The Painter's Apprentice (7 page)

Beth’s heart sank. ‘The same nightmare again?’

‘I can never forget what happened to my wife and that I was not there to help her when those soldiers …’ He sat back down
and eased back, stretching his arms out in front of him. ‘I am not a violent man but I dream of finding those French soldiers
and hacking them to pieces, laughing all the while with the pleasure of it as they scream. I want them to suffer as Annelies
suffered.’ He looked up at her with unfocused eyes. ‘How much I want that.’

Alarmed, Beth remained silent. She ached with compassion for him. Would he always have to endure such agonising memories?

He stood up abruptly and enveloped her in a sudden fierce hug. ‘Don’t look so sad, my little chicken! Take no notice of old
Johannes. You know I suffer from melancholy spells.’

She slid her arms around his broad waist. ‘I wish with all my heart that I could help you to find peace as you have helped
me, Johannes.’

‘No more than you and your family helped me in my hour of
need. Besides, it’s plain to me, whatever you may think, that Dr Ambrose dotes on
all
his children.’

‘Perhaps. But I still wish I could help you to be happy.’

Johannes sighed. ‘Maybe tomorrow all will be well again.’

That evening at supper, Beth’s own melancholy seemed to be reflected in other members of the family. Kit kept his head down,
refusing to engage in conversation and chewing his bread and cheese as if it were made of ashes. Susannah, too, was very quiet.

‘Shall I fetch a headache powder for you, Mama?’ Beth asked.

Susannah shook her head, continuing to crumble a piece of bread she didn’t eat.

After supper, William called the family into the parlour. His expression was sombre.

‘I’ve called you together to tell you that Kit is leaving us to go to Virginia.’

Before she could stop herself, Beth had let out a cry of distress.

Cecily shrieked and burst into a storm of sobs, throwing herself into her mother’s arms.

‘How
c-c-could
you leave Merryfields, Kit?’ asked John, his expression full of hurt bewilderment.

‘I
have
to take this opportunity. If I don’t, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering. Surely you can see that?’ His face was wretched.

There was a hubbub of questions and tears but at the end of it Beth was resigned to letting Kit go. She no longer had any
doubt in her mind that he would never be happy to remain at home and it was fruitless to attempt to persuade him. She went
to sleep that night wishing with all her heart that Noah had never come to Merryfields.

Two days later, supper was being served when a visitor arrived. Emmanuel opened the gates to allow a powerful grey stallion
to clatter into the courtyard and then Joseph came to whisper in William’s ear.

William wiped his fingers on his napkin and stood up. ‘Susannah, my dear, will you come with me, please?’

‘W-w-what do you think has happened, Beth?’ asked John.

Beth shook her head, still too dejected at the thought of losing Kit to speculate.

William and Susannah were closeted in the parlour with the stranger for some time before Sara was sent for to take in a jug
of claret.

Considerably later on, Susannah emerged, her face a little flushed. ‘It’s too late for our visitor to return home tonight.
Beth, will you speak to Peg and have the best bedchamber prepared? Oh, and ask Emmanuel to set the fire straight away.’

‘Who is it who has come to visit?’ asked Cecily, round eyed with questions.

‘I can’t say at present.’ Susannah looked around her distractedly. ‘Oversee the servants, will you, Beth? Oh, and see old
Nelly Byrne to bed. I don’t want her wandering around in her nightshift tonight.’

‘Of course, Mama.’

‘Well!’ said Cecily, after her mother had left. ‘Whoever can it be?’

But the visitor remained behind closed doors with William and Susannah until everyone had gone to bed.

Early the following morning, Beth was surprised to find the studio deserted. Perhaps Johannes had managed to sleep after all.
She picked up one of her previous day’s sketches of an oak leaf and took it to the window to study it more carefully. Fading
from yellow to buff, it was spotted with black mould; not a pretty painting but a faithful representation. A sudden draught
whisked the paper from her fingers and sent it spiralling to the floor. When she bent to pick it up she caught her breath
as a sturdy pair of men’s boots strode into her line of vision.

‘Allow me!’ The voice was deep and authoritative. A middle-aged man with bushy eyebrows and his own greying brown hair falling
to his shoulders stood before her.

Beth took the proffered painting from his outstretched hand, her fingers trembling a little.

‘Forgive me if I startled you. Henry Compton, at your service.’ He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling in his weather-beaten
face.

Beth curtsyed. ‘Beth Ambrose, sir.’

‘I came to visit Dr Ambrose last night and our talks were more prolonged than I had expected.’

‘Dr Ambrose is my father.’

‘It seems we are both early risers. I thought I’d take a look at the garden before the rest of the household awakes but my
attention was caught by the magnificent seascape in the gallery. The artist has a great deal of talent.’

‘He is one of our guests. His name is Johannes van de Vyver.’

Henry Compton’s gaze took in the other canvases before it fell on Beth’s botanical paintings displayed on the wall opposite
the window. ‘The seascape is magnificent, of course, but these are more to my own taste. Johannes van de Vyver is proficient
in such different styles.’

‘Oh no, those are my paintings. Johannes is my painting master.’

With a sharply enquiring glance as if to check the truth of her statement, Compton moved to her hellebore and the foxglove
more closely. ‘He has trained you well. I congratulate you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I have a notion to look at your excellent garden before the whole world arises,’ said Compton. He went to look down to the
garden. ‘There is something haunting about a garden touched with frost, don’t you think?’

Beth stood beside him, studying the scene below. Silvery mist wreathed amongst the topiary peacocks, spheres and pyramids,
all painted with glistening hoar frost in the opalescent early morning light. ‘My younger brother, John, says that winter
is the true test of a garden. In warmth and sunshine, full of the sweet scent of roses and honeysuckle, it’s hard for a garden
not
to be lovely. But in the winter you can see a garden’s bones. That’s why he pays such attention to trimming the yew and the
box trees, so that they make shapes pleasing to the eye even when there are no flowers.’

‘He is wise for one so young. I should like to meet him.’

‘Then I will accompany you to the garden. We are sure to find John in the potting shed.’

‘I should like that very much, Miss Ambrose.’

Johannes was back in his accustomed place at the easel and only glanced up at Beth with a smile as she slipped into the studio
later on.

Several hours later her stomach rumbled with hunger. She’d been so absorbed that she’d forgotten to go down for dinner. The
fire had died down, too and the studio was cold. She hesitated to interrupt Johannes, still bent over his easel, so she cleaned
her brushes and went in search of a crust of bread and cheese.

Along the gallery she heard a repeated banging coming from the open door of the best bedchamber and found Sara beating the
bed hangings and Jennet wielding her besom behind the linen press.

‘Isn’t it the wrong time of the year to be spring-cleaning?’ Beth asked.

‘Your ma’s given the order to ready this bedchamber for an important visitor,’ said Jennet.

‘Who is this important visitor?’

‘The King himself, I shouldn’t wonder, if all the fuss is anything to go by,’ said Jennet, vigorously sweeping the dust into
a pile. ‘It seems she’s too good to sleep in the women’s dormitory with the other guests. And we’re to make ready the little
parlour for her private sitting room.’

Beth trotted downstairs to find the kitchen was as hectic as a hive and full of the delicious aroma of roasting meat. Peg
was shrouded in a cloud of flour making a pastry coffin ready for a vast pile of rabbit meat, pigs’ kidneys and carrots to
be baked inside, while Phoebe pounded sugar and Emmanuel riddled the grate and poured coal on the fire. A leg of mutton seethed
and spat in the cauldron and the gears of the spit clanked as a haunch of venison turned over the crackling flames.

‘Peg, wherever did all these supplies come from?’ asked Beth, helping herself to a fresh-baked roll. ‘I thought the butcher
wouldn’t give us any more credit?’

‘The bill’s been settled by last night’s visitor. Joseph handed me a purse of gold this morning and told me not to stint on
meals fit for a banquet.’

‘I don’t understand!’

‘Me neither.’ Peg’s mouth was set in a thin line. ‘You’d better ask your ma. I just do as I’m told. Been working here for
nigh on twenty-two years but it’s not my business it seems.’

Beth left Peg to her grumblings and went off to search for her mother.

Susannah, as usual, was in the apothecary, straining lavender flowers steeped in sweet almond oil through muslin into a jar.

Beth dipped the tip of her finger into the oil and sniffed the pungent perfume. ‘The scent of this takes me straight back
to summer,’ she said.

‘I thought I’d put a little bottle in the guest room. Lavender is so helpful for headaches.’

‘And does our expected guest have headaches?’

‘Don’t we all, at difficult times? She also has a chronic defluxion of the eyes so I’ll distil some eyebright into a soothing
eyewash for her.’

‘Why all the secrecy? Who’s coming?’

Susannah pressed the lavender heads with the back of a spoon to squeeze out the last of the oil. ‘I have been asked to be
discreet about our guest. She is an important lady who needs a short while to escape from the pressures of the world. In the
past year she has suffered a stillbirth and the death of two children from the smallpox. In addition there are other … pressures
and her state of mind is fragile.’

‘Poor soul!’ said Beth. ‘Shall I write the labels for the lavender oil?’

Susannah took a pen and ink from a drawer and placed it on the counter. ‘I believe you met our visitor who arrived last night?’

‘I did. He admired my paintings and then we went to walk in the garden.’

‘He came to Merryfields to see if it was a suitable place for this lady.’

Carefully, Beth wrote
Oil of Lavender
in her neatest writing and couldn’t resist adding a tiny drawing of a bunch of lavender.

‘He was most interested in what we do here. He also thought that you would be an admirable companion for her during her stay.
A young lady of compassion and good sense is how he described you. As our expected guest is only a few months older than you,
it should not be too onerous a duty.’

‘Who is she?’

‘A titled lady who wishes to remain anonymous. She will be known as Mistress Anne Morley while she is with us. The visitor
who came last night is the Bishop of London. She used to be the Bishop’s pupil and he has remained her confidant and adviser.’

‘Noah’s bishop? But he didn’t seem like a bishop at all! I thought he must be a farmer.’

‘How should a bishop be?’

‘Not someone whose eyes sparkle in such a merry way or who likes dirtying his hands in the garden or who rides on a horse
rather than in a carriage.’

Susannah laughed. ‘He used to be in the army so he’s of a practical nature but all those things don’t prevent him from being
a clergyman.’

‘No, I suppose not. I know that Noah likes him.’

‘It was Noah who told the Bishop about Merryfields. We must thank him for that since the fee for accommodating Mistress Morley
will make a significant improvement in our circumstances.’

‘I see.’ Beth wiped the pen clean and stoppered the ink. In that, at least, Noah had brought them good fortune.