Page 15 of Infamous

‘Actually, my latest fell on my assistant last week,’ said Kitty. ‘It’s about six feet in length and height. He nearly lost his kneecaps, but he’s expected to make a full recovery.’

Eddie laughed, which luckily seemed to be the expected reaction, and then listened with almost religious fervour as Kitty Stuart went on to explain the inspiration behind her latest painting.

‘It’s a family portrait, but it’s meant to convey this sense of decay, of the legacy crumbling .?.?. I thought I’d cracked it, but then my assistant pointed out that the little spaniel at their feet that I had thought looked subtly ominous actually seemed to be grinning, and I’d accidentally given him human teeth .?.?.’

Eddie forgot about Rose and Mr Rednock entirely, and only vaguely registered some slight movements in the corner of her vision until Rose – having clearly been attempting to get her attention for some time – managed to inch her leg far enough over to stamp on Eddie’s foot.

‘Excuse me,’ she said to her new companions.

Rose communicated through a series of small glances that she wished to step to the back of the room, and Eddie reluctantly followed.

‘What is it?’ she said, as they tucked themselves into a window, Eddie becoming briefly entangled with the drapes before managing to get the better of them.

‘These people are dreadful,’ Rose whispered, putting a hand to Eddie’s wrist.

Eddie was startled; Rose so often strove to think the best of people that this was a shocking indictment after just half an hour or so in their company.

‘Are they?’ said Eddie.

Rose laughed bitterly. ‘A man asked me what Icreated, and when I said nothing at all, he looked at me as if I’d just shot the head off his dog. He asked how I findmeaningin my life if I am not producing art, and when I said that I found friendships, family and various social connections to be meaning enough, he clearly felt very sorry for me indeed. He all but said so.’

‘Well,’ Eddie said, glancing over at the back of Nash Nicholson’s head. ‘They’reartists, aren’t they, and thinkers – they cannot imagine any other way to be.’

Eddie was inclined to agree with them, but didn’t think it quite the right thing to say to Rose.

‘Who separates a great thought from all the ordinary ones, I wonder?’ Rose said, raising her eyebrows, her fingers still encircling Eddie’s wrist. ‘Is it impossible to have one if it concernsdomesticdrudgeries and things so low and common ascompanionshipandfriendship?’

Eddie frowned, and Rose looked taken aback.

‘I have never known you to be so .?.?. so cynical, and unkind,’ Eddie said. ‘We’ve been invited here among all these important people, we are inNash Nicholson’sdrawing room, and I intend to make the best of it even if you are determined to ruin it for me.’

Rose’s mouth dropped open, and colour flared high in her cheeks as she let go of Eddie’s arm. She was just about to speak when Eddie felt something brush her elbow; when she turned, she saw that Nash himself was standing there, looking conspiratorial.

‘I fear I’ve been neglecting you.’

‘Oh, no, not at all,’ said Eddie.

It was warm in the drawing room with so many bodies crammed into it, and Nash was glowing with perspiration, his hair curling attractively over his brow before he pushed it away.

‘It’s a nightmare in here, we’re packed in like swine and only half as polite – come and see my study and breathe the free air again.’

‘Eddie,’ Rose said forcefully, but Eddie was already following Nash from the room with a spring in her step.

Chapter Seven

Nash’s study was an oddly crooked room on the first floor of the house, lit by a single lamp. It seemed to slope to one side, giving Eddie the impression that if she dropped a handful of marbles, they would flee westwards, never to be seen again. There was a large, ancient desk in front of the window, with ornate carvings of cherubs and gods and fat bunches of grapes twisting up the legs. Books and drifts of paper were stacked on every available surface; Nash tripped over a pile on the floor on his way into the room, and swore very graphically before kicking them aside. A decanter of wine sat on the desk, next to a partially filled glass that had left dark, wet rings in the oak.

‘The first person to spot a rat,’ said Nash, pushing some writing detritus aside, ‘wins a shilling. You’re not afraid of rats, are you?’

‘No,’ said Eddie firmly. ‘In fact, we raised them. Rose and I, one spring. It was her idea – she loses her head over animals. We didn’t realise quite how many there would be after such a short time. My parents discovered them when they escaped the trunk under my bed and all came streaming down the stairs and into the dining room during dinner. My mother said it was like we had been visited by one of the plagues.’

‘Ah, well. At least it wasn’t .?.?. you know. Boils. Rivers of blood.’

‘I think that day they would have preferred death of the firstborn,’ said Eddie.

Nash snorted. He collapsed into his desk chair and then looked around, as if he were surprised that another chair hadn’t materialised for her.

‘Are you above sitting on a trunk?’