The Elsingham Portrait - By Elizabeth Chater Page 0,3

a few steps involuntarily, putting distance between herself and the portrait. It was then she noticed a card tacked to the wall beside the picture frame.

LADY NADINE ELSINGHAM

by Adrian Bart

1774

And in smaller letters: “On loan from the Merlin Galleries, London.”

Irresistibly the shallow green eyes drew Kathryn’s glance. So alive, so insolent they were! What kind of female had she been, this titled Englishwoman in the absurd costume? Kathryn tried to overcome the effect of the eyes by laughing at the archaic dress and absurd hair style of the subject. She found she could not keep her eyes from the other woman’s face. She gave in and fastened her own gaze on the green eyes that seemed to be drawing her, drawing . . . There was a moment when she felt dizzy, faint—when the dirty floor seemed to shift beneath her feet—the very world turned—

“It can’t be an earthquake!” she heard herself say, and then . . .

*****

She was standing on a deep-piled Turkish carpet. Instead of the bleak gray half-light of the Moderan Gallery, a warm yellow glow filled the air around her. She lifted her eyes to the portrait—Yes, thank goodness, it was still there in front of her, the green eyes seeming brighter in the exquisite, evil face. And then she glanced down—and the world whirled around her again. Incredibly, insanely, she was dressed in a copy of that extravagant golden satin costume. Gasping in the heated air, Kathryn stared wildly around her.

She was standing on a square platform—a landing half-way up a staircase. On either side of her, wide, richly-carpeted stairs swept up to a railed gallery. Everywhere candles burned in lustered holders and sconces, providing the mellow light she had noticed. Gold-framed paintings hung on the silk-paneled walls. A huge bowl of flowers graced a table in front of the portrait. This was not the picture galley! How had she come to this place? Who had put this costume on her?

Kathryn caught a flash of movement at the edge of her vision. She glanced up at the railed gallery. A woman, tall, gaunt, dressed all in black even to the cap closely framing her face, was staring down from the shadows of a pillar above. There was a rigidity—almost an agony of purpose—in her posture. At her shoulder stood a slender man whose dark hair fell across his forehead in casual disarray. Kathryn glimpsed the whiteness of his hand on the woman’s dark sleeve. Then they moved back out of sight. There was a furtive air to their behavior.

But—this was madness! Kathryn turned and looked down the broad central stairway that led into a spacious, beautifully furnished hall. At the front door, a footman in a powdered wig was ushering in a tall man, taking his hat and cape obsequiously. The man turned his head, his hair shining gold in the candlelight, and saw Kathryn.

He came forward politely a few steps, and sketched a bow, but there was no smile of welcome on his face. He said coolly, “Admiring your portrait, milady?” and made to enter one of the rooms which had opened off the hallway.

“Wait!” Kathryn stretched out a hand to him. Her mind was in wild confusion, striving to understand the situation in which she found herself, to make some kind of rational pattern out of the unbelievable reports of her senses. Somehow she had the conviction that this man, with his hard level gaze now meeting hers directly, would be a rock and a refuge for anyone lucky enough to be his friend. Was there something familiar about his face? The mouth, strong yet sensitive; the forehead, broad; the chin, decisive; the eyes arrogant beneath level brows—a strong man, not easily deceived. If he would help her . . .

“Where am I?” she faltered. “What am I doing here?”

The man frowned suddenly and began to turn away.

“Please! You must help me!” Kathryn took a step forward, catching the look of surprise and, yes, dislike on the man’s face. Abruptly the surprise changed to alarm. For Kathryn was falling . . . falling down the strange, beautiful stairway . . . into blessed darkness.

Two

When Kathryn came to her senses, she was being carried along a beautifully furnished corridor in the arms of the golden-haired man. She stared over his shoulder, trying to orient herself. Marble statues and urns of fresh flowers were set in niches; candles blazed on the silk-paneled walls. Kathryn’s cheek rested against a strong shoulder covered with cloth of dark