The Optickal Illusion Page 12

  She raises her chin slightly. ‘This sounds most serious, Mr Johnson. What is your accusation?’

  ‘It is rather,’ he clears his throat, ‘delicate. If you’ll permit me, I have been so proud of being your publisher…’

  ‘… you are more than my publisher, and you know that. You are my dearest friend. You have saved me from destitution. You have seen me through both tears and laughter…’

  ‘Yes – you have always been one of my more tempestuous writers.’ His smile at this point has an edge of weariness. ‘To be the friend of the writer of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman may yet prove my greatest achievement,’ he continues. ‘So I trust my question will not offend you.’

  ‘You are scaring me. The more you compliment me, the more I worry what you are about to say. Please state your question without any further delay.’

  He takes a deep breath.

  ‘Is all well with you and Mr Godwin?’

  Now it is her turn to look at him searchingly.

  ‘It has only been a few months, I concede, but so far very it is very good indeed. After our unpromising start it still feels like something of a miracle.’

  ‘It was a terrible start…’

  ‘And the fault was very much yours.’

  Unwillingly he laughs.

  ‘It seemed an excellent idea to invite you both to dinner to meet Thomas Paine. I did not foresee that every time Paine tried to express an opinion…’

  ‘… I would have more to say on the subject than he did,’ she retorts.

  ‘I thought Godwin would never forgive you. I half expected him to detonate that night. Afterwards he said you were the most loathsome woman he had ever encountered.’

  Her smile is triumphant.

  ‘This morning he came over from his house as he does every day now, and we drank coffee together. He is happy that his book is selling well, but, as you know, Mr Godwin is never truly happy until he perceives some complication. Today he fretted that he was one of the few not to be censored by William Pitt.’

  ‘Because of his novel?’

  ‘No, no, his work on political justice. I spent much time soothing him, assuring him that if I were Prime Minister I would have no hesitation in throwing him in prison for sedition. So as you can see, the flame of our love still burns strong.’

  He laughs with relief at the acerbic glance with which she delivers this. ‘I am pleased indeed to hear that. Though censorship is no matter for jokes…’

  ‘I am sorry, Joseph. Sometimes we need to find cracks in the darkness.’ She looks at him suspiciously. ‘Why do you ask about Mr Godwin and myself? He has not been seen in the company of another lover, has he?’

  ‘No, no, no. It is not the company Mr Godwin keeps.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘There are certain rumours reaching me about a male visitor you have been entertaining recently.’

  There is a sudden half-light in her eyes that he cannot quite understand – both teasing and suspicious.

  ‘I can’t imagine what you are talking about. What might the name of this visitor be?’

  ‘John Opie.’

  She stifles a laugh. Turns her head to look at the dart of orange and red in the flames, as if it is from there she will draw her response.

  ‘John Opie is a very good friend, but nothing more,’ she says. ‘We have known each other for years. He is painting my portrait and will be here later this morning for the latest session.’ Her voice swoops low with amusement. ‘Did you truly think I had taken him as a lover?’

  Johnson regards her quietly without answering.

  ‘When he visits, we talk about painting, philosophy, and the women with whom he is in love, who do not include myself. We are more like brother and sister.’

  ‘Well that certainly accounts for how often he is seen coming to your house.’ He smiles, feels the knots releasing at the back of his neck. ‘You are absolutely sure you are not brother and sister in the sense of Jupiter and Juno?’

  ‘No, no, you are wicked. Not in that sense at all. It is still Mr Godwin who resides highest in my affections. He and Opie are extremely good friends, which, as you know, would be impossible if there were any hint of interest on Opie’s part. Mr Godwin may be famed as an anarchist philosopher, but he is most territorial.’

  They stare at each other for a moment.

  ‘That is reassuring to hear. Very good to hear.’

  ‘I appreciate your frankness, Joseph. I must confess you are not the first to accuse me thus. Why were you so concerned?’

  He takes a deep breath.

  ‘What happens to you in matters of the heart is of course your own business. But I must confess mixed reports had reached me of Opie before now, and I was a little concerned when I thought he might be your latest suitor. He has a reputation for displaying poor judgement in personal matters.’

  ‘And I was the latest example of that?’

  His eyes, dark as flint, spark their denial.

  ‘You know that was not my allegation.’

  She looks into the fire again and surveys the flames sharply.

  ‘I will concede that Mr Opie can on occasion be naïve,’ she says. ‘He was in love with one of his sitters, a young woman called Elizabeth Delfton. I met her once at his apartments – I would say that many see her as a considerable society beauty, not least Elizabeth herself.’ They exchange wry glances. ‘He wanted to marry her – but was worried that her wealthy parents would not be impressed by the advances of a painting teacher.’

  Johnson nods. ‘So things go in conventional circles.’

  ‘So he tried to set up a go-between to assure them of his respectability. At one point he asked me if I would perform the task. I took a certain amusement from asking him what would outrage them the most. The fact that my husband deserted me a year ago, the fact that shortly after I tried to kill myself, or the fact that I am vulgar enough to champion the rights of women.’ Her laughter is metallic, defiant. ‘Poor Opie was lost for words. I thanked him for asking me, but pointed out that the devil would scarcely horrify them more.’

  Johnson looks stricken. The memories from a year ago are locked into his body now, they lurch grey and confused in his stomach, and suddenly bring unexpected tears to his eyes. ‘Mary, I am glad you can make light of it,’ he says, recovering himself. In his mind again the knocking on his door in the small hours of the morning, the breathless messenger outside. ‘I am still consumed by fury when I think how we almost lost you. Your last husband was a liar and a scoundrel – he was not worthy of you intellectually, or as a human being. I cannot bear the thought of you throwing yourself into the Thames, the thought…’

  He leaves the words unspoken, clenching and unclenching his fists. A maid appears at the door.

  ‘Would you like some coffee?’

  Her question drops like a pin into the brief silence.

  ‘Marguerite,’ says Johnson quickly rising. He looks across to Mary, and rebukes himself that she looks crushed. He walks over and touches her lightly on the shoulder before going over and embracing Marguerite.

  ‘It has been too long since we have seen you, Mr Johnson,’ Marguerite declares, returning his embrace. She steps back and looks at Mary. The glance that is returned to her is not the kind that goes between employer and employee, but a glance of acknowledged solidarity. Johnson reflects how the maid has supported Mary through marriage and pregnancy in France, through the bitter return to England, and after her suicide attempt the year before.

  ‘I would very much appreciate a coffee,’ he declares, trying to ease the atmosphere. He looks to Mary, who nods briskly.

  ‘Would you like anything to eat, Joseph?’

  Johnson inhales sharply as he considers. Finally he shakes his head.

  ‘It is very kind of you. I will not be here long today, so I think I must say no.’

  He comes and sits down again. His face is pinched and drawn.

  ‘To return to a happier subject,’ he says quiet
ly, ‘we have established that Opie is not your suitor and Godwin still is. That means we can talk about Opie with perfect freedom. Mary, he has some most alarming connections.’

  He becomes aware he is starting to shake.

  ‘Joseph, are you quite well?’

  He pinches the top of his nose.

  ‘Forgive me. I am making you wretched.’ He pauses, and she watches him warily.

  ‘There is much talk that the French are joining forces with Irish Republicans to invade England.’

  He can see she is astonished.

  ‘I feel I should be pleased at this news, yet I know not what to think.’

  He nods his agreement.

  ‘Nor indeed do I. But I know and have had dealings with some of the Irish Republicans who are planning it – and the authorities are aware of my connections.’

  She leans forward and frowns.

  ‘I did not sleep much last night,’ he continues. ‘William Pitt has made me feel I am not safe even with my own thoughts. There are times when this whole country feels like a prison.’

  ‘I should not have joked about censorship…’

  He holds his hand out.

  ‘No, no. You are one of the bravest of my writers – we must be able to make light of this if we are to survive it. Though there have been times in recent months where I have found myself tempted by thoughts of emigrating to America again.’

  She watches him for a moment.

  ‘I can understand your sentiments, yet you would be wretched there. You are needed in London, you are a part of it.’

  He composes himself with a thin smile.

  ‘I understand that Opie had a patron, Peter Pindar…’

  ‘A most sinister man,’ interrupts Mary. ‘He is one of those who preys on the young. In Cornwall he realised that Opie had the kind of talent he would never have. He was utterly unscrupulous in creating a rift between him and his family. Then he introduced him to London. Opie at first was too young to see the monster he was. But when he did he was horrified. In December,’ her voice goes quiet, ‘Pindar seduced Miss Delfton.’

  Johnson frowns. ‘I know not what to say.’

  ‘Opie has written to her, but she has not replied. As you can imagine, now Opie does everything he can to keep Pindar at a distance.’

  Johnson dips his head as if to duck the flurry of her outrage.

  I know that Pindar has made a name for himself by writing satires,’ he says. ‘You say he and Opie are estranged?’

  She nods. ‘But he has written many vulgar poems about the painters he sees as Opie’s competitors. I was looking at some of his doggerel. He makes a number of attacks on Benjamin West – describes his paintings as no better than floor cloths. It is cheap stuff, yet to my surprise he has become somewhat influential.’

  Johnson sits back in his chair. He constructs a bridge with his fingers, over which he looks at Mary.

  ‘So I too have little regard for the man. Even so, I was shocked to hear of a highly sinister trick Opie and a friend of his played on Pindar.’

  ‘A sinister trick?’ She darts him an incredulous glance. ‘Mr Opie?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ His voice drops. ‘It deals in the all too serious matters which we have just discussed.’

  He takes a deep breath. Smiles at her, but the warmth of the smile does not reach his eyes.

  ‘Pindar has recently decided to make his satire political. He has penned some rather pathetic lampoons of the King. It is clear to anyone with a splinter of discernment that he is a Narcissus more than he is a humourist.’

  ‘You mean that he champions Republicanism in order to attract attention to himself?’

  ‘Quite. I do not truly believe that he has any serious dispute with the monarchy.’

  ‘That is a rather dangerous game to play.’

  ‘I agree entirely. So, it would seem, does Opie. Earlier this year Pindar began to attend meetings for radicals. He was noticed because, as you know, Pitt has ordered his spies to infiltrate radical gatherings. Friends of mine made it their business to find out more about him. Yet those who talked to him largely concluded him to be a trivial man, and that he was attending these gatherings to find more readers to sell to.’ He puts his hand to his forehead. ‘He disappeared last month.’ He can hear the flatness in his voice. ‘Nobody knew what had happened. That was the point at which I found out that John Opie and a friend of his had decided he needed to be taught a lesson.’

  Mary is very quiet now.

  ‘Opie’s friend is a certain Josiah Darton. An interesting man, Mr Darton – like you he has travelled to revolutionary France. He consorts with radicals, including our Leader of the Opposition, Charles Fox. Yet he also sings in the choir at the Chapel Royal in St James’s Palace.’

  ‘So is he for the monarchy…’

  ‘… or against it? A couple of months ago I would have said against. But for obvious reasons it suits Mr Darton that nobody is quite sure. Since his last visit to France he has been observed on at least one occasion coming out of Mr Pitt’s residence.’

  Johnson starts to shake again.

  ‘Opie asked Darton to go and position himself across the road from Pindar’s house dressed in a greatcoat and slouched hat,’ he continues. ‘It was a piece of amateur theatre, somewhat pathetic.’

  Mary tips her head to one side.

  ‘Opie then went and knocked on Pindar’s door. He informed him the man across the road was one of Pitt’s spies and had a warrant for his arrest. Pindar was terrified. Scared for his life – with Opie’s help – he climbed out of the back window. From there he fled to Windsor. He remained in hiding till yesterday when he returned to London, and I became aware of the whole story.’

  Mary studies Johnson’s face for a long while before responding.

  ‘I am most disappointed in Opie. It is a cruel joke – especially viewed by one such as you, who is pushed almost to madness by this threat,’ she eventually says. She gets up and walks to the window. ‘It would have been unforgivable indeed,’ she takes a deep breath, ‘had it involved any other individual.’ She collects herself and advances her next words carefully, like weights on a pair of scales. ‘But Pindar has been a parasite on his life for years. There were times when we talked of him when Opie was racked by tears, so furious about what he’d done that I was worried he was going to go off and murder him. He is still too ashamed to go and see his father. Can you understand how deeply this has wounded him? I think it says much about his good nature that Pindar hasn’t been found in an alley with his throat cut.’

  Johnson’s nod is slow and conciliatory.

  ‘It would make me happy not to condemn him. The art world is a crocodile pit full of opportunists, and from what you say Pindar deserves all that he suffers.’ He stands up and joins her at the window.

  ‘Yet even if Opie’s intentions are ultimately good, do we know precisely what Darton is up to?’

  He looks at her intently. ‘In this city most of our friends are being watched. The fact that Darton and Opie are friends, and Opie – I presume – spends many hours in conversation with you while he is painting your portrait…’

  She puts her hand to her mouth.

  ‘Opie would not inform against us.’

  ‘But he is, as you have said, a little naïve.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘And with the threat of invasion looming, Pitt’s spies will use the slightest excuse to round up anyone who attracts their attention. Has Opie ever talked to you on such matters?’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Then let it remain that way,’ he continues. ‘I am uncertain who Darton spies for, as I have said. But as long as there is any doubt, please can I enjoin you to be careful in what you say? Could you also refrain from corresponding on paper with Mr Opie?’

  She is reflective. Walks over to the window, and briefly splays her hand against it.

  ‘What kind of world do we live in, Joseph? The most harmless of connections can suddenly seem treacherous.’

  ‘I
know.’ His tone is conciliatory. ‘Perhaps I am being over-cautious. Perhaps I need to discover how to laugh again. But Pitt is merciless. And I would prefer to stay outside prison for a while longer.’

  A discreet chink of coffee cups announces that Marguerite has arrived back in the room. Just behind her toddles a small girl in a light blue gown, with dark eyes and fierce black curls. She lurches uncertainly towards Mary, who swoops her up and kisses her before she reaches the fireplace.

  Johnson turns too. The darkness on his face lifts.

  ‘Her character is just like yours,’ he declares, as the child lets out an elemental howl and demands to be put down. ‘Extremely independent. And thank the Lord, she looks nothing like her father.’

  Mary puts the child down for a moment and watches with interest as she lunges towards one of the soldiers. Then she walks over to the table and pours a cup of coffee for herself and Johnson.

  ‘Is it possible to trust anyone in London these days?’

  ‘I trust you,’ replies Johnson taking a sip from his cup. ‘But that is about the extent of it. And now, much though I would like to spend more time here, I must go.’ He takes a further, longer sip. ‘My other reason for coming here was to come to ask you to dinner a fortnight hence. Could you pass on my invitation to Mr Godwin?’

  ‘You must not invite us as a couple.’ Her voice rings out in mock rebuke. ‘We are lovers, but we are not like two dogs chained together in Hogarth’s Mariage A-la-mode. You can invite us separately, and we shall decide individually whether or not to attend.’

  Johnson nods. ‘Of course – I should not have expected either of you to stick with convention. I congratulate you heartily, Mary. It seems that in Godwin you have met your match on every level.’ He tilts the final dregs of coffee down his throat. ‘Now remember what I have said. Stray not into politics when you talk with Opie.’ He puts the cup down and solemnly takes Mary’s hand. ‘All of our futures may depend on it.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ann Jemima’s flight

  ‘Take some soot and grind it with urine, upon a shell, until it is perfectly refined; then put it into a glass vessel, that has a large mouth, filled with clear water; stir the mixture with a wooden spatula, and let it settle for about half an hour; the coarsest part will fall to the bottom; the liquor is then carefully poured into another vessel; the sediment is the most inferior Bister* and is thrown away. The same operation must be repeated with that which remains in the second vessel; it is then emptied into a third, and after letting it remain for three or four days, you procure the finest Bister.’