The Prisoner (25 page)

“As so many artists are,” Mr. Lytton remarked sagely. “It makes one wonder if madness is the price of genius.” He studied the paintings further. “I have heard of Boulonnais,” he murmured, lest Haydon think he was not up-to-date on the current talk of the art world, “but this is the first time I have had the pleasure of actually seeing his work. There is no question that it is most impressive. His sensibility toward his subject is quite unique.”

Haydon smiled. He had anticipated that Mr. Lytton would feign familiarity with his phantom artist rather than admit ignorance. “As I'm sure you are aware, the name Georges Boulonnais is presently being heralded amongst the salons and art dealers of Paris. His works are sold the very day they go on exhibit, with many collectors begging for a chance to bid on whatever he might produce next. The esteemed art critic, Monsieur Lachapelle of
Le Parisien
, has predicted that Boulonnais will quickly become one of the most celebrated artists of this century.”

“One would have to be blind not to see that,” agreed Mr. Lytton. “I am most grateful to you, Mr. Blake, for bringing your association with this wonderful artist to my attention. I have no doubt that I will be able to sell all five of these paintings. The Duke of Argyll is perpetually looking for interesting work to add to his already impressive collection, and I shall be pleased to invite him for a private viewing as soon as possible. I'm sure we can arrange an exhibition of any other works Monsieur Boulonnais may choose to send to me.”

“How refreshing to meet a man who is only interested in promoting art within his community, rather than realizing his maximum potential for profit. You are a credit to your profession,” Haydon told him.

Mr. Lytton blinked, confused.

“I have no doubt you will get an acceptable response here and I respect you for wanting to keep the exhibition within Inveraray instead of arranging for a much larger showing at your affiliate gallery in Glasgow.” Haydon rose as if their meeting was finished. “There is no question that once a burgeoning artist such as this is introduced to the art world in a major city, the spirituality of the art becomes lost amidst the frenzy of exposure and profit. One need only look at what happened at Monsieur Boulonnais's latest showing in Paris to understand.”

Mr. Lytton's eyes widened. “What happened?”

“Why, every work was sold within hours, with people begging the dealer to accept bids of two and three times the listed price. Such spectacles may draw celebrity and financial gain to the gallery, but in my opinion they do little to preserve the sanctity of the work itself—as I'm sure you must agree.”

“To a certain extent, yes.” Mr. Lytton swiftly began to reassess his potential profit on the venture. “But I also believe that great art deserves to be shared with as large an audience as possible,” he qualified carefully. “Moreover, such an enthusiastic response can only help to secure an artist's financial future, which in turn provides him with the time and the means to create more momentous works. I can assure you, Mr. Blake, that I am thinking only of Monsieur Boulonnais's welfare when I suggest that perhaps we are being hasty in limiting ourselves to an exhibit in Inveraray. I feel upon reflection that an exhibition in Glasgow is far more appropriate. If you are in agreement, I would be happy to arrange it.”

Haydon looked doubtful. “Do you really believe that will be better?”

“Absolutely. An artist of the caliber of Monsieur Boulonnais should be introduced to the Scottish art world in a major city of industry and refinement. Glasgow is a far better choice for his inaugural exhibition. Shall we aim for a date in, say, eight months?”

Haydon thought about the bank's impending foreclosure on Genevieve's house.

“Unfortunately, I'm afraid Monsieur Boulonnais is quite temperamental, and such a delay would only give him time to change his mind,” he said, apologetic.

“But even my gallery is fully booked until summer of next year. I couldn't possibly arrange an exhibition of Boulonnais's work before then,” protested Mr. Lytton.

“Then I'm afraid I shall have to decline your offer of an exhibition,” said Haydon. “I have at this moment over twenty paintings in my possession ready to be exhibited. As there is no shortage of dealers in Paris anxious to take them, Boulonnais has instructed me that if they cannot be shown immediately here, then I am to return them to France. It is a pity we could not come to some arrangement.” He extended his hand.

“Twenty paintings, you say?” Mr. Lytton's myopic eyes fairly danced as he considered his share of the profits on such a sale. “In that case, Mr. Blake, let us see how quickly we can have them crated and sent to Glasgow. I do believe I can arrange with my associates to find some space to hang them.”

 

J
ACK SCOWLED AT THE WORDS ON THE PAGE BEFORE
him, looking as if he might tear the leaf out at any moment and shred it in frustration. Finally he slammed the book closed and shoved it across the table.

“I'm finished.” He folded his arms and regarded Genevieve defiantly.

“Would you like me to review any of the words with you?”

“I know them all,” he assured her, his jaw set.

“But we always read until teatime,” objected Simon, peering up from his book. “The clock says we've another fifteen minutes yet.”

“I don't give a damn what the bloody clock says,” Jack snapped. “I'm finished.”

“I don't want to read anymore either,” said Jamie, wanting to be supportive of Jack. “Can we do something else now, Genevieve?”

Genevieve hesitated. If she told the children they had to continue reading it would now seem like a punishment, and she didn't want that. “You may put your books away and spend the next few minutes drawing, if you wish. Since you are finished for the day, Jack, would you mind coming with me? I want to show you something.” She rose and went down the corridor to her father's library, leaving him to follow.

“I have a book here that I think you might enjoy,” she said, scanning the heavy leather-bound volumes crowding the shelves. She pulled a large, worn edition down from the top shelf and handed it to him.

Jack frowned at the mysterious gold letters forming words on the cover, pretending to read them.

“It's called
Ships Through the Ages
.” Genevieve took the book and opened it, revealing a page in which a magnificent Viking ship with a menacing serpent's head at the prow sliced through the waters of an azure ocean.

“Bloody hell,” swore Jack, impressed. “That looks just like a dragon.”

“That is a Viking ship from nearly a thousand years ago. The Vikings were known as the Lords of the Sea, because of their remarkable ability to build light, streamlined ships that could sail the most dangerous seas and strike terror into the hearts of those who saw them coming. They were extraordinary explorers and brutal conquerors. At one point, great parts of Scotland and Ireland fell beneath their rule.”

Jack studied the macabre ship in fascination.

“One of the most ingenious aspects of the Viking ship was the complete symmetry of the bow and stern,” Genevieve continued, pointing them out on the engraving. “While this gave the craft a graceful look, it also played a role in its movement. The mast was placed precisely in the center of the ship, thereby enabling it to easily sail forward or backward, which was of great benefit during battle. The fact that the ships weren't heavy meant that if they were traveling on a river, and waterfalls or rapids blocked their passage, the Vikings would lower the mast, pull in the oars and rudder and roll the ship over land, using tree trunks beneath it.”

Jack tried to imagine plucking a ship from the water and pushing it along land. “They must have been bloody strong.”

“They were strong and determined,” Genevieve agreed, electing not to suggest that he should try to curb his use of profanity.

She was well aware that Jack did not yet feel as if he belonged with her and her family, and she had no desire to further alienate him by constantly criticizing his language and manners. His attempt to help her by leading the other children on their failed robbery attempt, however misguided, had demonstrated to her that he did harbor at least some measure of concern toward her and the members of her household, whether he realized it or not. It was this that had kept him from running away—coupled with his ever-growing fondness for Charlotte.

Although Jack had remained steadfastly silent on the details of his past, Genevieve knew that it had been both hard and brutal. The thin white scar that snaked down his left cheek was evidence of a savage fight, and, on the night of his arrival, Oliver had seen the faded scars of a whip marking his thin back as he peeled away his filthy prison clothes. Genevieve suspected it was this sickening familiarity with fear and violence that drew Jack to Charlotte.

All of the children had suffered abuse at the hands of adults before they came into Genevieve's care, but it was Charlotte who had been damaged the most physically and emotionally, and who would never be able to conceal her injury from the rest of the world. Her frailty roused Jack's protective instincts in the same way he had been motivated to help Haydon the night he escaped from the prison. This inherent empathy for others touched Genevieve deeply, and made her ever more determined to keep the boy within the realm of her protection until he was fully educated and equipped to make a life of his own.

“The Vikings came to know a great deal about sailing and navigation,” she continued. “They had to be able to read the wind and the waves, and to use the position of the sun and the moon to help them understand where they had come from and where they were going. They thirsted for greater lands and riches, and in order to find it, they had to constantly expand their knowledge. That determination enabled them to pack some dried meat and fresh water into a ship and sail across the ocean all the way to America—without even knowing what they would find, or if they would in fact ever come to land. On the way they battled terrible storms and illness and heat and cold. And still they kept going, when most men would have simply given up and gone home.”

Jack stared in silence at the image of the ship.

“The thing we often forget, Jack,” Genevieve continued softly, “is that everyone comes into this world with very little knowledge. No one is born knowing how to read or write, or build a ship or sail the ocean. These are all things we have to learn. Some people have the advantage of starting earlier than others, and so it may seem that they are smarter than us, but in fact they are not. They have just had more time to absorb the information.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “They think I'm stupid,” he finally growled in a low, angry voice.

“They don't think that at all,” Genevieve countered. “Jamie and Simon are fascinated by everything you do and say, because to them, you seem so worldly and experienced. Annabelle and Grace are old enough to remember a time when they couldn't read either, so they understand. And Charlotte is so fiercely devoted to you, she thinks everything about you is absolutely perfect.”

Jack said nothing.

“I realize it has been difficult for you to give up the independence you had when you were living on the streets,” Genevieve acknowledged, refraining from pointing out that he would have had far less freedom at this moment were he incarcerated in a prison cell. “And I know you dislike having to study. You think you have managed well enough without knowing how to read or spell or add two numbers together on a piece of paper, and so you can't see why you should be bothered trying to learn these things now, when you are almost an adult.”

“Lots of people can't read,” he informed her with brusque authority. “And they manage. You find ways.”

“I'm sure you do. But there is so much you will miss if you don't learn to read, Jack. Books can tell you how to build a ship and cross the ocean. They can show you the muscles and organs inside a man's body, or describe the greatest paintings in Italy, or tell you what life was like five hundred years ago. Books can open up worlds for you that you may have never imagined and may never see otherwise. Beyond that, knowing how to read and cipher will help you to make a success of yourself in this world.”

“You don't understand.” His brow twisted in frustration. “I'm older, so I should know more than them. And when they see me lookin' at some dumb word that looks so simple to them, and I don't know what it is, even though you've already told me five times, they can't help but think I'm stupid. Bloody hell, even I think I'm stupid.”

“First of all, there is no doubt that you're exceptionally clever,” countered Genevieve adamantly. “No one could have survived on the streets as long as you have and not be gifted with plenty of shrewdness and intelligence. Learning to read and write takes time, and that's all there is to it. If it bothers you to have your lessons with the other children, then you and I can study privately in here. That way you don't need to be concerned about what others are thinking. Would you prefer that?”

Jack looked at her in surprise. He had not thought that Genevieve would be interested in going to such lengths to help him. He had thought she would tell him to just do the best he could and not to mind the other children, and leave the matter at that. After all, why should she care whether or not he learned to read or write?

She was watching him expectantly, waiting for his answer. And suddenly it seemed very important to him that he not disappoint her.

“Yes,” he said. “That would be better.”

“Very well, then. You may keep that book, if you like. Although you may not be able to read it yet, there are lots of fine pictures of ships in it that you will enjoy. After we have our lesson, we'll take some time to look at them and I'll tell you more about the men who built them and all the wonderful places they visited. Perhaps one day you will travel to faraway countries on a ship. Maybe you will even go to America.” She smiled. “Then you will write to me and tell me about all the marvelous things you have seen.”