Read Online Ophelia's Muse by Rita Cameron - Free Book Online Page A

daughter, I see.”
    â€œI should hope not,” muttered Lydia. Louder, she said, “If Lizzie is up every night thinking of poetry, she will lose her place. She needs her sleep.”
    â€œMy Lizzie has more brains and beauty than any of Shakespeare’s heroines. I expect she’ll be fine. Let her be, Lydia.”
    Lizzie could not be angry with her father for long, but his flattery solved nothing. Beauty and brains were quite all right when you were a fine lady in a play, but they hadn’t proved of much use when you were a shopgirl from Southwark. She was tempted, for a moment, to tell him that she was going to sit for a portrait of one of Shakespeare’s heroines, but then decided against it. Any pride that he would take in the thought would be far outweighed by his dismay that she was going to be a model.
    â€œGoodbye, Father,” she said. “I’ll be late again tonight. Tell Mother not to wait up.”
    With that, the two girls brushed past their father and went down the stairs. They put on their cloaks and went out into the street. Before they parted, Lydia turned to Lizzie with some last advice. “Do be careful, Lizzie. And mind that there is always another lady present.”
    â€œAs always, Lyddie, you’re completely practical. If only I had a bit of your good sense.”
    Lydia laughed. “From what I’ve heard, good sense is not the quality that painters look for in their models.” Then she became serious. “I’ve no doubt that they will be charmed by you, Lizzie. But do be careful that you’re not too charmed by them. A painter is little more than a conjurer, after all. But you are so much more than a pretty girl in a painting. I don’t want to see you sell yourself for a handful of beans.”
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    Deverell’s studio was situated in Kew, a green and elegant neighborhood west of the city. It was too far to walk, and the cost of a cab was well beyond Lizzie’s means, so she boarded a horse-drawn omnibus and wedged herself in among the other passengers.
    Anticipation made the trip seem longer than it was, but when she at last reached the house, her nerve almost failed her. It was an impressive redbrick mansion, three stories high, with white pillars at the door and a mansard roof. She checked the address twice before making her way up the path.
    She rang the bell, and a maid in a starched cap answered and took her name. The maid went to fetch Mrs. Deverell and Lizzie stood awkwardly on the doorstep, unsure of whether she should have followed the maid into the house—the girl hadn’t indicated either way.
    Before she could make up her mind to enter, Mrs. Deverell appeared at the door. She looked Lizzie up and down, reminding Lizzie of her own mother. “My dear Miss Siddal,” she said, in a voice that managed to be both solicitous and distant. “You are so very kind to sit for my son. I know that he is delighted to have your assistance. Please,” she said, “follow me, and I’ll show you to his studio.”
    Without ever having invited Lizzie into the house, Mrs. Deverell swept past her and went down the steps and onto the path. Lizzie followed her around the side of the house, her cheeks burning. Was she being shown to the servants’ entrance? But to Lizzie’s great relief, Mrs. Deverell proceeded past the kitchen door and through the garden to a studio set back from the house. She pushed open the door and gestured for Lizzie to follow her.
    The studio was small but comfortable, with good light and a warm fire. The walls were hung with sketches that showed bodies in various poses and states of motion, and intricate studies of faces, hands, flowers, and trees. Deverell was sitting with his back to them, dabbing at a canvas on a large easel. When he heard the door open, he turned and jumped to his feet.
    Lizzie recognized him from the shop. She saw that he was handsome, and not much older than