Page 51 of Venus in Disguise

At least the carriage ride was mercifully short, and barely twenty minutes later he handed Narcissa down and led her towards the smart front door of the smart, red brick house on Berwick Street.

“Good morning, Barnes,” Ash said, with no preamble. “Is he up?”

“Yes, sir, as it happens, he is. Mr Weston is in his studio.” Barnes eyed Narcissa with obvious agitation as he lowered his voice. “But I’m afraid he’s a little…er… worse for wear. Not fit company for the lady,” he added in an undertone that only Ash could hear.

“Is he now?” Ash replied, frowning. “Well, there’s no help for it.”

“Perhaps I could see the lady to the parlour whilst you speak to Mr Weston, sir?” Barnes offered.

Ash hesitated. If it were any other man that would be sensible, but Larkin was such an easy-going fellow he could not imagine him saying anything out of the way to Narcissa, even if he was half seas over. Besides, Ash acknowledged the strangely urgent desire to introduce his wife to Larkin and have someone congratulate them.

“No, it’s all right, Barnes. My wife, Lady Narcissa, and I will go through, if you please.”

“Very good, Mr Anson, sir, and may I be the first to congratulate you both,” Barnes said smoothly, clearly disapproving of Ash’s demand, even if he didn’t bat an eyelid at the news.

Barnes led them through to the back of the house and into a large, bright room which smelled strongly of oil paint and turpentine, where he announced.

“Mr Anson and the Lady Narcissa Anson.”

Larkin spun around, dropped the glass he was holding, which smashed on the flagstone floor beneath him, and glared at Ash in outrage. “For the love of God! Is it a bloody epidemic?”

Ash stared at him, wondering if perhaps Barnes had been right after all, as the harried servant rushed off to find a dustpan and brush.

“Come again?” Ash asked, frowning.

“You’ve married a Ponsonby,” Larkin accused him, gesticulating somewhat erratically at Narcissa. “I’ve had Hart here with the other one not two days ago, or is it three? Anyway, the other sister, Fiddle… Fideela…”

“Fidelia?” Narcissa offered politely.

“That’s the one!” Larkin said with a snap of his fingers. “Fidelia. Hart married her, and now you! Is there one for me too?”

“I’m afraid not,” Narcissa said, a thread of amusement in her voice, though Ash did not find the situation remotely amusing. “Are they really married?” she asked, sounding delighted by the revelation.

“Pity,” Larkin said morosely, and picked up a large paintbrush and dipped it in a pot of white paint. “And yes. Happily, blissfully wed, they are, even after all the drama, but at least she found her baby. That’s good, isn’t it? All’s well that ends well,” he said, with a snort of derision.

Ash blinked in shock as Narcissa let out a gasp.

“B-Baby?” she repeated. “What do you mean? What baby?”

Larkin paused, and Ash felt another jolt as he realised what he was doing with the brush. There were several canvases littered about his studio, all freshly painted white. The one on the easel before him was not yet complete, only a large white splotch in one corner marring the portrait of Miss Elmira Hastings. Turning slowly, Larkin regarded Narcissa with a bleary gaze.

“Oh,” he said, swaying a little as the brush dripped white paint on the tiles. “I may have been a trifle indiscreet.”

“Yes, you may,” Ash said savagely. “For the love of everything holy, what the devil has got into you?”

With a snort, Larkin shook his head. “The truth will set you free, so I’m told. What utter bollocks.”

“Right, that’s it,” Ash muttered furiously. “Barnes, be so good as to take my wife to the parlour and see her comfortably settled. Mr Weston and I need a little chat. Bring coffee when you have a moment, and lots of it.”

“Yes, sir, certainly sir,” Barnes said, looking relieved. “Lady Narcissa, if you would be so good as to follow me.”

“But Ash?” she said, eyes wide as she tried to convey what she was desperate to know whilst saying nothing in front of Barnes.

“I’ll see to it, love, and I will let you know,” he promised. “Please, go with Barnes.”

Though she clearly wanted to do nothing so much as cross examine his drunken halfwit of a friend, Narcissa did as he asked, leaving Ash alone with Larkin.

He strode across the studio, snatched the brush from Larkin and set it down carefully before grasping his friend’s arm. Propelling him out of the back door and into a small courtyard, Ash went straight to the water pump. The bucket beneath it was more than half full, so he picked it up and dumped the lot over Larkin’s head.