The Painter

by Mary Kingswood

  “Naturalists? I have seen no butterfly nets or any sort of equipment, and they are following me when I go on my walks.”

  “Following you?” Agnes said in horror. “That is not right!”

  “Indeed not,” Felicia said. “And they run away when challenged. At least, the boy does. His father is better at concealing himself, I think, so I am less aware of him, but when next I see him, I shall challenge him, too.”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” Agnes said. “You’ll stay right here at home while there are strange men wandering about, and you, too, Lilian. I’ll mention it to Mrs Wellings, too. If you must go out, either of you, be sure to take Jimmy or Gerald with you.”

  “I shall certainly follow your advice,” Felicia said. “In fact, if Jimmy will take me there in the gig, I shall visit the Nag’s Head myself, I think.”

  But when they went there the next day, the strangers had decided there were insufficient butterflies to tempt them and had left. All they learnt was that they were father and son Mr Jameson and Mr Hubert Jameson, that they came from somewhere in the far north, Northumberland or perhaps Cumberland, they had paid their shot promptly and been very free with vails.

  “They did not like being challenged, it seems,” Felicia said. “Well, at least they have gone.”

  “For now,” Jimmy said grimly. “You should still be very careful, Miss Oakes. It hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that they only followed you. If they want something of you, they’ll be back.”

  ~~~~~

  Fin wrestled with the translation wheel for days, making little progress. The letters of the alphabet were painted around the outer wheel, while the inner wheel showed three sets of letters — another alphabet, the alphabet in reverse and one with the letters jumbled up. The inner wheel revolved and could be held in position with a clip. If the correct position and which version of the inner alphabet to use were known, one might read the letter on the outer wheel and find the corresponding letter on the inner wheel and translate a coded message very quickly. Since Fin knew neither of these things, he floundered for some time, guessing at one combination or another without success, and almost gave it up altogether.

  It was Saturday evening before he thought to tackle the problem systematically. He would start at ‘A’, try all three possible alphabets against the first ten letters of the code and see if he could make out any words. If not, he would move on to ‘B’. Eventually, he would be bound to crack the code, assuming it had been generated on just such a wheel, and if it had not… well, he would be stumped, and would have to wait until Giles returned. Giles! Still the real puzzle was why on earth he was receiving coded messages, and why they had to be directed to Hawkewood Hall and could not be sent to the parsonage. Very strange.

  Fin worked methodically through the alphabet, until he came to the letter ‘K’, which yielded ‘aareyousur’. Almost he missed the significance, and was just about to move on when he realised.

  “Are you sure!” he cried in triumph. “The next letter is ‘E’.” And so it was. When he had gone through the whole message, he read, ‘aareyousureheisgoneforgoodwillshebesafenowwritesoonwearereadyfghi’.

  “‘Are you sure he is gone for good? Will she be safe now? Write soon. We are ready.’ What the devil does that mean? He? She? We?”

  He reached for the decanter of brandy, and found it empty.

  “Footman! Footman!” There was no response. With a tut of annoyance, he flung open the sitting room door. “Footman! Oh, there you are. What the devil do you mean by sleeping when you are on duty, man?”

  “Beg pardon, my lord.”

  “I should think so. Fetch me more brandy, will you.” Then, as the man smothered a yawn and turned to do his bidding, Fin had a sudden thought. “What time is it, Neil?”

  “Wrong side of three, my lord.”

  Fin tutted in annoyance. “Then it is I who must beg your pardon. Forget the brandy and go to bed, man.”

  He sat down at his desk again, and stared at the paper before him. ‘Are you sure he is gone for good? Will she be safe now? Write soon. We are ready.’ What could it mean? If it was intended for Giles, the people mentioned must be known to him. Only one ‘he’ had recently gone away — Godfrey Buckley. And if so, the ‘she’ could only be Felicia, the object of Buckley’s attentions. Was she safe from him now? Who would ask such a question? And for what event were they ready?

  Those questions could not be answered, but the more he thought about the matter, the more convinced he became that Felicia was involved somehow, and Giles too. Why else would he suddenly take an interest in her? And the Buckleys were surprisingly interested in a fatherless woman. But why should there be any question about her safety? She was certainly safe from Godfrey now, for either he had not spoken or she had refused him, and now he had gone, and she was far away from him. Yes, there was no risk from Buckley. Good, for she deserved better than that smooth-talking scoundrel.

  Was she safe?

  Should he write to Giles? It would be much easier to discuss it in person. He tucked the paper away in the desk. Whatever the solution to the mystery, it could not be resolved until Giles returned.

  When Fin went to his room, he found Matthews fast asleep in the wing chair beside the fire. He sprang awake and with only one smothered yawn, helped Fin to undress.

  “I am a great trial to you all, am I not?” Fin said. “I keep you up half the night without a thought for the inconvenience. I should run a more orderly household.”

  “That’s what we’re paid for, my lord,” Matthews said equably. “An orderly household would be very dull, to my mind. Shotterbourne’s an orderly household. That Miss Buckley keeps everything ticking over as regular as the church clock, so I hear. Meals at set hours, winter or summer, and menus planned a month in advance. Sounds dreadful boring to me.”

  “And to me,” Fin said, with a wry smile, but he could not help wondering if Felicia — was she safe? — preferred to live in a world of regularity and calm, or one where anything might happen. The latter, he thought. Definitely the latter. But she would not abuse the servants as he had done. “Nevertheless, I must not take advantage of your good nature, Matthews. I do not need you to undress me at night, so you need not wait up for me in future, unless I ask you to do so.”

  “And then I’d find all your clothes tossed in a heap in the corner of the room, my lord, and the devil’s own job to get them straight again. No, if it’s all the same to you, I prefer to wait for you, so I can fold everything properly and put the trees in your boots.”

  Fin laughed. “Very well, Matthews, let it be so.” He held his arms up so that Matthews could pull the nightgown over his head. “It is very agreeable to be ministered to with such keenness. Should you like it, do you suppose, if I were to travel occasionally? To London, say?”

  Matthews’ eyes glinted. “London! Are you planning to attend Parliament again, my lord?”

  “It has been brought home to me that I should do so,” he said, adjusting his nightcap. Was she safe? “I cannot say that the idea inspires me with any great enthusiasm, but it is my duty to do so,” he added glumly. The thought flitted through his mind that Felicia would enjoy such a visit enormously. He sighed. “Is there any brandy up here, Matthews?”

  “In the dressing room, my lord. In the cabinet just behind the door. I take it you won’t be attending Morning Service at St Miriam’s today, being as you’re so late to your bed?”

  “I must be a good Christian, must I not? Miss Oakes would insist upon it.” Was she safe? “Wake me in good time, Matthews, and tell Padgett that we shall be going to London for the opening of Parliament. October… or whenever it is this year. He will need to have the travelling carriage in good order.”

  “Very good, my lord. Will there be anything else, my lord?”

  “Nothing. Good night, Matthews. And thank you for being so patient with me.”

  Matthews’ solemn countenance lightened into a smile. “My pleasure and privilege, my lord.”<
br />
  After Matthews had gone, Fin sat by the open window, knees pulled up to his chest, brandy in hand, thinking of London and all the sights in the metropolis to which he might take Felicia, and imagining her reactions to them all. She would love it, of course! So much life to be observed in town, so many beautiful buildings, so many entertainments that she had never seen before… the theatre, the opera, Astley’s, Hyde Park, Vauxhall Gardens, Almack’s— no, not there. She would not be admitted. But the shops! Oh, how he longed to take her to every shop in Bond Street or Oxford Street and buy her whatever her heart desired. And jewels… how beautiful she would look adorned with proper jewels. Emeralds, perhaps, and diamonds, of course. Maybe some rubies… yes, rubies would be just the thing.

  Was she safe?

  Every once in a while, reality intervened to remind him that Felicia was no longer a part of his life, and he was conscious of a yearning emptiness inside him. What was she doing? Was she happy? Had she forgotten him altogether? Why had she not written? Surely she was not too busy to scribble a reply to his invitation!

  He refilled his glass and ruthlessly suppressed such foolishness. Only when the brandy was gone did he crawl into bed and try very hard not to think about Felicia.

  But was she safe?

  23: Sermons And Lectures

  Matthews shook Fin awake at some unearthly hour, setting a cup of chocolate beside the bed. Fin groaned, rolled over and closed his eyes again.

  “You told me to wake you for church, my lord,” Matthews said with what sounded suspiciously like glee in his voice.

  “Uuurrgh. Time?”

  “A quarter before nine, my lord.”

  “Oh, good God!” He hauled himself into a half-sitting position and groaned. He was not a man who habitually drank himself into a stupor, but it was fair to say that a certain quantity of brandy consumed the night before was not conducive to early morning health. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, his head was stuffy and his mouth was as dry as a sand dune. But he dutifully sipped the chocolate, while Matthews laid out his shaving gear and clothes, and after a while felt alive enough to allow himself to be prepared for the day.

  Was she safe?

  He would not think of that. The walk to church cleared his head somewhat, and he was able to snooze during the sermon, so he emerged from the church in rather better condition. Arnwell nodded at him.

  “What time for dinner, Finlassan?”

  “Five.”

  He grunted and turned towards his carriage. Fin was about to leave when he remembered that Giles was still away, and his absence had been greatly felt at the dinner table. Giles never said much to the point, but he could be depended upon to draw Drusilla’s attention away so that Fin need not talk to her.

  He turned back to find the curate. “Cotham! Excellent sermon, I am sure. Come for dinner tonight. We sit down at five.”

  Cotham’s eyes gleamed with pleasure, and he bowed deeply. “Most obliged, my lord. How very kind.” Another bow. “Too generous to a humble clergyman, who has no call at all upon your lordship’s notice. So very obliging to—”

  “No need to bob up and down like a turkeycock, man. Five, remember.”

  Drusilla caught up with him before he had reached the lych gate. “Mr Cotham? Dining with us?” she hissed. “What are you about, Fin? Do you know who his father is? A cooper in Derby! And you are inviting him to dine with us!”

  “He is a clergyman, Drusilla. What does it matter who his father is? If he can eat his soup without dribbling he will be as welcome at my table as anyone else.” And more than some, he almost added, but that was unfair. Drusilla was his sister and would always be welcome at his table, and he would try his best not to resent her censorious manner, if only for Felicia’s sake.

  Was she safe? He shivered.

  “You realise that it will be only the two of you sitting over the port?”

  “Not so, for Arnwell will be there.”

  “Lord Arnwell? You have invited Lord Arnwell for dinner?”

  He turned away from her astonished face, and ignored her increasingly strident voice calling after him, telling him to talk to her and not to walk away from him in that high-handed manner. He cared nothing for Drusilla. Let her seethe. He beguiled the walk home with the pleasant glow that came from having done his duty for the day. Felicia would be proud of him, he was sure. He thought with pleasure of her pretty face smiling at him, her eyes glowing with approval. Such lovely eyes…although usually brimming with mischief, it was true. He smiled at the memory. What was she doing at that moment? Was she at church too? Was she wondering what he was doing? He hoped she was. For a moment he was overwhelmed with longing… to see her again, to hear her soft voice or the disdainful variant when he did something of which she disapproved. She was so beautiful when she upbraided him in that dignified way she had.

  Was she safe? No… he would not drive himself mad with such thoughts. Buckley was gone and she was safe from him, at least, and Giles, whatever he was about in Southampton, had never shown the least interest in her. She was safe.

  Drusilla arrived back at the Hall before him, her carriage rolling away just as Fin took the steps to the front door two at a time. His heart sank as he saw her face, and braced himself for the onslaught.

  “How dared you ignore me in that insolent way, Fin! To treat your own sister with such abominable contempt is despicable. If I have something to say to you, then I shall certainly say it, you may be sure. Thank you, Neil, and here is my bonnet also. Ah, Mrs Shayne, help me with these buttons.”

  For a few moments, while she divested herself of her outer garments, there was a brief pause in hostilities. Fin tossed his hat, gloves and cane at Matthews and slunk out of the entrance hall. Naturally, Drusilla followed.

  “Do not think you can escape me so easily, Fin.”

  Without breaking stride, he said, “I am going to my sitting room for brandy. A lot of brandy. Thus fortified, it is my earnest hope that my temper may survive whatever scolding you see fit to inflict upon me.”

  Padding alongside him, she continued her tirade unabated. “I wonder at you, Fin, truly I do. While it is gratifying that you are at last beginning to assume your responsibilities as a peer of the realm, you will do yourself no good if you choose to surround yourself with persons of a lower order like Cotham. He is a curate, for Heaven’s sake. And to introduce such a man to Lord Arnwell is the outside of enough.”

  “Arnwell knows him. He sleeps through his sermons, just as we do.”

  “But he does not dine with him! No one of consequence would choose to dine with such a man.”

  “Why ever not? Cotham seems inoffensive to me, for a man of God. His manners are good enough, lacking only a little polish. His sermons show evidence of a certain quickness of mind, what I have heard of them, and he writes them himself, too. He is well-liked within the parish. There is nothing objectionable about inviting such a man to dine occasionally.”

  “What do his manners have to say to anything? He has no connections, no fortune or prospect of it, no patron to advance his career.”

  Fin stopped abruptly, so that Drusilla was obliged to skid to a halt too. She was breathing heavily from the fast walk. Fin’s own breath was ragged. His temper hung by a thread. He reminded himself that Felicia would expect him to rise above such provocation, so when he spoke, his voice was measured. “You are far out there, for he has — or may well have — my patronage. If I like the man, I may give him the living at Eglington Hill when old Hawkins receives notice to quit. He must be ninety if he is a day, so it cannot be long.”

  “Eglington Hill! A living worth seven or eight hundred a year? For a man from nowhere? What madness is this? Eglington Hill is for Uncle Giles, you know that.”

  “Who has not the least need of it. He has two perfectly good livings already and an independent income as well. You want me to assume my responsibilities, Drusilla, so you must accept that I shall use my position to do a little good in the world, or my sm
all corner of it, and help those worthy of help to advance themselves. If I deem Cotham worthy of preferment, then I see no reason not to do something for him.”

  “What about family loyalties? To put a cooper’s son above your own flesh and blood is—”

  “Enough!” He strode forward into his sitting room and across to the sideboard where stood the brandy decanter, happily refilled after the depredations of the previous night. A little slopped over the side of the glass as he poured. Taking a long gulp, he turned to face the onslaught. There was no point in attempting to escape, for she was not a woman to be deterred from pressing her point.

  “This is outrageous!” she said in a low voice. “You are so arrogant, Fin. You do what you want, always have done, with no regard for the wishes and feelings of other people and—”

  “Not true,” he said, stung. “Do you want to know why I attend St Miriam’s? Why I take an interest in Arnwell? Why I want to help those who live in the shadow of Hawkewood? Not from any hectoring of yours, you may be sure!”

  Drusilla’s face darkened even more. How ugly she looked when she was angry, and she was almost always angry. “I know who you mean! That… that nobody! Oh yes, you listen to her, of course you do, but not to your own family! You would rather take the advice of that… that… strumpet!”

  It was too much. The dam burst. He hurled the brandy glass past Drusilla’s head so that it smashed against the wall in a cascade of sparkling glass slivers and amber spatters. Drusilla jumped away from the devastation with a squeak of fear, eyes wide.

  “Never, ever speak of Felicia in those terms again,” he growled. His fists were clenched impotently against his side. If any man had dared to speak so, he would have knocked him down and pounded him to pulp for his insolence. He might even have called him out. Yet women thought they could get away with anything, and Drusilla just never knew when to stop.

  “Oh, Felicia, is it? Very cosy, I am sure. You have become obsessed with her, Fin, and who is she, truly? Some illegitimate nobody who fancies becoming a countess, no doubt. Just as well Giles and I got her away from you, because I doubt she would have left otherwise. You are an utter fool, and if ever you marry that insolent chit, that will be the day I wash my hands of you, and so I warn you.”