The Painter's Apprentice (27 page)

The Archbishop of Canterbury’s barge set off slowly with prisoners and soldiers aboard. The bishops waved as the crowd roared
its approval and support.

‘God bless you for standing by the Protestant cause!’

‘Blessed martyrs!’

Bishop Compton shouted at his boatman to follow. The jolting and jarring of the barge as it shoved its way through the flotilla
of smaller boats meant Beth had to snatch at Noah’s coat when it flew off her shoulders after a particularly hard knock.

A great cry went up from the people lining the banks. They surged forwards with outstretched hands to the Archbishop’s barge,
impeding its progress. Someone screamed and fell into the river; others followed, splashing through the mud and wading chest
deep into the filthy water in their efforts to touch the bishops for their blessings.

Church bells began to peal, one after another.

‘Have you ever seen such a thing?’ shouted Noah over the din.

‘Seven brave men,’ bellowed George. ‘Surely the King cannot find against such a weight of public opinion?’

Scores of boats set off in convoy to accompany the Archbishop’s barge to the Tower. It was a little quieter in the centre
of the river but cheering crowds lined the banks all the way.

‘It would seem that Archbishop Sancroft has been very shrewd in
his refusal to accept bail,’ said Bishop Compton. There was a wry gleam of amusement in his eye. ‘The sympathy of the people
is even more firmly behind the bishops now as the wicked tyrant, His Majesty the King, packs them off to a horrid dungeon
in the Tower.’

It was very late by the time Noah escorted Beth back to Chelsea and their ears still rang from the noise of the crowd. He
held her hand to guide her, since there was little moonlight.

Beth curled her fingers around his and wondered if he might kiss her goodbye in the shadows but when they reached Lady Arabella’s
house it was ablaze with candles.

‘I shall have to be careful what I say about today,’ said Beth, as they waited upon the step for the maid to open the door,
‘since Sir George and Lady Arabella’s sympathies lie so strongly with the King in this matter.’

‘It’s been a momentous day, hasn’t it?’

He lifted her hand to his lips and she moved closer, her pulse skipping as she anticipated his kiss.

Then, as they heard the servant’s footsteps approaching the door, he bent and swiftly kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight, Beth,’
he said.

Before she could reply, he had disappeared into the darkness.

In the event, Lady Arabella wasn’t remotely interested in anything Beth had to say and barely noticed how late she was. All
the candles were lit and the household gathered in the drawing room, discussing the events of the day.

‘These trouble-making bishops have been a thorn in the side of the King for far too long,’ pronounced Lady Arabella, ‘but
you can be sure now that he will not allow them to continue to make difficulties.’

‘What will happen to them?’ asked Cecily.

‘They have been charged with seditious libel,’ replied Sir George. ‘Treason,’ he said, in the face of Cecily’s blank incomprehension.

‘Treason? But won’t they have their heads cut off and put on stakes over Tower Bridge?’ She shuddered theatrically.

‘I certainly hope so!’ said Arabella. ‘Once these rabble-rousers are removed from office there will be nothing to stand in
the way of a new order in government.’ She smiled fondly at her husband. ‘The King will wish to have about him those of like
religious beliefs, whom he can trust to support him in his endeavours. And Sir George and the twins will be ready and waiting
to answer His Majesty’s commands.’ She patted Sir George on the arm. ‘Won’t you, Sir George?’

‘Just as you say, my dear.’

‘I see very great things ahead for this family,’ said Lady Arabella.

Beth could stand Lady Arabella’s self-satisfied smile no longer. ‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘I’m going to bed. Are you coming,
Cecily?’

The following evening Sir George sent a message to say that he and the twins would not be home for supper.

Lady Arabella held up the note in hands shaking with excitement.

‘What is it, Grandmama?’ asked Cecily.

‘The news we have all been waiting for,’ said Lady Arabella, her pale eyes glittering like ice diamonds. ‘The Queen …’ She
paused for effect.

‘Yes? squealed Cecily.

‘The Queen is brought to bed!’

‘She has given birth?’ asked Beth.

‘Not yet. We must wait a little while longer. But she is abed and in travail.’ Lady Arabella took a deep sigh. ‘Poor soul!
I remember those times so well. Sir George and the twins will remain at Whitehall until she is delivered.’ She whispered,
‘Sir George hopes to be one of the witnesses at the birth. I impressed upon him the importance of his presence.’

Beth pictured the priests and courtiers all crowded into the birth chamber, waiting to see if she would be safely delivered
of the
expected prince. She sighed, wondering if Princess Anne had been set into a turmoil over the news. Poor lady!

Lady Arabella yawned. ‘It’s too late to wait any longer. Sir George will let us know soon enough how the Queen fares.’

Beth awoke when the front door slammed. Grey dawn light filtered in through the shutters and there were voices downstairs.
Pulling on her wrap, she ran down to hear the news.

The twins, glassy-eyed, leaned against each other in the hall. There was a strong smell of rum.

Sir George was pale after a night without sleep but he carried with him such a glow of complacency that it left Beth in no
doubt that the new prince had indeed arrived safely. Her heart constricted at the thought of the future trouble the little
prince brought with him. Why, oh why, could the babe not have been a girl?

Lady Arabella hurried down the stairs. ‘Sir George, Sir George! What news?’

He caught her up into his arms in an unusual display of affection. ‘The very best, my dear. A prince!’ he said.

Lady Arabella squealed and kissed his cheek.

‘A beautiful little Catholic prince,’ beamed Sir George.

The twins, reeking of rum, lurched towards their mother and collapsed into a giggling heap on the hall floor.

Later that morning Noah came to find Beth in her studio and lingered in the doorway. ‘The Princess of Denmark has returned
from Bath and is visiting the Bishop on her way to Whitehall. She’s asking for you.’

Beth twisted the sapphire ring on her finger, relieved that she had remembered to put it on that morning but wishing she had
worn one of her better dresses. ‘How is she?’

‘As you will imagine, distressed by the news of Prince James Francis Edward’s arrival.’

‘Then I’d better not keep her waiting.’ Hastily she covered her prepared paints with a damp cloth to prevent them drying out.

‘Perhaps I’ll see you later,’ said Noah and left before she could reply.

Forsyth stood outside the Bishop’s parlour and gave Beth a nod of recognition before announcing her. Princess Anne, her lady
in waiting, Lady Sarah Churchill, and Bishop Compton were seated by the window.

Beth curtsied to the Princess, noticing that her eyes were red and swollen. The birth of the new prince must have upset her
greatly.

‘I am in need of some of your calm good sense, Beth,’ said the Princess. ‘You have no doubt heard that the Queen has, apparently,
been delivered of a son?’

‘I have, Your Royal Highness.’

‘I refuse to believe the child is my half-brother.’ The Princess wiped her eyes. ‘Very few Anglicans witnessed the birth.
I understand the King peopled the birth chamber almost entirely with Catholics. And now my sister Mary is no longer heir to
the throne but this … this papist imposter is to take her place!’

‘It was one thing to have a Catholic king, knowing it to be of short duration until a Protestant heir took his place,’ said
Bishop Compton, ‘but this changes everything. In time, Princess Mary, with the Prince of Orange at her side, would have safely
restored England to the Anglican faith. But now …’

Princess Anne twisted the sodden handkerchief in her lap. ‘We
must
do something.’

‘There is a great deal of support for the bishops now that they are confined to the Tower,’ said Bishop Compton, narrowing
his eyes. ‘I’ve been receiving reports that many of the nobility are visiting them during their imprisonment.’ He smiled.
‘Messages of support and sympathy arrive every day. Even the guards are drinking to the bishops’ health.’

‘If ever there was a time to force the King to retract, this is it,’ said Princess Anne.

Bishop Compton glanced at Beth, then back to the Princess. ‘We must see the outcome of the trial. After that we will know
what to do.’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows, perhaps the King will see sense and drop the proceedings.’

Princess Anne rubbed at her temples. ‘My head aches so! Shall we take a walk in the garden, Beth, like we used to at Merryfields?’
She stood up. ‘You may remain here, Lady Sarah, as I shall not need you.’

Forsyth followed at a discreet distance while they walked in the sunshine. Princess Anne opened her heart again to Beth, pouring
out her misery at her childless state and her anxieties for the future. ‘I cannot help but feel at fault,’ she wept. ‘If only
my baby had lived! Or if my poor sister could have a child …’

‘You cannot blame yourself!’

‘Perhaps God is seeking to punish me? What will become of us all now?’

It grieved Beth to see Anne in such distress; she took the sobbing woman into her arms and patted her shoulder. ‘Perhaps God
has some other great plan for us all?’ she said, offering her handkerchief.

The Princess wiped her eyes and linked her arm through Beth’s. ‘You always make me feel calm again. Our friendship is important
to me. Circumstances make it difficult to see you as often as I should wish but you are always just the same, kind Beth,’
she said, kissing her cheek.

Over the Princess’s shoulder, Beth caught a glimpse of Lizzie Skelton, open-mouthed at the sight of her in the Princess’s
arms. Trying not to laugh, she watched Lizzie walk into a rose bush.

The following Sunday, Noah, wearing a new hat with a dashing green feather in the crown, called again at Lady Arabella’s house
to ask her permission for Beth to accompany him to church.

‘The truth is,’ Noah said, as they walked briskly along St Martin’s Lane later on, ‘Bishop Compton asked me to attend the
service at St Giles in the Fields today. He believes the rector is not holding fast to the Church of England and asked me
to report back to him.’

‘St Giles?’ Beth was out of breath as she hurried along to match Noah’s pace. ‘Isn’t that the rector who caused the Bishop
to be disgraced?’

‘It is. There have been such comings and goings in the evenings at Fulham Palace, Beth! Something’s in the air … Messengers.
Secret meetings. Peers of the realm and gentry arriving under cover of darkness and leaving in the middle of the night.’

‘It sounds exciting!’

Noah gave her a worried glance. ‘And perhaps treasonous? Careful!’ He snatched her arm to prevent her from stepping into a
pile of steaming horse dung. ‘Sometimes the Bishop acts more like the soldier he once was than a minister of the Church. He’s
planning some kind of campaign, I’m sure of it.’

There was a good turnout at St Giles and Noah and Beth sat in silence while they waited for the service to begin.

Noah tapped his fingers on his knee, his energy and impatience barely reined in.

Beth eyed him covertly, studying the line of his profile. A shaft of sunlight from the window fell on to his hair, burnishing
it with fiery copper lights. She had never painted a portrait but all at once she was possessed with the idea that she must
attempt it. She had the graphite sketch she had made when they were sitting by the moat but she wanted a faithful likeness
that would capture the tones and shadows of his skin and the colour of his hair so that she would never forget him after he
had gone. A sudden pain gripped her with the force of a blow to the stomach as she remembered that she would never see him
again once he returned to Virginia.

‘Beth?’ Noah whispered. ‘What is it?’

She shook her head and pressed her lips tightly together, frightened that she might start to howl, like a small child deprived
of a precious toy.

Noah gave her worried sideways glances but then the service began and she took several deep breaths and concentrated fiercely
on it.

The rector began to read the prayers for the King and Queen and to give thanks for the safe arrival of Prince James Francis
Edward, while the congregation sat in sullen silence, omitting to make the usual responses to the prayers. When the prayers
finished the rector
began his sermon, further praising the King and Queen and the new prince.

A whispered conversation in the pew behind Beth and Noah made heads turn to stare. Feet shuffled, a prayer book was dropped,
several staccato coughs rang out. Someone laughed and the murmur of voices blossomed until the rector’s voice was completely
drowned by the volume of conversation.

Several members of the congregation stood up and left the church; within a few minutes the rest had followed.

‘Well!’ said Noah, ‘this will be something to report to the Bishop, won’t it? The birth of the Prince isn’t good news at all
as far as the people are concerned. The King plans a magnificent firework display next week to celebrate it and it’ll be interesting
to see how the people respond. Shall we go together?’

Beth nodded. ‘I’d like that.’ She would have walked barefoot across Hackney marshes if it meant spending time with Noah.

‘I wondered if you’d like to go on an excursion this afternoon?’

‘An excursion?’ Her spirits lifted.

‘I’ve arranged to hire a horse and I thought we’d take a picnic to Islington village.’ They bought eel pies, still warm from
the oven, from the pie shop in Drury Lane.

It was hard for Beth to resist opening the parcel and taking a bite. She waited impatiently outside the Rose and Crown while
Noah went inside to purchase some ale.

A sway-backed grey mare waited for them at the stables. She eyed them with disfavour, curling back her lips to expose yellow
teeth and backing off when Noah took hold of the reins.

‘You want to watch old Meg,’ said the stable boy. ‘Make sure you tie her up nice and tight if you stop anywhere or she’ll
be away.’

Noah set his lips in a line of grim determination and grasped hold of Meg’s bridle. He leapt up on to the horse’s back before
she had time to object and Beth was impressed to see how quickly he brought her under control.

Beth tucked the picnic into the saddlebag and the stable lad hoisted her up to sit behind Noah. She settled herself on to
Meg’s broad back, wrapping her arms around Noah’s waist.

‘All set?’ Noah glanced back over his shoulder.

She nodded and Noah nudged the horse’s flanks with his heels.

Meg refused to budge.

‘Stubborn old girl!’ said the stable boy, thwacking her on her rump.

Meg tossed her head and shot off at a cracking pace out of the stable yard into the road.

Noah hauled on the reins, which steadied the horse to a more sedate pace along Holborn.

It had been a few years since Beth had ridden. She and her siblings had shared a couple of ponies when they were young but
they had been too expensive to keep.

It was very pleasant to be sitting high up and so close to Noah. Meg clumped along past the gardens of Gray’s Inn where people
strolled the paths in groups, enjoying their Sunday walk after church. Beth leaned against the warmth of Noah’s back and the
green feather of his hat tickled her cheek, making her smile.

They passed Leather Lane with its stinking tannery before they turned off Holborn into Hatton Gardens.

‘These are splendid houses, don’t you think?’ asked Noah. ‘Abraham Arlidge has been building these houses around squares for
the past twenty years for merchants who don’t wish to live in the city but still need to be close to their businesses.’

‘Some of them aren’t finished,’ said Beth, peering into the empty shell of a building.

‘Mr Arlidge himself showed me some of the houses since I expressed an interest,’ said Noah. ‘There were several ideas of note,
which I will bear in mind when I build my own house.’

Beth sighed. Noah’s own house would be in Virginia.

They passed across the narrow bridge over the Fleet river and on
through Clerkenwell. Cattle grazed in the fields and there were market gardens on either side of the road as they plodded
up the hill to Islington.

Noah pulled up beside an elm tree at the edge of a field. He dismounted and tied Meg securely to the tree trunk.

Beth slid off the horse into Noah’s waiting arms. He held her close for a moment and she studied the firm line of his jaw,
too hesitant to lift her gaze to meet his eyes. Perhaps now he would kiss her again? She remained motionless, sure that he
would feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest. But then he released her.

Swallowing in disappointment and cursing herself for not being braver, Beth thought that Lizzie Skelton would not have hesitated.
She would have simply offered Noah her lips. Sighing, she took the pies out of Meg’s saddlebag.

They found a good picnic spot in the soft lush grass with a view of the distant city spread out below.

From inside his coat, Noah took a sheaf of papers which he laid on the ground for Beth to sit on.

She broke the pies into halves and offered a piece to Noah. ‘What have you there?’ she asked, picking up one of the papers,
an architectural drawing in pen and ink.

‘It’s a plan of a room.’ He turned the cross-shaped drawing in his hand to show how the walls had been projected upwards from
each side of the plan, complete with details of panelled wainscots and cornices, windows and doors.

‘Let me show you,’ he said, folding the paper up at the sides to make a box. Small cuts in the paper at the corners allowed
the edges to slot together and keep the box square.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Beth in delight. ‘It’s a room with no ceiling.’

Noah smiled. He continued to fold up more boxes until he had assembled a number of them. ‘I thought these might amuse you.’

‘They do! Just look at the details of the fireplace, all carved around with oak leaves.’

‘I took that idea from the sketches I made of the oak tree by the moat at Fulham Palace.’

‘I remember!’

‘This is the house I want to build. My father has set aside a piece of land for me on the side of a hill with a view of hazy
blue mountains in the distance.’ He spoke quietly with a faraway expression in his eyes. ‘There’s a stream at the foot of
the hill and wild flowers grow in the woods. All you can hear is birdsong and yet my family home and our neighbours are only
a five-minute walk away. It’s the place in the world I love best; the place where I intend to end my days.’

Beth closed her eyes for a second, imagining the serenity of the setting, with its mountain views and the birds singing in
the trees. All at once she longed to see this place.

‘You would like Virginia, I think,’ Noah said. ‘The land is so fertile and the climate so kind that everything grows well.
There are more lovely flowers than you can imagine; you would never be at a loss for some new bloom to paint.’ He bent over
the boxes and began to place them side by side on the ground. ‘I’ll begin my house by building the front parlour with a dining
room behind. Our summers are hotter than yours so they’ll have high ceilings and tall windows to allow the breeze to cool
the air.’ He added a smaller box. ‘And here is the kitchen. There will be two bedrooms on top and a roof of cedar shingles.
The whole will be clad in timber.’