Chapter 20: Dark Secrets and Artistic Freedom

May 1835

The sound of their bedroom door when it slammed shut after the fleeing Marie, alerted Richard, too.

“Who was that? Tony?” he asked, slightly worried.

“No, it was Marie. She must have been standing there for a while, now that I think of it. Oh, my! We must have been a sight for her!”

“What was she doing here?”

“I suppose, she came to look after me. We were not exactly mute. She probably feared I was under attack.” Ellen looked over her shoulder. “Not so far from the truth, either!”

Suddenly, a giggle bubbled up in her and she shook silently.

“Oh, dear. I’ll be blushing six shades of red each time she’ll look at me and for weeks to come. Richard, darling, it was still wonderful!”

“Talk about blushing!” he answered in mock exasperation. “How shall I look her into the eyes? She must hold me for a brute now.”

“She certainly saw you at your best,” Ellen giggled. “I suppose, I’ll have to talk to her and see how deeply she was shocked by what she saw.”

“You better dress, lest she’ll flee from our house,” Richard remarked. “That is, if she is not predisposed towards her own gender.”

A pillow landed in his face, and Ellen swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Nude, she walked to her wardrobe and slipped into a dressing gown. The heavy silk accentuated rather than hid her forms. For a moment she considered getting dressed properly, but then she shrugged.

“I’ll assuage Marie and be back,” she told Richard and kissed him.

There was no answer when she knocked on Marie’s door and for a moment she feared that Marie had fled the house. Slowly she opened the door. Marie lay face-down on her bed. Cautiously, Ellen approached the bed and sat down at Marie’s side. With her right hand, she gently touched Marie’s shoulder. Marie stiffened at the touch.

“I’m so sorry, Ellen,” she sobbed into the sheets. “I did not mean to spy!”

“Ssh! We know you didn’t. It was just an accident. You didn’t know Richard was back and we did not think that you might be awake. I must have been quite noisy.”

Astounded at the casual way Ellen reacted, Marie turned.

“Did it hurt much?” she asked.

“Hurt?” Ellen asked back, momentarily at a loss.

“Zat-that thing!” Marie elaborated. “It must have hurt you terribly. Luc’s was much smaller, and it hurt so much I always screamed.”

Ellen understood, understood that Marie was rather innocent, had to be, the way Lucien was disposed.

“No, Marie, darling. It never hurts. Only once, the first time, there was a little pain, but that was short. No, for me, it is the most wonderful feeling. Why wasn’t Lucien more careful with you? Why would he cause you pain? He never stroke me as that kind of a man.”

“Lucien?”

First, Marie was nonplussed. Then she turned ashen as she realised that her most dreadful secret was out in the open. At the same moment, Ellen made the connection and paled. Luc, as in Lucas, Marie’s brother.

“Your brother, Marie? How could he?”

Marie did not answer. Her face was almost purple and she held her head bowed in the shame she felt. Sensing her cousin’s feelings, Ellen wrapped her arms around Marie’s shoulders and pulled the bowed head against her chest.

“You poor lamb,” Ellen whispered softly whilst she held the mortified woman tight. “Didn’t anybody help you?”

Marie shook her head.

“He first did it one night when Mozzer was gone. I woke up and he was on top of me already. I was scared and it hurt. The second time, I fought him and he hit me, and he twisted my arm until I gave in. He loved to hurt me.

“When Mozzer found out, she said I seduced him. She called me une salope — a trollop! To get me out of ze house, she arranged the wedding wizz Lucien. She knew Lucien would not care. She was good friends wizz his fazzer and she knew that he preferred his male friends.”

In her emotion, Marie’s English suffered.

“That’s why you never wrote to them?”

Marie nodded. Suddenly, she looked up and into Ellen’s eyes.

“Are you not ... repulsed?”

Ellen understood Marie’s fear. If this came out, Marie would be shunned. The stigma on her would be stronger than the one attached to her brother, the perpetrator.

“My dear Marie, if anything, I feel sympathy for you. How long did this go?”

“Zzree - three years. It started when I was fifteen.”

“What happened after you married Lucien?”

Marie shook her head.

“Nozzing. Lucien told him zat ... that he’d kill him if he ever touched me again. Lucas is — was — afraid of Lucien.”

“Going back to Toulouse is not really an option for you then,” Ellen said. “You won’t have to anyway.”

“You are so nice to me, both of you! I’m so sorry that I ... interrupted you.”

Marie blushed again. Ellen gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“You didn’t. We were finished already when we noticed you. I’m sorry though, for stirring up those terrible memories.”

Marie pasted a weak smile on her face.

“I should have knocked.”

“Marie, I understand you much better now. I know now why you do not believe in love. How can you? But darling, please, even if you cannot believe in love, at least allow for its existence. Believe me, there are men out there for you, men who will love you and cherish you. Do not hide in your clam shell.”

Marie hugged Ellen back with feeling.

“When I see you and Richard...” Marie realised the double meaning, “when I see how you care for each other, it makes me wish for somebody like Richard. But, when I ... you know ... saw you ... in bed, I was terribly scared. It must hurt!”

“With the right man — a man who loves and respects you — there is no hurt. Marie, I hope that you will meet such a man one day.”

“I should be so lucky,” Marie smiled wryly. “No go back to Richard and tell him that I am sorry.”

Back in their bedroom she cuddled against Richard who had made use of her absence by taking a short nap.

“I need to find a man for my cousin.”

Richard chuckled. “Oh dear, not again. Do you have somebody in mind? Don’t forget, she still has almost a year of mourning.”

“I’m not talking about a husband, my dear Richard. I am talking about a paramour. Somebody to teach her about her needs.”

“Leave it be, Ellen. Munich is far too small.”

“You are probably right. Richard, can you hug me? What Marie told me about her youth is just horrible. Cousin Lucas must be the most despicable person. Darling, would it be much to ask if she could stay with us? She must never be forced to return to her family!”

“Do I need to know more?”

“I can’t tell you more, Richard. I cannot betray Marie’s trust.” She kissed the hand on her shoulder. “Please understand.”

Richard nodded. They left it at that, cuddling silently and lost in their own thoughts.

Melissa Martin hummed under her breath. She was in an exceptionally good mood. She was now one of the King’s favourite artists and he commissioned painting after painting. She was mostly doing portraits of members of the extended royal family, whilst the King’s other favourite, Ludwig Stiegler, was in charge of the King’s harem. That was the nickname for the collection of portraits featuring beautiful women.

Melissa had been allowed only one entry into that exclusive gallery and that was a sitting pose of Ellen, in the park of the Nymphenburg Palace. Stiegler himself had persuaded the King, pointing out that Melissa could capture Ellen’s beauty more naturally due to their personal friendship.

All this had made Melissa hugely popular and she had to hire two young journeymen painters who did the backgrounds for her. She also employed an apprentice who kept the atelier in order and a maid for the cleaning. Still, she had to turn down some commissions. Melissa Martin was indeed happy with the way her life had played out in recent years.

For the next spring the King had even invited her to Italy where he had a palazzo in the Tuscany. He wanted her to paint rustic scenes there and the thought of visiting Italy was quite exciting for Melissa. Colleen was ecstatic too, for she was included in the invitation. It was an open yet ignored secret that the two young women were inseparable. Both spent hours with Maddalena learning the basics of the language spoken in the Tuscany.