The Crimson Bed (43 page)

Chapter 39

Johnson's Gallery and showroom was situated in Knightsbridge. Ellie went along there early one morning in order to supervise the hanging of her new painting. The subject was an Arthurian one, a depiction of the sorceress, Morgan le Fay. Ellie's style was detailed and complex with flowing draperies and all the flowery effusion of detail once so beloved by Millais, Rossetti and the PreRaphaelite brothers.

    Morgan was seated at a loom weaving her spell into the clothing that was to be a poisoned present for her half-brother, King Arthur. Long dark hair fell around a serious, intelligent face full of thwarted passion and she wore a garment of deep crimson velvet. The velvet was so beautifully depicted that one could almost put out a hand and stroke the fabric. The colours of the picture gleamed and shone as if with some inner shimmering radiance. Many of the old Pre-Raphaelites had by now given up on the painstaking, tedious technique of applying a wet white ground and painting slowly and carefully upon this. Ellie had adhered to it faithfully and that is why her works had this luminous, almost otherworldly quality. Ellie planned to send it in for the summer exhibition at The Royal Academy that year.

    'My dear, Mrs Thorpe, so good to see you,' said Mr Johnson, bustling up to greet her. Fred had recently become a partner with Amos Johnson and between them; they had opened up the new gallery and showrooms in Knightsbridge. Fred had put up a fair amount of capital and introduced many new buyers to the gallery but it was a good bargain because Johnson was an amiable and shrewd fellow who had a very keen eye for pictures and an even better eye for the sort of patrons who would be interested in them. He was one of those men who knew a lot of interesting people and moved in varied social circles. He was well respected and known for his fair dealings. Both artist and patrons trusted him.

    'We have reserved this space here especially for your beautiful painting, Mrs Thorpe,' he said. 'Here the natural light falls from the skylight and will set it off to advantage. What glorious colours! I feel this will sell in no time.'

    'Do you have anyone in mind?'

    'I have one or two people in mind. Let us see what the public's reaction is today.'

    Ellie nodded and went over to make sure that the men set her work at the precise angle that caught the light upon it and showed the deep gleam of crimson colour in the dress. This painting was her largest effort yet and the elaborate gold frame was of the 'knobby, jammy' kind, to use Rossetti's words, the kind that always thrilled the Pre-Raphaelites. It thrilled her too. She stood there and looked on her work with some pride.

    Strange that she had met Fred as a painter and poet and now it was she who was proving to be the better artist. It had to be said that Fred showed no signs of envy nor seemed to feel he had been outstripped. He had long ago given up all such ambitions. In fact, he was delighted and proud of his wife's talent and did all he could to promote it. He had not given up on his poetry, however, and having done well with his first book, now intended to publish a book of sonnets, which he wanted Ellie and Henry to illustrate for him.

    Mr Johnson gave Ellie a glass of wine and with a merry clink and a laugh, they toasted the success of her new painting.

    'It will sell well,' he promised.

    A few visitors had already entered the gallery and were walking around looking at the pictures and making their comments and observations. Ellie rather enjoyed mingling with them and listening to what they had to say about various works of art.

    After a while, a tall gentleman and a lady entered the shop and after them came a very fashionable, slightly plump young lady, twirling a lacy parasol with an air of charming self-satisfaction.

    They walked about the gallery and the gentleman seemed to Ellie to be amused by what he saw, even supercilious. This caught her attention.

    
What can he know about art
, she wondered,
to have that
expression of contempt for all he sees? What a pretentious fellow!

    He had a northern accent and Ellie shrugged to herself.

    
Nouveau riche people
, she thought and added in her mind,
northern industrialists for sure
. T
hey seem to be the only ones with
money these days and the only ones who don't mind spending it on
art. But this fellow think he's some sort of connoisseur, I suppose.
What a bore.

    'I like that one, Ma,' she heard the younger woman say, 'I like the lady in that picture. She looks cruel but beautiful, doesn't she?'

    They were standing in front of Ellie's
Morgan le Fay
picture. Ellie moved a little closer, pretending to study with deep intent a watercolour of some sheep in a field. The young lady with the parasol was merry-looking and pretty in her way but although she spoke quite nicely, something in her face and manner seemed to give away a more common beginning to life. She reminded Ellie of Rosie Gamm in a way. The same over-ripe beauty that was soon to run to seed.

    The older woman, apparently the girl's mother, moved nearer and studied the picture thoughtfully.

    'Hmm... I like that one too. I like it very much. I think we should buy it, don't you, my dear?'

    She addressed the tall, lean gentleman who smiled and said, 'But, my dear woman, you know that kind of thing isn't my taste at all. When will these British daubers begin to see that the French artists are a vast deal better and have moved on to a different and far more exciting form of expression? They still stick to that pseudo-romantic style of Hunt and Millais and the rest of that bunch. Can't you see that there is something rather dead and unreal about these pictures, nothing vibrant?'

    The younger woman pouted. 'I like it. I really like it. It tells a story and all your French blokes just stick dabs of paint on their pictures and give them fancy names. They don't mean anything, don't tell a story.'

    'Well, children will like stories,' said the man with a sardonic smile.

    The older woman flashed him a look of annoyance.

    'If my Jessie likes it then we shall buy it for her,' she said.

    The man shrugged, 'As you wish, my dear. Just make sure that you hang it in her bedroom and not in our drawing room.'

    Mr Johnson, whose antennae for a buyer picked up vibrations from a mile away, came out of his office now and hastened over towards the little family.

    'My dear Madam, are you perhaps interested in this painting? I assure you that you couldn't do better than to buy this delightful work, newly brought in today. I do believe that it will be hung at the Summer Exhibition this year. I trust you will be happy to allow the artist to hang it there before it graces your walls. If you buy it now it will be a real bargain, a real bargain. After the Exhibition the price will soar upwards.'

    'You see?' said the lady turning to the gentleman with her, 'A Royal Academy artist! And you dare to say my Jessie has no taste. It will be a very good investment too.'

    'Oh, an investment for sure,' said Johnson, 'a very good investment. The young lady who spotted it has a keen eye.'

    He turned to the tall gentleman.

    'Do I not know you, sir? I am sure we have met before.'

    'Thomas Oldham at your service, sir,' said the gentleman with a little bow, 'and this is my wife Susan and her daughter Jessaline.'

    'I knew it!' said Johnson with delight. 'I have had the pleasure of doing business with you in the past. We don't seem to have seen a great deal of you of late at the auctions or showrooms.'

    'I have been on the continent with my wife and stepdaughter, mainly in Paris,' said Oldham, 'because personally that is where I see the future of art. But I think you overheard my comments on the subject.'

    'I did. To some extent, I am on your side. However, my partner tends to prefer this style of painting. As a matter of fact, this picture was painted by his wife, an incredibly good artist in her own right.'

    'A lady painter... I like that very much,' said Jessaline happily. 'Why are men always the painters and everything else? I like the picture even more now. Morgan le Fay... what a pretty name... who is she? I want to know what the picture is saying.'

    'Well,' said Johnson looking around him. 'The artist is Mrs Eleanor Templeton Thorpe and she is here somewhere. She was here a short time ago when she supervised the hanging of the painting. I don't believe she has left yet. Yes indeed, she is over there... let me fetch her to explain her painting to you. I am sure she will be more than delighted.'

    He sent his boy to fetch Ellie who, having overheard the conversation, now came over with a little enigmatic smile of amusement on her face.

    'Mrs Thorpe, this lady here is very interested in your painting and has agreed to buy it. Mrs Oldham wants it for her daughter.'

    'Jessaline Oldham, ma'am,' said the young lady, giving a little curtsey.

    Ellie smiled at her and took the young girl's hand.

    'You have no idea how very pleased I am to meet you, Miss Oldham.'

    The young girl looked surprised and gratified.

    'I was hoping you'd explain the picture,' said the young girl looking at the beautiful and elegant lady painter with respect. 'I like to learn about these things.'

    'Forgive me, madam, you did say – Mrs Eleanor T
horpe
?' said Oldham.

    Ellie inclined her head in agreement. There was a little tilt of amused laughter at the edge of her mouth.

    She began to explain the story of Queen Morgana and King Arthur to Jessaline and the young lady listened with deep interest. Meanwhile Ellie was well aware that Thomas and Sue Oldham were staring at one another in disbelief. Ellie wondered if they would now change their minds and not buy the picture after all. It was obvious that silly, innocent, little Jessaline remained as ignorant as ever. She had forgotten all about Mr Frederic Ashton Thorpe and the name rang no bells for her.

    Some time ago, Sue had told Jessie that she was in fact her own daughter. This revelation had been a joy to the young girl who had always loved and admired Sue and thought of her as her best and only friend in the world. Then Sue had married good old Thomas Oldham and Jessie had suddenly gained a mother and a father. The Oldhams had set themselves up in both legitimate and illegitimate business and become very wealthy. Now Jessie was having lessons in deportment and speech and all the fine things; she had money for clothes, which she loved and was becoming quite the young lady. There was a nice gentleman interested in her, a friend of Thomas's – a bit old for her perhaps, but he adored her and had oodles of money. Life was very pleasant now for Jessaline.

    So why would she remember that funny old Georgie Porgie and her modelling days? Her memory and attention lasted only for as long as anything was immediate and of importance to the moment's pleasure.

    Jessie was now immersed in the story of Arthur and his jealous, evil half-sister, and how Queen Morgana had made a magic shirt as a present for her brother that would poison him as soon as he put it on next to his skin. It was at this point that Fred chose to walk into the gallery. He had promised to come in and take a look at
Morgan le Fay
during the morning. Seeing his wife there, he came over eagerly but then his eye fell on Oldham, Sue and Jessaline. His heart jumped up into his mouth and he stood frozen in shock. For a horrible moment, his past flashed before his eyes like a drowning man.

    What on earth was Ellie doing with these people? Why were they in his gallery and why was Ellie talking to Jessie so earnestly? The young woman's eyes were popping out of her head. Oldham and Sue stood in the background looking very frosty and cross. What on earth was going on? His old feelings of guilt arose in him and for a moment, he felt quite terrified. Were they revealing something unsavoury to Ellie?

    However, Ellie was smiling and Amos Johnson was there too, looking delighted and affable as was his wont, so... what the devil... .? Fred had no desire to find out, was about to turn on his heel and sidle out again unobserved but unfortunately, Johnson spied him, and called him over.

    'Why here's Mr Thorpe himself! You will be delighted, sir, to hear your wife has sold her picture to this lady and gentleman literally moments after having displayed it.'

    Fred approached the group with deep reluctance. Ellie flashed him a sweet innocent smile and said, 'Why my dear, Fred, what an opportune moment! These delightful people have bought my picture, you know. Don't you think we should ask Mr and Mrs Oldham and their charming daughter to dinner to celebrate their purchase?'

    Fred stared at her. Everyone stared at her. Ellie remained serene and smiling.

    Suddenly Jessaline said in pure cockney, 'Oh, Gawd, it's Georgie Porgie! What
you
doin' 'ere!'

    Silence fell, a silence of eternity. Then suddenly a slow smile spread over Sue's face and she laughed heartily and Ellie also began to laugh. The two women looked at one another with a secret and good-humoured understanding.

    'I thank you, Mrs Thorpe,' said Oldham, giving Jessie a poke in the ribs that made her squawk. He looked at the two women who were still laughing as if they were both slightly mad. 'We are here in London for a very brief visit. We shall be returning to France very soon and the painting can be shipped out to us after you have exhibited it. Delighted to have made your acquaintance, ma'am, and may you continue to paint so well.'

    'Maybe I should learn a little more about the French artists,' said Ellie with a wicked little smile, 'as you consider their style to be so superior to ours.'

    Oldham was seldom nonplussed.

    'Ah, you overheard me,' he said equably, 'but I meant no insult to your work. I do admire it, my dear lady, I admire your execution. It's as good as Millais, in my opinion, maybe even better. Your ability to paint is not in question at all. I simply feel that this particular school of art has been superseded by a new style and new attitudes and new forms of expression. Yes, come to Paris by all means and study with the French artists. It may be just what you need to do. You are ever welcome to stay at the Villa Mona Lisa... our home in Paris.'