A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,69
The whole room emitted a depressed, neglected feel.
Looking about the room, Lucy was shocked by the portrait of a nude woman occupying a place of honor above the great fireplace. She appeared to be stepping from her bath, long tresses of auburn hair partially hiding her body from view. No innocent was she, Lucy thought, for her gaze was at once knowing and intimate and mysterious. A slight cough forced her to turn away.
Del Gado was regarding her carefully, smoke arising lazily from his pipe. Marie stood behind him where he sat in his chair, her arms wrapped around his neck. Her easy clutch made it clear she was not merely Del Gado’s servant.
“Ah, my little curious kitten from the Hargraves’,” Del Gado said, tapping his pipe into a small tray. “What has brought you here to my den?”
Lucy handed him the note, which he quickly perused. “So, your mistress wants me to resume the portrait,” he mused out loud. “Alas, I’ve grown a bit weary of painting your dear mistress. She is a mite too wan for my tastes. I find it too hard to awaken that tiger!”
Marie’s arms tightened around him. With difficulty, Del Gado extricated himself from her embrace and swatted her plump bottom. “Leave us a moment, love.”
Flouncing out of the room, Marie flashed Lucy a warning. Catching the look, the painter smiled fondly. He stood up. “Yes, Marie is a tiger, too, but she has become predictable. I am weary of her. I need a new muse. Someone younger, fresher…” He took a step closer to Lucy and breathed deeply. “Sweeter.”
Transfixed by his voice, Lucy stood stock-still.
“Perhaps you, my dear, should like to pose for me? I have many things to offer a girl such as you,” Del Gado suggested.
“I do not want to pose for you,” she whispered.
As if she had not spoken, he continued. “No, I can see, no mere trifles for you, no combs or dressing boxes or gilded mirrors or perfumes. A girl like you wants something different; I can sense it.” He reached for a curly wisp that had escaped from her cap. “Perhaps you would like a small picture for your lover so he can delight in your loveliness. A token that you can bestow upon him.” Lucy flushed, and he laughed, dropping his hand. “No, I can tell you want something from me but do not wish to say. That intrigues me, my love, yes, that intrigues me. Just know that when I think of it, you’ll not refuse. I desire to know you, little one; I sense something in you, but no matter. I do not know yet where to place you, how to capture you.” Del Gado’s eyes drifted over her body knowingly. “You are still a girl, but the woman in there…” He sighed. He moved to open the door.
Knowing, even as she spoke, the pure folly she was venturing upon, Lucy seized her chance to find out what he knew. She pretended to reconsider. “I do not think my mother should like it if I posed”—she paused—“as you would have me.”
“Ah, mothers. She would never know, my sweet. I can already see you, my little Psyche, a nymph in a simple white robe, perhaps just slipping off one shoulder here, revealing—”
Lucy interrupted before he could touch her. “You say you would give me something in return? Perhaps you could just do my eye. As you did for Jane Hardewick.” Lucy held her breath.
A frown creased Del Gado’s brow. He stepped back. “You knew Jane?”
“We worked together before I came to the Hargraves,” she lied, figuring he would never know. “We were friends.”
“And she showed you the eye?” he asked. The excitement that he had just displayed was fast fading. Lucy nodded, hoping he would not press for details.
“Yes, lovely girl. Made Marie jealous, which isn’t too hard to do these days.” He licked his lips. “I had to use a special ocher to get the brown of her eye right.”
A dark shadow crossed his face. For a moment, he looked—what? Angry? Desperate? Disappointed? “Shame about the girl, though. Waste of lovely young flesh.” Del Gado looked at Lucy sharply. She merely nodded. Then he stepped back, the earlier vulnerability she had glimpsed now disappeared. “Tell your mistress I shan’t need her for any more sittings; the portrait the magistrate commissioned is finished. I’ll have it sent over shortly. And Lucy,” he added. “Remember. There’s much I can offer you—more than you can imagine.”