Chapter 21: A Face From the Past

As Rob was affianced to Bridey he and I frequently dined at the Slade residence in Bloomsbury Square. The meals were always enjoyed in a most convivial atmosphere. Rob and Bridey served at us at mealtimes, until one day I stood up from the table and announced I too would act as a footman, and wait upon the diners.

“But you are a guest,” Zinnia said.

“As is Rob,” I pointed out, “and I do not expect my friends to wait on me, so shall take my turn to wait on them.”

Zinnia looked embarrassed. “I never thought; how rude of me to treat Rob and Bridey as servants, when they are as much our friends as any other.”
She got up from the table. “I too shall act as a server. It is only proper.”

“What is proper,” Gurney Slade announced, “is that you sit down and allow your friends to show you their love and friendship by waiting on you. And on me,” he added, grining.

And so it was Rob and I would first serve Gurney and Zinnia, and then fetch Bridey from the kitchen, set her down at the table and serve her.
At first she was ill at ease and embarrassed.

“I am only a housemaid, it is not fitting I should be waited on by gentry.”

Rob and I laughed fit to bust. Bridey was the illegitimate daughter of an Irish earl. I will not mention his name, for although he did pay Bridey’s mother a sum of money at the birth he has not recognised Bridey legally as his daughter, although he has recognised the two bastard sons begotten with his ‘official’ mistress.

“Of all the people in this house it is probably you, Bridey, who is closest to gentle birth, followed by Zinnia. We males are all from peasant stock. A farmer’s son, a mail coach driver’s son, and...” It occurred to me I had no idea of Gurney Slade’s antecedents.

Gurney smiled. “Although I too am a bye-blow I cannot claim any noble blood. I was brought up in a foundling home until ten years old, when I joined the army as a drummer boy.”

Zinnia aqueezed his hand. “No matter what the status of your birth might be, Gurney, as far as I am concerned you are a veritable Prince.” She reinforced her affirmation by giving him a right royal smacker of a kiss on his lips.
We all clapped, and she and he blushed, and then gazed at each other with undimmed love in their eyes.

It was only now I understood the reason for Krish Armityge’s reluctance in the past to be in company with Caroline and me. Since the loss of my beloved wife it was salt in my wounds when witnessing the love and desire flooding between a couple, and I had two such couples daily demonstrating and sharing their love, as Caroline and I had once shared ours. I would take long walks about London, to avoid seeing the Slades, and Rob and Bridey, revelling in their relationships.
They of course had no idea how painful it was for me to see them relishing their love for each other, as I had not thought how Caroline and my relationship must have tormented Krish, seperated as he was from the love of his life Elena.

The Slades invited me to accompany them to church for the midnight service on Christmas Eve, and to dinner on Christmas Day. I accepted, but made up my mind not to attend the church service, and plead a headache, or some such, at the last minute. Zinnia was a staunch member of the Church of England, and would be dismayed to learn of my loss of faith.
However, I would join the Slades at supper before they left for the service.

When I arrived at Bloomsbury Square on the afternoon of Christmas Eve Zinnia was looking flustered and upset, and at first I feared Gurney had been struck down with some ague.

“What ever is amiss, Zinnia? I can see something is troubling you.”

She took my arm and drew me into the empty withdrawing room.
“I received this letter from Miss Gore earlier today.” She brandished an envelope in her hand.

“Who is Miss Gore?”

Zinnia looked peeved. “Surely you remember Catherine Gore, the young woman at Lackington’s the publishers? You certainly spent enough time ogling her.”

I remembered then. Catherine Gore was the female with the feline-like walk, seen when we visited the publishers of Frankenstein.
“Yes, of course, she is the publisher’s niece. What of her?”

“Catherine is now employed with Whittaker Brothers publishing company. It appears there were tensions, not relating to publishing, between her and her uncle, and Catherine left his employ.”
I recalled Lackington’s appreciative scrutiny of the slinky Miss Gore, and could hazard a guess at what those ‘tensions’ were, but said nothing.
“Catherine writes that Whittaker’s have received a manuscript from Italy; the second edition of Frankenstein, with only Mary Shelley’s name appearing on the frontispiece, and no acknowledgment of Becky Sharpe.”

“But Becky told us Percy Shelley had agreed to her collaborating with Mary Shelley on the second edition, which would include Becky’s name on the cover, as well as an acknowledgment of Becky’s original idea for the novel. The rogue has reneged on his promise.” My demon stirred, eager for work. “Damn the scoundrel. I shall carry out my threat and cut off his...”

Zinnia laid her hand on my arm. “I was somewhat surprised Shelley made such a promise. How many popular books can you name with a joint authorship?”
I could not even name a popular book written by any author, and shook my head.

“None.”

“Exactly, there are none.”

“So why make a promise he never intended keeping?”

Understanding hit me like a sledgehammer. The ‘rascality’ overheard by Bridey in Marlow was Shelley exacting his price from Becky for agreeing to the sham collaboration. He had his way with her, knowing there would be no collaboration, no joint authorship. Becky had refused Shelley’s sexual advances when in Geneva in 1816, and Shelley had exacted his revenge in Marlow. I determined then to take his life, and avenge my sister’s dishonouring; my demon applauded.

“There are facets of Becky’s character of which you do not know, Jack.” Zinnia said softly. “She has a wildness, which can sometimes lead her into danger, both physical,” she paused, “and moral.”

“I know Rebekah can be wilful and reckless, foolhardy even, and that she relishes a challenge, but I cannot believe she would willingly place herself in moral danger.”

“Her wildness first revealed itself when we moved from Stamford to London. The Bohemian life style, and looser morals of some of the artistic circle in London, awoke a sleeping demon inside her. Becky appeared to seek situations where her reputation would be put at risk.” Zinnia bit her lip, and shot me a look of anguish. “I should have told you sooner about the negative aspects of your sister’s character; you might have had a beneficial effect on her behaviour.”

That Rebekah also had a demon within her came as an unpleasant surprise, and I sensed Zinnia was edging towards a revelation I would not enjoy.
“Go on Zinnia; tell me the worst.”

She sighed, and then squared her shoulders. “Becky extracted a very favourable contract from her publishers, Murdock and Turner, a pair of gentlemen not known for their philanthropic deeds. When I asked Becky how she managed such a coup she smiled, and then said. ‘I made them an offer they could not refuse’.”

“What on earth did she mean by that?”

I waited as Zinnia took a breath and composed herself.
“You remember, after our meeting with the Shelleys at Marlow, we returned to the Bear Inn at Maidenhead. Becky was packing in her room, and you and I were talking in the dining room, where I told you Becky’s had been absolutely determined to join Byron in Venice?”

“Yes, and I recall you emphasised Becky’s resolve and single mindedness in attaining her goal. Which she did, by volunteering to act as a child minder to the Shelley’s children en route to Italy in return for collaboration with Mary Shelley on any revision of ‘Frankenstein’.”

“We only have Becky’s version of the events in Marlow, Jack.” She then held my enraged and astounded look. “You know how much I love and admire Becky, but I know she is manipulative, devious, and will do anything to achieve her ends. I believe the agreement reached at Marlow was for Becky to accompany the Shelleys to Venice as their children’s nursemaid — and nothing else.”

“But the ‘rascality’ Bridey heard. Surely it was Shelley; taking his pleasure of Becky in revenge for being rebuffed in Geneva, and falsely agreeing to the collaboration?”

“No, I believe in order to travel to Venice with the Shelleys she made a similar offer to Percy Shelley as she had made to Messers Murdoch and Turner, and, like them, it was one he could not refuse!”

I was flabbergasted by what she implied. Zinnia had been my sister’s friend and companion for years; rumours in Grantham had them more than friends, and yet she was now accusing Becky of being nothing more than a whore, prostituting herself, not for money but for advantage.

“I need some time to reflect on what you have said, Zinnia. I will see you tomorrow for dinner as arranged, but will not be joining you at the service tonight.”
I kissed her perfunctorily on the cheek, and then took my leave.
I stalked down Bloomsbury Road, my demon snarling and spitting within me.

Fate was sending me to Italy, where I would be able to confront Shelley, and also determine the whereabouts of Becky. Surely, once I found her she would tell me the whole truth, unpalatable as it might be. Could I forgive Becky if she had behaved like a whore? If she used her attributes, so fulsomely endowed by nature, to achieve her goals in life who was I to cast stones? The life I had led had not been exactly saintly. However, the thought of my sweet sister acting like the girls in the Temple at Lincoln was not something I wished to dwell on, although of course those girls who I paid to tumble were, as Becky, sisters and daughters.

By Christmas morning I had come to some accommodation with the thought of my sister’s unseemly behaviour, and decided on my future course of action. Once in Italy I would needs first find Becky and then persuade her to return to England to renew her writing career. Next, I would search out Shelley, and then give him cause to regret making promises he never intended to keep.
Whatever Zinnia might insinuate I firmly believed Becky gave herself to him in the belief of having her name on the cover of the book Frankenstein. Any other scenario was one I not prepared to contemplate.