The Beauty of the Mist (28 page)

Pieter greeted Maria, clapping his fleshy hands together with obvious delight. “Ah, Lady Maria! How lovely you look!”

“Thank you, Pieter.”

The steward ushered his guest to the table where a group of servants waited to serve her. The treatment she was receiving was fit for a queen, Maria thought. And no one knew it better than she. She wasn’t sure what David had said of her to these people, but Pieter was making sure that no effort was spared to ensure her comfort.

A part of her wished she could wait and take her meal later, perhaps with John, but she knew there was very little chance of him returning soon. She knew all too well the ceremonial affairs of her brother’s court on the arrival of important foreign visitors. There would be, no doubt, a number of lengthy speeches that John would have to endure before Charles was done with him. And he would never be able to escape the dinner and subsequent entertainment. It being Lent, Maria was fairly certain that some dreadfully somber morality play would conclude the evening. It would be very late before John returned to Hart Haus.

As she accepted the proffered chair and sat at the table, a stab of regret shot through her at the thought that she might never see him again. Isabel had said that they might be leaving with the morning tide. If that were so–and if John were held up at the Palace–then she had seen John Macpherson for the last time.

For the last time.

“Are you well, m’lady?” Pieter’s voice was filled with concern.

Maria glanced up and forced down the knot in her throat. “I am well, Pieter.”

The dinner was as exquisite as the setting, and Maria felt a bit guilty enjoying it as much as she did. Reluctantly at first, Pieter sat with her when she asked him. But Maria had many questions to ask, and he proved a affable dinner companion.

“How wonderful Lady Elizabeth’s paintings are, Pieter!” Maria said sincerely as she finished her meal.

“So true, my lady. We are blessed to be surrounded by such treasures.”

“Does she sculpt, as well.” She sipped at her wine. “The statue of the hart in the foyer–it is so lifelike.”

“Indeed it is, m’lady. It is the work of a sculptor named Pico, a protégé of Michelangelo himself. It came directly from the studio of the Maestro in Florence.” The steward beckoned to a waiting man who trotted to the table with a crystal decanter. “Would you care for more wine, Lady Maria?”

“Oh, I can’t. Thank you so much, though.” Maria smiled at the man. “She is so talented a woman!”

The independence she must feel, Maria thought. To practice the art of painting. To act as she thinks she should, against all odds. To fight tradition, to practice what few if any women had the courage to do. Maria had never heard of another woman painting, and these things amazed Maria. She, herself, was a queen–sister to the Emperor. Her word had never been questioned; her wishes served as the minister’s commands. But she had never been able to step away from the obstacles of tradition and the restraints of habit, at least not enough to make a real difference. Not in her life and not in the lives of those around her. Maria had ideas, but she’d always lacked courage, it seemed to her now. Seeing Elizabeth’s work drove that message in deeply.

But that was in the past, she thought resolutely. She would make a difference in the future.

“Would you like to see her studio, Lady Maria?” Pieter was smiling at her, his eyes twinkling.

“She has a studio
here
, in this house?”

“Of course! And I believe she would like you to see it.” The steward pushed himself to his feet. “Give me just a moment to ready everything. If you’d be pleased to make yourself comfortable here, I’ll return for you.”

With a quick bow, Pieter crossed the room and disappeared into the corridor, moving quite nimbly for a man his size, Maria thought. Leaning back in her chair, she gazed at the portrait of an elderly couple. The woman, sitting in the foreground, was still quite striking in her looks, and the man, ruggedly handsome in his Highland gear, stood behind her, his hands affectionately resting on his wife’s shoulders. Maria smiled. No doubt John’s parents–he resembled both of them. The two looked so real. She wondered, vaguely, what the rest of his family were like.

From what she’d learned already, since the birth of their young children, Ambrose and Elizabeth could only manage, at most, three or four visits to Hart Haus each year. The demands of the diplomat’s life apparently took on less importance as his family grew. But the house in Antwerp–as was the case with many of their other holdings–they liked to keep open year round, offering its warmth and hospitality to family members and friends who might be traveling to this center of culture and trade.

It would have been a pleasure to meet this Elizabeth Macpherson, Maria thought sadly. But the way everything seemed now, that meeting would never occur. Even more than the warmth and hospitality that surrounded her now, Maria felt the same loneliness that pervaded her entire life up to this point. And it was the same loneliness that she saw in a bleak and empty future.

Once again she busied herself in the study of Elizabeth’s artwork.

The quiet shuffle of an elderly serving man entering the room drew Maria’s attention. He made a half bow from the doorway and held out his hand.

“A letter for you, m’lady,” he croaked, crossing to the table as Maria stood. “A messenger delivered it only a moment ago.”

Maria’s heart sank. It must be bad news, she thought. Perhaps John had confided in her brother about finding two women at sea! Taking the note from the servant with an anxious nod, she quickly broke open the wax seal and scanned the letter’s contents. Letting out a sigh of relief, she sat back in her chair. It was from Isabel.

There was nothing wrong. Isabel’s tone was reassuring. But there was a slight change in their plans. Isabel’s contacts had left the city but were expected back inside of a week. Maria was to stay where she was until their return, and Isabel herself would stay at her friends’ house. In the meantime, Isabel would try to find out what was occurring at the Palace, and try on her own to secure passage for them.

Maria read her aunt’s letter again. There was nothing to worry about, she told herself again. Just use caution and avoid public attention–there were many in the city who might recognize Maria as the Emperor’s sister. That was all Isabel had recommended.

A week, Maria thought. A week.

Maria folded the note and carried it into the other room. Glancing around for a good place to keep it, she espied the great canopied bed and quickly slid the letter beneath one of the billowy down-filled pillows. Running her hand over the smooth linen of the bedclothes, the young woman considered her aunt’s words. Common sense told her that this shift in their plans was not for the better. But her heart told her this gift was a godsend. This was a chance she’d dreamed of. It was her chance to be with him.

Feeling brighter than before, Maria was delighted to find the steward waiting for her as she reentered the sitting room.

The tour of the house was a sheer delight for the young queen. Pieter showed her the many rooms with the pride of a lord. From the Great Room with its high, art-covered walls, to the library with its book lined shelves, the steward led the young woman, answering her questions and pointing out the treasures that Ambrose had collected over the years, as well as indicating the family members that showed up so lovingly in Elizabeth’s innumerable paintings.

Thoroughly enjoying herself, Maria followed Pieter up yet another flight of stairs. The steps were following the slope of the ceiling here, and the young woman knew their tour was nearly at an end. Throughout the house, the steward had had candles and wick lamps lit, and this upper room glowed, as well, with a golden light. Stepping through a narrow door at the top, they finished their tour in Elizabeth Macpherson’s studio.

Enthralled, Maria circled the room. Wide, thick rolls of canvas, stacked in a far corner of the room, sat beside piles of wood strips. The young woman picked up one of the many framelike shapes that the wood was used to construct. It was lighter than she thought it would be. She wondered how heavy it would be with a piece of canvas stretched over it. Putting it down gently, she lifted the tops off a number of small casks that filled the shelves of an entire wall. Drab colored powders that hardly looked like the bright hues of Elizabeth’s paintings.

Pieter read the puzzled expression on her face. “When the pigments are mixed with oil,” he told her, tapping one of the large barrels that stood nearby, “the colors come to life. Lady Elizabeth is a genius at mixing colors to produce the right shade. Truly a genius!”

“I can see that,” she replied solemnly. Maria walked to huge glazed window that had been set into the sloping ceiling. Peering out, she could see nothing.

Pieter’s eyes twinkled again as he pointed to a thick cord dangling by the door. “I’d hoped you would wish to see out.” Taking hold of the rope, he pulled on it, and the large wooden shutter that covered the outside of the window rolled away.

Maria gazed in wonder at the city that stretched out before her. Beyond the next rooftop, the open square lay far below, the torches still lit from the earlier celebration. In the distance, she could see the city walls and beyond, the harbor. The mist that had welcomed their entry into the city had cleared away now, and the stars shone brightly in a black velvet sky.

“This is incredible,” she whispered.

“After marrying Lady Elizabeth, Sir Ambrose had a room like this added to every one of their holdings. She is so very talented, m’lady. And with her excellent reputation spreading as it is now, she finds herself eagerly sought after for royal portraits everywhere.” The steward’s voice was brimming with pride for his mistress. “She and the children always accompany Sir Ambrose on his trips.”

Walking past a small child-sized easel that stood beside a larger one, Maria paused to feel the soft bristles of the brushes that filled a bowl-shaped table nearby. Against the far wall there were at least two dozen paintings leaning one behind the next in three rows, each row carefully covered with a tarp.

“May I look at these?”

Pieter smiled happily as he removed the coverings. “I know Lady Elizabeth would be delighted.”

Maria took her time and studied every painting in detail. “How many children do they have?” she asked. She knew she was prying, but there was so much about these people that fascinated her.

“Three,” the man answered. “One girl and two boys. Though their daughter, Mistress Jaime, is as much of a handful as the two boys. She has got a lot of spirit, that girl. Just like her mother. Ah yes, this one...” The steward pointed to a portrait. “This one is of Jaime with her baby brother, Michael, in her lap. This was, of course, before little Thomas was born.”

Maria looked over the painting, but then smiled with pleasure. The little girl’s dark and beautiful eyes were flashing with mischief, but her facial expression showed her self-restraint, as the little boy attempted to crawl all over her.

“We had a devil of a...” Pieter stopped. “Excuse me...a very difficult time getting them settled long enough for Lady Elizabeth. They have great energy, the children, and are a source of constant joy...and work...for us.”

The steward smiled, continuing to talk about the children while Maria’s mind drifted to the thought that here was another thing she would never experience. Motherhood. She knew she could not bear children. After four years of marriage to Louis, she’d been declared barren by the royal physicians. Before now, she had never grieved over her inability to produce offspring. But now, standing in this house, feeling the sense of family that surrounded her, seeing the happiness that suffused these works, she felt suddenly at a loss.

“Ahh, this fortress in the background here, m’lady, is Benmore Castle. The clan seat of the Macphersons.” Pieter was holding a painting in his hand. “I’ve seen it only once, but it is a magnificent place. Strong and quite comfortable with its modern renovations.”

Maria gazed at the building in the painting. “Tell me...Tell me what you can about the Macpherson brothers, Pieter.”

The steward stared at the young woman for a moment. Then, he replaced the painting and began to talk of the three brothers.

Maria listened intently, amazed at the bonds of love and loyalty that tied the three brothers together. She also learned that in what John had told her regarding his position as the third son, the
Great Michael’s
commander had grossly understated his own worth. John Macpherson had been the only one of the three sons who had followed in their father’s footsteps. The only one who shared in the old man’s love of the sea. And John had made a fortune in following that path. But none of that mattered a bit to her. It perplexed her, though, to reflect on Caroline Maule’s inability to appreciate him for who he was. Maria shook her head, reminding herself that she should thank God for the woman’s lack of judgment.

When the steward had finished speaking, answering Maria’s questions cheerfully and directly, a comfortable silence fell, as the you woman continued to admire Elizabeth’s work. She paused at a portrait of a young queen praying before a cross. The cross had white and red climbing roses curling up the rough wood, and a trio of magnificent angels hung in the air, watching over the scene. Maria sighed deeply.

“Do you think Lady Elizabeth would mind, Pieter?” she asked hesitantly. “Do you think I might just have a few moments alone up here?” The solitude, the refuge that the room offered was what she needed right now.

“I am certain Lady Elizabeth would be quite content to know that you asked to spend time up here. She herself spends many hours up here.” The steward started for the door and then stopped. “I believe the mistress–in a way–draws strength from this room.”

After Pieter had closed the door quietly behind him, Maria stared out through the glazed panes at the city before her. The city folk were, no doubt, crawling into their beds for the sound, untroubled slumber of honest souls. She looked out at the thousand darkened buildings, and sighed again.