“Den we talk bout if you can do glamour.”
Nkiruka knew. She did not merely suspect that Jane might be with child. She knew. Nkiruka’s hand slid through the air and the conversation behind Jane became clear again. Nkiruka raised her voice. “It too warm out here fu you. Zeus! Take her home out of this sun. Get her a coldmonger.”
In other circumstances, Jane might have protested that she wanted to stay to talk about glamour, but she put her bonnet on and hid in the shadow at its depth. If Nkiruka wished for her to go, then she would go and do nothing to upset the woman. “I trust we will see you at the great house soon.”
“Madam!” Louisa’s voice sounded indignant. “She cannot come to the great house.”
“Why not? I want her to speak with Mr. Hamilton about glamour, and he hardly has time to come down here.” A moment of inspiration struck Jane. “Besides, I need help correcting the ledgers, and Frank had suggested that I ask one of the older women for help. If Nkiruka is willing, that is.”
“I willing.” She shrugged. “But, I tell you, they not goin’ want me there.”
“But I do.” The fact that Louisa found the older woman an improper choice made Jane only more determined to have her for an assistant.
Ten
A Theory of Glamour
Jane stared at the page before her. She had already crossed out three different attempts to explain what she had seen the giant spider do that afternoon. Whatever she had thought about writing a book was clearly mistaken. Attempting to describe a visual medium in words proved much harder than she had anticipated.
Hearing Vincent’s footsteps in the long gallery recalled her to herself. He paused in the door. “Muse, you have ink on your nose.”
“Do I?” Jane set her pen down and wiped at her nose. When had it grown dark outside?
“Indeed. More, now, I think.” He produced a pocket handkerchief and knelt in front of her. Catching her chin with one hand, Vincent applied the handkerchief to her nose. “What are you working on?”
“There is a folk glamourist in the slave quarters who used the most interesting technique to create a giant spider. She constructed it outside the visible spectrum and then shifted the colours. At least, I think that is what she did.”
Vincent pulled the handkerchief away from her nose, his brows contracting a bit. “You were not working glamour, were you?”
“No.” She gave him a sharp look to signify that she was not simple. “It was quite provoking, actually, because I am afraid to look into the ether. Even that much made me sick—before.”
He looked down, folding the handkerchief so that the ink spot was inside. “It will not be much longer.”
“I know.” Jane bit the inside of her lip. They were already skirting too close to the issue. “Shall we retire to our bedchamber? It is nearly time to dress for dinner.”
The skin around his eyes tightened with concern, but he held his question until they reached their room. Once inside, Vincent shut the door, without taking his eyes from Jane.
“What happened?”
“Am I that transparent?” Jane loosened her fichu and pulled the lace shawl from around her neck. “Do not answer that, I know that I am.”
“Not to others. Except sometimes your cheeks betray you.” He grimaced. “And I was far worse today.”
She wrapped her hands in the lace, pulling it tight. “My concern … and please understand that it is only a concern, not a rebuke … my concern is that we have been here only three days, and the effects on your sensibilities already seem severe.”
“I know. It troubles me as well.” Turning a little away, he walked to the balcony door and stared out. He reached back to clasp his hands behind him, and then stopped himself. His hands hung at his side for a moment, as if he did not know what to do with them beyond that posture. With a little sigh, Vincent crossed his arms over his chest. “When I shouted at Louisa … that is never appropriate, and given her circumstances—” He shrugged further into himself. “I left the room, and all I could hear was how much I sounded like my father.”
“You are nothing like him.”
“But I was, was I not?” He dared a glance up at her and away. Jane’s heart ached at that brief glimpse of pain, and yet she was grateful that he was able to overcome his training to show her even that much. He cleared his throat, again looking out the window. “You were going to tell me what happened to you today.”
Jane had to swallow twice before finding her voice. “The glamourist I mentioned, Nkiruka. She guessed. About me. We were talking about glamour, but she does not know the formal terms for what she does, so she was trying to show it to me. I said I could not see it and—and she guessed.”
He turned his head, almost looking at her. “Do you think she will tell?”
“I do not think so. I hope. It was so stupid of me.”