Author's note- This is the second of Grace's misadventures in the seedy underbelly of Victorian London, but it can also be read as a standalone piece.
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Whitechapel, London 1887
A bell jangled over the door as Grace entered 'Cornelius Blake's Pictorial Parlor'. Her bustle bobbed with giddy excitement as she swept into the shop's dark vestibule. Grace brushed the road grime from off her simple lavender dress, her Sunday best still wasn't very fine but she wouldn't let that dampen her spirits. She was to have her very own portrait!
The bell rang again as Grace's stepfather followed behind and began removing his hat and coat. In a rare display of chivalry, he helped her out of her cloak. He readjusted her golden curls, pausing for a moment to admire her pretty face.
At the age of eighteen Grace was still in the first flush of youth but had since shuffled off the awkwardness of adolescence. The gawky child had grown into a beautiful young woman. Yet she was still not accustomed to the newfound attentions of men.
"You look perfect, my girl." A smile brightening his ruggedly handsome face, making her blush and whisper timid thanks.
Grace was surprised by her stepfather's kind offer. Not that he couldn't be kind but only if he was getting something out of it. As a practiced thief and conman, Owen Blythe had a talent for turning most situations to his benefit. Yet Grace couldn't figure how he stood to gain from getting a family portrait taken. There was also the matter of her recent behavior which had not been entirely exemplary. But she was too excited by the prospect of having a likeness of herself to invest much time in considering the whys and wherefores.
Without further ado Owen pushed open the door to the studio and they stepped inside. From the rundown outward appearance of the shop and the shadowy location, tucked away in a less than prosperous neighborhood, Grace expected the inside to be equally as shabby. Yet as they walked into the parlor she had to admit how very wrong her expectations had been.
Grace blinked in the brightness, momentarily dazzled by the light. A few large windows let in great streams of sunlight but offered only a grim view of a neighboring brick wall. She supposed that was for privacy's sake. It smelled curiously, like acrid smoke and strange chemicals. But the most curious aspect was the furnishing. Each wall seemed to have a different theme. There was the Greek wall with an ornate couch perched between two plaster columns. The oriental wall had a long gold and black screen adorned with elegant cranes and lush cherry blossoms. Ornamental objects and brightly colored pillows were scattered across the floor. A pastoral scene filled one part of the room with a stone bench and a canvas backdrop painted to resemble a wooded landscape. Lastly the fourth section had an enormous red settee and heavy velvet drapery that very much resembled a boudoir. The effect of the varied décor was rather striking, like traveling to different lands with a simple turn of the head. In the center of the unusual room stood a large wood and brass camera mounted on a sturdy tripod.
Behind the shining contraption gathered three men. Upon seeing their arrival, the central figure came towards them. From the way the others deferred to him, Grace supposed he must be the shop's owner.
"Ahhh, Mr. Blythe good to see you and this must be the lovely Grace." The young proprietor was taking her measure with dark, energetic eyes. Assessing her not as a man would a woman but as a merchant might evaluate a potential product. Finally, after a few seconds perusal he bared his teeth in an approving smile and performed a shallow bow. "Cornelius Blake at your service."
Grace returned the favor and sized him up from head to toe. Starting at the top, Mr. Blake had black hair parted severely to one side. High cheekbones and hollow cheeks gave him a lean and hungry look. Still lower, a simple but smart grey suit complimented his rangy build. Everything about him, from his strictly controlled movements to his sharp hawk-like features hinted at a naked ambition for fame and fortune. He was not traditionally handsome, she supposed, but something about his vigorous energy was enticing nonetheless.
"Might I introduce my assistants, Alfred." The fellow came to greet her though he appeared noticeably reluctant to leave his place beside the camera. He was a small man, not much older than Grace, with a shock of straw-colored hair and a pale complexion. A pair of icy blue eyes bore into her with unnerving intensity as he dipped his shoulders in a cool greeting.
"And this is William." William stepped forward. He was so very tall that Grace had to crane her neck to look into his face. And what a face! Perfect nose, full lips, strong jawline. Thick chestnuts hair and long sideburns framed his faultlessly chiseled features, which seemed oddly familiar in their masculine beauty. His muscular frame radiated an effortless confidence that bordered on arrogance but Grace still found it rather irresistible. That broad body was well-attired in a showy black suit and a bright gold waistcoat, though he wore it uncomfortably, like a costume.
Nevertheless, he looked unnervingly like a hero from a fairy story. Grace had to stifled a nervous giggle as Pantomime Prince Charming leaned in and pressed his lips to her hand dramatically. The gesture was equal parts adorable and ridiculous.
Once the introductions were over Mr. Blake instructed for Grace and Owen to stand before a rather plain cloth backdrop while he readied the camera.
With a snap of Mr. Blake's fingers, he and Alfred sprang to action, preparing plates and arranging equipment. It was a veritable whir of activity. As for William, although he had been described as an assistant he seemed to do very little besides look handsome. Though he performed that one task astoundingly well.
While the men prepared Grace busied posing herself in a stiff, proper posture, hands clasped nervously before her. Owen stood just behind her with a hand on her shoulder. He cleaned up well. All the holes in his garments were patched up neatly. His curly brown hair was brushed back into some semblance of order. He'd even shaved his signature salt and pepper stubble.
Grace felt awfully pretty herself. Her plain lavender gown had admittedly seen better days but she liked the way it hugged her curvaceous figure and the way the color set off her bright blue eyes and golden blonde hair. The two of them would look a fine pair in the photograph.
"Do you not fink I would notice Grace?" Her stepfather asked into her ear, jarring her out of her daydream of modeling on a velvet couch in fancy costumes.
"What's that Papa?" She asked, face fixed in a placid expression.
"The little fings you've been doing like the parsnip soup that made me itch. Or the iron burns on me favorite jacket."
Grace turned to face her stepfather but Mr. Blake chided, "stay very still please."
"You've been very naugh'y Grace. It's almost as if you was asking for a punishment."
"I don't know what you mean Papa. I always try to please you." A chill of apprehension ran down her spine. It was getting harder to maintain the tranquil expression for the camera.
