Ironbark (4 page)

Daniel could not conceal his horror. ‘You mean he drew her when she was dead?'

The vicar squirmed in his seat. ‘You were born before your time. Your mother was weak from hunger when she arrived here. She died within hours after your birth.'

Daniel's hand shook as he stabbed at the initials TLH. ‘Do you know who he was?'

‘I'm no authority on art but I've heard tell that a young local artist called Thomas Linton Hayes went south to the metropolis and his paintings hang in various galleries.' He looked sharply at Daniel. ‘There is no proof he was your father. Perhaps Mary Ann Browne was no more to him than one of his models.'

Daniel pushed aside his angry thought.
Not my father? Then why am I driven to be a painter?
He listened intently to the vicar's description of the artist.

‘Quite well favoured but with the look of a man used to indulging himself.' The vicar cupped his hand around an invisible glass and raised it in quick movements to his lips.

When Daniel asked if the artist had wanted to see the babe, the vicar appeared to be discomforted. Daniel had not been expected to survive so the man had left money for a Christian burial.

‘Most decent of him.' Daniel was unable to conceal his bitterness. ‘But I don't need his name. I'll make my mam's name so famous that Thomas Linton Hayes will wish he had acknowledged my existence.'

‘Judge as ye shall be judged, Daniel,' the vicar warned.

‘I beg you. Tell me
anything
you know about my mother. You alone remember her.'

‘No ordinary farmer's daughter. Extraordinary hooded green eyes. Her hair covered her like a cape – in the way of Mary Magdalene.' He lowered his voice discreetly. ‘She had that milk-white flesh those artist chaps favour. Hayes told me she posed for his triptych of Greek mythological figures. Something about Mary Ann being his perfect Clytie.'

The vicar explained the ancient Greek legend of the mortal girl so in love with the pagan god Apollo she watched his sun chariot cross the sky every day. When she died of unrequited love the gods pitied her and changed her into the sunflower turning its head to follow the sun.

Daniel carefully re-rolled the scroll. ‘Thank you for this precious link with her.'

The vicar made Daniel kneel to receive his final blessing then handed him a bible.

‘May this keep you on the straight and narrow, lad. Go with God and peace be with you.'

In the barn Daniel hastily assembled his few possessions. He pulled his cloth cap down over his brow and marched out into the sunlight, swinging his bundle as he passed the milestone marking the miles to Chester – and his new life.

• • •

Hurrying along the Rows in Chester, Daniel experienced an explosion of colour, sounds and aromas that intoxicated his senses – cakes and bread smelling of cinnamon and spices; the perfumes of flowers that wafted from barrows; the giddy laughter of servant girls larking on their rare May Day holiday.

He halted before a shop frontage bearing a sign that transfixed him.
Art Dealer and Picture Framer – Prop. Maynard Plews.
In the window was a painting of a blue-robed Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus, her youthful features shining with serene adoration. The child looked more like a miniature adult than any babe Daniel had seen, but his discovery of the painting was a moment of sheer magic. The printed card read ‘Artist Unknown c. seventeenth century'. In Daniel's imagination the Virgin's sweet face was now fused with that of his dead mother.

Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, Daniel entered the gallery. The oblong space was deserted, its walls covered with tiers of paintings. Enchanted, he darted between them like an excited butterfly drawing pollen from a hothouse of exotic flowers.

Suddenly Daniel realised he was being watched by a grey-bearded man whose pale blue eyes glinted behind his spectacles. There was something about the man that encouraged Daniel to shed his shyness.

‘Sir, I have only this day arrived in Chester and am not yet placed in work. I am unable to afford even the frame of the smallest painting in your gallery.'

The man nodded as if that fact was irrelevant. ‘I am Maynard Plews. I'm interested in the opinions of all – patrons, clients or art students such as yourself. If money was no object and you had a mind to buy, which would you choose?'

Daniel felt flattered to be identified as an art student.

‘There are three. If I had the money I'd forego food to possess all three.'

Invited to explain why they attracted him, Daniel extended his arms as if to embrace two portraits, a diptych of a man and a young girl set against a sun-drenched olive green landscape that was foreign to the realm of England.

Emboldened by Plews's sympathetic gaze, Daniel gave his thoughts free rein, his words tumbling forth as he pointed out the landscapes were connected to indicate the couple belonged to one family. He recognised from the vicar's art books that the couple's elaborate clothing was medieval. The hand that rested on the nobleman's dagger at his belt was adorned with ornate rings – like a woman's. Daniel felt the painted black eyes were watching him with contempt.

‘See how his lower lip curls – he believes his word is above the law. He is the very picture of a … a …' Daniel stumbled trying to find the word he wanted.

Maynard Plews prompted him. ‘Arrogance?'

‘Aye, but there's more. The artist is telling us about something the nobleman's trying to hide. He's surrounded with flashy objects, a goblet and family crest yet somehow he looks uncomfortable as if he doesn't quite belong.'

Daniel faltered again, afraid his words betrayed his ignorance.

Maynard Plews nodded. ‘And what do you see in the lass?'

‘Fine clothes but she's not worldly like him. She's fingering her wedding ring like a nervous young bride. The artist has painted her eyes turned toward the nobleman as if she's afraid of him.'

Daniel felt exposed. ‘But what would I know, Sir? These are the first fine paintings I've seen outside of a book.'

‘You have a natural gift for judging character beneath the trappings of luxury. The man was the base-born son of an Italian nobleman, later ousted by his father's legitimate heir. The bride was sold to him in marriage as a child to unite the two families. Her bridegroom squandered her dowry on his favourite courtier, a pretty
boy
.'

Daniel reacted on impulse. ‘That's an abomination in the eyes of God!'

‘I dare say but princes write their own codes of behaviour.'

Daniel hastily explained his attraction to his third choice, a landscape identified on the card beneath it as the Colony of New South Wales, early 1800s.

‘Those alien trees and that remarkable blue sky are unlike any under an English heaven. It breaks every law about beauty – yet it is!'

Maynard Plews studied Daniel. ‘What would
you
most like to paint, lad?'

Daniel could feel that his whole future hung in the balance. He did not know what to say but when his answer tumbled out he recognised it was the truth.

‘I want to paint a man's soul!'

Maynard Plews nodded as if the answer pleased him. Daniel pressed his luck further.

‘Forgive me, Sir, if I am wasting your time.'

‘Business is none too brisk. Half Chester is outdoors celebrating May Day but I have an order to fulfil, repairing the badly damaged frames of neglected old paintings.'

Daniel seized his cue. ‘Do you need help, Sir? I can turn my hand to anything. I read and write a decent hand. I never tire. I'm strong. Reliable. Honest.' He quickly produced the vicar's Character.

Maynard Plews read it then indicated a doorway to the basement where Daniel would find an overall behind the door, and a boxroom with a bed and washbasin. The owner explained that it was to his advantage to have a lad living on the premises to guard the paintings.

‘Vicars don't hand out praise to recommend a potential thief for employment!'

Within half an hour Daniel was wielding a broom and stacking boxes with such fervour that he fancied he caught his employer tugging at his moustache to conceal a smile.

After his new employer left at the end of the day Daniel sprinted down to his quarters. His first act was to pin to the wall the image of his young mother, serene in death.

He softened as he touched her face. ‘Just watch me, Mother. I'm on my way!'

A sudden thought jolted him. Why hadn't he chosen the Virgin Mary as one of the three paintings he would go without food to own? The answer came to him with a force that both thrilled and frightened him with its intensity.

I will paint the Virgin myself and prove I can surpass my father's gifts as an artist!

Jake Andersen spent the first weeks after Jenny's desertion checking every settlement within a wide circle radiating out from Penrith, Parramatta and the villages along the coach route to Sydney Town. At Mrs Troy's cottage in Parramatta he found the empty house stripped of furniture, a ‘For Lease' sign nailed to the door. Her neighbours told him that Mrs Troy had departed without warning, alone in a carriage. Her whereabouts were unknown. Jake felt choked with bitterness when he guessed the answer.
No doubt Jenny's god-damned protector is now paying the old biddy's rent just like I did. Bloody fool that I was.

Nothing made sense. Why had Jenny left him without a hint that she was unhappy? He could feel nothing except the driving force to get his hands around that cowardly mongrel's throat. Reclaim what belonged to him. His little princess. But what of Jenny? What would he feel when he saw her again? There was no answer to that. By day he was drained of any emotion except blind rage. By night Jenny invaded his dreams. These visions of her brought pain so acute it shattered his sleep and left him exhausted.

Inwardly he was humiliated by his cuckold status. But pride forbade him to reveal his torment to anyone and he avoided facing his own Andersen clan. He was determined to put up a front, show the world he didn't give a damn – except that he wanted his kid back. He tried not to drink his remaining money but being unable to interrupt his search to take on work, his funds were running dry. He badly needed to win the prize fight to finance his search.

Now as he rode through the bush towards Tagalong, weighing his chances of beating Bulldog Kane, he remembered the first time he had set eyes on Jenny. That unforgettable day he had been pummelling Sly
Peters in a bare-knuckle bout in front of Parramatta's Woolpack Inn.

Jake delivered a left hook to the chin that rocked his opponent to his knees and drew cheers from the crowd of drunken men and their raucous, bedraggled women
.

Jake's world shifted on its axis the moment he saw her. The gorgeous young blonde seated in a stationary open carriage. She clapped her hands like a child, beside her a middle-aged woman in black had disapproval stamped all over her face.

The girl's beauty took Jake's breath away. The face of an angel. Skin so white it must never have seen the sun. A pocket Venus clothed in a filmy summer dress the colour of a peach. She was so excited by the fight – by him – that she discarded her parasol. Sunlight turned her yellow hair to gold.

The sight of her spurred Jake on to finish the fight, giving no quarter when Sly Peters's face streamed with blood. After Jake collected his winner's purse, he returned to find the mysterious girl and her carriage had disappeared. He spruced himself up and walked the streets of Parramatta determined to find her. Two days later he stumbled in desperation into a church hall, drawn by the music of a church social. And there she was, weaving between two admiring males in a country quadrille. When Jenny smiled at him, Jake knew he was lost forever.

• • •

On his arrival in Tagalong Jake saw the place was swarming with men drawn to the magnet of the challenge match.

Mac Mackie was waiting for Jake outside his hut. Two beef steaks and a bowl of hen's eggs were all ready to fry on the open fireplace. Bottles of Albion Ale were planted at the ready in a bucket of cold creek water.

Jake swaggered up and said, ‘Jesus, Mac. You're slack. What's holding up my breakfast?'

Jake hoped his words sounded cocksure, but the wise owl look Mac gave him showed he wasn't fooled for a minute.

‘Sit yourself down, Jake. Get that bottle into you. Then you can level with me.'

When the steaks were sizzling and the heady smell of them reminded Jake he hadn't eaten properly for days. He downed his first ale.

‘I passed Kane's wagon covered with paintings of the Union Jack and bundles of money. But no Bulldog in sight. You set eyes on him yet?'

‘Yeah. Spotted him in The Australia Arms. He's a big lug. Heavy on his feet. Fists like hams.'

‘Size alone ain't important. If he's got a weak point, I'll find it and take him.'

‘I ain't worried about him. Are you gunna tell me the truth? What's up?'

Jake opened his eyes wide like a baby. ‘Not a bloody thing, mate. I'm free again.' He wriggled two fingers on his head to indicate invisible horns. ‘Apart from Jenny making me a cuckold and bolting with Pearl. Never felt better.'

Mac handed him a second ale and downed his own. ‘Jesus, mate. So that's it.'

Mac squatted on a log opposite Jake. They sat in silence for a minute but Jake knew that Mac being Mac, he couldn't let it rest.

‘No need to put up a front with me, mate. Known you too bloody long. Do you want Jenny back, or what?'

Jake snapped back. ‘You thick or something? Who cares about Jenny? Her bloody protector can have her. Just until I find him and take care of him – permanently. But my little princess is
mine
. I'll get Pearl back one way or another. No holds barred on that score.' He downed his drink then gave Mac a warning look.