The Painter's Apprentice (24 page)

Orpheus, materialising out of the shadows, fell into step beside her. Once outside the stone steps were cold and rough under
her feet as she breathed in a lungful of sweetly scented air.

She picked up her skirts and sprinted across the lawn with Orpheus loping along at her heels, her heart swelling with the
pleasure of an early summer morning at Merryfields. All alone, she could run with the joyful abandon of a child. At last she
reached the orchard where, out of breath, she slowed to a walk, the hem of her skirt heavy with dew against her bare ankles.
Leaning against the rough bark of an apple tree, she let her breathing steady while she watched the mist lifting off the grass
in the early warmth of the sun. The orchard was full of birdsong and sunlight and it was hard to imagine it as the dark and
frightening place it had been when she had found Johannes.

After a while she set off again, gathering a posy of flowers as she walked. Stopping by the honeysuckle arch, she bent to
place the posy beside the wooden cross which marked Johannes’s grave. She sat quietly for a while on the bench where they
had liked to sketch and said a prayer for him. Eyes tightly shut, she pictured his homely face and wished that he were beside
her to enjoy the day. Sighing, she stood up. Soon the household would be stirring and it would be time for her to leave Merryfields.

As she sauntered past the stables, a casement up above opened and she saw Sara, naked as the day she was born, leaning out
of the window to take the morning air. Her curly black hair fell
unbound to her breasts and the sun touched her cinnamon skin with gold.

Joseph appeared and rested his chin on the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her waist. Sara turned to face her husband,
holding up her face to be kissed.

Beth shrank back into the doorway of the hay store and averted her eyes until they withdrew into their room, not wishing to
intrude. Then she crept away, a bitter worm of envy eating into her heart.

At the end of the afternoon Beth heard the bell of Fulham church ring the hour. She glanced up from her sketch of the beautiful
scarlet star anemone with its layers of narrow, backward-curving petals and velvety, charcoal stamens. She had ground a large
quantity of red pigment in preparation and would start to paint it the next day. Freeing her hair from its confining ribbon,
she combed it with her fingers. She had prepared a picnic basket earlier on containing a large lardy cake, the sugar glaze
glistening invitingly, a flagon of cider and two beakers. She stared at the lardy cake, wondering if it would show if she
pulled off a little piece from the side.

She didn’t have to wait long before Noah pushed open the studio door. ‘I’ll just wash the brushes and cover my paints,’ she
said, ‘and then I’ll be ready.’

Noah perched on one end of the work table swinging his foot while Beth tidied up. Then he went to look at the wide shelf where
she had laid out her paintings. He picked up one of these, a striped
red and white tulip with a rounded bowl of curled and twisted petals, parted a little to expose the dark, velvety stamens
within.

‘That’s a variety of tulip, which was collected and grown by John Tradescant,’ said Beth. ‘It’s exquisite, isn’t it?’

Noah carried the painting to the window, where he studied it for some time.

Beth watched him covertly while she busied herself wiping the table.

‘Well, what do you think of it?’ she asked. ‘You’ve been looking at it for so long you’re making me nervous.’

He turned to face her. ‘It’s plain to me now why you are so passionate about your painting. This is no mere hobby. You have
skills equal to, or greater than, any man. And your proficiency has grown in these last weeks.’

Pleasure bubbled up inside her at his praise. ‘Thank you, Noah,’ she said quietly.

‘Nevertheless, your decision to remain a spinster is still a great sacrifice to make.’

She sighed. ‘Marriage brings children and I cannot allow that to divert me from my purpose.’

He frowned a little. ‘To forgo the comfort of marriage may be a greater sacrifice than you know.’

‘Perhaps.’ To avoid the intensity of his look, she took off her apron and snatched up her cloak.

‘Just a minute,’ said Noah. ‘Come here.’ He took out his handkerchief and steadied her chin with one hand while he carefully
wiped her cheek.

His fingers were warm against her skin and she could smell the outdoors on his coat. They were so close that she could see
the tawny bristles in the cleft of his chin and the golden flecks in his amber eyes, which were fixed on her mouth. She licked
her lips, her pulse beginning to skip.

Then, outside, a horse neighed and someone called across the quadrangle.

Noah blinked and hastily stepped back. He held up his handkerchief to show her the streak of red paint upon it.

‘Thank you,’ she said, all at once unable to meet his eyes.

‘Come on then, my lady!’ He made a mock bow and proffered his arm.

They walked briskly along the passage and down the back stairs. Beth was relieved that the ill-lit stairs concealed her heightened
colour from Noah.

Down by the moat, seated on the blanket, Noah opened the cider while Beth tore the lardy cake into pieces.

‘How was your visit to Merryfields?’ asked Noah, taking a piece of cake.

‘The wedding was such a happy occasion,’ she said. A picture of Sara and Joseph entwined naked in each other’s arms by the
open window flashed into her mind again. All at once she wasn’t hungry any more and carefully put down her piece of cake.
‘It’s a wonderful thing to see two people so much in love,’ she went on quietly. ‘It must be awful to marry someone you don’t
love.’

‘People marry for many other reasons than love,’ said Noah. ‘Companionship, money, convenience …’ He wrapped his arms around
his knees and stared at the river. ‘Family expectation.’

‘Can you imagine spending the rest of your life, day and night, for years and years until one of you dies, with someone you
don’t feel passion for?’

‘Lots of people have to,’ said Noah shortly.

‘Well, I’m not going to be one of them.’

‘You’ve made that plain enough. Your work is so important to you that you won’t even marry for love.’ He reclined on to his
side and threw a few pieces of his lardy cake into the river for a family of ducks that paddled hopefully nearby.

If there had been any reason for it, Beth would have thought that Noah was cross with her. ‘That doesn’t mean I want a life
without love, though,’ she said.

‘I didn’t believe you to be so shameless, Beth!’

‘I’m not! But Joseph and Sara are so happy together.’ She picked a crumb off her finger, unable to look at him. ‘I’m envious
of what they have. Sometimes I can hardly bear the thought of not having a husband of my own.’

‘Then you’d better decide what you do really want.’

‘But it isn’t fair! A man can have a wife and still carry on with his own life but a woman has to look after the house and
the children and there is no time for anything else.’

‘A home and children are more than enough to satisfy most women. Certainly all the young women of my acquaintance, except
for you it would appear, do their utmost to find a husband to give them the position in society they crave.’

Frustration at his lack of understanding made her voice sharp. ‘Noah, imagine if you were a woman, would you want to give
up
your
dreams of becoming a great architect in order to cook the dinner and mend the bed curtains?’

Noah stared at her. ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’

‘Am I? Do you imagine that it is impossible for a woman to have dreams as great as those of a man?’ She glared at him until
eventually he looked away and an awkward silence sprang up between them.

After a while, Beth sighed. ‘Let us not argue.’

‘I have no wish to do so.’ He touched her cheek with his finger. ‘Tell me more about your visit to Merryfields.’

‘Well, Cecily managed to provoke Father into sending her to her room in disgrace,’ she said. She related some scandalous piece
of gossip about the King that she’d heard from Harry and the twins. Father wasn’t amused.’

‘Harry shouldn’t relate such gossip to Cecily; she’s little more than a child. Some say that the King’s carnal desires are
why
he works so tirelessly to be a good Catholic: it’s in atonement for his sins.’ Noah’s eyes were laughing. ‘And others say
that his paramours are all so ugly and horse-faced that his penance is here on earth.’

Beth smiled, relieved that his good humour had apparently been restored. ‘I’m glad you can talk about such things with me.’

He lay down on the blanket beside her and squinted into the sun in the blue dome of the sky above. ‘Unlike Cecily, I can rely
on you to understand when it is appropriate
not
to talk about them.’

‘She is not at all worldly wise. She certainly has no interest in current affairs or any understanding of what the King’s
ambition to make this country follow Rome could mean for us all.’

‘But you have grasped the seriousness of the situation.’

‘It’s hard not to, living at the palace, isn’t it? Since the Bishop is so stalwart an Anglican and Lady Arabella espouses
the papist cause, I have become more acutely aware of the looming crisis if the Queen gives birth to a son.’ She sighed. ‘I
worry about Cecily. I’m not sure I like your friend. He has a silver tongue but I cannot trust him.’

‘He isn’t really my friend. I knew of him in Jamestown, of course, and we travelled to England together. His family home is
a large tobacco plantation on the other side of the town. His father is from wealthy French Catholic stock but he’s drunk
most of the fortune away and the plantation is in decline. Harry was sent to England to find a rich wife to restore the family
fortunes.’

Beth lay down beside him, conscious of the small space between them. ‘I suppose I should be relieved,’ she said, wondering
if he would think her shameless if her arm brushed against him. ‘Since he’s searching for a rich wife I can be sure he’ll
leave Cecily alone.’

Noah yawned and reached for her hand. ‘The sun is so warm it’s making me sleepy.’

Drowsy with cider and warmth, Beth watched his face as he dozed, drinking in the sweep of his lashes curved upon his cheek,
the dimple in his firm chin, learning every freckle and plane of his face. Her hand still lay curled in his and she lifted
it to her lips and kissed it. Would it be like this, she wondered, to lie next to your husband every night and be able to
open your eyes in the morning to see his beloved face on the pillow next to your own? A sharp sense
of loss pierced her heart at the thought that she would never experience such a joy.

She dozed for a while and then sat up, drained the last of the cider from her beaker and brushed the crumbs from the rug.
The remainder of the lardy cake had gone stale in the sun so she threw it into the river for the ducks, which descended on
it with a flurry of wings and a deal of raucous quacking.

Noah yawned and stretched.

‘It’s later than I realised,’ said Beth. ‘Lady Arabella will be vexed with me for being late for supper.’

‘Shall I accompany you back to Chelsea?’

‘Really, there’s no need.’

Noah whistled for the next passing boat. His face rested against hers as he kissed her goodbye and she yearned to turn her
head, just a little, so that her mouth, instead of her cheek, would meet his lips but her courage failed her.

As the boatman pulled away towards Chelsea, Beth looked back towards the river bank and saw a young woman walk across the
grass to Noah and link her arm in his. Lizzie Skelton.

Beth hovered outside the half-open dining room door. There was a low buzz of conversation and a peal of high, artificial laughter
that Beth recognised as Lady Arabella’s company laugh. There must be guests for dinner. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she
was eaten up with jealousy over Lizzie and Noah, now she’d have to face up to a scolding. Taking a deep breath, she opened
the door.

A sea of faces turned towards her. At least a dozen were sitting down to supper at a table laid with the best glasses and
linen. The air was laden with the aroma of roasted meats, heady perfume and red wine.

‘I’m sorry to be late,’ said Beth, wishing now that she’d taken the time to change.

Lady Arabella’s mouth tightened before she remembered to paste a wide smile upon her painted face. ‘Tardy, as usual, Beth!
No matter. Seat yourself now so that our conversation is not interrupted any more than needs be.’ She smiled again at the
assembled company. ‘Beth appears to have inherited her mother’s unfortunate dress sense and forgetful attitude to punctuality.’

‘I beg your pardon, Lady Arabella, Sir George. I left Fulham Palace later than usual and I didn’t wish to make myself even
later by changing for dinner.’

‘So I see. There is a place laid for you between Samuel and Dr Latymer. I’m sure Dr Latymer has seen worse sights while tending
the sick in the slums. Isn’t that so, Doctor?’

‘I’m often kept working late myself,’ he said, his limp apparent as he pulled out a chair for Beth. ‘Come and tell me all
about what you’ve been doing today, Miss Ambrose.’

Seething at Arabella’s barbed comments, Beth sank down on to her chair. Dr Latymer made general small talk and listened to
her commonplace replies with great concentration, just as if what she said was the most interesting thing in the world, and
she was grateful for his kindness. She cast a glance around the table, noting that Lady Arabella’s daughter, Harriet, was
there with her sour-looking husband. Harry de Montford was watching her with one eyebrow raised, while Cecily hung on to his
sleeve and fluttered her eyelashes at him. Joshua had pushed away his dinner and morosely concentrated on draining his wine
glass at frequent intervals. Sir George smiled blandly, while he listened to a loud-voiced man with a red face, already into
his cups. Beth reflected that for all the opulence of the table and the expensively dressed guests there was less comfort
to be found around Arabella’s table than at the simplest turnip soup supper at Merryfields.

At last the evening drew to a close and Beth was able to escape to her bedchamber.

Cecily dallied downstairs until Harry de Montford took his leave
and then came, yawning, to bed. ‘What a lovely party!’ she said. ‘I’m having
such
an agreeable time here in Chelsea; I don’t ever want to go home. I’m going to find myself a rich husband and then I shan’t
have to return.’

‘Don’t set your sights too high, Cecily. You know there is no dowry for you.’

Cecily dragged most of the blanket over to her side of the bed. ‘What do I care? I shall find my rich husband and he will
have enough for both of us.’

‘Someone like Harriet’s husband?’

‘Ugh! Certainly
not
; he’s a horrid wizened old dwarf!’

‘Without a dowry you cannot hope for a young and well-favoured man, Cecily, never mind one with a fortune.’

‘I can and I will!’