The Painter's Apprentice (25 page)

‘Even a girl as pretty as you may find that difficult.’ Beth reached out in the dark to touch Cecily’s shoulder.

‘I
will
find a good husband, Beth.’ She pushed her sister’s hand away and turned her back. ‘Just you wait and see!’

Irritatingly, since she was so tired, Beth could not sleep. The picture of Lizzie Skelton sidling up to Noah on the river
bank danced behind her closed eyelids and, when she did eventually fall into a restless doze, Lizzie taunted her in her dreams.

The following morning Beth returned to the palace to find the quadrangle ringing with the sound of horses’ hooves and the
grind of coach wheels on the cobbles. A dozen or so richly dressed men were striding about, their voices echoing off the walls
and their velvet cloaks blowing in the wind like so many flags. Ostlers ran hither and thither leading the horses to the stables.

Lizzie Skelton was watching the goings-on from a doorway on the other side of the quadrangle and gave Beth a hard-eyed stare.
Then Bishop Compton arrived to welcome the visitors into the palace.

Curious, Beth stood back until they had all disappeared inside and peace returned. She set off for the studio but stopped
by the bakehouse to look for Judith.

‘Apple turnover?’ asked Judith, taking a tray out of the oven.

‘I ought to be working,’ said Beth, sniffing the mouth-watering aroma of newly-baked pastry as she drew a stool up to the
table. ‘I called by to see if you knew what’s happening? The courtyard was full of visitors.’

‘Important guests are expected and the kitchens are busy.’ Judith lowered her voice. ‘The Bishop is incensed that the King
has tried to force the clergy to read the Declaration of Indulgence in the churches again. It’s illegal, for a start. The
noblemen you saw are here to discuss what might be done.’ Judith bit her lip. ‘But it’s meant to be a secret meeting so you’d
better not talk about it.’

‘Who would I talk to about it, anyway?’

Judith sprinkled sugar on the apple turnover and put it on the table.

‘What a picture of perfection!’ said Beth. ‘It’s almost a shame to eat it.’

‘Go on with you!’ Judith’s ruddy complexion flushed even more at the compliment.

‘I saw Lizzie Skelton casting her eyes over the guests in the quadrangle,’ said Beth as she bit into the crisp pastry.

Judith raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘You want to watch out for her. She likes men and she isn’t fussy about whose man she
steals. You’ve never seen such a flutter of eyelashes and a tossing of the hair when she sets her cap at some poor fellow.
He’d have to be a strong man to resist her wiles. Chews men up and spits them out for breakfast, that one. And I’ll give you
a word of warning.’ Judith leaned closer. ‘My poor brother suffered by her and recently I’ve seen her making up to Noah in
the evenings after supper.’

Beth stared contemplatively at the last mouthful of her turnover and suddenly wasn’t sure if she could finish it. ‘In any
case,’ she said,
‘it won’t do Lizzie any good. Noah is returning to Virginia in the autumn.’

‘I’d heard that.’ Judith eyed her speculatively. ‘I daresay there’ll be several broken hearts when he leaves.’

Beth stood up and dusted the crumbs off her mouth. ‘I must go. There’s a beautiful star anemone waiting to be painted.’

The upstairs corridor was deserted. Firmly, Beth banished all thoughts of Noah and Lizzie and set her mind to thinking about
whether she would use a plain white backcloth or the green watered silk for her anemone painting, Humming under her breath,
Beth lifted the latch of the studio door and then stopped, frozen, on the threshold, barely able to comprehend what she saw.

At first she thought there must have been a terrible accident, even a murder. Her heart began to rattle in her ribcage and
she clapped a hand to her mouth so prevent the sudden sickness from erupting. A scream began to gather in the back of her
throat before she realised that the awful staining dripping from the table and pooling in a sticky pond on the floorboards
was not blood, after all.

All her paintings, swept off the side table, were strewn over the room. Vermilion pigment had been scattered over everything
and then water from the ewer hurled over the whole. Even the lovely star anemone had been crushed and mangled underfoot.

Beth let out a primitive cry of distress and, heedless of marking her skirt, fell to her knees in the lake of scarlet paint
to snatch up one painting after another, only to discover that every one was ruined. The hundreds of hours she had pored over
her specimens, painstakingly studying them and capturing them on paper with every part of her heart and soul, had been utterly
wasted. The delicate early snowdrops, the boldly striped Tradescant tulips, the little aconite, every single one was destroyed.

Bewilderment overwhelmed her. Who could have done such a thing? But then she recalled Lizzie Skelton’s hard-eyed stare of
earlier that morning. Could it be Lizzie? All at once she yearned
desperately to feel Johannes’s comforting arms around her; only he could truly understand the crushing pain she felt. But
Johannes had gone from her life for ever. Misery and sorrow pierced her heart leaving her weak and shaking. Gathering an armful
of her precious paintings to her breast, she began to rock, sobbing soundlessly.

Then a sudden noise behind her made her glance fearfully over her shoulder. Noah, his face ashen and his eyes wide and shocked,
stood in the doorway.

She whispered his name and he knelt in front of her, his hands resting on her shoulders with as much care as if she were made
of glass.

‘Beth, my sweet Beth! Where are you hurt? What happened?’

‘I’m not hurt,’ she said.

He stared at her, disbelieving. Slowly, he dipped his finger in the pool of red paint around their knees and rubbed it between
his fingers. He closed his eyes and let out his breath. ‘I thought you’d been stabbed. Sweet Jesus, I thought you’d been stabbed!’

Then she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers. He held her so tightly she could hardly breathe. A sweet shaft of desire
shot through her pelvis making her quiver with a pleasure so intense it was almost pain. Her knees buckled and she sagged
against him.

He sighed, catching her up against his chest, his breath on her cheek.

She tipped her head back as his burning kisses moved down her throat and his hands caressed her back. Forgetting the horror
of what had happened, she felt herself opening up like a flower, wishing that time would stand still and that the moment would
never end.

At last he lifted his head and stared at her with dazed eyes, his breath coming fast. They swayed together with the sound
of her blood pumping in her ears. ‘My sweet, precious love.’ His voice cracked and he buried his face in her neck. ‘I thought
I’d lost you.’

After a while, he gave a deep sigh and released her. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have …’

Still shaking with a strange mixture of shock and ecstasy, she looked at him, confused.

‘I’ll help you clean up the mess,’ he said. He fetched water and they set silently to work, bundling the spoiled paintings
into a heap and vigorously scrubbing the floor. Noah carried bucket after bucket of blood-coloured water downstairs to the
drain.

Exhausted, Beth brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. Her hands were stained scarlet, along with the front of her skirt
and she kept her eyes averted from it to avoid the painful reminder of her sorrow.

‘I think it was Lizzie Skelton who did this,’ she said.

‘Lizzie?’ Noah’s face was puzzled. ‘But why would she?’

Beth’s cheeks warmed. ‘She’s jealous of me. She wants you for herself.’

‘But I’ve never encouraged her to think …’ He broke off and pursed his lips. ‘I shall make enquiries as to her whereabouts
when this happened.’

At last they closed the studio door behind them and Noah led Beth through the gardens to the landing stage. Strangely taciturn,
he hailed a boat to take them back to Chelsea.

They sat side by side in the boat, the two inches of space between them as wide as a chasm. Grim-faced, Noah stared out over
the water while Beth, still trembling, watched him covertly, not understanding why he didn’t speak to her with words of love.
His severe demeanour bewildered her and she wondered for a moment if shock had turned her mind, causing her to imagine that
he had kissed her.

Lady Arabella screamed when she saw Beth’s stained clothes and hands.

‘It’s not blood. There was an accident with a pot of paint,’ said Noah, hastening to calm her.

‘Go straight upstairs before the neighbours see you,’ said Lady Arabella.

‘I’m sorry, Beth,’ Noah murmured after she had gone. ‘Sorry for the loss of your paintings and for the way I behaved.’

Puzzled, she went to embrace him but he merely pecked her on the cheek.

Disconcerted, Beth watched him leave without looking back. Then she retreated to her bedchamber and lay on the bed in a daze,
attempting to make sense of the day’s happenings.

Two days later Beth’s heart began to gallop when she saw Noah waiting for her as she arrived at the palace.

‘The Bishop is asking to see you,’ he said, as she stepped off the boat. She waited for him to kiss her or at least mention
what had happened between them but he wouldn’t look at her directly. Ignoring the wretchedness that lodged like a stone in
her breast, she made the effort to keep her voice steady. ‘I heard yesterday that a messenger came from the Archbishop of
Canterbury to see him,’ she said. ‘And that Bishop Compton had gone to Lambeth Palace.’

‘He returned less than an hour since,’ said Noah, ‘and asked me to bring you to him.’ He strode off along the path, Beth hurrying
to keep up with him.

A short while later he opened the door to the library, ushered Beth into the Bishop’s presence and left without so much as
a backward glance.

Henry Compton had his back to her as he stared out of the window, his hands clasped behind him.

Beth waited for several moments, wondering if she should cough to draw attention to herself. When finally he turned, his expression
was sombre. ‘Miss Ambrose. Noah told me what happened to your paintings.’

She nodded, her throat closing up again with emotion. The distress of finding her work destroyed was all mixed up with the
joy she had felt when Noah kissed her and she still alternated between anguish, elation and uncertainty.

‘I am sorry to have been away when it happened,’ said the Bishop, ‘but there are matters afoot which required my urgent attention.
I have, of course, now made enquiries but I must tell you that Lizzie Skelton was with Daniel Fairweather, one of the stable
boys, at the time of the incident and no one noticed anyone untoward near your apartments.’

‘I see,’ said Beth, thinking how easy it would be for Lizzie to wheedle a stable boy into giving her an alibi.

The Bishop poured wine into two glasses and handed one to Beth. ‘Please, sit awhile.’

Awkwardly, Beth perched on the edge of her chair, while Bishop Compton appeared lost in thought. She held the glass up to
the light and studied the colour of the wine, lighter pink at the edge next to the glass but with layers of deep ruby richness
in the centre. Idly, she wondered what pigments she would have to mix to achieve the effect. Rose madder, perhaps, with a
touch of ultramarine …

‘What
is
the world coming to?’ sighed Bishop Compton at last. ‘What will happen to us all? Your exquisite paintings destroyed! The
law of the land flouted by the King himself! Malice stalks the very corridors of this palace and I fear for the souls and
well-being of us all. Such times as we live in …’ His voice drifted away until he was lost in contemplation again.

Made bold by the warmth of the wine creeping into her cheeks, she ventured, ‘All the talk in the palace is of the King’s wish
for the clergymen to read the Declaration.’

The Bishop’s gaze snapped back to her. ‘And what do
you
think of that?’

‘I’m only a simple country girl, Your Grace …’

‘… with the wit to think for herself. You must have an opinion?’

She hesitated. ‘Last year, when the King first published the Declaration, I couldn’t understand why it caused such an uproar.
But now that I have gone about in the world a little, I see that this isn’t about religious tolerance after all but simply
a way for the King to break down the established Church of England. He desires to rid us of Parliament, seize absolute power
and fill the government offices with papists.’ She stopped, wondering if she had said too much, but the Bishop smiled approvingly
at her.

‘And the mood of the people encourages me to believe that the time has come to put a stop to it.’ He drained his glass of
wine and banged it down on the table. ‘The King will dismiss those who disobey his order to read the Declaration on Sunday.
It’s outrageous and it’s illegal.’ Bishop Compton paced back and forth, his jaw tense and his face pale.

‘But what can be done?’

‘I have been in close discussion with the Archbishop of Canterbury, together with the Bishops of Ely, Peterborough and Bristol,
amongst others. There is no secret of it now, for the news will soon be in every alehouse and on every street corner. Last
night we signed a petition requesting the King to excuse us from complying with his order. We shall present it to him on Friday,
two days before the Declaration is due to be read in the churches.’

Beth turned over the words in her mind, while she worked out exactly what this might mean. ‘But …’ She tried again. ‘But will
this not anger the King greatly, Your Grace? Already you have been suspended …’

Bishop Compton smiled without a speck of humour. ‘I will not turn over to show my belly like one of the old king’s lap dogs.
We shall have to wait and see what transpires.’ He sighed, running a
hand through his greying locks. ‘Meanwhile, will you take a turn in the garden with me? The garden soothes troubled thoughts,
I find.’

They walked slowly together, pointing out newly opened flowers and stopping to pull up an occasional weed. Bishop Compton
bent to pick a scarlet and white star anemone. ‘You must start afresh and paint this, Miss Ambrose. Did you ever see anything
lovelier?’

She took it from him, a shiver of sadness running through her as the scarlet petals rekindled the memory of the lake of vermilion
paint which had ruined her recent work. ‘I’m ready now to start work again,’ she said. ‘I had not the heart for it before.’

Bishop Compton squeezed her hand. ‘That’s the way, Miss Ambrose. Have faith and keep on going; that’s all any of us can do
when circumstances are set against us, isn’t it?’ He set off across the grass, his arms swinging by his side like a soldier.

Beth watched him go before she returned indoors, cradling the anemone in her hands.

She paused outside the studio, her hand upon the latch, and was seized by a sudden reluctance to open the door, fearful of
what she might find. After a moment she lifted her chin and went in.

All was as it should be, except for the empty shelf where her paintings had been displayed.

Beth rubbed the toe of her shoe across one of the scarlet spots still staining the studio floor. Why was Noah so cold towards
her? Had she done something to anger him? Perhaps she had been too forward in returning his kisses and her passion had repulsed
him?

Without conscious thought, she set out her paints on the work table. The vermilion pigment, which she had so painstakingly
ground last week, ready to paint the first star anemone, had all been wasted in the destruction of her work. Heaving a sigh,
she took out another lump of raw pigment and dragged the grinding slab towards her.

By the end of the day she had made good progress with her painting, which relieved some of her sadness for those she had lost.
She
had no intention of losing her latest work, however. There was no lock on the studio door but she discovered a key in the
door to the bedchamber. She carried the easel and her new painting into that room, then emptied the cupboard in the studio
of all her paints and equipment and placed them in the press beside the bed. Carefully, she locked the bedchamber door and
tucked the key into her bodice.

The church bell rang the hour but Noah did not come. Beth sat by the window, watching and hoping. How
could
she have misunderstood him so?

The church clock chimed again. Beth unwound herself from the window seat, rubbing pins and needles from her legs. She must
return to Chelsea. The prospect of Arabella’s censure made her hasten as one of her step-grandmother’s sharp set-downs was
almost unbearable in her present frame of mind.

The following Saturday morning Beth and Cecily were surprised to find that Joshua and Samuel were at the breakfast table before
them. Lady Arabella, dressed in a blue morning gown with lace ruffles and a smile of satisfaction, sat at Sir George’s side.

‘You’re unusually bright and early, twins,’ said Beth as she took some bread.

‘There’s news afoot,’ said Samuel. ‘Sir George heard it himself, didn’t you, sir?’

Sir George bowed his head in acquiescence. ‘A deputation arrived for an audience with the King last evening.’

Beth paused, her coffee cup halfway to her mouth. She had an inkling of what the news might be.

‘A deputation of seven bishops, eight if you count Bishop Compton—’

‘Which we do not,’ interrupted Lady Arabella with a sharp glance at Beth, ‘since he is already disgraced. He was refused admission
to the King’s presence, along with the Archbishop of Canterbury.’

‘This deputation presented a libellous petition to His Majesty at ten o’clock last night,’ continued Sir George in smooth
tones. ‘It consisted of some nonsense requesting permission to refrain from reading the Declaration in the churches. The King
was deeply displeased and astonished that the clergy oppose his will.’ He leaned forward and spoke in a voice so soft that
it was hard to hear. ‘His Majesty was moved to say that the bishops’ actions amounted to rebellion.’

‘Rebellion? Just because the clergy don’t want to read some boring paper in church?’ Cecily’s eyes were wide with amazement.

‘I have rarely seen His Majesty so angry.’ There was a gleam of spite in Sir George’s eye. ‘He called them all trumpeters
of sedition and commanded them to return to their dioceses.’

‘If they know what’s good for them, they will comply with His Majesty’s orders,’ said Lady Arabella.

Then a knock on the front door echoed through the house and a few moments later the maid ushered Noah into the dining room.

Beth felt the heat rise up her throat and set fire to her cheeks. She stared at the bread on the plate in front of her, her
heart clattering against her ribs. She waited for her blush to subside while the others greeted him.

‘What have you there, Noah?’ asked Samuel.

Noah handed him a sheet of paper. ‘I stayed last night in the city and on my way back to Fulham this morning I saw these leaflets
being distributed,’ he said. ‘It’s a copy of the Memorial handed to His Majesty. The printing presses must have been turning
almost from the moment the delegation left Whitehall.’

Arabella tweaked the paper from Samuel’s hand and read it. ‘It’s a disgrace!’ she fumed, passing it to her husband. ‘Do you
go to Court today, Sir George?’

‘I am not yet decided …’

‘His Majesty must know that you await his pleasure, should he require your services.’ Her eyes were bright and calculating.
‘You
would do well to remind him that you support him in
all
his decisions.’

‘Just so, my dear.’

‘Beth, I came to see if you and Cecily would accompany me to church tomorrow?’ said Noah. ‘I had a mind to go to Westminster
Abbey.’

‘Cecily, I had expected you to stay with me tomorrow,’ said Lady Arabella with a frown. ‘Harriet is coming and you promised
to amuse her children, don’t you remember?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Besides, Harry de Montford said he may call upon us.’

‘Then I had much rather stay and play with the children,’ said Cecily. ‘You won’t miss me if you’re with Beth, will you, Noah?’

‘Perhaps you would prefer to stay with your sister, Beth?’ asked Noah.

‘No, I should like to accompany you,’ said Beth.

Noah kissed Lady Arabella’s hand and bowed to Sir George. ‘Until tomorrow, Beth.’

On Sunday morning there seemed to be more boats on the water than usual when Beth arrived at the public stairs at Chelsea.
Her stomach churned at the prospect of being alone with Noah and she ruminated on different ways to broach the subject of
his apparent demonstration of love followed by his subsequent withdrawal from her.

At last she saw Noah waving as his boat approached the stairs. He seemed more at ease than on the previous day and Beth’s
anxiety began to release its sharp grip upon her.

‘I was lucky to find a boat today,’ he said. ‘It would seem that everyone is out upon the water this morning.’

‘Why is that?’ asked Beth, puzzled. ‘It’s a pleasant day for an outing but not so remarkable as to account for the crowds.’