Ironbark (7 page)

• • •

When it was time for her lesson she entered the library to find Caleb apparently absorbed in a book.

‘Well? Can you read it for me?' he asked coolly without looking at her.

Keziah knew perfectly well what the first Song of Songs was about. She handed the bible back to him.

‘I could do but I think you should read it to
me
.'

Caleb looked startled but glanced at her as he read the phrase, ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love
is
better than wine …' He faltered on reaching the line, ‘A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts …'

Keziah decided to call his bluff. ‘Why did you choose that particular passage, Caleb?'

‘Really, Keziah. Who is master and who servant here, eh?'

She controlled her anger but responded haughtily. ‘If you will excuse me, Sir.'

‘I most certainly will not!' He blocked her passage to the door. ‘I want you to know how I feel. Against my will, Keziah, I am falling in love with you.'

Keziah's confusion was close to panic. She realised how her arrogance had made her disregard her grandmother's warning. ‘I didn't mean to mislead you. I belong to Gem.'

Caleb turned away but not quickly enough to disguise his trembling hand. He picked up another book. ‘This is a natural history book with wondrous illustrations of flora and fauna in New South Wales. Some names are in Latin but I'll translate those for you.'

At lesson's end Keziah thanked him but she felt unnerved. Caleb's eyes held a depth of longing she had only ever seen in one other man. Gem.

I
must
paint her.
It was a thought that haunted Daniel Browne day and night.

During the first weeks of his apprenticeship, Daniel loved his work restoring paintings but he longed for the hours he was free to draw the images of Our Lady that filled his head.

Every Sunday morning he took communion but it wasn't religious fervour that motivated him. He visited the cathedral and many other churches hungry to discover all their artworks.

Today was his first exposure to St Michael's. Daniel was overwhelmed by the ritual, colour and incense which seemed like a theatrical experience compared with the plain Low-Church services of his village. He gazed at the large stained-glass nativity window, thrilled by its beauty. In the bottom panel the Virgin Mary was depicted with hands clasped in prayer, a traditional sky-blue robe draped over her russet-red gown.

Daniel could never pray from the heart to the god who had taken his mother from him, but the Virgin's gentle beauty spoke to his soul and allowed him to make a silent confession.

It isn't the stigma of illegitimacy that weighs heavily on me, Holy Mother. It is knowing that in my first act of life I killed my own mother. I beg you, take away my guilt.

There was no answer. He was distracted by the sight of a young girl kneeling at the altar rail to take communion. Dark hair flowed down her back from the circlet of fur crowning her head. Her profile was as serene as a nun taking her final vows. Her tight Russian jacket could not hide that her chest was almost as flat as a boy's but the soft, feminine beauty of her face more than compensated. Daniel was not surprised
that she did not return his glances. She was clearly too far above him in station to notice an apprentice with paint-stained fingernails.

At the conclusion of the service Daniel hurried to his basement room and struggled to capture the Virgin Mary's face in his first oil painting. His concentration was broken by footsteps in the gallery above. Shaking with fear at the prospect of confronting a thief, he armed himself with the poker from the fireplace and crept barefoot up the stairs. Maynard Plews eyed Daniel's weapon with raised eyebrows.

‘You disappeared after church, lad. Before I had a chance to invite you to dinner tonight.' His mouth twitched. ‘It's safe to lay down your weapon. No need to protect yourself from me.'

‘Sorry, Sir. I thank you for your kind invitation.'

‘My family will be pleased to have a fresh source of conversation. Shall we say half six?'

Daniel was grateful but annoyed that he'd have less time to work on the Virgin Mary painting. After his master's departure he rechecked that the cash box was locked in the safe. The man was growing absent-minded – he had left a small parcel tied with string on the desk.

Back in front of his canvas Daniel fought to master the oil paints. The colours excited him but his Virgin Mary's face was stiff and remote.

As he fought to give her life, he lost all sense of time. Mindful he must not arrive late for dinner, he ran upstairs to check the clock in the gallery.

Light from the streetlamp filtered through the store window. Daniel was transfixed by a sight at the far end of the gallery.

The Virgin Mary.
Diffused light glowed from the outline of her sky-blue robe. Her gentle features were half in shadow. A halo outlined the cowl around her head. He sank to his knees, his eyes blinking as he searched for a prayer to express his gratitude that the Holy Mother had chosen to come to
him
. The Virgin's lips parted to deliver her holy message.

‘Pray tell me, lad. Have you seen aught of Father?'

‘Father?'
Daniel gasped at the sound of the Virgin's Cheshire accent. The holy vision shimmered and disappeared. Standing before Daniel was a girl in a blue hooded cloak – the same girl he had seen in church that morning.

‘Aye. Mr Plews,' she said with a blush. ‘Your employer.'

‘No. I mean, yes. He called in after church and left this parcel behind.'

‘Thank heavens. Father forgot where he'd left it.'

She shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

‘Father said you'll join us for dinner. Do you know the way, lad?'

He nodded, then followed her gaze to his bare feet.

‘Just cleaning my boots, I was,' he lied.

‘I'd best be going.' The girl edged toward the door. ‘I'm Miss Plews. Sara Anne. My friends call me Saranna.'

Daniel watched her retreating figure hurrying down the street, the wind wrapping the hem of her blue cloak around her ankles.

He locked the gallery door. Tonight's Sabbath meal at his master's house had taken on a whole new meaning.

He rushed down to the basement. His painting was cold, lifeless – unworthy of Our Lady. He began feverishly sketching Saranna Plews's face, jubilant that he had found her. His perfect Virgin Mary.

• • •

Seated opposite Saranna at dinner Daniel noticed that her eyes were the same blue as the Virgin Mary's robes. The collar of her white lace blouse was so high it seemed to hold her head erect. He took note of her fingers constantly touching a cameo brooch at the base of her throat, as if it linked her to something important.

She blushed whenever she ventured a rare comment. Daniel vowed to spend his next pay on good quality oil paints to do her justice. Who needed food? Art alone satiated his appetite. Yet the Virgin's offer of second helpings reminded him this was his first proper meal in weeks.

Daniel sensed Saranna was a romantic girl who led a sheltered life under the eagle eye of her Aunt Georgina, who was seated at the opposite end of the table to her brother. It soon became clear to Daniel that the elderly spinster had raised Saranna since the death of Saranna's mother. The woman twittered like a bird but her sharp eyes missed nothing.

After the pudding dishes were cleared Maynard Plews made an excuse to usher his sister from the room. Saranna shifted in her seat and looked around the room as if searching for words. Daniel was content to study her but finally broke the silence.

‘Miss Plews, your father tells me you are fond of drawing.'

Saranna stammered in reply. ‘Indeed I am. But my work is poor. Father says you are most gifted. Perhaps one day you would care to show me your work?'

‘I would be well pleased.' Daniel pushed back an errant lock of hair, a mannerism that he knew betrayed his nervousness. ‘But I doubt that your father—'

‘Her father wouldn't mind one jot,' Maynard Plews said as he came back into the room. When Saranna didn't respond, he prompted her. ‘Daniel's work is impressive. He'd be pleased to teach you, I'm sure.'

• • •

Two weeks later Daniel arrived bearing his portrait of the Virgin Mary. The Plews family exchanged sidelong glances. Aunt Georgina could not contain herself.

‘Fine it is. Even if your Virgin Mary bears an uncanny resemblance to our Saranna!'

Maynard Plews put on a show of surprise. ‘Aye, so it does. What do
you
think, lass?'

Saranna blushed scarlet when all three turned to hear her verdict. Daniel covered her embarrassment with a request to his master.

‘May I have your leave to present it to your daughter, Sir?'

Maynard Plews gave a nod of approval. Saranna's heart was in her
eyes as she held out her hands to accept Daniel's gift.

At the end of the meal Maynard Plews rose from the table.

‘I trust you ladies will excuse us while we enjoy a port in my study.'

Daniel tried to settle into the leather armchair. He wasn't used to being treated as an equal.

On tasting the port he was quick to commend it. He noted the amused twitch of his employer's moustache. His first ever sip of a liqueur relaxed Daniel enough to respond to the offer of a cigar.

‘You've done well as my apprentice these past months, lad. You have absorbed the techniques of restoring damaged paintings with remarkable speed.'

‘I am grateful for the opportunity to do so under your expert guidance.'

‘Who knows, you might take over the business from me some day.'

Daniel was startled. ‘That goal is far beyond me, Sir.'

‘Modesty is fine in its place. But you are also ambitious.'

‘I assure you, Sir—'

‘Naught wrong with ambition.'

‘I can't deny it, Sir, but I've had scant education. Born in the poor-house and I bear my mother's name. I could never begin to hope—'

‘Nonsense. Many a lad has risen from lowly estate to make his mark. I arrived in Chester as a young lad from Yorkshire without a penny to bless myself. And just look at our Captain James Cook. Began life as a humble farmer's son. Now his discoveries in the southern hemisphere rank him as one of history's greatest navigators.' He refilled Daniel's glass. ‘I hold self-made men in high esteem, lad.'

Daniel seized the chance to turn the conversation to art.

‘Your botanical books on New South Wales show amazing flora and fauna unlike no other on the globe. I've been experimenting with colour to see if I can get close to the original works.'

Daniel felt his master was observing him closely.

‘Aye, I'm gratified to see you are hungry to learn, lad. It took me
years to prove myself worthy to marry Saranna's mother. She refused other offers of marriage and stubbornly waited for me to make a decent enough living to satisfy her father. Now, at my time of life, I would welcome a partner in business. Understand me. I'm nay one to hold the circumstances of a lad's birth against him. Should his intentions be honourable and lead him in direction of marriage.'

Daniel caught his breath. Marriage? A partnership? Were these offers in tandem? Before he had time to respond, Maynard continued.

‘Now, down to business. I'd welcome your ideas on how to counter these difficult times. We've lived on a financial seesaw since Napoleon Bonaparte got the chop and the whole country was flooded with soldiers and mariners in search of work.'

Daniel found it difficult to concentrate. All he could think about was how being a partner in the gallery would be a golden opportunity to establish himself as an artist.

• • •

During the following weeks, however, Daniel could not fail to notice the signs indicating a decline in the business. He suspected the cause was aggravated by Maynard Plews's increasing absent-mindedness.

Attempting to turn the tide and improve his master's fortunes as well as his own, Daniel spent long hours at night restoring a set of six eighteenth-century landscape paintings. The artist had died young, leaving a limited legacy of his work, which was now considered quite valuable. One painting was so badly water-stained that Maynard Plews had warned the owner that the quality of the painting was irretrievable. After Daniel completed the restoration work on the other five, he looked closely at the ruined painting. He knew it was common practice for students to copy the work of famous artists to learn the secrets of their technique.

Why not see if I can reproduce the style of this damaged work? I will learn much in the process. It is not a subject I'd choose to paint myself but it will be an excellent discipline.

Daniel searched through all the blank canvases for one that suited his purpose. He settled down to work, secure in the knowledge he would not be disturbed. His master now spent most evenings in his study poring over the business accounts that troubled him.

• • •

On the evening of Maynard Plews's birthday dinner, Daniel arrived early with his gift – a framed portrait of his master painted from memory.

Saranna hung Daniel's painting in pride of place over the fireplace then bustled off to help Aunt Georgina with last-minute preparations.

Alone with the portrait Daniel was pleased with the way he had captured the subject's craggy features above the short, grey beard, the broad cheekbones hollowed by age. He felt he had caught the essence of the man's character, his sharp Yorkshire common sense, softened by the observant, almost sad quality of the eyes.

He was startled by Maynard Plews entering the room.

‘Aye, mighty impressive. You've got me down to a tee, lad. Even the perpetual frown I've been wearing of late due to the rocky times we are forced to weather.'