Chapter 14

It was gloomy in the museum after the brightness outside. I stopped a sigh and tried not to think about an afternoon cooped up with bones and stones. But when we stopped at a glass case full of rocks, I was surprised to see how beautiful they were, split open like pomegranates to reveal whorls of astonishing purples, pinks and blues.

William leaned in for a closer look at an agate. ‘Look, Jess, crystals, forged by unthinkable heat in the very belly of the earth. The Greeks weren’t so far off the mark when they imagined Hephaestus hammering away underground – no man-made forge could create these gemstones.’ He was filled with awe in the same way I was when looking at one of the Masters. William was passionate about unravelling the mysteries of the physical world and like many men of science in those days, he wrote poetry, exploring the wonders of the universe in verse as well as with beakers and experiments. Much as I admired his fervour, after the fourth case of agates – none much different from the other as far as I could tell – I stifled a yawn. When William fell into conversation with another chemist, I realised that a long scientific debate was about to ensue. I’d heard too many of those and I wasn’t about to endure another. Not in Paris.

I started to move away. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I want to sketch some of the animals in the menagerie.’

‘I’ll find you there,’ said William, turning back to his discussion about the saponification of fats.

There were already some artists at work at the Fauverie, the cages where the big cats – their pelts bedraggled and eyes dulled – paced back and forwards in the tight enclosures. A lion lay panting in the heat, one giant paw protruding between the bars. Its spine was arched and quite different from Landseer’s lions in Trafalgar Square, which have dipped backs like crouching greyhounds. At such close quarters, the wild civet smell from the wet straw was overpowering. A chimpanzee from the monkey house began to shriek dementedly and throw itself against the bars. Menageries are invaluable for teaching us about animals we would not otherwise see, but I’ve never liked the thought of a wild creature trapped in a cage, aand the screeching monkey and the frenzied pacing of the big cats were too much for me. I tore off my gloves and felt my brow. It was clammy.

I began to faint but felt an arm go round my waist as someone caught me. ‘Jessie, Jessie, qu’est-ce-que tu as? You are so pale. Are you unwell?’

A tang of lemon verbena cologne sharpened the air. A face came into focus, brow furrowed and lips so close I could feel their breath on my cheek.

‘Georges, what are you doing here?’ I said.

‘Rosa – who else? – dragged me to this appalling place. I find this obsession of hers with the animals tiresome.’ Georges placed a cool brown hand on my forehead. ‘You look a little better now. It must have been the heat in here.’ He still had his arm about my waist and I leaned into him gratefully.

‘What little butterfly have you trapped now, mon vieux? Jessie, is that you?’ Once more, Rosa broke the spell of our embrace. She waved away the small knot of curious artists. ‘Allons-y, move aside you lot. Give the girl room to breathe.’

I had recovered enough to be amused by today’s outfit on Rosa: jodhpurs, a tweed hacking jacket, riding boots and whip, her short hair tucked under a flat cap. She looked as if she’d left her horse tied up outside.

When Rosa dispersed the crowd, I could see William hurrying towards us and stepped away from Georges.

‘Jessie,’ William said. ‘One of the attendants who spotted us together earlier told me you had fainted in the menagerie. Are you all right? What happened?’

‘Don’t fuss, I felt a little queasy, that’s all. Silly of me, I’m not given to fainting in coils like Alice’s Mock Turtle. Dearest, these are two of my new friends.’

When he heard the endearment, Georges shoved his hands in his pockets and grimaced.

Rosa stepped forward and put out her hand. ‘Rosa Bonheur.’

William looked confused.

Rosa laughed. ‘Don’t know whether to kiss it or shake it, eh? With our friend Georges, however, there can be no room for doubt.’ She slapped Georges on the back and he coughed and looked annoyed.

Georges took his hands out of his pockets. With a bow that was barely perceptible, he clicked his heels.

William looked amused. ‘Ah, you’re a military man, I see. My uncle is in the Diehards. He’s never taken to the new name – The Middlessex – insists on calling it the 57th. But I don’t suppose that’ll mean much to you chaps over here?’

I elbowed him, more sharply than necessary. ‘William, Monsieur Duchamp is an artist, not a soldier.’

Georges brushed a piece of invisible lint from his sleeve. ‘Jessie is right. No regiment in its right mind would have me. I’ve picked up some rather irritating affectations from a Cossack with whom I share an atelier. But the Russians aren’t all bad. Where we would be without their exquisite caviar, after all?’

Not only had Georges used my first name, casually, but, to my horror, he also winked at me when he mentioned the caviar. Thankfully, William didn’t seem to pick up on Georges’ outrageous behaviour, because he smiled pleasantly and shook his hand.

‘William Elbourne. You’re clearly a friend of, er, Jessie.’

Georges took out his cigarette case and offered it to William, who shook his head. He took his time fiddling with matches and exhaling. ‘This place is getting on my nerves,’ Georges said. He waved his hand wearily and I wondered what William would make of him. He hated affectations of any kind and I could see a frown appear between his eyes. ‘I can’t believe I let Rosa talk me into coming here. May I suggest a little champagne to revive the ladies? There is a delightful little bistro on the quai Saint-Bernard.’

William put his arm around me with such a proprietary air that I had to resist the urge to shake him off. An odd thing was happening: the more insouciant and French an air Georges affected, the more uptight and English William became. They were both being impossible.

‘I’m afraid we don’t have time,’ William said in a clipped voice I didn’t recognise. ‘We’re expected shortly at Jessie and Camille’s atelier.’

But Georges was not to be deterred. Rosa was right about his love of the chase – William’s presence on the field only seemed to sharpen his appetite for me.

‘We’ll come with you, won’t we Rosa?’ he said. ‘I’m absolutely consumed with desire to see Jessie’s work.’

Rosa tapped her boot with her whip. ‘I too must admit to a certain curiosity. Jessie has hidden depths we’d both to like to explore, eh Georges?’ She winked at me and I shook my head at her, furious at her indiscretion. ‘In a strictly professional sense, of course,’ she said with an innocent smile at William. ‘Besides, Auguste is always talking about the genius of Camille, his little pot of gold he discovered. Alors, no more chit-chat! To the atelier, my dear Monsieur Elbourne, tout de suite!’ She grabbed William’s arm and marched him away. William looked over his shoulder at me with a helpless look.

I laughed and called after him, ‘There’s no use fighting, William – Rosa has a will of iron. You go with her; I’m feeling much better now anyway.’

Georges smirked and took my arm. ‘Don’t worry, Elbourne, I’ll look after Jessie.’ I pulled away and glowered at him. I was not a toy to be snatched from another child.

We walked through the reptile house where coiled and looped snakes flicked their tongues and crested lizards lay fatly on rocks. A turtle poked its nostrils at us from a foul-smelling terrarium and a black and yellow spotted snake spiralled slowly beside it in the cloudy water. The stench was appalling and I was glad to come out the other side. The Seine ran swiftly past and a cool breeze carried its river smell to us. We stopped at a small enclosure where moth-eaten yaks and bison mournfully chewed the cud, gazing at us with big, stupid eyes.

‘It’s like being watched by gaping onlookers while you paint,’ Georges said with a shudder.

Rosa climbed up and leaned her elbows on the railing and made a kissing sound. One of the beasts ambled over and she scratched its mighty head. ‘We ate some of these during the Paris Siege,’ she said. ‘The mob broke in here and carted off anything that looked remotely like a cow or a horse. Zebra en daube became quite a feature in Parisian households for a while.’ Some people walking past turned their heads and frowned at her flippant remarks.

‘Lower your voice, Rosa, no one talks about those times,’ Georges said. ‘Do you want to get us lynched?’

‘Georges, don’t be a bore. I lived through it so I’ve earned the right to joke. What are you getting your pantaloons in a knot about? You weren’t even born then, pretty boy.’ She gave the bison a final pat and jumped down. ‘Let’s find a cab. Jessie still looks a little pale, and she’s so quiet, she can’t have recovered fully.’

William hailed a cab with one arm and reclaimed me from Georges with the other. They were as bad as each other. I shook him off and climbed up myself. When the cab arrived at the studio an argument began between William and Georges, as they vied to pay the fare. I left them to it and ran up the stairs to the studio. The door was locked so I had to use my key to enter. When I pulled back the curtain that separated the marble studio from the clay studio, I froze.