Jane held up the drawing again. “I do not know that Jeannette has the necessary refinement.” Though of course, she knew that Jeannette did. “As the centrepiece of the room, it is so important to have it done well. I shall want the curtain in place before Sir David weaves the aurora borealis effect, and I am afraid that he is working faster than I anticipated. I do hate to pull you away, but I do not know who else to ask. I would do it myself, but…” She let her sentence trail off as she ran a hand over her increasing stomach, though that hardly needed any attention drawn to it.
Still, her flattery seemed to have the desired effect, because Mrs. Ransford took the drawing from her and looked at the front of the ballroom where the curtain was intended to go. “It goes all the way to the ceiling?”
“I know it is a tremendous distance to span, but Sir David already laid an anchor thread across the ceiling. The warp threads for the snow are quite thin—filaments, really—so you should be able to fling them over the anchor rather carelessly and then alter their placement afterwards.”
Mrs. Ransford’s gaze went vacant as she looked into the ether to where Vincent had placed an anchor thread across the ceiling of the ballroom earlier. “It seems as though it is the sort of thing that might be done by rote.”
“The spinning of the filaments, yes, but it will need a discerning eye to make the snow fall in a pleasing manner. It must be regular, but not unvarying, with the occasional flurry.… Of course, if you want an assistant to help with the weft, then I can arrange that, but you still remain my first choice to oversee it.”
“Mm. I can see why you would not trust it to one of the slaves.” She sniffed. “Folk glamour can be charming enough, but cannot compare to English training.”
“Quite.” Behind Mrs. Ransford, Jane caught Dolly rolling her eyes and had to suppress a smile. “Should you like an assistant?” With any luck, Mrs. Ransford would delegate the majority of the work to the assistant, and they would not need to make any changes afterwards.
“No, thank you. I did the whole of the previous glamural with only a little help from the other ladies. Negroes want a tasteful eye.”
“Ah. Well. If you change your mind I should be happy to—” She broke off as a movement at the main door of the ballroom caught her attention. Nkiruka stood on the threshold. She had not expected Nkiruka to come, given that she was in mourning. The older woman, who had never been tall, seemed to have shrunk in the three days since Jane had seen her last. Her skin had an ashen cast to it, and her shoulders hunched forward. “Forgive me, but she recently lost her daughter. Do you mind if I…?”
Mrs. Ransford wrinkled her nose. “That is very Christian of you. Go ahead.”
Absently handing Mrs. Ransford her drawing, Jane hurried across the floor.
As she approached, Nkiruka gave Jane a smile. “Thought mebbe you need help. Look good.”
“Oh, my dear. I am so, so sorry for your loss.”
Nkiruka looked down, face twisting a little. She shrugged and shifted her weight. “She gone somewhere better. Miss her.” She thumped her chest twice. “But it better so.”
The thought that death in childbirth was better than life as a slave could not escape Jane. She compressed her lips in frustration at their inability to effect changes on a large scale at the estate. It was too much to hope that small changes like a blanket or a dress could provide any comfort, but Jane had nothing else to offer. “If there is anything I can do…”
“You got work? House too empty. All the picknee an’ dem…” She shrugged again, shaking her head, which was still inclined towards the floor. “Need something to do.”
It would be difficult to find two individuals whose person was more distinct than Nkiruka and Vincent, yet Jane was put very much in mind of him in that moment. “Of course. I should be very glad of your assistance.”
*
Almost immediately, Nkiruka threw herself into the project with vehemence and proved to be an invaluable help. Jane and Vincent usually worked alone, with the occasional use of assistants in the early phases of large glamurals, such as their cloudscape for the Duke of Wellington. That piece was very large and had been commissioned with only two weeks to create it, so they had, by necessity, employed assistants for much of the foundation work. The finish of the piece, however, had just been the two of them.
And yet, Nkiruka’s suggestion that they bring in several glamourists from other estates had been entirely correct. From the harvest festivals, Nkiruka knew exactly who the best artists among the slaves were. Mrs. Whitten offered to make contact with the slave owners and arrange for the loan of their labour for the charity, and in short order they had slaves coming in from all parts of Antigua. It was one of the unexpected advantages of being on such a small island.