False Lights by K.J. Whittaker

Author:K.J. Whittaker [Whittaker, K.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786695338
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd.

34

Two days later, Hester sat beside Kitto in the drawing-room, the table before them littered with sheets of foolscap; they worked in easy silence as Louisa reclined on the chaise in a half-dress of teal satin, alternately smiling and frowning at her correspondence. Lost in concentration, Kitto inked Latin names beside his botanical illustrations, and Hester’s brush crested waves with white horses as she painted the view south from Samson Hill. It was no use: she couldn’t capture the slant of the light. It didn’t look real, and she couldn’t help wondering if she ought to tell Crow that Arkwright had been receiving acquaintances. It was improper for a servant to do so without permission, but perhaps Crow had granted him leave? Arkwright had served with Crow in the war, so perhaps he wasn’t governed by the same rules as other servants, but was allowed a greater degree of autonomy. Why was it that she could never feel quite at ease in the man’s presence?

She set down her brush, her gaze drawn to the vast portrait of Kitto’s grandfather hanging above the fireplace. The fifth earl glared down at her from horseback, an African groom in an elaborate green silk waistcoat kneeling at his feet. The artist had directed the man’s gaze up at the dead earl, as if in awe of his master, and lascivious attention had been lavished on his burnished umber-brown skin, as though he were more polished ornament than a living person. Hester imagined him turning to her with a gaze of horrified disbelief. How had this happened to him? She wondered who he had really been: a coppersmith, a fisherman, even a prince?

‘Don’t look at my grandfather, Hets,’ Kitto advised, glancing up from his work. ‘Enough to put anyone off, the godawful old tartar.’

‘If you cannot mind your manners, Kitto, then leave the room.’ Louisa didn’t look up from her letters as she spoke.

‘What business is it of yours?’

Hester gave him a sharp kick beneath the table: she didn’t doubt Louisa would find a way of laying a trap for him when Crow arrived. Louisa ignored Kitto, glancing up at Hester instead. ‘Still nothing from the Albemarles. If your great-aunt and -uncle persist with this discourtesy much longer, darling, I’ll have to break with convention and write myself.’

Hester had never heard anyone utter an endearment with more ill-disguised venom. She set down her paintbrush. ‘You need not: I’ve no desire to beg my mother’s family to notice me.’

‘That doesn’t come into it at all,’ Louisa said. ‘You move in the same circles now. Believe me, you’d find it much worse to encounter them by chance. It really would be odd in me to write first, though – perhaps we can let it rest a little while longer.’

‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take.’ Not for a moment did Hester believe Louisa’s solicitude genuine: she was only concerned that an embarrassing encounter might reflect badly on her carefully curated portrayal of the Abolitionists’ most fashionable apogee. Hester turned back to her painting, wishing for a moment that she might step through it and be home.

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