Page 93 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle

But he found ways to occupy their days. The Louvre alone, which contained a fine Etruscan and Roman collection, would have kept him happy. To begin with he tried to engage Kitty in conversation about the exhibits, but she tended to agree with everything he said, so after a while he desisted, and they walked about in silence. He was so used to being on his own that when he was fully absorbed with what he was looking at, he tended to forget she was there. He made sure she saw plenty of paintings, since he could not reasonably expect her to find a fragment of an Etruscan lamp as fascinating as he did, and even took her to Versailles and told her all about the Sun King and Le Nôtre and Le Brun. He thought, on the whole, he was keeping her amused.

The evenings were more difficult: sitting across a table from each other in silence seemed so awkward. The theatre was no use – neither of them spoke French well enough – but he took her once to the ballet and once to the opera. She seemed to like the former, but fell asleep during the opera, which he had to admit was very inferior.

All in all, he felt two weeks in Paris was probably too much. Italy, where he knew people, would be easier. What reconciled him to the whole business – apart from the knowledge that, even as they wandered about the glaring streets, his agent and banker were putting her dowry to work, paying off his debts – what reconciled him to his marriage was their nights together.

He could not have imagined that it would be so wonderful. From a nervous beginning he had grown in confidence, discovering with her and through her an experience so exquisite, so overwhelming, that he could hardly get enough of it. He felt gratitude towards Kitty, and great tenderness. He had dreaded it so much, but she had made it so easy! During the day, she was the shy, almost timid girl he had known in London, obedient as a child to an adult’s commands, but at night, in bed, in the dark, she was the willing collaborator in this journey into a land of undiluted sensation. She seemed to like it as much as he did, to be ready, eager, as often as he wanted her. In the dark, he called her his ‘little pagan’, and she laughed delightedly. By day, she would hardly meet his eye. It was like being married to two different people. As he walked about galleries and examined exhibits, with his silent, obedient wife at his side, he often thought about the night to come, and it was as if he had a secret mistress – he felt almost guilty, as though he was being unfaithful.

Sometimes he asked her, ‘Are you happy?’

And she always said, ‘Yes.’ By day she said it unemphatically, as if he had asked her nothing more than if she would like more coffee. By night she said, ‘Oh, yes!’ And his feelings would surge up and fill him with warmth.

It was very odd.

Nina suspected her aunt had manipulated her into friendship with Lepida Morris, but as she found that she liked her, it didn’t matter. Lepida was tall and thin, with the sort of sensible face that people often described as ‘horse-like’, though why that should be derogatory Nina had never understood, horses being, to her, the most beautiful creatures on earth. Actually, she thought Lepida looked more like the hare she was named after, having very large eyes and a slight deficiency of chin. Either way, she was not unattractive, though no man would call her beautiful. She was very fair of skin, with mouse-brown hair, a long neck and long, expressive fingers. She was twenty-six, but Nina’s education made the difference in age between them seem less.

Together they visited the drawing-rooms of wealthy ladies and asked for donations. This was the part Nina didn’t like, though Lepida seemed unembarrassed by it. ‘I’ve done it so often,’ she said. ‘You grow hardened in time.’ It always involved explaining the scheme in detail, and in particular why it was needed and what good it would do. Many potential donors were instinctively averse to doing things for people who were not actually incapacitated; some others still divided the poor into the deserving and the undeserving, and suspected that most poor people fell into the latter category or they wouldn’t be poor in the first place. The library, the girls explained again and again, would put people in the way of an education that would help them to help themselves, to lift themselves out of ignorance and thence out of poverty.

After one or two visits, they were always in need of tea.

In a tea-shop in Sloane Square, Lepida said, ‘I have the schedule here of the evening lectures at the British Museum this autumn. I wondered if you’d like to have a look. I always go to one or two, and perhaps you’d be interested in coming with me. It’s always more fun if one goes with a friend.’

Sipping her tea, Nina looked through the schedule, and one subject leaped out at her. ‘Egyptology! Now, that would be interesting.’

Lepida looked. ‘Oh, yes, Margaret Murray’s lectures. I was quite interested in that myself.’

‘A woman giving lectures?’ Nina marvelled.

‘She studied at University College London,’ said Lepida. ‘They’re much more open-minded about women’s education than the old Oxford and Cambridge colleges. The University of London started awarding degrees to women twenty years ago.’

‘Did you never want to study at university?’ Nina asked.

‘I thought about it, and Papa wouldn’t have been against it, but I decided it wouldn’t really be for me. I don’t have the right sort of mind. Mother says I’m curious, but lazy. And I couldn’t see the point in doing all that hard work to gain a degree if I wasn’t going to do anything with it.’

‘You could teach.’ Nina said.

‘I should simply hate that,’ said Lepida. ‘Lazy, you see.’

‘I don’t think you’re lazy. Look at all the work you’re doing for the library.’

‘Intellectually lazy, I mean. You’ve always got your nose in a book, but if I have an hour to myself, I’d sooner get out the water-colours, or go for a walk and gaze at nature. I don’t mind learning, if someone else does the hard work – hence these lectures. One can sit still and be fed like a baby bird. So you’re interested in Egyptology? Is that a new thing?’

Nina managed not to blush. ‘Fairly new. Archaeology in general, but Egyptology in particular.’

‘Well, Margaret Murray’s awfully good. She studied under Flinders Petrie.’

‘I’ve heard of him,’ Nina said, sipping more tea to hide her face. Giles Stainton had told her how he had studied under Petrie, had been one of his favourite students, in fact. She wondered whether Margaret Murray would have known him. It would be a way to be connected with him, to be taught by her, even if it was only a public lecture.

Lepida was watching her covertly, wondering what she was thinking. ‘You know,’ she said at length, ‘if you’re really interested, you should think of going to university yourself.’

‘Oh, I don’t think I’d be good enough,’ Nina said.

‘I’m sure you would,’ said Lepida. ‘And there are so many more openings for women now – not just University College, but Bedford College too.’

‘But I’m sure it would cost a lot of money,’ Nina said. ‘I don’t think I could ask my aunt to keep me for all that time. That’s why I’m going to be a teacher.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose I shall have to start after the summer, when the new term begins.’

‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic,’ said Lepida.

‘I expect I shall like it once I start,’ said Nina. ‘One must do something.’