheeks.

"You see? From the mouths' of babes," Caldwell murmured in her ear.

"Perhaps not beautiful, but superb," Melicent added her opinion when she caught sight
of the garnet necklace that adorned Portia's bosom, and the exquisite matching earrings.

"Thank you, young ladies," Portia swept them an especial curtsey.

"We are to escort you to the drawing room," Melicent said.

"And we may thtay for half of an hour, and then retire," Penny parroted from someone's
instructions.

"How delightful," murmured Portia, allowing herself to be led above stairs. She
indulged a desire to stare about her once more. The house was all that was comfortable yet very
fine.

The drawing room was likewise a display of good design and excellent taste, a fitting
setting for the company which seemed to crowd it. When she was introduced and the girls had
said their good-nights and withdrawn, she realized that there were, as the viscount had promised,
only ten other guests besides she and Caldwell. Those present were among the bluest blood in
the country, and the most interesting of minds. It was an assemblage that could not disappoint
and it was receptive to newcomers within its company.

Portia, against all her expectations, enjoyed herself. The viscount was a superb host, his
staff served a memorable meal, and the conversation was a joy, wide-ranging and challenging. It
changed at a stroke her perception of the viscount's public face. He was not, it appeared, simply a
philandering fribble. She had thought that he cared for his daughters but nothing else; now it
appeared he was a man of intelligence, distinction and discernment, and well respected in his
world.

She was so absorbed in these revelations that when he drew her aside to a private
conversation when the company again retired to the drawing room, she did not protest.

"I should like to show you my conservatory; I think you did not see it when you
accompanied the girls that day in October," he said. "The rest of my guests here are familiar with
it, and they will not object if I disappear briefly. Indeed, they will focus on your brother, and that
can only be of benefit to him."

"You have been very kind," Portia managed to say, placing her hand on the arm he
offered. "To my brother, I mean." She tried again, "You have a conservatory? In London?"

He was leading her from the drawing room, their departure scarcely noticed, down the
staircase and into the library, which opened from the marble tiled foyer.

"I bought this house from a crony of Joseph Banks. Like Banks, he travelled all over the
world collecting plants, but he had no country seat at which to nurture them. So he built a
conservatory here, in his back garden. A novel idea but one I applaud. I miss the countryside
when I am in London, almost as much as I miss my daughters."

"Parks cannot compensate," Portia said, gamely contributing to the innocuous
conversation. "Hornsey offers many benefits to its residents among them proximity to both city
and country." She stared about the panelled library and the well-filled bookshelves. "Such a
library is itself enough inducement to enjoy this house."

"Ah, but look to your left."

Portia beheld glass doors through which was displayed a wilderness of greenery. "Oh,"
was all she said, softly.

The viscount urged her on, and opening the door, led her into a summer world. Portia
was entranced. It smelled wonderful, redolent of wet earth, green exhalations of leaf and vine,
and the sweet unseasonable smell of flowers. There was a narrow path between the ranks of
vegetation which eventually opened to a small seating area warmed by braziers and lit with
lanterns.

Intoxicated with the delight of summer within the winter, Portia smiled at Stadbroke.
"It's wonderful! What a joy, and what a delightful thing for the girls to enjoy."

"They seem to like it very much. But they like your school better." He stood before her,
at ease and far too attractive for her peace of mind. "Portia, you have been a true inspiration to
my daughters. You have been their friend and an ally when they could not depend on me--or
thought they could not."

She sidled away from him, and was disturbed when he followed.

"I wanted to thank you, for your understanding. And for helping me to better understand
them."

He gathered up her hands, and when she would have withdrawn them he held them more
tightly.