Such loss no longer pained her and she could speak about it without embarrassment. She said, “My knowledge is all about the old years and past painters, sir, and my love for art is likewise fossilised. Tell me, who are the names that I ought to know about now, so that I do not disgrace myself in company and seem ignorant? The Pre-Raphaelites, those young hot-heads, were all the rage when I was young. What of them these days? They must be old news now.”
“Well, Burne-Jones is still churning them out, his ladies and his knights, all wearing an identical face of utter boredom which is rather what I feel when I see yet another one of them. Millais’s not doing too badly. Shown some pretty landscapes lately. That woman of his has changed him.”
“His current wife used to be married to Ruskin, didn’t she?”
“Ha! Yes, indeed! They’re all married in one way or another to each other, and it’s like a constantly changing carousel. But artists can get away with that sort of thing, I suppose.” His eyes twinkled. “I do not shock you, I see.”
“I am too old to be shocked.”
“You should come to some of the parties they hold. Not the ones of the old guard like Millais, of course – they’re past all that. I imagine they sit around and rub liniment into their knees while demanding hot cocoa. But there’s a constant little circle of new students and wide-eyed hopefuls. Not just artists, but sculptors and writers too. Bohemians, they’ve been dubbed.”
“I’ve heard the term. I may not be easily shocked,” Adelia said. “But I do have my limits. I am aware of the excesses of the modern youth but have no interest in lowering myself to becoming associated with these Bohemian sorts.” She smiled to soften her admonishment.
“Good point. Anyway, as to what’s new, if you like landscapes – and who doesn’t? – the stuff coming out of France is worth a look. Cezanne and a chap called Manet, they’re jolly interesting. Do avoid Gauguin if you feel sensitive.”
“Ah, I saw a Gauguin when I was last in London. I do like his ... richness and use of colour.”
“Know much about the fellow’s habits?”
“No...”
“Good job he’s over in Tahiti, that’s all I will say. Don’t enquire too deeply, my lady. Now, if you want to be very much in the know, you need to find out about the artist known as Lord H.”
“Oh, how intriguing!” Adelia said. “Who is he, really?”
“That’s exactly it. No one knows! It’s awfully thrilling. He could be here, this very night.” He paused and looked around dramatically.
“Is he?”
“I have no idea. It is said that Lady Purfleet knows who he is, or she claims to know, though everyone claims to know something – in fact, she has one of his paintings in her drawing room. You will see it later. I suppose some of the dealers know, or perhaps they wish that they knew. It’s said that he is a high-ranking noble and cannot possibly reveal his talents without bringing shame upon his family.”
“Nonsense!” said Adelia. “Plenty of aristocrats dabble, dawb or scribble. Even the Princess Louise paints in a tolerable way.”
“But he makes rather good money from it. That’s the difference. He’s no longer a gentleman amateur. One loses respectability when one makes a living from such doings. Although I agree with you that the secrecy is part of the allure, and adds a nought to his price tag, I am sure.”
The woman who was sitting across the table from them had been unashamedly listening to them. She leaned forward, making eye contact, and Adelia nodded, inviting her to join in. Talk turned to the scandalous death of the sculptor Sir Joseph Boehm – it had happened three years previously, but the presence of the Princess Louise, the Queen’s own daughter, in his studio when he died meant that the gossip was going to run for a good while yet, especially as the princess was still being linked in gossip to other men. Her husband was usually away in Canada and she was running around the artistic circles of London, probably pursued by equerries having to pay everyone off to keep it all out of the papers.
Artistic circles, thought Adelia. Hotbeds of scandal and gossip. I shan’t put a foot near those people, she vowed.
AFTER THE MEAL, WHILE the men stayed at the table and drank their port, the women wandered off to the drawing room and Lady Purfleet did an excellent job as hostess as she mingled and made careful introductions between people whom she thought would enjoy one another’s company. Adelia was looking around for someone that she had met a few days’ previously, but she was surprised that she could not find her. She realised she hadn’t seen her at the table either.
Lady Purfleet materialised. “My dear Lady Calaway, for what or for whom are you looking?”
“I was given to understand that Mrs Manning would be here.”
Lady Purfleet was tall and elegant, and her face showed a very narrow range of emotions. She gave the impression that she had been hewn from marble as she said, “Mrs Manning found that she was better engaged elsewhere. Have you enough wine there? No, you must have a top-up. Now, come and sit with the honourable Mrs Llewellyn – you know her, of course; everyone with the slightest interest in social reform will admire her...”
Adelia had no choice but to follow Lady Purfleet to a small group of women hanging onto Mrs Llewellyn’s every softly-spoken word, and before she had even sat down, Lady Purfleet had melted away.
Curious, thought Adelia.
