Maude with an 'E' - Chapter 1

he Way to West Kensington

“Nobody wants to read about ‘popular’ artists Ettie!”

“Alice, surely they are just the ones people are interested in reading about.” Henriette spoke as she wandered the room somewhat impatiently.

“You know what I’m referring to Ettie. To be ‘popular’… is to be… well, common. And art isn’t meant to be common - it’s meant to be… well, arresting! Horrifying yet electrifyingly beautiful… all in one vista.” Alice gestured grandly as she spoke, pausing from her previously concentrative state and ignoring her paper-laden desk, before returning her attention back to the piles.

“Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, dear sister...” She flinched for a moment, to have caught such an overly used expression escaping from her lips, but carried on, “Surely… if Miss Goodman’s art has become popular, an interview and a piece in our popular magazine would not be out of place.” She emphasised the word ‘popular’ as she was perusing Girl’s Realm reviews from newspaper cuttings that had been pinned to the wall, given pride of place, and pointing out one in particular that had praised her sister’s editorial paper as ‘ever-increasing in popularity’. “Please Alice, please give me this chance?”

“You’ve never conducted an interview like this before. Are you sure it would be something you can manage?” Alice stared at her sister over the top of her glasses this time, unconfidently, and yet seemingly coming around to her younger sister’s line of reasoning.

“I’m sure, Alice. I’ve accompanied you on many an interview and have been taking notes in case it ever fell on me to do it one day.”

“Well… it could be worth planning ahead for.” Alice seemed to be relenting.

Hoping it would help, her younger sister jumped in, “Look at what Arthur Fish says here,” she said, pulling a clipped out article from her bag and reading it aloud to Alice: “‘Never has the position of woman in the field of English art been so strong as it is today. There, as in other branches of work, she is competing closely with man; in some instances equalling him; in a few, outdistancing him. As painter, sculptor, and decorative artist, she is steadily asserting her power. Each year’s Royal Academy Exhibition proves the development of her capability, versatility and originality, which combine to add yet another protest against her exclusion from the privileges of membership of the premier art institution of the country.’"

"And yet of all these female artists, Fish’s article only made slight mention of Maude… I can't explain it… I mean look at this, who is Miss Gow? Who is Miss Brickdale? But everyone’s heard of Maude Goodman! She’s exhibited an alarming number of pieces at the Royal Academy Exhibitions - if Algernon Graves’ new dictionary is anything to go by…

...Alice, just think, one of these days the Academy will give way and when that day comes it will be the female painters of today that are looked to as those that carried on through darker days, unflagging and undeterred. After all is said and done, people will look back and… well Alice, who will have told Maude's story?”

“I suppose it might be a good opportunity for you to build some experience I suppose, if nothing else. When do you propose to arrange the interview for?”

Henriette paused tentatively. “Well, this morning… it’s already arranged actually.”

Alice’s mouth dropped slightly, but before she could utter any protestations her sister Henriette had gathered her gloves and hat and was on her way out the door… “I just knew you’d come ‘round Alice!” She teasingly declared as she trailed from the other room, her voice gradually diminishing as she hurriedly disappeared from sight altogether.

Left sitting at her desk… in mid-work-flow and on her own to self-console, all Alice could muster was a solitary, “Well, I never!”

Henriette frantically attached her hat to her head as she scampered from the upper level of the publishing offices, down the stairs and out the door. She wasn’t in so much of a hurry to get to the interview as she was to leave the offices before her sister could attempt to prevent her. Halfway out the door she realised she had forgotten her bag and note-taking supplies so had to run back in to get them.

The editorial offices being, as they happened, on the wrong side of the city, she had quite a distance to traverse in order to get to West Kensington. Thankfully she had run through this scenario in her mind and had already decided on the best route. Even so, there was quite a walk between stops. And walk, she would have to - despite the unusual heat of the day. She hadn’t wanted to jeopardise her chances of being approved, by further asking for funds to cover the travel expenses involved, so she would have to undertake much of the journey by foot.

Thankfully she had recently purchased some reasonably comfortable heels - suitable for visiting a home in West Kensington - from the ragman who was often seen to be selling wares on the street corner. The thought process behind this was that they’d already be worn in. The grey slated streets matched the grey of her worn leather boots as they hammered their way to the tram stop. It was still early morning, and thankfully the heat of the summer’s day hadn’t set in quite yet. Henriette was glad she’d had a good breakfast before she’d headed out. She had wanted to give herself plenty of time to get to Miss Goodman’s Kensington home by 10:30am sharp, which meant there’d be little time for stopping to buy any street food along the way. She also had no way of knowing how long of a wait she’d have for each omnibus, so she was allowing for any unforeseen delays. The thick grey early morning smog and haze hanging in the air and the clamour of the commuters on the street, heaving and tossing, caused Henriette to yearn to reach her destination. She was quite sure there would likely be a refreshing cup of tea and perhaps even something hearty or sweet, to accompany it, awaiting her at Addison Crescent.

The thought ran through Henriette’s mind that all of the well-to-do people in London ought to have telephones installed in their homes - in such an age as this… how much easier it could have made this journey, if the journey didn’t have to be made at all. Henriette found an empty seat among the donned-in-brown commuters on the bus. She realised on her way to the seat that one of the laces of her newly bought boots had come undone and so she set about retying it, once positioned to safely do so. Suspending herself and working between each major jostle of the omnibus, her thoughts continued, “If only a simple conversation via the telephone could have served to supply me with the necessary information. As easy as tying this lace…”

As she sat up again and repositioned her feet she became aware of a tiny blister forming on her ankle, and she felt disappointed that her extreme efforts to avoid this scenario had somehow failed. And yet, despite the discomfort of her commute and so many “if only” thoughts running through her head, Henriette was feeling a rush of excitement pulse through her – thrilled at the thought of what she was going to have achieved by the time this day was over. As the fog of her frustrations faded, so did that of the city… moving along with the train as it made its way closer to the Royal borough of Kensington. It being a more rural part of the city, the grey of the London air gave way to brighter sunnier scenery. Not long after alighting, beads of sweat had begun to form on her forehead, and Henriette’s hands fiddled with her map and notes clumsily, as she wound her way to Miss Goodman’s address.