“An’ it set what de English can do.”
Jane thought of the detailed glamurals that she and Vincent had created for the Prince Regent. Months of care had gone into creating a representation of an undersea kingdom that could be mistaken for real. Even Vincent’s pranks when studying with Herr Scholes had apparently looked quite real. Nkiruka’s spider was impressive only because of the distance involved. The illusion itself was quite crude. “I think, perhaps, you have not had the opportunity to see what a professional glamourist can do.”
Nkiruka snorted and gave Jane a look that made her feel quite small.
“I—yes, my apologies.” Jane clasped her hands in her lap, but undid them when she noticed the fabric of her dress smoothing over her stomach. “How … how do you approach glamour, then?”
“Glamour is it own thing. Why mek it subben else?”
Jane considered this, recalling a conversation she had once had when attempting to explain glamour to a little girl. The child had wanted to know why glamour used borrowed words. “Do you not think that a metaphor makes it easier to understand?”
“Babies understand glamour.” She gestured with her chin at the children. “You ha fu teach dem fu see dis world. Fold? Weave? Stitch? Wrong words.”
“I confess that I have spent my whole life thinking of glamour in these terms, so it is hard to think of it any other way.”
“Ha! See? Dat ah de trouble. Look.” She drew a fold of yellow glamour out of the ether and fanned it out so that a sunrise seemed to be in her hand. “Now. You do this with a fold?” She slid her other hand across the length of the glamour and … Jane bit her lip in frustration. She could see the sunrise change smoothly from yellow to red to blue, but not how.
“No. Can you describe what you just did? I am afraid I did not see it.”
“Yes, m na-eke ya ka a na-eke ?s? aka, and then ? d? ya-ad? ka ?wedata ugwu d? na ya ka hancha d? na-ala.” The woman stared a challenge at her.
Jane took her point and sighed. “Would you show me again, please?”
Maybe Jane could hazard a guess from watching only the visible parts. She would not chance even peeping into the ether, as much as she was tempted. It likely would not hurt, but before, when she had first been with child, even looking had made her dreadfully ill. Concentrating, she watched Nkiruka’s hands, trying to match the movement with techniques that she knew, but was confounded completely. “Did you stretch it?”
“See? T’inking ’bout fabric stop you.” She raised her hands. “Again.”
Jane shook her head. “Thank you, no. I am afraid I cannot see what you are doing.”
Nkiruka looked at her as though she were stupid. Jane ducked her head, irritated that she could not explain that she was prohibited from working glamour, because to do so would be to tell Louisa and then Lord Verbury that she was with child. A little of her old distress returned. She was accustomed to being good at glamour—and not merely good. Jane would never admit it aloud, but she knew that her work could be accounted brilliant. So to be suddenly too stupid to even see a fold vexed her. Crying about it would be nonsensical, especially when sitting here surrounded by people who barely even had clothes enough, yet Jane’s eyes began to burn. She picked up her bonnet to go.
As she lifted it, she saw Nkiruka look down at her stomach and make a small, “Ah.”
Jane’s heart staggered, and, as if in response to her agitation, the baby kicked hard against her side. Only the fact that she was holding the bonnet kept Jane from touching the spot. She could not even weave a sphere of silence around them so she could beg Nkiruka to hold her tongue.
Turning her back to Zeus and Louisa, Jane mouthed, “Please,” and put her finger to her lips. Tears wet her cheeks, which vexed her. Crying would only make things worse: they would ask why, and what could Jane say then?
“Glamour interesting, nuh?” Watching her for a moment, Nkiruka’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze darted behind Jane to where Louisa and Zeus talked with the children. Nkiruka’s hand moved, slightly, and the conversation became muddied, as if she had done something to the sound. “Me tell you de truth. You can at least watch glamour.”
Jane remembered her prior sickness with such distinctness that she thought she would be ill right there.
“Perhaps … perhaps you might come to the great house to discuss glamour? My husband would be very interested to hear about your approach.” Jane’s voice came out too high and breathless.
“Maybe. They not goin’ want me there.”
Jane wiped at her cheeks, trying to get her breathing under control again. “Well. I will make it clear that I want you.”