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painting of an eye. Would you be gracious enough to tell me where you obtained it?"
The woman to whom he was speaking looked at him a little apprehensively and he
realised that she was on her guard against being accosted by a strange man in Vauxhall
Gardens.
Then as if the Marquis's elegant appearance reassured her she replied:
"It is a new enterprise for Vauxhall, Sir; a Persian Artist in the last arbour of the
Rotunda will paint a person's eye for the sum of five shillings."
She held out the piece of paper for the Marquis to see.
He looked down at it and saw that even though it was in fact only a rough outline of
an eye with the pupil uncoloured, it was exceedingly well executed.
"The last arbour of the Rotunda," he repeated. "Thank you very much, Ma'am, for
your information."
He bowed and walked quickly in the direction of the Rotunda.
His boredom and lassitude had vanished and he felt as if he had suddenly come
alive! Every nerve in his body was tingling with anticipation.
Side-shows had never been permitted at Vauxhall, and yet at the end of the Rotunda,
where every Pavilion was filled with people eating and drinking, the last alcove had
been curtained off.
Outside it there was a notice which read:
Madame Shahriza, the Persian Seer, will paint a lucky eye for those who would seek good
fortune and love.
As the Marquis read the notice the curtains parted and a man and a woman came out
from the alcove, giggling together.
"It'll bring us luck! I know it'll bring us luck!" the woman said excitedly.
"As long as I can look into your eyes," the man replied, "I've no wish to stare at a piece
of paper!"
The woman made some retort but the Marquis, without waiting to listen, parted the
curtains and entered the alcove.
What had originally been a small supper-room had been made smaller by a table set
in the centre of it.
Behind it sat a woman with her head heavily veiled and wearing a yashmak. It
covered the whole of her face with the exception of her eyes.
These were, however, in shadow, owing to the fact that two oil-lamps placed at each
end of the table were shaded at the back so that the light shone only to the front and left
Madame Shahriza almost in darkness.
On the table were pieces of thick paper cut into squares, an Artist's palette, brushes,
and several pencils.
The Persian Artist was drawing on one of the pieces of paper as the Marquis entered.
She did not look up but merely said:
"Will you seat yourself on the chair with the light on your face?"
The Marquis walked forward and obeyed.
The Artist finished the outline of an eye and looked up. She gave a visible start and
her long thin lingers were still.
"I would like you to look into my eye," the Marquis said.
There was silence and he knew that Vanessa was finding it impossible to speak.
After a moment he said quietly:
"How could you have hidden yourself here? You have driven me crazy these past
weeks!"
She did not answer and he added:
"We cannot talk here. Get your cloak, Vanessa. My carriage is outside."
He thought she would argue, but as if she realised that it was hopeless she rose
slowly from the table. Her hands were trembling as she put first her palette and then the
pieces of paper into a box which contained her paints.
The Marquis watched her. When at length she turned back to pick up her cloak
which was in the shadows behind her he rose to put it round her shoulders.
"Surely you are not alone?" he asked.
For the first time Vanessa spoke.
"Dorcas . . . always comes with . . . me," she answered, "but tonight she was not well...
I insisted on her .. . staying behind."
"Then I will take you back to her," the Marquis said.
They walked from the alcove into the crowds who were still staring at what
remained of the burning balloon. Now it looked only like a small piece of paper flaring
against the sky.
The Marquis put his hand under Vanessa's arm and drew her towards the
Water-Gate which was a public entrance not far from the Prince's Pavilion.
They walked outside to where the Marquis's carriage was waiting behind the Royal
Carriages at the head of a long row of vehicles which stretched down the whole length of
Kennington Lane.
At the sight of His Lordship his footman sprang down from the box and opened the
door. Vanessa stepped inside and the Marquis followed her.
"Where do you wish to go?" he asked.
"Number twelve Museum Lane," she answered in a low voice.
The Marquis gave the man the address and the carriage started off.
Slowly, with hands that were trembling, Vanessa pushed back the hood which had
covered her head and undid the yashmak which had obscured her face. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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painting of an eye. Would you be gracious enough to tell me where you obtained it?"
The woman to whom he was speaking looked at him a little apprehensively and he
realised that she was on her guard against being accosted by a strange man in Vauxhall
Gardens.
Then as if the Marquis's elegant appearance reassured her she replied:
"It is a new enterprise for Vauxhall, Sir; a Persian Artist in the last arbour of the
Rotunda will paint a person's eye for the sum of five shillings."
She held out the piece of paper for the Marquis to see.
He looked down at it and saw that even though it was in fact only a rough outline of
an eye with the pupil uncoloured, it was exceedingly well executed.
"The last arbour of the Rotunda," he repeated. "Thank you very much, Ma'am, for
your information."
He bowed and walked quickly in the direction of the Rotunda.
His boredom and lassitude had vanished and he felt as if he had suddenly come
alive! Every nerve in his body was tingling with anticipation.
Side-shows had never been permitted at Vauxhall, and yet at the end of the Rotunda,
where every Pavilion was filled with people eating and drinking, the last alcove had
been curtained off.
Outside it there was a notice which read:
Madame Shahriza, the Persian Seer, will paint a lucky eye for those who would seek good
fortune and love.
As the Marquis read the notice the curtains parted and a man and a woman came out
from the alcove, giggling together.
"It'll bring us luck! I know it'll bring us luck!" the woman said excitedly.
"As long as I can look into your eyes," the man replied, "I've no wish to stare at a piece
of paper!"
The woman made some retort but the Marquis, without waiting to listen, parted the
curtains and entered the alcove.
What had originally been a small supper-room had been made smaller by a table set
in the centre of it.
Behind it sat a woman with her head heavily veiled and wearing a yashmak. It
covered the whole of her face with the exception of her eyes.
These were, however, in shadow, owing to the fact that two oil-lamps placed at each
end of the table were shaded at the back so that the light shone only to the front and left
Madame Shahriza almost in darkness.
On the table were pieces of thick paper cut into squares, an Artist's palette, brushes,
and several pencils.
The Persian Artist was drawing on one of the pieces of paper as the Marquis entered.
She did not look up but merely said:
"Will you seat yourself on the chair with the light on your face?"
The Marquis walked forward and obeyed.
The Artist finished the outline of an eye and looked up. She gave a visible start and
her long thin lingers were still.
"I would like you to look into my eye," the Marquis said.
There was silence and he knew that Vanessa was finding it impossible to speak.
After a moment he said quietly:
"How could you have hidden yourself here? You have driven me crazy these past
weeks!"
She did not answer and he added:
"We cannot talk here. Get your cloak, Vanessa. My carriage is outside."
He thought she would argue, but as if she realised that it was hopeless she rose
slowly from the table. Her hands were trembling as she put first her palette and then the
pieces of paper into a box which contained her paints.
The Marquis watched her. When at length she turned back to pick up her cloak
which was in the shadows behind her he rose to put it round her shoulders.
"Surely you are not alone?" he asked.
For the first time Vanessa spoke.
"Dorcas . . . always comes with . . . me," she answered, "but tonight she was not well...
I insisted on her .. . staying behind."
"Then I will take you back to her," the Marquis said.
They walked from the alcove into the crowds who were still staring at what
remained of the burning balloon. Now it looked only like a small piece of paper flaring
against the sky.
The Marquis put his hand under Vanessa's arm and drew her towards the
Water-Gate which was a public entrance not far from the Prince's Pavilion.
They walked outside to where the Marquis's carriage was waiting behind the Royal
Carriages at the head of a long row of vehicles which stretched down the whole length of
Kennington Lane.
At the sight of His Lordship his footman sprang down from the box and opened the
door. Vanessa stepped inside and the Marquis followed her.
"Where do you wish to go?" he asked.
"Number twelve Museum Lane," she answered in a low voice.
The Marquis gave the man the address and the carriage started off.
Slowly, with hands that were trembling, Vanessa pushed back the hood which had
covered her head and undid the yashmak which had obscured her face. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]