“For the ball, would you and your husband craft a glamural?”
Jane’s mouth hung stupidly open. She had not expected that, of all questions, though they had made their living through just such commissions for as long as they had been married. She had rather thought that Vincent’s father would not have mentioned his son’s career, given their history. “I will have to speak with him, of course.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Pridmore turned in her seat to face Jane. “Have you studied glamour? I think it is such an interesting art. It is not where my talents lie, though Mrs. Ransford is quite good. You should see her breakfast room, which has the most charming roses glamoured in it. They even smell like roses.”
“You are too kind.” Mrs. Ransford’s cheeks burnt a little, the spots of red standing out almost like rose petals on her pallid skin. “I have been accustomed to creating the glamural for the ball, but should be glad of assistance.”
Mrs. Whitten looked between the ladies with some astonishment. “Do you not know who she is? Forgive me, but it was all that filled the Times for several weeks last year.”
Jane did not know where to look. She picked up her spoon so that she had some form of employment, even if it were nothing more than stirring her tea. Of course news of the trial would have made it here, and any thinking person would have remembered the connection, as Vincent’s name had been reported along with his relation to the Earl of Verbury. To have it come up now was something of an agony. The evident confusion on the other ladies’ faces made it clear that they did not, in fact, read the paper.
With a little laugh, Mrs. Whitten settled back in her chair. “Mrs. Hamilton should more properly be styled Lady Vincent, wife of Sir David Vincent. They are the Prince Regent’s glamourists.”
Mrs. Ransford nearly choked on her tea. “Not the Sir David!”
“Yes.” Jane cleared her throat. “However, the new Earl of Verbury asked my husband to come here as a brother, so I should prefer it if you would continue to call us Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton.”
Mrs. Ransford shook her head, resting her hand against her bosom. “I am appalled that I invited you to assist me. But of course, you and your husband should have charge of the entire glamural—if you are willing, of course. I hope that such an assignment is not beneath you after the work you did at Carlton House. I did not see it, but a dear friend in London sent me a souvenir brochure of your last New Year’s fête and the illustrations alone made it seem a wonder.”
“I am cross that Mr. Pridmore did not tell me. Really, it is quite thoughtless of him.” Mrs. Pridmore brightened. “Oh! Might we prevail on you to favour us with a little glamour today?”
To announce in this room that she was unable to perform glamour would be the same as painting a banner and marching through the streets of London with the news that she was with child. Jane ducked her head and turned the spoon over in her fingers. Nkiruka had said that a little glamour was safe. Could she chance it?
She could not. One voice saying that it was safe could not undo the accrued wisdom of the best British doctors. She turned the spoon again, the silver flashing bright against the dull black of her dress. Her black mourning dress. “Ah—” Jane lifted her head, relieved to have an answer that would serve. “I wish I could oblige you, but alas, we are still in mourning. Until the term has passed, we are not performing glamour.”
As the women accepted her reason with good grace and many apologies, Jane felt much safer than she had since the topic first arose. She had never thought she would have reason to be grateful to be in mourning, but in this instance, she very much was.
Twelve
A Matter of Timing
On Thursday, Jane and Louisa walked down to the slave huts carrying new clothes for Nkiruka and some treats for the children. Dolly sat on one of the benches with a young girl whom Jane had not previously seen. In fact, when she thought upon it, she had seen no one in these quarters who was not of advanced years or extremely young. The girl appeared to be perhaps sixteen and had her leg propped up on a log. A tidy bandage, shockingly white amidst all the dust, wrapped around her calf.
She had a pile of reeds in her lap and was handing them to Dolly, who had the beginning of a basket constructed in her lap. As Jane and Louisa entered the central yard, Dolly looked up and gave a little nod.
Jane gestured to the bandage on the girl’s leg. “May I take it the doctor is here?”
“Inside.” Dolly nodded towards the girl’s bandage. “Good thing, too.”
Jane was aghast to understand that medical emergencies would have gone unattended were it not for her own selfish needs. “Is there anyone else that needs attention?”
“Ole Pappy, he ask why he tired all the time.” She snorted. “He old! Sent him to bed. He can sleep just fine out here. Better. Too hot inside. No breeze.”
“And Nkiruka?”