‘I’ll wear my grey dress, I think. It’s the prettiest one I’ve got,’ Marie was saying.
Then she looked up and saw her brother standing outside the open window. ‘Oh I never heard you,’ she cried. ‘What a nice surprise. Tibbie and I were talking about what I should wear for my visit to Bella Vista.’
‘You’re never going there?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘I’ve been invited to tea today,’ she said happily.
David looked at Tibbie and asked incredulously, ‘Is this true?’
‘Yes, it is. She’s been invited by Lady Godolphin because of her bonny pictures. Her ladyship saw them in the school and asked Marie to the big house to talk about getting painting lessons.’
Tibbie sounded very proud but David’s expression was an eloquent indication of how he felt about well-off ladies with nothing better to do than give tea parties for poor people. He was furious.
‘She’s meddling. Don’t go,’ he said shortly.
His sister flushed indignantly. ‘Don’t be silly. She wants to help me.’
He asked suspiciously, ‘Why should she do that?’
Marie launched into her tale. ‘Lady Godolphin came to the school twice and liked my pictures. Then she sent me a letter inviting me to meet her.’
‘If she wants you to draw something for her, I hope she’ll pay you a fair fee,’ snapped her brother. Because he so sorely longed to move up in the world, he was jealous of and defensive against people who were his social superiors. His sister did not share these feelings, however, and she was already dazzled by the opportunity that was opening for her.
‘I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,’ she told him.
‘Come on, Marie, you know as well as I that the gentry don’t entertain people like you and me unless they want something out of them,’ he snapped.
Marie was bristling. ‘Lady Godolphin doesn’t want anything from me. In fact, she’s offering to send me to Edinburgh for tuition.’
Her brother laughed, actually laughed and he was not given to laughing very much. ‘She’s playing games with you,’ he told her, but her cheeks were flaming red as she asked him, ‘Don’t you think my pictures are good enough for her to like them?’
He hesitated. Ever since she was old enough to hold a pencil his sister had been drawing pictures and he looked indulgently on her interest as a harmless hobby.
‘People like us don’t become artists,’ he said slowly.
‘Why not?’
‘Because we’re poor. We’re the sort of people who have to work for a living. Lady Godolphin doesn’t understand that, Marie.’
‘She does understand. She knows we’re poor. She’s offered to pay everything for me. She believes in me and that’s more than you do!’
He spread out his hands in frustration. ‘Don’t be silly. Of course I believe in you. It’s just that I don’t see why she’d want to do something like that. I’m afraid that she might give you hopes that can’t be fulfilled and you’ll have to face disappointment later on.’
This change in his tone made Marie soften a little towards him. ‘Why don’t you come with me to Bella Vista and hear what she has to say? I’m sure she won’t mind. It really means a lot to me. I love painting and I might never get another chance like this,’ she said.
Her vehemence impressed him and he nodded. ‘All right. I’ll go up there with you. But I don’t approve, you know.’
At three o’clock they were ready to go. Marie was dressed in her plain grey dress with a cream-coloured lace collar and her hair was knotted into a plait. She looked heartbreakingly pretty, as fragile as a wind blossom. Tibbie felt tears prick her eyes when she looked at the girl on the brink of womanhood and trembling like the first wild daffodil of spring.
David was dressed in his working suit of course but Tibbie brushed down his shoulders and told him, ‘You look quite the businessman David. Be kind to your sister.’
With those words ringing in his ears, he offered his arm to Marie as they walked down the street and she laid her hand on it. It was not far to Bella Vista and from the top of the village street they could see the house’s Indian-style towers sticking up from its belt of trees. David had passed the place many times in the past but he had never been beyond the little pepper-pot house which guarded the wrought-iron gates.
The gatekeeper swung open one gate as they approached and a long, grass-covered drive stretched before them like an endless ribbon edged with tall trees. They had to hurry because it was imperative not to be late and both of them were slightly out of breath when the house came into sight. It was huge, with three rows of glittering windows along its ornate front and two side wings that were not so high as the central portion. Beneath the ludicrously over-carved canopied portico was a massive double door with brass handles and two knockers in the shape of lions with their mouths open.
As soon as the visitors set foot on the bottom step, both doors were flung open and a bewigged manservant in livery stood within staring down at them. ‘Her ladyship is waiting,’ he intoned solemnly.
David tried to conceal how impressed he felt as they were shown into a vast room with long looking-glasses on the wall facing the garden. The windows echoed the shape of the mirrors and looked out onto a paved terrace. Because the day was bright, they were open and tendrils of yellow roses seemed to be trying to make their way inside.
They walked across an expanse of silken carpet patterned in pastel colours that reflected the colours on the ceiling. By a high marble fireplace carved with an exuberant scene of battling elephants bearing howdahs on their backs, their hostess sat waiting for them.
If she was surprised to see David, she made no sign when Marie said awkwardly, ‘This is my brother, your ladyship. He wanted to come with me to discuss your kind offer.’
Bethya held out a hand to him and smiled sweetly. ‘That’s very thoughtful of him…’ And to David she said as if he were doing her a great favour, ‘How good of you to come to see me.’ She indicated that her guests should sit facing her on her long sofa upholstered in figured silk. At her feet were two pugs and one hand was trailing idly over the head of the biggest of the dogs, which stared bleakly at the strangers from its great bulging eyes.
‘I’m so glad you’ve come,’ she said again and the distrust David had felt for her, simply because of who she was and what she represented, softened slightly, though he recognised that she was trying to make them feel at ease.
When the tea service was carried in, the immensity of the silver teapot made him defensive again. He could tell that it would cost far more than he would earn from many years’ work and he was glaring at it when he heard his hostess saying to Marie, ‘What do you think about my proposition, my dear? Would you like to go to Edinburgh?’
‘I don’t think she ought to go,’ he said loudly, lifting his gaze from the teapot.
Bethya turned dark-fringed aquamarine eyes on him and he felt his resolve weaken under their soft regard.
‘But why?’ she whispered.
‘My sister isn’t used to travelling,’ he blustered.
‘I understand. It’s very solicitous of you to worry about her safety. If you like, I’ll send a maid with Marie till she’s accustomed to the journey,’ she offered.
‘We’re not the sort of people who have maids,’ said David baldly.
Bethya leaned forward and handed him a cup of delicate china full of golden, steaming tea.
‘I can tell by the look of you that one day you will have maids,’ she told him. ‘You seem like a young man with a great future. It’s obvious too that you are a very caring brother. That’s why I’m glad to have the opportunity to disuss my ideas about Marie with you.’
Her lovely eyes were on his face and he felt himself weakening even more. He’d arrived in her house determined to tell her that Marie did not need charity from her or anyone else, but now he could only smile like an idiot and sip the tea she’d put into his hand. He felt as if he were being enchanted and t
ried to fight against it.
When he did make his protest it was greatly watered-down from what he’d originally intended. ‘I wouldn’t like my sister to be thought of as an object of charity,’ he said weakly.
Bethya looked at Marie, who was sitting silent, awaiting the outcome of this battle between her brother and her would-be patroness.
‘Marie is an artist with immense promise. It’s not charity that makes me want to help her, it’s because I recognise her ability and know it would be a dreadful waste if it was not nurtured. I assure you that I’ve considerable experience looking at works of art, and I know your sister is very good indeed, but with proper tuition she could be even better,’ Bethya told him.
David was flustered by her certainty. ‘I’m sure you know what you’re talking about, Lady Godolphin, but what is my sister going to do with this tuition after it’s completed?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘Your sister could teach art, or paint pictures that people would buy and hang on their walls. Her name could become known. A world of opportunity would open for her.’
He leaned forward and put the teacup on a table by his side. ‘What if she isn’t good enough for that?’ he asked bluntly.
Bethya was just as blunt. ‘She is, I assure you.’
David said, ‘Male painters are always better than women. Women can’t produce really great art.’
Bethya seemed unperturbed by this cavil. She tilted her head to one side and let the dark ringlets swing enchantingly against her shoulder as she smiled at him again.
‘People do say that, I know, but there have been some very great women painters… Angelica Kaufmann and Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun for example… and, of course, there are many others not so famous but equally well regarded among the cognoscenti. I’m sure you’d be very proud of your sister if she showed in big exhibitions.’
‘Of course I would. It’s just that I don’t want her to be patronised…’ He knew he was losing ground and, like a man falling over a cliff, scrabbled to keep a handhold, but the word ‘patronised’ sounded insulting even to him and his face flushed as he said it.
Bethya still did not take offence. ‘I do understand how you feel. I think it does you credit, but I want to help your sister because it would give me great pleasure to see the work she will produce in years to come if she is brought under the influence of a good teacher now. It’s not patronising in the sense you mean, though I would like to be her patron. Will you allow me that pleasure?’ Here she smiled beguilingly at him and he stared back saying nothing.
Bethya went on, ‘Let’s try it for a little while. If Marie doesn’t like Edinburgh or if you and she feel that she shouldn’t go on painting, I will quite understand.’
She then looked at Marie and asked, ‘What do you think, my dear? Would you like to try? I’ve made more enquiries about the painting schools. One is rather strict though good; the other is less strict but equally highly regarded. I think it might be better for you. I will pay everything. It’ll be a pleasure for me to know I’m helping a genuine artist.’
Marie felt as if the world were expanding around her and had lit up with a glorious golden glow. All her reservations about leaving Camptounfoot, all her fears about displeasing David disappeared as she said, ‘I’m very grateful to you, Lady Godolphin. I’d like to go to Edinburgh and I hope that I’ll be a credit to you. I’ll certainly try very hard.’
Bethya clasped her hands together in pleasure. ‘Good, I’m so pleased. I’ll write to Professor Abernethy and ask if he has a place for you in his classes starting this autumn.’
She looked at David and assured him again, ‘Do believe me. This isn’t charity. It’s an investment. When your sister’s famous, I’ll want a very good picture painted specially for me.’
Awkwardly he tried to thank her but chagrin made him tumble over the words for he knew he’d been outwitted.
During their walk home, however, he chided Marie. ‘It’s not right that you should be getting mixed up with people like that. She’ll put wrong ideas in your head. We’ll never be able to equal that style of living, not ever.’
She didn’t seem to be listening to him and kept on murmuring, ‘All right, David, don’t worry about it please…’
He grew more and more irritated. ‘But of course I worry. I’m your brother. You’re my responsibility. I don’t want you to be put into a situation that can only cause you grief.’ He didn’t want her to slip out of his grasp, that was the truth of it.
Suddenly she stopped in the middle of the hedge-lined lane and said, ‘You don’t want me to go to Edinburgh, do you?’
‘No I don’t.’
‘Well that’s a pity because I’m going. If I don’t like it or if I think it’s the wrong thing to do, I’ll stop but at least I’ll have given it a try.’
The calm certainty in her voice silenced him. He knew there was no point going on about it any more. His tactics in future would have to be more subtle.
Three days later Bethya wrote again to Marie telling her that Professor Abernethy had agreed to take her as a pupil in his class and that she was to start on 25 September.
Waving this letter, Marie ran up the lane to where Kitty was cutting grass with a huge scythe in the orchard. She made a forlorn figure as she bent to her work with her glorious hair sticking sweatily to her face and neck.
Marie ran across and gasped, ‘I’m going to painting classes in Edinburgh. Lady Godolphin’s arranged it all for me.’
Kitty put down the scythe and leaned on it, wiping her glistening face with her forearm. Her pleasure was genuine when she said, ‘That’s wonderful. It’s good of her.’
Overcome with remorse at being so full of her own news when her friend looked so wan, Marie put a hand on her arm and said, ‘Now you must go away too. You promised.’
There was a fierce note in Kitty’s voice as she said, ‘I will. I’ll go as far as I can. Today I’ve been looking out at the hills over there and longing to cross them… Just to go anywhere. I’m tired of slaving like this.’
Marie patted her arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly.
‘Don’t be sorry. That’s good news about you and the painting class though. You’ll be famous one day, Marie. I’ll boast about knowing you. The only bad thing about your news is we’ll not see each other so much.’
‘I’m only going to Edinburgh on two days a week,’ Marie told her but Kitty shook her head sadly.
‘You’ll make new friends there and forget Camptounfoot.’
‘I won’t. I really won’t!’ Marie was vehement.
Suddenly Kitty grinned. ‘Do you remember when I stole my granny’s knife so that we could be blood sisters? We should mix our blood now if you’re going away.’
Marie’s heart sank at the idea but she did not want to hurt Kitty’s feelings. ‘When will we do it?’ she asked doubtfully.
‘Why not now? I’ll go and get the knife and be back here in a couple of minutes. Wait for me.’ Dropping the scythe on the sweet-smelling grass, Kitty dashed off.
She hadn’t been to her hiding-place for a long time and weeds had grown up over the marking stone but the tin was still there, tightly closed. The knife and her half-sovereign were quite safe.
When she came back her eyes were dancing and she pulled the knife from her skirt pocket to show it to Marie, who was slightly disappointed to find that this famous treasure was so small and insignificant-looking, little better than a penknife, she thought.
‘It’s not very big,’ she said, for she had expected something more ferocious-looking.
Kitty snapped out the blade and told her, ‘But it’s really sharp.’
Though the gleaming weapon was only about four inches long, it was honed to a vicious-looking point.
‘Do you want to be cut first?’ asked Kitty.
Marie spread out her fingers and looked at them carefully as she asked, ‘Will it hurt? Which finger will you cut?’
Kitty was examining her own hands which were, as usua
l, none too clean.
‘The thumb I think. There’ll be more blood there.’ Without flinching she drew the knife blade down the pad of her thumb and a thread of blood welled up behind it. They looked at the scarlet line and Kitty shook a drop of blood off her hand. It fell on the cut grass at her feet and lay gleaming like a ruby.
‘I never felt anything. Do you want me to do it to you? I promise it doesn’t hurt,’ she said.
Marie held out her white hand and the cool steel was laid against her thumb. At first she felt nothing. Then came the sting, sharp and searing like a burn, but, remembering Kitty’s stoicism, she bit back a cry of pain. A narrow red scratch quickly welled to a steady flow of blood and the two girls watched it with fascination till Kitty held out her own bleeding thumb and solemnly rubbed it against Marie’s.
‘Hold it still, hold it still,’ she whispered and they stood with their thumbs pressed together for about two minutes till the sharp pain died away.
‘Now we’ve got the same blood,’ said Kitty solemnly. Then she giggled. ‘It did hurt a bit, didn’t it?’
She reached down and pulled a large dock leaf out of the cut hay, handing it to Marie. ‘Wrap one of these round it. Dock leaves take the sting out of nettle burns so they should help a cut.’
Tibbie was surprised that evening when Marie came home with a large green leaf bound round her finger. ‘What’ve you been doing?’ she asked.
‘I cut myself down by the river,’ was the reply.
‘Let me dress it with some of my marigold salve on a clean cloth. If you get it dirty, it could be dangerous,’ said Tibbie and bustled off to find her medicine chest which contained cures for every domestic ailment and emergency.
No one asked Kitty why her finger was wrapped up in a dock leaf. Next morning her thumb was throbbing but she thought little about it and went out to work. The throbbing grew worse, however, and by the second day, her thumb was so badly swollen it looked like a big carrot. She could hardly lift her hand, she could not work, the injury was impossible to hide.
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