The Painter

by Mary Kingswood

  “Oh yes, very cosy,” Felicia said bleakly. Her childhood memories of Boscobel Cottage were grim ones — tiny rooms, smoking chimneys, draughty windows and the unremitting labour of growing vegetables and raising chickens and pigs. She had been constantly cold, hungry and grimed with mud. Summer Cottage was very much more to her liking, provided as it was with a staff of six and enough money for all the necessities of life, and a few luxuries, too.

  She had made just one visit to Boscobel Cottage since then. When she came of age, her trustees had permitted her to look through Miss Armiger’s papers to see if they contained any hints as to Felicia’s origins. What a disappointment that had been! Laundry lists, translations from Greek, bills from the apothecary — but not a single personal letter or mention of Felicia anywhere. Nothing at all to suggest where she had come from, or why she had been given into the care of a woman who was not her mother. That was the only fact Miss Armiger had given her, that she was not Felicia’s mother. It was not very helpful, and now she would never know who she was.

  Later that evening, when the two girls had gone to bed, Agnes looked up the Earl of Finlassan in the Peerage. “Fabian Warborough,” she said. “The Fifth Earl of Finlassan. Came into his honours twelve years ago. He will be… hmm, two and thirty. Unmarried, according to this, although it’s not the latest edition. One sister, the Lady Drusilla, who must be six and twenty, also unwed. No other surviving issue. Principal residence Hawkewood Hall, Derbyshire. Shall I look that up in Paterson?” Without waiting for Felicia’s reply, she ran out of the drawing room to fetch the book from her room. It was almost as well read as her Peerage, and just as familiar, for she found the relevant page at once. “Here we are. ‘Hawkewood Hall, residence of the Right Honourable the Earl of Finlassan. A magnificent mansion, constructed of fine stone in the form of a centre and two side wings, the west face enhanced with a recently added portico with Doric columns. The principal apartments are of noble proportions; they are fitted up with great elegance and are adorned with an excellent collection of paintings by the first masters. The ballroom more particularly requires notice, it being an extremely splendid apartment, furnished in the most chaste yet expensive style, with a very handsome ceiling.’ Well, that sounds grand, doesn’t it? A ballroom! Juliana will like that!”

  Chaste yet expensive? Curious, but still, a ballroom… Felicia sighed at the thought. A proper ballroom and private balls… oh, how glorious that would be! Her mind was filled with music and swirling silk, the ladies graceful, the gentlemen athletic, and on all sides the nodding feathers of the chaperons’ turbans as they gossiped and plotted and hoped for good matches for their charges. And the room, so eloquently described as an ‘extremely splendid apartment’, would be considerably larger than the assembly rooms at the Dolphin. She could scarcely imagine it, or the number of couples required to fill such a space, and she would be at their head, in a silk gown with a spangled net over-tunic, dancing with… an émigré, perhaps. A handsome Frenchman, the last of his line, who had barely escaped the troubles with his life and the shirt on his back. His hair would be very dark, almost black, and curling into his neck…

  Agnes was not driven into raptures by the description of the ballroom, however, so she read on. “‘The house is situated on a low eminence with another, somewhat larger, hill to the west, the lower slopes clothed with fine woods and the upper, topped by an elegant temple, affording a magnificent prospect in all directions. It would be impossible to overstate the beauty of the surrounding countryside, which encompasses all the majestic wildness of that fair county, the charming valley of the River Shotter and a portion of the even more extensive parklands of Shotterbourne, residence of the Most Honourable the Marquess of Arnwell.’ Goodness! A marquess next door!”

  That sent her off on another chase through the Peerage, but Felicia was not much interested in all these lords and their ladies, especially when she was unlikely to meet any of them or dance in their ballrooms, however handsome their ceilings or chaste but expensive their furnishings. It would be Juliana and Margarita who would dance there, and enjoy the magnificent prospect of majestic wilderness.

  She could not decide whether she most envied or pitied them when they discovered their fate.

  ~~~~~

  Margarita was the most clearly distressed. Juliana, always the more rational of the two, saw the advantages of the earl’s patronage at once, even while she grieved for her father. She reasoned that he had been a friend of her father, and must therefore be an amiable gentleman who would take very good care of them. Margarita saw only the desolation of leaving the familiar.

  “It will be a great adventure,” Felicia said to them. “Just think, you will have a new life in a new home with a great many new friends. Not every young lady is so fortunate.”

  “It’s a pity there’s no countess,” Agnes said to Felicia one evening. “Girls need a mother to raise them properly for society.”

  “The earl has a sister,” she said. “I daresay he has aunts and cousins, too. I wish he would send word of how the girls are to travel to Derbyshire, though. I have written twice now, and Mr Pierce has written several times, yet there has been no answer. We cannot stay here indefinitely, for the rent is due on Lady Day, and it would be wasteful to pay for another year when they have another home awaiting them.”

  “Perhaps he is elsewhere?” Agnes said tentatively. “If he’s from home, then he can’t be expected to answer letters.”

  “He never leaves Hawkewood Hall, seemingly,” Felicia said. “He is something of a recluse, according to Mr Pierce’s acquaintance in London, so he is certainly there, but refusing to respond. There is no help for it — I shall have to take them to Derbyshire myself. I shall write again tomorrow, informing him of the plan, and we shall leave on Monday next. I shall have to take Ellen and Mary, and it will be a great help to have Temple with us. You, Eliza and Lilian can close up the house here, and then you may stay at Boscobel Cottage until you have decided what you wish to do next.”

  “You’re very kind,” Agnes said. “We shall make ourselves useful there, you may be sure. Then, when the girls are settled and you are able to return, we shall have all ready for you in your new home. I expect we’ll all have to find new situations, in time. Mr Kearney was very generous in leaving each of us five hundred pounds, and I’ve a bit put by as well, but I don’t think it’s enough to live on. Besides, I’d not want to be idle.”

  “Truly? Being idle is glorious, Mrs Markham. I adore being idle, and I can scarcely contemplate returning to a life planting potatoes.”

  “You’re not idle, Miss Oakes! Look at all you do with the girls — giving them their lessons and taking them on long walks and showing them how to be little ladies. Why, you never stop!”

  “That is just books and talking, not work, and there is plenty of time for my own occupations.” She sighed. “But that will all be at an end once I have delivered Juliana and Margarita to Lord Finlassan, and it must be soon. Oh, why does he not answer my letters? It is too bad of him, indeed it is. One more letter, and then they must be gone to the north, reply or no.”

  But no letter came from the earl. The following Monday, therefore, Felicia squeezed into a post-chaise with her two charges and the maids, with Temple sitting outside amongst the luggage, and set off for Derbyshire.

  2: A Post-Chaise And Four (April)

  APRIL

  The journey was shockingly expensive. Felicia had never laid out so much money in her life, but Mr Pierce had insisted that the wards of Lord Finlassan should travel in a post-chaise and four, with their governess, both nursemaids and a manservant, as was appropriate for persons of such standing in society. Since he was a trustee for the girls’ fortunes and had authorised the expenditure, it was not her place to question the matter, but even so she was consumed with guilt every time they changed horses or sought accommodation for the night, and she was obliged to hand over yet another collection of coins for Temple to dispense to the greedy palms of ostlers
, tap boys, chamber maids and the Lord only knew who else.

  Guilt or no, though, she was determined to enjoy the journey. Their mourning clothes, the size of their entourage and the name of Lord Finlassan ensured that they were attended to everywhere with great efficiency and a pleasing degree of deference. The inns Mr Pierce had recommended provided comfortable beds and good food served in private parlours. It was a mode of travel to which she could easily grow accustomed. She would be returning on the common stage in a far less pleasant manner, so she would savour her last little taste of luxury.

  When she returned south, it would be to Boscobel Cottage, to pigs and potatoes and not a neighbour within five miles. Why had Miss Armiger chosen such a remote spot to settle? She had asked once or twice, but Miss Armiger would never answer. As to why it rained when the wind was westerly but not from the east, or why the Battle of Hastings was lost, or why slavery was a bad idea — on these subjects she could discourse at length and with fervour, but as to who Felicia’s parents were or where they had gone or why Felicia was required to live at Boscobel Cottage, those questions had been rewarded with pursed lips and disapproving looks and silence.

  The travellers passed through London on the second day, and by their fourth night had reached Loughborough, weary but glad to be nearing their destination. Juliana had entertained herself by watching the ever-changing view from the chaise windows, especially the perpetual drama of passing towns. Margarita was inclined to be tearful until Felicia had thought to supply her with a sketchbook and pencils. The nursemaids had demonstrated an extraordinary ability to sleep whenever no duty called them. Felicia herself idled away quiet moments by imagining the delights of that splendid ballroom, the portico on the west face — what exactly was a portico? — and the intriguing temple on the hill.

  And then there was the girls’ guardian — what would he be like? An earl should be fair, she decided. Fair of face, blue-eyed and with hair the colour of sun-bleached corn. He would dress in the height of fashion, and his reclusiveness was merely a ploy. In fact, he spent most of his time cunningly disguised as… a naval captain… no, that was too obvious. A merchant of some kind, selling stockings. Did anyone travel about selling stockings? Hmm… jewellery of some kind, then. Snuff boxes… yes, that was better. He travelled to and from France pretending to trade in snuff boxes, when in truth he was a spy for the Government. A hero, in fact. Definitely a hero.

  The final day of their journey took them through Derby and beyond. The postilions knew the way to Hawkewood Hall, and so, a little after noon, they drew up at a pair of elaborate ironwork gates, each ornamented with a coat of arms, with a metal lion prowling far above on a decorative arch. The gates were closed, but a woman in an apron and a loosely tied shawl, her sleeves rolled up as if she were about the laundry, wandered out to see to them. Temple spent some minutes talking to her, during which time the shakes of her head became increasingly vehement, and at last, with a final gesture of seeming defiance, she turned and went back into the gate house. Moments later, swathed in a cloak, she disappeared into woods to one side of the drive.

  “She’s going to find her husband, although she’s not sure where he is,” Temple reported. “She has instructions not to open the gates except to family members.”

  “The girls are family,” Felicia said. “They are his lordship’s wards.”

  “But not expected,” Temple said. “She knows nothing about no wards. His lordship is definitely here, though — she told me that much. Just like we heard, he never goes nowhere. Maybe we could leave a note to tell him we’re here, and then go back to that last inn we passed? Don’t you think? Wait for him in the warm.”

  “Write another note for him to ignore? No, the girls have the right to be admitted, whatever the Mistress of the Gates may think. We will wait.”

  Temple nodded rather disconsolately, pulling his greatcoat more tightly around him. Wrapped up in rugs inside the chaise, and with a hot brick to her feet, Felicia had scarcely noticed the biting easterly wind, but she saw now that Temple looked perished.

  “This is ridiculous. Let down the steps, Temple.”

  She descended from the carriage, and walked towards the great iron gates. Despite their massive size, there was no lock on them, only a large ring handle on each side. Impulsively, Felicia turned one. With a metallic creak, it moved and the latch lifted. A hard push, and the gate shifted and opened, the hinges protesting loudly. No one else emerged from the gate house to challenge them. To his credit, Temple did not hesitate. Within moments both gates were open, and the chaise rolled through.

  For some time the road was blanketed by dense woodland, but abruptly they broke into the open and the occupants of the chaise all cried out in wonder at the sight before them. There was the house on its low hill, and the description in Agnes’s book had not nearly done it justice.

  “It is enormous!” Juliana whispered, awed.

  “So beautiful!” Margarita said.

  Felicia could hardly catch her breath. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the grandeur of the earl’s home. As the chaise rolled to a halt, the steps were let down and they all tumbled out in wonder. The others chattered excitedly, but Felicia could only gaze speechlessly at the elegant stonework, the endless rows of windows, and the massive front doors, the many steps leading up to them each flanked by a pair of stone urns, increasing in size with each step.

  “Now what, Miss Oakes?” Temple said.

  She had no idea. In novels, when the heroine arrived at the Gothic castle, the doors opened at once and a troop of footmen emerged to attend to the luggage, and the wicked lord was there to receive her. These doors remained firmly closed, and there were no footmen and no lord, wicked or otherwise.

  But he was inside. Somewhere in those scores of apartments of noble proportions the earl was… doing what? If he truly was wicked, then perhaps he was somewhere in the basement torturing a hapless tenant farmer who was a week late with his rent. Or in his bedroom stealing the virtue of one of the housemaids. She was not at all sure how one tortured a victim, or stole a maid’s virtue, either, but it was certainly something a wicked earl would know. But perhaps he led a blameless life, and was even now writing a sermon in his own hand for his chaplain to declaim from the pulpit on Sunday next.

  She sighed. Making up stories was amusing, but got one nowhere. Picking up her skirts, she climbed the many wide, stone steps to the entrance, Temple trailing in her wake. There was a giant lion’s-head knocker, so she lifted it once and let it fall with an echoing thump, then twice more. For good measure, she pulled vigorously on the bell as well.

  For an age she stood on the top step, the chill air gradually seeping through her heavy woollen cloak, then her gown, then through all her undergarments until she felt as if even her bones were turning to ice. Beside her, Temple stamped his feet, his arms tucked under his armpits for warmth. It was hard to believe it was April and the leaves already showing on some of the trees.

  There was a sound of bolts being drawn — many, many bolts — and the door opened a crack. The supercilious face of a man of middle years peered out at them. “Yes?”

  It was not a promising beginning. Felicia reviewed her options rapidly. If they were truly not expected, despite the many letters, then there would be explanations to be made and she would have to present to the earl all the papers she had brought with her to demonstrate the legality of his guardianship. That could hardly be done on the doorstep, yet if she merely requested a meeting with the earl, they might be left standing out in the cold while he was fetched, or this haughty individual might deny them admittance altogether. What to do? She settled on brazenness.

  “Ah, at last!” she cried, marching straight up to the door and pushing it open. The butler, or whatever he might be, was too much taken aback to defend his master’s territory, and in an instant she was inside, stepping neatly past the sour-faced fellow and into the hall.

  Where she stopped, jaw dropping in amazement. It was a caver
n several stories high, the arched ceiling with its delicate fans of plasterwork supported by massive marble pillars. The floor was a mosaic of muted marble colours in a pattern of octagons. Around the walls, niches held statues of near-naked women with artful drapery. A staircase without visible support wound delicately upwards from a circular ante-chamber. It was exquisite, and Felicia’s fingers itched to capture such beauty in paint.

  “No… wait, you can’t come marching in here like this,” the butler said, his tone so outraged that Felicia almost laughed.

  When she turned, she saw that Temple, the two girls and the nursemaids had all followed her inside, and were staring around, open-mouthed.

  Two younger men had appeared, presumably footmen. The butler’s scowl lightened with the arrival of reinforcements and he turned to Ellen and Mary, who were nearest to him. “Out!” he said sharply, and with scared glances they scuttled back through the open door. The butler turned next to Juliana and Margarita.

  This was not going well. It was time to be brazen again. She would be… a dowager duchess, accustomed to instant obedience. Yes, that should do the trick. “Where is Lord Finlassan?” she said loudly, in a manner that she hoped would brook no argument, although she quaked to her boots. “Fetch him to me at once!”

  It worked. The butler and footmen straightened automatically. “His lordship is not to be disturbed,” the butler said, his tone more conciliatory.

  “He must be disturbed,” she said. Was her manner regal enough? Or would he see straight through her veneer of hauteur to the cowering governess inside? “Tell him that Miss Oakes and the Miss Kearneys are arrived. You two!” She turned to the footmen watching interestedly. “Bring in our boxes.”