A Closed Heart by Oster, Camille (guided reading books TXT) 📗

to be,” Octavia continued. The constant bickering between the Hennington siblings had been something she’d been privy to before. It was also true that something about him struck her as stubbornly spiteful about the failure of his marriage. It wasn’t simply that he wouldn’t consider a divorce, but that he refused to live a life beyond it. From what she could tell, he didn’t have a mistress, which really was extraordinary for a man in his position. Anyone abandoned by his wife would be expected to have a mistress. It certainly wasn’t that he was repulsive in either looks or behavior. Admittedly, he was a little on the stern and cold side, but there were plenty of women who would overlook that. And if he divorced, he could even marry again.

“I claim no such thing, Sister. It is simply that finding amusing people is so very rare, and my tolerance for otherwise has declined.”

“That looks marvelous,” Eliza said as Mr. Fuller poured the soup into her bowl. “Your chef is wonderful. I have to say I’ve never had a bad meal when I’ve been here.”

“It’s unnatural,” Octavia said, ignoring Eliza’s attempts to change the conversation.

“And luckily, it is none of your affair,” Julius said in return.

Jane felt uncomfortable with the nature of the conversation and she could see that Eliza did too. Admittedly, she did understand Octavia’s point, but the delivery was a little harsh, and perhaps not best timed. Octavia could be curt—never more so when dealing with her brothers, Jane had observed.

“Are you working on something other than the portrait?” Eliza asked, sounding a little too bright in her inquiry.

“She’s painting fog,” Julius cut in, terse in his annoyance with his sister—and potentially with Jane too. It was hard to tell. And also, Jane hadn’t been aware of him seeing her current painting. Had he been in her room? “Will we get a chance to see it?”

“Oh, yes,” Eliza said. “That would be a very difficult subject matter.”

“Deceptively so,” Jane admitted. It was hard to get right. “It’s not finished, I’m afraid.”

“Do you paint any other natural phenomena?” Octavia asked. The tenseness between the siblings hung in the air. Of course, it was based in concern for the solitude in which he lived his life, but Julius didn’t like being questioned. Saying that, he hadn’t been as defensive when they’d talked about such subject matters.

“At times,” Jane replied. “As I said, it can be difficult to capture. It requires an exploration of techniques.”

“How are you otherwise?” Eliza asked. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’m well,” Jane replied, not wanting to go into details about how she was being evicted from her rooms and had to take this job in order to be able to afford to continue living in Brighton. It really wasn’t something that needed highlighting. Everyone had their troubles, and hers didn’t need to be aired like Julius’ were.

“You had plans to go to Paris at some point, if I recall,” Eliza continued.

“I haven’t gone yet. It’s not something I’m pursuing just now. I had a friend who wished to go and we did talk about it, but it never happened.”

“You must go sometime. I can imagine you would care for it greatly,” said Eliza.

The main course came. Lamb. Eliza was right in that the food was marvelous. It may be the best meal she’d ever had. The best quality meats that came from the property. The freshest cream, milk and eggs. No dilution or fillers in any of the things they ate, and it all tasted wonderfully.

“We have lots of projects coming up, if you should need work,” Eliza said.

“Thank you, that is very kind, but I have my hands full just now.”

“Of course you do. It’s wonderful to see you’re so successful.”

“Your paintings of Eliza’s children are absolutely delightful,” Octavia said. “I think when my children are a little older, I’ll have to engage you for a portrait.”

“I thought you said that portraits were sentimental, vain things,” Julius said.

“Well, I am sentimental about my children,” Octavia replied.

“I still think you should do an exhibition of your work,” Eliza said.

This was something she’d heard before, an action that seemed so simple and straightforward to laypersons, but was in reality a very complicated, not to mention, political thing. How did one convey that one was not ‘in’ with the mainstream, exhibition-supporting society? There was a whole infrastructure behind an exhibition. One couldn’t simply decide to have one. It was a much thornier thing, and she wasn’t an artist that the mainstream artistic crowd supported.

Granted, there were sways of artists that the mainstream didn’t support, and often, they were quite happy in their own company. “I have some showings in Brighton later in the summer,” she said with a smile. Which was a very different thing from the exhibitions Eliza was thinking about, but the showings she talked about were attended by her crowd, and the people interested in the more avant-garde art. “But maybe I will have an exhibition in Paris someday,” she finished more brightly.

“That would be exciting,” Eliza said. “And what better reason to visit Paris.”

“I still haven’t had a chance to visit Brighton,” Eliza said. “I went as a child a few times, but I suspect it’s a much different place as an adult.”

“It certainly is with some of the things I could show you,” Jane said, wondering how Eliza would take some of the cafés and parties that she attended in Brighton. Perhaps she would be shocked, as her society didn’t readily subscribe to the rules of fine society.

“That sounds very promising,” Eliza said with a smile. There was always something about Eliza that strived to know what was on the other side. Having been unceremoniously chucked out of fine society, she’d learned that there was life beyond, and she still