The Angel's Command (26 page)

Suddenly the woman threw her arms about the girl and kissed her. “Are you sure twelve pancakes will be enough, my dear?”

 
Back on the steps outside the manor house, two boys, a girl and a dog feasted on hot pancakes spread thick with country butter and comb honey. Ben licked his fingers, gazing at Karay in awe. “Tell us how you managed to do it. Widow, farmer, daughter, husband's name, and who, pray, is Saint Veronique?”

Karay's explanation made it all sound simple. “Veron is the name of this place, so I thought Veronique made it sound nice and local. I don't know who Saint Veronique is, but she certainly helped us. The cart was a good clue. It had been painted over but I could still see the words, the name in white, beneath the last coat: ‘S. Gilbert. Baker.' He was nowhere to be seen, the woman was working alone and she'd had the name on the cart painted over. So I guessed she was a widow, without children, too. That woman's middle-aged; if she had children, they'd probably be about our age. If that was so, they'd be helping their mother to run the business. She leaves her house alone to travel here: someone must watch it for her—the farmer Frane. A single woman could not handle it all, so he helps her. If his wife were alive, she would not hear of such a thing. He would not be allowed to spend most of his day at a widow's house and neglect his own. The woman was wearing a bracelet, a cheap pretty thing, not the sort she would spend money on. I guessed that a young girl had bought it for her. I was right. So, the farmer has a young daughter. They both like the pancake lady. Two people, a widow and a widower, living close to each other. The girl Jeanette likes the widow; to the widow, Jeanette is the daughter she never had. As for the rest, I was only telling that woman what the future could hold if she played her cards right. What's wrong with her becoming a farmer's wife and having a daughter? That's what she wants, isn't it? I was only telling her the best way to do it. Monsieur Frane and Jeanette would be very sad if she sold up and moved away. It'll happen, and they'll be happy together. Mark my words!”

Ben shook his head admiringly. “Don't you ever guess wrongly?”

The girl licked honey from her fingers. “Sometimes, but I can always manage to talk my way out of mistakes. The whole thing is just luck, guesswork, a bit of shrewd watching, and telling the customer things they like to hear. Right, let's set up stall here on these steps. Dominic, get your sketching stuff out. Ben, you and Ned sit here by me, try to look poor but honest. I'll start singing to attract the customers. Come on, now, we can save some of the pancakes for later. Dominic, do another sketch of Ned.”

The dog sat by Karay's side and winked at Ben. “You look poor, I'll look honest!”

Karay folded her shawl in two and spread it out at her feet to catch any coins that were thrown. Dominic took up a piece of slate and his chalks. Ben sat on the other side of the girl, listening as she sang sweetly.

 
Gradually a few people gathered. One of them was an old fellow pushing a cart on which he had a churn of buttermilk, a ladle and some earthenware bowls. When Karay finished her song, he applauded loudly, calling out, “What a fine voice! Sing some more, young maid!”

The girl held out her hand to him. “Let me get my breath, sir. Come on up here and get your likeness sketched by a real artist. We won't charge you much!”

The old fellow chuckled, shaking his head. “No thank ye, miss, I haven't got money to spend on pictures. Besides, who'd want to sketch a battered old relic like me, eh?”

Ben coaxed the old man up and sat him on the top step, facing Dominic, and reassured the reluctant sitter. “We're not talking money, sir. A bowl apiece of your buttermilk to quench our thirst would be enough. My friend is a good artist, you'll like his picture, I'm sure. Don't be shy. Here, I'll let my dog sit with you, he's a good companion.”

Some of the watchers called out encouragement to the old fellow, and he finally agreed to be sketched. “Go on then, it'll give my wife something to throw mud at when she's angry with me!”

Dominic captured the spirit of the old buttermilk vendor amazingly. More folk had gathered to watch, and they viewed the likeness with astonishment.

“Oh it's wonderful, what a nice picture!”

“Aye, very lifelike. He's even drawn that black dog, with its paw on his knee, see!”

“Doesn't the old man's face look kind and jolly!”

Ned watched them admiring the picture as he contacted Ben. “A true artist, eh? He's made me look even nobler on that sketch, and see the old man's eyes. Every crinkle and crease is perfect. You can see by looking at them that he's a cheery old codger with a good nature. Right, who's next to have their picture sketched—with the noble Ned, of course. I'm getting used to being famous!”

Ben tugged his dog's tail. “Stop boasting and drink your buttermilk, the man's waiting on his bowls. Though he'll have to wash that one before he serves buttermilk in it again.”

The black Labrador sniffed. “I should think so too. Peasants using the personal bowl of Ned the Noble!”

Men and women began clamouring to have their pictures sketched next, even holding out coins in their hands. Karay nudged Ben. “Haha, we're in business now!”

Dominic looked around before choosing his next subject. He guided a young woman carrying a baby boy up to the step. She was obviously poor—her clothing was worn and frayed—but her baby looked clean and healthy.

The woman tried to avoid Dominic, her cheeks red with embarrassment as she pleaded with him. “Please, sir, I have barely enough money to feed my baby. I cannot afford your cost!”

The Facemaker of Sabada spoke gently to her. “There will be no cost, lady. For the privilege of sketching you both, I cannot pay you. But I will give you two pancakes, one for you and one for the babe. Hold him on your lap now, sit still and face me please.”

Slumping down on the steps beside Ben, Karay heaved a sigh of resignation. “Two customers, no, three, if you count the baby, and what have we earned so far? A bowl of buttermilk apiece! Why don't we go and seek out some beggars, perhaps this facemaker'd like to sketch them free! Maybe we could give them the clothes off our backs for allowing us to do them the favour. Fools, that's what we are!”

Ben was not pleased with the girl's callous attitude. “Oh, stop grizzling, there's nothing wrong in helping people a little. There are other things in this life besides money. Where would you be if I hadn't helped you when you were chained to a cartwheel?”

Karay was about to make a sharp retort when they were interrupted by a richly clad lady, mounted sidesaddle on a chestnut mare. Her voice was loud and imperious. “Tell that boy he can sketch me next!”

Ned growled menacingly as she spurred the horse forward. The chestnut reared, but the lady brought it forcefully under control. She wagged her quirt at Ben. “Tie that dog up, or I'll have it destroyed!”

The boy took hold of the Labrador's collar. “I'm sorry, marm, Ned thought your horse was going to trample us.”

He ignored Ned's indignant thoughts. “Pompous baggage. Both she and her horse could do with a lesson in manners!”

The lady was pointing at Dominic with her leather quirt. “Finish that picture quickly, I don't have all day to sit here waiting whilst you mess about with peasants!”

The facemaker continued sketching, though his eyes were hot and angry as he flicked them up at the mounted lady. “Then be on your way, marm, because I don't intend making a likeness of you!”

The young woman with the baby started to rise, but Dominic beckoned her to stay put. “Sit still, I'm almost done.”

The onlookers had to scatter as the lady wheeled her horse about and rode off, glaring hatred at Dominic.

Ned broke free of Ben's hold and chased after the horse, barking furiously, causing the animal to break into a gallop. The lady was forced to hold on to her ornate hat as she bounced up and down awkwardly. Stall holders laughed and jeered at her ungracious exit, some even cheering Ned as he made his way back to Ben's side.

Dominic held up the slate containing the picture of the young woman and her baby, amid gasps of admiration from everyone around. There was beauty and honesty in the woman's face, and love for her child. Happy innocence and trust shone from the babe's eyes—it was a perfectly beautiful likeness. He passed it over to the blushing mother, together with the food he had promised her. She curtsied deeply, stammering her thanks.

“My husband will be pleased to see this hanging over our fireplace. Thank you, thank you very much, sir!”

Dominic bowed and smiled at her. “Tell him that I said he's a lucky man to have such a pretty wife and baby.”

Shortly after the mother and child's departure, Dominic had just started to portray a fat, jolly housewife when a commotion arose between the stalls. He looked up from his work. “What's all the noise about?”

Karay climbed one of the gateposts of the big manor house. “I think we're about to find out. Here comes trouble! It's the guards and that toffee-nosed lady you turned away.”

Dominic began gathering his materials. Ben stayed seated. “No use running, mate, let's stick together and see what they've got to say. We haven't harmed anybody or stolen anything.” He looked pointedly at Karay. “Have we?”

Climbing down from the gatepost, she joined him. “What are you lookin' at me like that for? I haven't lifted anything. You're right, we'll stick together!”

Ned looked imploringly at Ben. “I wish you'd said we should run for it. I'm guilty of disturbing a horse!”

The mounted lady, both guards from the gate and a guard captain strode up the steps, dispersing any curious onlookers before them. Dominic forestalled the captain by addressing him. “My friends and I haven't done any wrong. I refused to sketch this lady because I am free to choose whom I draw!”

Ned's thought crossed Ben's mind. “I don't blame Dominic. Just look at the frosty-faced fishwife—the behind of her horse would have made a more handsome picture to draw!” Unwittingly, Ben laughed aloud at his dog's comical observation.

The guard captain, a neat-uniformed and stern-faced man, glared at him. “So you think it's funny, eh?” He indicated the group with a wave of his gauntleted hand. “Are these the ones?”

The smaller guard from the gate answered. “Aye, Captain, that's them. They slipped by us without paying, both boys, the girl and the dog. We couldn't leave our post an' give chase.”

The woman pointed her quirt at Dominic. “That's the one who insulted me, impudent young wretch. I demand that you do something about it, Captain. My husband is the prefect of Toulouse, he wouldn't allow that sort of behaviour in our town, I'm certain of that!”

Hands clasped behind his back, the captain circled Ben and his friends, lecturing them severely. “This is no laughing matter, as you'll soon find out!”

Karay smiled sweetly at him. “Oh come now, sir, we aren't really guilty of anyth—”

“Silence!” The captain's face reddened as he shouted. “Defrauding the guards by entry without payment! Setting up business without licence, fees or permission! Trading on the very steps of Comte Bregon's residence, where none are allowed to set up stall! Insulting a lady visitor to Veron and setting a dog upon her horse! And you have the effrontery to stand there and tell me that you've done no wrong? Arrest them and take them away immediately! The dog, too!”

Ned bared his teeth and growled ferociously. Ben slipped his hand through the dog's collar, warning him mentally. “Hush now, mate, no use making things worse. It looks like we're in real trouble with the authorities.”

Village folk watched in silence as the four miscreants were marched off toward a barred entrance in the wall at the far side of the big house.

18

A LONG BRICK TUNNEL LED THEM out into a sunny walled garden. With the captain in the lead and the two guards at the rear, the four friends emerged, blinking from the darkness of the passage. It was obviously the carefully tended garden of somebody wealthy. Rose and rhododendron bushes skirted the walls, fronted by all manner of border flowers. A circular red gravel path surrounded an area of rockeries, with streamlets gurgling about them. At its centre was an ancient gazebo with stunted pear trees growing on either side. Inside the gazebo, an old man with a wispy beard sat upon a woven-cane divan. He was clad in a nightshirt, over which he wore a quilted silk jacket.