Arwen
My dearest Milly,
I was so cheered by having a letter from you so soon – and from Lamorna, too!
It does sound like chaos at the moment but I’m sure you will soon settle in.
I’m sorry the girl you have found to help in the house is not a better cook, but if we can only think of a good scheme to release me from my present situation, I will be able to take over all that side of things, for you know I love to cook and bake. It is not a chore to me, but fun!
I am glad to hear that almost the first thing you did on your arrival was set up your studio so that you can resume your woodcuts. It may be an art that has fallen out of fashion, but you have brought a bold, modern aspect to it that is quite arresting in style.
I was very interested in what you told me about Edwin going out to sketch on the cliffs the second day you were there – typical that he should abandon you among the boxes and take himself off!
– and there met Laura Knight on the same mission.
I do love her paintings, and when we met her last year, she was so very pleasant and friendly.
I too want to start painting directly in oils in the open air.
Of course, bringing back home a wet oil painting without getting covered in paint is always the difficulty.
However, my oil studies of sea and sky and ancient places are all very small canvases so I will contrive something.
I love your indignation that Cosmo should expect me to become his mere assistant and be happy to do so!
I am very sure Mr Jones knows all about Cosmo’s declining vision, for he has more than once said something to me about the way great artists of the past had assistants in their studios to attend to backgrounds and other details, while the artist himself concentrated on the important part …
and he has seen me adding detail to Cosmo’s work, for he is often in and out of the studio.
I do have time to paint my own works too.
Not so much earlier in the week, however, because I was sitting for Mr Jones so he could make the Guinevere model – he says he will have to imagine that my hair is long and in a braid over one shoulder – and Cosmo decided to do a canvas of me too. I found sitting profoundly boring.
You must have been quite right when you said that you thought that those remarks of Cosmo’s at dinner that made me so uneasy were only intended to tease Bea, because he has not since shown any sign that he regards me in any light other than that of ward and pupil, thank goodness.
Unfortunately, Bea’s suspicions about his intentions towards me, once roused, are not so easily banished and I often find her and Maudie gazing at me in a very calculating way, as if they think I must have designs on Cosmo!
Bea is especially waspish at the moment because Mark Prynne’s friend, Miss Stretton, arrives tomorrow and apparently he can talk of nothing else!
His general health is improving but he still dislikes crowds, and any kind of loud noise jars on him, so he has refused all her suggestions for entertainments.
I doubt the poor man’s nerves will ever recover from his experiences on the battlefield.
Even if Bea persuaded him to marry her, he could never live in London now, or any other metropolis.
I suspect Bea knows this in her heart, for she again begged her papa to let her visit friends in London.
However, he once more refused. I don’t know why, since he doesn’t seem to hold her in such affection that he would want her to stay at home with him.
I suppose that he would prefer Bea to make a match with Mr Jones, his partner in the new business concern of Triskelion Art Porcelain.
So, here I am, watched and suspected by all parties – and I realize now that Cosmo’s jealousy of my talking to other artists might stem from his not wanting me to get too friendly with them in case I let slip something about his eye condition or my helping him with his work.
The only time I ever feel free and happy is when I am out alone in the elements, in the early morning or when Cosmo is otherwise occupied.
This brings me to a rather exciting bit of news.
Yesterday morning, some men came to pack up Cosmo’s work for his exhibition in London on the 24th, so I went out and climbed the hill to the grove of ancient oaks to paint in the central clearing, where the spring burbles out from the rocks.
It is quite magical there, with the diffuse light through the leaves and the bright emerald moss.
The packing of the paintings was finished by lunchtime and Cosmo summoned me to the studio afterwards where the racks of his work were now depleted. Nor could I see any of my own stacked small canvases.
When I asked where he had put them, presumably to be out of the way, he told me that when Mr Maudsley, the art dealer, had visited he had quite taken a fancy to some of my work and suggested Cosmo send those down with his own paintings and he might try them in the gallery when Cosmo’s exhibition is on.
I was quite stunned by this, as you can imagine, but Cosmo said that it was not certain that the dealer would display them, or not at the same time as his own work, so it was better not to mention it to anyone for the present.
Having recovered from the surprise a little, it occurred to me that I had not yet signed any of my work.
I had taken to transferring the date, time and weather conditions when each was painted in pencil on the canvas stretchers, as a reminder to myself.
To my surprise he said he had thought of that and initialled them all for me!
I thanked him, and for his interesting Mr Maudsley in my work, and he said that now perhaps I would see that he valued my skill as an artist in more ways than just assisting him, so I may have done him an injustice.
But then he interrogated me about where I had been and who I had spoken to that morning, so I told him only the birds and the trees, but perhaps not as snappishly as I would otherwise have done before I learned the news about my paintings!
I crossed my fingers when I promised not to mention it to anyone else about my paintings going to London, for of course I had to tell you, dearest of my friends – and you may tell Edwin, too!
Your loving friend,
Arwen