The Painter's Apprentice (20 page)

Beth snatched a tankard out of the basket to catch the ale before it all fizzed out of the bottle.

‘Well caught!’ laughed Noah. He lifted his tankard. ‘A toast! Here’s to the coming summer and plenty more picnics.’

‘Must you really return to Virginia this autumn?’ asked Beth, speaking her thoughts aloud.

Noah hesitated. ‘There’s still a great deal for me to learn here. Perhaps I’ll stay until the following spring.’

The thought made her smile. ‘I can’t bear to think of you leaving us, although I know Kit will be pleased to see you,’ she
said, biting greedily into the creamy sweetness of a custard tart.

‘I expect Kit’s having a fine old time. My sisters and our neighbours Hannah and Amy Sharpe will be asking him to squire them
to all the parties and dances.’

Noah was quiet for a while, contemplatively watching the ginger ale cork bobbing up and down on the turgid green water.

‘Since coming to the palace, I understand now why Kit wanted to leave Merryfields. Perhaps I judged you too quickly when I
blamed you for Kit leaving us. If you dream of something greater for your life, you have to take risks, don’t you?’

Noah picked up her hand, the Princess’s sapphire sparkling on her finger. ‘The world is an uncertain and worrisome place at
present. You were brave to leave the safety of Merryfields.’

Although embarrassed that her hands weren’t as clean and white as a lady’s should be, Beth idly imagined what it would be
like to entwine her fingers with Noah’s. ‘It’s an exciting prospect for me, here at Fulham, to become a known artist, through
Bishop Compton’s associations with other botanists. An opportunity I never looked for but now hold precious. I am set upon
this course and will let nothing divert me.’

‘So you are still intent upon remaining a spinster?’

‘I must,’ she said.

Noah let go of her hand and sighed. ‘I only hope it makes you happy, Beth.’

‘Johannes left me a letter when he died,’ she said. ‘He told me to go out into the world and look beyond my small dreams.
And now I have.’

It was a breezy day in mid-April when a consignment of trees arrived for Bishop Compton.

Beth looked up from her easel when she heard cartwheels roll over the cobbles and a deal of shouting below. Hurrying to the
window, she leaned out of the casement and saw what looked like a small wood moving into the quadrangle. Then she realised
that it was a cart heavily loaded with trees, their branches tied up with rope and the whole swaying dangerously from side
to side.

George London and his gardeners were already in attendance and, as she watched, Bishop Compton came out to inspect the delivery.

Beth hung out over the windowsill until the last of the trees had been unloaded on to a handcart and taken away.

Later that afternoon, she took a walk through the garden and found Bishop Compton and George London supervising the digging
of a hole deep enough to accommodate the roots of one of the new trees.

‘Miss Ambrose! Good day to you!’ called the Bishop.

‘I’m curious to see what new delights have arrived.’

‘This one is a sweet gum tree and I’m reliably informed that the leaves turn a glorious red in the autumn. You shall take
a leaf then to immortalise in paint.’

‘I shall look forward to it.’

The planting hole was pronounced large enough and one of the gardeners tipped a barrow load of well-rotted manure into it,
before George London and the Bishop carefully manoeuvred the sapling into place.

The Bishop himself backfilled the earth around the roots and vigorously trod it in. ‘There!’ he said with satisfaction as
he stamped his boots and rubbed his hands together to remove the earth. Taking a knife from his pocket he cut the rope that
secured the branches of the sapling and they sprang free. ‘George, give it good drink and that’s a job well done.’

Then Bishop Compton narrowed his eyes as he looked over Beth’s shoulder. She turned to see a man hurrying towards them.

Dressed in a travelling cloak and a fine feathered hat, his high boots jingled with spurs as he walked over the grass. ‘Your
Grace.’ Bowing, the man handed the Bishop a letter.

As he scanned the contents the Bishop made a small exclamation of dismay. ‘This is ill news indeed! If you will excuse me,
Miss Ambrose?’

She watched him walk back towards the palace, his shoulders sagging, and wondered what could have disturbed him so.

Late that afternoon, Noah came to the studio as Beth was cleaning her brushes.‘ I wondered if you’d like to visit the site
of St Paul’s cathedral on Sunday?’

She couldn’t contain a smile of pleasure at the thought of such an excursion.

‘I know you will appreciate how magnificent it will be.’ His face shone with enthusiasm. ‘The stonework is very handsome but
all the decorative details will take years to complete.’

‘I’m very interested to see you in your natural setting at work.’

‘If you’re finished for today I’ll walk you down to the boat.’

The sun, partly obscured by the clouds, was low in the sky as they ambled through the gardens. In the distance, men were still
planting one of the new saplings and all was quiet except for the cooing of the doves and the swish of their feet through
the long grass. A chill dampness was beginning to arise from the ground.

Beth kept her gaze on the path ahead but she was conscious of Noah’s silent presence so close beside her. She could feel the
warmth coming from him in the cool air and smell the faint scent of leather from his damp boots. Then their fingers brushed
accidentally sending a sudden shock up her arm. He glanced at her and rapidly looked away again. She held her breath as if
she was waiting for something momentous to happen but Noah didn’t look at her again.

The boatman appeared, ghostlike out of the white mist that hung over the river. ‘Best get on, miss,’ he said. ‘The fog’s coming
down fast.’

Reluctantly, she said goodbye to Noah.

He handed her into the boat and she wasn’t sure, but she wondered if he held her hand a moment longer than necessary.

‘Until tomorrow,’ he said.

As the boatman pulled away Beth looked back over her shoulder at Noah, until he was hidden by the swirling mist.

It was almost dark when she arrived at Chelsea. With some relief, she heard a loud ‘Halloo’ and then saw the light of a lamp
glowing steadily brighter in the vaporous gloom.

The twins, Cecily and Harry de Montford, all arm in arm and very merry, were coming along the path towards her.

‘We came out to look for you,’ said Samuel. ‘The fog came down so suddenly and Cecily was worried about you.’

‘I’m very glad of the light home.’

Samuel slipped his arm through hers. ‘Careful, the path is slippery.’

Harry de Montford took Beth’s other arm and pressed himself close to her side as they walked. He carried with him the heavy
perfume of expensive hair pomade, bay rum and orris root but the pervasive nature of it made her nose wrinkle in distaste.
It occurred to her how much she preferred Noah’s clean, uncomplicated male scent.

‘So, you’re moving in high circles now, Beth,’ Harry de Montford said. ‘Do you see much of the Bishop of London?’

‘I see him in the gardens on most days and sometimes he comes to the studio to look at my work.’

‘Have you met anyone of interest to you in the Bishop’s household?’ asked Harry. His dark eyes were brightly inquisitive.
‘I’m sure there must be a dozen young men all curious to meet the beautiful lady painter.’

‘Not at all,’ stammered Beth.

‘Come now, why so modest?’ He captured Beth’s hand and studied the sapphire ring glinting in the lamplight. ‘Not only beautiful
but talented and wealthy.’

Beth frowned, wondering if he was teasing her.

‘You must have many suitors?’ he persisted.

Beth snatched her hand away. ‘I do not look for suitors.’

‘Perhaps I should snap you up myself?’ His smile was bland but Beth thought the look in his eyes was as calculating as that
of a lizard about to shoot out its tongue to trap a fly.

‘Beth is
far
too good a catch for her father to consider a match for her with a ne’er-do-well such as you, Harry,’ said Joshua.

It wasn’t long before they saw the candles glowing in the windows of Arabella’s house. Beth, relieved to come in out of the
clinging damp air, went to warm herself by the drawing-room fire.

Harry de Montford came to stand close to Beth, stretching out his hands towards the heat of the flames.

‘Shall we play a hand of cards?’ Cecily asked.

‘Not tonight, Cecily,’ said Joshua. ‘We’re going into the city.’

Harry nudged Joshua. ‘And Sally Fisher would be most unhappy if you’re late, wouldn’t she, Joshua?’

‘All the young ladies would be sorry, I believe,’ said Samuel, snorting with laughter.

Cecily appealed to Beth with tragic eyes.

‘You must take care,’ said Beth. ‘The fog is thick over the water.’

‘Will you be very late back?’ asked Cecily.

‘Very early, more like,’ replied Joshua. ‘If indeed we come home at all tonight.’

‘Well, go on then!’ Cecily stamped her foot. ‘Leave us to a lonely evening all by ourselves.’

Harry took Cecily’s hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Don’t take on! I’ll escort you to the city another time.’

Mollified, Cecily fluttered her eyelashes and formed her mouth into an adorable pout. ‘Will you really?’

‘Undoubtedly,’ said Harry with a lazy smile.

After they had gone, Beth and Cecily went upstairs to change for dinner.

Cecily sat on the edge of their bed and sighed. ‘Isn’t Harry the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?’

‘Quite probably,’ said Beth. ‘But he is too familiar.’

Cecily stared at her with blank incomprehension. ‘Not at all! And he doesn’t treat me like a child, unlike
everyone
else I know.’

‘Well, if you stamp your feet and behave like a child what can you expect? He said perhaps he should snap
me
up as I haven’t any suitors,’ said Beth, deciding it best not to spare Cecily’s feelings. She really ought to have the measure
of the man.

‘And you’re not even looking for a husband! I’ll
never
forgive you if you steal him from me, Beth!’

‘Don’t worry about that.’ Beth stretched out her hand and studied her sapphire ring. ‘But you mustn’t take his honeyed words
seriously, Cecily. Harry de Montford is an incorrigible flirt.’

‘No he isn’t! Besides, I’m sure that once he falls in love with me he’ll marry me, even when he knows I don’t have a dowry.’

Beth embraced Cecily. ‘For goodness’ sake, don’t place all your hopes in Harry, sweetheart.’

Beth was staring contemplatively out of the studio window, barely noticing the peaceful scene set out before her. She admitted
to herself that she spent as much time daydreaming about Noah as Cecily did about Harry. It was a fruitless waste of time,
of course, since Noah’s passionate and single-minded ambition would return him to Virginia, just as her own ambition would
not allow her to deviate from her painting. But then, sitting so closely together by the moat the other day, he’d expressed
the concern that spurning marriage for the sake of art might not make her happy and this had left a worm of doubt in her mind.
She had spent far too much time of late imagining what it would be like if Noah kissed her.

Sighing, she turned away from the window to study again the paintings she’d produced in the month since she’d arrived at the
palace. She laid them out in rows upon the wide shelf which lined the room and walked slowly past them, her footsteps echoing
into the silence.

‘What do you think of them, Johannes?’ she whispered. ‘Should I make this my life’s work? And if I do, will it make me happy?
Must
I give up all ideas of marrying and having a family?’ She often held imaginary conversations with Johannes while she was
working. It was surprising how often his imaginary answers solved her problems but today she heard no reply.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat and she saw Bishop Compton, in his gardening clothes as usual, standing in the doorway.

‘Am I disturbing you, Miss Ambrose?’ He glanced through the open door to the bedchamber. ‘Were you talking to someone?’

Beth coloured. ‘No, I … that is … I was talking to myself.’

‘Ah! I do that, too. I have conversations with Our Lord; usually when I have some knotty problem.’ He smiled but his eyes
looked weary. ‘Sometimes I even believe He answers me. I’ve brought you something,’ he said. He held out a small cloth bag.
‘I have been remiss since I forgot to discuss your salary with you. You will need to purchase paints and materials and then
there are your travelling expenses and other costs incurred by being away from home.’

‘I had not expected—’

Henry Compton held up his hand. ‘You are continuing Alexander Marshal’s work and you should be remunerated for it.’

Beth’s eyes widened at the bag’s weight. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I will be relieved not to have to ask my father for financial
assistance with the purchase of studio supplies.’ Hesitating a little, she said, ‘I saw the messenger arrive yesterday and
I wondered if I might ask if everything is well?’

Henry Compton rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘I am sorry to tell you that it is not. Princess Anne has miscarried her child.’

‘Oh, no!’ Beth pressed her fingers to her mouth. ‘I saw her only a few days ago and she was well and so happy.’

‘No longer, I fear.’

‘I had hoped that this time …’

‘She has been sorely disappointed before but there are much greater issues afoot, as the Princess herself is aware. If she
could have brought forth a healthy son it might have done a great deal towards safeguarding the security of the succession.
As it is, we shall have to wait and see if the Queen produces the son her priests are predicting.’

Bishop Compton’s face was grim. ‘I fear for every man, woman and child if the King has a male heir. Affairs will quickly spiral
out of control as he will never allow Parliament to temper his obsession to return this country to a Catholic state.’ He began
to pace the floor, agitation apparent in every step. ‘And with the weight of France and Spain behind him he will do this by
force, if necessary. The people will resist. There will be civil war.’