Chapter 5 Of Art
Lance had requested a tour of the house, to determine the most suitable setting for the performance of his art.
He always regarded it as a performance, for it was inevitable that the various members of the household would want to watch him at work and observe his progress, or lack of it.
It took a long time to create his masterpieces.
Since there was no housekeeper, he approached Miss Hester Merrington, almost universally addressed by the family as Cousin Hester, who had charge of the management of the house, in place of a housekeeper.
She never seemed to be about, so he ventured below stairs, to find her rushing about the kitchen, spoon and mixing bowl in her hands, looking harassed.
“Oh no, no, no! I cannot spare you the time just now,” she said, waving the spoon about so that batter dripped on the kitchen floor. “We are so behindhand today…”
“Perhaps tomorrow?” he said, with his most charming smile.
“I dare not. There is such a glut from the garden to be stored safely or bottled or potted or pickled or turned into jam, that I spend every spare moment in the still room. One of the girls might do it… yes, that might answer. If you will wait in the Marble Hall, sir, I shall send one of the girls to you.”
It was some half an hour before anyone came, and then it was not, as he had half expected, a junior housemaid dragged away from her feather duster, but one of the heir’s sisters, although which one, he could not be sure.
She was a pleasant girl, however, still attractive and shapely despite being on the wrong side of thirty, who smiled sweetly at him with a certain eagerness in her eye that he had long since grown to recognise.
“Mr Chamberlain? Cousin Hester has asked me to show you around the house.”
He bowed politely. “Miss Merrington? Do I have that right?”
She smiled more broadly. “Yes, but there is an abundance of Miss Merringtons at Staineybank. I am Charlotte, the eldest of Richard’s sisters.
You may recognise me by the blue ribbons.
” She indicated two small bows in her hair.
“We found that strangers could not tell us apart, so we each chose a different colour.”
“How very ingenious,” he said. “Are you so very alike? I confess, I have been introduced to so many people in such a short space of time that I am completely muddled.”
“Oh yes, it is dreadful entering a new house for the first time, is it not? So many things to remember, and the duke is most particular about how things must be done — dinner precisely on time, for instance, and the gentlemen in knee breeches. Are you looking for anything in particular, Mr Chamberlain, or should we make a complete tour of the principal rooms?”
“I should prefer a room facing north, but I should like to see everything.”
“North… hmm.” She turned this way and that helplessly, then said, “I think the entrance faces east, so north will be…?”
“That way, I believe,” Lance said smoothly. “Lead on, Miss Charlotte.”
The house was old enough to be built on the traditional plan, with one room leading directly into another.
The most formal rooms were in the centre of the house, while the two wings housed the private family quarters, and all in perfect symmetry.
From the Marble Hall, they traversed several imposing apartments before his guide stopped.
“Through this door is the Chinese Room, with the library and the duke’s study beyond it.
” She led the way into a room made crowded by cabinets and display tables.
The faded wallpaper might, perhaps, hint at a Chinese influence.
“Through that window you may see the new orangery under construction. There is to be a bridge over the river which will house a gallery where we will be able to hold balls. Is that not a wonderful idea? It is all because of Sophia, for she loves to dance, and there is nowhere suitable here, not for a proper ball, that is.”
“What is a proper ball?” he said, amused.
“Oh, twenty couples, at least,” she said, her face lighting up and turning a merely pleasant face into rather a pretty one. “Real musicians, not just the parson’s wife on the pianoforte, and a hot supper in the middle. Sheer bliss!”
“I think Sophia is not the only one who loves to dance,” he murmured.
She laughed, a throaty sound that he found unexpectedly attractive. Here was a girl with whom he could have some real fun, not just a boredom-inspired flirtation.
“We all love to dance, but with Sophia, it is an obsession. You have not met her yet. She married the architect who designed that bridge with its gallery. That is Rowena’s orangery beyond it on that little hill across the river.”
“How fascinating, and this room faces north, too. However, it is rather cluttered with… what are all these bizarre objects?”
“A collection made by one of the duke’s ancestors on a visit to China. Through here is the library.”
“Also north facing. Now this is much more promising. Good light, plenty of space and a suitably imposing setting, so— Oh!”
He stopped, arrested by the portraits on the walls.
“The three duchesses,” Charlotte said. “The duke’s present duchess, her predecessor and, over there, his first duchess, Lady Caroline Bucknell.”
“But that is remarkable!” he cried, crossing with quick steps to stand before the Lady Caroline. “Mrs Richard Merrington is—”
“The image of her, yes. Rowena is the granddaughter of Lady Rosalind Bucknell, twin sister to Lady Caroline. You may imagine the shock when Rowena arrived here, completely unexpectedly, brought by Mr Goodenough.”
“And now she is to be the next duchess.”
“And you are to paint her,” Charlotte said happily. “I imagine she will hang on the wall just in that gap there, next to her great aunt. Shall we continue? Through this door is the duke’s study.”
“Which also faces north, but is full of desks and shelves and books and…?” He smiled benignly at the people within.
“Mr James Hammond and Mrs Henry Hastings,” Charlotte said, as the two rose from either side of a large table.
Lance bowed. “Your pardon for interrupting your work. We will not disrupt you a moment longer.”
They moved on, the sequence of rooms now taking them back in the opposite direction towards the centre of the house, one room leading into another in the same arrangement as before, but in reverse.
“Symmetry, Miss Charlotte, symmetry. To the architect, symmetry is all. Through here is a parlour of some sort, and the next door leads to— Oh, that is unexpected.”
Charlotte giggled. “Not at symmetrical as all that, Mr Chamberlain. This is the Music Room, my favourite room in the whole house.”
She turned slowly round as she spoke. The room was elaborately decorated in shades of lightest gold and green, with a painted ceiling of delicate beauty, covered with pale flowers and leaves in a thousand shades of green.
“It is very lovely,” he said, but his eyes were on the revolving Charlotte. He had an excellent view of her trim figure from all angles. No one would describe her as a great beauty, but her features were pleasantly arranged, and her simple style of dress enhanced her attractiveness.
Her eyes narrowed as she saw him looking at her, rather than the room. “What of the ceiling, sir? You are an artist, so you will know whether it is to be admired or not.”
“Do you admire it, Miss Charlotte?”
“I do, very much, but what is that to the point? I know nothing about art. Is it well executed? Does it achieve its purpose? Is it a work of merit?”
“As to that, if it satisfies you, if it inspires admiration in you, then it has achieved its purpose, for what is art but the means to arouse some emotion in the observer?”
“But there must be some intrinsic merit, surely? Art is not merely to be liked… is it?”
“Let us say, rather, that it must please, and the principal person who must be pleased is the man who pays the artist for it. If I paint a man’s wife, then the husband must be pleased by the likeness or he might refuse my fee, and that would not suit me at all.”
“But that is horrid!” she cried. “Art is surely more than a commercial transaction — must you paint whatever is asked of you in order to be paid? Is there not some higher value in art?”
“One hopes that one’s efforts will last to be admired for generations to come, naturally, but initially it is indeed no more than a monetary transaction. It must be, for how else would I make a living? No man would paint if there were no money to be made from it.”
“Women paint without thought of reward.”
“Women of your class do not need to earn their bread.”
“How true!” She laughed suddenly, and it was such a merry sound that he smiled too.
“Miss Charlotte…” he began, then stopped.
“No, I cannot think that Charlotte is the right name for you. A Charlotte is a stuffy creature, hide-bound and dull, and you are not in the least dull. You are… not a Charlie… no… you are a Lottie, I think. Yes, you are definitely a Lottie. That is a much livelier name for a lady who pretends to be a dull Charlotte, but beneath the surface is a much more interesting Lottie.”
The eyes narrowed again. “Are you flirting with me, Mr Chamberlain? I would very much hope that an engaged man would not do such a thing.”
“Flirting? I?” he said, in a tone which he hoped conveyed the proper degree of injured innocence. “I am a portraitist, and therefore I see a great deal that is beneath the surface of my subjects.”
“Am I your subject, sir?”
“Certainly you are,” he said, then, as she bridled a little, he added, “The whole world is my subject, Miss Lottie. There is not a person alive who is not interesting to me.”